#(still need to do a fancy tagging system.)

[fuckradios]

Blah blah. Intro post. I’ll do it properly and fancy later.

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VOX.⠀Fictive⠀&⠀BODILY a minor.⠀ IWCaution or something of the sort,⠀can be rude. ⠀Tell me if you’re sensitive and I’ll cut it out. ⠀NPD haver.

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Not a fan of my source, Vivziepop supporters DO NOT INTERACT.⠀Only DNI I’m writing as of now! Also DNI if you can’t consume Hazbin Hotel critically.

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I ENCOURAGE any sourcemates to interact! ESPECIALLY any of the Vees! :) (.. and Alastor’s I suppose.)⠀Fine with DMs from anybody!

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition)

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus (+ maybe the other MLs!) and an oblivious player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, maybe some suggestive language?? will add more tags as the story progresses A/N: This is gonna be a multi-chapter fic! I’m still not sure whether to do the boys in rotation, or just focus on one ML per series. Don’t take my word for it atp tho – I’m not even sure if I can actually finish a series lol.  Also, I’ve had the creative liberty of changing stuff from the actual gameplay here and there. (Except for the self-awareness. That’s most definitely real.) Hope you enjoy~!

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9 - Pt. 10 - Epilogue (for the spin-off: click here!)

It’s a quarter past eight and you’re still on your desk working overtime on a Friday night. 

You let out a big sigh, leaning back on your office chair after an unhealthy duration of bad posture from hours of slouching down in front of your computer. There’s nothing ergonomic about the way this job is killing you, and the ache in your lower back can attest to that. 

An irate orange tabby plops himself in front of you, blocking your view of the glaring screen and you figure that it’s time for a break. 

“Me-oow.”

“I know, I know,” You answer tiredly, standing up to dodge a stray paw clawing your way and you hear cracks in three different places that are honestly unbecoming of a woman your age. You haven’t even reached thirty yet, for god’s sake. “I’m a bad mother. But mom also had to skip dinner to make it to the seven PM meeting, so cut me some slack, okay?” 

A high-pitched “meooowr!” is the only response you get; it seems like there’s no excusing late dinner time this time around. 

As much as you’d like to hem and haw and complain, the main reason why you’re still keeping this job is because you can work remotely. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re stuck most days at home working hours past your regular nine to five, having to be on-call around the clock at all times, and that you’ve consumed more sodium than a nitrite victim with the way you live off cup ramen, then, really, it beats working in an office where you’d physically have to clock in and out from exactly nine to five. 

Your right eye twitches. No, I have not fallen in love with the system that exploits me, thank you very much. 

“Here is your Fancy Feast, your highness,” you tell the hungry feline who’s already ignoring the hand that feeds for the bowl full of white fish paté. He eats healthier than you, sure, but you work like this for him to eat like this. The life of a single mom is an uphill battle, but extremely rewarding. 

You raise your hand to pat your son’s head lovingly, aborting the gesture halfway when you hear a warning growl. Alright, tough crowd. 

After nuking a half-eaten takeout box in the microwave and grabbing a cold Bundaberg from the fridge, you hunker down on the “chaise lounge” (see: an old wingback and a rattan ottoman you’ve refurbished as a makeshift seat a few weeks back when you had guests over) for a late meal. 

You barely register the taste of lukewarm rice on your tongue, mouth moving mechanically while your mind runs on autopilot about everything and nothing at the same time. 

Maybe it’s time to check Jobstreet again

Is there like a laundromat near the area that’s open twenty four seven

Eugh, I hate cold peas

What do we feel about Chromakopia? 

I will… die alone

I really need to stock on some fresh produce this weekend—

Ping! 

A notification from your phone pulls you out of your thoughts—and like a well-trained dog pavlov’d into responding, you visibly perk up at the sight of your lock screen lighting up and the familiar banner you’ve already memorized by heart. 

Your Galaxy Explorer rewards are here. Did you put my hotel’s address as the shipping address? 

Ah, just like clockwork. 

You press on it with a quiet, bubbling anticipation, chewing on the plastic spork as you wait impatiently for the silly mobile game that’s been your short respite at intervals—for more than you’d care to admit—to boot up. 

Offhandedly, you wish that the devs would add more variations to the game’s push notifications; more random, personalized stuff like maybe a reminder to drink water, or a fun update about their day. What you’d give–pay–for a: "Less on the overtime, kitten. I miss you,” dialogue from a certain character, but you digress. 

Oh, well. Probably better this way, lest you dig yourself deeper into delusion. 

The game greets you with the usual picturesque view of a silver-haired man sitting cross-legged on a chair, looking all the bit at ease in his signature crimson and white button up. The warm ambience of the Destiny Café at night draws you in, already pulling your attention away from the never-ending stream of thoughts in your brain. 

“Before seeing you, I thought today would be another dull day,“ Sylus comments airily. The way he drawls out the words in that deep timbre of his voice never fails to make your heart flutter – just a teeeensy bit.

“Ever the charmer,” you sigh happily in return, situating yourself more comfortably on the sofa, almost horizontal from how far you’re leaning back on the cushion. “You’re looking awfully normal tonight. What, no pineapple glasses for your favorite girl?” 

Having bypassed the initial cringe of talking to yourself after literal months of gameplay, it almost comes off natural, the banter. You’ve already accepted the fact that you’re crazy about a fictional, pixelated man—what’s pretending to have actual conversations with him gonna do? It’s not as if he actually hears you yap your nonsense; there are worse things in the world than a parasocial attachment to an otome game character. 

Your little jab at the sometimes random addition to his choice of attire earns you a laugh from the man himself—or at least it looks as though it does, making you blink momentarily in surprise. Happy coincidence, I guess.

You shake your head, cracking a smile, then proceed to do the routine of completing the daily agenda and then some. 

It’s tedious business, sure. You’ve dedicated hours upon hours on this game and you’re honestly starting to feel pretty bored with some of the gameplay elements, but you *do* like the ritualistic nature of ticking off the tasks one by one. It’s almost ironic— the way you dutifully do one thing after the other in this game, just to avoid the pile of work that’s waiting for you in real life. 

It’s not as if anything, or anyone’s relying on you to do your daily log-ins, so you suppose it’s due to that lack of pressure as well. 

Pulling yourself away from the five-star Xavier memory card you’ve grinded to level seventy, you stare despondently at the sad little 2 on your remaining energy. The embarrassing amount of materials you lack to ascend the card seem to mock you, even as you exit the Memories window. Another goal for another day, perhaps.

All tasks on the daily agenda are complete, except for one that you’ve always saved for last.

You’re met with a standing Sylus on the game’s home screen, arms crossed and wearing an expression you’d almost describe as impatient, if you didn’t know any better. The sight makes you grin. 

Cheekily, you poke his crotch.

You’re looking forward to getting a playful remark, or if you’re lucky, a blush along with an embarrassed retort about your shamelessness. 

 What you get, however, is a resounding scoff. Your eyes snap back to his face – from, ahem, your prolonged staring at the area below his waist – and you do see the familiar tinge of pink on his cheeks, but what he says in response catches you off-guard.

“You spend that much resource for a card that isn’t mine?” Sylus tsks, both his voice and expression coming across as… affronted? “Kitten, I’m actually hurt.” 

Huh?

You haven’t heard that line from him before. Was there a recent update you weren’t aware of? The man in question then appears to look amused, from the way you’ve been rendered speechless by the unexpected dialogue. 

All at once, you gasp when you realize what the new response means. 

“That’s so smart,” you say giddily. You see Sylus cock his head to the side, synchronously quirking an eyebrow—expectant. “They actually added a feature that lets them know which memory I’ve upgraded last, and make you react to it. Oh, that’s so cool!” 

If you weren’t too busy being excited over what you think is a new update from the game,  you’d see the chagrined look on Sylus’ face. But when you glance back at him, all trace of the emotion is gone before you could notice anything different. 

“Don’t worry, Crow Man. You’re still my favorite,” you assure him, making his mouth tick upwards in a semblance of a smile. He looks pleased all of the sudden, his demeanor shifting into something more relaxed.

Then a pout forms on your face. You crinkle your nose in frustration as you complain, “It’s just really hard to level your cards up at this point. It takes ages and a shit ton of energy just to level you up past seventy five.” Sighing, you add, kind of bitterly, “And I’m too broke to be spending money on growth packs.” 

Checking the time on your phone, you see that you’ve already spent more than an hour on your self-imposed break time and you know that you ought to get back to work soon. With a groan, you pull yourself to sit upright, savoring the last few minutes of free time before you slave off for the rest of the night. 

You’re about to clean up what’s left of dinner when you notice the oddly thoughtful look on Sylus’ face. 

There’s a deep furrow in his brows as he brings a hand up to cover his mouth. He closes his eyes shut for a few seconds. He's never done that gesture before... Ugh, he looks really hot–

Suddenly, you see a flicker—then a weird, sort of graphic distortion happening in the background. Uh, what??

A beat; then a glitch on the screen. “Ah, shit.” 

The game crashes.

You exhale loudly as the game’s interface goes back to the loading screen, tapping your thumb impatiently as the bar slowly loads to 15%... 50%..... 81%....... 

“Maybe make sure to patch up first before releasing an update next time, jeez—huh?” 

For a quick second, nothing seems to be amiss. But then the first thing you see on the home screen is Sylus’ figure standing before you, wearing an expression one could only describe as a cat that ate the proverbial canary. 

He speaks— and it’s another intro you haven’t heard him say, ever. 

“You should’ve told me sooner, sweetie,” he almost coos the words out, making your eyes bug out in shock. 

“Now, why don’t you go check your–” he pauses, and his mouth moves as if he’s rolling the word out, testing it. “Inventory?” 

Sylus slides his gaze towards the upper left corner of the screen, a coy smirk still ever-present on his face. 

There, you see something you haven’t noticed earlier: two notification badges. One on your mailbox, and another on the Hunter’s Info tab. Bewildered, you press on the mail icon first, despite the insistence for you to start with the latter. 

You see a new message: [For You]

A small gift, to bridge our worlds closer. – S 

Nothing is attached to it. You read it twice, perplexed.  

“You’re quite the contradictorian, aren’t you?” Sylus tuts as soon as you return back to the home screen, his gaze boring into you even when he tilts his head sideways in mock exasperation. “Mmm, I suppose it doesn’t matter. Take all the time you need, sweetheart.” 

Helplessly, you open your inventory next. 

Your jaw drops. 

“What. The fuck,” You whisper to yourself, voice wavering in disbelief at what you’re seeing, and the sheer amount of what you’re seeing. “This—this can’t be real.” 

You see that all the materials you own, from the bottle of wishes to the ascension crystal boxes, have been multiplied a hundred times over.

And on top of that–

Ninety nine thousand red dias????

You cannot believe how this—this recent… update (or is it a bug? Infold sure isn’t this generous) didn't make the news. Even as someone as uninvolved as you are with the community and the game’s latest releases, something like this for sure would’ve made headlines on Twitter (X), at least. But you haven’t heard anything. Nada. 

Holy shit. 

You feel a little light-headed, both from incredulity and excitement. Needing a moment to calm yourself down, you exit the Inventory tab in a daze.

You stare at Sylus. He stares back at you with what looks to be mirth in his eyes. 

Skeptically, you mutter, “did–did I get hacked or something?” 

Anticipating another unexpected dialogue to prompt up, you wait for a full minute without saying anything else. And for a moment, the man in front of you looks indecisive, contemplative. 

There’s something very odd, very… human in the way he’s looking at you. He looks as if– as if he’s—

His face falls back into a neutral expression. Not unlike how his idle animation usually looks. 

..

…

….. It doesn’t seem like he’s going to initiate a conversation any time soon, so you hesitantly poke him on the nose. 

“Even in the worst-case scenario, there’s no need to panic.”

You’ve heard that one before.

So he’s back to normal now. You temper the small disappointment that blooms in your gut. 

Shaking your head slowly, you try to make sense of all the stuff that just happened, but a sharp bite on your ankle pulls you out of your reverie. 

“Ow–!” The sight of your cat flopping near your feet reminds you of the time. More importantly, the backlogs waiting for you at your desk. 

“Wait, shit– I gotta get back to work.” This… unbelievable stroke of good luck (?) is gonna have to take a backseat for now.

You grab the carton box and the half-empty bottle of sparkling peach as you stand up. Making quick work of throwing the container in the trash and gulping down the rest of your drink, you rush into your room and back in front of your PC. 

Cracking your knuckles, you gingerly set your phone against the monitor. Setting the timer to one hour in Quality Time, knowing fully-well that you’re going to have to keep extending it until the wee hours of the morning—or until your battery dies, whichever comes first—you give Sylus one last look, letting out a long exhale before locking in.

“Just keep me company for the night, alright? I’ll figure out what’s going on once my shift’s over.” 

-

It could just be your overactive imagination, but you swear you hear a quiet chuckle from the man polishing his gun in your peripheral.

[ahqkas]

“CRY BABY — jason todd.

PAIRING ! jason todd 𝒙 fem!reader SYNOPSIS! your boyfriend’s here, doesn’t matter if you need him during an important task. you need him now so that’s what he does; he shows up. WORD COUNT! 2.6k WARNINGS / TAGS! fluff, mention of reader’s hair + lmk if more found ! NOTES! based on this req.!! header bellow belongs to @/v6que © ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE GROCERY STORE WAS UNUSUALLY CROWDED FOR A FRIDAY EVENING, the fluorescent lights overhead buzzing faintly as you shuffled through the small grocery shop. You grabbed a cart and slowly pushed it past the holiday display at the entrance. The pine garlands and cinnamon-scented candles filled the air with cheerfulness of the holidays that felt out of place for your mood. The day had been fine, but a little . . . heavy, like the edges of everything you did were frayed. Shopping for groceries was supposed to be routine, calming even, but tonight it felt more like a chore.

You started in the produce section, eyeing the dark red apples stacked neatly in pyramids. Jason liked apples, especially sliced up with peanut butter, and you didn’t have any at home. You grabbed a few, along with a small bag of clementines—they were on sale, and the idea of peeling one later sounded comforting. You added some spinach to the cart, though you weren’t ure what you’d do with it yet.

The next aisle had the coffee and teas. You hesitated in front of the shelves, scanning for Jason’s favorite blend. He always said he didn’t care what kind of coffee it was as long as it had caffeine, but you knew he liked the dark roast with the smoky flavor. So, you grabbed a bag and tossed it into the cart before picking up a box of black tea for yourself.

In the dairy section, you grabbed a carton of eggs and some milk, along with a tub of the fancy Greek yogurt Jason pretended to hate but always ate half of when you weren’t looking. You added a block of cheddar cheese too, because he always complained when you didn’t have any “real cheese” in the fridge.

Finally, you grabbed a loaf of bread and a box of pasta before heading to the candy aisle. You’d been eyeing the peppermint bark in the holiday section earlier but didn’t grab it. Now you plucked a small bar of it off the shelf and dropped it into the cart. A little indulgence couldn’t hurt.

The cart wasn’t full, but it was enough. Enough to get through the week, enough to stock your kitchen for the nights Jason decided to stay over and make himself at home. He didn’t live with you—not officially—but his presence lingered in your apartment like a second heartbeat.

You made my way to the registers, where the lines were moving slowly. It was late, but the store was still busy, the energy of people rushing to finish errands before closing time crackling faintly in the air. You took your place in line, watching other customers inch forward and fiddling with the edge of your scarf.

It wasn’t a bad day, you reminded yourself, just a heavy one. You would unload the groceries back at home, make some tea, and settle in for the evening. Maybe you’d call Jason later, hear his voice and let the rough warmth of it carry you into something softer. The thought made the corner of your mouth twitch up in the faintest smile. And maybe he could even stop by, spend the night.

That thought warmed your heart.

The line at the register moved slower than you expected, giving you too much time to stand there, awkwardly fiddling with your scarf and glancing at your cart. The apples and kettle chips sat next to each other, an odd little pairing that made you think of your boyfriend. He’d swipe one of each, snack in hand, smirking like he’d outsmarted the whole grocery system.

Finally, your turn came, and you pushed the cart forward. The cashier was a lanky teenager with a mop of greasy hair tucked under his name-tagged baseball cap. His name tag read Trevor, but his expression read bored in bold letters. He glanced up at you briefly, his eyes darting over your cart with the kind of disdain only a teenager could muster before going back to his phone.

“Hey,” you greeted the kid politely, smiling despite yourself as you began unloading your groceries onto the conveyor belt.

“Yeah, hey,” Trevor muttered, clearly distracted as he shoved his phone into his pocket. He hit a button on the register with a little too much force and sighed loudly, like the very act of being here was an affront to his existence.

You handed over the loaf of bread first, thinking maybe you could set the pace for a smooth interaction. Trevor grabbed it and scanned it without a word.

“Paper or plastic?” he asked flatly, not bothering to meet your eyes.

“Um, paper, please.”

Trevor reached for the bags, shoving the bread in haphazardly before grabbing the apples next. The bag tipped slightly, the loaf threatening to crumple. You winced internally but said nothing, figuring it wasn’t worth the trouble.

As he scanned the rest of your items, you started to pull out your wallet. Your fingers fumbled for a moment as you searched for your debit card, the silence stretching uncomfortably.

“Do you, like, need the receipt?” Trevor mumbled under his nose, tossing it into the bag before you could answer.

“Um—yes, please,” you said quietly, slipping your card out of the wallet at last.

The teenager rolled his eyes, exhaling loudly. “Next time, maybe have it ready? Kinda holding up the line.”

