#((gues who at last remembered this? ^^;))

[hysterotic]

✩ 𝑺𝑻𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑶𝑲𝒀𝑶 𝑹𝑬𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹𝑺 𝑿 𝑭𝑬𝑴!𝑹𝑬𝑨𝑫𝑬𝑹. 𝑨𝑪𝑻 𝑰𝑰

⚠︎ : vulgar language, shinichiro’s death mentioned, pregnancy and abortion mentioned once, another cute lil moment with kazutora except no coke is involved. temperature play, alcohol, usage of drugs, murder threats, violence, hanma has a dick piercing giggles mischievously and runs away, panty stealer!hanma and panty sniffer!kazutora, fingering, p in v, hanma calls you angel, forest sex, semi humiliation kink.

<3 𝑰𝑵𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑬𝑺𝑻 𝑰𝑵 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑺 𝑪𝑯𝑨𝑷𝑻𝑬𝑹 : kazutora hanemiya, baji keisuke, hanma shuji, rindou haitani.

vile’s note : keep in mind that the last part was very rushed and not proofread </3 i’ve got an exam in like 5 hours and i needed to finish this chapter before october so hopefully it's good enough. & thanks to @ljubimaya for helping me figure out a scene with keisuke, enjoy<3

𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑻𝑶 𝑨𝑪𝑻 𝑰 | 𝑨𝑪𝑻 𝑰𝑰𝑰 | 𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑻𝑶 𝑪𝑨𝑴𝑷 (𝑴𝑨𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻) | 𝑻𝑨𝑮𝑳𝑰𝑺𝑻

flashlights cast eerie shadows across the walls as rindou moves about, cracking glow sticks and laying them around the cabin. you were all wearing black ghostface cloaks, sitting in a circle on the floor after rearranging the living room to create more space. yet, as the dim flashlight flickers, the scene begins to resemble something more akin to a satanic ritual.

you sat in a side-sitting position, body angled towards mikey’s whose head rested comfortably on your lap. rindou finally sits in the circle and begins to explain the game, carefully tearing pieces of paper and marking circles on all but one, which gets an 'x'.

“If you draw the piece of paper that has the ‘x’ on it, you are the murderer.. and you have to keep it a secret,” he whispers the last part, his speech slightly slurred from the shots he had earlier. he places shot glasses directly in front of each person, except keisuke who waves off the shot glass before rindou places it, raising his beer bottle to hint that he’s good with the drink he already has.

“so, how do you play exactly?” you ask, twirling mikey’s hair with your finger.

“you have to hit the lights before playing the game, which..” rindou pauses, saying as if the power outage had done the job already. “we’ll be wearing the mask so no one will recognize one another or team up, and the killer won’t get real fuckin’ personal,” he mumbles the last part while quickly shooting somebody a glance, but you don’t really care to check who.

he pushes himself up to walk towards the counter, grabbing a bottle of vodka, lime, and salt for those who need it, and comes back, pouring it into each shot glass.

before Rindou could continue explaining, draken interrupts. “yo, mikey.. you wanna..?”

mikey nudges your hands off his hair to roll over on his stomach, facing draken and resting his chin on your thigh, his sharp chin pressing on your thigh making you hiss slightly at the pain, but he doesn't care. “hmm?”

draken stands up, jerking his head to the side while walking toward the front door, “Y’know.."

“oh, yeah. excuse me.. be right back.” mikey starts to crawl toward where draken is walking, standing up when he reaches the front door, you glance at emma expecting an explanation, which she only shrugs in response.

rindou clears his throat to continue, “whoever gets the paper marked ‘x’ has to find the knife’s location that’s written on the back, and sneak around to find someone to kill, alone, with nobody around to witness the murder. If you come across a body, you have to yell ‘bodies bodies bodies!’ and then we’ll pull the body back here and try to figure out who did it within 5 minutes, if the timer’s up and nobody figured out who the killer is they’ll stay anonymous and continue to be the killer to keep their streak going.”

he finally reaches your shot glass, looking you in the eye as he pours. “remember, you can’t trust nobody.”

“so, basically a game of hide and seek except we kill each other,” you note.

he reluctantly nods, “guess you could call it that.”

takemichi, sitting with his knees pulled up to his chest, speaks up, “i get stressed out every time we play this, someone always ends up beaten up,”

“exactly what makes this game fun,” hanma exclaims, his tone a little too excited for comfort.

you jump in, curious as to why takemichi’s nervous about some game, “why what happened last time?”

“It got ugly, that’s what,” keisuke says, swallowing his beer before responding.

“only because mikey and ken fought not that long before the game, so they kept butting heads,” Mitsuya adds.

“still, that was not fun at all,” takemichi says.

rindou knocks back a shot glass, smacking his lips before opening his mouth to speak, “let’s hope this time, somebody wounds up dead instead, you guys ready?”

before anyone can continue, mikey and draken walk in, “wait,” mikey interrupts, glancing at emma, who is sitting beside draken on his left. “emma, move to the right between draken and her.” he points at you as he stands in the circle.

emma furrows her brows, turning to look up at draken who sinks next to her on the floor, “why?”

mikey’s expression softens slightly. “i prefer draken to slap you rather than the rest of the guys, and you’ll be the one slapping her.”

Emma quickly complies, sliding over next to you with a wide grin, too excited at the fact that she gets to slap you.

Mikey then sits down, positioning himself between Rindou and Takemichi. Then Kazutora, who had been watching where Mikey would sit the entire time, nudges Rindou aside and takes a seat next to Mikey. earning a glare from Keisuke as if he knows what Kazutora’s planning. Huh, that was weird.

“Alright, who will do the honors?” Hanma says, crossing his legs and leaning back on his arms.

“Me,” Rindou volunteers, turning to his right to face Kazutora. he knocks back another shot in one go, then smacks Kazutora hard across the face.

Kazutora grunts but laughs immediately after, rubbing his cheek. he then turns to Mikey with a creepy smile on his face, brushing it away over the fact that he could just be coked out. he grabs the shot glass and tosses it back into his throat smoothly.

Mikey’s eyes narrow at him with a glare, to which Kazutora responds with a much harder slap than Rindou did. the sound echoes in the room, making everyone groan at him for that unnecessarily hard slap.

“The fuck, Kazutora?!” Draken yells, almost standing up but Mitsuya stops him, calming him down.

Mikey appears unfazed, adjusting his jaw, a flicker of annoyance crossing his face, you could swear that the color of his eyes just went darker than usual.

“What? It’s the game, chill,” Kazutora replies nonchalantly.

Mikey flexes his jaw, jerking his head to the side in a sharp, dismissive motion, shaking off the irritation as he tips back a shot, the burn of the vodka barely registering on his face.

He then turns to Takemichi, his expression softening at the sight of him, watching Takemichi squeezing his eyes shut. he hesitantly opens one eye, wondering why Mikey’s taking a while to slap him, Mikey’s mouth curves into a silent laugh at that. he raises a hand up and finally slaps him, making Takemichi hiss in pain, clutching his cheek and groaning exaggeratedly, earning a laugh from the guys. despite his initial reaction, he toughens it out, rubbing his cheek.

Takemichi sips the shot, his mouth twists into a grimace from the alcohol burning his throat. then turns to Keisuke, you can tell he’s intimidated by him. hesitantly, he slaps him, but it’s a weak effort, making Keisuke smile, his eyes narrowing as he tongues the inside of his cheek.

“Really?” Keisuke says, his tone mocking. Takemichi chuckles nervously, his eyes darting around the circle who were laughing at the weak tap he’d call a ‘slap’.

“Hit me again, harder, come on,” Keisuke insists, pushing his long hair back and leaning in, his eyes fixed on Takemichi.

Takemichi looks to Mikey, whose eyes are darting between him and Keisuke with an unreadable expression. he takes a deep breath, turning his head back to Keisuke, and slaps him harder. making him grin, “Goddamn..” he mutters.

“Are you mad at me?” Takemichi asks, his voice shaky.

Keisuke shakes his head no, but the gesture doesn’t reassure Takemichi at all.

You lean to whisper in Emma’s ear, “Why are we slapping each other exactly?”

“To give the killer a reasonable motive I guess,” she whispers back.

Keisuke takes a swig of his beer, turning to Chifuyu, and slaps him hard. making chifuyu wince, hissing in pain as he rubs his reddening cheek. he shoots Keisuke a mock glare before turning to Mitsuya.

Chifuyu then drains his shot in one go, feeling the warmth spread through his chest. he quickly slaps him, the impact making Mitsuya’s head jerk to the side. “Shit.” he laughs, rubbing his cheek and looking up at Chifuyu, who was chewing on a slice of lime with a smile. “I’ll get you for that,” he promises, his smile widening.

Mitsuya turns to Draken, almost excitedly, and then his eyes suddenly shift to you, locking onto yours as he licks the salt off the back of his hand and downs a shot. the liquid burns down his throat, but he still keeps a neutral face. he then looks back at Draken and gives him a solid smack in the face, making Draken’s head snap to the side. Draken laughs, a deep, rumbling sound. “goddamn, Mitsuya, was that personal?” he jokes. Mitsuya just shrugs, a soft smile on his face.

Draken then turns to Emma, his expression softening. he takes a shot while maintaining eye contact with her. she quickly tucks her hair behind her ears, offering her cheek. he gives her a solid slap, but not hard enough to harm, making her scoff and roll her eyes.

“Don’t go easy on me because I’m your girlfriend, Ken, c’mon!” Emma protests.

“Nah, you don’t know what you’re asking for little lady. now move on and slap her,” Draken nods at you, leaning back with his hands propped behind.

“Ohhhh yeah.” She giggles, remembering that she gets to be the one to slap you. She takes the shot and scoots closer to you. you roll your eyes at how extra she is as she affectionately cups your face, wiping away the excess mascara smudges under your eyes, and then slaps you hard enough to almost knock you off balance, making the guys collectively wince with some laughter.

“Fucking hell.. Emma!” You exclaim, rubbing your cheek from the burning sensation and glaring at her. Emma tilts her head in a challenging way, her grin still wide and cocky.

Shaking your head dismissively, you grab the shot glass and down it. turning to face Hanma, who seems a little too excited to get slapped by you right now. he licks his canine and leans down to make it easier for you, does he always have to show off that he’s taller than you every time?

You sigh, giving him a soft, shy tap on the cheek, making everyone yell at you for it, including him.

“You have got to be kidding me.” Chifuyu groans.

“Oh, c’mon, what was that?” Hanma says, his tone a mock of disappointment as if he’s talking to a kid.

“Put some muscle into it, new girl.” Keisuke encourages through his beer.

“I don’t bite, go ahead,” Hanma nods at your hand, staring at you with his hypnotizing heavy-lidded purple eyes. fuck, he can’t be looking at you like this, not right now.

You smile nervously, giving him another slap, firmer this time but not as hard.

he slowly blinks, “Seriously? fucking hit me,” Hanma insists.

“If anybody deserves a hard slap, it’s him,” Draken points at Hanma with his beer bottle, “I’ll finish this for ‘ya so you can smash it on his head.” He wiggles his beer.

“C’mon, his face is practically begging for it,” Mitsuya adds.

You glance at Mikey, who gives you an encouraging nod, and your sight then scrolls to Emma, who only gives you an eager nod. knowing her, she would probably kill to be in your position right now. you then take a deep breath, facing Hanma again, you straighten your posture in preparation, and this time you let loose with a solid smack that is hard enough to leave a soft red imprint on his face.

Hanma’s head jerked to the side a bit, biting his lips, he lets out a little hum, which sounded more like a growl. “Atta girl,” he praises, then downs a shot in the blink of an eye, turning to Rindou who took off his glasses in preparation, delivering a slap hard enough to almost knock him out of his position, but Rindou took it well.

he jerks his head to the side, “Jesus Christ, dude,” Rindou winces, he then clears his throat and shakes his head. “Alright, everyone turn around in your seat and put on your Ghostface mask,” he instructs. you all follow suit, putting on the masks and adjusting the cloaks.

“Now, stand up and shuffle around each other so no one knows who’s who, then pick up the papers on the table.” he continues. the group rises, moving in a chaotic, disorienting shuffle. some purposely bumped into you—definitely Mikey—while others suddenly grab your shoulders to startle you.

The group then moves toward the table, they reach for the folded papers, some squabbling over a single piece, while others snatch one and slip away quickly. unfortunately, you’re the last to approach the table. you pick up the final paper, slowly unfolding it, hoping to see an ‘x’ but to your luck, you find a circle marked on it. with a sigh, you crumple the paper before stuffing it into your cloak pocket.

You glance around the cabin, seeing nothing but the shadows of the guys in their cloaks walking away. good, no killer on your radar so far.

Your eyes land on the front door that was left open, as much as running around the woods would be easier than trapping yourself in a cabin with a killer, it’d be safer to stay inside where most of the group is, at least to have someone witness the murder instead of playing dead on the dirt.

You inch down the dark hallway, taking small, tentative steps, doing your best not to trip and fall on the glow sticks. the eerie glow from the flashlights disappearing the deeper you go into the halls. the atmosphere getting more and more sinister.

You make a few turns down narrow hallways, the sound of footsteps you were hearing before going distant, making you feel undoubtedly alone, and yet that thought scares you twice as much.

Eventually, you spot a closet big enough to hide in, before you even begin to think if hiding there the entire game is a good idea or not, something flickers in your peripheral vision. a slight shadow movement in the corner of the hallway, something lurking just beyond your sight. you quickly slip inside, hoping that your sudden movement didn’t alert whoever was at the end of that hallway.

The small space is cramped, hot, and pretty hard to breathe in, especially with this damn mask and cloak on. you remove the attire and slowly push back the hung coats, going deeper into the closet. the closet air is weirdly thick with the scent of cheap beer, maybe one of the coats has beer spilled on it.

You try to steady your breathing to listen intently for any sounds outside. But instead, you hear the soft sound of breathing next to you. your heart pounds as you turn slowly, only to come face to face with another figure in a Ghostface mask, looming over you and practically pinning you against the closet wall with his body.

Your breath catches in your throat as you stare into the dark eyes of the mask, the sound of their breathing filling the small space. you can feel the heat radiating from their body, their presence both intimidating and familiar. the figure breaks the silence, his voice low and menacing, though unrecognizable. “You’re in my spot.”

You clench your fists, trying to maintain your composure. “The spot’s big enough for both of us.”

“Nah, you’re crampin’ it up. I was doing great alone.”

“Well, you’re just gonna have to deal with it ‘cause I’m not moving.” You cross your arms.

“Oh, you’re not moving now?” The figure tilts his head slightly, “and how are you so sure that I’m not the killer?”

Fuck, you didn’t think of that. You let out a short, nervous laugh. “W-what killer would hide in the fucking closet?!”

“A killer that’s waitin’ to pounce,” He replies, stepping closer.

“You would’ve pounced by now,” You retort, trying to sound braver than you feel, positive that he can hear the hammering beat of your heart.

“I would have,” he concedes, “or I could just rat you out to the killer right here, right now.”

Your eyes narrow. “What? you gonna start screaming?” You mock.

He shakes his head slowly, a creepy edge to his voice. “I’ll make you scream.”

“Oh, so cliche. You’re just gonna get us killed, dipshit!” You hiss, trying to keep your voice low.

“Think I care?”

Suddenly, you hear heavy footsteps nearby, growing louder with each step. your eyes widen in panic, and before you can react, the man clamps a hand over your mouth, silencing you. The rough texture of his glove presses against your lips, and you can feel the strength in his grip, since when were we required to wear gloves?

The footsteps stop just outside the closet door. Your heart races, ear ringing from the beat of your heart as you strain to hear for any movement.

There was a brief silence, an anticipation for the closet door to rattle. it was eerily quiet, not a sound from out the closet, but there was still a shadow standing in front of it as if trying to scare you out. you kept your fixed eyes on that shadow, not noticing the mysterious man in front of you lifting your skirt up.

Before you could react to that, you feel a sudden sharp cold chill jolt against your clothed clit, pulling a muffled gasp from you and making you stiffen at the sensation. your eyes dart from the eyes of the mask to whatever’s against your panties, seeing an open ice-cold ultra beer bottle, from which he responds by squeezing your face with his palm as if forcing you to keep your eyes only on him.

You attempt to struggle, grabbing his big arms or hitting his rock-hard chest and pointing toward the closet door with your eyes so he wouldn’t get us caught but he doesn’t budge. he has you pinned so hard against the closet wall that all you can do to squirm is arch your back. you hear him take a staggered breath, clearly enjoying your struggles, feeding off your fear.

You turn to see if the shadow that was in front of the closet is still there, it is, and yet the man shows no sign of stopping as he drags the ice-cold bottle down lower toward your entrance. almost emitting a moan out of you but all that came out was a whimper.

You want to hate this sensation so bad, you want to hate the fact that the tall guy, with a ghostface mask on his head—that looks a little too good on him than frightening—has you pinned against the closet wall with a freezing cold beer bottle against your pussy, shutting you up with his hand and the thrill of the killer opening the closet at any second and killing you both, you really do wanna hate it. but it’s just all too hot, you can’t even tell if the wet spot on your panties came from the beer or if it’s from you, hopefully, he doesn’t notice that too.

He gets closer to your face, “think you can keep that mouth shut?” he whispers, you can feel the warmth of his breath against your cheek and neck as he nudges your panties to the side using the bottleneck. you didn’t respond, you don’t want to, you can’t. you don’t even know who you’re dealing with, and you sure as hell won’t be able to sleep with the fact that there’s a guy here that knows that you like to get fucked with a beer bottle like a cheap whore.

He uncovered your mouth but kept a grip on your face. you blinked up into his hollow “eyes”, you weren’t prepared for something like this at all, not a clue in that little brain of yours how to react. so you just sit there, choking out the desperate needy sounds that kept trying to escape your iridescent pink glitter lips. Oh, fuck. those lips that he’d kill to kiss right now, he wanted to bite it, he wanted to take your lip between his teeth and hear you moan. but your reaction to this was more than enough to fulfill his fantasies. there was uncertainty in your eyes, yes. but there was excitement too. such a fucking minx.

He never expected that type of look out of you, or for you to just sit there and take it. but shit, he’s not fucking crazy to be complaining about this. “Got a fuckin’ clue how hard it was to hold back with you runnin’ around the camp in that skirt of yours?” the man strains.

“h-huh?”

“Don’t play innocent now.” he cuts you off, “glad you didn’t keep that cloak on or I would’ve ripped it off of you.” he starts circling the tip of the bottle against your clit slowly, teasing you, torturing you. “Make everyone see that you’ve got taken advantage of, bet you would’ve liked that huh?”

“Who are you..?” you manage to whisper out, looking back at the closet door, seeing that the shadow’s gone, he grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him again, “Tellin’ you would ruin the fun.”

Just as you were about to feel the bottle being inserted, you hear a muffled shout from across the cabin, “bodies bodies bodies!” the call echoes through, making him step back, the cold feeling on your cunt that you started to crave now gone. “guess the fun’s over.” he murmurs disappointedly, he slips out of the closet, and before you know it he was gone from the hallway.

You continue to sit there, bewildered as you adjust your panties and put on your cloak and mask, not for the game but to hide the shame plastered on your face. Your heart hasn’t stopped racing since then, that was the hottest thing you’ve ever experienced and yet it was with someone completely anonymous, to be honest, you don’t wanna find out who it is, just to save yourself the embarrassment.

You step out into the hallway, walking towards the glow of the flashlights in the corner like it’s a safe spot. As you approach the living room, you spot everybody already there except three people. All also holding a bottle of beer except one whose cloak looks oversized and has a blue glow around their neck, assuming it’s either Emma or mikey. this doesn’t narrow it down for you at all, who the hell could the closet guy be?

You then see two Ghostfaces dragging a body across the cabin floor, they drop the body’s limbs onto the floor and it dramatically plops, whoever’s dead is having too much fun playing it.

The group crowded around it, finally taking off their masks including you. Chifuyu steps in closer to the body, grabbing the mask and pulling it off, revealing Rindou Haitani.

Hanma dramatically gasps at the reveal, Takemichi then steps forward with a half-assed attempt at a eulogy, “Here lies, Rindou Haitani, known around the community, and was such a, uh, he was..” there’s an awkward silence as he scratches his head and looking around at the circle as if asking for help.

Hanma then steps forward, “He was such a genuine person.” he shakes his head exaggeratedly, Oh he’s so drunk. “Who would throw the craziest parties.. he was so sweet and kind, considerate and loving..”

“Alright, you’re draggin’ it.” Draken cuts in, earning a kick in the leg from Rindou, he then sits up from the floor and settles into the couch, pointing at Takemichi and Draken. “remind me to blacklist you two from my funeral.” he says, “Go on! guess who killed me.” He sits back and observes with a grin, loving the attention on him.

You raise a hand up, “I vote Emma,” You interject. “The second you grabbed that paper, you vanished. Seems like someone was a little too excited to be a killer.”

“True, saw her waddlin’ away quick at the glance of her paper” Hanma chimes in, earning a nasty glare from Draken.

“Bitch, please! If I were the killer, I would’ve picked you as my first victim,” Emma retorts at you, crossing her arms defiantly under her oversized cloak.

“You hear that, guys? If I end up dead in this game, vote her out!” you declare, pointing accusingly at Emma.

"Do you hear that, guys? If I end up dead in this game, vote her out!” You declare, pointing accusingly at Emma.

“Nah, if we’re sticking to how the game works, it’s usually who got slapped by the victim, and that is…” Draken points accusingly at Kazutora.

“I also vote Kazutora, he’s oddly too quiet for a game like this,” Emma adds, eyeing Kazutora suspiciously.

“Don’t point no fuckin’ fingers at me. How about we point the fingers at who found the body?” Kazutora shoots back.

“That’s a great point, Hanemiya!” Hanma exclaims enthusiastically, Draken rolls his eyes at Hanma’s inconsistency, “Don’t invite this man for jury duty.” Draken mutters to himself.

“So, who found the body?” Mitsuya leans casually against the couch arm.

“I did, but I had Mikey nearby to witness!” Takemichi steps forward nervously.

“We said no teamin’ up,” Keisuke interjects, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

“We just bumped into each other and found the body,” Mikey explains.

“Wait, how did you know that was Mikey?” Chifuyu asks curiously.

“The height,” Takemichi replies, prompting nods of understanding from the group. “The hell?!” Mikey retorts.

“Was the killer the size of a gnome, Haitani?” Keisuke asks, ignoring Mikey’s pout at him, which Rindou mimed, zipping his lips shut and locking it with an imaginary key.

“Alright.” Keisuke stands up, beer bottle dangling from his fingers. “Mikey and Takemichi have each other as an alibi, and two people voted Kazutora.” He then turns toward Kazutora. “You have yet to give us an alibi, where were you?” Keisuke steps closer to him, who maintains a neutral smile.

“I wasn’t even in the cabin, I was outside. Whoever was sitting here first can vouch for that,” Kazutora asserts confidently.

Mitsuya raises his hand. “I was here first, and I did see someone come in from outside the cabin.”

“What were you doing outside the cabin, Kazutora?” Draken questions skeptically.

“Least likely for the killer to find me easily, and a good space to run. C’mon, Ken, you’d know that’s basic horror movie logic,” Kazutora explains, taking a sip of his beer nonchalantly, so Kazutora’s not the closet guy since he was outside, that should narrow it down for you.

“Hmm, hey Emma.. you’re real quiet, tell us your alibi,” Mikey interjects, attempting to corner Emma.

“I was at the balcony.” She replies confidentially.

“Why the balcony?” You cut in.

“’Cause I could hear if the killer walked up the stairs, and I have a good view of the outside of the cabin, duh,”

“Seems like everyone’s got a real good reason why they were at their places,” You observe suspiciously, earning surprised glances from the group that had you a little nervous.

“Don’t think you’re off the hook now, new girl. You were the first one to accuse too, where were you?” Keisuke steps closer to you, his tongue lingers around the top of the beer bottle for a little too long, taking a sip of his beer as his gaze locks onto yours, trying to read you. Fuck, you can’t afford to break a sweat right now, not when you’re being interrogated by none other than him.

“I was hiding in a closet, and I never left it the entire time,” You assert, crossing your arms defensively. “What about you, Baji? Don’t think just because you’re the one interrogating us doesn’t mean you’re not a suspect,” You redirect the attention to him instead.

Suddenly, a ringing sound echoes from Rindou’s phone. “Times up!” He announces, “The killer gets to stay being a killer next round, and the dead.. shall remain dead.” Rindou says in a mock-ominous voice and goes back to playing dead on the couch, almost looking like an excuse to nap.

A chorus of scoffs and groans fills the room at the sound of the alarm. You turn to Keisuke again, his eyebrows jump at you in amusement, his neutral face forms into a smug smirk. Lucky little shit, until next time, Ghostface.

Everybody reluctantly turns around, putting their masks back on and walking away, as you move to follow, a tall figure bumps into you, seeing a familiar sight of possibly the same guy in the closet, same height at least. He raises a hand, points two fingers at his own hollow “eyes”, then directs them toward you as he disappears into the halls.

You ignore the butterflies in your stomach as you scan the living room for hiding spots, your eyes landing on the front door. Maybe Kazutora’s idea isn’t so bad. You walk toward the front door and slowly twist it open, closing it quietly behind you, you keep your eyes on the door in case someone follows you out.

It was pitch black out, the only noises were the rustling of trees and crickets. Regret creeps in for leaving the cabin, but you can’t go back now—that’ll draw attention.

You approach the woods to camouflage your appearance in case the killer’s out here, not going too deep in, staying near the camp and scanning around it. You crouch down behind a tree and fix your eyes on the cabin, seeing occasional black figures walking by the windows, almost reassuring in your opinion.

Then unnervingly, it went completely silent, the cricket noises that once comforted you were now dead quiet, making you a little too aware of your surroundings.

You can’t seem to shake the sense that you’re being stalked, watched, that you’re not alone right now. Your senses are heightened as you start to hear unnatural leaf movement, like crushing it or moving it, you whip your head toward where you think the sound is coming from, you’re not sure what it is exactly but you don’t like it at all.

You want to call out, ask who’s there, but the rational part of you tells you it’s just a mind trick, it does that when it’s pitch black and silent, it makes appearances and noises out of nothing, it’s just your brain playing tricks, that’s all it is, you are completely and absolutely fine.

Then suddenly your spine tingles, somewhere nearby you hear footsteps creeping behind you a little too close, hair prickling along your scalp as your brain screams at you to run, and what would a rational person with survival instincts do?

That’s right, you bolt, not even thinking about investigating what it was, no matter if it was an animal or the wind you’re getting out of there. You run as fast as you can toward the cabin, pushing the doors open enough to have them slam against the walls, and the first thing you see standing in the living room is somebody in a Ghostface mask, holding a knife that does not look plastic.

Panic surges through you as you turn toward the hallway and continue to run. Cause no way in hell are you going back out there and having him and whatever’s waiting outside to chase you. You hear footsteps pounding behind you, your lungs start to burn and your legs feel like lead, but you don’t stop.

Suddenly, you run into another Ghostface emerging from a hallway. Making you crash into them, your instincts forcing you up as quickly as possible. “I’m really sorry!” You apologize to whoever you knocked down, bolting away again.

Breathless and disoriented, you sprint down the hallway, heart pounding in your chest. You glance over your shoulder to see if they’re still chasing you, but it’s hard to tell in the dark.

You quickly turn a corner and find yourself in the living room again. Your breath coming in ragged gasps, heart pounding in your chest. The sound of your footsteps echoes in the dimly lit cabin. You quickly glance around, eyes darting from shadow to shadow, half expecting Ghostface to leap out at you.

Rindou, who’s still sprawled across the couch, body motionless as he continues his charade of being dead from the last round. But when he hears you enter, one of his eyes slowly cracks open, “Hey, you good?” His voice calm, almost lazy.

You nod, still catching your breath. “Yeah… yeah, I just got chased.”

You walk over toward the couch he’s lying on and sink down onto the floor, leaning against it, your legs are still trembling from the adrenaline.

“Yeah?” Rindou’s tone is light as if this is just another round of the game. He shifts slightly on the couch, one arm draping over the backrest. “I just heard them yell out ‘bodies bodies bodies’ just now.”

Shit, how come I didn’t hear that? Whoever’s dead right now is your fault, but you couldn’t help it. Whoever was chasing you took the game a little too fucking seriously.

You hear the couch springs creak behind you, seeing Rindou peering over at you in the corners of your eyes with a smirk as if he’s amused by your reaction. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Are you sure you're good?”

Before you can answer him, the rest of the group begins to gather, removing their masks. Spotting everybody except Takemichi. You fixed your eye on the front door, waiting for someone to walk in but nobody did. Was that all in your head?

Draken drags in the body and places it in the middle of the room. Everyone circles around as Draken kneels down and removes the mask, revealing Mikey lying face-down, playing dead with an exaggerated stillness.

Emma drops to her knees beside him, her gasp over the top as she clutches her chest. “Ohh noo! My big brother..” She wails as he leans over his body, pretending to cry into his chest, her shoulders shaking with fake sobs.

You crawl over to sit beside Mikey’s “lifeless” form, tucking his hair behind his ear to see his face better, silently apologizing for being the one who accidentally got him killed.

Chifuyu speaks up, “Okay, so do we have any nominations?”

“Yeah, I’m for sure voting Emma now,” Draken accuses.

“Ohh, coming in hot,” Mitsuya crosses his arms, leaning against the fireplace wall.

“Why do you think it was Emma?” You ask, still looking at Mikey, why is he still playing dead?

“Yeah, why do you think it was me, Ken?”

“Because she agrees with everything that everybody’s saying to try and steer it away from herself. That’s her strategy in the game, and it always works.” Draken explains.

You tap Mikey’s shoulder repeatedly to try and wake him up, but he’s not budging.

“Do we have any other nominations?” Rindou speaks up.

“Aren’t you supposed to be dead? Shut the fuck up,” Keisuke retorts, earning a glare from Rindou, and yet he still complied.

“Yeah, I nominate Draken,” Kazutora cuts in.

Draken rolls his eyes, clicking his tongue. “Seriously? It’s a low-hanging fruit.”

“I mean, he who casts the first stone,” Kazutora shrugs.

“Guys, why isn’t he moving?” You nudge Mikey’s cheeks, “Mikey, get up.”

“Mikey, you don’t have to keep pretending for this long,” Emma pushes him.

Chifuyu sits next to Mikey’s body, pushing him to face up. He’s still playing dead.

“The hell?” Emma starts to shake him aggressively, starting to freak out, “Manjiro, fucking get up. It’s not funny anymore,” She tugs his arm up but he still doesn’t move an inch, “Guys, he’s not getting up.”

“Relax, he fell asleep.” Draken steps closer and leans down toward Mikey’s body, holding the neck of the bottle and nudging the cold bottle on Mikey’s crotch, making him yelp and immediately sit up from that, holding his crotch. “Fuck, that was cold!”

Emma punches him in the shoulder. “That wasn’t funny at all,”

Mikey grumbles, a little grumpy over the fact that he was woken up. He then looks around, as if searching for somebody. “Wait, where’s Takemichi?”

“Probably playing dead somewhere, poor guy.” Chifuyu snorts.

Mikey raises a brow, “We need to find him, he probably didn’t hear the call.”

“Alright, but… what about Kazutora?” Draken points at him, ignoring Mikey.

“Maybe it’s Draken. He’s always really aggressive when he’s the killer,” Mitsuya notes.

Kazutora snaps his fingers and points at Mitsuya. “There you go.”

“What? No, I am not,” Draken gulps.

“You’re lying. You always gulp when you lie,” Mitsuya continues teasing.

“It would be so fucking obvious if I were the killer, which I’m not.” Draken defends.

Kazutora sighs out of frustration. “Guys, Jesus Christ, can we just point out how Draken hasn’t said a fucking word to defend himself? No alibi, nothing! He’s just denying shit.”

Mikey crosses his arms, giving Kazutora a hard look. “you aware that we’re still playing a game here Kazutora? Quit pointing fingers at Ken and just admit that it was you, take responsibility for once.”

Kazutora’s frustration bubbles over as he points his finger at Mikey. “Ohoho… I don’t need to hear jackshit from you, Mikey. you always act like you’ve got it all figured out, don’t you?”

Mikey’s expression doesn’t waver, his tone remaining cold. “what I’ve got figured out is that you can’t handle the truth. you’re the killer, Kazutora. just own up to it, it’s getting late.”

Rindou, lounging on the couch with a bag of chips in hand, suddenly cuts in, nudging Mikey’s shoulder with his foot. his voice is sing-songy, muffled by the crunching. “Dead people don’t taaaalk.”

Everyone ignores him, their focus entirely on Kazutora and Mikey. Kazutora’s eyes narrow, his frustration turning into something darker. “ohh own up to it, huh? let’s not forget what you did to Sanzu. nobody was at your throat for that, were they? cause poor Mikey.. he didn’t even know what was going on when he did that shit to Sanzu’s face!”

