#same face syndrome is killing me but i let it slide just this once

[mus-xpart-a]

But who are you two inside my heart?

We are the hope that people might understand each other.

And say the words "I love you"

[windblooms]

childe scenario – after the golden house

you, an ex-fatui executive, decide against your better judgment and tend to the wounds of the near-dead 11th harbinger following his duel at the golden house.  spoilers for the 1.1 archon quest.

gender-neutral reader.  enemies to lovers  soft spot syndrome.  sfw, but contains mentions of blood/injury.  also childe briefly in foul legacy armor.  canon-divergence.  2669 words (nice).  

with the fatui’s nails so deep into the city, staying in liyue probably wasn’t your brightest idea in retrospect.  

you blame your sentimentality of liyue on the exact same thing that caused you to leave the fatui in the first place: wanting to live without fear.  while the fatui treated you well enough, as you were considerably efficient in your ranks, being part of a partially underground, partially illegal business wasn’t exactly the most liberating practice either.  it didn’t take long for you to realize that, behind their scheming and pretenses of fair economics, the fatui would have their underlings wound so incredibly tight around their fingers that their violent tasks would rapidly become suffocating. 

that is, once you were in the fatui, getting out would be akin to scaling qingyun peak with one arm tied behind your back.

the only reason you were able to?  because you ran.  you were desperate for a new life, sure, but also you weren’t below realizing when something was out of the question.  it took a few months to shake them off your trail, having to move constantly between fontaine and mondstadt, but you finally settled in liyue.

it was a quiet, peaceful city.  the governing body was fair enough with its jurisdictions, and after a year of hiding, you were able to enjoy the lantern rite festival without fear.

that is, until the northland bank sat its obnoxious ass down the street.

archons, really, once you found a place you thought was safe enough, you’d have to start moving again.  initially, you reasoned that it had been over a year, and that the fatui surely wouldn’t go hunting for a runaway executive.  hell, you weren’t even that high on the ladder.  however, a few run-ins with scaramouche and pulcinella had left you paranoid enough that, if they spotted you, they would surely put an end to your traitorism. 

honestly, you should’ve ratted them out to the knights of favonius while you were in mondstadt.  make a quick bargain, have jean toss a few coins your way, and you would be set.  it would’ve definitely been worth the trouble, now with the knowledge that the fatui were your neighbors.  

now, there’s no time to dwell on what you could’ve done.  it’s either run again, or hold your ground right under the fatui’s nose.  you might, sort of, maybe, probably do not have the funds to move for the third time in a row, but maybe counting couldn’t hurt –

no, yeah, it hurts, you grimace as you slide the coin bag back in your bedside drawer.  outside, it’s dark, and the sky seems a bit more disturbed than usual.  it isn’t usually overcast in liyue, and the blue lightning does nothing to quell your unease.  the streets are also empty, but lights illuminate each building.

from your window, a quick glance towards the northland bank reveals to you that it is uncharacteristically dark.  no lanterns, no lights.  you frown, troubled that the individuals you were so alert to monitoring, had a lifeless stronghold.  not typical of them at all. 

so, you decide while your long-time enemies are plotting (or whatever they’re doing that prompts them to close an entire bank for), now might be the best time to potentially make a run for it, light coin bag be damned.

hastily, you rid your apartment of personal belongings by unceremoniously shoving them into your bag.  if it’s one thing you were grateful for in this world, it’s archon magic.  you don’t fuss over the science behind it, but whatever made your bag feel like a bottomless pit was an actual life-saver.  packing is extremely efficient with it, and in less than fifteen minutes, you’re ready to go.

all that’s left is to write a thank-you note to the liyuen couple who let you stay while their son was out exorcising.  at the time, they assured you that you would be no trouble for you to take up a guest room, but nonetheless you tried to pay them with whatever you had left over after commissions.

you grab a writing utensil, still feeling a bit rude to leave on such short notice, and swear to yourself that you’ll visit in the future.  for good measure (after sullenly looking into your coin bag), you leave an acceptable(-ish) amount of mora on your former bed.

all right.  now, time to leave, with your foot out the door and wind scratching at your face, as if the odd overhead weather wasn’t already an omen.

you’re barely past liyue harbor, headed towards the luhua pools, when a comet shoots above you past mount tianheng.  no, not a comet, you realize as it dips from the sky, headed for landfall around a kilometer away.  a comet of water?

if a dead northland bank wasn’t the nail in the coffin, this surely is.  you’ve been around enough in the fatui to know that whatever fell from the sky has to be the work of a vision user, or some more powerful being.  turning towards where you estimate to be the crash site, you weigh your options.  you’re already outside of the city, and the fatui are probably preoccupied.  you can manage a detour for now and inspect the hydro-apparition.  regardless, you deem that the farther away you are from the water you are, the safer you might be from what’s about to happen – you look back towards liyue harbor, and nearly shudder at the rising tide and choppy waves. 

after about fifteen minutes of walking in the rain, you find yourself between the slope of the dunyu ruins and mount tianheng.  it’s vacant, save for the weathered ruins, and a sizable crater meters wide.  cautiously, you approach the edge, summoning your sword with one hand and conjuring your vision in the other.  you’re not going to let curiosity kill the cat, especially not if this turns out to be a prank by the archons.

in the center of the mess is, well, another mess.  you blink a few times, wary, as you discern that an individual lies in the rubble.  they’re actually conscious, you soon find out, as they righten themselves from the fetal position into a kneel, supporting their body weight with their arms.  their body is covered head-to-foot in dark, purple armor, and a red mask with a broken, center orb gleams faintly in the night.

it is only when you the individual looks up at you, straight at your head, do you realize that you should not be here this was a bad idea –

and then they collapse.

“shit,” you murmur to yourself, vision still pulsing in your palm, which has become increasingly sweaty.  you step back from the edge as an orb of water surrounds the armored-being, encasing him like a cocoon, before dissipating to reveal a much more vulnerable, tired man underneath.  his hair is matted to his face from the rain, yet a much smaller mask rests on his eyes; his clothes are somewhat torn (you suspect that whatever had happened, his armor absorbed most of the damage), and you can very faintly see his chest heave. 

but, ah, speaking of his clothes,

they were the colors of the fatui.

“no, no, bad idea,” you tell yourself over and over again, sword put away yet vision still bouncing in your hands.  you walk away from the crater briefly, before walking towards it again, peaking down to check on the fallen man, and then scamper back.  the whole idea was to run away, not go straight to them, as if you had managed to doom yourself after all.  

pacing back and forth, you contemplate for another minute.  he’s clearly injured, with how he’s laying on the ground and not moving, so the nice, not-so-hardened part of you wants to help him.  if he was a regular civilian, surely you’d already be down there and trying to take him back to liyue and patch him up, but he’s with the enemy.  no way someone who can transform into armor is just an underling, so he’s probably someone exceptionally powerful –

“i see you,” a voice comes from the crater, and your vision nearly explodes in your hands from your nerves.  summoning your sword quicker than you ever have in your life, you steel yourself towards the bottom of the crater.

except, he’s not holding a weapon to your face, or threatening to skewer you into a million pieces.  except, he’s not scowling at you, or demanding you assist him at once before he blows something up.

instead, he’s on his knees.  looking up at you with the desperation of a man completely robbed, crippled from something he can’t speak of yet wants to scream about.  his eyes, now free from the mask, pierce into you with a vividness that could rival the richest hues of luhua, and archons damn it do you melt. 

you melt, and realize you should run away.  you melt, all while cursing yourself, that this man might not be so kind as to spare you in the future, when he’s back at his full health.  you melt, thinking that, well, you haven’t seen him before, so maybe he doesn’t know who you are either.  you melt, even as you extinguish your vision and put away your sword, and slide to the bottom of the crater to lug his limp body back to the top, to the shelter of the ruins, and rummage through your bag for medicine.

he hasn’t said anything for the past ten minutes, and you’re thankful that there’s finally someone from the fatui who can keep their mouth shut, even if this is half-beaten to death.  “you’re not dying on me,” you insist, as if your words could will him back to full consciousness.  “not when i’m risking my life for someone like you.”

as you work on bandaging his arm, out of the corner of your eye you swear you see his mouth twitch.  is he trying to speak?  no, you want some silence for a bit longer, but pause as you notice a gash on his torso.

“this is medically consensual, okay?”  you wait two seconds to see if he objects, before unbuttoning the lower part of his coat and applying pressure on the wound.  the blood has soaked through his clothes, and just as eagerly, seeps into the cloth you’re shoving against it.  the man stirs as you continue to clean his wounds, and when his eyes open, you’re too preoccupied with your short supply of towels to notice.

when you’re aware of a gaze on you, however, you turn towards him with a hardened face.  you already know what you’re going to say.  even if he doesn’t know who you are, you’re going to make it clear that, for your own satisfaction, you won’t help him back to liyue and he’ll have to make the walk himself.

“you were out there,” you say simply, motioning towards the crater with a nod of your head.  “i’ll patch you up, but you’ll have to get further help yourself.”

the man with eyes of the deep regards you, but you busy yourself by applying gauze.  he’s propped up against a pillar, and you’re crouching at his side.  when you’re about finished, only then do you meet his eyes.

he beats you to whatever you’re about to say.  “i didn’t think,” he starts, and you’re already frowning, “that you’d come back.”

ah, referencing when you practically left him in the crater.  his words are vague enough when he says that you ‘came back’ that you aren’t too tense, and you indulge him in a bit of silence before responding.  “not like i’m used to rescuing people who fall from the sky.”

despite his injuries, the man manages a laugh.  he seems almost flustered at your statement, although you can’t understand why.  underneath his soaked bangs, his eyebrows rise, and he seems almost . . . nervous?  you can’t possibly fathom as to why, but dismiss your curiosity.  the more small talk he coerces you into, the longer you’ll spend with him.

you finish sealing the gauze, tossing the roll back into your bag before commanding it to disappear.  blood has soaked into the ground at his sides, also you’re sure that it’ll was away with time.  you’re about to stand up, satisfied with your good-samaritan duties for the day, when he stops you by locking his fingers around your wrist.

he’s in the middle of saying something, but you refuse to let him, drawing your sword and pointing it directly at his throat, his mouth agape as he releases his hold on you.  you consider each other, and when you’re certain you have the upper hand, you draw your line.

you spit the words like venom.  “do not touch me, fatui.  i’ve done what i can for you, and you won’t be getting anything else from me.”

your blade doesn’t lower from his form, and as you stand above him, you regard his hands, as if he might summon his own weapons in an instant.  if he’s smart (which you think he is yet simultaneously pray he isn’t), he’s probably plotting how to get out of your sword’s reach.  you’re not going to let him, after you’ve been so self-sacrificing, putting your life on the line for someone affiliated with the organization that suffocated the life out of you.

a tilt of the head, yet silence from his mouth.  he seems surprised that, while you allowed him to laugh mere moments earlier, you’re now pointing your weapon at him, although something in the ease of his facial features tells you that he’s not concerned in the slightest.

“i wanted to say thank you,” he breathes finally, and you look as if he’d just punched you in the gut.  “being in your position probably isn’t easy, and i’m the last one you wanted to see, but you still . . . ”

fuck, no, not this.  you don’t know if he’s a prophet, if he knows who you really are, or the ‘i’m on the run’ stamp on your forehead is that obvious, but you aren’t going to fall for the fatui’s words.  your fists clench, and you once more prepare to denounce his organization,

and you’re disarmed in an instant, sword thrown to the side and fingers restricted by his larger grasp.  archons, you couldn’t even see him move, what a deceptive bastard, feigning injury –

“stop,” he hushes, and despite your fury you register it as a plea, not a command.  the man repeats himself, before continuing,  “we won’t haunt you any more; i’ll make sure of it.”

five seconds, then ten.  you had determined that his grip was too strong to break free of, and are left in no position to move unless he releases you.  he holds your gaze without a hint of malice, even though you try your hardest to find any in his eyes.  

when he does let go of you, fingers skimming past your flesh, you run faster than you ever have before.

you run, past the ruins, past the harbor, and until you can’t see liyue behind you any more.  you run, unable to see a palace fall from the sky and crash into the ocean, and until you’re surrounded by mountains and there’s not a ginkgo tree in sight.  you run, unsure if his words are true, but certain that he knows who you are.

you won’t trust him.  as you lay on the ground, wheezing to catch the air that’s left your lungs, you once again swear to yourself that you can’t trust the words of the fatui.  

as the northland bank lights ignite themselves in welcome of its master, childe presses a hand to his bandaged torso.  a spark of your vision lingers between his fingers, and he observes it before it disappears.

he’s already hurt enough people.  he heads to the second floor, and erases your name from the fatui files. 

[starconsumer444]

Sakusa Kiyoomi (18+)

A/N: This is actually like??? Fucked up, but it’s stated that I write dark content (in my pinned), even then, I know it may still come as a shock to some people?? So, it’s only fair warning if I put this disclaimer here telling you its !!MESSED UP!! You’ll come to find out later on that this is fairly on brand for me tho...so yeah. I had fun writing this even though I’m sure the proofreading on this is jackshit.

(CW/TW: Yandere!Sakusa, “Master” as a Name You Call Him, Kidnapping, Semi-Stockholm Syndrome, Abuse, Implied Non-con, GN!Reader, Belting, Degradation, Being Forced To Wear A Maid Dress Regardless Of Gender [Forced Feminization??], Implied Enforced Line of Sight [Sakusa Doesn’t Typically Let You Look Him In The Eye], Abuse, A Knife [Wielded with... Murderous Intent], Lots Of Crying, Literal Drowning, Please tell me if I missed something...)

A rush of hot panic runs through your body as you hear the locks on the front door clicking open. You want to run, but it’s like your feet are cemented to the polished ceramic floor in front of the sink where you stand. 

You still have so many unwashed dishes. The water still runs when it should’ve been done well before he got here, like it typically is. It sounds so loud along with your heart beat in your ears and the shutting of the front doors. You know you're in trouble-- know there’s no way out of it and still you press on in hopes that maybe he’ll have mercy when he see’s you trying to be good. You know it’s no use though, it’s always been no use.

You should be waiting for him by the door, on your hands and knees, but you’re not. You’re pathetic, tears starting to stream down your face as you anxiously scrub away at a sullied plate from last night.

He let you off the hook last time, he’s not going to do it again, you know. But you can’t do this anymore, you want to go home. You want to go home so bad.

You grab a large carver knife from the drying rack as you hear his footsteps behind you. You’re done with this; you’ve been trapped in this hellhole with him long enough. It’s time that you free yourself.

You’ve told yourself that so many times before.

“Can’t do simple tasks?” He sounds so close; dangerously close. You turn around to find that he is.

You hold the knife flat to your chest, or rather the fabric of your French maid outfit that he forces you to wear around the house when you're busy. His face is indifferent-- annoyed actually. 

“You get one chance.” He huffs out. “Put the knife down now and I won’t factor that into your punishment.” His speech is slow, careful, like he’s talking to a child.

“You’re gonna hurt me,” You try to stable your voice, wiping away your still falling tears with one shaky hand and pointing the tip of the knife at your kidnapper. He only steps forward, caging you in between him and the sink, tip of the knife pressed to his chest. “Sakusa, please-” You say as he reaches behind you to turn the tap off, and you recoil out of habit. 

“What did you just call me?” He stares down at you and you can only look down at the knife between you and him.

“I’m sorry, master.”

“Put the knife down.” He grabs your jaw with savage strength, pulling you onto the tips of your toes. Still you don’t let go of the knife, tip now pointed at his sternum. “Drop it.”

You shake your head as best you can, eye’s meeting his for the first time in a while, this can be your way out. It’s been months of his senseless torture. Days on end without eating, violating your body over and over, watching you shower, making you clean everything the way he likes it...you can’t stand it anymore. If you have to smell bleach for one more day, you’ll be sick. You can’t do it. Your body is worn out and you know you can’t fight him, but you have to try, right?   

“Fine,” He throws your frail form away from him, effectively slamming your backside into the sink counter. “Stab me. Do it. Now.”

Your tears start to fall harder now, blurring your vision. You don’t bother wiping them though, you just reach behind you to sooth your lower back as your knees hit the ground with a painful thump. Your curl into yourself, body wracking with sobs, as you hold up the knife to offer it to him. You know he’s unaffected by your show, he’s probably looking at you with that same avidly disinterested gaze he always does, as he watches you crying into the skirt of your dress. You can’t help it though, defeat and shame run through your body like fire.

You feel him slide the knife out of your hand, and the sound of it clattering into the sink reasonates, bringing on a new type of heartbreak.

Why did you give up? This could’ve been your chance? Your chance to kill him. To run away and never look back. Why did you give up? Do you hate yourself?

You don’t bother trying to fight it when he drags you up by your hair, telling you how stupid and useless you are. You can hear the faucet running again and you can feel him jerk your head back uncomfortably.

“Where were you planning on going?” He prods in all his sick glory. “We’ve watched the news together, they’re not looking for you.” He says as he pulls you backwards under the flow of the water. You weren't going to answer anyway.

You thrash about violently and you feel him press his torso against you. At the very least you want your feet on the floor, but with the way he’s holding you it’s impossible. And he must’ve put the stopper in because you stupidly gasp for air and catch nothing but water in your mouth, too urgent to notice the water coming above your face. Now you’re choking underneath him with no escape, you’re desperate and trying your hardest to pull yourself out of his grip. He’s always been too strong for you.

You kick at him, try to scream, try to bring your head up from such an uncomfortable angle...everything. It’s all useless. You feel him latch onto your throat to hold you under even tighter and all you can manage to do while you flail about is dig your nails into his forearm.

Your lungs are burning, your stomachs empty, you’re stuck here, why are you fighting? What is there to fight for?

He holds you under for about a minute, barely even struggling against your incessant kicking and scratching. When he cuts off the water and finally drags you up, you’re coughing up water until you dry heave, falling forward once more when he lets your hair loose.

You fall on all fours in front of him, lightheaded and swearing to yourself that you’re gonna vomit. Nothing ever comes up, and for that you’re thankful. Stomach acid on his floor would’ve angered him more and you know it. You try to crawl away, to catch your breath, hoping that this is all over. He just drags you back by your ankles, telling you to stay on your hands and knees, and pushing up your dress to reveal your underwear.

“No one wants a dumbass like you, don’t you get it?”

You know.

“This is where you belong.” You can hear the jingle if his belt coming undone. “You’re not a bad housekeeper, it’s just times like this.” He sounds so far away, like he’s not destroying you more and more the longer this goes on.

“I give a worthless fuck like you, who doesn’t wake up on time to do simple tasks, purpose and you want to stab me?” He chuckles to himself. “Pull your underwear down.”

You comply, moving one shaking hand back to pull them down with several hesitant jerks filled with urgency.

“I fuck you, I feed you, I give you a roof over your head...everything... I give you something to do with your pathetic life and you want to run...” You know not to say a word back. “You can’t even wake up on time to get your work done before I get here and you think you can run?!” He laughs darkly before you feel a sharp stinging pain travel across your ass accompanied by a loud cracking sound.

The belt sends your body forward in pure agony. You don’t even scream, just let out an open mouthed whimper and move back into place for him to lash you again. You deserve it.

You can hear him snicker evilly at your submissive display.