The words hit you like a splash of cold water. You froze for a moment, face flushing as you quickly swiped your card through the reader. Your hand trembled just enough to make you fumble again, and you could feel the heat of embarrassment crawling up your neck.

“Sorry,” you mumbled, not daring to meet his eyes as you hurried to finish.

Trevor didn’t respond to you anymore. “Next!”

You grabbed your bags as quickly as you could, your vision blurring slightly as you turned away from the register. Your chest felt tight, the weight of the embarrassing moment pressing against the bones of your ribs as you hurried out of the store.

By the time you reached your parked car, the tension had built to a boiling point. You set the bags down in the passenger seat and slid into the driver’s seat, closing the door behind you with a soft click. The space felt safe, isolated from the world, and as soon as you were alone, the tears spilled over.

It wasn’t just the kid or his tone—it was everything. The way the week had dragged on endlessly, the tiny moments of frustration piling up like bricks until this one insignificant encounter became the tipping point.

You pressed your palms against the steering wheel, breathing uneven as the tears came in quiet, hot streams. They weren’t loud or desperate, just a release, a way to let go of the tension that had been weighing you down all day.

After a few minutes, the sobs subsided, leaving you feeling raw but lighter. You wiped at your face with your sleeve, sniffing softly as you leaned back against the headrest. The worst of it was over, but the ache lingered, a reminder of how fragile the balance could be sometimes. What you needed now was something solid, something warm to remind you the world wasn’t as heavy as it seemed.

Reaching for your phone, you scrolled through your contacts, thumb hovering over his name for a moment before you pressed it. The line rang twice before his voice came through, low and rough but tinged with familiarity and care. Jason always had a way of grounding you, his voice a tether when the world felt too loud.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his tone already softer than usual. “What’s going on?”

And just like that, the weight in your chest started to ease.

“Hi,” you said, the word wobbling despite your best effort. “Are you busy?”

There was a beat of silence, the kind that told you he’d caught on. Jason’s voice shifted, quieter but firm, like a hand on your shoulder. “No, I’m not busy. You okay? You sound . . . upset.”

You hesitated, the urge to downplay it bubbling up. “I’m fine,” you said quickly, though you knew it wasn’t convincing. “Just . . . had a moment. Nothing big, I promise.”

“Sweetheart,” Jason interrupted gently, his voice like a steady anchor. “Don’t do that thing where you act like it doesn’t matter. Talk to me.”

You sighed, resting your head against the window now. “I don’t know,” you admitted. “It’s stupid. A cashier was kind of rude, and it just . . . got to me. I cried about it in the car, and I feel better now, but I guess I just—” Your voice cracked, and you exhaled shakily. “I wanted to hear you.”

Jason didn’t respond right away, but the silence wasn’t heavy. It was the kind of pause that said he was listening, thinking about the best way to hold you from a distance. When he spoke again, his tone was warm and firm, a voice that could steady mountains.

“First of all, it’s not stupid,” he said. “People can be jerks, and it’s okay to feel what you feel. You don’t have to justify that to me—or to anyone.”

A small smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. He always had a way of cutting through the noise in your head, finding the simplest truth in it all. “Thanks,” you murmured.

“Where are you?” he asked. “Still in the car?”

“Yeah,” you admitted. “Just . . . sitting in the parking lot.”

He hummed softly, the sound almost like a purr through the receiver. “Okay. Here’s what we’re gonna do. Take a deep breath for me—nice and slow. Can you do that?”

You nodded before realizing he couldn’t see you. “Yeah,” you said softly, following his instruction. The air filled your lungs like it hadn’t in hours, grounding you.

“Good,” Jason praised. “Now, I’m on my way to you. Sit tight, and don’t you dare think about apologizing for needing me.”

“Jason,” you started, but he cut you off.

“Don’t ‘Jason’ me, sweetheart. You’re my girl. That means if you need me, I’m there. Simple as that.”

The lump in your throat returned, but this time, it was different—softer, less heavy. “Thank you,” you whispered.

“Always,” he replied, and you could hear the faint sound of him grabbing his keys. “Now stay where you are. I’ll be there soon. And when I get there, I’m giving you a hug so big, you’re gonna forget what the cashier even looked like.”

You laughed softly, the warmth of it surprising you. “I’d like that.”

“Good,” Jason said, his voice lighter now. “I’ll see you soon, baby. Just hang tight for me.”

The call ended, and though the ache hadn’t fully disappeared, it was quieter now, tempered by the knowledge that he was coming. Jason didn’t just make the world feel manageable—he made it feel safe, like no matter how overwhelming the little things got, he’d always be there to pull you back to solid ground.

Ten minutes later, a sharp, sudden knock on the car window startled you out of your thoughts. You jumped in the seat, heart leaping into your throat as you turned to look—and there he was, standing outside in the cold, his broad shoulders hunched slightly against the wind. Jason’s cheeks and nose were flushed a soft pink from the winter air, and he had one hand shoved into the pocket of his leather jacket, the other gesturing for you to roll the window down.

You blinked, processing his presence as he gave you a small, crooked smile through the glass. “Come on, sweetheart,” he called, his voice muffled but still rich and warm, like it carried all the heat you’d been missing. “You gonna let me freeze out here or what?”

Scrambling, you fumbled with the controls and rolled the window down halfway. “Jason? What are you doing here?” Your voice wavered between shock and something lighter, something closer to relief.

He gave a soft huff, his breath visible in the cold air. “You really think I was just gonna sit around after that phone call? Get outta the car, baby.”

You hesitated for a moment, the weight of the earlier tears still clinging to you, but his steady gaze left no room for argument. With a sigh, you grabbed your scarf and pushed the door open, stepping out into the biting cold.

As soon as you were standing in front of him, Jason’s hands found your shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he guided you closer towards him. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low and earnest, his green eyes scanning your face like he was trying to read all the parts of you you hadn’t said aloud.

You nodded, but the way your chin trembled betrayed me. “I’m fine,” I responded quietly, even though the words felt flimsy. “I was feeling better after we talked, really. You didn’t have to come all the way out here—”

Jason cut you off with a soft, knowing sound, one of his hands moving to brush a stray strand of hair from your face. His touch lingered, his knuckles warm against your cheek. “Yeah, I did,” his tone left no room for debate.

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the cold wrapping around you but unable to penetrate the bubble of warmth his presence created. His thumb grazed your cheekbone, and you realized you had been leaning into his hand without thinking.

“You’ve been crying,” he said softly, the observation carrying no judgment, only quiet understanding. “You don’t have to pretend with me, y’know. Not ever.”

The lump in your throat returned, but it was smaller now, manageable. You took a shaky breath and gave him a faint smile. “I just felt stupid crying over something so little. I didn’t want to bother you.”

Jason’s brows knit together, his expression turning almost stern. “Hey,” he exclaimed, tilting your chin up so you had to meet his eyes. “Your feelings aren’t little. And I told you—no matter what, I’m here. You don’t bother me, alright?”

You nodded, swallowing hard as the weight of his words settled over you like a blanket. His sincerity had a way of melting through all the self-doubt you carried, leaving only the quiet reassurance of his steady presence.

“Good,” he said after a moment, his hand dropping to take yours instead. He laced your fingers together, his grip firm and grounding. “Now, give me your keys.”

You blinked up at him. “What?”

He smirked, his nose still adorably rosy from the cold. “You’re not driving, sweetheart. Not when you’ve had a day like this. I’m taking you home.”

“You didn’t bring your bike?” you teased faintly, trying to lighten the mood.

Jason snorted. “In this weather? Hell no. Now quit stalling and hand ’em over.”

Reluctantly, you pulled the keys from your pocket and dropped them into his waiting hand. He gave you an approving nod before tugging you toward the passenger side door.

“Come on,” he said, opening it for you like the gentleman he only pretended not to be. “Get in. I’ll crank the heat for you.”

As you slid into the seat, Jason closed the door behind you and walked around to the driver’s side, his movements easy and confident despite the chill. When he settled in and started the car, the warmth of the heater began to fill the space, and for the first time that evening, you felt completely safe.

Jason reached over, brushing his hand across your thigh in a gesture so casual yet intimate it made your chest ache. “See? Already better,” he said, glancing at you with a lopsided grin.

And as the car pulled away from the parking lot, the groceries safely tucked in the back and Jason by your side, you couldn’t help but think he was right.

[chefs-other-corner]

Sick Days |Zoey|

☆Paring: Rumi x Zoey x Mira

☆Tags: SIck Fic, fluff, a pinch of angst, a dash of hurt/comfort, and just a shit ton of domestic fluff

☆Sum Sum: Zoey Gets sick this time, her girlys take care of her   ☆Word count: 714

☆Note: This was BASED AND FULLY INSPIRDE BY THIS POST, The one behind it is called fishsticks231 uhhh idk how to add it so I'll just (bloop) Here it isss ────── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──────

Zoey had a system. Step 1: Pedialyte. Step 2: Saltines. Step 3: Vomit in private. Step 4: Bathtub nest. This wasn’t her first rodeo with bad street dumplings. It wouldn’t be her last.

She hated getting sick. Not in the “ugh, this sucks” way—but in the deep, gnawing, makes-her-feel-like-a-burden kind of way. Mira and Rumi didn’t deserve to deal with her like this. So she did what she always did when her stomach turned against her: she locked herself in the bathroom with a pack of granola bars, her water bottle, and every blanket she could steal from the linen closet.

That was around noon.

It was nearly 6pm when Rumi came home, pushing the door open with her shoulder, arms full of plastic bags from the pharmacy.

“Z?” she called. “Got the stomach meds. And the fancy crackers you like.”

No answer.

The light was on in the bathroom.

She walked in—and froze.

Zoey was curled up in the actual bathtub. Blankets, two pillows, a half-empty bottle of Pedialyte cradled against her chest like a baby. Face pale, lips dry, sweat sticking to her hairline. Fast asleep. She looked… wilted.

“Oh my god,” Rumi muttered.

She dropped the bag and stepped closer. “Zoey?” She reached out, touched her arm.

Zoey stirred weakly. “Mmph… I’m good,” she croaked.

“No, you’re not.” Rumi didn’t waste time arguing. She leaned down, scooped Zoey up bridal-style, and carried her out like a princess in crisis.

“Put me back,” Zoey mumbled, already burrowing into Rumi’s shoulder. “I had a system…”

“Your system sucks.”

By the time Mira got home, Zoey was tucked into bed, face flushed and furrowed in half-sleep. Rumi was perched on the edge with a cold rag in her hand.

“She was in the tub,” Rumi told her. “With pillows.”

Mira sighed like she expected nothing less. “Food poisoning again?”

“Street dumplings.”

“Jesus Christ.”

Zoey stirred, eyes slitting open. “Sorry,” she rasped.

“Don’t be,” Mira said immediately, crossing the room and setting down a tray with soup and toast. “You’re sick. You don’t need to apologize for needing things.”

“But I feel bad…” Zoey mumbled. “You guys are busy, and I—I hate when people have to do stuff for me.”

“You’re not ‘stuff,’ Zoey.” Rumi reached out, brushing sweaty hair from her forehead. “You’re our person. That’s different.”

Zoey didn’t say anything. But she looked away, quiet in that way she always got when her guilt was louder than her stomach.

It took both of them to lure her out again later when the nausea eased. Mira crouched in the doorway with a bowl of chicken noodle soup and said, very seriously, “Zoey. I will slide this under the door like a can of tuna. Don’t make me do it.”

Zoey opened the door five minutes later, still swaying.

“I brushed my teeth,” she announced. “And I gargled. I didn’t want to smell like barf.”

“Great,” Mira said. “Now you’re going to shower.”

“I already wiped down with a wet rag…”

“Shower.”

Eventually, Zoey was clean, redressed in Mira’s oversized hoodie, hair damp, breath minty. Mira brought her back to bed while Rumi went to reheat her soup. She still looked fragile—like one more wrong move would break her.

“Sit,” Mira said gently, guiding her down. Then she knelt behind her and picked up a brush.

Zoey stiffened. “You don’t have to—”

“Zoey.”

Her mouth shut.

The brush ran through her tangles slow and smooth, no tugging, no rush. Mira had always been careful with her like this—especially when Zoey was too tired to pretend she didn’t need it.

Eventually, Zoey relaxed. Her head tilted back slightly, her shoulders sank.

“You’re not too much,” Mira said quietly, still brushing. “You never are.”

Zoey didn’t respond. She just blinked slow, eyes falling shut, until her breathing evened out. Mira kept brushing long after Zoey was asleep, her fingers light in the hair she once dyed bubblegum pink just for a concert.

Rumi came back in and smiled when she saw them.

“She’s out?”

Mira nodded.

“She didn’t finish the soup.”

“She will in the morning.”

They climbed in beside her, one on each side, tucking Zoey between them like the most precious, pitiful stray cat who forgot how to ask for help—but still deserved it anyway.

Part one Part Three

[cece693]

Hannibal x male reader who is seemingly not that bright been getting away with murder for a LONG time (primary targets r pedos) and 1 night when Hannibal is disposing a body he sees reader doing the same by making it seem like the most recent victim simply died in a cave system?

Thanks for the ask! I changed your request slightly since I thought of ideas for a 'himbo' reader. In this fic, the reader is smart but acts dumb to stray people from looking into his murders. Kinda like Hannibal, but the reader knows if he acts clueless, people would overlook him. It isn't what you asked for, but I think it came out alright. Hope you enjoy!

The Unlikely Confluence

pairing: hannibal lecter x male reader tags: you're a murderer, duh, dinner invitations, I changed your ask to have the reader be bright but act like a dummy in the presence of others, I want to write for himbo readers separately, I actually have a lot of ideas and would like to flesh them out in another post :)

You hum softly to yourself, the quiet of the night pressing around you like a heavy blanket. The noises that do manage to break into your concentration—a cricket’s chirp, the low hoot of an owl—seem distant, as though you’ve chosen to exist in a dimension occupied solely by you and your current task. The flashlight between your teeth flickers, illuminating the dripping limestone walls. You pause and delicately shift it in your mouth to bite down on a less chewed groove. It’s easy to lose track of the right angle when you’re elbow-deep in mud and rock, but you can’t afford to drop your only source of light down here.

You’ve never been one to study complicated subjects or chase lofty degrees. People say you’re not that bright, and, in some ways, you agree. Patience has never been your strong suit either; you prefer the direct route in life. You don’t need fancy words to let you know how the world works. If anything, your unassuming nature has become a perfect cloak, allowing you to slip under the radar. And that small oversight on people’s part has kept you alive—and, more importantly, uncaught—for years.

Tonight, you’re making it look like yet another unseemly accident. There’s a labyrinthine network of caves beyond city limits—poorly marked and rarely frequented except by adventurous spelunkers who think they can handle nature’s darkest corners. It’s the ideal place to ensure a body won’t be found, at least not until time and moisture have had their way with it. The person you’re disposing of isn’t exactly a pillar of the community—like most of your targets, he wouldn’t have garnered pity if the world discovered his predilections. You’ve done the world a favor, or at least that’s how you justify it.

You straighten, wiping your brow, and set the flashlight on a jagged rock shelf so you can wrestle the limp body deeper into the shadows. The entire place smells like damp earth and stale air, with the faint metallic bite of blood that you’ve tried hard to rinse away. Suddenly, the small hairs on the back of your neck prickle.

You still.

It’s that primal warning that tells you something is there—someone is there—watching. Standing absolutely still, you pull in a breath, then slowly edge one hand into your jacket pocket. The blade there is a last resort; you’re not used to being caught off-guard. So you wait, quietly, mentally cursing yourself for letting your guard down.

A voice curls through the darkness like a silky cat: “I do hope I’m not interrupting.”

You would know that cultured lilt anywhere—on the news, from that one time you met him in person and swore you’d never get close again. Hannibal Lecter steps forward with the elegance of a well-groomed feline, eyes bright with a curiosity that you can’t fully parse. He carries a bundle wrapped in dark cloth—about the size of a human torso.

His eyes roam the scene, taking in the soaked cuffs of your pants, the wet stains on your jacket, the fresh scuff marks in the mud. You feel suddenly self-conscious, though you can’t quite place why. You’re covered in dirt, blood spatter, and your hair is plastered flat on your forehead. He, by contrast, remains immaculate even in this dank space, as though filth simply doesn’t dare cling to him.

“And who, might I ask, is your unfortunate friend?”

You let out a laugh that comes out more as a short bark. “Somebody who deserved it. I…I only go after certain sorts.” You’re not sure why you choose to disclose that, but something about him invites honesty. Maybe it’s the way he stares like he can peel your mind open on a cutting board.

“Do you?” he prompts, voice curiously gentle.

You nod, a tension flooding out of your shoulders. “Pedophiles,” you say, near-spitting the word. “World won’t miss him.”

There's a flicker in his gaze, surprise and something else—approval, maybe. “I see.”

It strikes you that you might not be the only one in the world who carefully selects their victims. And you can’t help but wonder what draws his lines, what cause Hannibal Lecter finds worthy of a final punishment.

“So, what now?” you ask, looking him in the eye, though you can’t hold that intense gaze for long. “We pretend we didn't see each other and go our merry way or...?"

He seems slightly amused by your directness. “It would be prudent for us both to complete our business and leave no trace.” His gaze shifts to the body behind you, then to the corpse-shaped object wrapped at his feet. “I won’t stand in your way, and I ask for the same courtesy. Mutual benefit.”