Keisuke steps forward, trying to diffuse the situation. “Kazutora, that’s enough.”

Kazutora pushes Keisuke aside, his wide eyes still locked on Mikey. “but when I make one mistake—one fucking accident—everyone’s ready to crucify me but Mikey gets a free pass? why? I don’t get it.”

“That’s different-“

Kazutora cuts in with a bitter laugh, the sound harsh and grating. “different? how? because it was you, it’s okay? but when it’s me, I’m a fuck-up, right? I get called a murderer, that I’m fucking psychotic for that?”

Draken shifts uncomfortably, his eyes darting between Mikey and Kazutora, “Kazutora, calm down—”

Kazutora cuts him off, yet again. “no, I’m not gonna calm down. I’m done taking shit for something that was never my fault. all of you, you’re all fucking hypocrites.”

Mikey stands up from the floor, taking a step forward, and puts his hands up toward Draken to stop him from interfering. “at least I took responsibility for it in the end. you, on the other hand, continue to blame everybody but yourself.”

Hanma, who’s lounging on the couch next to Rindou, snickers as he watches them. “sounds like somebody’s feeling guilty. maybe you’re the killer, after all, Kazutora.”

Kazutora’s frustration reaches a boiling point as he snaps back, his head twitches to the side. “guilty? you’re all so quick to accuse me just because I’m not falling in line like the rest of you. I had to live with that shit for years behind bars while all of you welcomed Mikey with open arms right after he fucking stabbed somebody in the face!”

Draken glares at Kazutora, moving closer. “What’s up your ass Hanemiya? what’s gotten you so pissed like this huh, you on something?”

Kazutora scoffs, shaking his head. “don’t you start with me, Draken. don’t you got other shit to worry about?”

“Tora, shut the fuck up, right now.” Keisuke interrupts, attempting to calm him down before he says something he shouldn’t.

Draken’s eyes narrow dangerously. “and what the hell is that supposed to mean?”

Kazutora hesitates to speak, eyes darting between Keisuke and Draken, and for a split second at Emma. he couldn’t hold back as his frustration is tipping him over the edge. “you can barely keep your shit straight with your girl, Ken. you’re no better than any of us. focus on that instead of sticking your head where it shouldn’t, would you?”

Mikey takes a step closer, his voice low and threatening. “Keep my sister out of this conversation.”

Hanma almost choked on his beer, “Woah, woah.. what did I miss now?” eyes darting between Emma and Draken.

The room goes still. Emma’s jaw dropped, slowly turning her head toward Draken, her voice trembling slightly. “You told them about that?”

“Hold uuup, what does he mean by that?” Hanma stands up enthusiastically as he attempts to interfere but gets dragged back down the couch by Rindou, not wanting him to ruin the argument he’s so obviously enjoying.

Draken’s head snaps toward Kazutora, eyes narrowing. “how do you know about that? huh?” he then scans the room, “Who the fuck told him that shit? We're telling everybody our business now?”

Then silence, the room’s atmosphere shifts into something you need to get out of, now. “everybody? what the fuck do you mean ‘everybody’?” kazutora’s voice drops an octave.

Draken scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “oh, we’re just gonna ignore the elephant in the room now?”

Keisuke quickly moves to stand between Draken and Kazutora. “Ken, let’s talk about this later,” he then turns to Mikey, whose expression is completely unreadable.

“No, no. Keisuke, let him continue, what fucking elephant in the room? elaborate, c’mon!” Kazutora nods, trying to pick a fight. Keisuke turns to Draken to observe his reaction in case he lunges. seeing his eyes completely blown out and dilated, Keisuke’s eyes narrow at him. “Ken, did you use?”

he ignores him, his focus on Kazutora completely. “Elaborate? fine, I’ll fucking elaborate. when you were in prison, everybody was relieved you were gone. manjiro was relieved, you think any of us gave a shit about you? huh?”

Mitsuya quickly pushes himself off the wall, moving towards Draken, “Ken, calm down, you’re drunk.” he places a hand on Draken’s chest, trying to create a distance between him and Kazutora—who stays silent, his heart beating rapidly.

“the only person that gave a rat's ass about you was Keisuke, why? because he feels responsible for that. he doesn’t give a fuck about you.”

in a blink of an eye, Keisuke steps forward, around mitsuya, and swings a punch at Draken, his fist connecting with Draken’s lip with a strong thud. Draken stumbles back from the impact, his lip split open and blood streaming down his chin.

“You don’t know shit, Ken. so shut the fuck up.” Keisuke spits as he shakes his hand, shaking it up and down to ease the throbbing pain, his knuckles are already forming redness, you didn’t realize how hard that punch must’ve been.

Draken wipes the blood from his chin, still glaring at Kazutora. “I wish you got your head bashed in instead of him, Kazutora.” He growls, the blood staining his bared teeth red. “You spineless piece of shit.”

Mikey’s eyes went dark, and all you saw was a blur of motion and a strong thud. seeing Draken being knocked off his feet, with his head hitting right onto the floor.

“Don’t talk about him like that,” Mikey’s voice is low, deadly calm as he looms over Draken, whose jaw is open, completely not expecting Mikey’s reaction to be this severe.

Still facing Draken, Mikey shoots Kazutora a glare over his shoulder. “Don’t think I’m defending you, Hanemiya.. you’re still dead to me.”

Kazutora, breathing heavily, with his pupils being a frightening dot. he reaches his hand to the beer bottle on the floor, fingers curling tightly around the bottle, slamming himself on the head with it before holding the jagged glass out toward Mikey, his hand trembling with rage and whatever he took before. “I’ll show you who’s really fuckin’ dead, Mikey! I’ll kill you!”

Mikey doesn’t even move an inch, there’s something terrifyingly calm about his demeanor that you can’t really put a finger on, but it feels like time has frozen now, either that or you're just too shocked to move.

“Go ahead, try.”

Kazutora’s breath comes in ragged gasps, his hand tight around the glass. he swings it toward Mikey with reckless fury, but before he can land the blow, Chifuyu and Keisuke rush in, grabbing him by the arms and holding him back.

“Get off me!” Kazutora roars, thrashing violently in their grip. his eyes were wild, full of rage and something else—but it was too dark to tell.

Draken finally pulls himself to his feet, wiping more blood from his mouth, his eyes locked on Mikey with disbelief, as if he didn’t expect him to knock him down. there was a silent exchange between them, his eyes still locked on Mikey. But before Draken can voice his thoughts, his attention shifts sharply to Kazutora.

Draken steps in front of Mikey, his large frame acting as a shield, a shocking sight after seeing him get kicked in the head.

“I’ll fucking kill you all, I swear!” Kazutora yells, still clawing and twisting against Keisuke and Chifuyu. his voice strainer and raw.

Draken spits a wad of blood onto the floor, scoffing. he sneers at Kazutora. “yeah, you’re real fuckin’ familiar with that—“

“Enough.”

Mikey quickly cuts him off, his tone tolerating no argument, so commanding, that even kazutora falls silent for a split second.

Keisuke let go of Kazutora’s wrist, taking Kazutora’s silence as a chance to step in between, casting a wary glance at the three, ready to intervene again if necessary. “this is getting us nowhere, alright? let’s just go to bed, It’s late.” he then grabs Kazutora’s wrist and forcefully pulls him out of the cabin, leaving no room to argue. “we need to talk.”

As Kazutora and Keisuke leave, Mikey shoots Draken a quick glare, “I’m gonna look for Takemichi.” he leaves the cabin, heading toward the forest. the rest follow him out, heading toward the boys’ cabin. mitsuya kept close to Draken just in case, while you and Emma—still shocked from the scene—trail behind, not noticing hanma running to catch up next to Emma.

“Could’ve called me when your boyfriend couldn’t hit the spot for you.. you know I’ll always answer,” Hanma teases loudly. Draken overhears and spins around, throwing a punch that lands squarely on Hanma’s face.

Hanma staggers back but then starts laughing, wiping a smear of blood from his lip. “really? that all you got?” he taunts. Draken lunges again, fists flying. Hanma dodges and laughs, his mocking tone only making it worse.

Mitsuya, Rindou, and Chifuyu rush in to break up the fight, grabbing Draken’s arms and pulling him back.

“He’s trying to get on your nerves, Ken. calm. the fuck. down,” Mitsuya says firmly, blocking Draken’s punches with his hand.

Draken, panting heavily, looks down at mitsuya and then fixes a hard glare at hanma, yanking his fist away from Mitsuya’s grip. he then storms off towards the boys’ cabin. hanma—still chuckling—walks towards a different cabin with Rindou following behind, their laughter echoing through the camp.

You put a hand behind Emma’s back, caressing it. “let’s just go.” you gently push her towards the girls’ dorm. quietly, you open the door and tiptoe inside, heading towards your bed with Emma still following close behind. before you collapse into your bed you quickly change into something comfortable as Emma stares into the distance, sitting on your bed, her face unreadable but clearly exhausted.

When you finally slid on your tank top, you heard Emma sniffling. “Emma? hey, are you crying?” you sit next to her, scooting closer to her to rub her back soothingly.

“I just.. didn’t think he’d get brought up like that.” she whispers, wiping away her tears with her palms, but more keeps pouring down her cheeks. “I don’t know why he’d do that, we were playing a stupid fucking game then suddenly, I..” she starts to choke on her words.

“Shh, it’s okay.” she quickly turns to hug you, squeezing you a bit too tight but you don’t complain, quietly sobbing on your shoulder, she continues to blabber incoherently but you don’t stop her, you run your fingers through her hair as an attempt to soothe her but it only made her cry more. “it’s okay Emma.”

Still, you can’t shake the image of her reaction when Kazutora brought up her and Draken. it lingers in the back of your mind, nagging at you. now that you think about it, you can’t seem to remember any issues they’ve had except for the fact that he took too long to confess. but this isn’t the time to pry, deciding to leave that conversation for another time, when she’s ready to tell you.

After a moment, she loosens her grip and pulls away, her eyes red and puffy as she holds onto your hand. “can i sleep in your bed tonight?” she asks, her voice small and shaky.

“Of course, you can come here.” you crawl under the covers, to your side of the bed, making room for her next to you, pulling the covers up for her to lay in. She lays down next to you, facing you while still having her fingers intertwined with yours. “thank you.” she sniffles. “goodnight..” she buries her face into the blanket, refusing to let go of your hand, even when it’s disgustingly sweaty, but you’ll brush it off for her.

“Goodnight, Emma.”

You jolt awake, heart pounding, drenched in cold sweat. For a few seconds, you’re still caught up in that nightmare. Your adrenaline races as you run from the masked killer, desperate to escape brutal death.

Even as your eyes slowly adjust to the walls of the cabin, you can still feel the masked killer nearby, stalking. Hunting us one by one. It doesn’t help that the location you are in happened to have a similar fate to your nightmares.

Your feet kick at the sheets as sweat pours off your body. Rolling over onto your side and reach for Emma, only to realize that the bed is empty. Guess she might’ve gone back to her own bed at some point.

Fuck, you need air. Now.

You throw the covers off your body completely and slid in your fluffy black slippers, moving toward the front door and slowly opening it to avoid any sound.

Once again, it’s pitch black, no winds, no rustling trees, just quietness. You lean against the porch rail, staring into the night sky, searching for the moon as you take a deep breath.

You hear the faint sound of metal clicking as if somebody was sharpening or playing with a knife. Ignoring the goosebumps, you scan your surroundings, peering around the trees, spotting a figure leaning against a tree a little way off, flipping what seems to be a butterfly knife in their hand. You squint, trying to make out who it is.

He ran his fingers through his long hair and sighed heavily as he gripped it, it’s Keisuke. He looks frustrated, apparently, you weren’t the only one who’s having a bad night.

He flipped the knife again. His fingers were quick and light as the blade swung out. The metal appeared impossibly fluid as he manipulated it through the air, making it look easy, like it was second nature. He played with it for a while without much focus, staring off into the trees as if distracted by something in the distance.

You quickly wipe underneath your eyes, hoping to catch any smudged mascara or eyeliner, and quietly make your way toward him. The leaves crunch softly under your slippers. As you get closer, Keisuke turns his head slightly, still staring ahead. Before you can say anything, he brings the knife to his lips, shushing you. He then points at something with the knife still in hand.

Following his gesture, you see a baby deer standing at the edge of the clearing. It looks peaceful, completely unaware of the human presence nearby. The scene feels almost surreal after the nightmare you just had, almost like you needed a little pureness after that, but it didn’t help seeing Keisuke dragging his thumb across the sharp knife while staring at the poor innocent deer, you were suddenly feeling a hell of a lot warmer.

You cross your arms, still staring at the deer, opening your mouth to speak quietly, “Sorry, didn’t mean to ruin your alone time,”

“Hardly alone.” His deep voice rolled out, making the hair on your skin stand. He flips the knife closed and tucks it in his pocket.

“Seen it’s mom yet?”

He shakes his head in response.

After a few minutes, the deer raises its head, its ears flickering as it senses something. It looks around, then suddenly bolts into the woods, disappearing into the darkness.

You and Keisuke glance at each other, then back to where the deer ran off. “Think there’s a predator around?” You ask.

He made a sound that could have been a laugh, but he wasn’t smiling. “Guess you could say that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Could be a ghost.” He teases, finally facing you, seeing that your cheeks are swollen and your eyes heavy with sleep. “What’re you doing awake?”

“Had a bad dream.. couldn’t sleep after.” You glance up at him, noticing a couple of bruises on his cheek and a cut on his lip and jaw, almost deep enough to have blood dripping down his neck. “Jesus, you look like shit. What happened?!”

He takes a minute to think before answering. Contemplating if he should just tell you but decided to be careful around his words. “It’s nothing don’t worry about it.”

“Let me patch you up at least.”

His tongue swirls over his bottom lip, licking the bleeding cut. “No need.” He mutters as he wipes the blood off his jaw with his thumb,

“You’re gonna get an infection like that. Hold on, I’ll be back.” You head back into the cabin, searching for the first aid kit you brought with you, a cold water bottle, and your phone for the flashlight. Thank god you didn’t listen to Emma when she told you that an aid kit would be useless to bring, now you got an excuse to get close to him and maybe be his little personal nurse.

Returning to him, you find him still leaning against the same tree, staring off into the distance. He turns toward you, giving you a quick once-over, his eyes landing on the tank top you’re wearing with a printed band logo on it.

“What do you know about that band, huh?”

You stop in your tracks, squinting at him. “What do you know about that band?” You step closer and sit right in front of him, patting his bloodied boot and ignoring how painful it feels to sit on the forest ground. “C’mon, sit.”

He stands there staring down at you for a minute, his gaze intense, this position only making your body even warmer than usual. Finally, he sinks down with a groan, indicating there are more injuries than just the ones on his face. He leans back against the tree with his legs spread, resting his arms on his knees, you crawl up between his legs to get closer to his face.

Your scent hits him like a truck the minute you crawl closer, vanilla body lotion mixed with lavender shampoo you borrowed from Yuzuha after the lake. How the hell do you smell so good even after already spending a day at this campsite?

You soaked the cotton pad in alcohol, carefully dabbing it against the cut on his chin. He flinches, a sharp hiss escaping through his teeth.

“Quit being such a baby, relax,” you murmur.

He grumbles under his breath but keeps his eyes glued to you. Leaning his head back against the tree, he gives you easier access to his neck and chin, but the way he’s staring—intensely, unwavering—sends heat crawling up your skin. It’s impossible to ignore, especially with that focused look cutting right through you. His gaze is more than a distraction; it’s a problem, a problem that makes you wanna gouge his eyes out. A problem that makes what’s between your legs throb and you can’t afford to acknowledge right now.

“Can you not stare at me like that?” You say, still wiping the blood off his chin, trying to avoid looking up into his eyes.

“Like what?”

“Like that!”

“What?” A soft smirk tugs at the corner of his lips but quickly vanishes.

“You’re doing it right now.”

“I’m not doing nothing.” He drawls.

“You’ve got that face on your face!” You snap.

He cocks his head to the side, “That face on my face?”

Frustrated, you throw the cotton pad down. “You know what I mean!”

“You’re not even looking at me, and you’re complaining about a face I’m making?”

You let out a huff from your nose as you grab another cotton pad, soaking it in alcohol again, and continued tending to his wounds. After you finish cleaning it up, you place an ice-cold water bottle on his cheek without even looking at him. He quickly swats it away, that action surprises you enough to meet his eyes, he then softly grabs your wrist, guiding it back on his bruised cheek.

“If you’re gonna patch me up,” he says softly, “you gotta look at me.”

Your breath hitches as you release the bottle, forcing him to hold it himself. You reach for a band-aid, your fingers brushing against his skin as you lean in to place it on his chin.

“Technically, I need to be looking at your wounds,” you say, your voice barely above a whisper as you finally meet his gaze again. A hot flush rises up your neck.

“Think you missed my chin there..”

You frown, glancing down at the band-aid and realizing that it’s nowhere near where it should be. So much for being his “personal” nurse, you can’t even get the damn bandaid on the wound. Ripping it off, you try again, cursing yourself under your breath.

“What’s gotten you so distracted huh?” He teases, his voice low, and husky. Like he knows exactly what effect he has on you.

“Baji…” You warn, the sound of his name coming out more breathless than you intended.

“I’m messing with you. You need to relax… Need a smoke?”

You let out an exaggerated sigh. “I’d love to if Emma and Draken hadn’t finished it all last night.”

He hums in acknowledgment, the sound almost sympathetic. “Rough night, huh?”

“Oh yeah…” You shift and crawl over to sit beside him, resting your back against the same tree. The bark is cold and rough, but being next to him makes you feel a bit more grounded.

Keisuke puts the water bottle down and digs into his pocket, pulling out his butterfly knife. The familiar click of metal fills the silence as he flips it open, fiddling with it in his usual absentminded way. There’s something oddly soothing about it, even though your nerves are on edge. His presence makes you want to spill everything that’s been making you paranoid about this campsite.

“I keep having this reoccurring nightmare,” you admit, your voice quieter now, as if saying it out loud will make it more real. “About this Ghostface guy.”

Keisuke lets out a little snort, like it’s ridiculous, and you elbow him lightly in the side.

“I’m serious!” You say, half-laughing. “There’s a serial killer on the loose, and everybody treats it like a joke.”

He’s about to say something but catches himself, offering a quick apology instead. “My bad, sorry…”

Your gaze drifts toward the dark forest in front of you, the trees casting long shadows. You instinctively flick on your phone flashlight toward the direction you're staring at, just in case. “But I don’t know why… That nightmare this time, was way more vivid. Like, more real than before.”

Keisuke doesn’t look up from his knife, but his brow furrows slightly as he flips the blade with a practiced hand. “How so?”

You hesitate, trying to find the right words to explain the feeling gnawing at your gut. “It’s like… The killer is even closer now, y’know? Watching me. I’m twice as paranoid, and I keep seeing things out of the corner of my eye.” You hear a sudden snap of a tree branch nearby, your body tensing as you whip your flashlight toward the sound, but all you see is darkness and the endless maze of trees.

Keisuke, on the other hand, barely reacts. He keeps fiddling with the knife, unbothered. “Think you just really need a smoke.”

“Yeah… Maybe…” You mutter, still staring in the direction of the noise, your heart pounding a little too fast for comfort.

Keisuke flips the knife shut with a swift motion, tucking it back into his pocket as he pushes himself to his feet. “I’ll give you some of mine tomorrow. Just get some sleep.”

You push yourself up as well, stumbling a bit since your feet fell asleep. He jerks his head to the side toward the direction of the girls’ cabin, “I’ll walk you to the cabin so you won’t get killed.”

“That’s not funny,” you mutter.

“It is,” he teases, making you walk in front of him as he follows behind.

Reluctantly, you step ahead, feeling the weight of his presence close behind. The crunch of leaves underfoot fills the dead silence of the night, not even crickets. And you can’t help but feel a little self-conscious with him right there, walking just a pace behind. Every now and then, you glance over your shoulder, catching him watching you, his hands casually in his pockets, fiddling with the butterfly knife as he strolls along like a visible stalker.

When you finally reach the cabin, you stop by the door, turning to face him. “I’ll see you tomorrow then?”

He gives a soft hum of acknowledgment, his usual way of saying ‘yes’ without actually saying it. His gaze holds steady on yours, and for a brief moment, there’s something unreadable in his expression.

“Okay… Goodnight, Baji.” You smile softly as you push the cabin door open, the wooden hinges creaking as you step inside.

Before you can fully enter, his deep voice cuts through. “Keisuke.”

You pause, glancing back at him, “Huh?”

“It’s Keisuke,” he repeats, his tone softer now.

Your lips part in surprise, and for a moment, you’re not sure how to respond. But then a small smile tugs at the corners of your lips, face warmer than before. “Alright then. Goodnight, Keisuke.”

He nods, his eyes lingering on yours for just a second longer. “Night.”

You groggily rub your eyes, trying to adjust to the noise of loud chattering and the bright sun hitting your eyes. You attempt to tug the blanket up to hide your face but you struggle, you then attempt to kick the blanket up thinking it was just tucked in the corners but you struggle again, kicking your feet in frustration, you hit something solid, only to realize why it’s stuck.

Mikey, sitting at the edge of your bed like a statue, unbothered by your kicks, as if you barely grazed him. you kick at his back on purpose this time, back to back, each hit harder than before. and despite your persistent kicks, he doesn’t budge, making it seem like he’s completely immune to your attempts.

“Move,” you mutter.

He glances back this time, your voice being the only thing that got his attention, fucking prick. “look who’s awake,” Mikey says casually as if you aren’t still trying to kick him off the bed. “Emma says you know how to do creepy face paint.”

You finally give up, squinting at the bright room, sunlight flooding through the wide-open doors makes everything a bit too much for your still half-asleep mind. the dining table that’s pushed in the center is now a cluttered mess of makeup bags, hair straighteners, and mirrors, as if everyone decided to make it their vanity, spotting Senju sitting there and putting rollers in her hair.

Still too tired to process much, you stretch lazily, letting out a muffled groan as your body cracks back to life like those glow sticks from yesterday. “makeup…?” you murmur, voice still thick with sleep.

“Yeah, yeah. can you do that for me?”

Before you can respond, Emma pops up from behind his shoulder, seeing you finally awake. she approaches the bed and shoves Mikey down, crawling over him.

“Come skinny dipping with me,” she chirps, hovering above your legs as Mikey continues to struggle beneath her, her bodyweight suffocating him as he starts squirming beneath her, grumbling little ‘Get off of me’s’ and ‘Stop!’

You pursed your lips, raising a brow at her as if that’s the last thing you want to hear right now. “Why don’t you ask the other girls?” You mumble, not ready to leave your bed.

“Everyone already did, we woke up late,” Emma pouts, finally climbing off Mikey. She pats you on the shoulder like it’s a done deal, “C’mon! go brush your teeth.”

Mikey, still recovering from almost being squashed to death, glares at Emma before giving you a look like this is somehow your fault, like you’re the one ruining his morning. “bullies, you two.”

“I literally just woke up, I barely did anything to you,” you mutter, kicking him in the back one last time, finally getting him to move. But unfortunately, he stays in the room, lingering like he’s got nothing better to do.

You ignore him now that he’s off the bed, finally having the chance to get comfortable again. you pull the covers up, snuggling into them, ready to drift back into a cozy 20-minute nap.

Just as you’re about to doze off, you feel Mikey leaning in close, whispering something in your ear that you didn’t know you craved. “the lake is really hot right now…”

Your eyes shoot open, no way in hell you're missing out on that. you fling the blankets off, grabbing your toothbrush and toothpaste from your bag and quickly run out of the cabin toward the bathroom.

Outside, everyone from the campsite is already preparing for the Halloween party tonight. at the gate, there were new bikes and cars pulled over, guessing it’s the people that are here for the party and not to stay.

You continue walking toward the bathroom, almost bumping into guys who are hauling logs of wood to stack in the center of the campfire, with some sitting lazily in chairs they were supposed to move. It’s as if the party has already started before anyone’s even put on a costume.

As you approach the bathroom, you notice that it’s already occupied by Keisuke, who’s standing at the sink flossing his teeth, you move past him hoping he would acknowledge you somewhat, but he doesn’t seem to notice your entrance, or at least bother to say ‘Hi’. that kind of stings..

You wave off the thought and start washing your face beside him, glancing at him through the mirror every now and then, until the gorgeous sight gets interrupted by Mikey, who clearly followed you all the way here, walks right up next to Keisuke and stares at him through the mirror. “That’s crazy to look at,” he comments dryly.

Keisuke pauses mid-floss, turning to face Mikey with the floss string still stuck in his teeth. his left hand rests against the sink while his right hand settles on his hip. So dramatic. “What’s that supposed to mean, huh?”

Mikey’s eyes flick to Keisuke’s floss before he grins. “Last time I saw you brush your teeth, you did it with your finger. Now here you are, flossing and shit… who’re you lying to huh?”

Keisuke glares and kicks Mikey in the knee, making him yelp and bolt out of the bathroom, with Keisuke chasing after him, leaving the floss still awkwardly hanging from his mouth.

Kazutora squeezes past them, shooting them a look as they disappear in between the crowd that’s already forming around the campfire they’re making. he walks into the bathroom and closes the door behind him, glancing over at you.

“Hey,” he greets casually, not so casually locking the door behind him.

You turn to face him, he looks like he just rolled out of bed, disheveled, yet unfairly attractive. His black and blonde hair is tousled, strands falling messily into his eyes, there’s a slight puffiness to his face, his eyes still heavy-lidded with the remnants of sleep, making him look soft but no less intense.

Your eyes landing on his wife beaters that cling to his figure, creased from sleeping in it. you glance down at his hand that rakes up under his rumpled shirt, scratching his stomach as he squints at the bathroom light with a faint scowl. his blue plaid pajama pants hang low on his hips, before your eyes roam over to his.. obvious print, you greet him with a nod, mumbling out a little ‘Hi!’ as you continue to brush your teeth as if the way he looks didn’t almost make you weak in the knees.

Kazutora moves behind you, stepping closer against you, his body presses lightly against your back, basically pinning you against the sink as his arms move around your waist to grab the toothpaste, his chest brushes your back as he squeezes the toothpaste onto his brush. he made the contact seem casual enough to be innocent, but you both knew it was far from that.

He reaches around you again, this time moving his arm up and over your shoulder to start brushing his teeth, practically enveloping you. his bicep brushes your cheek, he smells so clean, like mint with a mix of shampoo, making it impossible to focus on brushing your teeth. As you glance down, you spot a deep scratch on his arm, the wound looks fresh. probably from the glass he broke last night.

You tilt your head down under his arm, bending over, pressing close against him from behind to spit out the toothpaste, putting yourself in an awkward position and making Kazutora’s hand slip down to your hips instinctively, his hands hold you tight as he mumbles through his toothbrush, “Damn, we’re doing this the second day?”

you quickly wash your face, turning around to swat him lightly in the chest, “Uh-uh, don’t put this on me. You’re the one doing all that just to brush your teeth!” You grab some tissues to wipe off your face.

He finishes brushing his teeth, rinsing out his mouth, and wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “what? didn’t mean nothing.. you were just right there.” he stuffs his hand in his pocket casually, his eyes flick to your lips for a second, as if your words are going in his ear and coming out the other.

“Well, that same argument goes for me,” you counter, leaning back against the sink and crossing your arms.

He steps closer, looming over you, his arms come down again, bracketing you in against the sink. “Yeah, alright.” his eyes won’t stop glancing down at your lips, enough to make him bite his own to hold himself back from pouncing on you.

And you picked up on that, “someone could walk in you know..” you murmur, heart racing as he leans in, his nose gently brushing against yours.

“So?” he whispers, right against your lips. “Let them, I don’t care.” his voice is low, just like how he spoke to you in the same spot yesterday, will he finish what he started this time?

Kazutora’s lips hover just inches from yours, his eyes heavy-lidded and dark. Your breath hitches as you anticipate what you didn’t know you craved so much until he got so close, until yesterday in the same exact spot when he could’ve had you.

“But.. we barely even know each other.” you manage to whisper against his lips, eyes nervously darting at the door and then back at him, he seems to notice that as he tilts his head to make you keep your eyes on him.

“We could get to know each other now,” he murmurs, his eyes looking down at your lips then flicking up to meet your eyes again. “What’s your favorite color?” he asks as his lips graze against yours. The question feels almost like an afterthought with how focused he is on torturing you—and himself.

“Yellow.” you joke as his mouth moves to the corner of your lips, trailing soft, teasing kisses. “What’s yours..?” you mutter, barely getting the word out before his lips are on yours, fully this time, kissing you as if he’s been hungry about you. His hands move up to grip your hips, feeling his fingers go under your waistband.

He hums against your mouth before breaking the kiss to glance down, tugging at your panties to check the color, “mm.. black,” he mutters against your lips as his finds yours again, feeling his hands rake under your shirt to hold your waist, pulling you closer toward his body as his lips find new ways to kiss you each time.

His mouth finally pulls away just enough for you to catch your breath, eyes dark and heavy with need as he leans in again, but instead of another kiss, you feel his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly onto the counter, feeling the cold surface beneath you as he tightens his hold on your thighs, pulling you closer to press his body against yours.

He moves his hand up your chin, brushing his thumb across your lower lip while biting his, making your breath hitch as he lifts your head up and captures your lips between his again, except sloppier—more desperate, yet so annoyingly slow, like he wants to savor your taste against his lips. his tongue delves deep into your mouth as he softly groans against you.

You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the back of his messy hair as he leans in even more into the kiss, pushing you to lean back against the mirror.

His hand snakes down your stomach, going between your legs to play with your clothed cunt that was embarrassingly soaked just from him kissing and teasing you. he breaks the kiss to rasp against your lips, a string of saliva still connected. “You’re soaked, you know that? I can feel it all through your shorts.” he grits his teeth, “It’s so damn hot.”

You let out a mewl, closing your legs on his hand as two of his fingers start to play with your clit, keeping his hypnotic honeyed-eyes on yours, “How long have you been friends with Manjiro for?” he asks another question as he teases your clothed clit, slowing his fingers down to make you focus on him instead. you can barely think, let alone form a coherent thought as you grip the front of his wife beaters.

“A-a while..” you stammer, glancing down at him toying with you through your shorts, he takes it as a hint for him to go under it as he snakes his hand down your waistband, moving under your panties as he runs two fingers between your soaking wet folds.

The corners of Kazutora’s lips tug into a smile, letting out a small laugh. “a while huh? where were you from me then? you hidin’?” he slowly inserts two fingers inside your cunt, his palm right against your clit for stimulation, making your thighs jerk up as he fucks his fingers into you. You're extra sensitive now and he’s abusing the hell out of it. “m’ sorry.. I wasn’t—” he cuts you off before you can explain by speeding up, making such embarrassingly lewd sounds echoing around the bathroom.

“You do this with anybody else?” he asks another one, making you look up at him from that unexpected question, he’s already possessive of you and it’s only been the second day. God, this is not how things are supposed to go, you didn’t mean to have a guy get possessive over you so soon, the wrong guy too. but you can’t stop him now, not with how his fingers are hitting your sweet spots continuously.

You manage to shake your head, trying to find your voice, but before you can respond, he’s already speaking again, his lips brushing yours. “Good, I wanna be the only one.” his voice soft but his eyes say otherwise. he pulls his fingers out of you, placing them in his mouth, sucking your wetness off his fingers, his eyes still on you.

‏Then his hands move down to your thighs, tossing your thigh over his shoulders, “I know a better way to get to know you more,” he murmurs as he lowers his head down between your legs, his nose coming to bury itself against your soaked shorts, taking your scent in as his hands rub up and down your thighs while his eyes roll back.

Your thighs clamp around his head as he kisses your puffy folds through your shorts, the leg on his shoulder curling around him instinctively as if you are pulling him in for more, making Kazutora growl, hands going up your hips to pull you against his face again, keeping you in place as he takes in your scent while teasing your clit with his kisses.

You then get interrupted by Emma's muffled voice against the bathroom door, calling out your name, “Can you hurry the fuck up? I feel disgusting.” she calls, followed by the rattling of the doorknob as she tries to open it. You quickly move your hand to clamp it over your mouth, muffling out your whimpers.

Kazutora seems unbothered, too distracted getting drunk on your scent as he tugs on the waistband of your shorts, sliding it down your legs with your panties as he glances up at you, expecting you to answer and dismiss her. Nothing's stopping him this time, not when your pretty pussy is displayed in front of his eyes. You can't expect him to stop.. not when he's been craving you, not with his pants getting tighter, rubbing against the annoying confinements of his boxers. if he can't fuck you now, the least he could do right now is eat you.

And you both did just that, "Yeah, just.. give me a second Emma I'll be right out!" you manage to call out, running your fingers through his hair as he buries his face into your pussy, his tongue slid over your clit. Emitting a moan out of you as he licks you again, he flicks his tongue back and forth slowly over that swollen nub.