“Count.” He demands.

“One.” You whine.

THWACK

“Two.”

THWACK

“Three.” And tears start to fall.

You reach twenty and by then you’re flat, faced down on the ground, begging for his mercy.

“Please, master,” You inhale, trembling from his harsh mistreatment. You’re sure you have bruising welts on your ass, and its going to hurt to sit. You just want him to stop. “I’m sorry. I’ll learn to do everything on time. Please just don’t hurt me anymore.”

Begging has never once worked on him.

THWACK

“Twenty-one” This time you scream and drag your aching body away from him using your forearms. Tears and snot stream down your face in a miserable display of defeat.

He relents. You know its over when you crawl over to him, not even bothering with your underwear (instead opting to kick them off), and hug his leg. Your body is quaking and you’re still begging for him to have mercy on you for whatever reason. You know he’s done.

You don’t even notice you're getting tears and snot all over his pants as you beg and beg for him to be kind to you. He just kicks you off of him, not caring to hear whatever you’ve got to say for yourself. You lean back into a cold cabinet door, hugging your knees to your chest silently. 

“Clean up. When you’re done, take a shower and don’t come out of you're room for the rest of the day. I don’t want to see or hear you. Do I make myself clear?” He looms over you like the devil himself and you know to look at his feet.

“Yes, Master.”

[onebizarrekai]

undeniable proof that shuichi and kokichi were gay in v3

prepare yourself for the most big brain thing that has ever bigged your brain

chapter 1

shuichi saihara spends this chapter following kaede around because they were just trapped in a godforsaken killing game and everything seems to suck. when faced with a situation such as this, the natural inclination is to either find someone to latch onto or to distrust and stick to oneself. shuichi does the former because he is a twiggy little man who would probably die in a fight before anyone even attacked him.

what is kokichi doing in this chapter? sticking to himself? stalking someone? that is the real question. nobody knows what he is doing because he is not the protagonist and not the obligatory party companion. however, since v3 follows a theme of fiction, it is totally logical to believe that some system must be in place, but kokichi is not bound by such a system because kokichi represents anarchy.

he does not stick with another for all to see, nor does he remain alone. alas, he searches for a secret companion and has not found one yet. who shall he find? shall he find any? the truth is, he gravitates towards shuichi. it’s supposed to be in secret, but there is a way in the game to see what really happened.

if you speak to tsumugi right before everyone is asked to gather at the cafeteria a second time, she mentions sonic the hedgehog. kokichi runs by, saying “got to go fast”. this means that kokichi has either played sonic the hedgehog or is at least well-versed in sonic memes. if you get this dialogue, and only if you get it, later, kokichi makes another sonic reference, saying “faker? I think you’re the fake hedgehog around here!” while he confuses everyone, the dialogue makes the odd choice of stopping on shuichi, even though the dialogue box only includes “…” and nothing else.

chapter 2

if you have unlocked tsumugi’s sonic dialogue and go to the monomono machine, you now have a 5% chance of getting sonic merchandise. if you give this merchandise to kokichi, you get some interesting dialogue. he says “wow, shuichi! how did you know that I grew up playing sonic and that it’s my absolute favorite video game series of all time?” this immediately maxes out all 5 of his friendship fragments, and you can get all 5 of his hangouts without giving him any more presents. you’re probably wondering why this is important, but you will see.

as kaede is now dead, shuichi finds himself horribly alone. while kaito is there and starts calling him his sidekick, the force of protagonist syndrome has caused shuichi to gain the courage to hang out with anyone, including kokichi of course. I don’t need to talk about kokichi’s hangouts. they literally end with “I stole your heart, so now I’m satisfied!” and it doesn’t get gayer than that.

or does it?

if you investigate the bathroom part of ryoma’s lab during this chapter and click on a very specific spot in order to enter one of the stalls, you can click on the toilet 5 times and shuichi will lie down on the floor. while it’s to investigate the underside of the toilet, and there is nothing to be found, the words “kokichi was here” are written on the ceiling above the stall. if you’ve already hung out with kokichi at least once in this chapter, shuichi will sigh and wonder what kokichi is doing right now.

if you’ve given kokichi the sonic merchandise, and you reach kokichi’s final free time event in this chapter, he will actually question shuichi after he finishes bandaging kokichi’s finger up, briefly commenting on how shuichi managed to get close to him so quickly and asking him “what his trick is”. he says “you must like me a whole lot, shuichi. I hope you don’t bail on me after this.” word for word, literally just hear me out.

“kokichi places his warm hand on mine, and I feel like he’s prying much deeper than he usually does.”

“I didn’t think that was possible…”

chapter 3

little did you know, giving kokichi the sonic merchandise unlocked a bonus hangout. yes, you heard me right. a WHOLE bonus hangout. you can hang out with him again whenever you want in this chapter. kokichi only says “good to see you.” you can select yes or no.

the screen will fade to black.

you have used up a free time.

if you have reached this hidden part of kokichi’s relationship sequence, random dialogue that isn’t in the normal game starts getting sprinkled in, as well as certain easter eggs. when angie starts her whole shtick, since you’ve already hung out with kokichi 5 times, there are a few things he has to say straight up, like how he’s going to teach shuichi about cults so shuichi doesn’t accidentally join the student council.

chapter 4

now that you’ve finally reached chapter 4 and activated the secret kokichi pathway, you get a hidden scene, much like the others that are triggered by having specific items in your inventory. in the middle of the night, kokichi breaks into shuichi’s room and shakes him awake, telling him that someone stole his almond milk.

shuichi tells kokichi to shut up and rolls over.

fun fact, if you get the hangout with miu where she checks whether shuichi is a virgin, she does, in fact, say “ha, I can’t believe this!” and if you zoom in the window behind her, you can barely make out kokichi’s face. peering in. watching you. if you click on him at any point during this hangout, you will hear a voice clip of kokichi’s laugh and shuichi will internally respond to miu’s dialogue differently. he will think “miu is the last person I need to know about this…”

in this sonic dialogue route, shuichi responds slightly differently to kokichi revealing that he is the mastermind. although his dialogue is mostly the same, he counts approximately 22 extra crying sprites, implied to be caused by additional heartbreak.

chapter 5-6

these chapters play out mostly the same way until the very end, the only exception being when you’re investigating kokichi’s lab. if you click on kokichi’s throne 13 times, one of the bookshelves will slide out of the way to reveal a hidden bathroom. there is an envelope taped to the wall that says “for my beloved detective, who habitually smacks things over and over.” it says “if you’re reading this, I’m probably dead. or am I? wouldn’t you like to know? nishishi.” shuichi comments about the fact that kokichi literally wrote that stupid laugh out, only to start crying again.

make sure that you have kind lie equipped as one of your skills before you start the final trial.

if you’ve done everything exactly according to plan up to this point, the ending is different.

tsumugi decides to show kokichi’s audition tape instead of kaede’s. he says “I’d love to be a part of danganronpa! I can finally be a bad guy without being scared!” but then kokichi looks directly at the camera. he says “naw, just messing with you. guess who?”

the screen cracks.

kokichi has suddenly entered the scene of the trial. tsumugi looks horrified. her wig falls off. everyone is at a loss for words. suddenly the screens and lights around them start to black out until everyone is left in almost complete darkness.

shuichi finally asks kokichi how he’s alive. he’s like, “you DIED” and kokichi is like “or did I? it’s the grand finale, shuichi! I owe you the truth this one time, because you’re my favorite.” everyone listens intently. “you see, by observing your irrational actions, almost like that of a main character… I was able to conclude that we exist in a fictional world that plays by certain rules. but we all been knew, didn’t we? not quite! someone forgot to test for exploits.” himiko just goes like “what the fuck you smokin?” and kokichi just laughs. “my self awareness has given me more power than you can possibly imagine! let’s just say I learned where the hit boxes are broken and installed a few cheat codes in the meantime!”

“no… that’s impossible! this isn’t supposed to be part of the ending at all!” tsumugi doesn’t like that one bit. she just kinda breaks down crying. shuichi isn’t paying attention to her though. he had accepted oblivion only to be greeted with kokichi being alive. as annoying as kokichi is, they are hopelessly in love. maki is a little disturbed.

after passionately reuniting with shuichi, kokichi says the thing. “this world is mine now, tsumugi! you got nothin on this! it’s time to say goodbye to this trash dump and create a new reality!” tsumugi just kinda goes like “noooo!!!”

everything goes black. shuichi has a vision about entering creative mode. kokichi has opped him. they take hands. “let’s create someplace way more fun.” maki and himiko and keebo look at each other because they’re floating in the background and watching this happen even though it’s supposed to be an internal vision. the screen goes white.

shuichi graces us with some internal protagonist dialogue about how he doesn’t really understand what’s happening anymore or what’s waiting for them outside of this world, but he thinks that things might turn out ok.

after unlocking this ending, you unlock a super secret video that you can view from the main menu. it’s a fully animated video of kokichi and dice dancing to world is mine. this is what they spent all their budget on

[animeyanderelover]

This one wanted to be kept anonymous and what is asked shall be done.

Request: Can you please do Prompt 72 for Claude Faustus?

Tw: Yandere themes, unhealthy mindset, unhealthy relationship, possessiveness, obsessiveness, overprotectiveness, kidnapping, sabotage, manipulation, teasing

Prompt 72: “Do you want your underwear back?”

You hated approaching that man, you hated being with him, no matter how hard he might try to change your mind. Being stuck with someone who wasn't even a human was really everything, but pleasant. Being completely isolated in a cottage you weren't allowed to leave was unpleasant. And the trues cherry on top of everything was his personality, rge unbelievable confidence he seemed to have in himself that he would get you to love him and all the teasing and provoking just to get his sadistic fun out of it.

His methods were rather simple, but smart and effective nevertheless. Whenever you were ignoring him, he did something to leave you with no choice but to seek for him. As much as you hated admitting it, he was the one who took care of you, meaning that without him you wouldn't be provided with the basic needs a human needed daily for living. Because you knew from previous experiences that as much as he chose to be lenient, Claude got quickly annoyed and was ready to punish you when you made him snap which didn't end always well. It wasn't like he hurt you physically, but he very much always showed you that he was the one in power and the one you would have to rely on for everything. Clearing this up hurt your pride more than anything else and you just knew that he wanted to embarrass you by having you admitting it.

Making you come to him, having you pleading him to help you had to be the most shameful for you to do, having to do what he wanted just so you would also get what you wanted. It wasn't good for your own self-esteem and knowing Claude, he did everything on purpose so this would happen. Your guess was to feed his ego a bit by knowing that you had to come to him when you needed help.

He probably intended to push you into developing Stockholm syndrome and forcing you to think that he was all you needed, you had figured out that his kind seemed to be more possessive over persons they had chosen as their "mates".

If you remembered right one of your friends had once told you that it was her dark fantasy to have someone going after her who would be ready to kill for her, everyone seemed to like this thought of having someone loving them who would do anything for the person of desire. And back then you might have even wanted the same, but now you could have beaten your ounger self up for thinking about this. People only knew better after having witnessed certain things, same counting for you. You were alone, helpless, left at the mercy of your captor.

You were in no condition to look in those golden eyes, not wanting to see the same amused and pleased look from all of this. No, absolutely not. But even without looking up, you felt those eyes sliding over your body, causing goosebumps to start coverin your whole body and your face to burn up, knowing what would await you in your nearest future.

It was all his fault, he had done it once again on purpose, you knew it had to be true. Why else would his eyes linger a bit longer on the place between your legs that currently was at it's most vulnerable, unprotected which added a new kind of shame to all of this? He must have done it, there was no other explanation.

"You seem to feel tonight a bit more bold than usual, don't you think so?", he asked, the slight amusement in his voice all too audible which had you boiling even more. How much you would have died to just smash him in his face to feel satisfaction. But it would only be for a few seconds before you might agitate Claude and making him angry was not a good idea, not in the least bit. Especially now that you were left so exposed.

"Claude...Where is my underwear?", you pressed out, eyes still trained on the wooden floor under your feet, not a single scratch or trace of dust on it. That you had to give Claude, he made sure that the house always stayed in top shape. What had he said once before? A pretty house for his pretty made? Something in that direction.

Black and polished shoes entered your vision, the sudden closeness causing your skin to crawl and make you stumble frightened a few feet back, not having sensed his fast approach. A short huff of air was heard from him, sounding like he was a bit annoyed and yet entertained by this small act of yours, making you bite angrily your tongue. Making yourself look like a fool wasn't what you planned on doing whilst being with him. It gave him only more stuff to irritate you with.

"(y/n)...I thought we already talked about this. You have to look someone in the eyes when you want something from them. Otherwise I'm afraid I won't be able to help you and you know I will gladly do anything for you if you would just let me. If you just wouldn't be that incorrigible."

Ah yes, that shit again. Your manners and the tantrums you sometimes threw about the situations you were stuck in, the disapproving looks from Claude whenever you acted out of the place, the constant lecturing that came afterwards. He really came in such scenarios over as a butler who wanted to make sure that others were behaving like they should be and scolding them if they didn't. It put you always down whenever he pointed those things out, you knew you weren't perfect and him rubbing it constantly under your nose wasn't helpful. It led you to such moments where you just felt like you were under average, reaching your lower points.

It was no reason to give up nor was it an excuse to stop fighting, especially since the butler planned on making you feel that way, to slowly break you. Still, he was currently the only person you were able to see, meaning there was no one to cheer you up, no one to tell you otherwise. You were all on your own with the only source of comfort being the golden-eyed man. And there were those times where you questioned if giving up your pride was the better and less painful option and indeed just giving in would make your life easier. The moments where you became all too aware of the one and only fact. That a human wouldn't be able to beat a demon, at least not a human like you.

This was one of those moments where you felt like a fly trapped in the web of the spider and where the only option was pleading and hoping he would choose to be lenient with you. "Just standing there and not saying anything won't help you nor can I help you when you are like this. If you don't have anything to say, please go back to bed. It's pretty late and I have to leave tomorrow morning early to work in the manor of my master."

He didn't sound happy whilst saying it, you knew that he didn't really like how his master was constantly bossing him around and on some days he complained for a few seconds about what a brat that boy really was, even more when because of him Claude had to be kept busy which meant leaving you longer alone.

You were stuck in denial, not thinking it would be good to do as he said. Not letting having it the way he wanted it to go was important for your own sanity, to prevent you from getting caught in his trap and grow over time too dependent on him. But you also could estimate what would happen afterwards. He would take something else from you away to push you into having to ask him once again and he would continue this for as long as he had the patience. That meant for you more and more embarrassment and hurt. Was that what you wanted? Or should you just go with the easy option to keep the damage as small as possible and live with this scratch on your pride?

You heard his footsteps slowly fading more and more away from you telling you that he was leaving you in your frozen state behind. Why wouldn't he? He had the time and the power to do so. Claude knew that the one way or another you would have to come to him and it was what allowed him to have confidence. This luxury was sadly only open for him whilst you were only allowed to live a good life for as long as he was pleased with how you acted. It was cruelly unfair, but you knew that this was how life was. The one in power and the one at the bottom.

"Wait.", you called faintly after him, making him stop, golden eyes being met with yours, the look in them being comparible with being tired and done with something. You looked leached out, your pride already having taking so many blows before and every time it became harder to fix the damage and pain he put you through like this. Maybe there would come a time where you would have to give up indeed, you doubted that anyone would be able to stay strong whilst suffering from this. But maybe you were wrong and there were people out there who would be able to stand their ground. And maybe you just weren't this person.

"Claude...My underwear.", you slowly muttered out, forcing your gaze to not waver too much and stay on him, knowing you would have to repeat it again if you would look away. And that would mean more poison for you to swallow.

"Do you want your underwear back?", he asked with a silk-like voice, smoothly walking with a few huge steps over to you to take a better look at your current state. How wonderful, he felt extremely satisfied in that one moment. You were slowly being stripped off your stubborness to accept him, instead starting to to him when you needed something. Just two months ago you wouldn't have even thought in your wildest dreams to ask him for help. It just told him that you were slowly breaking, were getting exhausted from all of this.

"Yes. Please.", you said in a more quiet voice, now that he was being so close to you again you felt your gaze shifting somewhere completely else, still not being able to shake the drilling look of him off. Hopefully he wouldn't force you to ask him once again.

"See? This wasn't as hard after all wasn't it?" His voice was laced with a certain sweetness in it, leaving you with a bitter stinging in your heart. That was not true at all. You had just now sacrificed a part of your own confidence. Not like he would care. And not like you would tell him that. You didn't feel in the mood to do so and now it would be dangerous to do so, whilst you felt so incredibly small and helpless. It would be too easy for him to get in your head.

Instead of answering you let out a noise akin to a gentle hum, making yourself a bit smaller, feeling a bit intimidated by the way he was towering over you. Claude seemed to take notice of this and to your surprise he was suddenly kneeling in front of you, although you had almost bet he would push your buttons a bit more right now. But maybe he didn't feel in the mood to be that way, not after you had for the first time ever finally broken a bit in front of him.

With his own face suddenly so close to his, you had no other place to avoid those golden eyes, scanning slowly over your embarrassed and ashamed expression. "You don't have to be scared of me. You know that I wouldn't hurt you. I'm not lowlife like other creatures you might have met."

"Then why do you do this to me?", you stuttered out, by now feeling your eyes tearing up. "Because I only want the best for you. I know how to treat you good, better than anyone else. And all I try to do is helping you to realize this. It would make life easier for you too. I just want you to trust me."

[navegandoaciegas]

Little doll

Pairing: dark!Bucky Barnes x Reader

Warnings: stockholm syndrome, manipulation, controlling!Bucky, unhealthy relationship, mentions of violence in the past (no graphic description), smut, vaginal sex, oral sex (both male and female receiving), vaginal and anal fingering, slight praise kink.

Summary: You used to be a strong-willed independent woman, but after a whole lot of training, you’ve finally become Bucky’s perfect little doll for him to own, love and take care of. 

A/N: I had this idea in mind today and wrote this in a couple of hours for @jtargaryen18​ ‘s 4k writing challenge. Congrats! I hope it’s decent lmfao 

There is no graphic violence or non-con in this story, but it’s stated/hinted pretty heavily that these things did happen in the past. Reader has no physical description. 18+ only. English is my third language so sorry for any mistakes.

7.09 am

There’s a pulsing ache between your legs and a hot breath fanning over your neck that sends tingles down your spine.

“Baby?” you mumble in a daze, still half asleep, moaning and clutching the sheets when you feel a finger tease your entrance.  

“‘Morning, sleepyhead.” Bucky murmurs, peppering your cheeks with small kisses. 

You can’t fight back the smile that spreads on your face and you slowly pry your eyes open, finding your husband already looking at you in adoration. He lets his lips move downwards, nipping the skin of your throat and sucking little bruises there. A moan escapes you when the hand that was kneading your breasts pinches one of your nipples while his fingers keep sliding in and out of your pussy, sending jolts of pleasure all over your body.

You’re burning up, feeling a familiar pressure build up in your core already. You’ve been together for years, but you’ll never get over how good he is at this.  

His hands are everywhere and nowhere at the same time. The hair on his chest and lower abdomen rubs on your sensitive skin, and you can’t get enough of all this. You never will. 