You look him over. His posture is relaxed, but you sense the tension in the lines of his shoulders—he’s coiled, ready to spring if he has to. You’re not naive enough to think you have any upper hand. Although some might say you’re a bit slow on the uptake, you’ve got an instinct for trouble. And Hannibal Lecter practically vibrates with it. Yet, he hasn't pounced. There's something else: curiosity in his eyes, a calm, amused interest that doesn't read as immediate hostility. For a man with his intellect, maybe you spark some sense of fascination, an aberration from the norm.

“Guess there's enough space for the two of us.”

An understanding passes between you in the stale, humid air. Neither of you voices the obvious: if one betrays the other, you risk your own exposure. Returning to your tasks, you awkwardly step aside to let him pass. He does so, a soft swirl of expensive fabric brushing past your jacket. Together—but not quite side by side—you maneuver deeper into the winding tunnels. The hush of dripping water and your own carefully measured footsteps become a strange rhythm, punctuated only by Hannibal’s occasional murmur of observation:

“Mind the uneven rock there.” “You seem well-practiced in this.” “Let’s ensure we depart long before dawn.”

He never says your name; you never give it. For the next hour, you’re simply two men working in tandem—clearing away mud, setting remains in places that will be submerged by the rising water, carefully packing out anything that could link either of you to the scene. “Thanks,” you said quietly, hardly believing your own luck. “Never worked with someone before.”

“Nor I. Typically I work in solitude.” He stepped aside, letting you get your footing. The both of you stared at the bodies—yours tucked cleverly against a rocky pool, his still in the tarpaulin. With the ground mostly rid of footprints, Hannibal jerked his chin toward the cave’s deeper passages. “I’ll finish up in another chamber,” he said. “And you…?”

You stuffed your hands in your pockets, trying to feign a clueless shrug, but you felt a twitch of excitement. This man—this gentleman in fine suits, who carried bodies around like an art piece—was oddly magnetic. “Think I’ll head home,” you said. “Probably break up the night with a snack.”

Hannibal stepped closer, just enough that you caught the scent of his cologne—something subtle, refined. “A snack,” he echoed. “That reminds me: might I invite you to my home for dinner sometime?”

You blinked, processing the abrupt invitation. “Dinner?”

His lips curved. “Yes. Given that we share such distinctive interests, I’d like to hear your stories. You have an unexpectedly clever mind, and I have quite the appetite for intriguing conversation.”

You considered it, but were uncertain. “I’m not exactly the fancy type.”

His voice went low, confident. “I can assure you, I welcome many sorts at my table. Even those who might appear less worldly than they truly are.”

Before your mind could protest, you found yourself giving him a slow nod. The quiet quake of adrenaline that had thrummed through your body for the past half hour melted away into a cautious, enthralled acceptance. “Sure,” you muttered at last. “I…That’d be nice.”

Hannibal’s smile deepened by a fraction, as though you’d passed some unspoken test. “I’ll find a way to contact you,” he said, sounding reassuringly certain. Then he inclined his head. “Best not to dally. We both have details to complete before the sun’s up.”

With that, he turned, footsteps echoing into the far recesses of the cavern, dragging the tarpaulin-wrapped body behind him with a grace that belonged nowhere near such a macabre chore. You stood motionless, watching until the darkness swallowed him whole. A shaky exhale left your lungs. You felt like you’d just survived a near-death encounter, yet emerged with an odd sense of possibility. You didn’t know whether Hannibal Lecter was a man to be feared or revered—maybe both. Whatever lay ahead, dinner with Dr. Hannibal Lecter would be anything but ordinary.

[rodentluvrr]

A helping hand

Pairing: Law x reader Summary: When you're rushing to submit your university application on the last possible day, an unexpected encounter with a tall, tattooed surgeon at a hotel makes everything a bit less/more complicated. CW: Anxiety, procrastination, swearing, college mentioned Word count: 3k+ words Tags: Modern AU, romance, enemies to lovers lowkey, slow burn, humor, surgeon/medical A/N: YOU FREAKS IM BACK‼️‼️ This fic literally happened to me in real life like it's inspired from personal experience —well, unfortunately without the Law part—but it felt like something straight out of a movie/fanfic and it NEEDED to exist out there. Anyway so if any of you want a continuation perhaps....it could turn into a series????😏 I had so much fun writing the dialogue between law and reader. Hope u enjoyyy. Let me know what u think :)

Returning from a short vacation at your parents’ house should have been easy. But today, it felt unbearable. The heat was suffocating, the city streets felt endless, and none of it compared to the real problem at hand—the fact that today was the deadline for your university application.

You had plenty of time. You knew this was coming. And yet, you spent the past week lounging on your parents’ couch, ignoring the looming deadline in favor of doing absolutely nothing. Now, in a desperate attempt to salvage your future, you were running through the city, searching for any open internet café.

Most were closed. They had small hordes of nerdy teenage boys loitering around, waiting for them to open and idly waste the afternoon on video games. When you asked, they shrugged, saying the cafés wouldn’t open for at least another hour.

You didn’t have an hour.

Panic clawed at your throat as you checked the time. If you didn’t register for your third year, you’d be disqualified—or, at the very least, your life would become infinitely more complicated. Your stomach twisted at the thought. Every step you took through the crowded streets felt heavier, more hopeless. You weren’t going to make it.

Then, you saw it. A hotel. It wasn’t fancy—probably a budget-friendly place for travelers passing through. It was your last hope.

You pushed through the glass doors without thinking, zeroing in on the man behind the reception desk. He had been talking to someone when you entered, but their conversation stopped the moment you rushed forward. You didn’t even spare the other man a glance. You didn’t have time for that.

The receptionist listened to your rushed, panicked explanation and, to your surprise, nodded in understanding.

“Actually, the hotel has a computer room available. You can use it,” he said.

Relief flooded you. “Thank you—seriously, thank you.”

He led you to the room, and the moment you stepped inside, your heart sank. It was small, cluttered, barely more than a glorified storage closet. And the computer—God, the computer looked ancient, a relic from the 90s covered in dust.

But you didn’t care.

You sat down, powered it on, logged in, and started filling out your information. Everything was going fine. Until the screen suddenly froze.

Your breath caught in your throat.

“No, no, no. Fuck- You have to be kidding me.” This cannot be happening right now. Someone must’ve cursed you. How could you be so unlucky?

Frantically, you clicked the mouse. Nothing. You pressed a few keys. Still nothing. The whole system had locked up.

Swearing under your breath, you stormed back to the reception. “The computer froze. Can you help?”

The man frowned, following you back into the room. He sat at the desk, clicking a few things, but it was clear he had no idea what he was doing. The more he fumbled, the worse you felt.

Then, sighing in defeat, he stood. “I’ll ask someone.”

You barely paid attention as he left the room and called out into the lobby. “Law?Do you know anything about computers? Come help.”

Heavy footsteps approached. A second later, another man entered the room. It was the man the receptionist had been talking to when you came.

And just like that, your stomach flipped for an entirely different reason.

He was tall. His presence filled the room instantly, suffocating in an entirely new way. He barely glanced at you as he moved toward the desk, but in that fleeting moment, you took in everything. Dark eyes. Tattoos, sprawling up his arms and chest, creeping beneath the open collar of his shirt. And his hands—his fingers were long, marked with the word DEATH, and it was ridiculous, truly ridiculous, how your mind wandered for a second too long about what those hands would feel like around your throat. Something about his presence made it hard to look away.

Your body felt too warm. You blamed the heat.

He sat in front of the computer, working quietly. He moved with precision, like he already knew the problem before even touching the keyboard. The other man had to return to the reception desk, leaving you two alone in the small room.

Then, without looking up, he asked, “What’s your name?”

His voice was deep. Slow. You hated that it sent a small shiver down your spine.

You told him.

He finally glanced at you, shaking your hand. His grip was firm, warm fingers enveloped your hand.

“Trafalgar Law,” he said simply.

You raised a brow. “That’s a mouthful.”

“You can just call me Law.”

Your fingers slipped from his, but he didn’t move away, still focused on the computer.

“So,” he said, “what exactly were you trying to do here, young lady?”

Young lady? You bristled.

“Trying to submit my college application,” you muttered, arms crossing.

A smirk tugged at his lips. “Left it for the last minute, didn’t you?”

You scoffed. “Thanks for the reminder, Mr. Perfect.” Your irritation flared. He didn’t know you. He didn’t know anything about you.

He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head before his eyes flicked back to you. “What are you even doing here, anyway? You don’t look like a tourist.”

You shifted, hesitating for a moment before answering. “I was visiting my parents. But I’m leaving in a couple of hours.”

His smirk faltered—just for a second, so quick you almost missed it.

“I could say the same about you,” you added, tilting your head.

His smirk widened just slightly. “I’m here for a medical convention.”

That caught your attention. You blinked. “Wait—you’re a doctor?”

His gaze met yours, unreadable. “Surgeon.”

You didn’t know why that information made your stomach flip. Maybe it was the way he said it. Or the way he was still looking at you, like he was waiting for something.

The computer’s screen was dark now. The man—Law—tried to turn it back on, but nothing happened. Neither of you spoke.

He held your gaze for a second too long, as if deciding something. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and walked out. You were left with only the hum of the old computer.

You exhaled sharply.

What the hell was that?

Before you could make sense of the moment, he returned—this time carrying a sleek, modern laptop. He set it down on the desk in front of you, flipping it open with one hand.

“Use this,” he said simply.

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

“The hotel’s computer is ancient. You’re wasting your time.” He leaned against the desk, arms crossed over his chest. “Use mine.”

You hesitated. “Are you sure?”

“If I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have offered.”

His tone was dismissive, like you were wasting his time by questioning him. Rolling your eyes, you sat down and pulled the laptop closer. It was fast, responsive—so much better than the dinosaur of a computer you had been struggling with.

You started typing, fully aware of his presence hovering nearby.

After a minute, you glanced at him. “Are you just gonna stand there?”

“In case you need help.”

You scoffed. “Oh, so now you’re an expert on university applications too?”

A smirk tugged at his lips. “No, but considering you waited until the last second to do this, I’d say you could use some supervision.”

You shot him a glare. “I don’t need supervision.”

“Debatable.”

Your fingers tightened around the mouse, and you forced yourself to focus on filling out the application instead of arguing with him. But it wasn’t easy, not when you could feel his gaze lingering, watching your every move.

After a minute, you glanced up, noticing the tattoos creeping out from under his sleeves.

“Seriously?” you said, cocking an eyebrow. “Trying to look mysterious with all that ink? You think that makes you intimidating?”

His eyes flickered to his tattoos before returning to yours. There was something a little smug about the way he smirked. “Maybe I like it,” he said, a glint of challenge in his voice. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

You laughed, leaning back slightly in the chair, eyeing him. “Oh, I’m sure you think it makes you look all tough. But what’s the deal with all of it? Some kind of ‘bad boy’ aesthetic you’re going for?”

He raised an eyebrow at you, unamused. “It’s not about looking tough. It’s about expression. You wouldn’t understand.”

“Expression, huh?” You smirked, your fingers moving faster over the keyboard, trying to focus. “Looks more like a cry for attention to me.”

His lips curled into a darker smile, the playful tone shifting into something more intense. “Maybe I want people to notice. Maybe I don’t care if you understand.”

“Yeah, I bet. Probably trying to distract everyone from your actual personality,” you shot back, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “What’s next? You’re gonna tell me you’ve got some deep, brooding backstory to go along with all this art?”

He gave you a flat look, but the smirk never fully left his lips. “If I did, I wouldn’t be sharing it with someone who can’t even bother to apply to university on time.”

Your head snapped up, eyes flashing. “Oh, you’re gonna bring that up again?”

He shrugged, uncaring. “What can I say? I’m just pointing out the obvious. You seem like the type to talk a big game but can’t back it up when it matters.”

“You’re full of yourself, huh?” You leaned forward, looking directly at him. “Maybe you’re just mad because you’re too busy getting tattoos to actually have any real emotions. Trying to hide behind your ink?”

His eyes narrowed, an edge to his voice now. “You don’t know shit about me.”

You couldn’t help the challenge that rose within you. “Yeah, well, you don’t exactly seem like the type to open up to anyone.”

The tension between you grew, charged and thick, but neither of you looked away. The air was filled with a sharp sort of energy, the kind that made everything feel slightly out of control.

He broke the silence first, his tone still steady but carrying an edge. “What makes you think I want to open up to you?”

You shrugged, lips curling into a taunting smile. “Maybe because you're not as tough as you act. You’re just scared of someone seeing through your bullshit.”

He looked at you for a long moment, his gaze flicking over your face like he was sizing you up. Then, without a word, he turned his attention back to the laptop and leaned against the desk again, his posture rigid, as if you’d pushed him too far.

For a few beats, neither of you said anything.

Silence stretched between you, heavy with something unspoken.

Then, he spoke. “You said you’re leaving in a few hours?”

You nodded. “Yeah. My bus is later today.”

He hummed in acknowledgment, but he didn’t move. If anything, he seemed to settle in, as if this was exactly where he intended to be.

Curiosity got the better of you. “So, what exactly do you do?”

He glanced at you, then exhaled through his nose, almost like he wasn’t planning to answer. But after a beat, he did. “I’m a surgeon. I told you, didn’t I?”

Your hands paused over the keyboard. “…Wait, seriously?”

“No, I’m lying for fun.”

You rolled your eyes, but there was no mistaking the flicker of surprise that crossed your face. So he wasn’t lying? He didn’t seem much older than you—mid-to-late twenties, maybe—and yet, a surgeon? That explained the quiet confidence, the sharp, assessing way he looked at things.

“Huh.” You returned to typing, still processing the thought. “I guess that makes sense.”

“What does?”

You hesitated, then smirked slightly. “That you act like you know everything.”

He chuckled lowly, shaking his head. “I don’t act like I know everything.”

“You kinda do.”

“And yet, I was right about you needing help.”

“Wait,” you said, still reeling from the revelation. “How old are you, anyway?”

He paused, clearly considering whether he should answer. “Twenty-six,” he finally said.

You frowned. “And you’re already a surgeon? That’s… impressive.”

He didn’t seem to care much about the praise. “It’s just a job. You’re the one who’s in university, right? What are you studying?”

You stopped typing for a moment, taken off guard by the question. “Psychology,” you said, not quite sure why you were suddenly sharing so much with him. “I’m thinking about specializing in clinical psychology or maybe counselling. Something to help people.”

He nodded thoughtfully, his expression serious now. “That’s noble. But it’s not an easy path.”

You smirked. “Well, if it’s worth doing, it was never meant to be easy, right?”

He looked at you, his gaze softening for a second before he turned his attention back to the laptop. “True. But it can be frustrating. Surgery is like that too—people think it’s all glory, but it’s hard. It takes more than just knowledge. There are lives on the line every day.”

Your fingers hovered over the keyboard, the weight of his words sinking in. You hadn’t really thought about it like that, especially not from someone who was actually living it. “Sounds intense.”

“It is. But you learn to manage it. You have to.” His voice was quieter now, almost like he was lost in thought. “That’s why I’m here, actually. A medical convention. I mentioned it earlier.”

You blinked, still processing what he had said. “A medical convention? Here?”

He nodded. “Yeah. It’s in the city for a couple of days. Most of it is boring, but it’s part of the job.”

You couldn't help but laugh a little. “It sounds like the kind of thing you’d be more interested in than, I don’t know, enjoying the city.”

He gave a rare, genuine smile. “Maybe. But I’m not really here to sightsee.” He looked at you again, his expression softening for just a second. “I don’t usually get time to myself, honestly. The job’s demanding.”

There was an unexpected vulnerability in his words, and for a moment, you saw a side of him you hadn’t expected.

Before you could respond, your screen flashed—confirmation. Your application had been successfully submitted.

Relief crashed over you. “Oh my God. I did it.”

You leaned back in your chair, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. It was done. You wouldn’t have to suffer the consequences of your own procrastination after all.

Law glanced at the screen, then back at you. He seemed disappointed. Time passed too quickly. “Guess you got lucky.”

You groaned. “Can’t you just let me have this win?”

“If you wanted a win, you shouldn’t have cut it this close.”

You gave him an unimpressed look, but before you could fire back, he pulled out his phone and handed it to you.

You blinked at it. “…What?”

“Your number.”

Your breath caught for a second.

He wasn’t asking. He wasn’t even looking at you, as if this was just an afterthought to him. But the way his fingers gripped the phone—just tight enough to betray the fact that maybe it wasn’t as casual as he made it seem—told you otherwise.

You raised an eyebrow. “What makes you think I’ll give it to you?”

He finally met your gaze again, a small smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “Call it a gut feeling.”

Damn him.

With a small huff, you took the phone from his hand and started typing.

Law watched as you typed in your number, his arms crossed, expression unreadable. When you handed the phone back, you couldn’t help the smirk tugging at your lips.

“You’re planning to call me? See me again?”

He scoffed, slipping the phone into his pocket. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

“Oh? Then why’d you ask?”

His jaw tightened for half a second—so quick you almost missed it. Then, with a slow shrug, he muttered, “Maybe I like to keep an eye on people who make dumb decisions.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Right. Because procrastinating an application is a crime now?”

Law tilted his head slightly, studying you. “It’s reckless. But I guess you enjoy living on the edge.”

You rolled your eyes but didn’t argue. Instead, you glanced at the time and felt the reality of your departure settle in. Your bus would be leaving soon.

Pushing your chair back, you stood up, adjusting your bag. “Well, guess I should get going.”

He cleared his throat, as if dismissing the moment, and straightened up. “Anyway, I guess it’s good you’ve got this sorted. You’ve got your bus to catch and all.”

You stared at him, unsure of why you suddenly didn’t want to leave. Something about the conversation—about him—was making you rethink everything.