Every flick made your body jerk, whimpering as you watched him. his eyes remaining fixed on you as his lips close around your clit, his tongue rolling over it, brows furrowing in desperation, moaning against you as if he's tasting heaven on his tongue. His fingers digging into your hips. You cry out quietly, gasping at the feeling of his tongue against you—something you haven't felt in too long, and not this fucking good either.

You start to feel the ache building up slowly, speeding up as you hear Emma's continuous knocking on the door. hearing muffled little 'Hello?'s' and 'Hurry up's' and whatever the hell she was saying through the door, you didn't even care anymore, not with Kazutora devouring you alive right now with his sexy honey-colored eyes fixed on you so intensely.

You whimper against your hand, nodding your head at him repeatedly, silently telling him to not stop as his tongue fucks into you, going in and out, making your legs squeeze around his head and desperately grinding on his tongue. Earning a needy moan out of him, the tip of his dick leaking pre from how hot you are right now. He loves it when his tongue is being used by you.

You move your hand to his soft hair, tugging at it. You're close, so damn close, your ears completely muting Emma's persistent knocks and doorknob rattles as your brain only focuses on him and his tongue, your vision starts to blur around him as his head bobs side to side, only hearing his earring jingle as his tongue glides across your folds, moving back to your clit, sucking on it as your legs begin to shake.

You curl your lips inwards to hold back your moans, melting onto his mouth as the coil bubbling in your belly finally snaps in a rushed climax. you let out a gasp, quickly silencing yourself with your palm as he licks your mess up, not missing an opportunity to taste you.

He hums, reluctantly pulling away from your pussy he calls a delicacy. Chin, and lips still wet from you as he moves his hand back to barricade you. "Wanna keep eating you.." he whispers, almost coming out like a whine. his hand slides up to your hips, moving you closer against his crotch and pushing himself onto you, making you feel how hard he is against you.

Another gasp emits out of your lips, and just as you are about to speak, Emma does it for you. "What the fuck are you doing in there?!" banging on the door even louder than before, causing unnecessarily too much attention around you.

Kazutora clicks his tongue and lets out a heavy sigh, “Of course.”

You let out a scoff, leaning your head back against the mirror again. “I don’t think the universe wants this to happen.” you tease, trying to lighten up the mood but he still looks frustrated.

“Fuck the universe for that,” he mutters, stepping back reluctantly, His gaze lingering on you for a moment before picking up your shorts and soaked panties. looking down at the fabric before bringing it up to his nose, inhaling it in front of you shamelessly. "Let me keep this."

"No, kazutora I can't be walking around with no panties on, give it." You reach out for your panties as he moves them up from your reach. "But I want something to remember this by.. come on." he says with a smile, almost convincing you from how fucking hot he's being, you cup his cheeks, running your thumb on his lips. "You've got more than enough to remember this by." you quickly snatch your panties from him, putting them on with your shorts as he, once again, shamelessly checks you out from behind.

He then wraps his arms around you, pressing light kisses to your neck, tickling you. until Emma interrupts yet again.

"Oh my god, you better be dead in there or I'm ditching you!" she shouts through the door, her frustration obvious not only to you but to bystanders nearby.

"Alright, fine! Jesus!" you call back, exasperated. Kazutora groans and rolls his eyes, begrudgingly pulling away from you, his eyes still fixed on you. even as he backs toward the door, his gaze unwavering as he unlocks and opens the door for you, unbothered by Emma's presence.

Emma stands there, her mouth slightly opening, clearly confused by the sight of Kazutora inside with you. She wasn’t expecting him to be there, much less the two of you together. You slip out beside him, flashing her a sheepish smile, but Kazutora barely acknowledges her, his focus still on you as he finally steps back, nonchalant as ever. he strolls off, ignoring the curious looks from nearby as Emma’s earlier outburst had clearly drawn attention.

Emma rolls her eyes and lets out an exaggerated sigh, grabbing your hand. “Come on, we’ve got shit to do.” she mutters, pulling you toward the forest where Senju and Yuzuha were waiting.

You step outside—pulled outside really—weaving through the camp where preparations for the Halloween party are in full swing, people swarming Mitsuya to alter their costumes, guys passing by, blocking your path and forcing you to go around them as they carry more hefty tree logs toward the center of the camp, a makeshift bonfire already starting to take shape.

Your eyes drift to the right as a familiar car pulls up near the entrance. Rindou and his brother Ran hop out, hauling bags filled with battery-operated Halloween decorations—speakers, candles, everything needed to throw a full-blown party without electricity. Rindou’s crew—slaves—rush to help, gathering boxes and bags and carrying them to the cabin where the party’s taking place.

You continue toward the trees, where Senju and Yuzuha are deep in conversation. Their voices are hushed as if talking shit about somebody, catching bits and pieces as you approach.

“Yeah, ever since Takemichi disappeared, he’s been… different. More persistent with her, it’s weird.” Senju says, crossing her arms in discomfort.

You reach them, slipping into the conversation. “Who are we talking about?” Your gaze drifts, searching for the victim of their discussion.

Emma steps closer to you as she points discreetly toward the chairs where a small group is gathered. “See that guy with the glasses? Sitting next to Hanma.”

You spot the victim immediately—Kisaki Tetta. Not from Emma’s description but because his eyes were already on you. And for a second, it felt like time had stopped. His eyes were so sharp and calculating, almost like he was aware you were talking about him. Something about his stare makes your skin prickle—like he knows exactly what’s going through your head. The corners of his lips quirk up just for a split second. Hina’s complaining about that giving her attention?

“Yeah,” you murmur, dragging your eyes away from his. You fight the urge to do something silly, like twirl your hair and kick your feet.

Emma crosses her arms, leaning into her stance like she’s about to go to war. “He’s got this weird obsession with Hina. They used to be friends back in elementary, but then he turned into a total douchebag.”

Yuzuha scoffs, “And now he thinks he can compete with Takemichi. Not like... Takemichi’s cuter or whatever... but still.”

“Kinda cute…” You let it slip out before you can stop yourself, putting your hand over your mouth as if you said something to the wrong audience.

Emma turns to you, her eyes narrowing as if you’ve just betrayed the entire group. “I hope to god you mean Takemichi.”

Senju steps in, resting her hands on your shoulders. “Actually... distracting him away from Hina might be good for her, at least until we find Takemichi.”

You raise your hands defensively, “Ohh no, no, no.. I’m not going to be whoring around this Halloween all because you want Hina’s boy toy off her dick.. besides, I’ve already got someone in mind.”

Emma’s brow furrows teasingly, a smirk plays at the corner of her lips, “Kazutora?”

“What? No! He wasn’t part of the plan!” You protest a little too quickly.

“Wasn’t?” Yuzuha teases even more.

“Oh yeah, she had her eyes set on Baji Keisuke.” Emma whispers in Yuzuha’s ear loud enough for you to hear.

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Wow, can you say that any louder?”

“I mean, I’ve already seen how Kazutora was practically eating you in the bathroom. I don’t think you can score better than that with Keisuke, at least before the getaway’s over.”

At that, both Senju and Yuzuha gasped dramatically, with little ‘How come you never told us!’ and ‘Where were we during this?’

You shake your head, “I’ll tell you two later! I feel too gross to be standing around right now.” You wave them off as you start to head toward the lake, watching them head back to the cabin giggling as you and Emma start walking toward the lake. “And it was nothing. We barely even kissed.”

“Uhuh, right. Okay.”

You stop abruptly, turning to face her and grabbing her shoulders. “Okay, listen. If I tell you this, you have to swear you won’t tell anyone. Especially Keisuke.”

Emma’s eyes widen, “You’re calling him Keisuke now? Oh my god, what season did I miss? Did I skip a few episodes?”

“Emma. Swear.”

“Alright, alright! I swear.” She holds her hands up in surrender, “So, spill it. What’s going on?”

You hesitate for a second, scanning the area to make sure no one’s listening. “Kazutora and I did coke together.. and after, there was a little tension.."

Emma gives you a long, suspicious look, “There’s some details missing… I can tell from your face.”

“No important details. just little kisses on my legs and all that, but it stopped when the power went out.”

Emma crosses her arms, tilting her head. “Then why are you being so secretive about it?”

“Because he told me not to tell anybody, and I kinda figured that he meant Keisuke.”

“Hmmm.”

You narrow your eyes at her, trying to read her expression. “Do you know why he doesn’t want Keisuke to know?”

She shrugs, “Your guess is as good as mine.”

As you both finally reach the lake, you spot a few empty shampoo bottles littered on the ground, men’s shampoos to be exact. Guess everybody had the same idea, although they could’ve at least picked up after themselves. “Y’know, for being known as rich... they couldn’t afford showers in this dump?” You remark.

“You think they give a shit about quality from a place with history like this?” she responds. Emma wastes no time, quickly peeling off her clothes and stepping into the water. You hesitate, glancing around nervously as you undress, feeling a little too exposed right now.

“Hurry up before it gets cold!” She calls, already waist-deep in the water. “God, I needed this.”

You step into the lake, the warm water enveloping you as you sink into it, letting out a sigh of contentment. The water really was just as Mikey described, hot and relaxing. You dip your face under, wiping the water from your eyes as you emerge.

“We should’ve brought some shampoo,” you mutter, eyeing the empty bottles floating around, and pushing them back to the shore.

Emma leans her head back, letting the water get into her hair. “It’s not worth it. I’ll need another shower after the party anyway. Can’t be wasting it.”

“True…” You murmur, gazing up at the sky.

For a few moments, it’s quiet—just the sound of water lapping against your bodies and the soft rustling of trees. That’s a surprise, you’re not paranoid about silence anymore. This is a nice feeling.

Emma suddenly breaks the silence, her voice low, almost as if she’s been holding it in for too long. “I haven’t spoken to Ken all day.”

You turn your head toward her, sensing there’s more she wants to say.

“I didn’t think he’d tell the gang something so personal, y’know? I didn’t even tell you guys about it… I just thought it’d be fair if he kept it between us too.”

You stay quiet, not wanting to interrupt, though you really want to know the context—what’s gotten them all so tense yesterday, but you don’t want to pry, not when she’s pouring herself out to you.

She takes a breath, staring at the water. “He got me pregnant… and I had an abortion without telling him.”

The words hit like a wave, and though you try to keep your face neutral, Emma already caught the surprised expression on your face before it disappeared. She chuckles a bit at that.

“I just… I thought he’d run away,” she continues, her voice trembling slightly. “That’s a lie, I know he wouldn’t… I like to comfort myself with that thought so I won’t feel shitty about it. But, a part of me didn’t want to tell him because I knew he’d convince me to keep it, saying he’s ready to be a dad and stuff. But I knew I wasn’t, and he didn’t take that lightly.”

“What do you mean?” You ask softly.

She stays silent for a minute before letting out a big sigh. “He kinda took it as me saying I didn’t want a baby with him. It wasn’t that. I just wasn’t ready. That’s it.” Emma pauses, dipping her hand into the water, and swirling it around absently. “We fought about it—bad. Even Manjiro got involved. Everything went to shit after that. Which… was out of character for him, yeah. But things were already going pretty bad for the gang, he and Mikey fought before, and this just kinda made it worse, I guess.”

“Emma, I’m so, so sorry…” You want to reach over and hug her, but the fact you’re both naked stops you. Instead, you extend your hand toward her, and she takes it, squeezing gently.

“It’s okay. It’s been a year since then, and we never really talked about it after, until today. I didn’t think it’d get brought up again, especially not like that.”

“That was really messed up of Kazutora, I’m sorry you had to go through that.” You squeeze her hand back.

She lets out a bitter laugh. “Don’t apologize for him. Yeah, he’s been all up on you lately, but still…”

You smile softly. “I can drop him for you, you know?”

Emma’s eyes widen, shaking her head quickly. “No, no! Please don’t. that’s the last thing I need right now. he’s already being fucking insane I don’t need you depriving him of pussy too.”

She dips her hair back into the water, letting the warmth wash over her as she sinks deeper into the lake. “And then there’s Hanma… It’s like he has a sixth sense whenever Ken and I are having issues.”

You raise an eyebrow. “What, he hits you with a ‘you up?’ text?”

Emma lets out a dry laugh. “Literally! No joke, he’s exactly that cliché. He’s the type who goes after vulnerable women in relationships just for the thrill of it.” She pushes back her hair from her face, getting all the water out. “And back then, he had this weird phase of being obsessed with taking a girl’s virginity, especially mine. Like… I wasn’t even a backdoor virgin at the time.”

You wrinkle your nose, cringing. “Okay, I didn’t need to know that.”

She rolls her eyes. “Oh please, like I haven’t told you worse.”

You let out a laugh, shaking your head. “How could you resist him though? I mean, the guy’s hot. He’s got the height, the eyes…”

Emma’s expression drops into a deadpan. “Are you only attracted to the absolute worst of the worst? Be honest.”

“Emma, don’t even try to deny it.”

She sighs, tilting her head as if considering for a moment. “At first? Maybe, before I really knew him. But after dealing with his antics for so long, the charm kind of wears off, and Ken is my type, not Hanma.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun…”

“Bitch, please. if your definition of ‘fun’ is Kisaki and hanma, I’ll pass. and stick with Keisuke—he’s better for you mentally.”

You scoff, leaning back in the water. “Not really… He gives such mixed signals, he was driving me crazy yesterday.”

Before you can elaborate, Emma suddenly perks up. “Hold that thought! I really should’ve brought a bikini before jumping in here.” She stands, the water sliding off her skin as she quickly grabs her clothes to put them on. “You want me to grab yours too?”

You glance around, feeling a little exposed now that she’s mentioned it. “Yeah, please. I’ve been feeling a bit too vulnerable out here.”

She pulls her wet hair out of her shirt, and then nods toward the trees. “Gotcha. I’ll be back.” She starts walking toward where the cabin is, disappearing into the forest and leaving you alone with the quiet ripples of the lake.

You float lazily in the warm water, letting your body relax as your mind drifts back to yesterday. Glad she didn’t pretend nothing happened like those guys did, especially Mikey. He was still acting the exact same this morning, although they do have a history of forgetting their arguments, but this one was too intense. Guess they were just too drunk. It’s pretty frustrating though, it’s like no one but you had felt the weight of what happened.

You tilt your head back into the water, exhaling softly, your mind drifting to the cut on Kazutora’s arm. Sure, you were just as fucked up as they were, but you seriously don’t remember him getting a cut from the glass, or anything really. Maybe he and Keisuke fought after? That would explain Keisuke’s bruises. If that’s so… that fight must’ve been intense.

The water’s stillness is suddenly interrupted by the realization that Emma’s been gone for too long. You push yourself up slightly, scanning the edge of the lake for any sign of her. Nothing. The trees remain undisturbed, quiet except for the occasional rustle of leaves from the wind.

You stand, the cool air hitting your wet skin immediately. As you step out of the lake, you instinctively reach for your clothes, only to find them missing. What the fuck? You start to scan the area, checking to see if they might have fallen or been moved by the wind. Maybe Emma took them with her? But something about that doesn’t sit right. She wouldn’t pull a prank, not after being so vulnerable with you a couple of minutes ago.

Your heart starts to race as your eyes dart around, feeling more and more exposed. You cover yourself with your arms while searching for anything to do the job for you. Finally, you spot a towel draped over a rock nearby. It’s ridiculously small, probably meant to be a face towel, but it’s your only option. You wrap it around yourself as best as you can, covering what’s most important, though it barely does the job.

Still shivering from the cold, you tiptoe into the forest, leaves, and dirt clinging to your feet. You’re wet and vulnerable, like prey ready to be pounced on. The dense canopy overhead makes everything seem darker, and the chill in the air feels sharper against your damp skin. Every rustle of leaves makes you jump, paranoia creeping in. Great, just as you were about to celebrate the fact that you weren’t as paranoid anymore.

As you step deeper into the forest, the towel clings to your wet skin, barely offering any warmth, and you clutch it tightly, scanning the dimly lit path for any sign of Emma or your missing clothes. “Emma?” You call out, although your voice doesn’t seem to be reaching the cabin. It’s as if no matter how loud you scream, no one will hear you. Why did your thoughts lead to that now?

The silence around you feels suffocating, the occasional rustle of leaves now sending a chill down your spine. You’re not sure what’s worse: the fact that your clothes are missing or the creeping feeling that something isn’t right.

You push through the underbrush, the wet towel sticking to your skin, its small size doing little to make you feel more secure. The chill of the air and the dampness on your body make everything worse. You try calling for Emma again, but your voice sounds weak in the thick, still air. “Emma?” you repeat, a little louder this time. The sound of your voice feels hollow, swallowed up by the trees as if there's no one around to hear it.

A twig snaps behind you. you then hear a voice—faint at first, like a low chuckle. you freeze in place, your heart skipping a beat as the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. not right now, not right now! He chuckles again, a deep, mocking sound.

“Lose something?” a familiar voice drawls from behind you, sending a chill down your spine that has nothing to do with the fact that you’re wet and naked.

You turn around slowly, hoping that it’s just a hallucination. Unfortunately, it wasn’t. you spot Hanma Shuji, standing a few feet away, leaning casually against a tree, with your underwear dangling on his finger, his lips curling into a lopsided grin as he witnesses your terrified eyes, his eyes expanding at the sight of it.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me…” You mutter, your voice betraying the anxiety you’re trying to suppress. You tighten your grip on the towel, taking a step back away from him, considering bolting for it or fighting him for your underwear, at least you would only worry about the top being exposed.

You feel Hanma’s eyes slowly travel down your body, his gaze lingering on the damp skin left exposed by the tiny towel.

“Oh, come on now,” he pushes himself off the tree, taking a step closer to you. “you don’t need to be so shy, not after the little show you’re putting on.” He teases.

You clear your throat, “Hanma, give it,” you demand, trying to keep your voice steady, though you can’t ignore the way your pulse is racing.

Hanma lifts the underwear higher, inspecting them with exaggerated disinterest with a hand on his chin. “hmm, I don’t know. you’re looking pretty good like this. s’ a shame to cover up so soon.” his eyes flick back to you, filled with that lazy, predatory hunger look in his eyes that always seems to follow him.

“Don’t push it,” you snap, though your voice falters just a little. you try to stand your ground, but with nothing but the thin towel to cover you, you can feel your confidence slipping. Oh fuck. you need that underwear now.

Hanma tilts his head, his grin widening, clearly enjoying every second of this. “Black, huh?” he muses, raising an eyebrow as he gives you a slow, teasing once-over. He clicks his tongue in mock frustration, “Damn, was betting on white, y’know.. ” he trails off.

You feel your face heat up instantly, did he hear what you and Emma were talking about? “what the fuck does got to do with anything?!”

Hanma chuckles at your reaction, twirling your underwear around his finger. “unless you’re gonna tell me you’ve been keeping yourself pure for someone special,” he says, his voice dropping low, the words rolling off his tongue with that smug, knowing tone, “are you?”

Your eyes narrow, fighting the urge to lunge at him and snatch your clothes back. “Why does that matter, huh? Can you just give me my clothes back?”

“Answer my question and I’ll give it to you.” he takes a step closer, forcing you to step back into the tree. “Are you, or are you not?” his gaze flicks back down to the towel, then to your face.

You grit your teeth, fighting to maintain control. “That’s none of your business.”

He bites his lip, shaking his head while looking down at your underwear, fiddling with the lace. He then dangles your underwear in front of you once more, but still keeps them just out of reach. “I’d kill to see you walk to the camp like this anyway..”

You might actually bolt for it this time, you glance back toward the camp, where you can already hear the faint sounds of people talking and preparing for the Halloween party. The idea of walking through the crowd like this, wrapped in a towel barely covering a thing, makes you wanna curl up and fucking die. Your eyes dart back to hanma, who’s watching you with that insufferable smirk of his, clearly eating up every second of your discomfort.

You sigh, shoulders sagging in defeat. “Can I please have my clothes back?” your voice comes out soft, almost pleading, just barely above a whisper as you impatiently stomp your feet in frustration.

Hanma tilts his head, matching the soft sound of your voice in a way to mock you, “Answer my question first.” you should be pissed but jesus christ did he sound so fucking hot doing it.

You clench your jaw, knowing you’re trapped. There’s no way around it, not with how he practically has you pinned to the tree, you look away from his gaze. “Okay! alright! I’m not a virgin, whatever! give it back.”

But Hanma only scoffs, “You think I’m just gonna give this to you without proof?”

Proof? Is he fucking crazy? Proof? your breath catches, and you feel your stomach drop. “Proof?”

He steps closer, the gap between you shrinking as he looks down at you. “Let me check.”

Your stomach tightens, heat rushing to your face. “What do you mean ‘let me check’? you can’t just—”

He cuts you off, “You want your clothes back or not?” his grin widening, shameless as ever.

Is this why Emma fucking despises him? cause now you’re starting to get it. You stood frozen, heart pounding, chewing on your lip as your mind races. There’s no way you’re going to let him get away with this, but the way he’s looking at you, the way his voice dips so low, makes it impossible to think straight.

“So?” he leans closer, his breath brushing your ear. “You gonna let me?” he drags his fingers along your curves, going down to your thigh. And unfortunately, your body betrays you. Your mind locked onto the feeling of his fingertips drifting your thighs, going between, accepting the sensation of his fingers drifting up from your inner thighs to what’s next to it. Kazutora’s unfinished business is being handed to hanma, and somehow, you’re not complaining.

A part of you enjoys the way he toys with you, the way he puts you in such a humiliating position just for his own pleasure, just to see you crack. and a part of you wants to crack for him, you can’t hide your masochism forever. unfortunately for you, as much as you try to deny it, and pretend you have self-respect and dignity, your body will always betray you.

He chuckles against your ear as if what he’s feeling on his fingers is unbelievable. “you’re fucking wet.” he whispers, and he hasn’t even touched you yet.

You let out a whimper, almost loud enough for the camp to hear but he quickly covers your mouth. “you don’t want them seeing you like this do you?” he speaks against the back of his hand.

You repeatedly shake your head, already tearing up and he barely did a thing to you. “why’re you crying?” he murmured, his gaze softening at the sight of your tears, but his dick was far from soft at that. his knuckle grazes beneath your chin, tilting your head up, forcing you to meet his gaze. but it wasn’t gentle, no, it was patronizing. “do I need to shut that mouth of yours?”

A soft pout forms on your plump bruised lips as you peer up at him through your lashes, your eyes wide, almost pleading—an instinctive reaction to his taunt.

Hanma tilts his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his lips. “you’re really bringing out the big guns with those puppy eyes, huh?” he then holds your underwear up, stretching it out enough to use it to gag you with it, he then stuffs your mouth with it, tying it to the back of your head.

“Bite.” he demands, and you comply, earning little whispers of ‘good girl’ and ‘you look so damn pretty like this’ against your lips as he leans in to kiss you, soaking up your underwear from it, his thick tongue rushes over your own, feeling yourself getting wetter as you silently wish emma doesn’t come back for you.

He then breaks the kiss, yanking the towel off your grasp and exposing you completely to him as he throws the towel aside, the sharp cold air hitting you enough to twitch. before you had time to react, he sinks to his knees, grabbing your thighs and spreading your legs open enough for him to go in between, “that’s a pretty fuckin’ pussy..” he mumbles right in front of your folds before spitting on it to make it easier for what he’s about to do to you. his warm breath fanning your cunt as he uses his ‘sin’ etched hand to lightly play with your clit, watching you twitch and pulsate against his fingers. humming little ‘mhm’s as he inserts two fingers inside you.

You practically melted on him, “so tight..” he coos, “not a virgin, huh?” he teases, you couldn’t even look at him anymore from how humiliating this is, biting your panties to muffle out your moans, and he couldn’t have that either.

He clicks his tongue, “let me hear you.” he says irritatedly as he pushes himself up from the ground to loom over you, wrapping his fingers around your neck with his ‘punishment’ etched hand, forcing you to look up at him again as he speeds up his fingers. shamefully, his long fingers feel so fucking good inside you, and your body can’t help but react to it.

“Don’t be ashamed about it.. wouldn’t expect a girl like you to be alone for this long. hey.. am I the only one that went this far in the camp? tell me.” he whispers huskily as he tightens his fingers around your neck.

You replied with muffled choked whines, but instead, he moved his hand from your throat to grab your chin, forcing you to nod your head at his question. “yeah? such an honor.” he gets his face closer to your lips, hovering over it as his ‘punishment’ hand moves to your thigh, lifting it up to get better access as he goes knuckles deep into your pussy, making you almost short circuit. “y’know, you’re all the guys have been going on about. couldn’t help but wanna get a taste of what they’re cravin’.. maybe ruin it for them too while I’m at it.” you tightened around his fingers at that, making his brow raise and let out a deep chuckle, “Ohh, you liked that huh.”

Your eyes rolled back as you leaned your head against the bark, you couldn’t even tell if it was because of his words or how good his finger felt. and of course, he would turn this into a competition. it makes perfect sense that he’d chase after someone the guys won’t shut up about. that’s just who he is—a thrill-seeking asshole, always needing to one-up everyone else. the exact kind of man Emma kept warning you about. but you just can’t ignore feeling yourself make a mess on his fingers, soaking and tightening around it even more, every time he speaks, like the dirty fucking whore you are.

He pulls it out, putting it in his mouth to suck on, making sure you’re looking up at him as he tastes you. “Mmm, mhm.. you’re ready.” he leans in to meet your lips with his again into a sloppy wet kiss against your panties while he unzips his pants, slipping it down to his thighs as he gives himself slow strokes, precum already dripping down his dick.

He breaks the kiss, biting his lip as he grabs both your thighs and lifts you up, supporting you with the tree he’s got you pinned in. The rough bark scratches your bare back painfully but you don’t care anymore. instinctively, you wrap your legs around his hips.

“Hold onto me better,” he murmurs, you wrap your arms around him and dig your nails on his back for support, leaving behind stinging lines from your nails as he digs his onto your hips, angling your wet slit on his tip.

Your eyes widened looking down at him: his cock is pierced, a curved silver bar fitted through the underside of his tip. you’ve never seen that before— never even thought someone would do that—and you could scarcely imagine how that would feel inside you, and he’s sooo fucking huge too. for a guy who used to be obsessed with being the one to take a girl’s virginity, with a size like his, combined with the piercing.. that would feel so painful, but you assume he’d be into breaking girls like that, making them bleed on his dick, and gosh does that thought turn you on.

It’s so indecent the position he has you in currently, it’s so indecent that you just got your pussy eaten by a different guy you barely know too. this wasn’t even the plan at all, you didn’t plan to have Hanma Shuji driving his pierced cock deep into your pussy right now, and you didn’t plan to have your cunt squeezing his dick either, making him question if what you said about you not being a virgin is true from how goddamn tight you are. you didn’t plan to have your pussy eaten on the second day of the getaway and yet here you are. in the middle of nowhere against a tree with a seven-inch deep in your stomach, you can’t even complain about the cold anymore, not with his hot dick and pre already coating your insides.

“Ohhh fuck, look down.. look down at it angel, watch how it fucks you.” Hanma choked, his face scrunched up with need from how good your pussy was swallowing him. you roll your head down to watch him stretch you open, resting it on his shoulder while watching your skin clap against his as his veiny dick disappears into you, making your clit throb as he drives himself into you over and over. your mouth now dry since you drooled all over yourself, the sight only making hanma even harder from how braindead you look.

You lean back against the bark again, tears rolling down your cheeks, sniffling. so cute to him, so cute as he’s continuously pounding his cock into your puffy, swollen pussy. with each heavy thrust, he hits your spot, making you cry out for him as his hips interact with yours. and you can’t help but make Hanma’s back bleed as he cusses under his breath.

You’re ready to cum, so close to it you feel it in the pit of your stomach as your eyes roll back, a moaning, drooling mess. “uh-uh,” he says sternly, “Look at me.. look at me while I fucking ruin you, c’mon.” he growls, getting even more aggressive as he stretches your legs further up. his dick bulging out of your tummy. he wasn’t even looking at you either, his eyes were on your tits, bouncing each time he thrusts his hips into you. he can’t help it either, every single inch of you is hypnotizing to him.

You let out a soft mewl, breath hitching as you feel yourself coat his dick, the slapping sounds getting wetter, almost echoing through the trees. it all comes crashing down at you as the ache in your stomach snaps, squirming against his grip, legs twitching, and hips bucking against him. you feel so, so painful and sore now but that’s an issue for you to worry about later.

He pulls out his dick, and a part of you wishes he didn’t as you already start to miss him being inside of you. He starts to stroke it. Speeding up as thick, pearl white cum oozes out of his pierced tip, dripping on your stomach and your rhinestone belly piercing, making it shine for him as he groans at the sight. “So damn pretty..”

He pushes himself against you more to pin you hard against the tree for support as he scoops up a bit with his middle finger, grabbing the panties from your mouth and pulling it down to your neck, shoving his middle finger down your throat. “Suck,” he orders, making your clit throb one last time at that.

And you did just that, his purple eyes were focused on your lips as you glide your tongue against it, keeping your doe eyes locked on his as you start to moan around him, his mouth fell open with a desperate sigh as you were sucking down hard on his finger and letting your tongue tease its tip.

You take the chance to distract him with your mouth as you undo your underwear from the back, trying your best to imitate as if you're sucking his dick, his eyes remaining on you with such intensity. you finally undo it, swiftly hiding your underwear behind you as you let go of his finger with a lick, purposely leaving a string of saliva still attached.

“How am I supposed to let you go after that..” he says with hunger so unmistakable and raw it made your legs weaken, almost convincing you to stay with him a little longer. you bring your fingers to your lips, kissing them softly before grazing them against his mouth. his body that was pressing on you momentarily loosening. Taking that chance, you kick him back away from you with all the strength you can muster. His surprised expression is the last thing you see before bolting.

Quickly snatching the towel from the ground, you barely manage to wrap it around yourself as you dash away from him, wiping away remnants of him on your stomach, a sick reminder of what happened as the cold air hits your skin again. Your heart races as fast as your feet as you sprint toward the camp, the towel slipping dangerously, barely covering you.

You finally reach the camp, bursting out of the treelines, your worst nightmare—aside from being murdered—begins in slow motion before you. The once lively camp now silent as everyone stops to stare, conversations freezing mid-sentence as people halt whatever they're doing, gawking at your half-covered figure. You should've at least worn your underwear before running here so you would only have your tits to worry about, but something about the thought of you running around in your underwear sounds just as worse as right now.

You don’t even have time to process the embarrassment creeping up your neck as your grip tightens around the towel, fingers trembling as it threatens to slip from your grasp. You make a desperate dash across the camp toward the girls’ cabin, each step feeling like you’re running through thick mud, the weight of humiliation heavier than anything you’ve ever carried.

Please, not now, not like this…

One pair of eyes catches your attention more than the others. You recognize the blonde hair streaked with blue—fucking Rindou Haitani. His eyes were locked on you, widening as he covered his mouth with his hand, trying—and failing—to hide a grin. He leans over, nudging his brother Ran with an elbow, chin pointing directly at you.

Great. Didn’t even need to get anyone into bed for them to see you half-naked. Already crowned the whore of the century in just two days. Heat floods your face, prickling your skin as humiliation grips you tighter than the towel ever could.

You quicken your pace, legs trembling beneath you. Just when you think you can make it, you hear someone call out, something about Hanma. Wait—Hanma? Why is he brought up?

Your blood runs cold in realization. No. No, no, no... don’t do this to me.

Your breath hitches, and your question hangs in the air for a split second. As if on cue, Hanma bumps into you from behind, his hands finding your waist as he nudges you to the side like you're in the way, "Shit... didn't see you there," he says with a smug, half-assed apology, making his group break into jeering laughter, the kind that digs under your skin.

He then appears in your line of sight, strolling across the camp casually, his usual lazy grin plastered on his stupid, stupid face, the action only fueling his group even more. you don't even need a crystal ball to figure out what they're thinking either—Hanma and you are alone in the woods, with you naked. The weight of their stares nauseating as he walked toward Kisaki, mumbling something in his ear. whatever it is, makes Kisaki glance your way, fucking great. Now you've got Kisaki's attention on you, and Hanma’s as well as his eyes drift back in your direction.

You can feel their stares—Hanma’s eyes burning into you like he knows exactly how uncomfortable you are—and it’s unbearable. The humiliation is indescribable, you’ve never felt more suicidal until now. Your grip on the towel tightens as if it’s the only thing tethering you to reality.

Then, before you can even think of bolting, a familiar, comforting voice yells through the camp, coming to your rescue.

“The fuck you looking at? Huh?!”

Your head snaps up, spotting Draken at your side in an instant, quickly shrugging off his jacket and throwing it over your shoulders with no hesitation, the fabric heavy against your skin. Your legs feel like jelly from the embarrassment, but Draken catches on as his hand finds the small of your back, urging you forward.

“Look away, you fuckin’ cunts!” Draken barks, “Nothing to see here, scram!”

You flinch at his words, the sharpness of his tone making the embarrassment feel even heavier now that all eyes are on you from how goddamn loud he's being. At least he has good intentions, but now you’re not sure whether you want to be hidden or to disappear entirely.