His name is on your lips like a prayer as you beg him for more, for that sweet release only he can give you. He complies, spreading your legs and settling between them. He trails open mouthed kisses down your body, slowly bringing his face to your awaiting cunt. The anticipation of what he’ll do to you is killing you slowly. He licks a strip of your dripping pussy and dips his tongue in your folds, pushing as far as he can go.

“So sweet.” 

He groans against you when you grab a fistful of his long hair and the vibration goes straight to your core, making the knot inside you tighter. You grind your hips against his face, fucking yourself with his mouth and crying out loud in pleasure. 

“So wet, so needy, all for me.”

He draws circles on your swollen clit and crooks a couple of fingers inside of you, hitting that sweet spot that makes your toes curl and your back arch even more. 

You’re writhing underneath him, desperate for a release.

“Please, faster.” you moan, bucking your hips wildly.

“Beg for it.” he demands, jerking four fingers inside of you.

His bruising touch, the vibration inside your cunt, his soft kisses. It’s all too much and still not enough.

“Please Bucky, please let me cum all over your face, please, please, I’ll be good for you.” you beg like the cockslut you are.

He sucks hard on your clit, and that’s all it takes to tip you over the edge, body shaking uncontrollably and vision going white. .

You’re spent, panting on the bed and feeling the familiar burn that his beard leaves behind on the soft skin of your inner thighs. Your walls flutter around nothing, and somehow you want more.

“Such a good girl for me.” He looks at you through half lidded eyes, lips red and swollen, face covered in your slick. You taste yourself on his tongue when he dips down and slants his mouth against yours, reigniting the fire inside of you.

“Do you want me to fuck you? Do you want to come again, all over my cock? Yes?”

You whine, feeling yourself grow hotter than before. “Yes, please, fuck me.”

He thrusts inside you, slowly at first, faster once he can sheathe himself fully without feeling any pain. You’re still sore from yesterday, but the familiar stretch of his thick cock is so good that you ignore the burn. You only feel him and the pleasure he’s giving you.

“So perfect, made for me, my sweet girl.” he grunts in your ear, and the praise sends jolts of electricity directly to your cunt.

Your hands are roaming over his hard muscles and your walls are clenching down on his cock, impatient for another orgasm to wreck you.

The room is filled with the lewd sounds of him fucking you, his balls hitting your ass, the squelch of your arousal, and he’s so vocal with his moans and grunts that you could come hard just listening to him.

His pace is more frantic than before. Your walls are milking him as he pounds into you relentlessly. Just when you thought you couldn’t feel more pleasure, Bucky dips his hand behind you, fingers covered in your slick teasing your back entrance and pushing inside you, finding no resistance in your relaxed state. His pubic bone hits your clit repeatedly and you’re so full of his cock and fingers and him that you see stars.

“Cum pretty girl, cum all over my cock. Show me how good you are.”

He snaps his hips harder against you and you cry out when the pressure in your core releases, jolts of pleasure shooting from your cunt to the rest of your body, vision going blank. 

He swallows your cries with his mouth, and the feeling of you clenching around him is enough to send him over the edge too. His thrusts become sloppier and he cums hard, holding onto your waist with a bruising grip and biting down on your bottom lip.

He collapses on top of you, and you relish in the feeling of his hot release filling you up.

“Love you.” he mumbles, caressing your cheeks.

“Love you more.” you whisper with a smile, scratching his scalp the way that makes him purr like a cat.

You stay impossibly close for what feels like hours, Bucky still inside you, encompassing your whole body, until the alarm clock goes off and he lifts himself up with a grunt. He stares in fascination as his cum slowly drips out of your cunt and onto the sheets.

“Don’t wanna go to work today, doll.” he whines, clinging onto you again and pouting like a child, “Wanna stay in bed with you.”

You chuckle, because he’s always so needy in the morning, and push him off you.

“We’ll stay like this all weekend, I promise. Now go get ready.”

-

The smell of freshly brewed coffee invades the kitchen and your senses. You love the fragrance, even though you aren’t allowed to drink it. Bucky says it’s bad for a dainty doll like you. You remember you used to be addicted to caffeine before; it was the only thing that kept you going during your long, strenuous shifts at the hospital you worked at as a nurse. Bucky provides for you now, so you don’t have to worry about that exhaustion anymore.

You drink loose leaf herbal tea these days.

You smile when a ray of light shining through the window hits the diamond ring on your fourth finger, projecting a kaleidoscope of colors on the walls. The eggs are sizzling in the pan, the bread slices are toasting in the oven and you can hear the faint noise of Bucky taking a shower.

You arrange the table the way he likes it: buttered toast and scrambled eggs on a plate, yoghurt and cut up fruit in a little stained glass container, a steaming mug of coffee, a tall glass of ice cold water and fresh flowers in a vase; the paper towel goes to the right side of the plate, with a fork and a knife with the sharp side that faces left on top of it. You nod in satisfaction at the spread and remove the strainer from your teacup.

Bucky greets you with a peck on the lips and a bright smile. He pulls the chair back for you, ever the gentleman, and sits on the other one, “Any plans for today?”

“The usual, y’know. I may go for a walk at the park, if that’s okay with you?” you hesitate on the last part, giving him a hopeful smile. You love to collect the wildflowers in the meadow and feed the ducks at the pond. Plus, walking is good for your health, and Bucky has you exercise at least once a day anyways.

“Of course you can, princess. Do you have enough birdseed or do you need more?” he asks, chewing a mouthful of eggs and toast, “I’ll give you extra money if you want to get it.”

You’re grateful he agreed. Truth be told, he hardly ever denies you anything now that you’ve learnt to behave. “Thanks, but it should be enough to last me another week, I think. Is Steve coming for dinner tonight?”

He shakes his head and sips on the coffee you made him, just the way he likes it: two sugars, one splash of full fat milk, a sprinkle of chocolate powder. “No, I think the punk’s staying home with Sharon tonight, ‘member her?”

You nod. You do remember Sharon. They’ve been dating for a while. She is a nurse like you used to be. Would Steve make her keep the job? 

Bucky doesn’t seem to notice your pensive mood and checks his phone as he finishes the last of his strawberries. “God, it’s 8.35 already. I gotta hurry sweetheart, don’t want to be late again like yesterday.” he says with a mischievous smirk.

You feel warmth creep up your face at the memory of the reason why he was late, and you clench your thighs shut as you recall the image of you bent over this same table you’re at and him pounding into you from behind. He wouldn’t leave unless he gave you one more, and then another, until you were shaking and crying in pleasure. 

You both get up. He grabs his jacket and backpack, you hand him the lunch you’ve packed for him. He pulls you in for a sweet kiss, holding you by the waist. You taste the coffee lingering on his tongue and it reminds you of another life.  

He pulls away and nuzzles your hair, hugging you tightly. “I’ll miss you.” He mumbles in your ear, inhaling the calming scent of the lavender shampoo he’s chosen for you.

“I’ll miss you more. Have a good day at work.”

“Thank you, have fun at the park. Behave.”

You wave him goodbye from the front porch and stand there until his sleek black car disappears in the distance. You sigh, missing him already, and get inside, ready to start your day.

-

9.00 am

Bucky is a business manager at Stark’s IT company and his job is a 9-5, Monday to Friday, which means every week day you start your chores after he leaves.

He likes the house spotless and you never want to disappoint him. You shudder at the thought of what happens when you do. Thankfully, it hasn’t occurred in a while. Only bad girls get punished, and you hate punishments too much to be one.

You start downstairs: you open all the windows to let the fresh morning air inside and get to work. You vacuum and mop the floors, disinfect the kitchen counter and empty the dishwasher, sanitize every surface in the bathroom until it’s squeaky clean and smells like Bucky’s favorite lemon scented detergent. Then you move upstairs: you wipe down all the furniture, scrub the ensuite, change the soiled sheets and sort through the hamper, separating whites and colored.

You hum as you work, proud of yourself because you’ve perfected the cleaning routine in your time with your husband, so now it only takes you an hour and a half now to do the entire house.

You grab the basket of dirty linen and clothes and head downstairs to do the chore you hate the most: laundry. The basement where the washer and dryer are makes you quiver in fear when you think of it, but you haven’t found the courage to ask Bucky to move the appliances upstairs yet. Sometimes you still have nightmares about your time there, and Bucky has to hold you and rock you all night to calm you down.

It’s where you spent the first six months after he took you, locked up all alone. He’d visit you every night, but you didn’t appreciate that. You feel guilty now for all those times you fought him, especially the one time you managed to break his nose with your elbow and sprinted upstairs. He caught you just one step before the front door. God, you were so stupid. You’re lucky he got to you in time. What would a girl like you do without a man like him?

As punishment, you spent a week locked in a wardrobe, with no food and barely enough water to survive. You stopped fighting after that, and when he got you out you sobbed on his shoulder and let him hold you and bathe you. You slept in his bed that night, and all the nights that followed in these 3 years. 

Bucky never meant to hurt you, only take care of you, but you were too stupid to understand that back then. You understand now.

-

12.55 pm

It’s a beautiful spring day, the sun is bright and there’s a light breeze blowing from west. 

You think of how you weren’t allowed to leave the house until a year and half ago. You missed the outdoors. But Bucky is a fair man and he lets you go wherever you want now that he can trust you. He even takes you on weekend trips wherever you desire. Maybe if you’re good enough, one day he’ll buy you a car, so you won’t have to walk everywhere.

You still have a tracker implanted in your forearm, but that’s for your own safety.

You spread a blanket underneath your favorite tree; from your position you can see both the water and the meadow, and that lovely wooden bridge over the pond too. 

You’re basking in the sun as you reflect on all the new hobbies you’ve picked up now that you don’t have to spend the better part of your days in a hospital.

You embroider, you try out new recipes, you read, you do yoga, you paint and draw, you collect flowers and leaves and you dry them up in your botanical journal. You’ve become quite good at taking care of the garden in these past few months, and the roses you’ve planted are growing nice and strong. Sometimes you go for a swim in the ocean, some others you go shopping. The house is entirely decorated in your paintings, and you often give them to Bucky’s friends and family too.

You don’t have friends or family anymore. You only have Bucky.

You never thought you would enjoy these activities so much, just like you never thought you could be so free. Of your job, of so much pain and sorrow, of the hardship that comes with free will, of the choices you make that weigh you down until you can’t sleep anymore.

Who knew having your freedom taken away would be so liberating. Not you. 

You have Bucky to thank for that. He always knows what’s best for you.

-

5.29 pm

Bucky’s been thinking about you all day and as soon as he’s clocked out, he couldn’t come back home fast enough. He smiles when the front door opens and he’s hit by the smell of freshly baked cookies. You really spoil him too much.

You run into his arms as soon as you realize he’s back, hugging him tightly, mumbling about how much you’ve missed him.

You’ve made dinner for him, just like he expects of you. Homemade basil pesto pasta, grilled salmon, oven roasted vegetables, white wine for him, tonic water for you because alcohol is bad for little dolls, white chocolate chip cookies for dessert.

You chat about your days over food, and when you’re both done you clean up while he changes into more comfortable clothes.

He has a reward for you, since you’ve been so good lately, but he wants you to earn it.

“On your knees.” he commands, and like the perfect doll you are, you comply.

You look up at him with your innocent doe eyes and Bucky knows he could come at the sight of you so beautiful, so obedient alone. His hands work swiftly as he pulls down his sweats and gets his already hard cock out. 

“I want to fuck your mouth.” he says, tracing your lips with his red tip, “Open up, doll.”

You do as he says. You take him in your mouth and his eyes instinctively roll back at the feeling of your wet tongue licking a strip from base to tip; your cheeks hollow around him, sucking him off, one hand pumping his length and the other massaging his balls.

He aches for more, so he grabs a fistful of your hair in what is probably a painful grip, judging from the way you gasp, and he takes that as an opportunity to slant himself inside your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. He shoves himself deeper and deeper until you can't breathe, your face is red and your eyes full of tears. You steady yourself holding onto his thick thigs as he keeps fucking your mouth harder, balls slapping your chin.

Saliva is dripping down on your face as you’re choking on his cock, and those gagging noise you make vibrate against him, making this all the more pleasurable. He knows you won’t complain anyways, no matter how much he abuses your mouth or your cunt.

He knows you’ll always comply. He’s made sure of that.

With a last thrust in your mouth he pulls out just in time to paint your face with his hot spurt. You look perfect with tears streaming down your cheeks and his cum all over you.

“You did so good princess.” he praises you, and you smile up at him, “Go get cleaned up now, we’re watching a movie. You choose.”

You beam, and he knows you’ll choose one of those Disney movies you like so much.

Good girls always get a prize.

-

11.00 pm is your bedtime. Little dolls need their 8 hours of sleep.

You’re already fast asleep, and Bucky looks in complete devotion and adoration at your form. You’re so pretty, so perfect, so completely his.

You’ve been so good lately that he hasn’t had to punish or discipline you in more than six months.

You’re no longer the stubborn woman you used to be, the one that broke his nose and resisted all he’s put you through for months. You’re finally a little doll for him to own, love and care for. His little doll to dress up and play with. He’s especially happy tonight, because he knows you’ll love the reward for being so good this time. 

It’s only taken Steve two years, because Sharon wasn’t as strong as you, but he’s done now.

Bucky knows how lonely you can get. Tomorrow you too will have a friend, another little obedient doll like you to play with.

-

read my other dark!bucky fic here

I hope you liked this! If you did, please reblog and let me know what you thought of it. 🥺

[slasherbastard]

Stockholm Syndrome - Brahms Heelshire

(gif credit: boodalinski)

Request:  Thank you, so I was wondering if I could get one for Brahms. Where the reader (preferably a girl you can do gn, if you like!!) moves from the states to the u.k for a job. And she comes across Brahms home bc she got lost. And she steps inside and spends the night there and he like stalks her from the walls. And the next morning he like knocks her out and takes her hostage after she tries to leave, bc shes his new obsession. Maybe Stockholm syndrome if you’re comfortable with doing that. I’m not sure if you write smut or anything like that.

Warning: light smut Word count: 2639 Notes: okay okay so I redid the ending and added the smut, that’s the last time I try to write when sleep deprived

Brahms wasn't expecting guests that night but then you stumbled upon the manor. Ever since Greta left to who knows where Brahms had no one to look after him so he was left to look after himself. Now that he didn't have to worry about hiding away from any nannies he was free to roam the rooms of the house instead of just observing from the walls. It was nice for him, being able to eat warm meals whenever he pleased without having to worry about them being freezing out while he waited for the nanny to stray far enough from the kitchen that it'd be safe enough for him to leave the walls and steal the food like a rat.

It was getting late and Brahms couldn't sleep, the loneliness was eating him alive and he was starving because apparently 4 PB&J sandwiches weren't enough for him. Brahms hated to admit it but he missed Greta and needed her - no, he needed someone to just care for him and love him the way she could've. The next thing Brahms knew he was out of the walls and making yet another PB&J for himself, rubbing his tired eyes as he screwed the lid back onto the jar of jam.

That's when he heard the front door open and he froze. There was definitely time for Brahms to grab his sandwich to run back to one of the few entries into the walls but worry filled him as he abandoned the meal and found the hole in the parlour where a mirror once hung. Within a few seconds you walked past one of the slits in the wallpaper and Brahms held his breath as a stranger walked into the kitchen.

"Hello? I'm sorry to intrude but I'm lost and-" She stopped as she saw the freshly made sandwich sitting on the counter and spun around and Brahms watched her every move. He watched as this girl cautiously looked around before grabbing the sandwich and taking a bite out of it, Brahms expected himself to be angry. How dare a complete stranger just waltz into his home and eat his food? But for some reason he wasn't mad, in fact, something about the stranger fascinated him. "Whoever made this, this is a surprisingly good PB&J. Is this place haunted?" She muttered the last bit to herself and Brahms quietly chuckled behind his mask as she put away the items Brahms had left out and finished the sandwich before walking upstairs and continuing to talk to herself, blabbering about how she was giving herself 'horror movie' vibes.

She yawned as she reached the top of the stairs and peaked into the bedrooms still quietly calling out just in case somebody actually was home, and nobody was to her knowledge. Brahms followed her through the walls as she found one of the guest bedrooms and yawned again. The stranger dropped the bag she was holding onto the floor and crawled into the bed, tiredly talking to herself. "Alright, Y/N. Just go to sleep then leave as soon as you wake up." 'Y/N' what a beautiful name.

Brahms quietly chanted the name under his breath as he watched her fall onto the bed and snuggle into the small stream of blankets. He didn't have Greta anymore but that didn't matter because now he has you, Y/N.

--

You opened your eyes as the memories from last night came back to you. You'd caught a bus straight from the airport to what you were hoping was a cheap motel but instead you managed to miss your stop and got dropped off in the middle of nowhere. This would've been fine if it wasn't the last bus scheduled for the night and you weren't suffering from the effects of jetlag after leaving the states for a job you didn't even want in the first place, you tried calling a cab but your phone couldn't pick up a signal.

A lot of the night was a haze. Most of it was spent walking in the dark until you found a manor, then you decided that going inside would be a great idea, then you fell asleep in said manor, and now here you are awake in the manor. You grabbed your phone off the stand beside the bed and realised it was dead before taking it and sliding out of the bed. A sudden loud noise came from downstairs and really woke you up.

You'd been so caught up in your thoughts that you didn't realise someone was standing right next to the bed, until you looked over and saw the towering figure of a masked man. You tried to scream but before you knew it you were waking up again with a raging headache and your arms bound behind a wooden column. You tried to scan your surroundings but it was too dark to see anything, now this place was really giving you horror movie vibes and you weren't going to be the final girl after this.

The ropes around your wrists were starting to burn as you continued to struggle against them, biting your lip as the pain got stronger. You let out a frustrated groan and slammed your back into the column. "Hello!" You yelled out. Now you were 100% certain that somebody was home, what if they were watching? "I swear my damn arms are gonna fall off." You felt the ropes loosen as your arms moved a little more freely but you were still stuck.

"Don't." You stopped and looked up. The light flicked on and a familiar figure stood a few feet away from you just staring at your helpless position on the floor. "You'll hurt yourself." He got closer and you continued trying to free yourself from the ropes as he got on his knees and was only inches away from your face, you hadn't realised he was wearing a mask this entire time - of course, this was the first time you were able to get a proper look at his face. You felt the ropes slip and one of your arms was free but the man was too distracted to realise this as you freed your second arm and held the rope in place. He stroked your cheek and tilted his head slightly, his cold touch made you cringe and he pulled back for a second before continuing. You could hear him whispering something under that creepy mask. "Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N."

You almost didn't realise you had kicked him until he fell back, your delayed reaction wasn't enough to help you successfully escape as he was onto you the second you had stood up, pulling you back down as you screamed for help even though you knew nobody could hear you. He dragged you over to a small bed in the corner of the room and threw you onto it, you tried to get off but he was on top of you before you could make another move. Through that mask of his you could see his eyes, they looked desperate and hungry for something.

"Are you going to kill me?" His expression softened at those words but he gripped your arms tighter just in case you used this as a chance as to attempt another escape but instead you just watched him, expecting him to either wrap his hands around your neck or maybe stab you but he just watched you.

"Why would I hurt my pretty Y/N?"