You hesitated, before speaking. “Yeah. I’ve got to go. But… thanks for the laptop. I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without it.”

He shrugged nonchalantly, though his eyes followed you closely. “No problem. Just don’t make a habit of waiting until the last minute next time.”

You shot him a look, but he was already watching you with that unreadable expression again, dark eyes glinting with amusement.

He didn’t say anything at first. Didn’t move, either.

For a man who had spent the last 45 minutes teasing and judging you, he looked… hesitant.

His fingers tapped against his phone in an irregular rhythm, like his body was betraying the indifference he was trying to project.

You tilted your head. “What? No sarcastic comment? No parting words of wisdom?”

He exhaled through his nose. “…Nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing.

There was a pause, a hesitation so thick you could almost touch it. Then, just as you turned toward the door, you caught the slightest movement—his fingers twitching, like he was about to reach out. But he didn’t.

You bit your lip.

Something about the way he held himself, rigid and unreadable, sent a strange, conflicting feeling through you.

You took a step forward, then stopped. Looking back at him, you said goodbye.

You turned back toward the exit, feeling his gaze still burning into you as you walked away.

You left, but that feeling didn’t. Something about the way he’d been so close, his gaze lingering, made you hesitate for just a second.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, you wondered if you’d ever see him again.

[boolger]

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

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

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

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

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

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Your head hurt a bit the following morning.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sleep well, little Sunflower.

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

… At least until you figured out what to do.

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

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

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

“What have you done now?”

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

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

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

“Are you thinking of moving again?”

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

“Are you afraid Graves will come back?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Well… Almost. 

Perhaps you had been a bit too optimistic about it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

For once there were only two of them.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was the Russian one who was first to speak.

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

Home safe — home safe? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Smellin’ so synthetic, milaya, like —“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Too fucking bad!” You snapped, “it—“

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

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

”I- I’m not—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

It took ages before you felt able to breathe.

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

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

Liar.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

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

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

Lies, lies and even more lies.

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

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

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

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

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

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

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

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

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

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

”Do you kick your students too?”

”Stop changing the subject, Sunny.”

Finally you shrugged.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

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

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

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

”None of your business.”

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

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

”No thanks.”

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

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

“No.”

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

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

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

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

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

Fucking twat.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunny bunny.

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

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

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

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

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

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

☀️🌤️⛅️🌥️☁️

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

You were exhausted, both physically and mentally.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They instantly spotted you. Of course they did.

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

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

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

Probably not. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

… and you weren’t wrong.

”It’s a pretty car in your garage.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

A bottle of false alpha scent.

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

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

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

Run. Run. Run.

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

Run. Run. Run. 

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

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

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

Run. Run. Run.

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

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

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

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

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

Run. Run. Run.

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

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

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

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

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

Run. Run. Run.

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

Run.

[n3on-graveston3s-calling]

Rating: E Characters: Portgas D. Ace, Fushichou Marco, Izou, Thatch, Reader Warnings: Temperature Play, BDSM undertones, Wax Play Series: Kanon's Kinktober '24 Do not interact with this post if you are under the age of 18; the following material is intended for mature audiences only.

Summary:

“You’re killin’ me,” Ace murmured, reaching out to smooth his fingers down your spine. You gasped at the trail of heat they left in their wake, your movements stilling. “Eh? Você gostou disso?” He questioned, his head tilting, watching as you quickly struggled to tug your pants off the rest of the way. Bingo. “I don’t know why you decided to do this new fancy trick with your hands-” “It’s not just my hands.”

Notes:

HAPPY FIRST WEEK OF KINKTOBER. Some fun notes: -I'll be posting one fic for the next 4 weeks for Kinktober; my work schedule doesn't give me the free time to do a fic for every single day, so I decided one a week, posted on every Wednesday, with a bonus one on Halloween itself. -Each fic will be tagged appropriately, I'll even include a rundown of what to expect here in the notes. -First up is Ace, with Temperature Play ( Devil Fruits Are Fun! ) + Wax Play, with a fem!Reader. There isn't anything too crazy in here, just Ace being a little possessive and absolutely drunk on the reader. Also, Ace does use Brazilian Portuguese in this fic. c: As always: PLEASE PRACTICE SAFE, SANE, CONSENSUAL SEX. THIS IS LOWKEY BDSM MATERIAL. You should always have a system in place to check in with your partner when partaking in more intense scenes, and multiple ways to communicate if you can't speak for some reason- as well as a hard stop Safe word. Neither are used in this fic, but it is discussed in the fic, just in case. PLEASE use candles that are created specifically for wax play ( low burning candles ) if you want to safely try out wax play. Also, always be careful when using fire to not burn yourself, your hair, or anything around you. There are candles you can buy for this. The wax doesn’t heat up to such a high degree. Also, don't be silly, wrap your willy. <3

It was a rare treat to find the Moby Dick and fleet docking at an island for longer than a few hours for a restock run. The latest storm that was churning up the oceans in their pathway had made it too dangerous to even consider taking the whole fleet through. Ace didn’t mind, really; it meant more time to spend with the holder of his attention, the object of his affection. His gaze followed you across the tavern as you laughed with Thatch and Izou. His jaw worked slowly as Izou reached over, tucking a strand of her hair back from your face. Izou wasn’t interested in you, he knew that; Izou had his eyes on someone across the ocean from them.

Still, some part of him- some deeper part that he almost loathed- burned with the urge to make it clear to everyone just who you belonged to.

You was his, and his alone.

“You look ready to burn a hole through the wall,” Marco chimed in as he plopped down beside Ace, his gaze tracking Ace’s own. Ah, the little deckhand. “Got rooms for everyone, yoi. Go.” He waved a hand, and that was all Ace needed to hear as he rose from his seat, leaving a few berry behind for the flagon of ale that he hadn’t even touched- which Marco was greedily reaching for, his own gaze shifting to follow a pair of long legs.

“Ah, speak of the devil!” Izou greeted Ace as he approached, a brow raising as he took in the expression on his face. “I think your free time is over, dear.” He hummed, looking over to Thatch, who snickered into his ale.

You sighed as she leaned back in her chair, gaze flickering up to meet Ace’s in faux innocence. You knew just what had gotten him so worked up- you. Your antics from that morning, getting him all riled up before leaving to go attend to your duties, leaving him high and dry. A shame, really; it had left you aching for more, with this odd sort of anticipation that lingered beneath your skin. “Marco got us all rooms.” You informed Ace, watching as his gaze narrowed slightly. He hadn’t even spoken, yet. Oh, you were in for it.

“Have you eaten?” He asked finally, his hand smoothing over the back of your neck. The touch sent shivers down your spine despite how warm his palm was.

“Mhm,” you answered, bobbing your head. “Guess it is getting late, huh?”

“Don’t break her too hard, Pops wants us out by daybreak.” Izou warned, watching as Ace’s eyes widened, as his cheeks colored. Ah, that cool facade broke far too easily.

“I-I’m not- shut up!” He hissed, ducking his head as his hand dropped from your neck, only to be grabbed by your own hand, fingers lacing as you rose from your seat.

You reached over, stealing one more roll before winking at Izou and Thatch. “See you two in the morning.” Ace sighed with silent relief behind you as you led the way out of the tavern and down the hall. You glanced down at the key Ace was carrying, catching sight of the ruby numbers: 13. The last room in the hall, how nice.

He reached past you, sliding the key into the latch, unlocking the door with a soft ‘click’. You pushed the door open, eager to both be alone with Ace, and to have an actual bed rather than a hammock. As soon as the door closed, his hands were gripping your hips, pulling you back against him. “I’ve wanted you literally all day,” he murmured, lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “Do you know how hard I’ve been?”

“If an erection lasts longer than four hours-”

“I’ll bite you.”

“Do it. I’ll like it.” The teasing was normal, easing both of you into more of a relaxed state as you turned in his grasp. Your arms reached up, winding around his shoulders as you bumped your nose against his own. “You showered,” you whispered, fingers toying with the soft curls at the base of his skull.

“‘S nice to be clean,” his hands squeezed your hips gently, thumbs sliding beneath the hem of your shirt. “I got a question for you, baby.”

His hands were still warm. Oddly so; it wasn’t abnormal for Ace to get heated- literally- when you two were together. But something felt different here. It made your heart begin to slowly speed up behind your ribcage, had you pulling your head back to meet those gorgeous brown eyes of his. “Talk to me, love.”

His cheeks were rosy, his gaze unable to meet your own as he looked to the side. Despite the bravado, he would get shy with you. You were his weakness. “You mentioned an idea the other night that’s been on my mind.”

Your brows furrowed. What had you… Oh! “The candles?” You asked, reaching up to carefully pluck his hat from his head. Your fingers returned to his hair, slowly working through the slightly damp tresses. “Did you wanna try it on me, Ace?” You asked, voice soft- low. Your nails gently brushed against his scalp, watching as his eyes fell shut, as a shudder worked its way through him. “I wouldn’t mind it. I think it could even be pleasurable.”

He groaned softly, his head dropping, chin resting on your shoulder as he simply held you close for a moment. “You’re gonna torment me, huh?” He mused with a soft chuckle, turning his head to press a kiss to your throat. His eyes were heavy; he was tired, but not from exhaustion. The damned narcolepsy… “Strip.” Ace whispered, his lips trailing up towards your jawline. “All the way down,” a kiss to the corner of your lips, “like a good girl.” He finished with a proper kiss to your lips, one of his hands raising to cup your jaw, tilting your head back to deepen the kiss.

You were weak for him, and Gods, he knew it.

You didn’t whine, didn’t pout as he pulled back, a cocky grin pulling at his lips as he sat down on the edge of the bed, eager to watch you disrobe. Cheekily, you turned away from him, your fingers grasping the hem of your shirt, slowly lifting it to reveal your back. Shirt tossed aside, you leaned down, unlacing your shoes slowly while Ace admired the view of your rear. Boots unlaced, you toed one off, then the other, followed by your socks. Slowly straightening back up, your arms raised high above your head, stretching. The movement allowed Ace the grace of seeing the subtle swell of your breasts- and the hint alone got a soft groan from him. “Merda,” he sighed, shaking his head. Your hands smoothed over your sides as you continued your little show, fingers hooking in the waistband of your pants. Slowly- as slowly as you could manage, you lowered your pants down your thighs, over your knees, down to your calves before bending over-

“You’re killin’ me,” Ace murmured, reaching out to smooth his fingers down your spine. You gasped at the trail of heat they left in their wake, your movements stilling. “Eh? Você gostou disso?” He questioned, his head tilting, watching as you quickly struggled to tug your pants off the rest of the way. Bingo.

“I don’t know why you decided to do this new fancy trick with your hands-”

“It’s not just my hands.”

Your eyes widened as you turned around, facing him with blown pupils. “... Fuck.” You whispered, taking in the gorgeous sight in front of you- much the way he was also admiring the view of your nearly nude form. While you’d been giving him a show, he’d stripped down completely. The tan line from his shorts was always comical, but you weren’t focused on that. No- sweet Poseidon, he was already half hard.

“Trying to,” he reached over, hooking his fingers under the side of your panties, tugging you closer by it. “Gotta enjoy this meal in front of me first before I do anything else, though.”

“Ace-” You gasped, cheeks flushing at his eagerness, a hand raising to cover your mouth as his lips pressed against the sensitive skin beneath your naval.

His lips worked down, teeth scraping against the sensitive, soft skin before hooking in the hem of your panties. Wordlessly, he sank to his knees, tugging the fabric down with him. You knew the rules, now- hold on, and don’t let go until he was done with drinking his fill. Your panties fell around your ankles, and he did help you step out of them- just so that he could have you raise one leg up, settling it over his shoulder. You had nothing to brace against except for Ace, but he liked it that way.

The first press of his lips against your folds was gentle, an almost loving kiss pressed to such an intimate, sensitive space. Your fingers wove through his hair with one hand, the other reaching down to grasp his shoulder as his tongue smoothed through your folds, parting them for the near burning touch of tongue to sensitive clit. “Ace!” You gasped in surprise, nearly jumping back before his arm looped around your other leg, holding you in place.

And here you were, thinking that the ice you’d used a few weeks back had been a shock to the system. Nothing could have prepared you for the feeling of his abnormally warmed tongue lapping at your pussy like a man starved. He moaned against you at your taste, fingers squeezing the back of your thigh in appreciation. His nose brushed against your clit from this angle, each movement of his head giving you sparks of pleasure. His tongue lapped at your weeping center, drinking what you offered him. Your head tilted back, hips slowly grinding against his tongue, his nose, his lips, taking the pleasure he was greedily offering you.

You could stay like this for hours, with his head between your thighs, desperately licking at your core, at your swollen clit, gasping and moaning his name- and you had, multiple times. But something told you Ace had other ideas- and you weren’t ready to cum, not yet. Not that your legs would hold you up if you did, anyway. “Ace,” you panted, jolting with each hot swipe of his tongue across your clit. You glanced down- and good Gods above and below, that was a mistake. His hair was a wavy mess from your fingers running through it, tangling it. He was looking up at you, gaze lidded and afire, his cheeks rosy and as he pulled back for a moment, his chin and mouth glistened. “Holy shit.” you couldn’t help but whisper as he grinned, pupils blown so wide, they swallowed the chocolate of his gaze. “Baby- not yet, please.”

It almost pained him to pull back- but he did, only after placing a teasing kiss to your clit. “Lay down on your back.” He murmured, gently lowering your leg from his shoulder. He watched you stumble, reached out to grab you around the waist and tug you closer. “Careful, meu bebê.” He chuckled, grinning as you regained your balance. “Can’t have you falling. Unless it’s in love-”

“Your dick is within squeezing distance, Portgas.”

“Point taken.” Still grinning that mischievous grin, he released you, watching as you fell onto the bed. His gaze raked across your form, drinking down his fill. Shaking his head with a soft whistle he turned to the room. “Let’s see if I can do this.”

“Do what?” You asked, watching him curiously as he wiggled his fingers. The fire is him, and he is the fire- that’s what he had told you when you first started getting to know one another. You knew a fair amount about Devil Fruits, the different variations between nature based ones, animal based ones, and the weird ones that don’t fall into either category. Ace had insane control over his, could create a wildfire with a flick of the wrist. And now- now, with a wave of his hands, the candles throughout the bedroom flickered to life, their wicks catching flame with such ease. You gasped in awe as the golden glow of the candles bathed the room, as Ace looked at you over his shoulder with that damned smug smirk.

“That.” He answered, settling down onto the bed beside you. “Now- let’s lay out a few ground rules, yeah?” He reached over, brushing his knuckles against the apple of your cheek. “What’s the safe word?”

You thought for a moment. Something easy to remember, but not something you would just casually bring up in conversation. “Peppermint.” You decided, nodding. “And the basic color system. Green for keep going, yellow for a break, red to stop.”

“And if you can’t talk for some reason?” Fingers warmed by unseen flames traced your collar bones, dipped down to brush over the swell of your breast.

A shaky breath drawn in, you answered, “One tap for okay, two taps for slow down, three to stop.”

“Good girl.” He leaned over, capturing your lips in an eager, heated kiss. His tongue ghosted against your bottom lip before he pulled away, teasing. “You ready?”

You were nearly shaking with excitement as you nodded. He leaned over, grabbing one of the pillar candles from the side table. Easing back up onto his knees, you are gifted with a near godly sight. Ace, kneeling above you, his cock hard and the tip weeping- but even further up, the way the light from the candle bathed him in gold. He looked like a God.

Sometimes, you wondered if he was a God in mortal skin.

You watched as the flame flickered, the candle tilting slowly over before wax dribbled out- and onto the skin of your hand. “Too hot?” He asked; a test, you realized. Smart. You shook your head ‘no’, and he hummed. “Good.” The next drops landed on the tops of your breasts, making you gasp loudly in surprise. The sensation was sharp, the feeling almost painful at first before the wax began to cool on your skin. You drew in a deep breath, nodding.

And so, the game began.

Slowly, Ace dribbled wax across both of your breasts, until you were a squirming, whining mess. “I bet you’re even wetter now, huh?” He mused, head tilting slightly as he let wax build up one more in the candle’s hollowed out center. A part of him considered helping speed the process along- but that could make the wax too hot, and he’d like to avoid causing you actual harm. The candle tilted, and he watched the wax dribble down the center of your sternum, down over your tummy. You hissed as it got close to your naval, but he skipped down- and for a brief moment, you both wondered what would happen if it dripped further south.

He very carefully did not spill any, there.

No, instead, he moved it to your thighs, letting the wax spill over and drip down the insides of your thighs as you hissed and squirmed, moaning with the sharp form of pleasure the wax was offering you. “Ace,” you whined, legs spreading wider as he painted your sensitive inner thighs with wax. “Ace, please.”

“Please, what?” He asked, reaching down to cup your core, his palm heated up, mimicking the warmth that the wax offered. You shuddered at the feeling; your words failing you as his fingers parted you, brushing against your nub in slow, deliberate circles. “Words, Amoreco.” A soft tap- it couldn’t even be considered a slap, not with how gentle it was- was delivered to your core, making you jolt from the feeling.

You met his gaze, your own hazy. “Fuck me,” you whispered- and that was all it took for Portgas D. Ace to break. He leaned over, setting the candle on the floor away from the bed before sitting back up. You hummed, arms open as he slid into your embrace, his fingers seeking out the foil packet he’d placed on the bedside table preemptively. Just in case.

You never know.