At the corner of your eye, the person you desperately want to yell at—Emma—appears beside him, rushing toward you, her voice apologetic. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to leave you out there!” She urges, her hands hovering uselessly near you as if trying to help without knowing how.

Draken’s towering frame shields you as he leads you toward the cabin. You can still feel their eyes on you—the weight of their stares, lingering like fingerprints on your skin—but it’s all just background noise now.

Just then, the cabin door bursts open, and Mikey storms out, drawn by Draken’s voice. His eyes widen as he spots Draken and Emma ushering you toward the girls’ cabin. “What’s going on? Why are you naked?” Mikey asks as he strides over, nudging you further inside gently as he closes the door behind him.

Your heart pounds in your ears as your face reddens from embarrassment. Legs give out as you sink to the floor. Your face burns, skin hot to the touch from the sheer mortification.

You’re not sure what’s worse—the fact that it happened or that they all saw it.

It was already sunset, four hours before the Halloween party. You stroll toward the boys' cabin with your costume in hand. Your steps are quick since you don’t want to be seen by anybody else right now—the sting of embarrassment from earlier creeping back up your neck. On top of all that, you found out that Emma conveniently decided to make up with Draken, leaving you to fend for yourself naked in the woods. Timing, right? But it’s whatever now. It already happened. What can you do?

The cabin door is left slightly ajar, and through the crack, you spot Mitsuya sitting at the dining table, chatting with Hakkai, who's leaning on a chair in front of him, rocking it back and forth with his long leg. You vaguely remember Hakkai witnessing that whole ordeal earlier since he was nearby helping the others carry logs. Just your luck. With a sigh, you try to center yourself before pushing the door open further, letting it creak to announce your presence.

As you step inside, Hakkai notices you immediately, his eyes widening in surprise before he quickly looks away, a faint blush creeping up his cheeks. He glances at Mitsuya for some kind of signal, who only gives him a subtle nod, silently dismissing him.

Hakkai stands awkwardly, muttering a quiet “see ya,” as he shuffles past you, practically shrinking, avoiding eye contact. At least he didn’t comment or stare at you like the rest of the guys did earlier.

Finally, Mitsuya looks up from the table, giving you an easy smile like you didn’t just flash the entire camp. “Hey, what’s up?” he greets, his eyes flicking to the costume you’re holding. “Got something for me to fix?”

You cringe slightly at his casual tone. It’s only the second time you’ve really interacted with him, and you’re already asking for favors. You feel a little guilty, but then again, you only have four hours to get ready. “I hate to be that person, but I completely forgot to alter this… it’s too big on me, and I need it, uh… shorter.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he says, hopping off the dining table, clearing it out for him to start working on your dress, grabbing his glasses from his head and putting them on. He looks so cute with his glasses on… “Hand it here.”

You pass him the costume, and he starts to feel the fabric between his fingers, laying it out on the table for a better look. “Velvet, huh? I can work with this. How short do you want it?”

“Umm…” You chew on the bottom of your lip, reaching for the dress as he moves back with his hands in his pockets. You fold up the bottom of the skirt, nearly half of it gone, showing him how short you need it. You smile sheepishly, feeling a bit ridiculous.

He stares at the fabric for a beat longer than necessary, chewing on the inside of his mouth. “You sure about that?”

“Yeah,” you reply, more confident this time. “I’m sure.”

“Can you, uh… put it on so we can see exactly where you need it?” he suggests, still making sure you really want it that short.

“Yeah, okay.” You take the costume back and slip it over your clothes. It’s loose around your waist, and the skirt falls all the way to your ankles. Walking over to the giant body mirror, you fold the fabric up, bringing the hem slightly above the bottom of your ass. You glance back at Mitsuya, who’s now standing behind you, hand on his chin as he examines the skirt you’ve folded up. A quiet laugh slips out. He rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting between you and the absurdly short skirt.

“Oh, so you’re serious?” he asks, trying to hold back another laugh.

You glance at him through the mirror, your face heating up. “Yeah, I’m serious,” you attempt to say confidently, but you can’t help but crack a smile.

He stares for a moment longer, his eyes drifting over the costume and back to you. “That’s really short,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m not saying anything, I’m just making sure you know what you want…” You can tell he’s debating whether to warn you about how impractical the length is—dancing, bending over… all risks.

“Thanks for the concern, but I know what I want, don’t worry, Mitsuya,” you mutter with a smile. It’s your costume, after all. With a shrug, he nods.

“Alright, I’ll make it work. You mentioned tightening it around your waist, too?” He walks back to the dining table to grab a few pins.

“Yeah,” you confirm, turning to the side in the mirror to inspect the fit. “It’s a bit loose.”

Mitsuya moves behind you with pins in his mouth, his hands hovering near your waist, waiting for permission. You meet his eyes in the reflection and nod with a small smile. He gently runs his hand on your waist as if you are fragile, tightening the fabric at your waist, and carefully placing a pin to hold it. Then, he drops to his knees, pinning the skirt’s hem to the length you want, still hesitating but ultimately deciding to trust your choice. For a moment, it looks like he might add a bit of length without telling you, but he wouldn’t. The customer’s always right anyway.

“Alright, you can take it off now,” Mitsuya says as he stands up.

Careful not to mess up the pins, you slowly slip out of the dress, folding it neatly before handing it to him. He walks back over to the dining table, already gathering his tools to start cutting and sewing.

You follow him, perching yourself on the edge of the table next to his work, watching him as he does his magic—focused and all, long lashes that almost brush his cheeks when he blinks, then to his lavender hair, holding the urge to run your hand through it, then at his hands as he takes off his rings, placing them to the side.

One of the rings catches your eye, resembling the cross earring he wears that you really liked. You hum in interest. Without thinking, you reach for it, slipping it onto your thumb. The ring is far too big, but you try to make it fit, twisting it around, and looking at the details. Mitsuya, still cutting, notices the missing ring, his eyes flicking up to you. With a soft smile, he tilts his head slightly to grab your attention.

“You like it?”

You glance back at him, realizing you’d been caught playing with his ring. “Oh—uh, sorry,” you say quickly, taking it off and setting it back on the table, feeling a little embarrassed.

“Don’t be,” he says casually, his voice soft. “It looks good on your finger.”

“Yeah… it doesn’t really fit though,” you mutter, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear as you place your hands in your lap, fingers fidgeting with the fabric of your pants awkwardly.

Mitsuya’s gaze lingers on your hands fidgeting for a moment longer before he asks, “So, who’re you gonna be tonight?”

“A succubus,” you reply.

“Well, I’ll look forward to seeing that then.”

Just as you’re about to ask him what he’s gonna be, your stomach growls, loud enough to make you freeze. Mitsuya glances up at you with a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You should go eat while I finish this up.”

“Yeah, okay,” you mumble, slightly embarrassed. “Thanks for this, Mitsuya, you really saved me.” Hopping off the dining table, you give him a grateful smile before heading out of the boys’ cabin. Your feet carry you toward the main cabin, silently hoping that they brought an acceptable breakfast. You’d kill for some Honey Cheerios right now.

Reaching for the cabin door, you pull it open and step inside, only to find two guys already there, mid-conversation—the Haitani brothers. Their words pause the moment you enter. Making you hesitate to walk in, but it’s too late to leave. Their eyes are already on you, and turning back now would just make it look like you’re trying to avoid them.

They finally look away as you cast a smooth, subtle glance at Ran without him noticing. He’s frowning so deeply it almost looks permanently etched on his face, his lips pursed as he sips his coffee. You hope it’s just a case of him not being a morning person, rather than something to do with your presence.

Rindou, on the other hand, looks like he’s holding back a laugh as he stares down at his cereal, swirling it lazily with his spoon. You ignore the awkward tension and move to walk past, doing your best to seem unbothered. But just as you pass, you hear Ran mumble, “No good showers… No good coffee… The cheap-ass motel nearby can at least give me a good shower.”

Tell me about it, you roll your eyes at that, moving toward the cabinets and trying not to engage. You sift through the shelves, noticing most of the snacks are half-eaten or left wide open, gross... What do you expect in a cabin full of guys? You turn around and finally spot something decent—a box of cereal right next to Rindou.

“Dude, we can leave after the party… Quit whining,” Rindou says, leaning back in his chair, still playing with his cereal.

You grab the box of supposedly protein cereal, lifting it to see how full it is. Thank God, it’s brand new. You move over to grab a bowl and head to the sink, which Ran is currently blocking with his brooding presence. He’s ignoring you, his attention is still on Rindou.

You let out a quiet sigh and clear your throat. “Excuse me,” you mutter, hoping to avoid any unnecessary interaction with him.

Ran side-eyes you but eventually steps to the side. he seems so grumpy. You quickly wash the bowl, hearing the brothers chatting again, but you’re too tuned out to catch their conversation. After grabbing a plastic spoon, you sit at the dining table and pour yourself a bowl of cereal, only to realize that the milk already out on the table is… lukewarm.

“Goddamnit,” you mutter under your breath.

“Uh-huh. Goddamnit indeed,” Ran quotes you, grimacing as he takes another sip of his coffee before slowly stepping out of the cabin to sit on the porch.

You dig into your cereal, grateful to get something in your stomach before getting fucked up tonight. But even that small comfort is ruined by the weight of Rindou’s stare, first on you, then your cereal, like your mere existence is bothering him. His gaze feels heavy, almost like he’s expecting something. You glance up at him, your eyes lock with his, and he doesn’t look away. Which only makes you eat faster, hoping to finish and get out of there as soon as possible.

“You know that’s my cereal, right?” he says with a brow raised.

You freeze mid-chew, looking at him with a mouthful, feeling caught. “I’m sorry,” you reply, your voice muffled by the cereal. “It’s just… everything else was already half-eaten or stale. I should’ve asked.”

“Nah, you’re good, I don’t wanna shit on your morning like he always does with me.” He points his spoon toward where Ran left, then scooping up some cereal for himself.

“Is he always that grumpy?” you ask, still chewing while looking at Ran’s back through a window.

“Mmhm,” Rindou hums in response, resting his head on his palm. Giving you a once-over, a subtle smirk playing on his lips. You pretend not to notice his staring, focusing on your cereal like it’s the most interesting thing in the world.

“So, who are you, anyway?” he asks, breaking the silence again.

You pause, swallowing before responding with your name. “…I’m a friend of the Sano’s.”

At the mention of their names, Rindou straightens up slightly, his interest piqued. “Oh, you’re with them? How come I don’t know you?”

You shrug in response, attempting to cut the conversation short since you still feel awkward about this morning but he seems persistent as he still keeps his goddamn eyes on you.

He leans back in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly against the edge of the table. “Interesting. Can’t believe Mikey didn’t mention you.” The way he emphasized his name sounded almost like he was mocking, “So, who’re you gonna be for Halloween?” he tilts his head as if he’s trying to piece together how you fit into their world.

You shift in your seat, feeling the intensity of his gaze as if trying to study you. “oh just some succubus, you?” you ask, wiping your mouth with a napkin.

“I’m going as Leon Kennedy tonight.”

Your face brightened at the mention of Leon, but you kept your cool, trying to not fangirl as much. “that’s cool, i never thought you’d be into resident evil.”

“so you’ve thought about me.” he mutters to himself, leaning back with a feigned sigh of disappointment. “Was hoping you’d be Ada. We could’ve matched, y’know.” He teases, his eyes narrowing slightly as he looks you up and down before adding, “you’d look good in red.”

you brush off his weird compliment, “i mean, i’ll be covered in blood tonight so technically i’ll be in red, you gonna wear a brown wig, too?” you finish up your cereal, only taking spoonfuls of milk now.

“Pfft, nah… I don’t look good with brown hair.” He shakes his head, running his fingers through his hair.

“Really? I think you’d look good.” You respond without thinking twice about the way you said it.

His eyes gleam as he sits up, leaning closer to you with his elbows on the table. “You think I look good with brown?”

You nod, trying to see what he’s getting at since what you said was completely innocent. “Yeah, totally.”

He grins wider, “So you’re saying I look good?”

You roll your eyes, laughing it off, “Okay… I didn’t say it like that!”

He crosses his arms, his arm tattoo distracting you enough to slip up. “So I don’t look good?” He tilts his head again like he’s waiting for you to stumble on your words.

“I didn’t say that either,” you shoot back.

“Which is it then, huh, new girl?”

You stand up, reaching to grab your empty bowl, and putting it in the sink. “Come back with your Leon costume and we’ll discuss,” you reply before heading out of the cabin.

Rindou watches you walk away, leaning back in his chair as you walk toward the door. “I better get an answer by then,” he calls out after you as you bite your lip, trying to suppress your giggles before finally stepping out of the cabin.

You walk out, heading toward the girls’ cabin. the path lit in flashlights and cheap halloween themed lanterns. already seeing some of the guys loitering around, either borrowing makeup or pleading for help with their own.

You’re pretty sure Mikey had all but demanded you do his makeup too. Figures. The party hasn’t even started and you’re already running logistics in your head: your own costume, mikey’s, whatever chaos the boys might drag you into. you barely push the door open before the scent of burnt hair, setting spray and perfume hits you.

Inside, the girls are mid glam, lanterns and flashlights used for vanity mirror lights, lashes curling and fake blood are already being spilt all over the wooden floors.

You spot Mikey planted beside Emma while inspecting her makeup, and next to him, Keisuke watches with the cutest look of confusion on his face as Emma carefully applies her eyeliner. It’s hard not to let your eyes linger on him for a moment longer than necessary. Not that he’d notice, though—his attention is all on whatever witchcraft Emma’s doing.

Mikey catches sight of you walking in and immediately perks up. “Fucking finally, you gonna do the paint now?”

You raise an eyebrow, “Who are you even gonna be?” you ask, pulling out your heavy SFX makeup from your bag with a sigh. The weight of it feels appropriate for the mess you’re about to deal with.

“I’m gonna be a vampire,” Mikey replies, crossing his arms with a smirk plastered on his face as if he’d just dropped some mind-blowing revelation.

You can’t help but deadpan as you drop the makeup bag onto the bed. As if you pulled it out for nothing, “Mikey, you barely need makeup for that.”

In the corners of your eye, you catch Keisuke approaching, your heart starts to race as you pretend to be casual about it, keeping your eyes on Mikey as Keisuke jumps in. “You gonna be a vampire? I was gonna be one.” His gaze remains stubbornly fixed on Mikey, making you subconsciously pout. Look at me, look at me!

“Uh-uh, change. I called dibs on being a vampire in August,”

You cut in, “You’d make a pretty solid Eric Draven, Keisuke,” you say with your hands clasped behind your back, holding yourself back from rocking side to side.

Keisuke finally turns his head toward you, raising an eyebrow. “Who?”

You feel your heart skip a beat—not because of him not recognizing an icon, but because, well, he’s looking at you. “He’s from The Crow,” you explain. “You’ve never seen it?”

Keisuke narrows his eyes at you in confusion, and just as you’re about to elaborate, Kazutora, sporting cute little leopard prints on the sides of his face, slides in with his arm lazily draping around your shoulders. “What’s going on?”

“I was just telling Keisuke he should be Eric Draven,” you reply, instinctively leaning slightly into Kazutora’s touch.

“Ohhh yeah, he kinda does look like him,” Kazutora agrees, giving Keisuke a light nudge. “You should totally do it.” A small part of you didn't want him to intervene. But another part of you says that Kazutora can convince Keisuke to let you do his makeup for the party. One, because you can touch his face without him being weirded out by it, and two, you get to see him in corpse paint.

Keisuke looks between you and Kazutora, brow raised in doubt. “You think so?”

“Yeah! He’s got that corpse face paint metalheads do. Plus, he’s got long hair, so you already got that down.” Kazutora explains.

“So, I look like him just ’cause he’s got long hair?"

“Nah, dude, it’s more than that. Trust me, let her do the face paint. It’ll look sick.” Kazutora finally slides his arm off of you, casually strolling away out of the cabin.

“What about me?” Mikey suddenly whines, pulling your attention back.

“Mikey… you literally just need fangs and some fake blood. You barely need anything else,” you say, turning to Emma for backup. “Right, Emma?”

Emma, engrossed in her makeup application, shrugs. “I don’t know what you just said, but yeah, sure,” she replies, turning up the volume on the music playing. Body by Summer Walker flows through the speakers, indicating that she doesn’t wanna be bothered right now.

You move over to your bed, unzipping your makeup bag and grabbing the fake blood bottle to hand to Mikey, "That'll work, just dab it everywhere on you." Then you grab the essentials for Keisuke's makeup, waving him off to sit anywhere so you can get started.

You stroll toward the dining table where everyone’s scattered their makeup tools, only to spot Keisuke already sitting there, leaning on the chair, waiting while bouncing his leg.

His eyes meet yours as you move closer to him, steadying yourself in between his legs as he moves to sit on the edge of the chair, closer to you. Legs apart enough for you to stand in between, his hands loose on his thighs. Occasionally cracking his fingers while you arrange your products away from the other girls'.

You grab the first step of the makeup, the Elf Power Grip primer, squeezing a bit of it onto your fingertips, his brows immediately furrow as soon as the cool, slightly sticky substance touches his skin.

“The hell is this? Feels sticky,” he mutters, instinctively pulling back an inch.

You grab his chin, gently but firmly, bringing him back into place. “You want this stuff to last the whole night, don’t you?”

He grunts, still clearly annoyed by the texture as you wave it off to dry with your hand before grabbing the white under-face paint stick, carefully gliding the pale white makeup across his cheek. You didn't realize how tan he is until you added paint, noting in your head that he might need a double coat as you're making sure to cover every inch, but not touching his neck.

You try not to be affected by how close he is, even though you're feeling his breath on you, and each time your fingers graze his skin, you swear his breathing deepens, just enough for you to notice. You're positive he can hear your heart hammering against your chest but you pretend to be unbothered—impossible—focusing more on doing his makeup.

You grab a brush to blend it all in, and your fingers brush his jaw as you tilt his head for a better angle. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, a sharp contrast to the cold makeup. His eyes watching you closely, unreadable but so distracting, god why is he so fucking distracting.

You catch his gaze, and it’s like the air in the room shifts, you flash him a polite smile as you tilt his head again, blending the paint in with the brush. He huffs but doesn’t pull away this time, settling into the stool again.

As you move on to the actual white base, you dip the beauty blender into the paint and begin dabbing it across his skin. Almost immediately, he makes a face,

“Stop that,” you mutter, holding his chin steady with one hand, blending the paint in with the other.

He shoots you an exaggerated glare, eyes narrowed like a cat who’s been stepped on. “Feels like you’re trying to knock me out.”

“You’d know if I was trying to knock you out, just stay still,” you mutter, though the words come out softer than you mean them to.

“You’re good at this,” he murmurs.

“I know a thing or two.”

You dab the beauty blender on his cheek again, harder this time just to mess with him, and he grumbles under his breath, crossing his arms over his chest. His long legs stretch out, and he shifts like he’s trying to get comfortable.

“Oh—god, Keisuke. Please don’t move.” You say, exasperated. “You’re making this way more complicated than it needs to be.”

He doesn’t budge, instead choosing to stare at the ceiling, “I’m perfectly comfortable like this,”

You let out a frustrated sigh, “Fix your posture, please?” you insist, tapping the side of his knee with yours. “You’re not helping me here.”

He keeps his gaze fixed on the ceiling, tongue gliding over his teeth before responding. “Nah, I like it like this.” He settles into the chair even more to get comfortable.

You mutter a ‘Jesus Christ.’ and with a huff, you put your knee on the chair, positioning it right between his legs as you lean over him. The closeness makes it harder to focus on the makeup, but you’re determined to make this work.

You reach for a couple of products to hold at hand as you're hovering over him, “If this turns out to look like shit I’m blaming it on you,” you say. He’s unyielding, maintaining that ridiculous position, and you find yourself almost pressed against him as you try to get the angle right.

“Yeah, that’s great,” he teases, his voice low, and you can’t help but roll your eyes at his stubbornness.

When you finally finish with the white, he runs his hand over his face, frowning at the texture. “This stuff feels weird.”

You quickly grab his hand, "Don't touch your face, it'll crease!" You start blending the part he touched to fix it.

He raises a brow, and his expression changes in a way that you could only describe as regret that he even agreed to this, "The hell's the point in this if I can't touch my face?"

You roll your eyes at his impatience, pulling out a small container of powder. “Don’t worry, it won't move when I set it with this.”

He eyes the powder suspiciously, “What’s that? Glitter?”

You roll your eyes. “No, Keisuke. It’s powder. You put it on top of the base paint so it 'doesn’t feel gross.'” You mock him, unscrewing the powder and dabbing it with a powder puff, dusting the excess powder before applying.

He frowns but doesn’t argue, letting you dust the powder over his face. As you work, you notice his jaw relax a little, clearly less bothered by the texture now.

You reach for the dark eyeshadow palette on the table, trying to maintain your position against him as you tip over. Just as you feel yourself wobble, his hands find your waist, steadying you on the chair. The suddenness of his touch almost actually made you tip over, the expensive palette slipping from your grasp as you froze in place, awkwardly grabbing it before it fell on its face.

You then look up to see his reaction through the mirror, your breath hitches as you catch a glimpse of his confused expression, making you jolt back to reality. You quickly regain your composure, trying to shake off the flutter in your chest. “Thanks,” you mumble, your voice steadier than you feel.

He, of course, says nothing about it, moving his hands back on his lap as you start on the black around his eyes, applying a generous amount all around it. When you reach for his waterline with your black pen, you feel him tense up again, squinting like he’s bracing himself for impact. You’re careful with the pen, making sure it doesn't bother him and yet he’s still being a baby about it, “You’re getting it in my eye,” he grumbles.

“No, I’m not. Shut up and hold still.”

He huffs, but he keeps still, though you can feel the way he’s resisting the urge to blink. As you finish the last stroke, you step back, admiring the shape of the dark circles around his eyes. He opens them fully and stretches his face again, clearly trying to get used to the feel of the makeup. He's so annoying about it but so cute still.

You shift to the other side of his face, trying to ignore the way your fingers tremble slightly as you work on the black lines around his other eye. More calm now and less freaked out over the pen.

“You’re done with that part, right? ‘Cause it’s—” He frowns, shifting in his seat.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m done.” You pull out the last piece of the look and hold it up in front of him with a grin. “Alright, what’s this?”

He squints at the small tube you’re holding, his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “Lipstick?”

“Wrong. eyeliner.”

He mutters something under his breath but doesn’t protest as you move in closer again, tilting his head back to get the last lines around his lips. As you carefully draw the dark line around his lips, filling them in. His eyes stay locked on yours, and for a second, you pause, forgetting what you’re doing. It’s just you and him, his amber-colored eyes pulling you in like they always fucking do.

You watch his mouth move, mumbling a "You good?" with his soft-looking lips, fighting the urge to kiss him right here right now until you remembered where you were. There were people around, everybody is watching, he was watching, and you need an excuse on why you just stared at his lips for too damn long. "Yeah, it's just... I'm trying to figure out how to shape it to your lips."

He hums in response as his eyes blink to the ceiling, lifting a weight from your shoulders, and finally giving you the chance to actually focus on doing his makeup.

When you move to line the corners of his lips, your thumb accidentally brushes the corner of his mouth. His eyes flick back at you at that, but he stays quiet, his lips parting slightly as you paint the dark line.

You clear your throat, trying to ignore the way your hands feel warmer than usual. “Stop staring. It’s weird.”

He slightly smirks in response, probably knowing how much his stare affects you. You scoff, but it’s hard to focus when he’s looking at you like that. You quickly regain your composure as you move to do the lines on his eye down to his cheek, keeping it quick and sharp. You finish the last line and step back quickly from him, and once you do, you feel like you can breathe now.

You reach for the final piece of the puzzle—the setting spray. The bottle makes a soft rattling noise as you shake it, and Keisuke immediately looks suspicious.

“let me guess… Perfume?” he asks with a furrow to his brows.

“Setting spray,” you say, stepping in front of him again. “Keeps everything in place so you don’t look like a melting corpse halfway through the night. Now, close your eyes.”

He blinks a couple of times at that, but he does as he’s told, closing his eyes. The moment you spritz the mist onto his face, he scrunches up like you just sprayed him with water from a hose, his entire face contorting.

“Quit scrunching your face!” you laugh, “Just relax.”

He dramatically holds his breath, still keeping his eyes shut tight but trying to loosen up. You spray another mist, and he manages to avoid flinching this time.

“There, done,” you say, stepping back to admire your work.

Keisuke opens his eyes, blinking a couple of times as if testing whether everything is still intact. His fingers hover near his face, but he doesn’t touch the makeup.

“Feels like I just got hosed down,” he mutters, now testing the feel of the makeup on his face, and his eyes return to yours. There’s a heaviness in the way he stands, the way his shoulders shift as he rises from the chair, towering over you now.

“Well?” you ask, folding your arms. “How do you feel?”

Keisuke stretches his face out again, eyes flicking to the mirror, “Like a dead guy.” He reaches up, running a thumb over the edge of the makeup near his jawline. “You did a good job.”

“Thank you.” You can’t help the smile that pulls at your lips as you watch him.

He tugs at his hair tie, running a hand through his hair, his intense gaze flicking over to you one last time.

“Let’s just hope this shit doesn’t come off,” he mutters, “Or else I’m blaming you for makin’ me look bad tonight.”

Before you could speak, the cabin door creaks open, Mikey, Chifuyu, and Pah-Chin strolling in, all done with their makeup and face paint, on cue to Keisuke being done as well.

Mikey’s immediate reaction is to cackle, his fake vampire fangs gleaming, “Keisuke, you look like you came out of a morgue!”

Keisuke’s eyes cut to Mikey, unimpressed. “Your fangs are bigger than your teeth,” he deadpans.

Mikey instantly shuts his mouth, clearly self-conscious about the oversized fangs, his grin shrinking into a scowl. “Shut up.”

Chifuyu, who’s been checking out Keisuke’s makeup, steps closer, “You look like you’re ready for a metal concert,” he says, his tone amused.

Pah-Chin, who’s dressed as the Joker with his own face painted up, snickers from behind them. “More like the circus.”

“You would know about that wouldn’t you?” Keisuke smacks Pah-Chin’s head from the back as they all head out the door to leave the girls’ cabin. Before he does, Keisuke shoots a final glance at you, his eyes locking with yours for just a moment longer than usual before breaking it and stepping out.

After they finally leave the cabin, you turn back at the mess you and Keisuke made, the lingering warmth of his presence still evident, making you miss him already as you collect the scattered makeup items.

Just as you were about to start your makeup, the door swings open, and Mitsuya steps in, a dress draped over his arms, looking almost comically small against his frame, the realization of how tiny the dress actually looks and how naked you’re practically gonna be just decided to hit you. “Hey, almost forgot to bring this over.”

“Thanks, Mitsuya,” you say, “I really need to hurry up.”

He glances at the mess you made on the dining table, “Yeah, good luck with that, see you at the party?” he says as he rushes back to the door, also needing to put on his costume.

“Yeah, I’ll see you.” You say, rushing over to your side of the dining table, your heart racing as you quickly prepare until you realize you almost forgot the most crucial part of the costume, “The blood! I need the fake blood for the look! Oh my god. Mikey!!!” You shout, your voice echoing off the cabin walls, making Emma flinch and almost fuck up her makeup.

© 𝑯𝒀𝑺𝑻𝑬𝑹𝑶𝑻𝑰𝑪 all rights reserved. please do not repost, steal, or modify my work.

[jockons]

I know the fandom tends to be a rivalry between these two for Markus and (I personally don't find either ship annoying, but I'm not really a fan of this, I'd rather keep North and Simon as friends without dragging them into a romance)

but I love them both and they are some of my favorite characters in Detroit and I wish there were more interactions between the two of them, we often see them get along, I would even say more than Josh and Simon (Time To Decide, Spare Parts in not wanting to take John with them, if North is the Leader Simon agrees with her in storming the camps)

It is true that North suggested killing Simon at Stratford Tower, but it was more for the danger of them finding Jericho through his memory (Which can actually happen since Connor can trick Simon and find Jericho) than wanting to kill him, and when the roles are reversed and it is Simon who asks Markus to let North go in Crossroads, later if Markus saves her and asks her about her wound, in reality North will be she agrees with Simon that Markus shouldn't have risked his life to save her, so she doesn't hold a grudge, but rather is consistent about it and was okay with her death

"You have to think of our people first, nothing else matters" if Markus/Connor die, Simon will take North away and jump with her, if North is the Leader and Connor is alive, North will wait for Connor and then Simon to jump and will jump last (despite the soldiers chasing them)

(I didn't find any clips with Simon alive, but if he is alive, then North will wait for him too before jumping) In addition to more interactions, I would also like North to be able to apologize to Simon if he returns after the events of Stratford, with Simon being able to forgive her and understanding why she wanted to do so.

^ Imagine this interaction, but instead of Markus there would be North, it would be an interesting scene, maybe hugging would be too much, but at least a dialogue between the two and with North apologizing and Simon forgiving her but in general I would like to have more interaction with just the Jericrew, because they seem to revolve too much around Markus and seem to forget that they exist with each other, until Josh and North remember that they exist with each other to do the confrontation scene on Markus' shoulders "Good Angel" and "Bad Devil" of the narrative, there are few moments when they are truly a team, when they connect with each other rather than being a dysfunctional team also Josh and Simon, Josh is concerned about Simon's condition if he gets shot in Stratford and helps him get to the entrance, we can also see that Josh supposedly gave a University of Detroit t-shirt to Simon

As for his interactions with North, Josh will blame Markus for provoking the humans and will ask North out loud how long it will take for the humans to find out about Jericho because of Markus? but when North seems to be hurt by such statements

It sounds like Josh actually regretted venting about the situation to North about Markus that way, maybe even acknowledging that North cared about Markus?

You have every right to tell me that's just my headcanon, though. Josh will get North out of trouble by force if Markus is killed in the Freedom March.

and if Markus lets North die at Crossroads, he will lose a lot of his ties. Could this suggest that Josh cares deeply for North despite their arguments? If Markus shoots Simon, he will lose some relationship with Josh, but not in the level where Markus lets North die at Crossroads

for the rest Simon and North both will defend Markus' sacrifice from Josh if Markus dies both can save Markus' ass multiple times throughout the story and both can be badass to escape from the fearsome deviant hunter Connor in Crossroads (Connor will catch them anyway, but that's another story) I can see a potential friendship between these two, it would have been nice if, when choosing not to shoot Simon, North instead of Markus gave her gun to Simon to defend himself, but I guess Cage was actively trying to make the player hate North, lol.

The Jericrew could have been beautiful characters, explored and appreciated more by the fandom, unfortunately it didn't go that way, Cage treated the Jericrew badly. PS: I sorry for my english, i know it's horrible.

[calicotisane]

hey man love ur blog , u dont gotta answer this if u dont wana , but im also autistic and i relate to alot on here . and i wanna ask about how school was in your experience as an autistic person? im still in school, if theres any way you handled it, any advice, thatd be neat . its also cool if there isnt . i mostly just want someone to talk to about it . sorry if this is some invasion of privacy

Its ok you can ask me any thing about this always. I am happy and glad to talk even though I still struggle with knowing what to do with school and wish I had good advice to give. School has consistently been the biggest stressor in my short life up to this point and it's one of the like 4 major things taking up space in my brain, and I still feel like I never learned any lasting survival strategies that made a big difference... I dont think what i wrote is very useful and my ability to type stuff concisely and coherently is just getting worse and worse over time but this is some of my own experiences. As you can probably imagine school sucked really bad for me and I think the major issue was the alienation. I dont want to assume what your struggles and experiences are but that will be my focus talking about it since it's the, theme in my life.

I felt in high school like no one really cared that much about me and no one knew or cared to figure out how to help me, I didn't know what kind of help to ask for either and I still don't. I did not make any friends in high school and I never learned how. In my case this was especially challenging because I moved to a small town in high school, nearly all these people had known each other for years, and it was challenging even for a socially functioning person to really become a part of that community. Thus 1000% without a doubt completely impossible for me. I have basically not had any real life friends I've remained in contact with since like 6th grade and i genuinely believe i've only had one truly good irl friend in my life. When there are no people my age to lean on outside the internet I have to look to the Adults in my life for school support, and very few teachers have ever been understanding or helpful in any meaningful way. Making friends and finding teachers who weren't indifferent at best towards me was a total fantasy by high school, because at that point I had been worn down by the continuous social rejection and isolation. That is what describes my life but in particular my school experience as an autist, "isolation," "indifference," I only existed to people when I was embarrassing myself or being laughed at.

In my last year of high school I completely stopped trying to make friends or involving myself in anything or hoping that anyone would reach out to me because the never ending lack of interest had become so painful I could not bear it anymore, and would rather just focus on completing the work and waiting for it to finally be over. I gues that was my survival strategy there and we all have to do whatever it takes to survive, sometimes this has to happen, but I really really don't want anyone to have to do that ever. I do not remember what it is like to feel like a real person or to not be alone but it never stops hurting even when you are used to it. Its really upsetting to me that the best advice a lot of people (probably me included) can give related to getting through high school is just "You'll get through it eventually." I want there to be real immediate solutions that alleviate pain. It really fucking sucks.