You felt your heart stop and your chest ache at the same time. "Who are you?" You tried to wiggle free from his grip but he wasn't letting you go anywhere.

"Brahms."

--

You were supposed to be preparing lunch but you couldn't focus. You don't know how many days or weeks or even months have passed by now but somehow you were still alive. Brahms wasn't shy to show his obvious feelings towards you just hoping that maybe one day you'd return them, maybe you'd stop trying to run away if he showed you how loved you were by him. Brahms hasn't stopped trying to prove to you that you don't need anyone but him, especially considering that he was the only person you were going to be seeing for the rest of your life.

While Brahms wasn't afraid to show you that he loved you, you weren't afraid to show him how much you hated him - although, you weren't exactly sure why you acted that way. Sure, you were pissed that you ended up getting held hostage by a captor who wears a creepy mask the night you arrived in a new country but there was something about him that made you want to stay. In fact, you hadn't attempted another escape in what felt like forever. You didn't want to hate Brahms but there was a part of you forcing yourself to - maybe it was because you didn't want to admit that you had developed feelings for him.

You had no idea if Brahms noticed that your hatred for him was just a façade now. At night he'd cuddle up to you and you wouldn't try to fight him off like you used to, you also stopped ignoring him anytime he came into a room but that didn't mean you were getting friendly with him. Neither of you had gotten to that point in this unlikely 'friendship' where you felt like you could tell this man anything but you did wonder what would happen if you just told him. Sighing, you turned around and bumped into none other than Brahms.

Gasping, you quickly apologised and tried to run off somewhere but he grabbed your upper arm and held you in place. Looking up at him through the eyeholes of at mask you waited for him to tell you that he was hungry but instead he just looked at you. "What is it, Brahms?"

"Come with me." He didn't wait before he dragged you out of the kitchen and eventually you were both outside that loft when Brahms slammed your back into one of the walls. You groaned and cringed in pain before looking at up Brahms.

"What the hell was that-" Brahms threw a hand over your eyes and you froze when you felt hot breath on your neck. "Brahms?" You shook your head, trying to get Brahms to remove his hand from your face but it wouldn't budge as you suddenly felt his lips on your neck leaving light kisses heading up towards your jaw, sucking and biting on the areas. You bit your lip and tried not to react while also focusing on the sensation of his chapped yet soft lips against your skin. You felt your body moving on your own as you tried to get closer to Brahms needing a bit of friction to continue but he denied it and continued his little act before moving away for a brief moment then connecting his lips to yours. Taken aback, you hesitated trying to figure out whether you should kiss him back but before you knew it you'd lost control and your lips were moving in sync with his.

Brahms wanted to feel your body, to explore it, but he couldn't with one hand hiding himself you and the other clutching the mask. He wanted to drop it, shatter that porcelain thing into pieces just so you could see who he truly was without any restrictions. If you reacted badly then glue could fix the mask but nothing could fix what was your relationship.

Just as the two of you were getting into it Brahms broke away and you took that moment to catch your breath before Brahms removed his hand and you could see him readjusting that porcelain mask of his as you turned to run and find your way out of the walls but you stopped when you heard his voice. "Y/N I know you love me." You stopped and heard gentle movements behind you before Brahms appeared in front of you. "You do love me, right?"

You looked up at him with wide eyes at the realisation that he knew that you'd let your guard down ages ago, and you clearly didn't just kiss him for no reason. It was so damn obvious but you still wanted to say no. "Yes." dammit. Brahms looked at you as if he was waiting for you to say something else but you couldn't find the right words. Taking a breath and looking him dead in the eyes you finally spoke. "I. . .I-"

He got closer to you. "Tell me you love me, Y/N." Something within him seemed desperate as he tried to close in the small space between the two of you until your chests were almost connected. "Y/N?"

"I love you Brahms." You don't know exactly what you'd expected in that moment, maybe a hug? Did you expect him to cry? Whatever wholesome reaction you waited for from him never came. Instead, Brahms stuck a hand out for you and you took it without really thinking much of it as he slowly lead you into the loft. Although he was taking his time there was a sense of desperation circling him as he sat down longways on the bed and pulled you onto his lap and held onto you, his hands moving down to your lower back. This whole time his eyes were on you and your eyes were on him. "Brahms?"

"Mhmm?" He hummed, his hands now playing with the bottom of your shirt.

You leaned in close to Brahms' ear and whispered. "If we're going to do this, then I want to at least be able to see who's fucking me." You pulled away and planned to make eye contact with Brahms again but you barely got the chance before he switched the position.

"No." You felt your stomach churn as he said it, his voice had dropped as if he were pissed off but there was still a playful tinge behind it. Brahms wasted no time ripping your shirt off and bringing his masked face down to yours and kissing you through the mask. Suddenly he pulled away and reached over underneath his pillow and you threw your head back and watched as he pulled out a long piece of fabric. "Do you trust me?"

You were hesitant for a few seconds as Brahms messed around with the makeshift blindfold, still waiting for your reply. "Please, Y/N. I promise I'll make you feel good." He whined but you didn't need to be asked twice as you sat up and Brahms covered your eyes with the fabric and tied it off behind your head and pushed you back down onto the bed. You heard a light clank and tried to peak under the fabric to catch a glimpse of Brahms without that creepy mask on but all you saw was his head of dark curly hair as he began planting kisses, making his way down to your core.

Brahms woke up and immediately looked down at the girl in his arms and smiled under his mask and held back the urge to caress her face or move the hair away from her eyes, afraid he'd wake her. Y/N shifted her weight in her sleep and cuddled into Brahms' chest as he continued to hold onto her not daring to move. He wanted to laugh, cry tears of joy, because he really couldn't believe that he finally had the one thing he'd wanted ever since his own parents stopped treating him like their son, he finally had someone who loved him. "You're finally mine, Y/N."  He whispered and nuzzled his face into her hair.

[poptod]

The Breeding Kings (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Ahkmen’s new school year starts with a bang.

Notes: guess who has imposter syndrome!!!! heres my next work i think??? idk where my inspiration is gonna pull me at any given time. i just wanna say this takes place when ahk’s pretty young! not like ten or something lmao but lets just say hes not an adult. by the way, the reader is indian (indus valley, at the time). WC: 7.3k

+

"Don't we look like a dream?"

A sharp inhale brought his eyes to shoot open, staring through the cold air to the blank ceiling above him. For a moment he frowned, as his bed had a silk canopy above it, but he quickly realized he had passed out in his friend's room again. He groaned softly, raising his hand to rub his face.

"What... happened last night?" He grumbled, his voice turning to a whisper when the volume of it left him wincing.

No response.

"Piye?"

Ahkmen raised himself, though very strenuously, and looked over the tables and stools thrown beside him. Splinters nearly dug into his fingertips, but he jerked away before anything could lodge.

Piye was much in the same position. Quite literally, with their limbs strewn about, hair a knotted mess upon their head. The only difference was that Piye was lying face down, their face squished into one of the table legs. He almost laughed, but even the spreading of a smile sparked a headache, so instead he poked his blacked out friend.

They groaned, loudly, but did not move. Ahkmen continued to poke them until they finally had enough, pushing themselves upwards.

"What the hell do you want?" They asked, their voice low and scratchy. Even their eyes had yet to open, stuck shut with crushed eyelashes.

"What did we do last night?" He asked in a mumble, resting his weight on the thin edge of a fallen table.

"You invited Panya and she killed us with beer," Piye breathed out, shielding their eyes from the sun with their hand.

"Fuck," said Ahkmen. "An... what day's today?"

Piye breathed very deeply before opening their mouth, letting out a roar of a yell, "DAD?!? What's today??"

Ahkmen winced away, covering his ears until Piye lay back down, still relaxing into the pile of chairs and tables.

"It is the eleventh of Khuiahk," came Adom's voice from around the corner of the tiny hallway leading to the door of Piye's room. Ahkmen heard a flip of papyrus before he spoke again, "you have school today, if that's what you're wondering."

"Ah... shit," Piye sighed.

"That means I have school too," Ahkmen said with widening eyes, a pitiful sense of dread overcoming his hangover. "I can't learn like this. I haven't showered since yesterday, I – I barely have a hold on my thoughts, I can't stand loud noises –"

"If you can still gripe like that, you're fine," Piye said flatly, lying for a moment more before their eyes opened, making way for them to sit up and stand.

"But –"

"Calm down, my Prince," Piye said with a derisive bow. "It's quite alright. I'll get us ready within the hour."

Having Piye as a friend came in handy a number of times, but especially when it came to maintaining his image of a perfect son. His parents adored him dearly, but Ahkmen was convinced that that status could be stripped at any moment, and that they would begin to treat him as they did his brother, Kamun. Thus having Piye to excuse away his mistakes was beyond helpful to him, let alone the secret capabilities of the palace physician's child.

In a calm-as-ever demeanor, Piye shoved both him and themself into clothes too warm for the sunshine already beating down on them through windows. The Prince felt a little off––a little more disgusted with himself than usual––but his discomfort was quickly remedied with a stop by the Nile, where the two quickly washed themselves.

Returning into clothes was made easy by the sun that dried the water on their skin within a minute of leaving the river. The two dressed, shoving their legs into skirts and golden bands as they walked, stumbling through the streets with soaking wet hair.

"One last stop," Piye said before they reached the center of the city, pulling Ahkmen off down a hidden alley.

Boxes and carts of goods had been stacked as wide as the thin alley, but they were easily climbed, and the two found themselves in an entirely different part of town.

"How quick is this stop going to be? We're already going to be late," Ahkmen said, but continued to follow Piye without fail.

"Wouldn't worry about it," they assured as they directed him into a tent of red and purple drapes.

Smoke welled in the ceiling, already uncomfortably low for Ahkmen, and even worse for Piye. It must've been important, whatever Piye was trying to do, as they were particularly sensitive about their height at times, and tried not to draw attention to it. The only true light inside the tiny shop was the burning incense, and what little sun could make it through the dark fabric that made up the ceiling and walls. When Ahkmen caught the scent, he recognized it easily––myrrh.

"What are we doing here?" Ahk whispered, trying to look over Piye's shoulder as they led the way through continuous halls of silk.

"Yogi?" Piye said, knocking against the first hard surface they could find.

There was a moment of silence before the wall of satin before him rustled, rippling till it split open to reveal you; a small, foreign child about his age, with a bright red dot on your forehead above wide eyes. His heart thumped erratically as you met his gaze. While he couldn't directly place where you were from, the style of your home and lavish clothes as well as your facial features assured him you were not Egyptian.

"Be needing something, Piye?" You said in a thick accent, looking up at the magi who towered above you.

"One of your drinks," they said. You nodded and ducked back into your room.

"We don't need more to drink," Ahkmen whispered.

"It's a hangover cure. You'll be wanting it."

"Oh."

A moment later you returned, two clay cups in hand swirling with a red mixture. Ahkmen looked suspiciously into the liquid, trying to decipher the ingredients, before Piye knocked their whole cup back and swallowed it in a single gulp. Scuffing his sandal against the floor, he copied his friend's movements.

Sweet, but thick. Like dough, but slimy, and the sensation of it slowly sliding down his throat only brought about more questions as to the ingredients.

"You must be one of their friends," you said once they both finished, handing their mugs to you.

"Well, um..." Ahkmen looked up to Piye, "yes. We're on our way to Osiris' temple."

"You are, then... students?"

"Yes. I study language and morals, Anpu here studies law," Piye answered for him, patting Ahkmen's shoulder.

"The bell will start soon. You should go, the priests are not made of give," you said as you set the cups aside, showing them out the door.

Blazing sun burnt the back of his eyes as he stepped outside, back into the radiating heat and the empty street, which lay an alley's walk away from the Temple of Osiris. He squinted, searching for the boxes he'd climbed earlier.

"Over here," Piye directed him, and he followed.

"Where's your friend from? Doesn't sound like –"

"- like Egyptian is their first language," Piye finished. "I've never bothered to ask, but if I had to guess, somewhere in the east. Our friendship is mostly limited to school, and medicine."

"They study medicine?" Ahkmen asked incredulously. If you weren't native to Egypt, and it was painfully obvious you weren't, it would be a feat beyond God to achieve any form of education concerning the human body.

"Not proper medicine, mind you. It's back-alley magic," Piye said, opening the door to the temple and allowing Ahkmen to pass in front of them.

"Quite literally," Ahkmen mumbled beneath his breath, scanning the main temple for any sign of the priests.

"Right."

"And what was with that fake name?"

"I don't think they –"

"I cannot imagine it will be a fantastic impression on your teachers that you are late on your first day of schooling," came a voice from behind them.

Both Ahkmen and Piye whirled around, wide eyes meeting the High Priest of Osiris, an older man named Yafeu that had never been fond of the royal family. Fortunately, he would not be teaching anyone––the High Priest's position was 'too important' to concern itself with the younger generations teachings. Osiris and his temple required constant cleaning, as well as regularly cleaned offerings of jewels and flowers, plates of delicacies that reached the knee of the massive statue sat at the head of the temple.

In fact, that was where Ahkmen stood; before the statue of Osiris. Somewhere he was not supposed to be.

"We're having trouble finding our class," Piye said before Ahkmen could even think of how to reply.

Yafeu raised a single brow, scanning the both of them with an unimpressed expression. He raised his finger to point at a small door behind Osiris.

"That way."

"Thank you, sir," Piye said with a small bow, taking Ahkmen's hand and rushing him out the door.

While the temple of Osiris held much land, and much of it was occupied by caretakers both priestly and humble, who worked to please Osiris, commoners and non-priests were generally not allowed. Gardens bloomed around the sacred lake, lovingly tended to fit the needs of the temple.

As Ahkmen and Piye walked down the long, open hallway, which on the left side held the many rooms of those working in the temple, and on the right displayed the wealth of the courtyard, the Prince wondered upon the subject of the temple. Very few people were allowed inside––hence his apprehension upon being caught––but considering the amount of people it took to care for the temple, it seemed to him a little unfair that others couldn't come to bow at the statue's feet.

Perhaps the priests, and his father, did not want commoners coming to Osiris with petty issues.

"You handled that quite well," Ahkmen said as he noted the arch to class approaching.

"I fucking hate priests," they seethed, but the expression gave way for a smile in an instant when they both entered the room.

Yafeu might've been old, but the priests that retired into teachers were much older. Last year, Ahkmen's teacher had been a much younger scribe, but this year his class of four would be taught by a priest who had spent his better years tending to Sobek's temple, and consequently had lots of experience with crocodiles. That was about the only interesting thing about the man, except for the fact that his name was Setet, which according to Ahk’s classmate meant 'Daughter of Set'.

A very strange name indeed. Ahkmen let the thought of it occupy his thoughts for a minute or two, but grew quickly bored of the subject, and eventually his mind wandered back to the events of the morning. If Setet had the gall to be this uninteresting, Ahkmen could be allowed time to think and gather himself.

Last night, he thought, chewing on his bottom lip. What had happened?

The details were fuzzy in his head––more a mess of mangled half-memories soaked in beer and wine. According to Piye, who now sat cross-legged on the carpet beside him, something had happened with his friend Panya that made both of them drink a lot of beer. A drinking contest, maybe––Ahkmen was, at times, too prideful for his own good.

Panya couldn't really be considered a friend. She was rarely ever kind to him, and he treated her in much the same light. Despite her crude behavior, she was quite beautiful, and attended the same prestigious school as he did––only in a different class.

What is he talking about? he thought to himself blearily, trying to focus back in on the man in front of him talking.

Then there was the question of you––the pretty little potionmaker––and with that thought implanted in his mind, he left the classroom in every way imaginable except physical.

Ahkmen very rarely met anyone from other countries that weren't royal, so the sudden presence of you was something he could think about for a good, long while as he waited out the school day. He thoroughly enjoyed any research into the cultures and activities of citizens in countries his own and not his own.

You came up about to his shoulder––which meant you were only as tall as Piye's elbow––and your skin was of a darker, more vibrantly red color than those of the Egyptians he usually related himself to. The lighting in your tent had been subpar, making it hard for him to recall what color that dot on your forehead had been. All he could remember was that it existed.

The hangover remedy you had concocted had, without Ahkmen entirely noticing, taken away his headache and minimized his sensitivity to light and sound, which convinced the Prince that you had some sort of schooling behind you. Maybe you weren't as poorly as you looked––all respect to you, of course––and, maybe, you were someone of similar noble standing.

He wasn't sure which theory he liked more.

Unfortunately, he couldn't remember your name, and now that class had started he would have to wait until lunch to ask Piye.

When midday finally did come around, he, Piye, and the other two students in his class were excused to the garden. In the center of the courtyard, the High Priest readied himself for the midday ceremony by bathing in the sacred lake placed there by hand. Clerks and jewellers flitted about from place to place, carrying the finished products of beautiful works that would never see the light of day beyond Osiris' temple. Similarly, weavers and barbers tended to Yafeu as he bathed in preparation.

"What was that eastern brewer's name again?" Ahkmen asked, tugging on Piye's skirt as he attempted to catch up with their long strides.

"The one from the alley? Yogi," they said with a curious tilt of their head. "Why?"

"Oh, I've been thinking about it all morning. I couldn't remember but I know you called them by name."

"Right. Hungry?" Piye asked, stopping before the door to the kitchens.

"I want to find Panya first," Ahk said as he scanned the courtyard.

"Well I want to eat. If you want to try and wade through that crowd for a woman who hates you, go ahead," Piye said, waving him off before promptly slamming the door behind them as they left.

"... right," Ahkmen muttered to himself under his breath.

There were far too many people going about the temple that, standing from his position, it was impossible to see everyone. One thing he did know about Panya, though; she always brought her own food and always sat alone.

Ten minutes later Ahkmen found himself yelling up into a tree that Panya had managed to scale.

"Get lost, goldie!" She yelled from above, picking one of the dates and lobbing it at his head. He dodged, eyes darting down at the ground, where the date had made a dent in the dirt.

"Come on, I just have a question!" He said, squinting from the sun shining directly above him.

"The answer's no. Now go away! You're going to attract one of the priests with all that yelling," she said, cocking her chin into the sky.

"Oh, fuck you," he muttered as he at last looked down, his neck sore from craning it so long. So much for figuring out last night.

As he made his way back to the kitchens, he crossed the middle of the courtyard and spied through the pillars of stone the open door of the inner temple. Inside grew an ethereal blue light, surrounding the figures of stone, warped with smoke as Yafeu knelt to his knees before Osiris. His mouth moved in constant prayer, but Ahkmen could not hear from his distance. He could only watch.

Until one of the clerks shut the door.

He frowned, but headed on his way, soon sliding in next to his friend, Piye. They had taken a seat on one of the many carpets set out on the floor, the open roof allowing sunlight to flood the otherwise dark room. All that protected the students and chefs from the heat of the sun, as well as the heat of the ovens, was the thin tarps covering the majority of the ceiling, though not entirely. There was still room for a couple rays of unbroken sun.

"Find her?" Piye asked through a mouthful of food.

"Yes, but she wouldn't talk to me," Ahk said, irritant in his movements as he began to eat his own lunch.

"Sounds like her."