A hiss escaped him as you rolled the condom onto his weeping cock, your touch like heaven for him in that moment. “Lube?” He whispered against the column of your throat. You huffed, reaching over for the small bottle as his fingers toyed with your entrance, teasingly dipping in before pulling out, feeling how wet you had become due to the toying. “Fuck, you’re dripping,” his words held no small amount of awe as you reached between the two of you, dribbling the lube onto his cock. He let out a noise not quite a hiss, not quite a yelp at the temperature difference that sent you into a giggle fit.

“Oops,” you snickered, feeling him pout against your throat. Your amusement was short lived as Ace lined himself up, the fat head of his cock slowly pushing in. The stretch was something you never got used to, your breath escaping with a soft, “Oh, yes,” as he sank in inch by glorious inch. Once he’d bottomed out, you both lay there for a moment, enjoying the feeling of being filled and filling you.

Until you could feel Ace physically growing warmer- all over. He grinned in a rather feral way against your throat as his hips pulled back, only to slowly roll back into you, making you feel every inch that sank in. A wordless moan pulled free from your lips as he kept the torturously slow pace, his heat sinking into your skin- inside and out. “You feel so good,” he whispered, biting down on your shoulder gently. He was holding back.

Well, that wouldn’t do.

Your hands shifted from their position at his shoulders to smooth down his back- before you adjusted your hold, your nails raking down his back, leaving red lines in their wake. “Ace,” you purred, rolling your hips to meet his stuttering ones, “Puedes follarme mejor que eso.” The resulting groan and shudder was your answer. Ace liked being close when you two were together, but this required him pushing up, sitting up on his knees to gaze down at you. You moaned at the subtle change within, the head rubbing against that one damned spot that promised to make you see stars.

“Brat,” he muttered, his hands settling on your hips- holding you down as he pulled out. The next thrust in felt like a punch, your breath leaving you in a half-yell as he set a punishing pace. His hands felt like brands on your hips, and you almost hoped that they would leave a mark in his wake. You couldn’t speak, not with how he was moving, your mind stalling. “Takin’ me so fuckin’ well, look at that.” He groaned, reaching between the two of you to press his fingers against your clit, rubbing it in time with his thrusts. “Who’s this pussy belong to?”

“You!”

“Say it again, couldn’t hear you.” He leaned down, tongue laving over one of your nipples, leaving an almost burning trail in it’s wake. “Who’s fuckin’ pussy is this?”

“Ace!” You sobbed, feeling your impending orgasm rapidly build- faster than you’d ever experienced. “My pussy is yours!”

Ace groaned, his lips circling a nipple as you wailed, the waves of your orgasm crashing over you. He grinned around your nipple as you shook, your walls clenching around him rhythmically. He didn’t slow his pace, groaning against your bust as he began to chase his own release. “Baby-” he moaned, brows pitching as he felt his balls drawing up, as that thread threatened to snap. Your hands grasped his face, tugged him up to capture him in a kiss- and oh, how he snapped. His hips stilled, buried to the hilt within you, as he moaned into the kiss.

Music to your ears.

His forehead pressed to your as you both panted, catching your breath. “That… Was amazing,” he laughed breathlessly, pecking your lips, the tip of your nose, your cheeks. You hummed in agreement, bone weary after everything. Ace slowly- carefully- pulled out of you, quickly discarding the used condom to the trash. He was tired, too- but before he could sleep, he needed to tend to you. He stepped into the bathroom for a moment, wetting down a wash rag with warmed water. He kept the rag warm in his hands as he returned, settling down beside you. “How are you feeling?” He asked softly, reaching over to cup your cheek, directing your gaze to meet his.

“Good,” you replied softly, blinking lazily. “Tired.”

He nodded in agreement, chuckling. Slowly, he cleaned off the wax bits from you, using his palms to heat them up to clean them off easier rather than simply peeling them off bit by bit. Red whelps lay in their wake, each one soothed by the gentle caress of the rag. By the end of it, you were clean and warm and freckled with the evidence of your coupling.

You brushed your fingers over one of the groups of whelps on your stomach as Ace joined you back in bed, curling against your side. “I like it,” you murmured as his head tucked into the crook of your neck, his arms winding around your middle. “The cleanup is more tedious than ice is, but I like it.” Turning your head, you pressed a kiss to his forehead. He was already half asleep, legs tangling with your legs.

“‘M glad,” Ace mumbled, his breathing beginning to deepen. It was a miracle he hadn’t fallen asleep before now. You smiled, enjoying the warmth he offered you as sleep took him away. Love wasn’t something either of you mentioned; the topic was a difficult one for him to speak about. But it showed in other ways- like him taking the time to clean you up meticulously, how he wrapped himself around you when he slept. How his fingers still sought out one of your hands, even when holding you now. No, love wasn’t something you said out loud-

But with Ace, actions would always speak louder than words.

[vaguesxrrow]

this was for a request for an edwin payne/gn reader dating hcs but i accidentally deleted the ask SORRYYY 😭😭 if you requested it here you go !!

edwin payne/reader dating hcs

a/n: there is nothing in this pertaining to the reader's gender but i'd like to clarify they are not a girl, as edwin is not attracted to women (to my knowledge)

reader can be read as either alive or dead

tags: gn!reader

what dating edwin payne would be like...

- before you started dating, or at the start of your relationship, edwin would be a little closed off (as is expected from him) but it was still obvious to everyone he had a soft spot for you

- even if he didnt outwardly show how taken with you he really was, it would be obvious through his actions alone

- on cases, he would especially watch out for your safety

- if you're sick or feeling even slightly unwell he will suggest you take a break from this case

- "i will come back to you. i promise." when you protest that he might need you there

- he'll give you long, long hugs when he returns

- lying in bed together after the case, facing each other, as he tells you about it

- would lay down with his head between your shoulder and neck, tracing patterns over your hand and wrist

- isn't terribly fond of pda but cheek kisses and hand holding, or linking your pinkies together are always on the table

- will also let you, and enjoy it when, you latch onto his arm

- this boy would totally try to court you

- at first his gifts would be typical types of gifts, like flowers or something expensive and fancy because he wants you to think highly of him

- but then one day he finds a silly stuffed animal he thinks you'd like and gives it to you

- you LOVE it ofc, and you dont waste a second in telling him

- he's a bit surprised but is happy you love it and would grin at you fully once you promise that yes, you really do think it's lovely

- after that, if he finds anything he knows you'll like, or if you say you want something, he WILL get it for you

- edwin taking you out on dates:

- he would put a lot of effort into your first date because, with all the running away from supernatural beings that want to kill you, he thinks both of you deserve a little normal

- imagine: a museum date, but at a kind of obscure museum that showcases ancient artifacts or something

- edwin would know a lot of facts about the different pieces and tell you about them

- however he will feel bad about going on too long, because this is your first date and he doesn't want to put you off already

- "i... apologise. i'm rambling."

- you: 'i don't mind. it's... attractive how smart you are."

- you were totally gonna say 'sexy' but is edwin really ready for that?? maybe not.

- then you kiss him before he can react, and his system kind of crashes (yeah, definitely not ready for 'sexy' just yet)

- he appreciates how you value his whole personality and genuinely love all parts of him

- he loves you just as much, if it wasn't obvious

- his love languages would probably be quality time and acts of service

- constantly making excuses to be near you

- "[ ] and i will go conduct some research in the library, the three of you can interview the witnesses."

- he thinks he's being subtle but charles, crystal, and niko always grin at you knowingly

- "have fun, lovebirds! try not to get distracted," <- coming from either of the other three, or maybe even all of them in unison

- edwin will splutter and blush

- once he realises there's no use in hiding how whipped he is for you, he'll outright say he wants to "go with his [boyfriend/partner]" to do whatever he wants to do

- he likes saying it out loud that you're together - it makes him feel giddy inside in a way no one else has before

- if you want a specific book for your research he'll take finding it very seriously

- you need a book from the top shelf? he's on it (like, literally on it, because if there's no step stool around he might actually climb the bookshelf)

- getting tired from your research? he'll mirror travel to a coffee shop and get you a drink and a sweet treat

- edwin would get jealous, and once he's secure in the relationship he would show it

- in the case of you being alive: imagine someone trying to flirt with you, maybe in the library or something from the earlier scenario

- he would knock over a book on purpose to spook the person who dared to flirt with HIS s.o

- when you tease him for it later he'll mutter something about being 'possibly a bit jealous.'

- it isn't that he doesn't trust you, as he will of course clarify, he's just very protective

[sanerontheinside]

On the basis of my own comment, "I fully missed this because I cannot handle the news except in ‘weekly postmortem’ format", I've decided to do a write-up of everything I've been reading about the crash over Washington, D.C.

If this isn't the sort of posting you'd like to see from me in the future, please feel free to block "#the post mortem". I'm not sure how many of these I have in me, but if I ever find myself struck by the fancy to do another, that is the tag I will be using.

I'd also like to thank Canary (canary_lux on Discord) for help gathering, scanning, and organizing sources, and for their insight on flight training.

Throughout this write-up, I will refer to the current president by number of term (45 or 47), mostly to differentiate policies enacted during his first term from the present.

Intro

On the night of Wednesday, 1/29/25, 67 people died in a collision between an American Airlines passenger aircraft and a military Blackhawk helicopter. This tragedy was immediately followed by outcry and the usual hunt for someone to hold accountable. This was also the first fatal air crash involving a US airline since 2009—a 16-year safety record.

While it’s tempting to assign blame to various politicians, parties, and policies for the accident—and in fact many do (FAA blames trump, trump blames DEI, FAA, Biden in particular and democrats in general, etc.)—sole political ownership cannot be assigned. The initial outcry drew attention to a hiring freeze for air traffic controllers, and to curt dismissal of FAA personnel, but the problem has been brewing for far longer.

This post mortem seeks to provide some context for the incident at Reagan National Airport by looking back at policies of the last two presidential terms, as well as the reality of local air traffic in Washington, D.C.

.

The Shortage

Before addressing the current shortage of air traffic controllers, it is important to note that since the accident all reports indicate the air traffic controller on duty that night gave proper instructions.

Both planes and military aircraft are equipped with Automatic Dependent Surveillance-Broadcast (ADS-B), but this system is suppressed at low altitudes because of the high likelihood of false alerts. At last reporting, the Blackhawk was at an altitude of 375 ft. For helicopters, the permitted flight ceiling over Washington, D.C. is 200ft.

With that established, however, there is still value in drawing attention to the national shortage of air traffic controllers (henceforward ATC's).

In 2021, the US Bureau of Statistics ranked air traffic control as the 4th most stressful job among all. The position has a high employee turnover rate due to transfers, resignations, removals, deaths, and attrition. An ATC's skills are unique, and costly to replace both in money and time, as candidates go through 2-3 years of training and must pass a rigorous exam.

During the COVID 19 pandemic, lockdowns drove down the volume of daily flights, putting many air traffic controllers out of a job. Agencies worldwide let go of trainees, stopped hiring, and stopped training new hires. In many cases, academies closed outright. Many air traffic controllers were offered early retirement.

Once travel restrictions were lifted, demand bounced back—and the aviation industry suddenly faced a bottleneck. A 2 or 3 year one, in fact. Flights haven't really bounced back perfectly since the pandemic; many airports experience serious delays—not least because they don't have enough ATC's.

In June 2023, the DoT inspector general reported that 77% of air traffic control facilities were understaffed. In December 2023, after a series of high profile near-misses, the FAA named a panel of experts to address air traffic controller fatigue. Reuters reported that air traffic controllers work mandatory overtime and 6-day weeks.

The FAA's response to these findings was to appoint a three-member panel to "examine how the latest science on sleep needs and fatigue considerations could be applied to controller work requirements and scheduling" until more personnel could be hired. Furthermore, the FAA Reauthorisation Act of 2024 expanded air traffic controller training capacity and required the FAA to update the training process.

Unfortunately, the near-misses and flight delays are likely to continue under recent policy changes.

.

The Policy of 45

The main reason for addressing the shortage itself at the top of this write-up is that a lot of early outcry held the 47th President's recent hiring freezes, cuts, and firings responsible for the accident.

Context is critical. Obviously, trump’s hiring freeze in no way helps this issue, and neither does the dismissal of people in leadership positions. Even the panel he dismissed was the Aviation Security Advisory Committee, which is geared towards TSA operations moreso than air traffic control.

But on the ground, it's probably his policies as 45 that did the most lasting damage.

In 2018, the proposed budget cut funds to the DoT by 13%, or $2.4 billion. The proposal eliminated funding for the Essential Air Service, a program that guaranteed continued commercial air service to small communities in the US which would not otherwise be profitable. Air traffic control would also be privatized under the proposal.

This 2018 post by Democracy Forward provides a good summary of 45's policies. (It's also an interesting read if you've been following the recent changes in regulation of airline fees. In brief, the struggle to regulate fees and accessibility has been ongoing since before 2013, and trump's policies are unsurprisingly airline company-friendly.)

By contrast, in 2021 the proposed budget for the FAA included $11.4 billion (increase of $432 million from FY21) to oversee the safety of civil aviation, and to provide for the operation, maintenance, communications, and logistical support of the air traffic control and air navigation systems. There were additional requests totalling over $8 billion to improve airfield infrastructure and grants for Aviation Workforce Development programs.

The final 2021 budget, the American Rescue Plan Act of 2021, passed with $15 billion for airlines and airline contractors for a third extension of Payroll Support Program which would otherwise have expired at the end of March 2021. The extension prevented the furlough of more than 27,000 aviation employees. There was an additional $8 billion for U.S. airports.

As a result of 45's budget cuts, the FAA was forced to lay off many people. “He slashed our budget and a lot of people, including myself, were laid off. So, we’re just waiting to see what programs will continue,” a longtime FAA contractor, rehired under the Biden administration, told What A Day.

Former House Transportation and Infrastructure Chair Peter DeFazio also notes, "The unnecessary government shutdown [in 2019] shut down the Aviation Academy, and a number of people did not come back after the academy closed down." He cites this as a crucial interruption that was then followed by a yearlong closure due to the lockdown.

.

Congested Airspace

In his interview with Politico, DeFazio puts Congress front and center: "Every senator in particular wants a nonstop flight to and from wherever they live. As you saw, [Kansas Sen.] Jerry Moran said this was a flight which he had encouraged or otherwise supported. The last FAA bill, [Texas Sen.] Ted Cruz said he needed a direct flight to [San Antonio], so he engaged in a lengthy battle."

The bill referenced here is S. 1939, the FAA Reauthorization Act of 2024, which contained many positive items. This was the bill that required air carriers to provide a full refund for a cancelled or significantly delayed flight; it expanded air traffic controller training capacity and required the FAA to update the training process.

This bill also increased the number of daily round-trip flights allowed at Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport (DCA), despite protests from the airport authority. (Though it should be noted that the new flights added to the airport's schedule by this bill have not yet been fully implemented.)

DeFazio has words for the military, as well: "And it’s one thing, when there’s an urgent need or a security issue, to move people by military helicopter to the White House or from one base to another in the D.C. area. It’s another to do it for convenience for generals and “very important people” who don’t want to sit in traffic. […] for training, they should be doing that in the hours when there are way fewer flights coming into National Airport."

The flight rules over Washington, D.C. are very complex, developed to manage civilian, military, and government traffic. It is simultaneously the most restricted and the most congested airspace in the country. Pilots have been complaining about the complexity of flight rules for years.

This stretch of the Potomac in particular is designated a Special Flight Restricted Area. In the words of Senator Tammy Duckworth (D-IL), "You don't get to fly in that without additional flight training." All crew members aboard the Blackhawk were experienced, having logged 500-1000 hours. Transcripts of the air traffic control instructions and responses from the pilots in the minutes before the accident show that the Blackhawk crew twice confirmed visual of the plane with the ATC, including approximately 25 seconds before impact.

But in multiple stories published since the crash, there are quotes from pilots who had similar experiences in that area, and recall near-misses with passenger aircraft coming in to the same runway. One retired Army National Guard helicopter pilot recalls that he lost sight of the jet in the city lights and descended to an altitude of 50 feet to avoid collision with an unseen flight. There are at least two reports of near-misses under very similar conditions from 2013 and 2015.

.

The Post Mortem

The President's flurry of executive orders, hiring and funding freezes, have dominated the news cycle for the last 12 days. There isn't currently evidence to support that various budget and staffing cuts, including those attempted by 47 two days before the accident, directly contributed to the incident on January 29th.

However, cutting personnel, funding, and abolishing positions once vacated will increase the risk of accidents going forward. Many US government services have not recovered from the combination of 45's policies and effects of the pandemic. They are presently in a state where funding and personnel cuts will result in direct consequences to the American people, and likely very quickly.

As for the Washington, D.C. crash itself, it is indeed a tragic loss of life. In all likelihood, it could have been prevented by appropriate response to prior near-misses, addressing concerns voiced by pilots and professionals, or perhaps a less entitled Senate.

.

Sources

https://webcf.waybackmachine.org/web/20250120173159/https://simpleflying.com/us-atc-shortage-analysis/

https://www.reuters.com/business/aerospace-defense/panel-review-us-air-traffic-controller-fatigue-after-near-miss-incidents-2023-12-20/

https://www.tumblr.com/gunsandfireandshit/774138773393063936?source=share

https://www.tumblr.com/huffy-the-bicycle-slayer/774137554059575296?source=share

https://democracyforward.org/work/sidebar-airlines-and-the-trump-administration/ (published 2018, edited 2022)

https://www.politico.com/news/magazine/2025/01/31/defazio-plane-crash-blame-00201767

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/2018_United_States_federal_budget

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/American_Rescue_Plan_Act_of_2021

https://phys.org/news/2017-06-pros-cons-privatizing-air-traffic.html

https://www.tsa.gov/sites/default/files/asac-charter-september-2022.pdf

https://www.wdsu.com/article/pilots-worried-dc-airspace-crash/63626297

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/experts-ask-why-black-hawk-helicopter-may-have-been-flying-above-allowed-altitude/

https://www.cbsnews.com/news/tammy-duckworth-american-airlines-crash/

https://commons.erau.edu/cgi/viewcontent.cgi?article=1910&context=jaaer

[trashpandato]

Romance

Earth customs are weird. 