My therapist said that I am suffering most of all from 'powerlessness' in my life, that is how I feel about school too. How do you fix that i was wondering, by definition you can't, right? She said I should try to identify what I can control in my life and think about it as much as I can. I finally improved my ability to keep up with my schoolwork by my last year of high school, and I kept my head above the water by focusing as hard as I could on what I had to do to reach the end goal. It's really hard to not be apathetic, or be afraid or withdraw, it's a pain in the ass to care enough to do any of it and keep trying when it feels like theres no immediate return. I am not quite sure how i did it besides thinking really really hard about the idea that i wouldn't have to go to high school anymore and new opportunities were going to happen in my life afterwards. Graduating was like finally throwing up after being miserably sick for years of my life. I believe school is universally traumatic for all autistic people and getting through it needs to be commemorated with a standing ovation and apologies from everyone and at least 1 million dollars. I am sorry it is happening to you!

I don't know what your plan is now or after high school. Its not the end of the world no matter what happens, if you get stuck there or you dont do well or you give up on it or anything. I personally have copious freakouts over stuff not working out exactly right in school and fearing that my life is totally fucked forever (this happened yesterday even in college of course) and it's important to remember that SOMETHING always happens, nothing is the end, there is always some other outcome in my experience... something okay and something good is going to happen eventually. I know it just sucks abysmal dogshit in the meantime. You are not going to be in education forever regardless of what happens, it is a nasty thing to get through and then the rest of your life is waiting. I have to believe that it does get better even if it's not currently getting better for me because I would completely lose it otherwise. This world is cruel as fuck to autistic people and all disabled people and it's not fair but There is peace and connection and understanding and togetherness for us too. Not everything is so awful and nothing ever has to be that way... not resignation, or hopelessness, trying to maintain resolve I just have to keep thinking this and I have to keep going. Im not that much older than you, i think anything i have to say is still immature and limited by my lack of experience and i am technically still in school, so you are likely to receive better advice from autistic people who are a bit older..., but i still can talk about it and try very hard to think of good things to say, whenever, if i can. Agh i need to study. oups

[fxckn-sxck-fr]

𝐆𝐇𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

Yandere Dick Grayson x GN Reader

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐗𝐓: This AU came to me in a dream. The best honor you can bestow on a character is a yandere Ghostface fic, so I obviously had to give one to my man.

𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐒: yandere content, Ghostface Dick Grayson, stalking, blood, stab wounds, reader is implied to be a college student, reader likes horror movie trivia, Dick’s kinda freaky in this, OOC Dick (since he’s obviously not a serial killer in canon), the writer’s poorly disguised blood kink (nothing NSFT-worthy, but it’s definitely there).

… Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring…

… Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring…

Honestly, the phone ringing from the kitchen might’ve been the best jumpscare of the night. At least it was unexpected, unlike the tactics of this low budget slasher film you were watching (what was it called again? Agh, you’d have to look at the channel menu, and you lost the remote long ago). With a small sigh, you pulled yourself out of the couch and stretched your arms outwards, reveling in the satisfying pops elicited from your shoulders.

… Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrring…

“Yeah, yeah,” you grumbled. “I’m coming.”

The phone was in the middle of a fourth ring when you finally reached the kitchen. Picking it up with a loose arm, you punched in the answer button and brought it up to your ear. “Hello?”

“Hey there, sweetheart.”

An unfamiliar voice greeted you on the other end. It was low and velvety, with the slightest gravelly texture around the edges that made the back of your neck feel prickly. Your brows furrowed at their teasingly flirty tone, not liking where this could be going. “And who is this?”

“You tell me,” replied the unknown caller.

“Sorry, got no idea.” You leaned against the kitchen counter, facing the living room so you could at least half-tune into movie still. “So… can I help you with anything, or…?”

“What’s your name?”

Okay. Whoever this guy was, he was seriously starting to creep you out and piss you off. “Dunno, you tell me,” you mockingly answered. “How did you get this number?”

“No need to be so rude,” the voice cooed at you. “I just wanna talk, is all.”

“Not very fond of talking to strangers,” you distastefully mumbled.

“You must not make a lot of friends, then.”

“Well,” a puff of air left your lips, “I manage.”

“Sure doesn’t look like it.”

… Huh?

Vocal chords feeling suddenly dry, you thickly swallowed. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Come on now, gorgeous.” There was a chuckle before the caller continued. “It’s a Friday night. Shouldn’t you be out with friends instead of watching old scary movies all by yourself?”

Your blood turned ice cold.

What the fuck. What the actual fuck. Who the hell is this weirdo, not only giving you a random call, but also spying on you? Was this some sort of prank from that dumbass fraternity down the street? Some sort of tradition they have to call up new residents in the townhouses and try to scare them shitless? But if that’s the case, how the hell did they get your number?

Another chuckle snapped you out of your thoughts. “Don’t look so tense, love. I only wanna talk, remember?”

“Talk,” you flatly echoed, turning around slowly to face the kitchen window. While you didn’t see anyone out there from where you were standing, it was too dark to know for sure. “About what?”

There was a long pause. All you could hear for several seconds was your quickening heartbeat and over-acted screams from the TV. It lasted for so long, wondered if your trembling fingers somehow accidentally hit the hang-up button.

Finally, the unknown caller spoke up again.

“What’s your favorite scary movie?”

Your brows furrowed at the question. Why the fuck did he want to know that?

“Can’t say I have a favorite,” you shakily answered.

“Everyone’s got a favorite,” reasoned the caller. “Even I have one.”

“Yeah?” Your eyes darted between the window and the backdoor, praying you remembered to lock both of them. “What’s yours, then?”

“Guess.”

“… Friday the 13th?”

“Nope.”

“John Carpenter’s Halloween?”

“Guess again.”

“Nightmare on Elm Street?”

“You’re really bad at this.”

Either your eyes were playing tricks on you, or a shadowy figure was emerging from behind the bushes. Swallowing the lump in your throat, you began to slowly back out of the kitchen. “Well… then I give up. Tell me.”

“Nuh-huh, sweetheart. The game doesn’t work like that. And besides…”

You were now at the threshold in between the kitchen and the living room. “Yeah?”

“Three strikes and you’re out.”

A click, then a low beep; the call was dead.

Just like you’ll probably be if you stick around.

While you weren’t exactly sure if “out” meant he was going to kill you, you sure as hell didn’t want to find out. You’ve seen enough horror movies to know that only murderers made ominous quips like that. So, dropping your phone to the ground and spinning on your heals, you made a b-line towards the front door and fiddled with the lock. If he could see you from the kitchen, then that obviously meant he was out back; he’d have to circle around the entire line of townhouses if he wants to catch you in the front. That would give you enough time to start banging on doors, and at least someone would have to let you in, right?

As soon as you threw the door open, however, it became shockingly apparent that you made the wrong decision.

Looming in the doorframe was a broad figure in black robes. He wore a porcelain white mask with exaggerated mouth and drooping eyes, reminding you for a split second of some sort of Scooby-Doo monster. The only difference between one of those and this fucker, however, was the rather sharp-looking knife he were twirling in their gloved hand.

He gave you a tiny wave with his free hand.

You began to book it back into the kitchen.

Before you could even clear the living room, however, a sharp pain exploded in the back of your shoulder, causing you to cry out as your knees buckled. You were sent careening towards the ground as something ripped out of your skin; his knife, you realized with complete and interr horror. With grunts of agony, you struggled to push yourself off of the linoleum floor in hopes to get back to your feet.

An impressed whistle pierced the air. “Took that like a champ, sweetheart. So proud of ya.”

You finally managed to get yourself to a semi-crouched position, only for a hand to grab at your wounded shoulder and shove you down. The shout that was ripped from your chest was cut off as your jaw harshly slammed against the linoleum floor. Metallic blood flooded your mouth as your teeth caught your tongue in the impact, only adding to the cacophony of pain. There was still a firm hand on your shoulder, which squeezed tighter so he could roll you over and face him.

“You look so pretty when you’re terrified,” your attacker cooed, his blood-splattered mask only inches away from your face. He lowered himself to straddle your hips, his body weight pinning you against the floor. “Way better up close.”

“Please,” you pathetically pleaded, some of your bloody spit dribbling down your chin. “Please…!! Please, just let me go!!”

A low rumble came from him — a weird mix between a laugh and a groan — as he held the knife up against your neck. The blade was still warm, your own dark blood staining your skin. “Yeah, go on... beg for your life, love.”

God, why was this happening to you?! All you wanted to do was watch some cheap slasher movie and take it easy for the night, and now you’re one slice away from certain death?? Was this seriously gonna be how you go out; murdered in your own living room with old reruns playing on the TV? A choked sob left your lips at the pitiful thought.

“Please don’t kill me,” you whimpered, feeling the edge of the knife catch your skin as your throat bobbed from swallowing. “Please…”

“Good job, gorgeous,” he condescendingly praised. “Just like that. Don’t you know how hot you look right now?”

Christ… this guy was fucking disgusting. The way he seemed so into this made your skin crawl. His free hand came up to caress your cheek, leaving a trail of goosebumps behind with it. Swiping his thumb across your lower lip, he hooked his index finger under your chin and tilted your head upwards. It took you a few moments to register that the weight of the knife’s blade was removed from your neck, now being held gently against your cheek as he let out a hum.

“You’re quite the catch,” he mused, pressing the blade harder against your cheek to draw blood. You couldn’t help but sharply inhale at the stinging sensation.

“Why are you…” a noise of pain interrupted your sentence as he slowly slid the knife down to your jawline, “doing this..?!”

He didn’t seem to care for your question. Instead, he released your chin from his leather hand, bringing it up to his mask and stroking the elongated jaw. It was as if he was pondering something, his fingers smearing your speckled blood downwards until he got to the tip of his mask’s chin. Then, in a slow, deliberate movement, he began to tug the mask upwards to reveal a crooked smirk. Your stomach dropped entirely when you realized he was confident enough about this to let you see part of his face; he really was going for the kill.

“I’d like to think this thrill is a lot better than the cheap scares in movies,” he teased, bringing the knife back to your throat and leaning closer to your face. You could feel his hot breath against the cut on your cheek as he finished with, “and I think you’d agree.”

Your shoulders jolted at the sudden wetness against the side of your face, and it dawned upon you that the fucker was licking you. His tongue ran up your shallow gash, clearing away whatever amount of blood that bubbled from it. You felt your face crinkle up in disgust as he continued to lap at it, like he was a little kid licking an ice cream cone (you could even hear him click his tongue against the roof of his mouth and swallow; this fucking psycho was actually consuming your blood).

Once he seemed satisfied, he pulled away a few inches to run his red-stained tongue over his lips. “You know… my favorite scary movie is actually Dracula. I was always into the classics.”

“Dracula,” you shakily repeated, feeling cold sweat collect on the back of your neck. “1930s? Tod Browning?”

He let out a hum of approval. “Wow. You seem to know your stuff, sweetheart! Didn’t realize you were that into the genre.”

“I… I guess…”

“Yeah?” The leather of his gloves creaked as he clenched the hilt of the knife tighter. “Isn’t this perfect for you, then? Getting to live out the real deal? Lot’s of horror movie junkies out there would absolutely kill to be in your position right now.”

Your limbs felt numb, petrified to the floor with pure terror. “Never thought I’d s-star in one…!”

“What a shame,” he tutted. “You’re a perfect fit for the victim role.”

The blade began to dig deeper into the meat of your neck.

This was it. This is how you were going to die. You could barely hear the resolution of the movie in the background over your palpitating heart as the blade dug deeper into the meat of your neck. With any luck, he’d make this a quick one, putting you out of your misery so you didn’t have to suffer through a slow, painful death. If he wasn’t that nice, however, your vision was already spotty from blood loss, so there was at least the possibility of you passing out before it got too agonizing.

But then, just as you could feel your own blood dribbling down your collarbone, the pressure was alleviated.

“Come to think of it, though…” he pulled the mask back down his face, giving it a little jostle to make sure it was correctly oriented. “Killing you off so soon would be disappointing.”

He leaned down to whisper in your ear.

“I want to see you in the sequel.”

Without another word, he slowly pushed himself off of you to stand up. You took this as the perfect opportunity to desperately crawl away, wide and careful eyes still trained on him in case he lunged at you again. Fortunately, it seemed as though he truly was done for the night, taking a few steps back from you as he twirled the knife in his one hand. With the other, he gave a tiny wave, and practically skipped out the front door, even having the courtesy to slam it behind him.

He just spared your life.

You could practically feel yourself melting into the cracks of the linoleum floor. Holy shit, he just spared your life. After all of that — finding your number, calling you outside of your house, stabbing you, and having the perfect opportunity to finish you off — he decided to spare your life. What the fuck just happened.

Well, it’s not like you had time to deliberate on that; you were kinda still bleeding out right now. He did stab you, after all.

So, rolling yourself over on all fours, you clutched the bloody wound on the back of your shoulder and began to crawl towards the kitchen as the ending credits rolled on your shitty slasher film.

So… as it turns out, the phone ringing was not the best jumpscare of the night.

[m0chisenpai]

Far From Home

Spiderman Across the Spiderverse

42!Miles Morales x black!reader

Warning(s): nothing too crazy. just a bit of cursing and mentions of death and violence

Part One

You're now far from home and trapped from it.

A universe away pales in comparison to missing a small stop, or turning at the wrong corner.

You're in a world where your existence isn't meant to be. The one who you loved, a version of him, is much more cruel. But you can't fault him. A product of fates twisted game.

Miles and Aaron are both smart and from what you can hear and see they try and form some plan as to why you are here.

So Aaron is the one who keeps you for the time being. His apartment has a spare room and it's decent enough. The bed is comfortable, it’s warm and shields the cold nip that seems to never go with each passing day.

During your second week here, Miles enters your room to

You don’t know what lies Miles weaves to tell his mom, but when you come by she holds you tight and presses you to her chest. Says it's a miracle how you survived the incident. 

And you remember how Miles looked down at you with those hard brown eyes earlier and dared you to try and tell his Ma you weren’t her. 

So instead you just hug her tightly and bask in her love, because something tells you it's very sparse around here. This worlds Brooklyn is more rough, it's not as lively, no one smiles like they used to. Instead people clutch their bags to themselves tightly and walk faster.

She chides at you to come and sit and she’s feeding you a meal that warms your soul and tastes like home. Meanwhile Miles watches you, waits. But you play your part well. 

She tells you your Aunt and Uncle have both passed and it's no surprise. According to the psycho leader of the multiverse club it’s a prereq that comes with the mask. Something you began to wish you didn't pick up. You wonder if Miles, your Miles, is watching over your Uncle back home. 

You wonder if he's looking for you.

Has anyone begun to notice you were gone for a little bit too long?

Your uncle worked alongside Mr.Morales, but with him gone who would you stay with? And Aaron chimes in, how he would would be more than happy to let you stay with him.

So you thank thank him and flash him a smile with all the bitterness sitting in how you force your eyes into a smile. 

"I gues sit what pops would have wanted, right?" you mumble around a spoon full of rice.

Aaron feels some sense of calm in having your presence here. You had just as much bite as she once did. So for now, he'll let your presence soothe the hole that once ate at him.

Miles won't put his hands on you. You learned that the first two times you tried to claw at him when he entered your room i the first week of your imprisonment here. He brushes you off and brings you breakfast. You throw it at his back and he easily dodges.

But slowly his patience is being run thin. Because now he's stopped bringing you the meals. Aaron begins to. He gives you a hard stare as he sets it on the desk. You learned that Aaron wasn't as patient as his nephew because when you throw it at him that was your fist and last meal of the day.

Exhaustion not only eats away from being starved, but the constant questioning about how you got here. That damn watch that Hobi shoved o your wrist, that you've hidden beneath the floorboards.

"That thing got you here, how." Aaron and Miles stand before you on the couch as you fiddle with the bracelet.

"It didn't. It keeps me from glitching. If I don't keep it on, I'll glitch out." Miles doesn't want to know what that meas but he can tell by the grim look on your face as you look down on the bracelet.

"So if that didn't get you here, what did then?"

"Someone else had a bracelet and shoved me here. Tech isn't my thing, I prefer chemicals But you know that right?" your eyes cut up to him and he's giving you that weird cross between a smile and a smirk.

"Yeah. You do mi reina."

Your hands rub at the bruises on your wrists, hidden behind white bandages. 

Breakfast paints the side of the door and glass sits at the entrance. And when Miles enters he stops for a moment looking down at what was meant to pierce the soles of his feet.

"This a new one today baby. You're getting feistier" he steps over the trap without a care, hands stuck in his pockets after kicking the door shut.

"I want to go home...I need to go home..." your voice cracks as you curl your body more into itself in the bed. Eyes watching the sun paint golden from the window.

You seem to be speaking to nothing and at the same time, someone. But your eyes don't move as he sits himself next to your limp body. You took a shower today, he can tell but he sweet smell of vanilla and the faint red splotches on your arms.

You're improving from refusing to care for yourself for the last two weeks. Was it two weeks? No it was three right? What's the point in counting. No point. All you know is after a certain point, you think Miles forgot you were out their.

"I know baby" his hands are gentle in brush through your hair. Slowly tugging away knots. He mumbles something under his breath says he'll take you out to get it braided down. But you don't find it in yourself to jump in joy like you normally would have.

"I love you, you know?"

Silence. And his hands are left empty as you move away from him pressing your body more into the ball. His heart leaps. Last week he said it and you told him to eat shit and die. But you're not biting back as much. You're...improving.

He can't help the smile as he pulls the covers up on your body. "Don't forget your bonnet baby." He presses a kiss to the back of your hand which falls limp in front of your face.

Once walking out, Aaron stands next to the door holding his mask which he tosses to Miles as the two walk into his living room.

"How's she doing?"

"Better. I think we can move forward."

But Miles wasn't always the brightest. At least he wasn't. Because he should've been watching your eyes, how they were calculating. Watching his every move, analyzing. He might of been the prowler. But you were a spider stalking it's prey, watching him slowly approach your web in ignorance.

And you would wait until the opportunity struck, to strike and get home.

[johnwickb1tsch]

The Night Nurse

A John Wick x Helen Fic

When nurse Helen Morgan is caught in the crossfire of a shootout and aids the injured John Wick, she’s faced with two options: serve the High Table, or be executed as a Witness. She tells herself her choice to work at the Continental has everything to do with survival, and excellent pay, and *not* her growing feelings for the Tall, Dark, and Handsome Assassin™ who got her into this mess in the first place, thank you very much.

I.

John didn’t take the subway often, but with the Mustang in the shop after an unfortunate incident involving a mark, a concrete pole, and the ‘Stang’s door—two out of three survived—his machine was in Aurelio’s capable hands, and John Wick was on foot.

It was a chain of events that might have caused him to send a thank you to the unfortunate Serbian—if the man hadn’t been, you know, dead. Because it was the cause and effect that eventually led to John laying eyes on her for the first time. Dressed in rose-pink nurse’s scrubs, her thick auburn hair pulled back in a ponytail, clearly exhausted from a twelve-hour shift—she’d looked up at him over the top of her book, and the shine in her amber-brown eyes took his breath away.

Her choice of reading material had been…interesting. Crime and Punishment by Dostoyevsky. A solid classic, to be sure, but so god-damned depressing.

John never made small talk with strangers. So when the words, “Some light reading for the evening commute?” spilled from his mouth completely without his permission, it was like watching himself from outside his own body.

She’d lowered her book a fraction to offer him a tired smile. She was beautiful, and he was sure that strangers tried to chat her up on the subway all the time. Way to be that guy, he chided himself, hanging on the possibility all the while that this exquisite creature might deign to let him hear her voice just once.

It had been a long week, but really? Maybe he was going soft in his old age. He wasn’t actually old, to be sure. He’d be thirty-nine in a few months. For an assassin though?

Practically ancient.

She’d turned the book to glance at the cover. It was a well-worn paperback edition with a dour looking painting of a man in a doorway. She wrinkled her nose, and it was fucking adorable. “I’m trying to read more classics,” she admitted.

“How is that going?”

He didn’t know where he got the cheek to tease this total stranger about her reading selection. Maybe it was the fact that she was actually reading a paper book, over endlessly scrolling through an electronic device. Maybe he was a book snob—ok, he was a book snob—but paper, in his opinion, was the proper way to go.

Kindle readers just smelled like plastic and the sadness of modern convenience.

“Okay. It’s good, but this Raskolnikov is fainting a lot.”

“That’s Russians for you,” said John, the corners of his mouth turning up in a small smile. He’d certainly seen a few when he approached. Lots of fleeing and yelling, too.

He couldn’t remember the last time he’d smiled at a stranger.  

“Oh really?” She lifted her eyebrows, laughing a little. Those eyes sparkled with mirth, glittering like good liquor in a sunbeam, and his heart ached as though clenched by a fist.

“Yeah.”

She shook her head, her book resting in her lap. He’d won her attention—and to be honest, he wasn’t really sure what to do with it after coming this far.

“Are you…Ukrainian or something?” He felt her looking him up and down. He liked it, when she looked at him. He always dressed well, but for once he was glad for it for some other reason besides the tactical armor sewn into the lining of his bespoke suit jacket.

“Belarussian,” he found himself admitting to this woman without a thought.

It had been a lifetime, since he’d admitted that to anyone.

She was good. She’d make an incredible operative, he found himself thinking. If she’d asked for his address or his social security number, (fake as it was), he might have given that up too.

“Wow. I never would have guessed.”

No one did. He’d worked hard to lose his accent, so he could slip through society unnoticed when he needed to. First for the Ruska Roma, then for himself.

“I’ve been here a while,” he admitted quietly, looking down, suddenly feeling as though he’d shared much too much with this woman who was kind enough to speak to a stranger on the subway. The fuck do you think you’re doing, Wick?

“Well…I’m from Boston. It’s not nearly as interesting, but I feel like a foreigner here sometimes.”

John looked up at her then, a lock of hair fallen over his eyes. “I never would have guessed,” he parroted in perfect deadpan, and it won him a smile that utterly melted his black little heart. He felt his mouth doing that alien thing again—smiling. A small one, to be sure, but it was definitely more exercise for those muscles than they’d received in a year. Years, maybe. A lifetime?

“Gee, thanks. I’m Helen, by the way.”

She extended her hand, and he could not stop himself from clasping that small mitt in his own. She felt delicate in his grasp. Breakable. He hated that that was the first thing he assessed when shaking someone’s hand. He couldn’t turn it off.  

“John.”

She raised an eyebrow, that sparkle back in her eyes.

“John from Belarus, huh?”

Fuck him, but was he actually blushing?  

“Most people trip over Jardani.”

And there it was. The most truth he’d told anyone about himself since he was a wet-behind-the-ears young man.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

“What a shame. It has a nice ring to it. Jardani.”

The sound of his true name on her lips did things to him that he knew he didn’t entirely understand. An additional side effect: it seemed he couldn’t let her go. A long moment passed between them—what felt like an infinity—of heavy eye contact with her hand in his. It set off fireworks in his heart, and finally he released her as though he’d been burned.

“Sorry.”

She canted her head, that thick russet ponytail flipping over her shoulder. He wanted to run his hands through it, and in that moment he knew he must be losing his mind.

“Don’t be.”

The train slowed, and reluctantly she stood from her seat, steadying herself with her hand on the pole he also grasped like a lifeline. “This is my stop.” He nodded, feeling like an idiot, not entirely sure why, or what had just happened, really. “It was nice to meet you.”

“You too. Helen. From Boston.”

She smiled again, and if he could have bottled the feeling it called up in him, he would have synthesized the most addictive street drug on the planet.

“Don’t hold it against me,” she threw over her shoulder as she made her way with the crowd for the doors, the glitter in her eyes hitting him like a punch to the gut.

He could think of several things he would have liked to hold against her, none of which were acceptable to mention in polite company. So he simply held up his hand in a silent wave, feeling as though he’d lost something precious as the doors slid closed, and the train carried him away from the one truly good thing he’d found in this city

What came next bordered on questionable behavior, John knew.

The next week—because he at least had that much self-control left—he found himself riding the subway again, at the exact same time as before, reasoning that she might regularly get off a seven o’clock shift at the hospital nearby, and catch this train, to go home somewhere in Brooklyn.

He had not followed her home. Not even to satisfy his later curiosity, wondering if like a total lovestruck idiot he’d revealed a piece of his mysterious past to an undercover operative working for some secret—no doubt nefarious—goal.

Another week went by, before he happened upon her again. She was reading a different book this time. Moby Dick. Not bad, considering what a goddam brick was Crime and Punishment. She was a fast reader. He wasn’t sure why that titillated him so fucking much.

He didn’t approach her this time. He did have self-control. He did. He did! Even though he immediately conjured the perfect opening line. Call me Ismael. He simply stood in nearly the same place as last time, one hand on the pole, the other scrolling through nothing on his phone, while secretly stealing glances her way.

Fuck, but she was stunning. That thick hair pulled back made her neck miles long, and her profile could have inspired the Renaissance sculptors of Italy to weep. Even in those shapeless lavender scrubs, he could see that she was tall, and fit, but curved in the most heartbreaking places. John appreciated feminine beauty, certainly, but it was rare that he felt such a visceral reaction to a woman’s charms. It was as though just the sight of her triggered something long buried in his heart, something that had been sleeping all along, waiting.

Either that, or he was, at long last, going off the deep end.  

Engrossed in her reading, she did not notice him until the crowd shifted and she stood for her stop, her face lighting up with a smile when her eyes met his. She held her hand up in a wave, but did not pause in her mission to get off the train and go home. He couldn’t blame her, even when a part of him wanted to follow.  

God, but the feat of self-control it took, not to follow.

Pathetic.

It didn’t stop him from making it a habit, long after he got the Mustang back from Aurelio.

Sometimes, when he won the odds of picking just the right train and just the right car (she seemed to prefer the second to last, and the train schedule wasn’t always reliable), they would exchange a few sentences about books, or the weather. He hung on her every word, even though she usually teased him the entire conversation. No one spoke to him like that, he realized. No one in his world dared. It was as refreshing as it was jarring, and like a junkie needing a fix he just found himself craving more.

Other times, he would play it cool, and pretend to work on email on his phone after offering a reserved smile or a raised hand in hello.

She always had a book, and he determined that she was probably relieved on the evenings when he didn’t bother her. Yet, the next time he won the odds of picking the right train, she came over to him, steadying herself with her hand below his on the pole.

He was achingly aware of how close their hands rested on that metal rod. She cradled a new book under her arm. A red paperback, with a shadowed outline of a woman behind a V. He could just make out the title over her arm. Codename Villanelle. Noticing where his attention was fixed, she looked up at him with a sly little grin, and he knew he was in for it.

He could hardly wait.

“Bet you thought I was pretty brainy before. But the truth is I’m hopelessly addicted to spy novels. Assassins, intrigue, exotic locales?” She gave an exaggerated shiver with an insouciant grin. “I’m trash for it.”

John felt his mouth doing that strange thing it did around her, the corners turning up, his eyebrows raising. So, she liked assassins, did she? If only she knew.

“No judgement here. Is it good?”

“Yeah, it’s pretty entertaining so far. Smart, too. And I like reading about exotic locales I'll probably never get to visit. Paris, Rome, London…”

John canted his head, fixing her with that stare that she’d begun to think could see right through her. “What makes you so certain about that?”

Helen shrugged and waved down at her scrubs with a lifted eyebrow. He fought very hard not to follow the exact motion of her hand with his eyes, the way he did when he was pretending his attention lay elsewhere. He wasn’t sure what he was supposed to infer from the gesture though. A lack of money working as a nurse? Lack of time off?

Whatever her perceived barriers, he had to bite his tongue, heading off on the urge to offer to take her to those places, and anywhere else she might like to go while they were at it.  

“Anyway.” She nodded down at the book. “No fainting Russians in this one. They’re pretty tough.”

John had watched one do just that due to blood loss just the other night, but decided it would be best not to mention it.

“I think you might be the last woman on the planet reading paper books.” 

“I prefer paper,” she admits. “Plus, when you're engrossed in your paper book, no one is going to snatch it.” 

“That happened to you?”

“Yeah, I lost a Kindle that way a couple years ago. The guy was probably disappointed it wasn’t an iPad, but still.”

John frowned, looking around like the offending thief might be on the train at that very moment. She rewarded him with an appreciative, if not knowing little smile. “Now it's paperbacks for me.” Her eyebrow lifted, the way he had come to anticipate with almost child-like enjoyment. It made him feel like she was letting him in on a secret.

It made him feel like they were almost…friends.

“It makes it hard to read raunchy romance novels in public though,” she confessed. “Their covers are so ridiculous.”

John found himself cracking a smile at that—a wide one this time, even going so far as to show teeth, just for a second. 

“50 Shades is a heavy tome to lug around.”

She wrinkled her nose.

“I have better taste than that, at least. I prefer some history with my romance.”

“Like, time traveling nurse in eighteenth century Scotland, history?” he teased, certain he’d overheard such a thing being the next popular craze the last time he’d been in a bookshop.

“You know, I wanted to like those books, they're beautifully written, but Gabaldon lost me in the first one with that dash of glorified spousal abuse. I just couldn't get past it.”

John’s expression pulled in a frown. “I didn't know. I'm surprised they're so popular.”

"I guess it never hurts that there's a TV show." She lifted an eyebrow, like they were in on a joke about books that were turned into movies. It was adorable. Everything she fucking did was adorable, and every passing minute John felt himself falling deeper and deeper under her spell. He found himself imagining a life in which they did have inside jokes, and laughed about them together by just sharing a secret look from across the room.

Could he be so lucky.  

She moved a fraction closer, presumably so that she could hear better. Yet with his arm up on the pole, it almost gave the illusion that she was standing within the shelter of his body. He liked that, maybe a little too much.  

“We keep talking about me. What kind of books do you like to read?”

He lowered his head down closer to her, drawn like a moth to the flame.

“You're going to think I'm a book snob.” 

“Oh no. You only read classics?” He was eighty percent sure she was teasing him.

“Yeah, mostly. And...”

What was it about this woman that made him want to bare his soul to her? To tell her every little private thing?

“And, what?” she goaded. “Come on, you can't leave me hanging now.”

“I bind books,” he admitted. “It’s...a hobby.” He didn’t know why he felt ridiculous admitting that. Like he was a fraud, pretending to have a pastime like a real, normal, human being.

“Wow. That's amazing.”

It wasn’t the response he expected. The light in her eyes filled him with a spreading warmth. It was utterly addicting, this feeling she inspired in him.

“I enjoy it.”

“So are you an artist? Do you make the pages, or do you repair old manuscripts?”

It was an astute question, and he felt himself warming to her even more.

“Repair, mostly. I pick things up at auction, or rare bookstores, that just need...to be put back together again.”

He didn’t really want to think about the psychological implications of a man who had been torn to pieces more than once, taking solace in repairing something that would outlast him, with any luck.

She looked up at him with a gentleness in her polished mahogany eyes that twisted his insides.

“I can understand that.”

“You're a nurse?” He realized that he’d assumed, but she’d never actually told him as much.

“An RN, actually. In the emergency room at NewYork-Presbyterian.”

“You must be great under pressure.” 

“I guess. I just...like helping people who have had a bit of bad luck. I feel like...we're putting the universe to rights again, in some little way.” The weight of John’s stare maybe caused her to add, “Wow, that sounds conceited.”

He shook his head, unable to form words around the pesky lump that had formed in his throat. He spent his life sowing chaos across the globe, snuffing out lives, while this lovely woman saved them. A chill settled in his bones, as he realized that this should be the last time he spoke to her, for her own sake.

He had no right to contaminate her light with the shadow of his presence.

The thought of never seeing her again made a sickly tremor run from his heart to his limbs, his grip white-knuckling on the pole. He realized she was waiting for an answer. That was how conversations worked. Someone said something, then you were supposed to say something back. Finally he managed to get out something true: “I think you're amazing.” 

“Ok.” She raised an eyebrow, searching his face, and he felt like she could see straight through him too. “It would be more convincing if you didn't frown when you said it.”

Again, she was teasing him. Kind of.  

He sighed, wanting to bang his head on the metal pole. “I mean...it’s not you. It’s…”

Me. 

I'm a monster. The Baba Yaga. The Boogeyman. The Thing That Goes Bump In The Night.

She waited patiently, looking so earnestly up at him that he could have cried. He could neither even fathom where to begin to tell her the truth of his thoughts, or bring himself to offer a lie when she looked at him like that. He was acutely aware of the seconds ticking down of their ride. Soon, they might never see each other again.

“How about this,” she inserted into the silence between them, seemingly throwing out a lifeline. “You could tell me about it over dinner. There's a great Thai place just down the street from my stop.”