By the end of school, the sun was already cresting the horizon of low mountains, leading his shadow to tall heights as he walked with Piye, their backs to the sun. Inside the courtyard of the temple, servants and workers planted seeds in the black mud gathered from the Nile's banks. Outside it, however, bustled the busy life of Memphis markets that always received the most amount of patrons after school and work was finished for the day.

Wading through the crowd had always been more of an art than anything, though Ahkmen couldn't practice that art very well with Piye beside him. They stuck out horribly, too tall to duck beneath the swaying barrels and baskets, and unable to pass people by without seeming rude.

"Oh shit!" Ahkmen exclaimed in a moment of remembrance, raising his hand to stop Piye. "I remember why Panya came over."

"Really?" They pulled both of them to the side, pressed against a restaurant wall. "What was it?"

"Drinking contest. Remember last Friday? We had that bet and then I lost, and I had to give her one of my necklaces, but I couldn't part with any of mine, so I just stole my mother's. Then my mother started asking questions, and... oh fuck. Mother's going to kill me," Ahk said with wide eyes, raising his hands to cover his mouth.

"I would love to help you out with this problem, but she's really not going to do anything, and I need to help my father collect ingredients from the market. Is that alright?"

"Yes, I... I understand. Any advice though?"

"Go find Yogi. They might be able to help. See you," they said as they turned and left, all but their shoulders and head disappearing in the crowd.

Ahkmen had little on his persons except the clothes he wore, and the bands he had on his arms marked him as royal. They could not be sold, bartered, or traded in any way, as any non-royal found wearing them was jailed or enslaved. He could not give them to Panya in exchange. Panya might've been annoying, but she didn't deserve something like that.

Since that was the only idea he had, he found himself sneaking back towards Osiris' temple, and going through the streets leading to it in hopes of finding that alleyway once more. It was less of an alley and more of a space between two close buildings, but that distinction easily led him back to climbing over boxes of storage.

In the warm blush of evening, it was hard to make out the different alleys leading to this singular space between buildings, where nothing had been built except that tent of yours. It appeared as though you had blocked it off purposely––made your home secret for a reason.

Questions swarmed his head as he ducked beneath the flap of your home, watching his head for anything hanging too low. He raised his hand, searching for a hard surface––something to rapp his knuckles on, as Piye had.

"Uh... Yoshi?"

"My name is not that. Do not call me that," you said, walking out from behind what Ahkmen thought was a wall. He nearly jumped at your sudden appearance.

"Sorry. I was, um, here this morning, with my friend Piye? They said you might be able to help me," he said in a rambling manner, playing with his fingers.

"What help you need?"

"I had a bet with this girl from my school, and she ended up with my mother's necklace, and I need that necklace. My mother was asking me about it earlier, so I know she's noticed."

"Hmm..." you glanced to the side, placing your hands on your hips. "What was.. your bet on?"

"Drinking contest."

"Ah," you said with a sudden smile. "No problem. You find your girl, bring her here. I will give her my beer."

"You brew beer?" Ahkmen asked incredulously, his eyes widening. Beer-making was something generally reserved for adults.

"I do many things. Do not worry. She will not die," you said, shaking your head as though that would assure him.

"Why would she die?!" Ahkmen asked with even larger eyes.

"I just tell you she will not die! Now go grab her. I will be here with your cups. Tell her you want to do it again," you said, pushing him out the door. He was not at all swayed by your efforts, but allowed you to move him anyway, and soon he stood outside in an evening where the sun had set too fast.

A chill ran over his skin, at which point he acutely missed the warmth of your tent. How you kept it so comfortable, as well as clean in there was a mystery, but that was not at the forefront of his thoughts. Instead he tried to recall where Panya might be––perhaps at school, perhaps at home, or maybe with her friend. She only had one.

After clambering back over the wall of boxes and crates, he snuck back into the courtyard of the temple, keeping a careful eye on any movement he saw. The task proved hard after about five seconds of being in there, as the next ceremony was soon approaching. The Priests would put Osiris to rest for the night.

In several of the rooms he passed, he found other children of noble bearings discussing quietly with the older priests and clerks, who passed the time of their elderly years raising the next generation. He checked each door, but in the end he found Panya on the edge of one of the creeks that ran like veins with the lifeblood of the Nile.

"Can we talk now?" He asked, taking great enjoyment in her surprise as she turned.

"I'd prefer we didn't," she said, turning back to look at the river.

"If I recall correctly," which he did not, "I won last night's contest, right? That puts us at a tie."

"You big liar," said Panya, who also did not recall the events of last night. "I quite distinctly remember rubbing your face in my win."

"Come now, all I'm offering is one more drinking contest. You get to get drunk for free. If you win, I... I'll owe you one favor. One thing you ask of me, I'll do, no questions asked. If I win, I get that necklace back."

"You're vain sometimes, you know that?" She said in a quieter voice as he stood to face her, watching her fingers play with the massive emerald that now dangled from her shoulders.

"So are you."

She raised an unimpressed brow, scanning the Prince before she sighed, closing her eyes.

"Very well. Is Piye going to be overlooking it again?"

"No, no," Ahk said with a dismissive hand, dropping his other to grab Panya's hand and direct her along. "They're busy tonight. I've got someone else on board."

It took a little convincing to get the noble girl to climb up and over the boxes for a secret part of the city, but he eventually won her over and directed her inside your tent. She was about your height––maybe a little taller––and had no problems standing in your low-roof home. Ahkmen on the other hand took a seat as soon as he could.

You introduced yourself with a small bow, bringing forward a low table with a long strip of embroidered cloth, upon which you placed four small cups built of what appeared to be clay. All of this you did in a smooth, practiced swoop that lasted only a moment before Ahkmen was forced to face Panya once more.

Ahkmen might've been a desperate man––in more than one sense of the word––but he would not resort to cheating by stealing. Not to good people. Thus he would keep his word concerning the prizes of the competition, no matter how certain he was that he would fail.

He was a prince, accustomed to constant fine wines and thick beer that smelled strongly of alcohol. A sipper in small amounts.

Panya was not. She had quite a lot of money like his family, but she was far more connected with the world of other teenagers than Ahkmen was.

"I like you to state what you will win if you... win," you said, standing beside the table Ahk and Panya sat at. "That way, it is honest."

"If Panya wins, she can tell me to do one thing that I must do without question. If I win, I get that necklace back," Ahk said as he pointed to each of the things he referred to.

"Okay. Let us begin!"

Four cups. Two on either side of the centerpiece of the table. Ahkmen reached forward at the same time as Panya, grabbing the cups from the right and downing both of them quick as he could. The less he thought about it, the better. Panya soon copied him, finishing much faster than he had, and slamming the cups down so hard he nearly jumped.

"Good start," you said with a nod. "Feel good?"

"I feel about myself," Ahk offered.

"Then you have not drinking enough." You brought out another four cups in a flash. "Try not to let any of it fall!"

It burned his throat––physically burnt it from the alcohol level. No beer or wine had ever done that before, and he nearly spit it out, but managed to swallow it and hide his teary eyes at the same time. He then watched Panya carefully for any reaction, and noted the same surprise in her expression.

"Is a bit stronger. That is how my game works. By your six rounds, it only takes a cup to get a little," you grinned and rolled your eyes in two different directions. Ahk raised his brows, unable to look away, but said nothing.

"God damn," Panya said after downing the second cup of her's on the table. "Where do you get this stuff?"

"I make it. It is levels of dizziness."

"Do you mean drunkenness?" Ahkmen asked, looking apprehensively down into his second cup.

"Whatever. It is family's secret. I sell it to markets, get a good price, people like becoming drunk," you said with a shrug, taking the old cups, and refilling them with yet another mixture.

"Come now, Ahk," Panya chuckled from across the table. "Gotta finish that second cup if you're gonna challenge me to this kind of a competition."

Ahkmen glared at her for a moment before raising his cup to his lips, knocking it back as he attempted to once again ignore every sensation happening in his throat.

"Good boy," you said, taking his cup and setting it on the shelf behind you.

Four more cups were then placed on the table, and the drinking continued.

By the fifth round, he was already inebriated, his tongue soaked in the numbing powers of this drink you had concocted. There was a part of his not-all-there brain that thought you had taken this drink from the underworld; some sort of backwards world where the Nile flowed with pure alcohol.

If you were telling the truth, and he quite well trusted your word this far, he could be dizzyingly intoxicated with your next drink. He barely had the state of mind to look at Panya, much less decode her own level of drunkenness. That left him blind to the status of his likelihood of winning. And yet, when the next cup was set down in front of him, he gulped it like a sober brewer. Panya did the same.

"Feeling a little of it now?" You asked with a grin.

"Some... something dike lat," he mumbled, his mouth smushed against the hand he supported his head on.

"Do you one finish?"

"... what?" Panya asked, her brow furrowed as she stared intensely at you.

"Do one of you give up?" You tried.

"Hell no," Panya said with an adamant shake of her head. "Get me another!"

"Me too!" Ahk said, raising his hand high as his head fell to the table, knocking against it with a loud thunk. He hissed, curling back on himself with little grace.

Panya snorted, leading into a long laugh as she cherished the look of drunken disdain painted over the Prince's face. You said nothing, but went to fulfill their requests, returning with the same drink as the last one.

"This my strongest drink. What you had before. It is good for you!"

"It may be good for me, but I think my friend over there is going to pass out," Panya said, grabbing you by your collar and forcing you to lean down so she could talk closer to your ear. You giggled.

"You have big strength," you said, stepping away as she downed yet another drink.

"Thank you, uh.. what's... your name?"

"... it is Yogi."

"Well then, Yogi. Another!"

If you had some sort of secret plan to get him to win, he was desperate to see it. This drink of yours had only seemed to be detrimental to him, not to Panya, and anxiousness stewed as he glanced into his cup. She was already ahead of him––to equalize the cards, he had to drink another cup, just to be equal.

You reentered the room as he knocked it back, carrying two more cups. When he set his cup down, you placed the others in front of him, and grabbed the empty one to clean it.

Ahkmen looked up, and through the haze of his thoughts, he might've seen you wink at him with a sly smile. Maybe. It was also possible you had just blinked and his eyes were being slow.

He grabbed his cup, and before he could think about it he chugged it. In a horrifying moment of clarity, he recognized the drink he'd had that morning––some sort of hangover cure that felt like smooth, squishy mud in his mouth. You returned a minute or two later, more drinks in hand. By then your mixture took effect, and much of his wooziness faded away, bringing him back to the land of sobriety before being offered his next cup.

It was all he needed.

Panya went on for a good long while, but without the special concoction she lost by the tenth round. During that time, Ahkmen had plenty enough beer, and had returned to the spinning thoughts of his alcohol-fueled brain, now focused on the one who had helped him so readily––you.

"What are – are you gonna do with... her?" Ahkmen asked through a half-stuffed nose, gesturing weakly to Panya, who had passed out in the corner only moments earlier.

"Do you know her parents?"

"... sort of," he answered vaguely. He definitely knew about them. Her father was Yafeu, and though he did not like Ahkmen, Ahkmen had a fair amount of information about him.

"Will they... scared, about her going.. missing?" You said, slowly piecing together a sentence you had clearly never said in Egyptian.

"You mean does she have to be home tonight?"

You nodded.

"She'll be fine. Her father will... worry, a little, but she can say she was sleeping in a friend's house. They won't.. uh... worry," he said in a mumble, laying his head to rest on your table.

"Then we put her to sleep. Let her rest for a while," you said, bowing your head as you collected the rest of the cups, disappearing behind yet another wall.

He tapped his fingers against the wood, keeping them close to his eyes so as to see his hand better. A long sigh left him.

"Will you go home? Or stay?" You asked upon your return.

"I – I have a lot of answers for you," he said, suddenly quite vindictive and stern as he pointed to you with a shaky finger. "And I want you.. to question..."

He trailed off as he realized his mistake. Embarrassment was clear on his face as he shriveled into himself, but you just giggled, sitting down across from him with a large bag in your lap.

"What is your questions?"

"What's your name? Your full name. You don't... seem happy when.. people say Yogi," he said, resting the majority of his weight on the pillows built up against one of the rare solid walls.

"Well, I come from a long travel. My name is not something many know here," you said with a shrug, digging your hands into the bag and rooting around it. "It is Yogasundari."

"Y.. yogetsury?" He tried on his clumsy tongue.

"Yogasundari. It is okay you can not say it. It is why most call me Yogi."

"So – where do you come from then? If y-you come from," he pushed down a hiccup, "from far away?"

"The east. My city was named Harappa. We live in a beautiful river, like you," you said, smiling a soft, thoughtful smile as you recalled images of your past. "Our city was great. Had all things. But my family is poor and it is easy to live here. We can make our own great.. um..."

"Riches?"

"Yes! Gold, and – and silk, you have, but we change the shape of iron," you said, your grin spreading into excitement. "We have good drinks. You want them here, so we come here, and we live much better than we live in Harappa."

"So you're... here with your family?" He asked in genuine curiosity, looking up at you from his collapsed position on the floor.

Your expression fell away, and an anxiousness overtook your demeanor.

"I was," you said, then frowned with spiteful eyes. "Those kings of yours kill my family, sell them. I love this, the river, but your kings are unjust. They take my parents and I never saw them again."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.

"It is okay. It is not your fault. I have a good home and I know how to stay away from soldiers. They go everywhere in this city. Not like my home. So that is why I am here," you said, gesturing to the patterned cloths that made up your ceiling.

"And it's just you here?"

"There is the cat," you said, looking back down to his chest, where unbeknownst to him, a thin, hairless cat had made a bed.

"Oh," he whispered softly, taken aback.

The purring was nice––actually, most of the cat's presence was nice, except when he went to pet it, and it raised its' head. At that point he saw the gaping holes where eyes were supposed to be, where they probably once were, and he just about jumped out of his skin, and would have if its' claws weren't kneading at his stomach.

"What the fuck," he whispered in a tense breath.

"She is good. Very kind. You do not worry."

"Where'd you find her?" He asked, eyes darting between you and the cat.

"On the street," you said, nodding. "She comes in for eating at some times."

"... delightful."

"What of you?" You asked. "What are you from?"

"I..." he paused, recalling your contempt for the royal family, and then the much earlier occurrence of Piye using a cover name. "... my father's a priest at Osiris' temple. Not the High one, but.. one of them. That's why I go to school there, and that's how I met Panya."

"Are you good friends?"

"Not really," he chuckled. "We have our fights but I respect her, most of the time."

"More with Piye, then?"

"Mm... yeah. How'd you meet them?"

"You have to ask them. They came in my home one day and asked for my brew."

"Which one?"

"The good one," you said with a wink that had Ahkmen snorting. "I have forgot to ask your name. Your friends name you two things."

What had Piye called him that morning? Panya had used Ahk, that he knew definitively.

"Ak'anpu," he answered after a moment's thoughts.

"It is a nice name," you said, bringing your lips to a glass contraption. With one flame on the other end, you breathed in deeply, exhaling thick clouds of smoke that easily outweighed the smoke of incense already flooding the ceiling.

"What is that?" Ahk asked with a groan as he brought himself to sit up, forcing your cat to jump off his middle.

"Shemet. I get it at the markets, by the river. It is good to sleep and calm down. Want to try?" You offered the tool to him.

"Sure," he said, though he was fairly certain he'd already had this before, and that you were simply pronouncing the name strangely.

From the taste alone he recognized it as something he and Piye had used extensively at some points. It didn't pair well with beer, which he knew from experience, so he took only one more puff before handing it back to you with a quiet 'thank you'.

"I must get home to my father, he's –" he tried to stand, falling back down when he tripped over his own feet. "He's gonna want to see me in the morning."

"You are a little... drunk to be seeing a father yet," you said, a grin tugging at your lips.

"That you are most certainly 'bight'," he said as he, again, attempted to stand.

When he nearly caught his head in one of your hanging scarves, you jumped to your feet, grabbing his arm and pulling his whole body back before he ran into it. He stumbled backwards, spinning around just in time to catch himself on the wall with you in front of him.

"Oh..." he stuttered, a warmer blush filling his head as he looked down at you. "I'm.. sorry."

But you just laughed, much harder than the times you had before, till a dark flush built in your creased cheeks, stark against your bright eyes.

"You are funny. It is alright," you said, patting his bare chest. "I don't think I trust you will get home safe."

"Is this because I'm drunk?" He asked in a teasing tone, leaning in closer with his own cocky smile. For a moment he worried your hand on his chest would feel the thundering of his heartbeat.

"It is because you are stupid," you said, ducking out from his grip and pulling the necklace from Panya's neck, handing it to him.

You took his hand in yours, carefully leading him out of your home without wrecking any of it. The ascent over the crates was a little more clumsy than usual, but in the end you both landed safe back in the regular streets of Memphis, the temple of Osiris to your right and the palace to your left.

"Which way is your home?" You asked, looking up at him after you confirmed it to be a vacant street.

"Easy there," he said as he raised his hands defensively. "I'm – can't go home this.. like this. I'm gonna go down to the Nile, and... I'm going to wash up."

"They say not to go by yourself," you said, following him when he turned to the right. "Dangerous animals."

"More guidelines than rules, really," he said as he shambled along. "And I have you now, d–don't I?"

"If fish eat your ass, I am not saving you," you said with a certainty.

Ahkmen spluttered into a laugh.

"What?" You asked, your own smile growing as you watched him, confused.

"Don't – don't ever say that again. Don't talk about anything eating ass," he said through a massive grin.

Once the two of you reached the river, which didn't take long at all, Ahkmen stripped himself of his garments, setting aside his jewelry in a neat row on the banks. His mother's necklace he set on his clothes, making sure not to dirty it in any way.

"It is funny how you Egyptians do this," you said, perching on one of the boulders present.

"Do what?" He asked, looking over his bare shoulder. Your eyes darted up from staring at something lower.

"Wash in the river."

"Not everyone does," he said, kneeling in the water. "A lot have small pools in their homes. Mostly the rich, I guess. Everyone else just bathes here."

"Maybe I am just... not knowing much about being without many clothes," you attempted to translate, the words clearly spinning in your head. You looked to him to see if he understood you.

"That I can see," he said, bringing the water over his legs and chest, trailing up to his face. "You've got quite a style. Very.. colorful. It looks expensive."

"I make my own clothes," you said with a small, but proud smile.

"You're a seamster?"

"I am many things."

"So I've seen," he chuckled. "How do you know so many things?"

"I had to learn. I had to teach me, from what I could see my family doing," you said, your feet wagging back and forth from the boulder's height. "I get not many people who.. who buy. But I have many things. I think it helps."

"Impressive," he said softly as he returned to washing himself.

By dunking his whole head into the cool water, he hoped to return more of his senses to himself, and with it his more prolific words. He didn't need drunken sentences messing up your understanding of him further. Besides, it was hard enough on its' own to try and piece together your own sentences that were jargled and brambled words of what you'd picked up in Memphis.

"Are you ready to go?" You asked after having fidgeted for several minutes, now letting your head hang upside-down off the rock.

"I suppose so," he said, rising to his feet. "I think I can probably bathe more once I get home. And if not, the morning will come, and I can wash then."

As spiritual an experience as it was to bathe in the lifeblood of Egypt, Ahkmen couldn't deny he missed the lavender soaps and gentle oils massaged and soaked into the skin.