Kara knows this; has known it for many years. And sure, she’s spent all those years trying to learn, trying to understand what makes humans tick so she could mimic it successfully enough to not stand out. 

“Fake it til you make it”, Alex used to say, implying that if Kara spent enough time pretending, human behaviour would eventually become second nature to her.

And fake it she did. Some Earth customs were easy enough to adopt. Like wide smiles that cover up her pain, the concept of comfort foods or all-you-can-eat buffets, or even humans’ tendency to find excuses to turn any random day into some kind of celebration - Hump Day, Tax Deadline Day, Polar Bear Plunge Day, National Frozen Yogurt Day. (She’s half-convinced that most of these are inventions by Alex to confuse her, but she celebrates National Gummy Worm Day on July 15th anyway.)

But if she’s honest, a lot of the things that humans do, their customs, their rituals, still seem a little strange to Kara. Even after years of trying to understand.

Chatting up strangers, for example. On Krypton, interactions with someone not known to a person would have required some sort of intermediary, an introduction through a trusted person. If Kara had even dared to walk up to a stranger to talk to them, she would have faced discipline not just from her family but also from the broader community. When she first landed on Earth, she relied on Eliza or Alex to make introductions and felt intensely uncomfortable when kids at school would randomly talk to her. It took her a long time to believably mimic these kinds of human interactions, and if she’s honest, she still prefers an official introduction over just chatting up people out of the blue. (It’s why she was happy to tag along with Clark for her first encounter with Lena.)

Or there’s the act of blowing out candles on a birthday cake. Extinguishing light instead of keeping it burning as a means of celebration. The first time Eliza prompted Kara to blow out her candles, Kara was horrified and it took a lot of gentle reassurances from her adoptive mother to even consider partaking in this peculiar human tradition. To this day, Kara prefers her candles away from her cake and to leave them burning for as long as safely possible.

And then there are all the gestures associated with romance. With Krypton’s system of arranged pairings based on compatibility across a number of important factors, there was no need to wine and dine anyone. She could remember her parents showing affection for each other, but there was never any ritualized approach to romantic moments. Humans, on the other hand, humans have rules about dates, about which flowers are appropriate to give to someone and when, about who pays the bill at the fancy restaurant, about slow-dancing and little gifts and how many feelings to reveal and when. 

It’s a lot to keep track of and confusing, and all the romance movies in the world cannot prepare Kara for her first official date with Lena.

She shows up with plumerias, because she knows Lena likes those and she knows, knows, that she’s supposed to bring flowers. But then Lena has tears in her eyes as soon as Kara hands them over, and she’s also wearing this dress that hugs her body in ways that make Kara’s higher brain function fizzle out. So she doesn’t protest when Lena pulls her inside with her hands fisted into the lapels of Kara’s suit jacket, follows Lena’s lead when she pushes her against the kitchen island and kisses her senseless, and finds herself naked and sweaty in Lena’s bed not long after that.

When Kara’s stomach rumbles a couple of hours later and Lena calls to have some food delivered, Lena chuckles.

“We kind of did this all backwards.”

Kara frowns. “How so?”

“Well,” Lena leans in and presses her lips close to Kara’s ear, making her shiver, “usually, the clothes come off after the fancy dinner.”

“You humans have a lot of rules about romance,” Kara huffs, and Lena laughs.

“I suppose we do. But I’m happy to break every single one of them with you, Kara Zor-El.”

[thefixations-ofmine]

liquid courage and a support system

Bucktommy | 2.8k | Rated mature (no smut) Entry for the @bucktommywinterfest, round 5 Dec. 29 - Jan. 4 prompt: Midnight kiss a/n: this is an idea I got from this exchange here. Again, I suck at titles so please bear with me. There will be a follow-up smut chapter to this, that I will post for a Bingo challenge. And then next week's prompt for the Winter fest will be the following conversation in the morning. Oh and apparently Sal's wife's name is Gina (saw someone say that in the tags and I liked it).

Main Masterlist | Winter fest | AO3

“Buck, hey! What’s-”

“Eddie!” Buck shouts his name through the phone as soon as he hears his voice. He takes a giggly breath before proceeding; “I’m at a bar downtown with Lucy. Remember Lucy? When you-you quit working with us? Anyway, she told me to go out and have some fun!”

“That’s nice, Buck. So, are you having fun?” There’s a silence after Eddie’s question while Lucy tries to say something from a few feet away, and Buck remembers he’s on a phone call he initiated;

“Hey Eddie, Eddie,” he says, suddenly serious. “I need your help with something.”

“I’m sure that’s why you called.”

Buck bites the insides of his cheeks, second-guessing for a moment until a member of the 133 chimes in and convinces him to go through with the plan. They’d all been sitting around some nachos for an hour, the members of the 127 whining about Tommy’s attitude since the break-up and the 133 chipping in that there had to be an explanation to all of it. In the end, they took Buck’s side of the story, even Lucy, and he knew he hadn’t been worried for no reason.

“I need to go see Tommy before midnight.”

It’s a quick conversation after that. Eddie makes sure Buck knows what he’s doing because if Tommy hadn’t been vocal about the situation to anyone, he might not react so well to being pressured, mostly not tonight of all nights. Despite his friendly advice, Buck insists and convinces Eddie to pick him up and drive him there.

Which he does, thirty minutes and another round of Tequila later.

When they drive onto Tommy’s street, Buck turns the radio off to unscramble the speech in his brain that he intends on giving to maybe, very hopefully, get Tommy to have a conversation with him. At the very least, they both need more context and if Tommy had an actual reason to stay away, Buck would comply. But Lucy was honest when she said she saw a change in Tommy’s demeanor and it wasn’t for the best.

Buck takes deep breaths that contrast the chill December air. His window is starting to fog and Eddie notices.

“There’s still time to turn around, man.” Eddie offers, and Buck shakes his head. He’s gotta do this. For the both of them.

“I’m okay, yeah. I’m okay.” Buck rubs his hands onto his jeans - the tight blue ones he remembers were Tommy’s favourites. The same jeans he wore on the night- Buck shakes his head.

Yeah, he really needs to talk to Tommy.

The house looks a little different, and in his current state, Buck can’t really tell why. The grass is a little longer than usual, but that’s not it. Tommy was never a fancy landscaping guy so the hedge and small bushes are the same. New roof? Nope. Then Buck’s eyes fall onto the bright red, 2019 Charger parked in the driveway and his brows bend with curiosity. Did Tommy have that bad of a crisis that he made an impulsive (and expensive) decision?

Ha! Buck silently laughs to himself now. Ironic.

Eddie catches the change in energy and tries to comfort his friend; “I remember he told me he was thinking of getting a more recent sports car because working on classics was becoming expensive.”

“But he loved his truck. I loved his truck…” Buck whispers, reminiscing over their short trips and the laughs they shared eating take-out and watching planes take off at Burbank. It would make sense though, that Tommy would get rid of such a big piece of them.

Once the truck is parked by the eye-sore, Buck nods and thanks Eddie for driving him over, saying that he’d catch an Uber back to his place if Eddie got called while on his stand-by shift. He jumps out of the truck and wills himself to walk to the door, takes a quick look at his phone.

It’s eleven forty-five.

There are a few seconds too many after his first knock and Buck goes for another, impatient. The door swings open instantly this time. The comforting smell of the house drafts out, bringing up a wave of emotions. His eyes open and with that Buck loses the smile he had put on.

“Can I help you?” There’s a tall, broad man on the other side of the threshold, but it’s not Tommy. The features are similar though; blue eyes, dark hair, muscles all over and a nose that would crunch up on his cheek during a kiss like Tommy’s did. Buck opens his mouth to speak but;

“Who is it, Sal?” Tommy shouts from inside. Sal. What a stupid name.

Sal turns around to tell; “Some random mook”. Then his piercing gaze falls back onto Buck; “You’re bumming out our party. The fuck you want?”

“Um, well-” There are so many scenarios running through Buck’s mind that he forgets everything he needed to say. Tommy’s already got a date? Sure, it’s been over a month and he had his own opportunities, but Buck was convinced Tommy would be alone moping, or at least working an extra shift tonight (Tommy is not a big holiday guy, Buck had found out when he suggested they took the same days off to celebrate). But he’s already found another man to spend his spare time with and the man is gorgeous and not so different from his own physique that Buck can pass it off as an experiment.

He thinks maybe that Sal guy had been there all along. That Buck was in fact the experiment and he’d fallen into the trap. Let the man feed on his naiveness and use his inexperience as some weird superiority kink.

Well, fuck, he thinks. If he’s going down might as well put all the cards on the table and play the game.

“I-I need to talk to Tommy. We have a conversation to have.” Buck straightens up, using the little ounce of alcohol that didn’t coward out of his body to stand his ground. “He should be with me tonight.”

The man laughs as he realizes who he’s talking to, and it boils Buck’s blood.

“You? You’re the reason I had to pick Tommy off the ground?” Sal slaps his knee and looks over inside the house again but doesn’t speak. While he does so, Buck scans him over, looking for a weak point. He’s not above fighting this with his fists - remember the alcohol? - but the man could slam dunk him one-handed.

“Oh, that’s rich,” Sal adds with a deep hum. He looks Buck up and down. Bites his bottom lip. “I guess I can see it. Tall boy with the curls and puppy eyes. I would have been all up in there as well. Worth the heartache.”

“The fuck you mean?” Buck’s hands are forming into fists in his hoodie’s pockets and he’s turning the same colour as the hideous car parked behind him. Which he now understands is this prick’s belonging.

“Boy, listen. Tommy had a good run with you, but I’m here with him now. He doesn’t need to take your hand and walk you everywhere like a lost child anymore.” Sal walks back and starts closing the door but Buck’s hand is quick to stop it.

“I’m sure he didn’t mind that. You should have seen his face the first time I called him daddy. Fucked me for three days straight, something you probably can’t keep up with,” Buck spits, the taste of the statement burning like bile on his tongue. He can see surprise spread across Sal’s face, before he retorts.

“I’m the top, baby. Tommy lets me do what I want with him. And his whimpers are delicious.” Buck knows. Buck’s been on the giving end of those whimpers, and if Tommy was honest with him, he was the first one to bring him there, and-

“Maybe I can show you how to make him cry your name too.” Buck’s inside the house now, backing Sal into the dresser as they go about fighting this like bulls. He goes on to say more arrogant shit that he hopes will fall into the right ears and grant him points. Even if deep down he knows this is childish and stupid and wasting him some precious time.

“That didn’t make him want to move in with you, did it?” Sal sends the final straw as he rubs his chin evilly.

Buck’s eyes land on Sal’s hand and his stomach drops. He looks at the ring on his finger and his mouth falls open, speechless. There’s a stinging feeling of defeat cutting through his entire being, like he came all the way here for nothing. Like the last months were for nothing.

Before Buck can either fall to his knees in sobs or turn around without a word, a feminine frame comes into view and the woman circles an arm around Sal, a big diamond decorating the hand that’s running up his chest. She looks up at him, the stern expression across her face making him check his posture, and suddenly Buck’s even more confused than he was.

“Tommy, come talk to the poor boy,” she says and pulls Sal back to the living room by the hand.

Buck looks over to his right and he feels like passing out.

*

“He should be with me tonight.”

Tommy freezes in place, takes a step back to hide behind the dividing column between the living room and kitchen as if this wasn’t his goddamn house. He takes a deep breath, looks over at Gina on the couch and makes a face: that’s him, he mouths. She giggles at his frightened composure. He’s too drunk for this. 

Hearing Ev-, Buck’s voice triggers emotions he thought he had drowned deep enough with holiday cheer; shame. Regret. Love. And now all he wants is to run out, pull him into his arms tight enough until they fuse together and he can never lose him again. But the conversation has taken a turn and Tommy… Well, Tommy enjoys what he’s hearing. His body goes slack when he hears Buck fight for him. Everything he’s saying is true and he wants to prove it again. Fuck, he misses him.

He’d have a conversation with Sal later about the things he’s saying to rile him up. Slap the back of his head for good measure because Buck could have run off and Tommy’s not sure he’d have the courage to go after him and pick up that mess on top of the one he created, but for now, he chuckles and lets them ‘fight’ over him for the sake of the show. When Sal pulls out his last line though, Tommy’s expression drops and Gina darts past him before he can will himself to take a step. She defuses the bomb.

“Tommy, come talk to the poor boy.” He watches as they walk back into the living area and he meets Buck’s eyes.

He has very little time to make a decision and he probably looks like a deer in headlights. He wants to be cool and composed. Make Buck believe he’s got his life together and that leaving wasn’t the dumbest thing he did. But his baby is standing there in his house and he hates how uneasy he seems. Tommy closes his eyes and breathes in, looks at the stove on his left.

It’s eleven fifty-seven.

“Come in,” he says, barely loud enough to hear himself say it. He has to wave Buck in, and his heart skips a beat when he agrees and closes the door. Tommy turns to the fridge and gathers two beer bottles, even though their systems could do without. It’s a habit, getting something for Buck, because ‘love languages’ or whatever. And old habits die hard.

“Let’s talk on the patio,” Tommy adds, pointing with the neck of the bottle. Buck follows willingly, a faint smile spreading over his face. Tommy sees him look at Sal and Gina sitting hip to hip on the couch and he realizes he has some explaining to do, but as they walk behind the couch, Sal reaches back and pulls Buck by the hoodie.

“Sorry kid but you know I had to test you. You seem alright,” he says. “Don’t fuck up your chance though. I know where you live.” Buck looks at Tommy with worry and Tommy waves his head ‘no’ in reassurance. The room lights up in chuckles and Buck joins them, eyes watery nonetheless. Then Tommy’s gaze lands on the TV and he sees the countdown go by on the broadcast downtown. Seven, six, five, four-

Panic takes over him and when he turns to look at Buck, he’s met with the exact same questioning look. He should have had more time before this. At least say hi properly and get to the apologies first. But Tommy raises his brows and Buck nods with a shaky exhale. Then their lips collide in a clumsy but oh so perfect kiss.

The angle is awkward and this should be a quick peck, but they stay like this for several more seconds, both their hands just hovering around them not quite ready to cross a line.

Happy New Year! The TV chants, and they pull away. The scene mirrors that of their first kiss; Tommy pulls back with his eyes closed, scared that if he opens them then the nightmare will come back and Buck will be gone. But when he pushes himself to do so, Buck is standing there, a tear falling onto his cheek and he’s holding his breath, mouth agape and his eyes search deep into his soul.

Tommy’s ears are ringing but it’s not the fireworks outside. It’s the beating of his heart that’s threatening to fall out of his chest. And he listens to it, grabs Buck’s neck and pulls him back in. The second round is hungry, determined, and the beers have been set on the couch console in favor for their hands to roam freely across charted territory. Tommy finds his favourite dip at the base of Buck’s back, his other hand still wrapped around his Adam's apple. His body shivers when he feels two strong hands run up his front until they settle onto his chest for a light squeeze.

It’s raw and meaningful and unbothered, until someone clears their throat.

*

“I’ll set the dishes in the sink. The leftovers are stored away, but I’m leaving with this amazing fruit cake,” Gina says with Sal in tow.

“W-wait, I didn’t mean to stop you guys, I-”

“Kid, if Lucy hadn’t convinced you to come here before midnight, I would have personally driven mister lonesome here to your place.” Sal loves the moment everything clicks in Buck’s mind and he shoots a look at Tommy who’s turning red. “We were just keeping him company until then.” He winks.

Buck stands there speechless, a little dumbfounded but the smile on his face could light up the city. Tommy also had a plan. The same plan, as it turns out, mastered by the same minds. His dick twitches in the god awful tight jeans knowing Tommy wanted to fight for him. And maybe from the taste of Tommy lingering on his lips.

“Well, we’ll be on our way. Be safe!” Gina adds before gathering their stuff and heading for the door. Sal stops to give Tommy a hug and whispers something to him, to which Tommy nods in agreement.

“And you!” Buck goes cross-eyed looking at his finger. “Don’t be too comfortable being ‘whatever’. Put labels. Be happy that you can do that now. Let people know Tommy’s your boyfriend, whether you’re gay or queer or,” he stops and makes a hand gesture for Buck to finish.

“Bisexual,” he answers.

“There. It’s easy to say, huh? Let people know. Who ever gives a fuck shouldn’t be in your life anyway.” With those wise words, Sal walks past him and out the door. Buck almost starts liking the guy before the roaring of the Charger vibrates through the house and he remembers he could probably never deal with that ego. Tommy seems to notice the disgust on his face and laughs.

“Talk?” Tommy points towards the couch this time, but Buck takes a step closer and brings his hands to his hips.

“You took tomorrow off?” Tommy nods. “Then tomorrow.”

Buck pushes Tommy back against the counter and attacks his mouth again. That would satisfy him, really. Kissing the love of his life in his house. This is what Buck should have emphasized during their last conversation, he thinks. But there’s little time for thinking when Tommy starts undoing his pants and moans obscenely into his open mouth.

“I’ll spend the night on my knees if you ask me to, baby. Don’t worry,” Buck whispers, smug. God he missed this. He runs his hand down the front of Tommy’s pants and tears burn his eyes at the contact with his engorged dick.