Was she asking him in a date? Or did she just think the seemingly harmless nut job she'd befriended on the train needed someone to talk to? He hoped she didn't pick up strays so readily, for her own safety, but he already knew she had a bigger heart than most. 

“I—”

John couldn't say what exactly tipped him off. A change in the air. The specific angle of an arm in the crowd reaching for a gun. The look in the man's eyes at the end of the car behind Helen.  The years and years of hard-won experience. But he knew he had a split second to make a choice. Save himself and eliminate the shooter—or save her and take some damage.

He did not think before reacting. Not really. He grabbed her and spun, shielding her with his larger body and his armor-tailored suit. He felt at least three bullets strike him in the back before he lost count. Jesus fucking christ that hurt.

“Stay down,” he ordered, tucking her behind a row of seats, and whipping off his jacket to cover her. Stupid, maybe, to give up that advantage, but if something happened to her he wasn’t sure he wanted to survive.

He really was getting tired of this shit. 

While the attacker reloaded John sprang, knocking the gun away just as the new clip slid home. The man drew a knife, making a quick swipe that grazed Johns ribs. He slashed twice more, both times John barely skipped out of reach. The third time John blocked and twisted the man's arm, trying to break it. The attacker had training though, and he wormed away. They grappled, exchanging strikes. John couldn't go for his gun, both hands occupied with keeping that knife out of his body. He failed a little, the tip of the blade sinking into the flesh of his shoulder. Through gritted teeth John backed him off with a head butt and a kick. He found the attacker’s gun had skittered off under the seat, just in reach. As the attacker reared to throw the knife John shot him with a single round through the head.

By this time most of the passengers had retreated to the adjoining cars, screaming. But Helen remained, and rather than run for safety she rushed to his side, assessing the damage. “Oh my god, John!”

He groaned as she applied pressure to the wound in his shoulder. “I have a first aid kit in my backpack. But we have got to get you to the hospital.” 

“No time. No hospital,” he found himself insisting through gritted teeth. The train slowed to a stop. The doors whooshed open. They had to go. John pushed to his feet, taking one last disdainful look at his attacker’s corpse before exiting. 

By some stroke of luck, The Continental wasn't far from that stop, though in the shape he was in, it could have been in Mongolia. When he stumbled Helen was there, supporting him with his uninjured arm around her shoulders. She was stronger than he imagined, and even in the middle of all the chaos he couldn’t stop himself from adding it to the list of things that made this woman endlessly attractive to him.

“Where do you think you're going?” she demanded. “Wait for the paramedics. It was clearly self-defense! I’ll tell them.” 

People were seeing the body in the train car, and despite some people’s morbid efforts to film the carnage, pandemonium was breaking loose. They had to ride the wave of the crowd to the surface without getting trampled.  

“Can’t,” he managed to get out. “You...should go.” It killed him to say it aloud. 

“Are you kidding? I'm not leaving you!”

He didn't have the time or the energy to fight with her. Never mind that his black heart rejoiced with a full-out aria to hear her say those words as they spilled out on the street. He would try again closer to the Continental. It was just a block away. 

When an ambulance and police car raced past with sirens blazing he felt Helen tense, and knew she meant to flag them down. He tightened his grip on her, even though it hurt like a sonofabitch, turning them so that they partially hid behind a news stand. He could feel the heat of a fresh surge of blood seeping beneath his shirt.

She looked up at him with those beautiful, bright brown eyes held wide. Lost, confused, but somehow, not afraid. This woman did have a nerve of steel. “John?”

She was a smart woman. She was putting two and two together. A man who’d killed his attacker on the subway and was avoiding official assistance probably had a few more things of his own to hide.

“It’s ok, Helen.” He couldn’t believe how much he wanted to kiss her right then, with her body tucked up against his in their dark little nook on the street. “But you really should go now.”

Again, she shook her head, and he sighed. He could see the Continental in the distance, that distinctive sharp corner jutting out, a beacon of hope for creatures of the Underworld like him. He could feel his body going cold with blood loss. He needed to get to Doc, and sanctuary, and hopefully find out what the fuck that shit on the subway had been about.

But then again, he mused, as they started walking again, maybe he was the one going soft. Keeping a regular routine like he’d been doing the past month—or was it two?—made a man like him quite the target.

He knew better. He’d known better all along, but…he hadn’t cared. He’d come this far—survived this long—purely as an act of defiance, as anything. Defiance of those who took him when he was just a child, and who had moulded him into the killer he was today for their own ends. Made him their servant, practically their slave. At last, he almost had freedom, or the closest one could get to it, in this life. He looked to the worried woman at his side, and wondered if this would be the stunt that brought him too close to the sun.

As they scaled the steps of the Continental Helen looked upon the opulent portal with a frown. “You want to go to a fancy hotel over a hospital?”

He paused at the front door, leaning against the frame. Hopefully, not leaving a bloodstain the staff would have to clean up. He tried to be a considerate guest. It was one of the many reasons they liked him here. He wasn’t sure he could quite say that Charon and Winston were his friends—but they weren’t his enemies. That went a long way in their world.

“There’s a doctor here I know,” he assured her. “I’ll be fine.” Maybe it was the blood loss, or maybe just the exquisite agony of her standing so near, even if just to keep pressure on the wound at his shoulder. Even after a long day at the hospital, she smelled sweet, like honey and healing herbs. He would remember her for the rest of his life, short as it may prove, with aching fondness. He felt emboldened to cup the side of her face in his large hand, taking what he was sure would be his last opportunity to look into those brilliant caramel-colored eyes. “You need to go,” he told her quietly. “You don’t belong in my world.”

It hurt worse than getting stabbed, saying those words.

Rather than obey this, what he certainly thought was, an ominous but heartfelt warning, she frowned, heat flaring in her eyes like sparking embers. She was angry, he realized, and it was ridiculous how it made his heart—and things lower—flutter. Bookish Helen chatting on the subway was adorable. Angry Nurse Helen was fucking hot.

“You idiot. I’m not leaving you until I know you’re in good hands. Come on, then.”

She caught him up with the force of a hurricane, practically dragging him inside the building, and she probably would have started barking orders to bring a doctor to the well-dressed and dangerous-eyed patrons milling in the lobby, had Charon not materialized before them with an expression of polite concern. “Mr. Wick. It appears you are out of sorts.”

“Yes, I’ve had an accident. Can I get a room, and the services of the good Doc?”

“Certainly.” Charon, bless him, already had a key in his hand. “And your…companion?”

Helen stood in this opulent lobby in her pink scrubs with little daisies printed on the shirt with a spine of steel and her chin lifted like a lioness, daring the concierge to tell her she couldn’t be there.

“I vouch for her,” sighed John, knowing that the consequences of those four little words weighed heavier than Helen could possibly know.

“Very well, sir. Please, follow me.”

CHAPTER II. A03

[random-gamer1942]

which cryptyd being do you believe in?

what color are your eyes?

which do you prefer, hot coffee or cold coffee?

would you slaughter the rich?

favorite extracurricular activity?

do you love the smell of earth after it rains?

are you farsighted or nearsighted?

imagine we’re at a sleepover, would you paint my nails?

something you’ve kept since childhood?

a scenario that you’ve replayed multiple times?

about how many hours of sleep did you get?

what type of music keeps you grounded?

the last adventure you’ve been on?

is there a song you know every word to by heart?

how many times have you changed your url?

how do you take your coffee?

what’s your take on spicy foods?

you get a free pass to kill anyone, who is it?

can you remember what happened yesterday?

favorite holiday film?

when did you first try an alcohol beverage?(and what was it?)

I tried to avoid the ones Isa has already asked, but sorry if there's some repeats C:

I do not believe in fictional creatures. (BUT SEA SERPENTS 100% EXIST)

Very dark brown

I do not like coffee! I prefer cold over hot though I think

Depends on the current mood and ideology! Currently? Not kill maybe, but some other things I recon, yeah

Archery! Did it at school for a few years, was a lot of fun

Absolutely! The smell after it has rained in the evening is perhaps my favourite smell of all time

Nearsighted :>

I mean, if you wanted me to ig? (Not that I have the slightest bit of experience with it skxbiwbwoebr)

Hmm, the item I've had the longest is this fluffy bunny plushie I've had since I was a baby

Oh SO SO many of them, I constantly think about what future events might look like. Anything from simple conversations to stuff going wrong at work, from the the speeches at my wedding to all the ways I might die, and so much more

7 hours

Depends on the type of groundedness I need, ig? When I'm very upset for example, Fake It by Seether and Back into Darkness by Blacklite District really help, when the pressure or nihilism gets too much I'll usually be listening to Poor Man's Poison, and you know shit got DARK if you ever catch me listening to YMCA

Christmas party with my friends, where we randomly decided to go for a walk in the dark. That was fun lol

Ooogh, idk. Prolly Dynasties and Dystopia, or otherwise Providence maybe?

Never changed my tumblr url, but how often I've had overall url switches? 2 or 3 times

I don't, coffee ain't mah thing

Love spicy food a lot! In stark contrast to one of my friends in particular, lol

Idk if there's anyone I wanna kill rn? Don't think so at least

Yes (won't tell though :>)

I don't watch a lot of those. Uhh. Home alone I gue- OH WAIT!! There's this fairly new movie on netflix called 'Carry-On' which is really good, perhaps that. (Takes place during Christmas so I count it)

I have never drank alcohol, and am not planning to!

[doctor-dream313]

I've been visited by the tall figure in the tall black hooded cloak more often than I am superstiously afraid to admit to. So I can avoid the chance of it being taken as bragging and boasting. That I could even fathom the idea I was somehow responsible for the ability to cleverly trick death himself was not something I wanted to entertain, too scared to even be aware of my immediate surroundings, movements near me. Being arrogant was not the best course of action.

All I knew was that it seemed we were stuck in a loop. At the other end of the short path the black hooded figure would be again exiting the boat and walking the short distance of the path to stand before me hood inches away. The ability to see past the inside of the hood was impossible. His scythe catching some unseen source of light momentarily casting a ray of moonish reflected light skirted across my face and the blue coal burn of eyes was visible a fleeting sec. Or maybe it was my mind playing tricks it was so quick as to never happened. At the time I thought about it and concluded it was a mistake, I hadnt seen his eyes.

Justified by the reasoning of never had I heard that he had eyes to begin with. I relied on what I knew, Just that black hooded robe and scythe and sometimes a crow atop his scythe was said to accompany him among the crowd of war, leading him around with his bird calls. Seeing ways to make some path through the mass of battle. Touching only those who were written in the book of of souls that day, Collecting his own army of undead ghost, invisible to all but the most gifted mortal eyes and the damned, Sweeping through collecting his army of the dead and then leading the way to the river styx and the final destination fated the mortal souls of men.

But the third time the loop repeated itself all at the same moment followed by the same exact movements and light disturbances taking place as the other couple times. The collector stopped before exiting the boat and proceeding. He didnt move and I didnt dare let it look like I was breathing so as to avoid any movement he could notice that he would blame me doing somehow purposefuly to be causing the confusing events happening. Then I suddenly went rushing backwards the whole view I had and surrounding colors blended together as my body was whisked away backwards to I fathom my physical body. I have no memory past the rushing back and the receding tunnel from that other place with the reaper and the river. I have since then been at the doorstep but not to start the cross over to the in between as I call it.

I will sometimes see my own body, decrepit and lifeless. Morbid and horrendous revulsion coursing through me from the sight of my own body Is all I remember before coming back. Onetime I was tied with invisible chains by demons to a building till i fight free and return to my body. Not seeing the collector before the return to the living.

That's my first time and last telling the story. It will reside here till it simply doesn't anymore. To be a Easter egg I gues. Leaving behind a message to some people a sense of insight as to what to expect and feel.

[gayerthanevertbh]

Hi, u can call me l. I'm a Jap Filo who is currently living in Japan. A Carol stan and im new here.

I dont know how thise eorks but i usually read in ao3 and i saw people under comments that they interact eith the suthors more in tumblr so i msde one. And I happedn to came across your fic called: lights, camera, action only because i saw your icon which is natsha in bun and if I may ask are you planning to continue it?

I actually did experience the same thing as yours and I am really sorry you had to go through that. But mine was a lot different because it happened mostly online, I don't know how to put it but yeah. I was sent photos, videos, we made calls, she made me do things and have it sent to her online, I experienced it with my teacher in 7th grade; my Mom found out when we were about to migrate in Japan. We went to court once before I flew here and I actually forgot everything about it. But when I was in 10th grade evrything crashed back to me, I strted getting scared going to school also bullies here in Japan are worst. so I decided to work, I stopped studying.

Last year christmsd we flew back to the ph and the first news I got when I stepped in our van was I have to be attend a hearing because their side knew we were going back in home. I nver thought that the case was still on going after how many years. She even messaged me to show up in hearing, that she's sorry, she's building a family now and is 2 months pregnant and that at some point we have to put an end to it she said

But you know what? Nothing happened, I lost. My Mom couldn't pay the lawyer anymore and I had to go back here in Japan before the hearing could actually happen. I was so devastated, I only wanted her license to be revoked so she couldn't teach anymore. And ivee heard a lot of casesone from my friend back there in ph that if the teacher was caught or like reported harassing a student their license wouldn't be taken from them instead the school would just kick them out (it can be taken if the school are doing their job but gues what? Its Philippines. The system is fucked up, the justice is nowhere to be found if you lay under the lowest hierarchy). And funny thing my friend said, after they were kicked out they would always settle in the provinces there in PH, which I found very accurate because I found out that she moved in a suburban province in ph, i yhink its pampanga.

I could still remember how I lied being sick one sunday afternoon, my family are going to church that time so they left me to rest but I sneaked out and went to her place.

And also, the pandemic made much more worst. I started questioning everything, everything I receive and everything I feel. I remember saying, 'I love you' to her and the fact that when I went to the first hearing to find that I couldn't hate her. My cousins were explaining to me that it was wrong, she did something bad to me, but to me it was right it felt right. I never understood how court hearing lawyers works before but when I saw her I knew she has been crying, I could still remember her eyes fuck her look tht time it was the worst state of hers that I had ever seen and I knew from then that I want it to stop so I pleaded for my Mom not to go through the case and flying to Japan made me think that everything was finally over she wouldn't suffer anymore and so do I.

I even tried messaging one last time using the new account my Mom made me which she also had accessed that time, I risked it all but I never found her account it was already deleted i think

I never went to therapy, my Mom never sent me to one and I actually don't know if it'll help. But my friends in ph asked me to go to one and i also been working so i am considering it for a while and ive been also foing sh lately iwant yo go back yo school but my family back in ph eont let me.

I don't know why am I sharing this to you im actually crying while writing this. Because you know what? Until now, I still couldn't figure it out. Half of me still thinks that that was love and it's msking me sick that i was glad we werent able to bring everything back again in the court i fuvking hate it.

I don't know maybe i just wanted to find out your story, how your story went how you overcame everything. The freedom i would never feel.

I font know how this works i wish i could really talk to you.

I'm reall sorry

hi, i read through your message over and over again and im truly sorry. you have no idea how devastated i am for you, and i wish i could even hug you. please feel free to message me, talk to me if you want. im all ears for you. 🤍

[little-ature]

October 2

"I'm such a bad person," I said. I was caught lying, I haven't read the book he gave me on my birthday.

"You're not a bad person, you're just a bad girlfriend... sometimes."

Davi always knows what to say, that's one thing for sure. The things he said are almost always true and delivered in the right way. I knew he was just being nice to add "sometimes" at the end, because... really, most of the time, (we both know) I'm the bad guy in this partnership.

I think it's time for me to finally write about Davi, B. Regardless of the promise I made for him, I also want this little world (or space of my blog?) to know deeper about him, about us, about these past two years, about everything and every thought I have about him. The fact is, writing about him is very difficult. Aside from my deteriorating writing skill, I always feel like I could never write about him and/or my feelings (for him, in particular) adequately . Deep down, gue merasa udah terlanjur terintimidasi dengan semua tulisan (be it in the form of long whatsapp text, love letter, etc) yang pernah dia kirim ke gue, because he is such a great writer. I couldn't help but feel obliged to build a cool impression through sophisticated, catchy writings.. yang jatohnya malah membuat gue takut untuk mulai. Well, Davi, this is me trying to not be scared anymore.

My surrounding knows that we have been dating for quite a while now. Like many relationship at our age nowadays, we did not exactly know or mark the date of when we truly became each other's partner (I don't really fancy the word 'girlfriend' and 'boyfriend'). There was no dating proposal or any similar deal. We just started to see each other regularly, from once a weekend to twice a weekend, until multiple times in a week if our schedules fit (now it's more like any time you & I are available, we should meet!!!). The rendezvous were certainly intentional to lean towards romantic affairs, even since the beginning.

The funny thing is we didn't exactly talk back then in college, although we were in the same community. He was always a Bang Davi Film to me (he was in the film division of perfilma), and nothing more, yet somehow I always thought we actually share the same vibe and we could talk about a lot of things if the moment is right. There was just never a right timing in college... (I often got mellow and wondering how come our paths didn't really cross and we didn't start this whole thing since college, so we can spend longer times with each other? But just like you said, perhaps we couldn't even make it back then. Each of us are different person than who we are in the past, and I think that's fair). Still and all, he is the kind of person I could and want to talk to, but I was shy and (still) bad at flirting. There were only two significant encounters in college. First, the one when he drove me (and others) home to Cikini after an event. I remember I was the last person you drove home in the car and even if it was such a brief moment, I was surprised that he noticed my uneasiness about something that night. Something unnoticeable. Second, the night when we talked randomly about our belief on love at first sight in also a perfilma event. I shared my belief and encounter about love at first sight in front of you, whose somewhat seemed to be skeptical but still being respectful and attentive. I also happened to talk about my fear of not having anyone find me attractive that night. There was something about him that made talking feels so easy, even when he's practically still a stranger to me. At the event, everyone is required to leave a note for everybody. I remember I secretly hoped that you'd also left me a note. I wondered if our conversations the night before left you any significant impression or meant something to you. At the end of the trip, I remembered I blushed all the way home... because he left me a note.

Nothing happened afterwards, B, nothing happened. We continued lives being each other's acquaintances who see and comment on each other's Instagram story every once in a while. He had a relationship, I also had a situationship (haha). We went back being strangers. Long story short; at the early of 2022, I saw Davi moving to Bandung for his work. I felt sort of an excitement by imagining the probability of stumbling upon him in town. And one day, on my birthday, he wished me happy birthday on private message, and I was flabbergasted. Yup, that's where it all started, B. We started to getting know each other after years being acquaintances. We talked about what strangers normally would talk; work, career, music, movies, traveling, places we'd love to visit, family, etc. He even helped me with work, doing some research about the Continental Shelf Bill (dengan super niat dan format super rapi!!). Well, I must say he was quite strategic, helping me with that research for a trade off... a date with me. I was making an attempt to pay him back with Llaollao, something he said he'd wanted to try. He said;

Beside being strategic, the thing I admire about Davi is he's very straightforward and confident. He's the "let's cut the chase/BS"-kind of person when it comes to dating, he doesn't play any game and he is clear about his romantic intention. Our first date went sucks. The traffic was crazy, we arrived too late to Selasar Sunaryo as they would close in forty five minutes. We had coffee and conversations. There were lots of silence as we've talked about the 'surface' things already in chat. Until he broke the silence and raise a question about my past love life. As a person who used to take things slowly, an avoidant, and a person who easily freaks out over romantic stuffs... I freaked out. I felt this kind of conversation went too fast & we were not there yet, so I quickly went to the powder room to escape... lol. Our dinner, also, sucks. We wanted to go to Jardin but the queue was long and we were starving, so we went to this italian bistro nearby where (i) all the food were bad and overpriced; (ii) the portion was too small we were still hungry afterwards; (iii) the waitress dropped the glass, spilled the drink everywhere on the floor and made it all awkward. It felt like world against this date that day and there's nothing can be done to save the night. Frankly, it was the worst date I've ever experienced. Seeing Dabi looks so hopeless and sad, I felt bad and asked him if he wanted to go for a wedang ronde, my favorite dessert. I'm glad we went, because going to somewhere casual eventually loosen us up. The burden of "having the perfect romantic first date" suddenly no longer exist, it was as if we're going out as friends for a street food stalls, having non-romantic topics to talk about. We talked about his band and listening to him singing the songs in the car. It was actually pretty intimate too.

Despite the terrible first date, there were sparks. Those sparks led on to countless dates afterwards, hours of phone calls and conversations, we subconsciously became each other's part of lives for the past two years now. Two years passed in a blink. Looking back, we had a lot of ups and downs not only in this partnership but also in each of our personal lives. As I'm writing this, I just realized how he always exist and contribute to every canon event of my adulthood these past two years. I could never forget all Davi's role in my life; be it when he helped me study for my IELTS test, persistently gives me ride everywhere and pick me up from the train station (even when I don't want to), took me to take my IELTS test, had covid together and spent the days facetiming each other, helped me went through lots of tests, hugged me up and took me to watch happy movies after I failed the test, proofread and gave personal feedback towards my essays, listened to all my rants about work and shitty days, treated me in chivalry up until now, showered me with affection and never got tired of keep doing so despite my cold personality. Other than being a great partner, I saw him as a teammate. I couldn't ask for a better travel mate than him! We make such a great team when we're traveling together. I love the way he tries to make my life easier; as simple as naro kardus isi stok air minum di tempat yang paling gampang gue jangkau di mobil, picked me up in the middle of the night after work, help me in all my work an non-work assignments; running to catch the bus and hold it for me, carrying my heavy carry-ons, opening the door for me (he's that chivalrous), letting me playing my playlist in his car, taking photos for me, helping me creating itinerary for my eurotrip, and so much more.

B, I think this partnership changed each of us in some kind of way. To be frank, it wasn't easy on the first months. It turns out we have the opposite personality and ways to express love. He introduced me to a whole new kind of affection I have never experienced in my life; romantic, chivalrous, compassionate and tender. I felt embarrassed, weird, and undeserving receiving real affection, as the only kind of love I've experienced was tough love. I wasn't built to easily give affection and romantic gesture, and he expected to receive it. The line between tough love that I know and simply being mean was kind of blurry, he often get hurt back then (I'm sorry!). But I think that's the part of process having a relationship with someone. When we love a person and commit to make things work, we gradually learn to drop our ego and compromise. And the way I see it, it applies to all kind of relationship too; friendship, family, work.

B, my time's up. Davi has already arrived, picking me up to go for another date. Today after attending an invitation, we're gonna celebrate our 2 year anniversary. There's so much more I could tell about him, about all the fun things we did during our trips, about our plans, about small things we laugh, about how we re-do our first date for our first anniversary last year (and it turned out so much better!). I'll write about it more in another time. Turns out, writing about Davi was not as hard as I thought.

[ask-funky-eclipse-boi]

Do you not have HELPI installed in your system? But you are connected to the V.A.N.N.Y. network, correct. How strange, even if you can't contact her, she was going to the basement, well, she was going to the sinkhole but remember.

Fazbear Entertainment is not responsible for damage to property or person. Upon discovering that damage or death has occurred, a missing person report will be filed within 90 days, or as soon property and premises have been thoroughly cleaned and bleached, and the carpets have been replaced.

So if you do find anything, remember the protocols.

I gue-

~-*Negative. Part of your assumption is incorrect.*-~

~-*When an animatronic's Emergency C.H.A.R.L.I. Systems activate, they are completely separated from the V.A.N.N.I. network. That way, if viruses or malware are present in the animatronic, they can be properly treated before such afflictions can spread to other animatronics.*-~

So... I guess that's why I don't have HELPI installed, right?

[The puppet sprite shakes its head.]

~-*Incorrect. The HELPI interface was part of a more recent update- one which your systems must have purged with your last reboot. However, being disconnected from the V.A.N.N.I. network has disabled your communication systems.*-~

[Eclipse is still reading the ask.]

My, is that really Fazbear Entertainment's policy on dead and missing visitors? It... does not quite sit right with me...

[The puppet sprite's white pupils flicker as it frowns.]

~-*Unfortunately, those are their policies... Dubious at best, despicable at worst. It's really a wonder Afton was never arrested...*-~

Who-?

[A heavy yet muffled thud can be heard somewhere below.]

[giantmontain]

Thank you for being a small part of my 2024.

๋࣭๛ ๋ ׅ ˖ ꕮ 𝅄 ׂ⭒

Bang Jehu

Happy New Year, Bang Jehu! You’re the heart and soul of Boynek, always bringing light and laughter into our lives. We’re so grateful to have you with us. I truly hope this year brings you everything you deserve—happiness, health, and all the good vibes in the world. Khususnya semoga makin banyak yang naksir dan kirim menfess ke abang lmao.

Kita gatau tahun depan kita masih punya kesempatan untuk catch up seperti biasa, tapi apapun yang terjadi janji buat jaga diri abang sebaik mungkin ya? We want to see you happy and healthy. You mean so much to us, and I hope you know how much we appreciate everything you do for us.

Last, thank you for always being the one to lift us up and make everything better. You’re such a special person, and we’re lucky to have you in our lives. I can’t wait to see all the amazing things this year has in store for you. No matter what comes, we’ll always be here for you, cheering you on!

Abang Riu

Bang Riu, a new year is a fresh start, and I hope 2025 brings you nothing but the best. Please take care of your health, because you’re such an important part of Boynekdoor, and we want you to stay happy and well. You have so much to offer, and I know this year is going to be a chance for you to shine even brighter.

I know life can feel overwhelming at times, but I believe in your ability to grow into someone even more amazing. Responsibility isn’t always easy, but I’m confident you’ll rise to the occasion with grace. You’ve got so much potential and I can’t wait to see all the incredible things you’ll accomplish this year.

Through it all, remember that you’re not alone. Boynek is here for you, cheering you on every step of the way!

Bang Yeppie

Happy New Year, Bang Yeppi! I know you’ve been incredibly busy lately, but I hope this year gives you a chance to relax and enjoy the little things. You deserve some time to focus on yourself too. terima kasih ya sudah bekerja keras di akhir tahun 2024 ini dan selalu perhatian sama kami semua.

I hope we can hang out more this year, even just for a chill time together. Kita especially gue pengen punya banyak waktu indah bareng abang di tahun 2025 nanti. Semoga Abang bisa punya banyak waktu luang yaaa!

I believe 2025 is going to be your year! I know whatever you put your mind to, you’ll succeed. And Boynek will be right here, supporting you through it all. Please keep being amazing, Bang Yeppi. I hope this year brings you everything you’ve been working so hard for, and much more. I’m proud of you, and I can’t wait to see all the great things ahead in 2025!

Ihan

Hello Ihan! I can’t thank you enough for always being there for Boynek and for me personally. You’ve always known how to make everything better, and I’m so lucky to have you in my life. Your kindness and support mean the world to me.

You once said you wanted to be the best Leehan Roleplayer, and I want you to know—you already are. The way you portray Leehan is beyond perfect! You’ve made Leehan so memorable for all of us especially boynek. Thank you for putting so much heart into what you do, Ihan.

As we welcome 2025, I hope you find nothing but the best. Semoga dapet 100 Han Taesan dan dikelilingi orang-orang baik yang sayang sama lu. You deserve all the best things in life and I’ll always be here to remind you of that. Let’s keep making amazing memories together. Thank you for being you, you’re truly one of a kind.

Deden

My precious maknae, uri bakso Afung, abang loves you more than words can say meskipun deden gak punya alis. You’re the sunshine in boynek, the one who makes everything brighter with your energy and charm. I hope this year brings you endless happiness, laughter, and moments to treasure. You deserve nothing but the best.

Please take good care of your health, my dear maknae. You’re so important to us, and we all want to see you happy and thriving. If anyone ever makes you feel down, don’t hesitate to come to abang, okay? I��ll always be here for you, no matter what.

Let’s create beautiful memories together this year, ones that we’ll hold close to our hearts forever. Abang will always support you in everything you do because you’re so special to me. Stay happy, stay healthy, and know that you’re deeply loved. Happy New Year Deden!

๋࣭ ⭑⚝ ESAN.

[feyd-meowtha]

Ao3 Fic Meme

I was tagged by @joeyalohadream thank you!

Rules: go to your AO3 account and find the following:

1. What ratings do you write most of your fics under?

Mature (3)

Explicit (5)

2. What are your top three fandoms?

Only have 3 lol

Masters of the Air (4)

Dune (2)

My Own Private Idaho (1)

(used to have an unfinished Fear and Hunger fic up but i wasn't gonna finish it so it was stressing me out and I deleted it, maybe I'll put it back up one day idk)

3. What is the top character you write about?

Curtis Biddick (4)

Ken Lemmons (4)

John Clarence Egan (4)

4. What are your top three pairings?

Gale "Buck" Cleven/John Clarence "Bucky" Egan (4)

Paul Atreides/Feyd-Rautha Harkonnen (2)

Curtis Biddick/Ken Lemmons (2)

5. What are the top three additional tags

Recreational Drug Use (5) (lol)

Angst (4)

Hurt/Comfort (4)

6. Does any of this surprise you

Not really considering I wrote all of these in the last couple years so I remember it p well? Though the stats themselves are a little misleading cus I've still written far more words of Dune fic than MOTA. Those tags kinda outed me as a terrible fiend and it did make me realise that... yeah, people do kinda be doing drugs in everything I write. I wonder why that could be... It's almost as if the art you create is always a reflection of the self. Wild.

As for ratings and stuff, its a weird one because I don't actually consider myself a huge fan of like smut for smuts sake (for someone who writes mostly E rated fic) but what I am a fan of is character analysis and psychology, something which is very well served by writing smut/darker relationships so that is why that is the way it is I gues. The explicit stuff is kinda secondary to the psychoanalysis, but still fun don't get it twisted. (this also applies a lot less to Our House where everything is a lot chiller and funner and most characters don't have like mountains of PTSD)

As for the choices of pairings and the other tags, it's pretty clear I'm a slut for angst and in the case of MOPI and MOTA - a sad blonde man x loud gregarious brunette dynamic.

I tag @whirlpool-blogs, @blixabargelds, @weimarweekly, @swifty-fox and @london-cowboy. Also anyone else who fancies it!

[al1x00]

⚠️CHAP. 10 SPOILERS⚠️

THE WAY I SCREAMED WHEN I SAW THIS OMFG I'M NOT READY FOR OPIN TO END😭😭

EXCUSE ME "TW SUICIDAL THOUGHTS"?!?! WHO TF IS TRYING TO BLOW THEIR BRAINS OUT MY GOODNESS.

Love how I'm totally chill on the blood and gore part like yeah that's usual Katy™ stuff, you get used to it after reading TF🥰🥰

DAMNN HOBIE'S ON FIRE HE'S GOT NO MERCY ANYMORE. Also I love how you described the factory and the way Hick's office/balcony is placed very high up because he own the place and all that jazz because it just makes him the picture perfect image of the asshole he is LMAO

YAYY WE GOT KARL TOO THE WHOLE GANG IS HEREEE

WHOA WAIT A BAG OF TNT?? That's not gonna go well, is it..? Even if they do manage to bomb the factory, TNT is a very effective and quick explosive so if they aren't fast enough to get away someone might get hurt yknow

Hicks and his shit aim strike once again and fail😌 that man cannot land a single bullet on anyone, not even a couple of horses.

WTF HOW DID HE NOT DIE? ISTG IF HOBIE DOESN'T GET TO KILL HIM

Honestly if R was to look at Hobie and see him kill men so effortlessly while balancing only on one side of his horse they're gonna get married on the spot, like RIGHT FUCKING NOW.

Hobie lost his last whip and said "Fuck it, let's make an instrument of torture out of the new one" And I bet that shit hurt like hell.

"Everyone thinks he should be dead by now" ONE OF THE REALEST THINGS YOU WROTE YEAHH TERMINATE THAT ASSHOLE

YESS HE GOT THE DEATH HE DESERVED NO MERCY FOR HICKS

I always make sure there aren't any symbolism or anything in the paragraphs before I continue reading the chapters so I googled what do alligators symbolize and there many different versions of it. One said they symbolize inner strenght and power so I gues that could work with the power Hobie held in that moment right before he decided not to spare Hicks and let him suffer but it also says they symbolize finding solace in the present which I don't think Hicks got while he was getting eaten alive and ripped apart💀

WAIT IT'S BEEN A MONTH SINCE THE WHOLE THING HAPPENED? A WHOLE MONTH PASSED FROM THE DAY HICKS AND CROSS FOUND THEIR FARM?

OKAY WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK HAS HAPPENED. HICKS TRIED TO KILL R BY THROWING HER DOWN THE WELL? IT'S WORSE THAN ANYTHING THEY'VE DONE TO HER BEFORE WTF HE DESERVED THAT HORRIBLE DEATH.