He stumbled his way back to shore, slipping easily on the slick mud beneath him, making up the fertile silt of the Nile. You laughed from your vantage point, knocking your head back with the loudest belt of a laugh he'd ever heard. It was made especially amusing by the fact that such noise could come from someone so small. By the third time he slipped, though, you spared a little pity and climbed down from your tower to help him.

"You are funny," you said with the brightest grin he'd seen, offering him your hand with a long reach in an attempt to keep your shoes clean. Unlike Ahk's, they were made of a sort of fabric.

"I'm so sorry," he said, his legs shaky from his laughter and yours. "This doesn't usually happen."

He reached forward, setting his hand into yours, and allowing you to direct him forward. To your unfortunate surprise––though, still, very amused surprise––his weight ended up pulling both of you down, slipping into the shallow reaches of the river.

"Oh Gods," he said as he resurfaced. "I am so sorry, I -"

Your clothes, and you, were then soaked in both water and mud that easily stained to the palms of your hands as you hauled your heavy clothes out of the river. Wide eyes looked to him, your mouth open in surprise. He cringed backwards, a horribly apologetic look on his face as he watched you stand, shaking your body to test your new weight.

Glancing around your legs, midsection, and arms, you found mud dug into your elbows, your knees, around your hips, and all across your shoulders.

You laughed. Relief flooded him upon the sight of your smile, covering your mouth with a dirty hand.

"Don't we look like a dream?" You giggled.

[bitchassbucky]

.eps (cut)

Word Count: 1.7k

Warning/s: dark!bucky x dark!reader, MAJOR CHARACTER DEATH, blood mention, gore and dismemberment, murder, toxic/abusive relationship dynamics, sedation/drugging/use of sedative, stockholm syndrome-ish, one very special character reveal

A/N: this version of the epilogue is the 'clean cut' - there's a good chunk of it missing but it's not particularly important to the story. if you want to read the EXPLICIT version, there should be another one uploaded at the same time. (sorry, this is scheduled so i don't have the link yet lol)

follow the CTRL series:

i - .exe

ii - .avi

iii - .raw

iv - .png

v - .zip

CTRL playlist CTRL moodboard

Safeness, comfortability, warmth are all but a false sense of reality.

When a prey takes down its walls, the predator moves in. Camouflaged in familiar colors, in words that you’re used to hearing, in praises, in lies. Most predators use the mask of the night to move in darkness—unyielding and calculated. Come morning, there will be only one left alive, tainted with victory and bloodshed.

You and Bucky have been engaging in a dance for two—a battle of who’s willing to take the leap of faith and unleash hell upon the other.

Stifled smiles and pursed lips.

The air is filled with unsaid irritants, little things that ticked away like bombs.

There was no time for pleading, no time for mercy, no rest for the wicked.

Did you still love each other?

How far are you willing to go to keep up with his… complacency?

Bucky’s mundane life already taking a toll on you. The endless nightmares of him feeling you. The swirling vision of Bucky being with you every waking—and sleeping—moment: it grates your soul to shreds.

“We’ll be together forever, right?”

“Yes, darling.”

“What about the day after forever?”

“That too, honey.”

Where was the man you loved so deeply? The man that broke his morals just to be with you?

Was he under this hull of a Yes Man? A poor little thing that says ‘yes’ to everything like a puppy.

The man you held so dearly now slipping away, chipping his humanity, shedding the once-human.

“Would you marry me tomorrow if I asked you?”

“Of course, baby, why wouldn’t I?”

“Would you kill for me?”

“I’m meant to do the same for you.”

It’s irritating how Bucky gave up too quickly. Too fast, moving too fast. The gazelle let the lion tear its neck as it lay there, unmoving, letting the blood seep into its hide.

When you first met Bucky, it was your own fairytale unfolding before your eyes. Kismet, reality, forgiveness from above. He was soft and shy, passionate, lively.

Far from what you expected from a man his age—you blame Steve for forcing you into his narrative before. That all men are out to get you. They will hurt you. They will use you and leave you for good. But Bucky? Bucky came in like a knight. He saved you from the carcass of your past. He saved you from the sins that you prayed and knelt for.

Bucky taught you how to love.

Bucky taught you how to live for yourself.

Bucky taught you that being alone doesn’t mean you have to be lonely.

“It was an unspoken little thing, wasn’t it?”

“What thing, baby?”

“Our love.”

“Yes, honey, it was.”

He worships you.

He worships you like a fucking God and you hate it.

Suffocating, too suffocating. You dove straight for the water and now you’re drowning.

Do you still love each other? The question hangs in the air, heavy with its weight, light as a feather.

It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault. It’s all your fault.

You stand there with a syringe half-filled with a horse sedative. It’s a concern how easy it is to waltz into a pet store and pick up a general anesthetic. You make a mental note to look at it later.

Bucky’s body slumps forward, his forehead meeting the edge of the table with a dull thud. If the overdose doesn’t kill him, the weeping crack in his head will.

Holy fuck, humans bleed a lot. And fast. Good thing you already have that clear tarp taped down. Even with the hush money stuffed down your throat, it would take a good nick to regrout the kitchen.

“What is that for, honey?”

“I’m painting the cabinets.”

“Okay, darling.”

So you let him bleed, surprised that the liquid is redder than what you thought it would be. A soft gurgling noise came from Bucky, the last of air escaping his dead body. You stood there, syringe in hand, as you thought how to dispose of a six-foot-tall man without arousing suspicion.

Not that he’ll be missed anyway: the local news and the internet already branded him as a psycho and you as a victim. You were both victims in this fairytale. They reported his case as “skipped the town like the sicko he is.” So, no—no one’s going to look for him.

The sun was high up in the sky and there was a dead body in your kitchen.

A butcher and a surgeon walk into a bar for a drink. “What do you do for a living?” Said the butcher, “I save lives! What about you?” The doctor answers. “I save animals from dying slowly. We’re basically the same. You’re just very clean.” You see, the butcher comes into the bar covered in blood, reeking of death. The surgeon, on the other hand, wears his white coat with pride even though he’s surrounded by death every passing second.

Today was the day you learned that you have the tools of a butcher and the precision of a surgeon. Unlike before.

You carefully take Bucky’s fingers off of his left hand, leaving a skin flap on the edge of the last knuckle for you to stitch close later. Four promises. Four goddamn promises and he broke all of them.

It was his fault that he’s dead. He made you do this.

Placing the body into the trunk of a rental, you begin your journey to the end of your fairytale. Off to the woods, where you buried your first love. In a town where not everyone who dies leaves.

The drive to and from the place was tiring, to say the least. The internet connection of the diners was spotty at best. Locals were overly friendly with the city folks who came passing through their towns. The roads reek of roadkill and manure from the farm animals that were left to roam for fresh grass.

At least you get to come home in a spotless apartment, alone once again.

But not lonely.

Your space is yours again. No trace of anyone anywhere. Immaculately yours.

—

Humans are social creatures.

No one can truly be alone, especially in today’s world where we’re connected to everyone—whether we liked it or not.

Leaving your wretched job behind was an easy feat to do. No one can say no to the victim of such a vile crime. That’s all they saw you: a helpless little thing. So off you went; saying half-assed goodbyes and sending emails of courage and hope and fucking resilience.

Your resignation meant that the company’s free of any dirt from you, Bucky’s disappearance quickly becoming a joke and a rumor blending in one.

They let you leave: in your bank account a fat check ensuring that you’d shut up about the scandal for months until you can’t feed yourself no more. So you packed your bags and jet off without looking back. You never liked that apartment anyway.

Nevertheless, you found yourself looking into another dead-end job in one of the towns you stopped over before. It’s a charming place like time froze in their plaza while the rest of the world went on. You found a small studio apartment in a street tuckered away from the main avenue, you settled there as days became nights and nights turned into days.

You woke up one morning craving a healthy serving of coffee and pancakes, luckily the town’s local diner wasn’t far from your new home.

The coffee was too hot, the pancakes were amazing, fluffy, and just right. You’re sitting in a sunny booth, the warmth doing its wonders.

“Hi, can I get today’s paper, please?” Your voice is sweet as you call your server, giving her a quick smile.

A pair of Raybans adorn your face, unconsciously hiding behind its darkened glasses. The waitress gives you a thick stack of newspapers, refilling your cup with black coffee.

Upon opening the paper, you ignore the town’s headlines and go straight for the job postings. The door jingled open as patrons come in and go, waving to familiar faces.

Job Vacancy Announcements

Secretary to the Town Sheriff

You skimmed over the rest of the details, only noting the address of the office. The job looks quite lucrative for someone who would only take messages and organize files for the sheriff.

Looking over the job posting again, you read over the words walk-ins only. That shouldn’t be hard enough.

The diner looked deserted save from the man sitting behind your booth. Leaning over and tapping his shoulder, you put on a polite smile, “Hi, sorry, do you know how to get to the sheriff’s office from here?”

“Hello, darling.” The man croons in an accent, he looks over to you, “join me in my booth, will ‘ya?”

You’re in no position to reject his proposal, you’re the one who needed an answer.

Taking your coffee cup, you slide into his booth, “hi.”

“Just the face I wanted to see.” Clean-shaven, a hint of mint and smoke, and something woody; a worn leather jacket and white button-up shirt hugging his soft frame. “Some folks over on the apartment complex were talkin’ about a city girl wanting to rent a studio all by herself. That happen to be you?”

You look over to him, trying to understand how that small of news spread like a wildfire, “yeah. I moved in a week ago.”

He leans over, smiling sweetly as he unabashedly lets his eyes roam your features, “What’s a city girl like you doin’ in a place like this? I hope we ain’t too boring for you, gal.”

Chatty—he’s way too chatty.

“Just wanted a change of pace, really. Away from the bustle of the city.” You rustle the paper, clearing your throat to get back on the matter on hand, “so the sheriff’s office? Is it too far from here?”

“What business are ‘ya bringing into the office?”

“A job, actually. Says here that they’re looking for a secretary.” You might as well tell him everything, he seems too chatty to be dismissed over and over again.

“Well, darlin’, today’s your lucky day. No need to drive down the old road.” He reaches down to his seat, pulling up a brown hat, “Hi, I’m Sheriff Bodecker. Now, to whom do I owe the pleasure?”

You bite back a giggle, you’ve always wanted to be involved with the law.

[bang-to-the-tan]

Moth to Flame

Chapter 17

Reader x OT7

► Vampire!AU

Smut/Porn With Some Plot That is Rapidly Getting Out of Hand Dear God Why Please Help Me

Warnings: Complicated Morality, Lots of Stockholm Syndrome, Addiction, Possessiveness, Vampires (Reference to Biting, Blood-Sucking and Death), Language

↳ Summary: Robbed of your memories and intended as a birthday present for a deadly creature of the night, you unwittingly become the center of a territorial dispute between two covens of vampires. Tensions are rising and the brothers are getting hungry…

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You reach up to thread your fingers through Yoongi’s hair, scrubbing out the sweat, the dirt, the grime, and replacing it with a gently scented shampoo. He makes a criminally contented grunt deep in his throat and leans into your touch. His own hands pause in their attentive cleaning of your shoulders and collarbone. The water is warm around you, not too hot or too cold; comfort raining down on your bodies. Your leg and neck ache slightly, especially where your new marks throb, but it’s a feeling you welcome. You missed it. 

“You sure you feel okay?” he mumbles, squinting at you with one eye against a stream dripping down his forehead. 

“I’m sure.” 

“You have to tell me if you’re gonna pass out. You’ll break your skull on the tile.” 

“I promise.” 

When your fingers curl around his ears, his eyes flutter closed and you snort quietly through your nose. Even though the both of you are naked, there’s no sexuality at this moment. Something is...so incredibly human about this. Washing each other off, surrounded by gentle water and the scent of wet, clean bodies. There’s a spark of electricity that passes through you when he lathers up your torso, palms drifting to your belly, up over your breasts, but it’s probably a good idea that you don’t try anything in the shower. He has a point. The tiling has the potential to be a serious problem if you slipped and fell into it. 

 “Yoongi,” you say after a moment. He hums, distracted, rubbing wide circles into your tits. They’ll be the cleanest part of you when the shower is over.

“I was thinking.” 

“Oh, no.” 

“Yeah. Do you know if there’s any...any footage?”

He pauses. His lips purse thoughtfully. Sniffs once. 

“Not this time,” he says finally, flippant, “But next time I could set something up—”

You push at his hands with a scoff. They hover inches from your chest like he’s forgotten about them. “I don’t mean a sex tape!” 

“Why not? Taehyung used to have these really nice cameras—”

“ Yoongi—”

He slinks closer, leg sneaking between yours, a teasing grin pulling at his mouth. He reaches to brace himself on the wall behind you, leaning further into your space. “—not usually one for that kind of thing but I’d be willing to try it once.”

“Yoongi.”

“Put on a good show.” Yoongi’s voice has dipped lower into a rumble, his head craning to plant a searing kiss against your jawline. “For you. If you wanted.” 

“That’s not what I meant,” you insist, refusing to be distracted.

He hesitates again. 

“Yeah,” his tongue flits to lick at his lips habitually. He squints back up. “Yeah, I figured.”

“I meant of the...The hit and run.” 

“There’s probably footage of it somewhere.” 

“I want to see it. I want—” you swallow, hard, but there is a determination that has latched deeper, more firmly onto your heart.. “I want to know about it.” 

He doesn’t answer that for a moment, instead starting to help you rinse off in silence. He’s obviously turning things about in his head as he guides the water over your skin, your hair.  

“I get that.” he says. “Kind of. But you know it doesn’t change anything. What happened is what happened.” 

“It isn’t ‘what happened’,” you reply. “It’s what I did. Even if I don’t remember. I want to know.”

He nods, once, but his expression doesn’t change.

He reaches behind himself to shut the water off, scooting past you awkwardly to step out. He grabs a towel off the side and passes it forwards, tossing his hair out of his eyes to peer at you. You take it from his grip, rubbing your body down. 

“You know they’re gonna be pissed that I bit you,” he changes the topic, his stare caught by the bite at your thigh.

“Hypocrites. Besides, it wasn’t your fault.” You wrap the fabric over your chest with an absent huff. “I was the one who started it.” 

His jaw sets at that, and he looks away. His head bounces. As you step out, he’s wiping himself off with a towel of his own, throwing it over his head and rubbing at his hair. 

“I still can’t believe you’re okay,” he adds, slightly muffled. “That doesn’t seem right.”

You shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe I’m just used to it.”

He straightens, peering at you with a grimace equal parts disbelieving and impressed. “Can you do that?”

You shrug again, more exaggerated. “I guess!” 

Just as you move towards the door, head already spinning with half-formed ideas and plans, Yoongi speaks up again. 

“What do you think it’s going to change?” 

Your feet halt, digging briefly into the rug by the sink. You cast a look over your shoulder, eyeing him as he pulls the towel around his hips. The expression he levels your way reminds you a startling amount of Hoseok—when he’s talking about the person he was before. Earnest. Real, afraid, even. Someone just as confused as you. Dark, steady eyes watch you from underneath strands of wet hair. He looks good now, though, his skin soft and his face clear. 

“If you learned everything about who you used to be,” he adds, quiet. “Would that change who you are now?” 

“What do you care?” 

His eyes widen slightly, lips parting. 

“What do you care?” you repeat, shocked by the steadiness of your voice. “Who am I now?” 

“I...I don’t know.” Comes the hushed response. 

The atmosphere crackles, and your mouth sets into a line without your input. “Then no. Nothing will change for you.” 

“Then—”

Here, now, you feel incredibly unclouded for a change. The shower, the haze and addiction quieted, a moment of respite; like vinegar cutting through dust to reveal your own reflection. It feels natural to tighten your shoulders, reaffirm the stance of your feet. 

“If I change, maybe it’ll be for me, Yoongi. Maybe I want to make a  choice . For once.” 

 The hallway is empty when you sneak through it, heading back towards your room for new clothes, leaving Yoongi to his sullied bedsheets and his solitude. You’d originally planned to use his phone to seek out news sources and such, but that end to your conversation has put something of a damper on your relationship for the time being, you think. Once again, it occurs to you how little you know these men. Really know. Understand, even. As you get dressed, the fabric of your shirt rubs at your neck and you find yourself scratching absently at it, still frowning into the mirror. Once upon a time, a bite mark at your neck had needed bandaging and managing for days. This one seems to have clotted, scabbed, in record time. It’ll be healed within a couple days.

  I don’t know.

Yeah. You, either. But who you  were  is as good a place to start as any to finding out. 

 You need something with Internet access. There’s no phones, no computers, in your room, but you’ve seen at least Jin and Joon with phones—it’s a safe bet that most if not all of them have their own devices. And with all seven of them being in the same house now, it’ll be hard to avoid running into at least one willing to let you commandeer it for a sec or two. 

You step outside your room, casting a glance about the now-familiar hallway. The strange portraits stare back at you, the faux-old electrical lights flickering at intermediate beats. A hotel for an amusement park, you recall with a slight chuckle. There must have been an immense effort in making this whole place look the part. One that Jin seems to have inherited and maintained, however long they’ve been here. The thought makes you grin. ‘Vampire’, as a title, definitely comes with some steep demands in the name of upholding aesthetic. Despite the details. One of the portraits has a moustache splashed on with neon-green paint, and it kind of ruins the mysterious vibe.

The carpet muffles your steps as you walk, unable to shrug the feeling of being strangely naked. This is the first time you’ve walked this way entirely of your own accord. When you reach the stairs, you slide your palm against the banister, gazing at the wide doors at the foot of the steps. How far would you get? Before someone caught you? Before your own hunger kicked in and you circled back for a re-up on vampire bites? You hesitate, caught in place by the watchful eye of the outside, the moonlight filtering through the topmost window. 

You don’t have to deny it forever. The concept of freedom. You’ll shelve it for now. Until it’s convenient for you. Until it’s plausible, and final. Until nobody would come after you. Hoseok said that he’d help you out if you wanted to leave. Then again, how long did you have until that offer expired? Until next his throat ran dry? You sniff, once, and shake your head, continuing down the stairs.. 

You want to know who you were. Who you are. Preferably before somebody either kills you or throws you in jail. You have to be here for that.

As you touch down on the ground floor, you realize you can hear noise coming from the hallway just behind the stairs. The room opposite where Jin first fed from you. A familiar chill creeps up your spine, curls talons into your shoulders and quickens your heartbeat so that it sounds loud in your own ears as you continue. It’s the youngers of the coven that you can hear—Taehyung, Jimin, and though you can’t hear him over the conversation of the others, you can tell Jungkook is in there, too.

“—past a high school education,” Taehyung rumbles.

“You can’t just decide not to do it,” Jimin scoffs. 

“Wasn’t saying I wouldn’t do it, I’m just saying it’ll be harder when its you and me—which its gonna have to be soon .” 

Something electronically compressed shouts in a foreign language.

“I can dance.” 

“Oh, yeah, we’ll rent you out for parties.” You can hear the eyeroll. 

Before you’ve even cleared the doorway, the voices subside. 