“Evan,” Tommy begs faintly.

-

Next part (smut) | Next part (morning conversation)

Let me know if you'd like to be tagged for future works! Tagging:

@weewookinard

[threnodians]

𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐁𝐋𝐎𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐋𝐘 𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐂𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍.

yep, still threnodians. it’s just me at this point; i’m very attached to it. remade because i was just getting genuinely frustrated with everything in general for various reasons and i want to keep this blog far more comfy cozy than before. it will be a strictly personal ⟮emphasis on that; i will be posting a lot about my life and job and it will be tagged thusly, so if you do not like that then please do not follow me⟯ and selfship blog ⟮top 3 selfships are still phainon, jing yuan, and kaeya, and yes i am sharing⟯. i will reblog whatever strikes my fancy, but my fandoms will likely be limited to certain ones that i actively post about. i will only follow friends/past mutuals, so it will be a mutuals only type of blog i suppose, for lack of a better thing to call it. i will be hard blocking liberally because i want to cater this site to my needs/wants, as should everyone.

if i follow you again on here, know that i genuinely enjoy you as a person and your presence in my life/on my dash makes me very happy.

if you no longer want to be mutuals now that i have moved, please hard block me. no hard feelings, i just want strictly positive vibes only.

i will be slowly but surely making a new and improved actual pinned post/informational post/selfship post/tagging system/etc eventually.

this is all rather silly, i know, but there you have it.

[yeslikethewizard]

【 A Cat Among Wolves - Ch. 15 Update!】

LINK: Chapter 15 - building bridges instead of burning them FANDOM: The Scum Villain’s Self Saving System RATING: M, full tags and content warning on A03 PAIRINGS: Shen Yuan | Shen Qingqiu/Luo Binghe, One sided SQQ’s harem hopelessly in love with him

SUMMARY:

Shen Yuan never expected to be transmigrated—who DOES expect that sort of thing!? But here he is, in the world of Proud Immortal Demon Way as some NPC demon child who is at the complete mercy of the cultivation world around him. When he runs into Luo Binghe it is like fate itself plucked him up and set Shen Yuan into the world to be with the Protagonist. Keep him safe. Make sure that Luo Binghe won’t ever have to be alone in the world.

But staying at Luo Binghe’s side will be easier said than done, even if his mysterious heritage lands him in the good graces of the Scum Villain, Shen Yuan is still a demon. One living in the middle of a cultivation sect. Not to mention that something—something darker and stronger than Shen Yuan—seems to be messing with the plot, and not changing things for the better. Like Shen Yuan didn’t already have enough on his plate to deal with.

EXCERPT:

For the first time in a long time, Shen Yuan feels warm and safe. His head rests on the chest of his closest friend in the world, and Luo Binghe’s heartbeat soothes some nameless part of him better than any lullaby. When he wakes he is drowsy, feeling a little lazy and like there is nothing in this world to hold any urgency to. For a moment, there is just the comfort of being somewhere that he doesn’t need to be afraid. It is very tempting to let the drag of sleep take him once more, and he turns to snuggle closer to Luo Binghe.

“A-Yuan,” Luo Binghe’s voice must have been what roused him before. He has the tone of someone who has repeated himself. Shen Yuan presses closer to his chest, but he can’t quite effectively pretend that he doesn’t hear. “A-Yuan, you have to get up so you aren’t late to dinner with your uncle.”

Right. Fucking Shen Qingqiu. Shen Yuan sighs heavily, pushing himself up and rubbing his eyes to try and wake up. Luo Binghe, the dear that he is, sets about heping Shen Yuan fix his hair. A good thing too, he hasn’t really properly tended to it since his bath and it is an absolute mess. He yawns, setting about pulling out some of his nicer robes from the qiankun pouch he has.

Nothing overly fancy, he doesn’t have that much. But Xun Fu has always been the type to spoil when given the opportunity to do so and Shn Qingqiu seems like the kind of bitch that would say something if he showed up in the same outfit he wore earlier in the day.

After a frankly ridiculous amount of time getting dressed, Shen Yuan is looking presentable enough to have dinner with the scum villain. He helps Luo Binghe with his hair before the two of them have to part, though Binghe protests the slightest bit. Shen Yuan insists—it might partially be because he is indulging himself more than Binghe.

Still.

“There, perfect as always,” Shen Yuan says with no small amount of pride in his voice. He pats Binghe’s shoulders, and can’t resist pinching his friend’s cheek affectionately when he realizes that Binghe’s turning a little pink. “It’s true!”

“A-Yuan,” Luo Binghe says with a barely restrained laugh. “Stop fussing.”

“Fussing, who’s fussing?” Shen Yuan responds, resisting the urge to fix more of Binghe’s hair. The curls are cute. “Now—Binghe listen, if Ming Fan is mean you must tell me. I mean it, I’ll find out somehow.”

Luo Binghe looks a bit puzzled at that—understandable. Ming Fan had been very friendly earlier. He doesn’t know if Shen Qingqiu has gotten to him while they were napping away though! It’s very reasonable that he’s making sure that Binghe knows to tell him.

“If he’s mean to this Binghe, what will A-Yuan do?” Luo Binghe asks, sounding curious.

“Never you mind,” Shen Yuan pats Luo Binghe on top of his head.

[gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan]

Lighthouse

Author's note: I'm going to be trying to do Mermay 2025.

Summary: You are a lighthouse keeper and you get an unexpected visitor. It's a welcome one. You have been out here for your shift by yourself for so long.

Warnings: None. LMK if I need to add something

tagged: @sleepyfan-blog @c-u-c-koo-4-40k @i-am-a-dragon34 @ms--lobotomy @jaghatai-khock

tagged: @kit-williams @whorety-k @aprofessionaln00b @bleedingichorhearts @thevoidscreams @gra93fruit-blog

Tagged: @felinisnoctis @bispecsual, @egrets-not-regrets @finchly-tintinnabulation @nereidof40k

You are someone who works at a lighthouse- while such a job isn't as important now, with the modern age and the technology that is making traveling the seas much less dangerous- they are still in use, partly due to Tradition, and partly because not every sea capable vessel has all of the fancy technology.

A lighthouse is a structure, usually with a tower, built onshore or on the seabed to serve as an aid to maritime coastal navigation. This sort of building is used as a warning mariners of hazards, establishing their position, and guiding them to their destinations.

Your lighthouse- well you don't own it, but you have been working in and around it and the little island that its on by yourself for a few weeks, so it feels like home. Is of the normal tower design. With white walls trimmed in blue. You scratch one of your cheeks, yawning. The hours of a Lighthouse keeper are strange. Your job to make sure that the lights stay on and to warn passing ships.

From the sea a lighthouse may be identified by the distinctive shape or color of its structure, by the color or flash pattern of its light, or by the coded pattern of its radio signal. The development of electronic navigation systems has had a great effect on the role of lighthouses.

The chatter you get from the sailors- is a wonderful break in the doldrums that is the walk up all the steps. Check the lights- change them as needed. Keep the glass clean and bright. Check for passing ships. Listen the radios. Walk back down. Cook food, clean up, do other basic living tasks.

Powerful lights are becoming superfluous, especially for landfall, but there has been a significant increase in minor lights and lighted buoys, which are still necessary to guide the navigator through busy and often tortuous coastal waters and harbor approaches.

You also check the smaller lighted buoys that are out at sea- making sure that they are in good condition and repair. This hadn't been a career that you thought you would do. You were often given warnings in advance, when tourists would be coming to your lighthouse. You know the history of your light house- and are proud of it as you tell the people that listen and follow up and up and up the winding stairs as you tell them the stories of this place.

Among mariners there is still a natural preference for the reassurance of visual navigation, and lighted marks also have the advantages of simplicity, reliability, and low cost. In addition, they can be used by vessels with no special equipment on board, providing the ultimate backup against the failure of more sophisticated systems.

You had finished your normal informative talks about the light houses and why they are still needed and should get funding and care. They head back out to the island. They brought food with them and the little island is kind of picturesque as the water rages around down below.

You talk to them and eat with them. And nod towards the captain of the ship that does regular runs around this area, "Stay safe Captain!"

"You as well." They say with a nod- and all too soon, and yet not soon enough the party off to another one of the little islands.

You heave a sigh and clean up the various leftovers and are head back into your lighthouse when you hear a voice call out- you are startled, since you hadn't thought there was anyone left. You mentally swear as you need to find who it is and then call the Captain- you knew that said Captain was almost always careful to make sure not to leave anyone behind.

You blink in surprise to see a mer-astartes. They were the one to call out, "I was nearby- when I heard your lectures on lighthouses." They say, "And such a fascinating and clever concept!"

"Uh. Yeah they are a pretty good thing to have," You say eyeing the mer-astartes. "Who are you?"

"Oh- I go by Eryn." They say with a nod.

[thefinaldoctor]

Summary: Alastor is saved by a curious creature while out burying his latest kill. Naturally, he brings it home. AKA The supernatural pet distribution system goes terribly wrong and now he has to deal with feelings.

Relationships: Alastor/Original Female Character

A03: Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4

Tumblr: Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3

Tags: Pet Distribution System Gone Wrong, Mild Gore, Mild Sexual Content, Mild Language, Vague Supernatural Knowledge, future smut, OC is a Creature but Yadda Yadda Magical Transormation, no beta we die like sir pentious, If I Changed Tenses Shut Up, Descriptions of murder, descriptions of torture, Masturbation, Skullfucking, but imaginary skullfucking, Alastor goes to Hell for a reason, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Mildly Dubious Consent, Canonical Character Death, Alastor has to go at some time right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chapter 4: To Reminisce

She doesn’t remember being born. There was no mother to care for her or a grizzled old teacher begrudgingly teaching her how to hunt and survive so that she could live on when they inevitably passed. There was only silence. The quiet of the morning mist swirling around her and the soft blood-soaked earth squishing and squelching between her toes as she stumbled uncertainly out of the shadows of long dead women and their children.

She was nothing then. Small and weak and so so fearful of the bright lights of the lanterns as the human males returned to collect their dead. She watched them, hidden in the small hollow of a tree, mouth hung open and drooling as the stench of sorrow filled her little maw and stomach. She would clamber out of that hollow when they left, trailing their misery, licking it up off the ground as she followed them to their settlement. To their burnt and broken homes of mud and straw covered in blood and pain and the echoes of love.

She would slink inside, inside their broken facades of safety and settle into the darkness under their beds. And she would wait. Until the hated light of their fires faded and she could move around without hurting her thin flesh to settle on her chosen human’s chest. She would sink her claws into them, little talons piercing so easily as she forced their fears to the surface, forcing them to experience their pain and fear over and over again until they woke up with a start. She would be thrown to the ground, lost in the shadows as the human would shake their head, mumble something, and go back to sleep.

And she did this for years, until the taste of this village’s fear grew stale and bland along her tongue and absorbing their knowledge until there was nothing left to learn. It was a traveling merchant she haunted next, hiding first under the shadow of its wagon and clambering inside to find a suitable spot to hide until she needed to feed. She would do much the same in the next village. And the next. Hiding and waiting until they grew stale. 

Sometimes she would be discovered. Oh, not in a literal sense but humans always were a suspicious bunch and when the influence of her nightmares would grow too much they would create councils and denounce evils and speak of their gods’ protection and their own wickedness. Then they would hang up the plants, speak their words of light, and burn their bright candles in all their efforts to keep her away. So great was their paranoia and trust in their silly rituals that they could have never even conceive that it was simply the knowledge of her influence that kept her magic at bay.

And she would leave. Again with the next travelling merchant. And oh! How she loved these travels. These people who would ferry her town to town, who spoke so many languages and traded so many things and danced and sang and cried out their lovely voices to the silent sky above. Enamored so was she that she often found herself quite starved on these trips, thin and dull, but still she resigned herself to only siphon their fears. And, if she was feeling quite fanciful, she would imagine showing herself to these people; and instead of fear and disgust, they would greet her with the same cooing and gentle sounds as they did with their prized dogs. Such fine beasts they were that she often wondered if she would ever be like them with their long legs and sharp teeth. 

It was up north, when she was plastered to the inside of a traveler's fur coat as it slept through a blizzard that she first found true form. A beautiful little white fox found its way into the tent, so fearful of the human but so desperate to escape the wind that it did not care. And it was warm . Immediately she wanted to be like this fox and suddenly, she was before it, strangling the soft creature and crawling inside, into each nook and cranny until she could no longer tell what was her and was once the fox.

She left the tent when the storm ended. There was no reason to stay and the human was dead, its deer dead, dead and dead. But she was a lovely little fox, with lovely black fur and the sun reflecting off the snow no longer burnt her skin. She could hunt rodents this way, using her new ears and nose to find the little things under the snow. Their little hearts pounding and pounding away as she stalked them and sent them on their way.

Next was an eagle. The graceful silly thing landed on her, claws piercing her little fox form with great ease and into its heart. It was instinct, to abandon her borrowed form and climb into that bird. And then she was free ! Oh so free to soar above the trees, feeling the rush of it through her feathers as she landed upon prey with precision and such skill that they didn’t even feel a moment of fear before she ended them.

But she could not survive this way. The eagle was fun but soon she grew skinny, keel protruding and the muscles withered away to reveal the bones beneath. Meat did not sustain her, the moments of fear as death approached did not sustain her and maybe, it was the animals themselves that could not sustain her. Not like humans did. So she turned her feathers east, in search of human settlements.

She found her travelers again and shed her form, absorbing the eagle and the fox and becoming the wasted shadow she was. The villages she hunted in grew larger and she became fat once again, being able to stay much longer in each one as the generations of humans lived longer. Often she would watch them, an eagle in the tree watching through the window, a fox trailing along a fence, eyes wide and curious as she continued her voyeuristic wanderings. But humans did not like owls and foxes. One would come across her path and shoo her away. The audacity!

So she took a cat. And what a lithe creature this was! Small talons, soft fur, strong muscles and sensitive whiskers that stopped her from trying to squeeze into small places to hide on habit. She did not like to think of all the times she got careless and  trapped herself in a burrow, unable to leave without shedding it back to shadow. But what she loved most about these tiny little predators were their eyes ! 

So she kept them. And once she had realized that she could keep parts of the animals she claimed…well, she needed to collect more.

And onto the next traveler she went, trailing behind as a sleek black cat with feathered wings. South they went, farther south than she had ever been until the weather grew hot, the humans dark, and the animals strange. She claimed their lions, hyenas, vultures and once even a cheetah but that one moved so fast she could never quite get a hang of its legs. 

She went east again, along what she would learn was a trade route that was filled with human after human and her jackal became quite plump. Bats were a new delight, soft leathery wings that she found she preferred to a bird, especially in these warm climates. She even tried a bear once, one with a slash of white across its chest but the claws were less preferable to the great eagle she had first found but she delighted in making its roar and scaring the hunters she could find.

Horses were another fascinating find. Oh, she knew them well enough, they pulled carts like oxen and reindeer, but never did they look like these ones. Small but strong, they were so mesmerizing to watch as their herds raced across the grasslands. She often joined them, a fleet black shadow along the edge of the herd. Humans would approach her then. Brave things that knew their herds so well that her arrival often left them confused but still they had to try and claim her, to wrap that rope around her neck or corral her into their wooden pens. She liked letting them close and biting at their hands. They learned to fear her sharp hunter’s teeth and the reach of her serpentine neck and let her be, content to make her a patron spirit protector of their herds. And protect she did, for the more horses she kept safe, the more would go to battle and the more fear and anguish she could eat.

She stayed in that land for decades, though she did not know it. She watched as humans grew, changing their travelling ways and settling down. But when their fear grew stale and she began to hunger she eventually wandered west again, trailing refugees and the like. She barely even noticed that the simple wooden homes became stone, that her clawed feet no longer crushed soft earth but tip-tip-tapped along cobblestone roads. They were not new to her as some form of road always existed but whatever land she had found herself in was prolific in their creation. And their stone work! Oh she would often spend hours roaming as a normal cat, into their temples to admire their stone gods, their massive arena to watch humans cheer on frightened warriors, and into their homes to watch her strange humans perform their rituals with oil and plant until she could no longer stand the wretched stench of their smoke.

And then there was war . Oh these humans were masters of war . Entire generations of humans dedicated to a life of war . She would trail them, practically drooling as they brought fear and rage and war to the people they conquered. So fat did she grow on the fear they wrought that she could no longer fly comfortably and had to maintain a form on the ground; wolf or horse it did not matter so long as she could trot behind gleefully.

She was actually sad when her empire collapsed and some form of peace came to the land she was in. The land of her birth was unrecognizable, the long lost battlefield dried up and buried under a city whose name she never did bother to remember. 

She found out quickly that she would have to avoid being a cat in these new towns. Humans had found religion and deemed the sweet creatures ‘demonic’ and hunted them with relish. This was something she did not understand, no matter how many priests and nuns she fed on in a desperate attempt to understand their god. She had been all around this world and never saw any ‘gods’. Other spirits, yes, things like her but never just like her that fed on the fear of humans. Spirits of light and harmony deep in the forests that burned her with their proximity and would chase her out of their hallows, but never anything she could call a god.

She pondered their rituals for years, enjoying the fear their beliefs caused before plague broke out. Another blissful time filled with fear and rot and misery as humans died by the dozens, prone to panic as their god failed them and they contracted rot. She would hide in the corners of their rooms, bringing them dread as they wasted, putting fear into their doctors and priests as they tried and failed to heal the misery their own hubris had brought. Dumb creatures who believed their plague a result of killing the Devil’s cats when she was certain no Devil actually existed. Outside of her. It was not uncommon for her to wonder if she was the devil they so feared.