"A graveyard full of Cross’ ancestors lies just a few ways away from the gazebo." He's gonna join them soon if he doesn't stop with that attitude🥰🥰

R thinking about Hobie everytime someone does something that he would do just hurts so much because R doesn't even know if he's alive or not at this point. She has no way of escaping or getting any source of information about him or Riri and the others and it's so fucking sad. It's hurting me so much I just need to see them happy and healthy once more😭😭

R IS BEING A GIRLBOSS I LOVE ITT

“Look at me just like how you look at him.” Okay just one more thing to add to the list of reasons of why I hate Cross so much🥰🥰 Out of all the things he's done and said this is probably one of the most disgusting EVER.

KATYY WDYM BOTH HIT THEIR TARGET?!?!?! IS R DEAD? NONONONO I CAN'T TAKE ANOTHER SAD ENDING AFTER TF THIS BETTER BE A FUCKING JOKE

DAMN R GOT SOME AIM THAT BULLET LEFT A BIG ASS HOLE THROUGHT HIS STOMACH

...Katy I swear to god if R dies I'm gonna sue you. DON'T GIVE HOBIE ANY MORE TRAUMA HE ALREADY HAS PLENTLY AND EVEN MORE TO SPARE.

“A life lived without you isn't a life well lived, remember?” Bye don't talk to me for five business days.

KATY YOU HAD ME FOR A SECOND I THOUGHT THEY BOTH DIED IN THE FIRE OH MY GOODNESS I WAS ABOUT TO THROW A FIT I WAS ALREADY SOBBING MY EYES OUT BUT THEN I WENT ON AND I WAS LIKE "WAIT A DAMN MINUTE-"

THEY GOTH DUCKIESS AND BUCKY AND CHERRY HAVE LITTLE KIDS NOW I'M SOBBING OMFG

AND COWS TOO

AND CLOVER HAS HER PUPPIES TOO OH MY GOD IT'S SO CUTEEE

God really must have favourites because how the fuck did R survive that bullet right under her ribcage? Like sure there was a possibility but holy shit R got lucky. NOT THAT I'M COMPLAINING OFC

HELLO?? BILLIE AND MONA CANON IN OPIN?? AAAA I'M LOSING MY SHIT I'M SO HAPPY THAT THEY'RE ALRIGHT AND CONTENT IN THEIR HOUSE AGAIN.

God this has been so bittersweet. Words cannot describe the utter whirlwind of emotions that I had throughtout this chapter and story overall. It has made me cry, laugh, cheer for the characters and have loads of sympathy for them, so much that sometimes I felt it to the very soul. I can safely say that this fic goes onto the podium with BDAS because the sheer amount of effort you put into this has not gone unnoticed, you've outdone yourself again like you always continue to do and I'm SO SO proud of you for writing something as beautiful as OPIN. I am not ready to say goodbye to our favourite outlaw and cowboy😭😭 (I will not say goodbye to him yet, he'll have me in a chokehold until the end of time)Honestly I could go on and yap about this for hours and hours (and I probably will because OPIN deserves it) but like- the intricacy of the storyline, the well done backstories and the way you gave each character a different moral and point of view is just 🤌* chefs kiss * YKWIM?? I will never, EVER, shut up about how R and Hobie were like complete strangers all over again when they found eachother after all those years, how they feared of the consequences of loving somebody, but in the end the only thing that mattered the most was to get back into eachother's arms and stay with the other until the end, no matter if the flames got to them or not; the fact that they were gonna die together in that fire and they were totally fine with that just because they had eachother will always cling with me. They way they both learned to love the other despite all their flaws and the how the horrible things that happened shaped them, but their love was stronger than anything else, stronger than a man and his whole bullet factory that went against two people who just truly loved eachother in the purest and most genuine way ever. They fought with claws and teeth, because they had both everything and nothing to lose, just to see the other one last time before everything caught up.

Alright I won't write more on this but I will return with another yapping session soon so expect a huge message in your inbox LMAO but thanks again for everything Katy!! LY LY LY❤️❤️❤️

Dead Man's Hand

Pairing: Cowboy! Hobie Brown x fem! Reader

Word count: 11.5k

Tags: Use of Y/N, sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader (except for clothing), Cowboy AU, wild west AU, CW food mention, CW vomit mention, CW blood and gore, CW guns, TW violence, TW abuse, TW suicidal thoughts, TW death.

A/N: if there are any warnings that I've missed please tell me so I could add it in.

This chapter tackles dark themes, read at your own discretion.

Our Place in the Middle of Nowhere Masterlist

Navigation

CHAPTER 10 >>>

The pungent, acrid and hot air of metal and gunpowder brings Hobie back in time as he slams open the steel doors to the factory with a harsh kick. Machinery whirs, and twists, sharp steel dancing to the beat of the flames as it turns molten iron into instruments of death.

Hobie roams his fury-filled eyes around the factory, green flames flicker in those eyes, finding grime coated faces of strangers staring back at him and his posse. One glances their dark eyes towards the upper level of the factory where a balcony is placed. Where Hicks would look down with contempt, and would scream at the overworked employees to hurry production. Hobie knows it all too well, the factory mirrors the one back home. In the middle of the balcony sits an office with frosted windows that bear Hicks’ name. But the man is nowhere to be found within the crowd.

“If you're not Hicks, get the fuck out.” He doesn't need to yell the command, for everyone turns to run outside towards the back exit where half of Miguel's gang lies in wait; and Hicks' lackeys lay dead on the soft muddy ground.

One running and hiding away amidst the crowd catches his eye with the same face as one of the men who buried him all those years ago. “‘cept you.” With one swift raise of his six shooter, smoke billowing out, a hole now sits on the man's torso where his heart should be. “Hicks, better get down ‘ere or my people will blow this place to the ground.” Hobie steps over the bloody body, crimson coating the sole of his boots. “Rainin’ bullets don't mix well with a room full of explosives.”

There's no movement nor a whisper in the entire factory save for the fading sounds of the machines slowly shutting off. He catches a glimpse of a shadow behind a closed frosty door in the upper level of the factory. It was quick and sudden, if not for Riri's gentle nudge towards the movement, he'd think he was seeing you again for a brief cruel moment.

“Ri, Karl, come with me.” Hobie emerges behind the blackened air from the large machines. Three sets of boots thumping silently as they bound upstairs.

He reaches the door, back on the solid wall and away from the glass. Riri stays on his right, shotgun cocked and ready while Karl checks his bag of TNT on Hobie's left. As he moves to open the door, a bullet pierces the glass, shattering it into sharp tiny pieces. A shard nicks Hobie's cheek, but he ignores the throbbing pain as blood trickles out.

“You're still alive, you little shit?!” Hicks yells, shooting blindly at the door.

The trio stays still and waits for the opening. A click echoes in the quiet, and clouds of gunpowder float through the air. Hobie and the others take their opportunity. Karl lights a stick of dynamite, chucking it inside the room and then ducking down to cover his ears. Hobie doesn't waste time, leaving the safety of the cover, he twists to face the door, shooting at the flying TNT— effectively blowing it near Hicks while Hobie holds onto his hat so that it doesn't get blown away.

The explosion causes Hobie to stagger backwards, if not for Riri pulling him back to the side, he would've fallen off the railings. Sulfur fills the air as they cough, puffs of grey smoke clouds the entire office space.

His ears ring, a sharp high pitched sound that he's awfully familiar with. He gives Riri a thankful nod, which she replies with a smug smile and a raise of her eyebrow. Hobie takes the lead, flicking his eyes towards Karl, who gives him a thumbs up, and with his hair all messed up from the explosion. Satisfied that his group is alright, he enters the fray. Smoke giving way to him and his raised gun. Shards of glass crunch at his feet, singed papers lay burned on the floorboards as embers flicker out in the air.

As the smoke clears out and the hot air of the south enters through the broken windows— Hobie finds no one inside the room.

“Fuck!” As he yells into the emptiness, a horse neighs outside, hooves running frantically away while bullets fly and ricochet. He immediately looks down, finding Hicks half burnt and riding away. “Like a fuckin’ roach.” Without thinking ahead, Hobie vaults from the window, softening his fall with a roll. Landing, knees aching but intact, he whistles for Bucky.

“Hobie, what the fuck?!” Riri and Karl simultaneously scream out, but Hobie's already running while Bucky follows right behind him.

Once Buckeye trots next to him, Hobie grabs hold of the saddle's horn to swiftly lift himself up on the saddle with a quick pull. No one's going to stop him, Miguel already considers Hicks dead just from the look of determination behind those green eyes.

Hobie leaves everyone in the dust. Bucky neighs wildly, huffing and puffing as he tries to catch up. “Hicks!” Said man turns on his saddle a few ways ahead, arm raising to aim and to shoot his gun. Bullets whizz past, hot air passing by as Hicks misses every single bullet.

Hicks’ scalding flesh makes him keel over in pain as his blood drenches his horse. “Shit!” He kicks roughly, his horse whines before speeding off.

Bucky gains speed, catching up to Hicks whilst he reloads. But of course, his hired guns finally catch wind. A handful of them appear from the side, trudging from the muddy swamp with alligators lurking underneath, and riding towards the bumpy road where the main chase is happening.

The rival posse hollars and hoots, sneering smiles and guns aimed at Hobie. Riri and the others are still catching up to him, so he's left alone to defend himself and Bucky. With fury fuelling him, he has everything to lose so he'll shoot through all of them like a hot knife through butter.

While the mercenaries leave the line of trees, Hobie enters the thicket, swerving to the side, using the large and sturdy trees for cover. The ground may be soft and muddy, but Hobie and his loyal horse have been in dozens of situations like this. The swamp might've slowed them down but it doesn't stop them as splintered wood flicks and flies while his enemies continue to shoot at his swift horse.

A bullet comes too close to his head, piercing a hole in the brim of his hat. He clicks his tongue, annoyed at the damage. Patting Bucky, he takes his foot off one of the stirrups to bring it to the safer side where no bullets could come at him. With two legs on one side, hand holding on to the saddle horn and reins, Hobie rides sideways, hiding his body while peeking over and shooting with calculated aim as Bucky runs back towards the path. One by one, the mercenaries fall off their horses with his bullets pierced through their bodies. The road is coated with their blood, leaving trails of rubies for his posse to follow.

Miguel trots closer, shooting at what remains of Hicks' men. The gang hoots at the sight, adrenaline rushing through their veins, and blood heating up from the violence.

While Riri and Karl have their eyes on Hobie, who now sits upright on Bucky, they kick on their horses and off they go, riding side by side with Him. Hicks panics from the sheer volume of horses running after him, with his last bullets, he aims at Bucky's leg.

Hobie beats him to the punch, quickly thrashing his whip made out of jagged metal wires, tearing the skin off of Hicks' arm apart when Hobie pulls hard at it. Hicks screams in sheer agony, tumbling and falling off his horse into the moist ground, soil entering his burns and mouth. When the dust settles, he looks up to only see the end of Hobie's gun.

It's silent in the marsh as the sun shines on his gun; frogs hum in the distance, gators trill when they smell meat while Hicks' labored breathing quickens. Hobie has his gun digging into Hicks’ skull, skin red and angry from his burns. Half of his face has melted into a mess of meat and bones, left eye barely opening from his melted eyelid. A pungent smell permeates from his oozing wounds, clothes torn and burned to ash, and ankle twisted at an angle. Hicks’ hands are buried halfway into the ground as he sinks down to the muddy plains.

Everyone thinks he should be dead by now, even Hicks himself, but death won't grant him the sweet release just yet— not until Hobie takes what he is owed.

“My, don't you look pretty, Hicks.” Hobie doesn't smile nor smirk at the sight of the man who buried him alive five years ago. A man who now kneels before him, disfigured beyond recognition, feeding the soil under him with his own suffering.

“F-fuck y-y-you.” Hicks' lips tremble from the unimaginable pain. “I w-will not b-beg.” He manages to curl half of his melted lips into one final sneer. “Not l-like how you did.”

“I don't want you to beg, Hicks.” Hobie digs the metal harshly, skin ripping and tearing like paper from under the gun. “I need to know where she is. You're dyin' anyway, your last words might as well be somethin' useful.”

Hobie's cold words makes the man scoff that quickly turns into a painful cough. “No. Didn't your old man tell you that revenge is a f-fool's game?”

“This isn't revenge, this is retribution.” Hobie tilts his head, looking behind Hicks where a pack of gators trill and show themselves under the green swamp. “If you tell me, I won't let the gators eat you alive.”

“Wha–?” Hicks' slowly turns his trembling head, skin painfully tugging with every movement. One of the gators snaps its maw, warning with its sharp teeth. The entire gang hears this grown man whimper from fear.

“They look mighty hungry, Hicks. Better hurry up.”

“You'd t-take me away from them?”

“No, I'd put you out of your misery before they get to you. Something you didn't give me back then.”

Hobie can practically see the rusty cogs in Hicks' head turning. “...alright, just don't let them eat m-me.” His burns flares up as he doubles in pain.

Hobie makes the man raise his head with the barrel pushing his chin up. “Sure.”

“She's at the big white house near Blackwater, just west of the r-road. You can't miss it.”

“You lyin’” Hobie doubts the information when he gave it to him too fast. Jaw tightening at the thought of you being so close yet so far from his reach.

“No, I'm not.” Hicks hears the unmistakable sound of the reptile crawling closer. “It's the truth.”

Riri flicks her eyes towards Hobie, leaning close, whispering lowly at his ear. “I know the place.” Hobie doesn't miss the hard look in her eyes. “He's not local, that place is well hidden, he wouldn't know that only the locals know about it.” She glares at the sniveling man, “It's ways away from the road he's talking about. Fucking far from it. Easily missed if you're not familiar with the place.”

Hicks figures out what she's whispering when Hobie's anger flares, hand tightening around his gun. “I'm telling the truth, Hobie. It's there and she's waiting for you! I promise! She's the one lying!” He points a crooked finger at Riri.

“Thought you wouldn't beg.” His fate is sealed with the gators. “Technically you did lie.” Hobie drops his arm, gun aimed away from Hicks. “Off you go with the gators, boss.”

“No, no, Hobie! Please, I'm sorry!” Hicks tries to grab at Hobie's leg, but Hobie kicks him down on the ground and on his back. He tilts his head back, meeting face to face with a ten foot alligator that seems to smile at him.

His screams echo around the marsh while Hobie and the others get on their horses. He watches the gator death roll the flailing Hicks on the muddied ground until the wailing stops completely.

Hobie leads the pack away while he leaves behind the sound of tearing skin and bones cracking under sharp teeth. And all he could think about is you, and how he could've had a good life with you.

—

Draped in chiffon and stab silk, iridescent blues and purples dance along the fabric as light hits it. Expensive fabric that hides all the aching blemishes on your flesh by the same men who claim that they are doing it for your sake, that it's the only way you would obey.

Your hands are tied behind your back with Cross' hand wrapped around your wrists in a sickening grip; preventing you from moving. You shine under the southern sun, all gold and frills but none of the happiness behind your sullen and dull eyes.

For a fleeting moment in those months you were with Hobie, you had peace. You'd stay there forever if you could, if only the world had granted it to you, instead of the pain that it brought down upon you.

You could've had a good life together.

It's been a whole month since the last time you saw Hobie alive. A whole month without hearing his voice, without his loving touch; and a whole month with the same family who has hurt you in every possible way they could. The image of Hobie buried under the rubble of your shared home spirals you over the edge once again. You've cried, wept and sobbed some more, but nothing has helped. You feel like you've died right next to him. You wish you had.

Meanwhile you have a wound that was never meant to be healed inside you. A wound that was momentarily healed, until you were brought back to the reality of your dreaded life.

You instinctively run your finger around the gold band around your finger, finding the unfamiliar diamond instead of the simple gold band that turns your face even more sour at the scalding heat that turns your heavy dress into an oven. You had the foresight to hide Hobie's ring the second you had a chance. It now lays underneath your floorboards waiting for you.

There's a heavy feeling in your chest, grief running along your heart, plunging your very being into darkness. It was like that day five years ago, you have no knowledge of him alive, no way of knowing if Hicks ended him. It's an awful case of déjà vu.

Both men stand beside you, as if they're meant to guard you. The estate stands behind you, its large shadow looming over you. All Its white marble and columns stand tall, doors that don't creak, windows pristine and gleaming— but you'd rather have the pile of ashes you once called home.

This place lacks a heartbeat.

You flick your tired eyes over to the well beside the estate, your body shivers from how cold it was inside, when you sank into it like stone the first time Hicks threw you inside. It's a miracle you didn't break your neck, in that moment, you wished it had.

A carriage arrives from a distance, horses galloping along the road towards the estate. Wispy cypress trees sit around the path, parting way for the dirt road leading to the house. Its soft leaves dance in the wind, leaves fluttering by as you watch the carriage get closer and closer.

“Remember to smile, we can't lose their money.” Hicks grabs the back of your dress, yanking your neck down for emphasis. “Don't be a bitch like last time or you'll get the well tonight. And I heard it'll be cold tonight.”

“I'll be in my best behavior, uncle.” Your glare towards the rich couple exiting the carriage says otherwise.

Hicks only gives you a stern look before letting you go. Cross loosens his grip for a moment and you immediately take your hands in front of you so he couldn't hold you again. You haven't spoken a word to the man you call husband since you arrived at the estate. Your defiance got your bedroom door locked from the outside for now but was taken apart for the first week of your stay. Showing you bare to the entire world, revealing to the world that you're his.

The woman clad in gold and gemstones huffs, flinging away a fly from her painted face. “God, I hate this humidity.”

“This better be good this time, Hicks.” Her husband takes his tophat off, wrinkling his nose at the scent of heat and damp marsh.

“You won't regret traveling for this, Mr. Burnell.” Hicks sucks up to the man. “My, don't you look lovely, Mrs. Burnell.”

She giggles, hiding the blush dusting her cheeks with a fan. “Oh don't be such a gentleman, Hicks.”

“Stop sucking up to my wife, Hicks.” Even though his smile tells you that it's a joke, his tone says that he's completely irked by your uncle. Perhaps this has happened before.

You roll your eyes subtly, Cross’ jaw tightens as he shakes hands with both guests. “It's a pleasure to have you both today.” He says flatly.

“An honour.” Your tone is tight, lips turned into a strained smile.

“I remember you,” the male Burnell smiles faintly at you. “And you too,” he points at Cross. “I was at your wedding, what a wonderful ceremony.” You clench your fists tightly around your lace gloves, almost tearing the fabric.

“Oh I also remember!” His wife claps, “your gown was lovely, and the deviled eggs were to die for!”

You laugh, a sound more akin to a scoff. “I should've had some back then.”

Mr. Burnell reaches for both of your hands, holding you gently as you make a face at him that doesn't quite reach the man's full understanding. “I'm sorry about your aunt, we sent flowers to the funeral. I hope it was to your liking.”

“I wouldn't know, I wasn't there.” You swallow thickly.

“Oh poor dear,” The woman touches your cheek, and you flinch away. She coos as if you're a child. “You couldn't even bear saying goodbye.”

“Sure,” you slide your hands away from the man's hold, and then you take her hand away from your skin. “That's why.”

Hicks inhales deeply, “why don't we go to the gazebo? Tea is being served there.” He takes their attention away from you.

“We came all this way and you don't even have lunch for us?” Mr. Burnell raises a thick brow, his wife agrees with a nod.

“We did.” Cross finally speaks through gritted teeth. “It got cold.” The couple flares their nostrils in annoyance.

“This place was hard to find.”

“You had us waiting for two hours. Hardly an excuse, Mr. Burnell.” Cross doesn't back down from the older man's stare.

“W-what my associate was trying to say was that— we didn't want to serve you all cold beef! No one likes cold beef, correct?” Hicks tries to save the day, but they don't respond. “There's deviled eggs in the gazebo.” That seemed to work as they followed Hicks towards the blue gazebo behind the house.

Cross yanks you back to his side before you could get far. Your chest tightens, threatening to stop your breathing as he whispers towards one of the estate workers to prepare a batch of deviled eggs immediately. The second they leave, you glare at Cross, refusing to touch him even though his fingers dig into your arm.

“Don’t run, Y/N.” He says for the umpteenth time. You would run, and you had a few times while you're with him. But you were only met with your cheeks burning into the shape of his palm, and his hired guns dragging you back inside the mansion with their lassos tied around your ankles.

“I can't even breathe in this dress, moreso run in it.” You try to take your arm back but he stops you with his nails dragging along your sleeves.

“Be good, be fucking obedient. Don't be impossible like you always were.” His green eyes remind you so much of Hobie that it taints his image in your mind. You refuse to let it fog his image.

“I am not a dog, Cross.” You fight back, why shouldn't you? You have nothing to lose now.

He comes close to your face, jade eyes reflecting the fear in your expression, breath wafting over your face. “Then don't act like one.” His eyes pass over your face, finding fear laced in between the creases of your expression. His tone softens, one that sends shivers down your spine. “Why don't you call me by my real name? Cross is our last name, Y/N. Can you call me—”

“No.” You yank yourself away even if it means that his fingers drag along your arm in a manner that makes your skin run cold.

The next thing you know you're sitting next to Mrs. Burnell, who swallows down deviled eggs like its water. The entire table is set all prettily, blue laces sitting under white porcelain, utensils draped in silver, and chairs soft whilst the gazebo with lilacs growing on the roof acts as your shade. A graveyard full of Cross’ ancestors lies just a few ways away from the gazebo. Withering gravestones left unattended, and overgrown grass drowning each of the carved names. It leaves a heavy presence in the back of your mind.

The fork in your hand shakes, silver shining in the sunlight bearing down behind you just as when a pair of red cardinals fly next to the gazebo. The murmurs of the marsh echoes around the estate, gators trilling a few ways away, birds chirping and cawing right next to croaking bullfrogs. You're surrounded by green with a dash of greed as Hicks continues to suck up to the rich prospective partners.

A hand cups your own, and for a flicker, you thought it was Hobie's calloused hand gently holding onto you until his nails jab into your palm. Cross gives you a hard look, gesturing for you to eat instead of staring blankly at the cakes in front of you. With a mocking smile, you take a glass of cold orange juice on your right, condensation drenching your ungloved hand. You don't break eye contact as you gulp down the entire glass, making the Burnells look at you with pinched brows. For the final touch, you exhale loudly as if you were thirsty beyond belief.

Hicks chuckles nervously, eyes darting from you to the rich couple. Cross is fuming silently, letting your hand go limp on the table. An employee comes to your side, refilling your glass as everyone at the table stays in awkward silence. You can't help but puff out your chest with pride. Hobie would've loved to see that. Their faces would be worth it for the wrath you're about to face.

Mr. Burnell clears his throat, “as I was saying, we can't give twenty thousand for only ten percent shares. It's daylight robbery, Hicks.”

“Oh come on, Quentin, you've known me for a long time!” Hicks plays the ‘old friend’ card, a trick you've seen one too many times. “You know I can be trusted, and that ten percent will go higher once we've had our foothold here in America.”

“I do know you, that's why you can't be trusted. Even her aunt knew better when she gave the company to her.” Burnell pauses, bespectacled eyes staring at you briefly. Your lips curl up into a smirk. You probably don't have to work too hard in sabotaging this one. “Besides, that was back when you were the leading manufacturer in the UK. There was a guarantee, now you're here in a country that is practically shitting bullets by the buckets.” He leans back in his seat, “face it, you old dog, there's no profit here for you.”

“He's right,” His wife enters the conversation, dabbing her mouth daintily with a handkerchief. “Why did you even move here in the first place? I heard the company was doing badly back home but not that bad, right?”

Hicks coughs, drinking from his glass, stalling from answering. Cross has had enough, he leans on the table, elbows right next to his untouched plate, white suit unblemished.

“Because I'm here.” He takes your hand, making a show of it for the Burnells. He's using the ‘I love my wife’ card. Surprisingly, it's only the second time he has used it on the rich and stupid. “And my wife deserves to be with her husband, yes?” The couple looks at each other, then returns their attention to you as you try incredibly hard not to vomit all over the table. “I've…ignored her for far too long while I'm always here tending to my own business.” He clasps the back of your hand with his free hand. “We were deeply saddened by her aunt's passing, but I saw a silver lining. Taking the tragedy and turning it into something better by bringing her and her family business here to my home so we could finally start having our own family here without the dark cloud looming over us.” He was right about one thing, your aunt was a dark cloud looming over everyone. Cross leaned close, pecking your hand chastely. “Right, love?”

You close your eyes to prevent yourself from heaving out what little you've eaten. “Right.” Tone small and disgusted, you have the sudden urge to stab his eyes out with a fork. For a second, your mind gives you that exact image. Seeing his blood spurt out from his sockets and spraying on the deviled eggs.

For some reason, even with the disgusted look on your face, the Burnells' hard exterior softens. The missus clutches the pearls on her chest as if she just heard the most romantic story, and the male Burnell nods along with a fond smile. “You two remind me of my first marriage.” His wife chuckles, you frown, eyebrows knitted together as Cross plays along to his concocted story.

They continue their negotiation with more enthusiasm. Hicks pats Cross gladly on the shoulder, already drafting up a contract on a piece of parchment. Thankfully, Cross has let you go. Free to wipe your hand on your dress. You replay the last minute in your mind, like you're stuck in the moment he touched you with his dry lips upon the same hand you used to cradle Hobie's face with.

The conversation fades into the background, a thought passes you by, one that you're too grief stricken to see until now. Why is Cross even helping Hicks? He has the money to fund whatever the factory needs, he doesn't even need to be in the conversation. He has nothing to gain from this. He already has you, so why does he seem so desperate to get this partnership?

Then it hits you, he's as bankrupt as Hicks. Hicks, who drove the company to the ground with his moronic decisions the second your great aunt was in the ground. And Cross, there was never a day in your short marriage with him that he wasn't out gambling his family fortune away, or going to exotic places you've only read in books. When he doesn't have his hands on you, he's at the nearest pub or the derby races, betting everything in his pockets. You always just thought he had that much money to lose. But you were wrong. And the only reason you're here is because of the money your parents have set aside for you, money that is tied up with the company or what is left of it— the company that you own and have the last say in. Until your name isn't written in that contract that Hicks shoves in your face every morning, they have nothing.

“You have nothing.” You blurt out, you don't regret it immediately.

“Excuse me?” Mr. Burnell says, offended.

“Not you, I know you have money.” You place your elbows on the table, chin propped up on your scarred palm. “I was talking about my dear uncle and beloved husband.” Your words drip with venom and sarcasm.

“What are you saying?” Mrs. Burnell asks, concerned, either for your well being with the two men or for the money she almost lost.

“Shut it, Y/N.” Hicks says through gritted teeth, eyes warning you.

“Don't tell a woman to shut up, Hicks.” Surprisingly, Mr. Burnell defends you. “Speak, girl.” And there goes your respect.

“They don't have anything.” Cross tries to yank your hand back but you quickly tug yourself away. “Hicks is lying, the company is losing money, not gaining it. Production has been down since they moved here, probably because Hicks doesn't know how to run a company.”

You continue your tirade without missing a beat. “He was a manager before marrying my aunt, but he was a shit manager. If not for Peter—” you inhale and clear your mind. “All I'm saying is, he's asking for a scapegoat for the debt collectors, not a business partner.” You flick your eyes mockingly towards the seething Hicks. Meanwhile, Cross sits quietly, you're afraid but you have to continue. “I retract my previous words.” Hicks inhales with relief. “It's not probably, it's definitely.” He stutters, trying to save face but you continue. “He's overworking the workers and because of that there's more mistakes. More mistakes means more bullets that come out a little crooked. That's good, if your targets swerve to the left.”

“She's lying!” Hicks laughs shakily, fists slamming down on the table. “You know how women are? She's hysterical because of her aunt's passing.”

You scoff. “You said it yourself, Mr. Burnell, you don't trust Hicks.” All eyes are on you. Your words fill you with pride, Hobie would be proud. “As for Cross, I wouldn't even trust him with my coin pouch.”

The Burnells seemingly believe you, heads turned slowly towards Cross and Hicks, eyes boring holes in their foreheads. “Looks like we wasted our time. You're right, honey, we should've gone for the Winchester instead of this clown show.”

“You believe me?” You ask, bewildered. “That quick?”

“We passed by the factory on our way here, that's why we were late.” Burnell answers back. Already taking his belongings to leave. “We saw the horrid conditions. We were naive to believe that it was like that because you're still getting used to the transition.” He helps his wife up as Hicks follows behind the couple. Cross stays behind silently while you stay with the Burnells in hopes that they'd take you with them. “Thank you, girl.”

“You're welcome, c-can I—” The couple gets in their carriage, eyes blinking at you. “Can I come with you?” You sound like a child, voice trembling in hope that they'll say yes. “Please.”

Hicks chuckles incredulously right next to them, but his eyes grow dark at your request, a warning. Cross appears behind you, green eyes hidden by the shadow of his hat, lips clamped into a fine line.

“What for, girl?” Mr. Burnell asks, “We don't need any more bootlicking. We're not giving you the money for the factory.”

You flex your fists on your sides, eyes darting in between Hicks and Cross. Heart thumping, you have to try. “I don't— it's not that. I don't need the money. I—”

“So you do have the money for the company then? Why bother asking us?” The older man cuts you off, scoffing while his wife rolls her eyes. “Kids these days, so greedy.” He gets in the carriage, following his wife.

“Wait! Please!” It's too late as they run off in the distance. In your desperation, you start to run after them. But before you could go far, Cross stops you with his arms embracing you from behind. “No! Please come back! They're hurting me here—!” Your flailing stops when Hicks steps in front of you with his gun raised.

“Do you have any idea what you've done?” He clicks the hammer down, finger right on the trigger. “You've doomed us.”

With tears in your eyes, Cross holds you against him tighter. Chest aching, breath stolen from you. “No, just you!” Yet, you continue to fight. You might've lost hope a long time ago if not for Hobie. Hope that you'll get out like last time, hope that Hobie will be there waiting for you. But there's a part of you that just wants to let go. Looking over your shoulder, you're met with familiar green eyes that used to fill you with calm. “And you.”

“I should shoot you right here.”

“Do it then. But you can't because without my signature you're fucking broke!” With a cackle, Hicks yanks the back of your head, taking you from Cross' arms, dragging you towards the well. Body scraping against soil, you try to scratch at his hands but it doesn't deter him as his anger fuels him.

“Fucking bitch, you keep ruining shit!” He yanks you to your feet, and then pressing your front to the mouth of the well while pushing you down harshly, making you look down at the depths.

You yelp, sharp rocks digging into your stomach, eyes forced to look down at the deep dark well. It's cold down there, you wonder if this is what it felt like for Hobie back at the farm. Staying quiet, your hands grip the sides to keep your balance, a bead of sweat falling down and leaving ripples as it hits the stagnant water.

“What, no begging or screaming and crying this time?” Hicks latches on your hair tightly, scalp burning from his hold.

“I've gotten used to the dark. You won't hear me begging ever again.” Your voice echoes down to the bottom. “You can't hurt me anymore, not in the way that matters.” Releasing your hold on the sides, you lean closer to the edge. Expecting the cold embrace and the familiar weightlessness, it doesn't come.

There's a scoff above before you're let go. “I have to correct your fuck up.” He seethes, giving your leg a swift kick as you lay your head on the stone. “Deal with her.”

“I'm not one of your employees, Hicks.” Cross challenges him.

“She's your fucking wife. You discipline her while I go to the factory. As for you,” he flicks the shell of your ear. “Your name better be on that contract when I get back.” You hear their continued bickering whilst you even out your breathing. Just like what Hobie would tell you.

After a rustle of clothing and dress shoes thumping on the ground, you fall on your knees, still clutching the well. Face hidden from Cross, he sighs, hand reaching towards you. Feeling the sickening familiarity of his hand wrapped around your arm, you instinctively flinch away.

“Why couldn't you just obey, just this once?”

You heave, furrows knitted in anger. Looking over your arm, your glare sends goosebumps up his arms. “I'm not one of your hounds.”

“Then why do you kneel like one?” The sun behind him engulfs his entire form, turning him into a breathing shadow.

“Go fuck yourself, Cross.” You shakily stand up while avoiding his gaze. Walking towards the house, you clench your fists until you feel your blunt nails leave pin pricks of crimson

“I'm trying here, Y/N. You're making it impossible.” He yanks you back, neck craned to the side to look at you. “I'm holding back but you're not making this easy.”

“You sound like this is all my fault.” You still avoid his eyes, forgoing to look at the tree behind him. “I'm not the one who gambled all your money away. And I didn't force you to marry me.” His fingers pull you closer.

“Look at me.”

“Fuck you—” you try to escape but he's stronger.

“Look at me just like how you look at him.” He forcefully turns your head with his hand burrowing into your chin.

With apprehension, you chuckle, a cracked dry laughter. Your eyes slowly move to the green eyes in front of you. “I'll never look at you like that. Nothing you do will make me look at you with the same love I give to him.”

Cross swallows thickly, jaw tightening. “Why him?”

“It felt right. We share the same heart.” It's the first truth you've said in a month, and for once you smile genuinely. “I'll always love him, remember that.”

He inhales, and you wait for the impact.