 The room before you is structurally identical to the one on the left of the hall, more wide than tall, reaching towards the back of the house. But the similarities end there. While the room prior is decorated lavishly, like a gentleman’s sitting lounge, this one looks like a teenage boy’s wet dream. There’s anime posters tacked up directly onto the walls, a huge television set centered in the back with a circle of comfortable-looking chairs that have seen better days. To the far right is a beat-up pool table, and to the far left a thin bookcase that looks like it’s been ransacked. Books shoved onto the shelves, sitting dejectedly in rickety stacks on the floor. Comics, most of them. Some are magazines bearing scantily clad women on the covers. A sexy fireman calendar is pinned at the wall just beside the bookshelf with a thumbtack, the gentleman in question pouting at the camera and slipping a thumb under his bright yellow waistband, dark brows cocked. You get the distinct feeling it isn’t up-to-date, but rather a favored model.

On the television screen, a fighting game waits, humming, paused in bright letters slashed across what appears to be a cybernetic feudal japan rendered in 8-bit. Taehyung and Jimin both, seated on the sagging couch directly in front of it, have craned over their necks to behold you with apprehensive eyes past the blanket draped over the back. 

Jungkook perches on the end of the pool table, leaning with a cue propping his chin up. He, too, lends a glassy stare your way. 

Nobody moves. 

You can taste the seconds that pass on the back of your tongue. 

“Hey.” You finally greet. 

Taehyung is the first to break into a wide smile that creases his eyes and bares his teeth in a boxy shape. “Hey.” he repeats, teasing, brows flitting upwards. “Welcome back.”

Jimin licks his lips and briefly looks to his companions. “Hey.” he says finally, rubbing at his mouth with a sniff.

Jungkook offers no comment, but the corner of his lips quirk, pulling into a straight line. You’ll take it as a greeting.

“I don’t wanna interrupt,” you continue, awkward, but proud of yourself for standing your ground. “I just need access to the web.” 

“We’re grounded.” Jungkook finally speaks up, deadpan. No one moves, watching you patiently as you wait for him to add the ‘kidding’. It doesn’t come. 

“...You’re serious.”

“Jin changed the wifi password,” Taehyung explains, with a wry chuckle. “He said he’ll give it back in a few years.”

“As long as he doesn’t catch Jungkook trying to guess it again,” Jimin adds with a pointed glance at his younger. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, huffing once. “If I had figured it out, you’d use it.” 

Jimin shifts in his seat, raising his hand to gesture as he continues to accuse, now facing him directly, brows high. “Yeah, but you didn’t, did you? You know if he catches you again, we’re all gonna be in trouble for it.” 

“I’d rather die standing than live kneeling.” Jungkook’s voice drops into a deep accent for the dramatics. 

Taehyung nods sagely. “Good man,” he returns in a similar timber. 

Jimin snatches a threadbare pillow off the ground, smacks Taehyung upside the head with it and beams it directly at Jungkook, who fends it off with a skillful parry using the pool cue. 

“Pathetic,” Jungkook intones, thick, torso dropping into a defensive stance, wielding the cue like a bo staff. 

Taehyung giggles. “It’s no use,” he adds in a growl.

 “Okay,” you interrupt their antics, “So I’ll have to ask Jin?”

“Probably.” Jimin replies, nodding. “Namjoon has it, too.” 

“He hasn't been out of his room since you got here, though,” Taehyung interjects. 

The cherry-headed kung fu master perched atop the pool table deflates visibly. He flips the cue to lean it back onto the ground again, shoulders sinking. His face resumes its empty stare into space, a slight frown curving his lips.

“Hobi would have it.” 

“You could ask him, but he doesn’t like letting people on his stuff.” 

“Yoongi?” 

“Probably not a good idea. He didn’t look too good—”

“I’m not asking Yoongi,” you say, a little too quickly. Three sets of eyes swivel to you in mild surprise. 

“I already...I’m not going to ask him.” You finish, lame. 

“Your best bet is just asking Jin. He’ll let you do whatever you want,” Jungkook pipes up, quiet. 

“Uh. Alright. Do you know where he is?” 

“Probably in the study. Back down the hall. To the right. It’s opposite the kitchen. You remember where the kitchen is?” 

You remember. You remember Jungkook pressing you gently to the counter. His hands on your waist. His lips against yours, stolen and perfect. The way his jet eyes burn into yours tells you he remembers, too. You try to focus on the memory of stale crackers instead.

“Thanks.” The word escapes your lips like something small, something almost shameful, slinking past your teeth and disappearing somewhere under the couch.

You move to turn away, to leave them to their games. Talking to Jin might be best, anyways, if your goal was to figure yourself out. He’s always been kind to you. He’s probably most likely to sit still and listen to what you have to say. Probably.

 “Wait. Do…”

You pull up short, just shy of leaving the frame. You poke your head back around the corner to find Jimin scooted up on the couch, fixing you with a look that’s as surprised as his companions’. 

“Do you...want to play?” he finishes. 

 A beat passes. 

“The game,” he clarifies, tone softening, but his eyes are earnest. 

“The game?...” you echo, frozen in place. Ah. The one on the television screen. You blink. “I...I don’t remember how to play video games.”

“It’s super easy. We can teach you. If you want. You don’t have to.” he adds, rapid-fire and increasingly losing his nerve. 

“Do you think that’s a good idea?” 

He frowns, throwing his gaze to some indeterminate point in space to his right. “I just...they made it sound like you’re...staying. I don’t want things to be weird forever, you know?” 

The other two in the room turn their sights on you and you can feel yourself being the center of attention between them; and not for the first time, though now for a completely different reason. You hesitate. 

But he’s right. If you’re going to be living with these people for the foreseeable future, what’s the point in leaving room for tensions? And if you’re going to leave, why not convince them in the meantime to see you as something other than a fuckable meal ticket? It can’t hurt. Can’t it?

“...Alright.” you acquiesce, finally. Jimin’s expression melts into a sweet relief, and he’s automatically scooting to the side on the couch, gesturing you over. Jungkook doesn’t move, opting to continue staring as you reenter the room and approach the sofa. Taehyung’s face is impossible to get a proper read on, but he slides to the side and pats at the seat between himself and Jimin in a way you think is encouraging. 

You skirt around the corner, navigating past Taehyung’s legs and the wires decorating the floor in front of the tv set, finally opting to throw yourself into the cushions. A yelp of surprise leaves you when you sink further into it than you bargained for, your feet leaving the ground and your sight almost obscured by the sofa’s plush maw. Taehyung laughs at that, his eyes pushing into crescents. 

“Comfy, right?”

“It’s, uh,” you struggle to combat your new pillowy prison, thrashing to regain your balance. “Well—”

“It’s a piece of shit is what it is,” Jungkook clarifies through an absent pout. 

“Tae won’t let us get rid of it,” Jimin adds with a roll of his eyes, leaning to pass you his controller. You accept it with one hand, finalizing your position atop the seat instead of inside it with the other. 

“It’s literally the perfect couch,” Tae defends. “Years and years of wearing it in has made it the ideal specimen.” 

“Don’t sleep on it. You’ll throw out your back and walk funny for like a week,” Jungkook warns.

“Nobody said you had to sleep on it.”

“I don’t. I sleep on the pool table. Way more comfortable.”

Jimin shifts closer as they argue, careful not to get too close, careful not to touch you when he points the buttons out. 

“These are for attacking, these are for combos,” he’s explaining, patient. “The joystick moves it. All you have to do is beat Taehyung up.” 

You can’t help but smile at that. “The dream,” you venture, trying to be more familiar.

To your relief, he returns it, a giggle shaking his shoulders. “This one unpauses the game. When you’re ready.” 

“When you’re ready to have your ass handed to you.” A glance at Tae reveals his brows raised ridiculously high on his head, his head tilted back to eye you with an exaggerated air of superiority. His jaw flexes as he chews imaginary gum for punctuation. 

“Give her the chance to learn the controls at least.”

“No. Adapt or die.” 

You take a breath, trying to cement Jimin’s brief overview in your mind. Are you the kind of person who’s good at video games? It’s a possibility. “...We’ll see who hands whose ass to whom.” 

“Foolish.”

 With a tap of the button, you unpause the game. 

The wolf-man character on the far right of the screen immediately strides over to the winged angel-looking man on the left. You start mashing buttons, suddenly frantic, but the character advances closer and grabs yours, throws him to the side of the screen and unleashes hell on him when he bounces back. The character explodes in shards of light, falling dramatically to the ground, and bright text once again flashes red across the screen.

K.O. 

Jimin tries to defend you through laughter, offering advice and scolding Taehyung in turn, who stretches leisurely and cracks his neck with an expression of ultimate self-satisfaction. 

“You, are a jerk,” you laugh after a beat of stunned silence. “You couldn’t have thrown one match?” 

“A true champion never throws matches,” is his deeply-serious reply. 

“In the words of Ghandi,” Jungkook pipes up, “Get good.”

“Ghandi didn’t say that.” 

“Ghandi said ‘get good, scrub,’” Taehyung corrects. 

“Ah, my bad, namaste.” 

“Shut the fuck up,” Jimin gripes. “Give me the other controller.”

You turn from him with a look of determination, effectively shielding Taehyung from his grasp as you twist in the seat, despite the inherent difficulty of the maneuver. “No! I was promised the chance to beat him up!” 

From the side, you hear Jungkook’s quiet, “Yes, let it flow through you.”

“But he—”

“I want to go again! I’m just figuring the controls out!” You insist, swivelling to glower at Tae. “We’re gonna go again!”

His eyes flash and he grins, delighted in your participation in his little play competition. “Another hot, steamy plate of ass-whooping for the lady?”

“Weird thing to call yourself,” you bite back.

“Ass-whooping?”

“‘The lady’.”

Jungkook hoots. “She’s calling you a girl.” 

Taehyung shrugs at that as he flicks a button absently, the words ‘Player 1: READY’ darting across the screen. “I could be ladylike.”

“You’re too much of a whore,” Jimin snarks. 

“This is true.” 

 Your next round doesn’t fare much better than the first. Or your third. Fifth. But it doesn’t take long for you to get caught up in the game as well as the company, the boys visibly relaxing the longer you sit there among them. Jungkook slowly begins to chime in with tips and tricks, occasionally dipping into this ‘announcer’ voice like he’s narrating a sports channel. His favorite thing to shout becomes “That’s gotta hurt!” and for some reason, it only becomes funnier every time he trots it out. 

Taehyung talks shit nonstop, constantly, raining endless pain onto your little angel man like its hardly a second thought. Like his fingers are plugged directly into the matrix. Like he was born with this controller in his hand. He doesn’t blink.

Jimin mostly tsks and complains about Taehyung’s merciless demolition of your player character, cheering loudly when the odd hit lands. He almost falls off the couch laughing when you manage to kick Tae upwards with a lucky combination of button mashing and he immediately uses the air to pummel your head into the ground with a one-shot, flawless K.O. It only gets worse at your insistence that the controller is at fault, but you can’t help but laugh with him until the four of you are lost completely in giggles. 

“We need to level the playing field somehow,” Jimin gasps, tears in his eyes. “This isn’t a game, this is a massacre.”

Taehyung jumps nearly a mile in the air when the business end of a pool cue suddenly appears in his periphery, rearing back before smacking the backs of his outstretched hands like a stern nun.

“Ow?” he giggles, head turning in confusion, the controller nearly slipping out of his grip. 

“Interference.” Jungkook wiggles the pole at him again, playfully dodging like he’s boxing, before rapping him across the knuckles again. 

“Hey!” Tae yelps, trying to scoot out of his reach, but Jungkook’s arm and the cue itself are long enough that he just continues to extend with him, waving at him warningly even as he bats at it. 

“Press play, press play,” Jimin urges, leaning towards you with excitement, eyes wild. 

“That’s cheating, that’s not fair,” Taehyung laughs in a high pitch, trying to shoulder at the cue, raise his knee against it, all futile against Jungkook’s pestilence, gripping his controller for the next round as you hit the button to continue. 

“All is fair in war.” Jungkook replies, solemn. 

Tae manages to push the stick away just in time to block your clumsy attack, getting a quick combo in, but the end move is cut off when the pool cue jams into a space just beneath his ribs and his whole body immediately convulses ticklishly with a shout.

“Now! Now!” Jimin surges forward, warm hands covering yours to guide your fingers to the right buttons. It’s a split second window of opportunity where Taehyung has to take one hand off the controller in order to grab the cue, but you’re seizing it with a vigor you didn’t know you had, slamming into the buttons so hard you swear they could crack, aided by Jimin’s fingers above yours, everyone breathlessly focused on the screen as your character unleashes one, two, three combos onto the body of the wolf man. 

Taehyung roars aloud, intimidating if not for the laughter that pitches the end upwards.

The finishing move. 

Simultaneous, moved by one will, the intention towards sheer and utter annihilation, you and Jimin slot the last combo into place. The finishing move is some untenable, seizure-inducing spasm of lights and feathers and halos and something to do with water? You don’t understand whatever it is the angel man shrieks, but you understand the red slash of victory streaking across the screen with righteous fanfare. 

K.O. 

You won. 

Jimin is crowing, beaming, and you can’t help but grin along with him, raising the controller aloft like a trophy won. You’re sweating.

“You did so good!” he gushes, hands shaking yours in the air, still curled around each other. “You did it, you kicked his ass apart!”

“Traitor!!” Taehyung howls, still laughing so hard he can barely see.

As you and Jimin briefly engage in some awkward, silly victory dance, both pairs of hands held above your head, Taehyung places the controller gently on the floor in front of himself, jerking upwards and clamping both hands onto the pool cue, tugging Jungkook off his seat atop the table with one motion. Jungkook shrieks as he’s thrown forward, losing his balance and crashing into the blonde man ungracefully, the two of them carried by the force into you. You jolt when Taehyung’s head lands in your lap, still play-growling and releasing the cue to grab the other boy more firmly about his shoulders. The motion in turn thrusts you at Jimin, who catches you with a small noise of surprise, the four of you tilting like dominos, steadily sinking into the couch like hollywood quicksand. The two youngsters struggle for a moment, Tae’s head thrashing across your thighs, Jungkook trying to extricate himself and knocking into your elbow, Jimin seemingly frozen beneath you, arms forgotten midair, the heat of his midsection warming your back.

All at once, everyone stills. 

 Your excitement wavers. Dissipates. 

What’s happening? What’s wrong? 

Realization crashes into you as several things happen at the same time.

Taehyung’s expression drops, turning back to impassive and unreadable. He turns slightly, towards the bite at your thigh, and you can hear the inhale he draws through his nose as he casts his eyes upwards, at you. His pupils dilate. Oh shit.

Jungkook turns entirely to stone, held steady by his forearms on top of his elder. But you can hear his lips part, the sharp breath he takes. His fingers curl absently into the cushions beneath you. 

At the sound of Jimin’s tongue flitting to wet his lips, you move to begin turning and facing him, but you jolt, pausing at the feeling of something brushing, feather-light and barely there, at the base of your hair. His breath warms the nape of your neck when he speaks in a hesitant murmur. He’s angled towards the side where your fresh marks sting.

“...Ah. Did Yoongi…?”

 Your body is moving before you can think, aided by the heat that floods your limbs. You’re writhing, kicking out from under Taehyung, disentangling yours and Jimin’s hands, pushing them off, away, trying to get leverage enough to be released from the depths of the sagging couch. Taehyung and Jungkook are clumsy and slow, sitting up just enough for you to get out, and Jimin is doing his best to assist you, you think, but you’re still unthreading your fingers, shoving a steadying hand off your waist and pretending that the lack of support doesn’t make you stumble forward. Some part of you is disappointed to leave the warmth, the attention, but you know exactly what would happen if you stayed. And you don’t have time for it. As you struggle your way upwards, finally free, you refuse to look directly at them, but you catch a glimpse of their faces anyway on your way to the doorframe, headed for the hallway. 

Jungkook is still holding himself up over Tae, their play fight forgotten entirely. His eyes bore dark, burning holes into yours. Taehyung’s are glued to your thighs, tongue making an appearance to slide across his mouth almost thoughtfully as he sinks leisurely back into the pillows. Jimin is the only one of them that doesn’t look blown-out. Brows raised and angled, plush lips parted in shock—that all-too-familiar hunger has crept behind his eyes but more than that, he looks surprised. 

You bite back an apology as you stride to the doorway and through the hall, heading back towards the front of the house. What do you have to apologize for? You aren’t sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong. Even so, there’s a part of you that’s mourning the most comfortable atmosphere you’ve been party to in what feels like ever. 

It was nice, but you forgot. 

You forgot what they are, and what you are to them.

You wish it didn’t make your heart ache. 

 “Wait. Wait!”

You don’t hear him the first time, too lost in your own embarrassment, but the second time you hear Jimin calling after you, your pace quickens. He’s running after you, breaking into a slight jog when you speed up. He catches up with you at the front door, nearly on top of you, and the thought of him grabbing your arm or otherwise touching to get your attention has your heel spinning to frown at him. He halts immediately when your gazes meet. Your cheeks are still flushed and you hate thinking of how it must look.

“Yeah, Yoongi did. Okay? What do you want, Jimin?”

He recoils visibly, stepping back. His eyes are still slightly dilated, his own cheeks a pretty pink, plump lips parted. He looks hurt. Agitated. You ignore the urge to sidle closer and bite his lips for him. 

“I—I just,” he hesitates, spluttering when you move to turn around again and continue to the study, “I’m sorry.” 

“You’re sorry?” 

“I just wanted you to...to feel more comfortable with us.” he admits, quiet. “I know things are weird.”

You snort. He winces. “That’s a word for it.”

“I can’t imagine what it must be like for you. Being here. I just want you to feel…like...like you can trust us.”

“Trust you?”

“Like you can trust me! I know it’s hard, just being dropped in a house where everybody’s already...and you’re the odd one out…”

“I’m not an in-law, Jimin,” you balk. You remind him just as much as yourself, “You kidnapped me so you could eat me.”

He winces again, rubbing the back of his neck. His tongue wets his lips again, nervous. “I  know  that. I’m just.” He meets your eye again. “I’m just trying to help.” 

You stare at him. 

 “The last time you ‘helped’ me, you ended up with your dick down my throat.” You reply, incredulous. 

The red dusting his face gets so, so much worse and he has to look away. 

“That was...different. We...you...it was—” he’s looking for some excuse and failing miserably. “I’m sorry for that, too.” he ends finally. “But! But, I never was going to hurt you, y’know.”

You sigh, hand coming to massage at your temples absently. God, you hope that migraine isn’t planning on coming back. Will drama make your withdrawal worse? “Jimin—”

“I don’t want you to feel alone. Hunted and wanted and scared and alone. And,” he adds, his tone going quiet. “I don’t want...us….” He trails off, restarting with a steadying inhale. “You aren’t hazed.”

The new direction spins you for a moment, taking you completely off-guard. “...no?” 

“Are you okay?”

You gape. What is he getting at? But he meets your eye with...fear? Worry? “I’m...fine?”

“Yoongi bit you.” 

“Yes…?”

“Without any haze. While he’s...he’s sick. Hungry.” 

There’s a pause between you while you try to decipher his point. He eventually gets frustrated with it and casts a brief look about, as if checking for anyone who might be listening in, before stepping in slightly closer. His hands raise, placating, like you’re a spooked animal who might turn tail any minute, at the slightest movement.

“Did he force himself on you?” His voice is soft.