She must have been for the rituals they started began to affect her. Their symbols of their religion, the bundles of plants outside the door, even the smoke of their incense began to burn her airways no matter what form she took. She was so smart now, after hunting humans and their knowledge for so long, that it did not take long for her to realize that it was her feeding on these humans that made her so susceptible to their customs. It was disappointing that in gaining her now significant strength that she had somehow created her own weakness.

So when she heard whispers of conquering lands across the great ocean, lands untouched by their religion and innovation…she did not hesitate. She boarded a great warship of wood and metal and hid as a great black war-horse. An unsettling thing that the humans avoided looking at and kept quiet to herself in the dark. She had limited food aboard this ship and grew slim again by the time they reached land. 

She fed upon them immediately that night, finally relishing in the fear of never finishing their long journey, fear of their god abandoning them to the cold waters of the ocean, of the fear of the unknown strange lands they would find and the creatures that could dwell within. So lost in their misery was she that it wasn’t until she felt the gush of blood against her throat of a heart’s final beat did she realize she had maimed everything aboard. A shame really, she had meant to harvest them a bit until she found what humans lived across the ocean.

If they lived across the ocean.

That was a worrisome thought. She had been starving and weak many times, dumb with the pain of hunger as she trailed across the ground, moving on instinct until she stumbled across a human and wrung them dry. But what would she do if there were no humans here? Would she finally perish after all her time on Earth? Or would she simply go dormant, asleep and thoughtless until luck shone upon her and delivered her now almost exclusive prey? She shook her head and screeched towards the sky, a shrill awful noise like the sound of hundreds screaming that echoed across the beach as she vented her concern. She finished with a snort and looked back across the ocean. At the very least, if she did not find humans she could come back here. No doubt more would come. She would simply have to last.

Luckily, she did not have to wait long. 

There were actually plenty of humans in this dense forest land with its shadows and deep, deep caverns. She found them around the vast holes in the ground with water at its bottom. She liked to wander their cities at night as a beautiful dark jaguar, exploring their sacred temples and licking at the old blood of their altars. She found that her magic had more influence here, free from the constraints of the gods across the sea. She could wander freely into any home and enjoy the smells of their herbs, their symbols did not make her skin crawl and eyes burn, and their bells did not make her ears ring and disorient her until she had to return to shadow and run away. She was always able to make humans dumb with fear, frozen to the ground as she prowled towards them but now she could entice them to come to her, twitching and shaking and willing to embrace her jaws as she reveled in their final terrified moments.

And she could visit nightmares across an entire city. And these humans…oh simple, beautiful humans, thought these mass nightmares were premonitions from their gods and she would get so fat from feeding this way that she wouldn’t need to hunt for months . And so, with her belly full and confident in her strength, she would continue to wander north.

But this land was strange and the spirits within stranger still. The few she came across filled her with unease and for the first time in her long life, she tried to avoid them. She did not wish to find out what they could do to her. It was when she was up north again, wandering as a proud moose that she had her first true brush with mortality. She had been following a group of human hunters through the snow, feeding into their fear of dying of hypothermia and being hunted by bears as she stalked behind. And then suddenly there was a spike of it, great fear she did not create and suddenly she felt the humans’ lives extinguishing one by one. 

THE AUDACITY!

She shed her moose and flew . Great leathery wings beating the cold winter air as her body morphed into a taloned leopard, teeth exposed in a vicious snarl as she screeched at the creature that stole her prey. She saw it long enough to know she wanted to kill it; elongated limbs, protruding bone and the stench of death. 

She tackled the thing, claws and teeth ripping fetid flesh and gagging on the putrid blood as it filled her maw. She pulled her wings inside, focusing all her might into tearing this bitch apart for daring to interrupt her hunt.

And then she was in the air.

She landed with a muffled thump dozens of feet away and was so shocked at the ease in which she was tossed that she didn’t realize the gaunt creature was upon her until those sharp bloodied teeth were ripping into her side, tearing into the soft flesh of her belly as long sharp claws gripped her, tearing into her hide to hold her down.

And it hurt . Such pain she had never felt as for the first time something ravaged her, tearing not only into the flesh but into her true body, into the spirit itself. She panicked, limbs kicking out wildly as she tried to catch the spindly thing but it simply grabbed her flailing limbs, gathering them in those unnaturally long fingers as it reared its head back, her intestines between its teeth. 

She felt its triumph, its hunger.

And she felt afraid of this thing. Of this thing that she could now see was once human, now twisted by whatever spirit possessed it, the same spirit that she could now see within its glowing eyes as they looked at each other. She wanted to call out to it, call it cousin and plea with it to let her go, let her live so they could hunt together and wreak fear through these cold lands.

But it did not look at her as the few other spirits she met across the sea looked at her. 

To it, she was only prey.

Before it could lunge back down into her bowls she thrust out her power, fear and dread spreading out from within her and the bite of flesh now currently within the beast above her. It paused, mouth and throat open in a permanent death rattle over the wound it had created before it let her go, hands reaching to cradle its head as it screamed in agony, falling backwards and scrambling back on its feet and shoulders to get away from her. It rolled over with a sickening snap of its spine before ribs and pelvis lined back up and ran into the woods, its ear-shattering cry echoing within her skull as she panted heavily.

She did not know if she would live. Being gutted was not necessarily a new experience, it had happened many times when she was a smaller animal, but she was always quick enough to be able to jump into the new beast before she truly experienced the pain. Never had something been faster than her. And never did an animal cut her to the spirit.

She felt cold where the creature had torn into her. A hole in the very fiber of her being that she did not know she would be able to heal on her own. 

She was so very tired.

It was the sound of crying that woke her up. A woman’s wail as she found her partner’s cold corpse. And then came the fear from her dogs as they smelt the creature that killed the hunting party. She called to them, forcing the simple beasts to whimper and cry as she fed on their fear until their hearts burst. The human woman did not run, she accepted her death with grace as the Mare descended upon her. It did not heal her. Not completely. But her belly would hold long enough until she could find the human village.

In the end, it took the entire village to heal that damage done to her. She drug herself into the center, reaching out into their dreams and visiting upon them the same fear she herself had felt out there in the snowfields. The children, elderly, and weak died; their hearts failing from the strain. The adults would wake the next morning, their fear and confusion fueling the last bit of strength she would need to feel whole again.

And then she fled. South and west and away from the cold lands that harbored that awful creature. She came across other spirits as she slowed and explored the vast flat lands she found herself in and did her best to avoid them. Some gave chase, some simply followed her for a while out of curiosity but thankfully, most wanted what she wanted: to be left alone. She wanted to explore this land, experience its people, and maybe go back to haunting the shadowed places and delighting in finding beautiful lakes and streams and finding new animals to take.

She found herself heading east again, trailing the growing smell of fear as a black horse. The people who lived in these lands had at some point acquired the beasts and she was quite fond of them. Taking this form allowed her to wander close, sowing seeds of doubt and minor scares in the young ones who helped mind the herds; especially if she let them see how her four limbs ended in eagles claws. She was idly dozing the day away when she felt a ripple of fear come from the nearby camp, a fear of the unknown sending a shiver down her spine.

Curious, she wandered down, head held high and following the trail until she saw what was distressing her prey. Humans! But these were the pale kind she had not seen since she slaughtered the boat she came across the ocean on. Why, she nearly wanted to whinny at seeing something so familiar, they had finally made it! 

And oh, how they made it. It didn’t take long for their kind to sow fear and destruction upon the peoples she was with. They killed them, chased them, took their women and children, destroyed their carefully cultivated lands and poisoned it just so they could take it for their own and do a bad job of it. She grew fat again as she moved east, fear pervading the land as the pale ones dominated, forcing their wills upon the darker humans and visiting their own awful horrors upon them. 

New spirits rose from the misery of this land and its people, hybrid things born of both spirit and human that made her uncomfortable. And she was beginning to feel the stirrings of the gods across the sea, the familiar symbols on their homes made her turn away, the herbs she was growing fond of now beginning to itch her throat as they were combined with those across the sea. 

She was about to leave, to head out west again where there were fewer humans when a great war broke out. Immediately she changed course, following a dread man who brought misery and fear and death upon the land. He was atrocious but he fed her well and she stopped feeling the affects of their god for many abandoned them when faced with the realities of war. They abandoned their gods and their deaths gave birth to ghouls, corpse lights and quieter violent things that scattered at her approach.

In fact, she was wandering a great and bloody battlefield, soaking up the fear as her fellow spirits preyed on their flesh, paying her no mind as she politely tiptoed around them when she felt something draw her to the tree line. It was a frightful little thing, a blob of shadow with sharp little teeth glinting in the moonlight desperately trying to feed and not be noticed. It reeked of newness and it cowered into its tree hollow at her approach, trying its best to scare her away with a hiss.

She snorted and whinnied at the attempt, causing the new spirit to flare with anger and nearly charge her before she pressed her own fear against it and it squealed in fear and pressed harder into the hollow. It took a lot of nickering to coax the new creature out, prodding the thing that looked so much like she did eons ago to sit between her shoulder blades. She let it feed on the battlefield, too plump herself to do much more than sample as they wandered about until the last human finally died.

They went to sleep in the early morning, the new nightmare curled up under her wings. 

It was a vicious little thing, desperate to prove itself a terrifying creature and often came back scrambling and crying to her with something trailing after it. It reeked of jealousy when she dispatched its foes no matter now many times she tried to tell it that she was old. Very old. That she had seen the rise and fall of many human civilizations and that it was only a little blip of a moment of time to her. It…no, he, for it must be a he for all its recklessness and stupidity, accepted this knowledge begrudgingly. 

But still he stayed and she let him feed on the humans she weakened for him, showed him how to claim animals for his own when he grew strong enough and watched with pride as he finally began to hunt the streets of the human town on his own as a fluffy black tom cat. No longer did he frantically call her to see the spoils of his hunts nor run squealing to hide under her strong shadow, cowering between her wings as she tore into spirit-flesh. He was strong now, so much stronger than she had been at his young age and humans were much more plentiful.

She left him on a full moon, giving him her final advice to avoid the human-spirit hybrids that roamed the dark with them. She told him of how the Cold One (for she would not say its name despite learning of it years ago) overtook her, gutted her, and would have killed her. She told him how it still lived and on those coldest of moonless nights she could still feel the phantom pull of her spirit-flesh inside it and that one day, she feared it would find her.

He laughed as coyotes do and shook his head. They were fear itself, how could she be afraid? She simply bit his hide, into the flesh and taking a part of Him and spitting it out to silence his yapping and left. She hoped he would continue to grow strong and maybe, once he had outgrown his cockiness, she would find him again and take him across the sea.

It wasn’t long until she found herself in the swamps of her current cage. She liked it here, plenty of trees to perch in, lots of alligators to fight and watch with morbid interest as they drowned their prey and spun the flesh from their bones. She had always gotten sick when she tried that move but she kept the way in which they swam.

She liked watching the humans here too; so afraid of the swamp and yet they came here to commune with nature and practice their rituals. Their rituals always set her on edge, they were born of this land and brought forth spirits and magic she did not know and made her feel a stranger. But whatever it was that these humans beseeched was generally content to leave her be with only a passing brush of their presence against her wing.

Those humans who carried this magic she tended to leave alone in response. Those humans were claimed by their gods and if she wanted to maintain her weakening strength in this land, it was safer to avoid them. But hunger tends to erode her usual cautions.

She had been wandering the bayou for months now, enjoying the ebb and flow of the tide through the cypress roots as a slippery otter and flying through the salt-laden wind as a heron. The urge to move on was calling to her and soon she would head south again. This time as far as she could go; away from the phantom call of her missing flesh which had been aching for some time. But she needed strength for that and headed towards a town she had heard the humans calling New Orleans.

She hadn’t been to the city in decades, usually choosing to pick off the silly scared humans who wandered from it into the swamp. There was lots of magic in that city, lots of human-spirits and their gods and their priestesses with their mighty protections. It was an effort to find a human not so protected and much easier to pick them off in the swamp and entice the unsuspecting into her clutches.

She had been following one such human, a small female with shiny pale hair as it stumbled through the swamp despite the full moon light. The fear was enticing and she fueled this human’s desire to run, forcing it deeper into the woods and off the trails into her favorite clearing. It was one of the few clearings wide enough to let her fly low, claws grazing the grass as she would fly in circles before loop-de-looping at the treeline and twirling around to make another circuit. And she loved chasing down humans in it; letting them make it halfway before she would chase them, claws digging into the soft ground to give her speed as she galloped towards them, wings and ears flat against her body as she pushed her muscles to the limit, jaw reaching out to grab them by the neck and tackle them, a ball of rending claws and teeth and emitting her victory screech to the sky. 

Yes, it was great fun. And her chosen human was halfway through the clearing. She launched herself straight up, the tree branch protesting wildly as she pumped her great wings and spread them wide, a fearsome black devil in the sky as she shrieked and plummeted towards the human who in their fear had fallen to all fours and--

Again. Again she was met with teeth and claws with speed that rivaled her own. Again it bit into her flesh and just grazed the spirit within. Again she was thrown, tangled into the tree roots as she struggled to pull her wings and tail from them. She didn’t understand how she had missed the tell-tale signs of the human-spirit, the stench of the rot from its very soul now pervading her nostrils as she finally ripped herself from the tree. It grabbed her, claws digging into her back leg and pulling her close as she whipped around to bite at its arm and it released her with a wolf-like howl of pain.

It was all a blur then. Screeching and howling and pain that pierced her hide but her spirit remained strong. Whatever this was, it was young and she could kill it if only she could get a good hold on it. And then it snapped her fragile wing and the world flared white as she landed with a thud. A loud shot rang out and she roused, shaking her head and slinking down into shadow with the intent to run away when she heard laughter. The laugh of a human in disbelief, of one who was scared so witless that their body and mind could do nothing but freeze and accept the death that was coming to them.

She needed it. If she was going to be able to heal that broken wing she needed a human. It wouldn’t heal it completely but it would at least set it if she could just kill the creature. Kill the creature. Rip out its throat. Chase this human down. Kill the creature. Rip out its throat. Chase this human down. Kill the creature. Rip out its throat. Chase the human down.

Kill the creature.

She moved around the human, using the light as a shield to stay out of the creature’s sight.

Rip out its throat.

She leapt out of the shadow, latching at the creature's throat and digging long talons into its flesh. Refusing to let go and snarling in victory as it ripped out its own throat by throwing her away.

Chase the human down.

She was tired. But the human would lose its adrenaline rush and grow weak as well. She would catch up. She’d find it. She just needed to rest and then she could follow its fear trail. She just needed…

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The Nightmare startled from her slumber, panic coursing through her for just a moment as she looked for the beast she now knew was a rougarou. She only saw the faint green of her cage and heard the soft low melody of music playing on the gramophone. Alastor must have been in recently and the sun shining through the window told her it was midday.

She snorted. It wasn’t like her to reminisce. At her old age she forgot more than she could remember but when one has nothing to do but sit pretty….well she supposed there was only so many ways she could pass the time as she waited for Alastor. Her skinny little human was late and she was bored. 

Bored enough to try again to call to the spirits that lingered in this room. They clung to the shadows and resolutely denied her call. She laid down low, head on the floor as she called to the bravest, one with no real shape except for the antlers on its head. It skittered around the edge of the circle, teasing her as she playfully snapped at its tendrils. She liked this one the most. It was rash and young and had the same hunger as its master to prove itself stronger than it really was. If she ever got out she would enjoy its--

Her head snapped up, eyes wide as she felt a pulse of magic. The bindings around the house that kept her contained and limited to this one damaged form tightened around her, forcing the air from her lungs and her limbs to her side. She nearly squealed but couldn’t get the air as the bindings grew tighter and tighter and suddenly were gone.

She panted heavily, small noises of distress escaping her with every exhale as the bindings lifted. The antlered shadow chittered around her cage, concern wafting from it as she struggled to gain her bearings. She flexed her claw and watched in fascination as it changed into a singular sharp hoof. 

She didn’t waste a moment. She gathered her legs beneath her, flexing her unbound body and enjoying the feeling of being free as she aimed herself towards the window. She needed to leave. She needed to feed. She needed to figure out what happened to her Alastor that caused his protections to fail.

She launched.

And immediately crashed into the barrier of the circle with a sickening crunch. She wailed as something twinged in her neck and she collapsed onto the broken wing. Behind her the shadow chittered with laughter, popping into her eyesight with a grin that stretched ear to ear, enjoying her misery. She snapped at it and slowly rose to her claws, gingerly checking herself for any new damage. The wing was damaged again, black blood oozing through the gauze. She grimaced and paced the edge of the circle, sniffing at the barrier for any change or sign of weakness.

Beside her the shadow followed her idle pacing, cackling and pointing at the symbols that lined it. She understood. Whatever happened with the house did not matter so long as she was in here. This circle was made with symbols specifically made to bind her and she would find no freedom until they were gone.

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A/N: This was super fun to write! I won't ever settle on an actual birthdate of the Mare but she's been around long enough to see lots of humanities major moments of history. She's been all over Europe, Africa, and northeast Asia before she rounded around to Europe again for the plague, traveled across the sea with some Spaniards and haunted Mesoamerica before she went up north and got wrecked by a W*ndigo, followed the peoples of midwestern America and came back east for the Civil War and the Battle of Gettysburg before getting wrecked again by a baby rougarou. Only to get caught by a skinny middle-aged man with some mildly interesting magic. The shame.