“Sir?” The housekeeper asks from the side, hands wringing in front of her. “Is everything alright?” Her brown hair shimmers in the sun like copper, lips turned into a fine line.

She reminds you of the former housekeeper that tried to help you by taking your letter addressed to Hobie. Cross found out about it, you haven't seen her since then.

“We're alright, Belinda.” Cross lets you go, leaving a mark on your arm. “Fetch me my hunting rifle.”

You leave with haste, hands shaking as you hitch your skirt up. You can feel his sickly green eyes on you, like a shadow that envelops you whole.

You've crossed the line, and you fear that this is the end for you.

—

Pacing around your room, you walk around and hold your breath. It's like waiting for the gallows, waiting for the bullet to hit you. Hobie's ring is back on your finger instead of what Cross gave you on your wedding day, which is the exact same one you left on the bedside table when you escaped. You twist it around your finger as the room shifts and twirls in your vision.

The room is finely decorated with daffodils painted on the walls, gold fixtures on the ceiling with painted deers trotting overhead on fields of green on the ceiling. The room looks like it used to be a child's room. A pale blue bed sits in the middle of the room, draped in a satin canopy. It's a stark contrast to the room back at the farm, all wood and none of the gilded walls. But you'd choose that a hundred times over if given the chance. Especially if Hobie's there waiting for you.

You feel like you're slowly disappearing into the walls.

Your eyes have been glued to the door as you chew your nails. You'd lock the doors from the inside if the locks weren't instead bolted from the outside. Tears brim at your eyes, but you refuse to let it go as you sniff. You miss your home, you miss the smell of dew in the morning. You miss Clover and how she cuddles on your side. You miss Cherry and Bucky and your afternoon rides with them. You miss him, you miss Hobie and how he holds you gently, how he talks to you about things. It's him talking so you'd listen and speak with him until the sun decides to sleep. You miss his voice telling you that everything will be alright.

You wonder if everything will still be alright when you hear heavy footsteps outside your door.

Cross doesn't knock, and you wait at the foot of your bed, standing straight, eyes forward and daunting despite your fear. If he shoots you through the door now, would Hobie be there to greet you on the other side as darkness engulfs you one last time?

This house will be a tomb. Your tomb.

The door doesn't creek as Cross opens it. “Hunt with me, just like old times.” He has a rifle strapped to his back, suit traded in for his haunting gear, still clad in white leather. Your eyes flick over to the two guns on his belt. If only you could take it from him. Or at least one.

“Giving me a gun? Do you think that's wise?” You cross your arms over your chest, clearing your throat so he doesn't notice the shaking of your voice.

“Why? You'd shoot me in the back?” He asks chidingly.

“In a heartbeat.” You say without even a hint of a joke. “What's even out there, Cross? What are we hunting down?”

“A deer.”

“I don't think there are any deer out here.” A dangerous silence hangs in the air, choking you as he stares deeply at you. You inhale, swallowing down your fear as best as you can. “If you give me a knife instead, I will stab your eye out. Killing other things won't keep us from killing each other.”

He clicks his tongue, hand on the gun like he's mocking you. “Take the dog instead.” Taking the leash off his belt he holds it out for you. “A dog for a hound. At least this one is loyal.”

“Which end of the leash is the hound?”

“What do you want, Y/N, hm?” Tossing the leash harshly, he stalks closer, and you flinch back. A doe caught in the coyote's eye. “I broke your heart, I get it. Do you want me to apologize to you?”

“My heart? That's the only thing you haven't broken yet.” He stops a few feet away from you, yet still too close to you. “You broke my body until I could barely recognize myself anymore. My arms bear the shape of your nails, my scalp remembers the sharp tugs of your hands.” You exhale as a tear falls down your cheek. “Hobie broke my heart, but he pieced it together, piece by tiny piece.” You point at him repeatedly. “You, you broke everything else.”

“If this is about your aunt—”

“Fuck you! This isn't about her.” If this is really your end, you don't want to leave without saying the words you've been meaning to say out loud. You tremble for a second before grinning with tears in your eyes. "I'm glad she's gone. Her hold on me is gone.” You chuckle breathlessly, sighing loudly. “There I said it. It's like a boulder has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“Y/N,” there it is, the patronizing tone he uses on you. He's about to guilt you into something you haven't had a hand in, or chastise you like a child.

“Stop being so fucking delusional, take the blinders off for one fucking minute.” The fire in you latches on you. “This is about you and how you hurt me the second you brought me home after the wedding. You knew that I never wanted to marry anyone else, and that my aunt and Hicks hurt me back home. And instead of helping me, taking me away from them, you joined them.”

“I got you out of there. I married you.”

You laugh without an ounce of humour, clapping wildly. “Well thank you very much, Cross!”

“I tried for a little while, Y/N. But I'm your husband, and you continued to disobey so I had to go to them, ask them for advice.” He walks closer, you stop him with a hand in front of you, as if it will shield you from him. You've tried that once, it didn't work.

“Nothing you do will make me forgive you. I hope you drown in your guilt if you even have an ounce of it. I hope you lay awake at night thinking of how much you hurt me. I'd rather die than forgive you.” Cross steps forward with an unreadable expression, and the back of your knees hits the bed as you try to get away. You eye the gun, you fear that you won't keep your promise to Hobie.

The world already ended for you when Hicks killed him.

Cross tries again. You think it'll be the last time he will the second he walks closer to you, so close that you can see yourself in his eyes. “Sign the papers, Y/N, and everything will be over.”

“You know the second I sign it, Hicks will kill me.” Your eyes wander towards his unlatched gun.

“I won't let that happen.”

You laugh in his face, “Sure, but you'll let him hurt me. Might as well sign my death warrant instead.” Standing back up, you inch towards him bravely despite your instincts telling you to shield yourself. You have to get that gun. “I–I tried to love you at first, and remained optimistic in this marriage.” His eyes are on your face, irises darting over your lips while you sneak your hand towards his gun belt slowly. “Even indulging my idiotic childish whims of what a marriage could be like. But I couldn't, not when you hurt me just like they did. Only because I didn't love you like how you thought I would.” Your hand finds the cold metal, fingers wrapping around the handle. “For a second there I thought you'd be my saviour, when in fact it was the opposite. You joined them instead. You were just as bad as them.”

You stand toe to toe with him. You hear a glass breaking downstairs, and then the smell of something familiar. Snatching the gun quickly, you aim it at his stomach, steel meeting flesh. You feel the same sensation against your chest.

“I love you.” Cross utters, finger right on the trigger.

“I've seen love, this isn't it.” With your cold words, you shoot.

Both guns go off.

Both hitting their targets.

—

The sun is just beginning to set, orange peeking from the horizon, hues of pink and orange blanketing the three men. Each inhale from the cigarette perched in each of their lips has grey smoke filtering through their lungs. They should be guarding the front door like they were hired to do, instead they chainsmoke their way out into an early grave while hiding behind the estate, facing the vast green marsh that hides their debauchery from the rest of the world.

“You hear any cryin’ last night?” The one with an auburn beard asks, his rifle leaning against the wall right next to him instead of in his hand like it was supposed to be in.

A dark haired man answers, belching out smoke while crouched on the ground, eyes narrowed at the whispering willows. “Yeah, i think the stable boy wasn't lying, there's a fuckin' ghost here.”

“You two think it's a fucking ghoul or some shit?” The third one replies with a scoff, blonde hair peeking out from his hat as he takes a swig of moonshine.

“Yeah,” The first two responds, spine tingling when a cold breeze passes through them.

“It's the boss’ wife, not a ghost, you morons.” As the yellowed haired man responds, a bright flicker of light appears in between the willow trees. “What the fuck?” The two men next to him follows his terrified gaze, cigarettes falling off their lips.

The light moves, as if it dances in the wind. It flickers, brightening up into an orange glow before turning yellow once again. The three outlaws move from the wall, eyes glued on the mesmerizing ball of light.

“Fuck, it's a swamp ghost—” the one with the red beard gasps, choking on his own blood, frantically trying to stop his neck from gushing out ichor with a knife stuck to his throat.

The other two only had a split second to react before a sharp knife slashes at their exposed necks. They mirror each other, shirts stained with red, palms coated in warmth and crimson while they frantically try to stop the bleeding. They croak and creak out, eyes managing to fall upon hazel eyes, and one with his face covered in soot. They both hold a glinting knife, blood still trickling down from the steel.

Miguel leaves from his hiding place in the thicket, eyes flicking briefly towards their twitching forms before returning his gaze at the ball of light. He nods to Riri and Karl, who stand above the corpses. And then he gestures with his gloved hand, giving the warm light a small nod.

The light comes closer, footsteps echoing as boots sink in moist soil— appearing behind the darkness of the trees and into the fading light of the sun. Hobie's face is revealed behind the light with a lit cigarette in between his lips, shadows dancing around the fury behind his green eyes hidden by the brim of his hat. He inhales before flicking the cigarette away, falling into a puddle. More appear behind him, trees and bushes parting before the dozen men and women following in his steps.

“Karl, light the oleander for me will you?” Hobie tosses the bag of pink flowers in Karl's waiting hands. And then he takes his knife back from the auburn haired corpse, wiping it on the grass before sheathing it back on his belt.

“D’you think that'll work? What if she gets caught in it?” Riri whispers, gesturing for the gang to crouch down and hide beside the wall where the trio were last seen smoking.

Hobie drags one of the bodies, hiding it behind the bushes while the rest of the gang help with the other two. He follows Riri, blood rushing in his ears, adrenaline pumping through his veins at how close you are from him. It's only a matter of time before you're back safe and sound.

“She knows the smell, she'll cover her nose.” His voice doesn't waver, but his insides are turning and twisting inside him. He can't fail. “As for everyone, cover your damn noses, and protect your eyes as much as you can.”

“This won't kill us right?” Karl weighs the bag in his hands.

Miguel checks his bullets beside him, giving Hobie and Riri a once over if their weapons are lacking. “At most it'll make us sick and itch. Right, Hobie?”

“Just don't inhale it directly.” Hobie yanks his bandana up to his nose, fitting it snugly. He notices his hands shaking, closing his fists tightly, he cannot fail. A month of tracking you down can't end with him failing to save you, he can't lose you. “You know what to do, Karl. Ri go with him.”

“Hobie,” she clasps the back of his fist. “Be careful, alright? If you get hurt, call Roberto, he'll treat you.” Inhaling sharply, she pats his cheek. “Get her back but don't die on us, alright?”

Hobie couldn't look directly at Riri, “She goes first, Ri.”

“I know, that's why we brought Roberto with us, remember? He's the doctor, he knows what to do and…what to expect, if need be.”

Hobie nods, staring at his family. “Thank you for backing me up, I owe you. All of you.”

“Don't die and we're even, Hobie.” Miguel pats Hobie's bicep before heading to his designated position.

“What he said,” Karl smiles brightly, fist connecting to Hobie's clenched one gently. “Also if I don't return from this, Robbie's gonna fucking kill you, man.”

Hobie cracks a smile. “Yeah, I know. Try to stay alive for the both of us then.” Karl makes his way towards the front while Riri staggers behind, still holding onto Hobie's hand. “Just like Valentine, right?” Riri smiles, hiding her trepidation behind her bandana. He fixes the cloth over her face carefully, tugging it over her nose and ears. “Keep that snug.” She could only nod, eyes brimming with tears. “Don't die on us too, Ri.” With a quick embrace, she leaves, following behind Karl who was waiting for her.

Hobie takes a second to breathe. He has done things like this a hundred times before, but never with you on the line. He can't leave without you like last time. He won't cower behind wooden walls like last time, he's not gonna stand here and tremble and rot and bleed. He's going to get you back. He knows he will.

There's a gunshot echoing inside the estate just as when a glass window breaks, signaling the beginning of the end.

—

The house falls and chaos reigns. They tried to stick to their plan of using stealth, but of course someone saw them and alerted everyone in their presence. Karl got the oleander thrown inside the halls, puffs of pinkish fumes swell out from the bag. Hobie sees the result of it as black smoke turns the estate into the pits of hell. Hobie's eyes waters but he continues to strike anyone who wasn't on his side. He throws his spiked whip towards someone who tried to shoot at Karl, the barbed whip rakes and breaks skin as he tugs and pulls until the man falls down next to his shredded flesh.

Screams echo around the estate, his posse lets go of the innocent unarmed employees while the others aren't so lucky the second they aim back.

They try to fight their way inside, finally thinning the outlaws outside as flames trickle from the burning bag towards the velvet curtains. Embers climb up until they hit the ceiling, fire licking at the once white walls, leaving burn marks in its wake.

A few of the hired guns surrender after recognising Miguel's gang, some were fools who tried to shoot them down but his allies were in greater numbers. More experienced, more bloodthirsty than the hired guns.

All the winning cards are in his hand, all he needs to do is play them right.

“Miguel!” Hobie yells while he and three others try to push through the main doors that refuse to budge open.

Miguel, who was currently brawling with a man taller than him, grunts when a fists harshly connects at his jaw. Hobie curses under his breath, without wasting a second, he aims and shoots. Gunpowder fills his lungs once more as the burly man falls on top of Miguel in a thud.

Hobie stalks towards Miguel, he shoots someone who was aiming at him on his left, his bullet doesn't miss even without him looking at the target. He grabs the body by its vest, yanking it off Miguel.

“Get up,” he reaches for the breathless gang leader, hazel eyes smiling at his old friend.

“I had that, Hobie!” Despite his broken nose, Miguel is back on his feet the moment he takes Hobie's helping hand. “Retirement, huh?”

Hobie shakes his head with a ghost of a smile on his lips. “Fuckin' retirement.” Reloading his gun, he goes back to the locked doors with Miguel now in tow. “On three!” His shoulders meet with the oak, “one!” Miguel nods next to him, bracing himself on the door. “Two!” A few more join in, ready to push the moment he says, “three!”

The doors burst open, splintering wood scattering, smoke coming out into the fray. Hobie meets with Sheriff Lee's eyes before a bullet hits him directly on his shoulder.

“Fuck!” He falls on his knees, clutching his wound as blood seeps through his fingers.

“Should've left when you had the chance, Mr. Brown!” Lee taunts, reloading his hunting rifle, giving Miguel enough time to drag Hobie back outside and placed behind the wall. “Come back here, murderer!”

A few shots ring out, both parties exchanging bullets. Your face appears in front of him before it’s replaced by the doctor's face. He needs to get you out quickly before the oleander takes hold. Hands tie a bandana around his wound, Hobie stands up the second that the cloth is tightened.

“Keep that on!” Roberto yells above the booming gunfire. “I’ll fix you properly right after this!”

Hobie nods, blinking the haze away. Miguel shakes him awake while avoiding his injury. “Lee's down! We'll handle the rest down here, we heard that she's upstairs.”

“Okay,” Hobie inhales and exhales, I'm almost there, love.

When the bullets stop flying inside the now bullet ridden manor, he steps foot inside. Glass crunches at his feet, eyes darting and alert from any surprises. He sees bodies littered on the marble floors, both from his side and Lee's. The sheriff lays under a pile of broken vase, eyes wide open, fingers still enclosed around his gun. The smoke thickens, and he hears blasts reverberating around the house.

Miguel's posse storms the place, pocketing whatever shines inside the house. A few more bullets are shot from deep inside the walls, but it's clear who's the winner. Hobie just wants you back.

Just as when he's about to climb the winding stairs with his throbbing shoulder, he sees a man stagger out from a room. “Is that—?” The bloodied man in the hunting gear trips and falls off the railing, plunging down right next to where Hobie's standing.

Cross lays on his own puddle of rubies, a gaping hole in his stomach instead of his insides. “H-help me,” Begging, he looks at Hobie with his bloodshot eyes, reaching towards Hobie's leg with his broken hand. “She's upstairs. Y-you can have her.”

“Is that him?” Miguel asks, and Riri appears from the side. Eyes watching the wounded man. Hobie nods, eyes never leaving Cross.

Hobie aims at Cross' head, seething. “She is not a thing to be had.” His aim stays true, but he shakes his head, lowering his gun down. “Nah, I'll let her bullet kill you.”

Miguel smirks, while Riri and him have a silent communication. “Don't worry, Hobie, we got rich boy.” He takes out his lasso from his waist, crossing the distance towards the dying Cross.

Riri gestures for Hobie to continue up the stairs. “Go! We'll be waiting.”

With a grateful nod, Hobie runs up the stairs towards his fire and his light. His heavy footsteps echo, breathing staggered as he thinks of you. What if he finds you in the same condition as Cross? What would he do if he sees you bleeding out? So he runs despite his own injuries, to see you again, to hold you again.

He follows the blood trail once he gets close enough, instead of your smiling face greeting him back, he stares at your body covered in crimson. Soft blue bed sheets stained with dark rubies. Arms spread on the bed as you lay on the soft mattress with your eyes unblinking towards the ceiling.

Hobie calls for you, air sucked from his lungs with every step he takes. He reaches for you, tears turning you into a watercolor painting in his vision. Red and blues blending into a watery picture.

You feel like you're in the bottom of a well, staring up at your aunt's sneering face. Your breathing is labored while the bullet is stuck in your chest, right below your ribcage. There's no pain, no feeling in your fingers as you see Hobie's face appear from above. Head perfectly lined up with the deer antlers painted on the ceiling.

“Found the deer, Cross.” You murmur, eyes hazy, lips barely opening.

“Stay awake, love.” Hobie's hand trembles as he rips his bandana off to stave off the bleeding by plugging the wound. You cry from the sudden pain, hands flying towards his wrists. “‘m sorry, ‘m sorry.” His tears flow down your cheek. “This'll be over, I need to carry you.”

“Hobie?” Your eyes focus on his face, meeting with his viridescent eyes. “Are you real?” Nails dig into his flesh, you sob, fingers shaking whilst you reach for his face. The pads of your fingers brush along his jaw, stubble returning you back to reality. “I'm so s-sorry, I should've told you.”

“None of that.” He holds onto the back of your hand, letting your palm rest on his cheek, lips brushing along your wrist. The matching rings reflect the growing fire ebbing towards the room.

“It h-hurts, Hobie.”

Sniffing, burning wood enters his lungs, sobs threatening to pull him down to you. “I know, I know.” He wipes the tears and the sweat off your forehead. “But we need to move, love, there's a fire and I need to carry you down.”

You gaze at his green eyes, sorrow and grief twisting and turning behind them. They remind you of home, of Clover, of Cherry and Bucky. And you remember your promise to him, an impossible promise that you will try to keep. But if it means that it's his end too, you have to break it. For his sake.

You grip his shoulders, Hobie notices how weak your hold on him is. “Okay, okay, carry m-me down.” There's a taste of copper in your mouth, lips coated in the bitter taste.

He nods, wiping his tears with his sleeves before sliding his hand behind your back, finding your warm blood sticking to the bedsheets. “I got you.” Whispering against your crown, he lifts you up mere inches away from the bed before you scream in agony. “‘m sorry!” He cries into your hair, your grip weakening even more.

“W-we can try again.” You slide your palm to his nape, “try again, Hobie.”

Hobie flicks his eyes towards you, the light behind your eyes is starting to dim. “Help!” He yells in desperation at the door, in hopes that someone comes bounding up the stairs. “Riri! Miguel! Anyone!”

Your heart breaks, “Hobie, Hobs.” Patting his chest, it's getting harder to breathe. “L-leave. Leave me here.” Hobie's already shaking his head. You smile softly at him, the best you could do despite your body dying. “You have to, you can't die here.”

“And you do?” He cups your face, “we still have forever to go, remember?”

He doesn't want you to come back as a dream anymore, or a shadow embracing him from behind; or a pain in his chest when he hears your name in his mind. He doesn't want your ghostly kiss to taste like ashes on his lips.

He doesn't want you to go.

“I'm sorry, I can't keep my promise. B-but you still can.” You weakly push down at his nape to feel his forehead against yours one last time. Your eyes are starting to close. “Live for me, would you?”

“No, please.” His palm slides right above your heart, feeling your heartbeat slow down. One last time, he yells for help. His throat burns as the ceiling above is engulfed in flames. No one comes to help. “I have to break my promise too, love.”

“Don't, please.”

“A life lived without you isn't a life well lived, remember?”

You accept death in his warm embrace. “I'll see you in a bit then.”

Flames engulf the room in its fiery destruction. Paint melting off the walls, wood and glass cracking under the pressure. And yet, he still holds on to you, lips pressed on your cold lips in a fleeting goodbye.

“Hobie!”

—

In the middle of nowhere sits the remnants of a farm with clovers growing all around it. Vines snaking along what remains of the farm house, and in those vines, pink hydrangeas grow and thrive amidst the cinders. And behind those darkened wood sits two graves with clovers growing on top of the soil. Two names are etched on simple limestone graves, they bear the same last name and same date of death.

Many travelers pass through the place without ever knowing the story behind the two graves. Seasons come and go, flowers bloom and wither. But only a few ever knew what used to stand on the emerald farm. What used to grow, what colour the house was, and who used to live in it. Stories were whispered and told but only a few truly knew the story behind it, few who came and visited and placed flowers on each of the graves.

And in those few, only three of them know that the once abundant farm where two graves were dug right under an oak tree, are empty.

The stories and the graves were enough to fool anyone left that wants to hurt either one of you to turn back and lament.

The true story lies behind the northern border, where pine trees grow up to the skies. Where snow and ice envelops the whole place. Where the two names etched on the gravestones in the empty farm now live.

“Stop bullyin’ your brother.” The dappled foal yelps, trotting away from his much bigger older brother. The dark horse with white splotches turns his bright blue eyes towards Hobie, huffing and puffing like an annoyed teenager. “Don't huff at me,” great, now he's the one talking to horses. “Go tell your dad not to have any more kids. Not my problem, junior.” The young horse rears, running towards the barn where Buckeye and Cherry sleeps.

Hobie leans on the fence, watching the sunrise on his expansive land. Horses and foals run around freely, feeling the cold gust of wind in their manes. A few sheep roam the grounds, while a pair of cows chew their way towards the fences. Snow-capped mountains rise up high in the background, white snow dusted along the rocks like sugar. While the trees dotted along the mountainside makes for the perfect scenic view. He pulls at his jacket closer to himself, fur tickling his nose as he breathes out puffs of smoke from the cold temperature. Winter’s coming, he can feel it in his joints as another breeze rolls in. He smiles in contentment when the air carries the sound of ducks quacking from their coop, and the smell of morning dew passing by. No more does the smell of fiery gunpowder graze his senses, and no sounds of bullets firing ringing in his ears.

He keeps his hat snug on his head, Clover runs by with her litter of puppies tugging along. And he feels you before you arrive by his side. A smile tugs on his lips, hand already reaching for your waist.

“What are you thinking about, cowboy?” You flutter your eyelashes, chin placed in his shoulder.

“That I have it good, too good.”

You give him a tender smile, leaning to kiss his jaw. “None of that. This isn't too good for you, you deserve all of this.”

“Too early to wallow, huh?” Hobie wraps his arm around your waist to pull you closer, and then he twists around to face you fully, back leaning on the fence, admiring you in the bitter blue of dawn.

You find penchants on his sternum, nose nuzzling his scar. “So fucking early.” He laughs, music to your ears.

“Hard to get used to, huh?”

“Kind of, it's a good feeling though, waking up.”

“You feel okay, right?” His palm pats your chest gently where a scar lies. “No breathlessness? Nothin'?”

You sniff at the cool wind, “nothing, I'm fine, Hobie.” You cup his cheek, jaw rounded at the edges, scruff tickling you, he looks as if time hasn't passed. “Nothing to worry about.” He leans towards your touch, fingers bracelet around your wrist gently, lips meeting your skin. “You okay?”

“Never better, love.” His green eyes twinkle, free arm pulling you impossibly closer. “Especially today.”

You tilt your head playfully. “What's today exactly?”

“Cheeky,” he pokes your side. “You know what day it is.”

You feign realization. “Ah! I remember now, Riri and the gang are coming over.”

“Yes, and?” He grins, biting his lower lip, jade eyes crinkling at the corners. Seeing the matching rings on your finger and his own makes him smile wider.

You suck in your teeth, acting like you're thinking. “It's Bucky's birthday?” Hobie rolls his eyes with a chuckle, and you finally relent. “I know what day it is.” You lean away, taking out a letter addressed to Hobie from your pocket. It's filled with affectionate words, loving thoughts and everything in between. It's a love letter just for him. “Happy anniversary, Hobs.”

Hobie's chest fills with a sense of belonging, heart full with his love for you. He keeps the letter in his coat pocket, right above his heart. “Happy anniversary, lovie.” He pulls you back, you giggle as your palm hits his chest, fingers snaking up to his nape to guide him towards your waiting lips.

“Forgot something, cowboy?” You say against his lips, and he nudges your nose with his own.

You feel something grazing against your chin, and when you flick your eyes down, you see a letter written in his hand, addressed to you. You tamp down your excitement, snatching the envelope, giving it a peck and tucking it inside your jean pocket.

“Never, read it together like always?” He pecks your warm lips once, then twice before indulging himself in your warmth.

“Yes,” you utter, breathlessly. “But inside, your tea, and the girls are waiting.”

Hobie chortles, kissing you again before reluctantly pulling away. “They're awake?”

“They smelt breakfast.” You inhale, letting his sandalwood and mint scent waft over you with ease. “If you hurry, there might still be some left for you.” You begin to walk away, hand grasping his palm.

“Alright, just one more then we'll go.” He pulls you back to his chest gently as you giggle atop his lips. He kisses you like he did all those years ago.

In the middle of nowhere, his story begins. And in the middle of nowhere, his story ends with you.

A/N: Thank you so much for sticking around this long! Our beloved cowboy is finally happy and at peace 🥺 If you loved reading OPIN please consider reblogging ❤️

[olivereactsaboutgarbage]

Higurashi When They Cry - Watanagashi Chapter 8

Time for the first of my four remaining daily posts this year!

When last we left our heroes, I think Toddler 01 was dead or something. I’m not sure because I’ve been in an eldritch coma for the last 7 and a half months.

Right now, Keiichi’s mom is telling him that he probably couldn’t sleep because he was excited. Actually, Keiichi’s big secret is that he was scared instead.

He’s high, Rena.

Mion is Missing! Wow, I was so right to put off reading this chapter for over half a year. What’s the point, if Mion is Missing!? Keiichi agrees, so he wants to will Mion into not being Missing! This actually works. Wow, Keiichi is actually the best character. If Higurashi didn’t have Mion in it, there’d be no point, so there’d be no point if Keiichi wasn’t in it.

Rena feels Mion’s forehead and Mion accuses Rena of having Cold Hands Disease. So true, Mion.

“14-year-olds are older than 13-year-olds, so 14-year-olds aren’t stupid” is such 13-year-old logic. Or however old these little fuckers are. It’s not like I’ve been keeping track.

Anyway, Keiichi gets assaulted and blames Toddler 01, but Toddler 01 reminds him that she couldn’t have done it because she died last chapter. So he blames his teacher instead. The one with pronouns. She says that he needs a beautiful face to match her beautiful pronouns.

Wow, Mion is just like L from Death Note. I think. I haven’t watched it.

That’s awesome! I love bits! I didn’t know Mion was a comedian.

She demonstrates her bit, which is just pantomiming alcoholism. Don’t quit your day job, Mion.

She also asks Keiichi whether or not the events of Chapter 7 occurred, and gets mad when he gets cagey. To be frank, I would be cagey too, since that was 7  and a half months ago. I’m on Keiichi’s side here, better not to make definitive statements about something you might not remember that well.

Um, no, Keiichi, your neck’s just hot. Lay off the illicit substances.

Even Rena could tell you’d done drugs.

Wait, has Toddler 02 always worn suspenders? Am I being Affected by Mandela?

Rena racks up some more Rena Points by belittling Toddler 01′s corpse. She also racks up some Detective Points by saying Mion and Keiichi clearly have the same disease. That’s right, Rena...! Call Keiichi out before he becomes a drug addict!

Keiichi is almost about to have a library scene, but then he abruptly has a telephone scene instead. Shion ensues.

god keiichi have a modicum of tact mayhaps

Anyway, it turns out that Shion and Mion aren’t even roommates.

foreshadowing for umineko

Keiichi is abruptly having a library scene instead of a telephone scene. Shion is ensuing.

Aww Keiichi don’t be that way, Shion is being Based for once in her miserable life.

The Successor

See, I knew Mion was incredibly special and great.

Also, it turns out the Sonozakis are the entirety of capitalism.

OOISHI JUMPSCARE

What? I thought Shion and Ooishi were bitter rivals... was that all in my head? Am I secretly too Keiichicore for my own good?

Shion unsues. That’s the opposite of ensuing.

Ooishi says that the Sonozakis are “yakuza, and also something else, wink wink, welp anyways goodbye”. Thanks Ooishi.

Keiichi decides to defend Mion’s honor. He really is the best character.

Even Ooishi knows Keiichi is going down a dark path of substance abuse...!

Keiichi is the only one who doesn’t know about it. How embarrassing for Keiichi. I wonder if there’s an even darker secret hidden behind this dark plot point.

OH MY GOD!!! Ooishi is a mecha being piloted by Mion! And Keiichi is trapped in a time loop!

OH GOD!!! He’s too huge! He’s going to bite Keiichi 87 times! And here I thought Mion would know better.

Keiichi is Based for this one. Just like Shion just now.

In fact, Shion probably wasn’t even in the room with us earlier.”

SILK HAT! CLOAK! WHITE ROSES!

Keiichi goes deaf and doesn’t notice it’s time for Ooishi to leave. “Oh, and one more thing,” Ooishi says. “I saw you do it.” Mion must have been watching Columbo. I guess that’s where she learned how to act like L from Death Note. I think. I haven’t watched Columbo either.

coup collab symbolism

I mean, um, sorry. Ignore the fact that I said something which doesn’t make any sense just now.

Ah, there’s a double-meaning here. Keiichi is going to spend this entire arc thinking Keiichi is the culprit! So quick Keiichi is to forget the entire scene earlier in this arc dedicated to how Keiichi isn’t the culprit.

Keiichi “uhhhhh mayyyybeeeee i mean uhhhhh who’s to say for sure y’know”

“It’s bad to ask questions. That’s why I’m going to ask a question.”

Shion finally reminds everyone that Camera and his girlfriend are the People Who Die In Higurashi. But wait, this time one of them was on fire and neither of them had vanished? Epic fail. They died all wrong this time. Shabby work hiding Camera’s girlfriend’s burned body, Culprit. You did better last time.

Oh, she also barely counted as wearing clothing. Well, that’s nice I guess.

Shion thinks this is actually a double feature where she and Keiichi will both be the ones who disappear. But if Keiichi just got cursed normally, who would be the bizarre outlier to make this year even more murderous than normal? I guess Toddler 01 could do it since she’s a zombie this time around.

Also, Hinamizawa has an anti-journalism field. How convenient for fiction writers. It’s like Blake Snyder said in Save the Cat! (I became cultured over the break period): “All stories, no matter what they’re about, should include an anti-journalism field. However, if they also include something else supernatural, that would be Double Mumbo Jumbo and bad writing, so Oyashiro’s curse needs to be a hoax.” Simply by the existence of a tragically doomed cat, this level of reasoning is possible for Olivia von Flamiel.

Anyways Keiichi blows up at Shion so she hangs up on him

don’t worry man it wasn’t as bad as last time

Keiichi gets a call from someone who’s not voice acted. Ah, so this is the Schrodinger’s Important Phone Call I forgot to mention his parents were waiting for: They were going to get a call from the living embodiment of sex. The embodiment of sex owns an old man, also. Kinky. Unless it’s Santa.

Meanwhile, in Side Story Land...

Oh, the embodiment of sex was actually also the embodiment of mayorhood. This is just like that collab I mentioned earlier and told everyone to forget about.

Oh, the embodiment of sex didn’t even embody sex at all. He was just pretending. He also didn’t embody mayorhood.

Also, the Mayor is Missing! Mion is aware of this. If Shion was aware of this, maybe Shion would have realized that Keiichi wasn’t going to go missing. Only Shion will go Missing!

Hmm... is Mion enacting a clever scheme? Like L from Death Note?

Well, I guess I’ll never know because I’m never going to watch Death Note. Just like how I’m never going to read One Piece. Goodbye everyone.

[blazc-ignitixn]

@blackextraction - plotted starter for Suoh!

Touya groaned, eyes struggling to open even though he was fully conscious by then. His head throbbed dully, no doubt from the blow that had knocked him out. He should have known better, criminals like those never fought fair. He almost wanted to laugh hysterically at the notion that those idiots' idea was to attack him in order to attract Enji's attention; as if the old man had ever given a damn abiut his oldest, Quirkless son.

Back on the current situation, he seemed to be lying down on something soft, although when he tried to get up he found that he couldn't, feeling metal dig into his wrists. Not so idiots then, they'd at least thought about restraining him. That was a problem.

"Damn it..." Touya cursed under his breath, wriggling his wrists to see if he could somehow slip free. Nope, no such luck. Damn. Now what?