“No more than any of you have,” you retort, stepping back, but Jimin only looks more concerned, eyes darting between yours. “Come on, you can’t pretend that ‘haze’ excuses some of the shit I’ve been through.” 

“Haze can’t make you do anything you don’t want to do—”

This again. You could strangle him. “Oh, thank you, Namjoon—”

“—and there is a difference between convincing someone to give you their blood and  taking  it from them. An important difference. I need...I need to know that we aren’t like that to you.” 

“And if you were?”

“Then we’re both leaving.” His response is immediate, grim, and again you’re left somewhat reeling. You watch him for a moment, admittedly intrigued by this convoluted, complicated world view he’s apparently keeping track of. The gray standards he’s holding this entire crew to. It’s weirdly fascinating. Would he really leave them? Just because they didn’t haze you?

 “...I went into Yoongi’s room and asked him to bite me,” you say finally. Jimin’s entire frame sags in relief, though his expression morphs into open-mouthed shock. 

“You….did?”

“Actually, he was the one that wasn’t...completely into it to start with,” you admit after a beat, recalling the man bundled into the corner, insisting that he didn’t want to hurt you. Something like guilt flashes through you. “He asked me to leave.”  

“Oh, thank God.” Jimin looks like he’s this close to crying, head leaning back, brows furrowed. He leans his head into his hands, running his fingers through his hair with a deep inhale. He presses his palms into his eyes, disbelieving. “Oh, my god, I was so...I thought…”

You eye him peculiarly. “You really think it makes that big of a difference.”

“It makes all the difference. We have to drink blood. And we can’t always just...  ask  people for it. But we can make it as painless as possible. We can choose not to let people suffer for it. We don’t have to be...like others.” He takes another breath. “We aren’t like them. We don’t have to be.” 

“That is such a thin line.” 

“It is,” he concedes. “It really is. But I have to...I have to draw it. For my sake. For everyone’s. I love them all too much.” 

“You’re a hero,” you drawl.

“I’m traumatized,” he counters, too quick on the draw, too off-handed. The wry grin that pulls up one side of his mouth is not a happy one. There are scars hiding in his tone, and for a second, you can see how old he is. How old he really is. The shadow of what he’s really been through, passing over him and seeping past the veil that immortality lends. “It does that to you.” 

Silence settles into the front hall around you, punctuated only by the odd creak of old wood somewhere in the bowels of the hotel, echoing.

Namjoon’s words rise, unbidden, in your mind.

Jimin...Jimin was my fault. Wait, does that mean that Namjoon—You don’t have time to be horrified or even more confused, because Jimin is shoving his hands into his pockets and exhaling loudly through his nose. He looks equal parts content with his answers and idly thoughtful.

“So you’re okay?” he asks, eyes searching yours. His pupils have almost shrunk back to normal, no doubt distracted by whatever is lurking in his past. 

“...I’m okay,” you respond. 

“Okay,” his head bobs. “You can talk to me, okay?” 

“Without sticking your dick in my mouth?” you snap before you can stop yourself. 

His expression darkens. “It…” he hesitates, tongue slipping to wet his lips. 

“That...will be up to you,” he says finally, slow, intent. 

Your belly roils and again you have to beat back the sudden desire to throw yourself at him, sneak hands beneath his shirt, into his jeans, lick into his mouth. His gaze flicks across your body, bottom to top, before he turns on his heel and slinks back down the hall to the game room. Briefly, you wonder what the atmosphere must be like in there now. You shudder and the marks at your neck and thigh pulse.

It’s too easy for them. 

Far too easy. 

But you like to think you’re learning. 

Previous   Masterlist          Next

[fanficsrusz]

I WANT TO KI__ YOU CHAPTER TEN - DARK! JOHN WICK

Warnings: Kidnapping, Dub-Con, Non-con, Stockholm Syndrome, Being Restrained, Breeding, everything bad.

PLEASE READ AT YOUR OWN RISK. IF YOU FIND ANY OF THESE WARNINGS TRIGGERING, THEN DO NOT READ. BY CONTINUING TO READ FROM THIS POINT ON, YOU ARE AGREEING THAT YOU ARE COMFORTABLE WITH ALL OF THE ABOVE WARNINGS. I DO NOT ACCEPT ANY RESPONSIBILITY IF YOU FEEL TRIGGERED BY THE FOLLOWING CONTENT SINCE THERE HAS BEEN PLENTY OF WARNINGS. IF YOU FEEL LIKE ANY OTHER WARNINGS SHOULD BE ADDED THEN PLEASE POLITELY DM ME AND I WILL ADD THEM.

Word Count: 3k

Summary: Summery: After failing to fulfill his contract, John takes a liking to y/n and his liking soon turns into a dark obsession

I want to ki__ you playlist

A/n: It feels like ages since I updated this story but I'm finally back. I wasn't too sure what I wanted to happen in this chapter but hopefully i've done okay.

I hope you all enjoy this chapter and I look forward to reading all your comments and feedback. If you liked this chapter then please reblog it. That is how writers like myself are able to spread out work to other people, especially because there have been a lot of issues with tags lately. Thank you ❤️

Chapter one 

<<< Chapter Nine          Chapter Eleven>>>

Love is confusing. It comes and goes instantly. There is no warning, no sign of when it  will suddenly strike. It’s unpredictable, untamable and it’s scary. Love never says 'I want'. Love asks 'What do you need?'. Love asks 'How can I help you?'. Love listens with patience and empathy. Love is demonstrated in how someone takes actions to care and make self-sacrifice where necessary. Love says 'Let's thrive together.' Love offers a helping hand, a full heart and an open mind. Love is warmth. Love is safety, the thing that makes you forget about everything else in life. Love is John.

John offered y/n those things. He gave her what she needed, what was best for her. He took away all the bad things in her life, all the things that kept her up at night. She no longer had to think about when her next paycheck would come and worry if she had enough money in order to afford the rent. She didn’t have to worry about every little noise she heard outside or the distant screams that she was sure was a cry for help. 

But at what point does love turn into obsession? 

John only meant her good. He didn’t mean to scare her, to hurt her and deep down y/n knew that. In some ways, she loved him too.

The longer she stayed with John, the longer her thoughts constantly drifted to him; he was her everything. Insanity stole into her mind like a deranged thief, taking what was important to her, adding new dangerous ideas, seeding a new personality and muddling up the rest. 

New sparks of ideas that once she would have dismissed as bizarre started to grow roots, deep roots, they started to make sense in one revolutionary eureka moment after another, cascading out of control, luring her further and further from the self she once knew, until she was so deep that she no longer recognised herself, making new connections in her new distorted reality that she grew to love. 

After a while, her mind had formed an inescapable maze, a prison without walls.

Y/n held her hand over her mouth, the other rigidly clutching the white of the shirt she wore, her eyelids shut so tightly that they began to fidget and shudder from the force, as if the very corners of her eyes were being pricked with a needle, crying silent tears that ran past her plump, red cheeks and over her knuckles until finally dripping onto the floor with as much a sound as the woman's hushed agony.

She stood paralyzed in fear, the scent of perturbation invaded the room. Her terrorized feet refused to move and all her hands agreed to do was to stay covering her frightened face. Yet the excited buzz in her stomach continued to grow, the deep burn from inside that John had put there.  

She hated that she loved it, that she loved him. He was insane, delusional, a man driven by his own sick desires and she was nothing more than a stepping stone that helped him achieve his goals. But she couldn’t help but fall for him. However, she was scared; there was such joy and so much pain. 

Before John, y/n had only ever really loved two men, and they were so very different to each other. John was some holy blend of them both. So, she was happy to have met him, she just wished it was under different circumstances but she had never wanted any form of eternity until now, she never saw the point, until John. 

y/n lifted her head and stared into her distorted reflection of the metal cooker topper. It wasn't even shiny, yet she could tell from her reflection that she was a mess. John stood behind her, watching her every move carefully but his eyes still lit up with love and admiration for her. He admired everything about her, from the way the breeze blew her hair to the softness of her voice. To John, she looked like some kind of water sprite even when she thought she looked terrible. 

As y/n watched the twisted smile form on John's face, fear curled up inside her and clung to her ribs, settling uncomfortably in her chest. She didn’t doubt the feelings she had for him were there to stay, reminding her of its existence every time she opened her mouth to breathe, but it was getting hard for her to deny.

The panic started like a tightening of the chest, as if her muscles were trying not to let another breath in, but instead to die. Her tiredness made her head hang limp like wet laundry on a cold still day. She felt like every muscle was giving into gravity and she couldn’t control it any more. Then the breathing came, shallow, lungs unable to move much against her suddenly heavy ribs. Her mind became static, thoughts making no sense, repeats of horrors once forgotten. 

Beneath her feet the wooden floor felt soft, not as much as even a firm carpet, but not right for oak planks. y/n moved to the turn around, her back sliding against the edge of the counter, her legs brushing against the mildewed cupboard door. It was hard to make out the details of the room through blurred eyes, but after a while she could make out the features of the room. It was the same as it ever was, just abandoned, old, dusty. 

Forgetting the floor she tried to move forward forward, "I can’t- I can’t" Her only response was the creaking of a door moving lazily in the breeze. It was all too much for her: John, her emotions, her new life - she couldn’t cope. 

y/n staggered backward, her mind swirling, her breaths shallow until she fell in a heap to the floor.  On the way down she knocked over a vase but y/n didn’t even notice. All she was aware of was the loud crash that filled her ears and then the warmth around her.  John was a blur as he ran towards her, eyes wide and voice muffled through the ringing in her ears. 

She felt it break - her sanity, much like the vase that also fell onto the floor beside her.  Her last shred of normalcy shattered into a million pieces. The shards laid on the floor glittering in the sun, who knew breaking down could look so beautiful. She knew there was no hope in trying to put them back together, so she wouldn’t even try. she just sat there staring at John as his lips moved but no noise came out.

At first there was only silence, a misty haze upon the horizons of her mind. That's where she normally kept everything, in her mind. That was until now. She could feel the hard painful lump in the back of her throat as the tears continued to fall. Slowly her breathing hallowed itself and a small but intense pain struck the top nerve in her head. Before she knew it there was shouting, they were hers, yet they seemed so distant and she couldn’t even make out what they said.

Her remaining thread of strength frayed before breaking completely, sending her plummeting over the edge and into the darkness. Hysterical sobs shook her small frame, threatening to tear her apart from the inside. She fought to reclaim control over her body, shocked by the sounds escaping from deep within her chest but the calm never came.

“y/n!” John shouted over and over, trapped in a mantra as he tried to get her to answer him but all he got was cries.

John slowly pulled her closer to his chest,  wrapping his arms around her tightly before he gently squeezed. His embrace was warm, and his big, strong arms seemed very protective when wrapped around her frail body. The world around her melted away as she squeezed him back, not wanting the moment to end. Wrapped in a warm swaddle of his chest and arms, y/n’s tears seemed to die down, as if his hug was a sort of medicine to her pain. She didn't want to leave. It felt as if when she was in his arms all her pain went away - mental and physical, mostly the depressing pain.

John had never seen y/n cry like that, so deflated. Her loose shoulders still shook softly, her hands hanging limp around him, making no attempt to conceal or even wipe away her own tears. Aside from her reddened face she was so grey looking and her hair was dishevelled. John had seen others cry like that, normally when they begged for their lives before he killed them, and in every case it was a transition from a person with hope to one without. It was how they all begged for their lives; It was how John had cried when he lost his child; it was how John cried the day his wife passed. It was a kind of crying that showed the child underneath, that the pain had cut right back through the protective layers acquired in maturity.

“Don’t cry, Princess-” he placed a soft kiss onto her forehead and knelt down onto his knees as he brought her closer to his chest, “-everything will be okay, i’m here”.

Even Though y/n could hardly breath between her sobs, she reached out and hugged John tightly, a hug so warm yet so different from a motherly embrace and y/n felt her mind slowly calm. How could it be that she hadn't seen John’s love for what it was before? Pure. Unselfish. Undemanding. Free. She felt his body press in, soft and warm. This was the love she'd waited for, prayed for. She inwardly thanked God and hugged all the tighter. A love like this was to be cherished for life. 

When they finally parted after several minutes, tears stopping and breathing normal, y/n felt his absence as a cold wind, wishing she could keep him wrapped around her like a well worn sweater for always.

John smiled and held her at arm’s length, his eyes softening as he watched the way she brushed her tears away from her reddening cheeks. 

“Feel better?” he asked and y/n only nodded, unable to form any words under his gaze. 

“Good, let’s get you cleaned up” y/n cocked her head to the side, not sure what he was talking about until she followed his gaze down to her arm.

A deep wound was sliced in the flesh of her lower left arm. It heavily oozed out blood and there was a bluish-purple bruise forming around it. y/n lightly pressed her index finger against the center of the cut and sucked in a sharp breath as the pain spiraled all across her body. She wasn’t even aware of the cut caused by the vase until that very moment. Colorful spots contoured the sides of her eyes and y/n  had to bite her lip from the pain of it all, the adrenaline that numbed her pain slowly fading away.

“Ow” she whimpered out and John pulled her finger away. 

“Stop that” he whispered and pushed his arms under her armpits, lifting her from the floor. y/n said nothing as John led her to the bathroom again and gently placed her onto the side of the bath. She watched as John shifted through the cupboard, pulling out different bottles of medicines before finally turning back to her. 

John gently lifted her arm and turned on the tap, holding it under the running water. The water enveloped her as closely as her own skin. Every new sore stung  as John tipped a bottle of TCP up-side-down before he poured some over her cut. y/n winced as the pain swirled without mercy, penetrating to the cells that should have been protected by smooth skin but lie open and raw. 

y/n hissed at the pain and John hated to see her like that but it was the only way to avoid infection. 

“Sorry” John simply said, eyes not leaving the cut as he softly dabbed it with a cotton bud, wiping away any blood that remained in the cut before examining it for any more glass fragments that may be hiding inside. The simple touch sent a wave of butterflies coursing through her veins, their fluttering wings easing the dread that had settled inside her as she stared at John. 

“Why don’t I hate you?” she blurted out and John seemed to tense at her words. 

“What?”

“I should hate you. You- you raped me” her voice grew quiet with every passing word and John stopped his movements, turning the running water off before turning his gaze to her - firm and stoic. 

“I didn’t - rape you” he said sternly and y/n bit the inside of her cheek as she looked down at her cut again. “Didn’t  you want it? Didn’t you want to have sex with me?” he asked after several seconds of silence.

“I - I don’t know. That’s what’s confusing me.”

John exhaled heavily and moved to sit next to her on the side of the bathtub. 

“Did I hurt you?” his voice was low, much like a child who had been told off and y/n shook her head. 

“No -” y/n turned slightly, facing him and grabbed onto his knee as she drew reassuring circles with her thumb. “-You didn’t hurt me. You never have. I just don’t know what to feel right now. I should hate you but I dont and I know you're mad at me and-”

“You think i’m mad at you?” John interrupted, reaching his hand up to grab onto her hand, stopping her movements. y/n stilled for a moment in his touch until she felt him push her away.

"I can feel the pain that swirls in your brain, y/n, the confusion. All the stories you keep telling yourself as if they hold answers. They don't. People do things because their emotions are driving them that way... all those things that hurt you, princess, had nothing to do with you at all”

y/n lips formed a tight smile as she played with her fingers. She couldn’t explain her thoughts, her feelings, her fears. They stirred together in her head and threatened to boil over at any second and John only made it worse; his eyes showed the kind of gentle concern her grandfather used to have yet his actions said something different. 

John laid his hand lightly on her shoulder, and instead of flinching like she usually did, y/n  was soothed by it. He had spoken with a soft voice that calmed her more by the way it was said rather than the actual words. It felt as if she was wrapped in a blanket of his care. How could she not fall in love with him now that she could see how much he truly loved her? 

“I just don’t know what to feel. It’s like I love you but I know it’s wrong. You hurt me, scared me, took me away from my life, yet I don’t want to go back-” she inhaled deeply, “I just don’t understand what I feel. Normally I can talk to someone about my issues and they could give me some advice but I’m pretty sure this isn’t something that most people go through” she chuckled softly, her heart sinking as she felt John shift beside her. 

“I never intended to hurt you” he whispered before standing up.

y/n’s eyes followed John as he moved, his normally stoic face having turned into a frown before he disappeared out of the bathroom. Y/n sat there, staring at the empty doorway for a second, preparing herself to follow before John quickly re-appeared.

Her eyes formed half crescents as she stared at the face she had grown to love but her smile dropped and heart sank when her eyes caught the glint of the knife he held in his hands. 

“John?” she croaked out, breath catching in her throat as she pushed herself to stand, taking a step back. She didn’t understand. Was he going to hurt her? She had just confessed her emotions to him and now, this?

“I’m sorry” he said softly, his hand lifting almost robotically whilst he stepped forward. y/n closed her eyes, her heart stopping as she waited for everything to be over, to feel the knife sink deep into her skin but it never came. 

Instead she felt his presence linger just in front of her before John did the unthinkable - he shoved the knife into y/n’s hand.

 y/n opened her eyes slowly, her eyes wearing a puzzled expression as she studied John's sunken eyes that were trained on the floor. She held the knife, twisting it under the artificial bathroom light, her confusion exaggerated by the dark shadows around her eyes as she glanced at the weapon in her hand.

 Although rust had already set in on the handle of the knife, the blade was strong and jagged - more than enough to hurt John or even kill him. She had the perfect opportunity to do it, to end everything and go back to her old life.. She could already see him in a pool of darkening blood, it would be so easy. 

“I don’t understand - I” y/n started

“I want you to stab me - hurt me, just like I hurt you” his voice was quiet and his eyes never left the floor. y/n glanced upward to look at John as he stepped closer to the blade. Y/n’s mouth pursed but remained slightly open and loose. Her eyes were fixed as if she was staring into a dark abyss and she slowly blinked. 

With a shaky hand, she lifted the knife, holding the pointed weapon to John’s stomach. She knew exactly where to stab for it to be fatal - she had learned a lot as a nurse. It was now or never; she had to make a choice. All she had to do was push the knife forward and it would all be over.

TBC

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[ohbyunhunn]

Lima Syndrome

warning(s): cursing

Ushijima Wakatoshi x Reader

A/N: this is very shitposty, I literally thought of this after saying I don’t have anything queued up for this week.

“Toshi, stop following me.”

He stops in his track. You’re relieved. You then continue walking towards the office.

While refilling the water dispenser in there, you see him entering the room and halts beside you. The hairs on your neck stand as goosebumps start boiling within you. 

You stop what you were doing to leave, trying to put a distance between you and him. 

But he is tailing you again.

“TOSHI, I SAID STOP FOLLOWING ME!” you yelled, running out of the admin building to lose him.

Your fingers are sweating. You keep on bumping into walls and doors as you try to escape from Ushijima. However, he is persistent. 

You scamper in fear, hoping to reach the decontamination room in one piece. Hastily, you smash the door button to open it multiple times. From your line of vision, you can see him closing in. 

“Shit, shit shit. OPEN ALREADY, OH MY GOD.”

The doors finally open. You skip inside and pray the doors will close before he gets there. 

But they do not.

Ushijima arrives a second later and slips into the room. The doors shut before you could exit to flee. 

“DON’T KILL ME, DON’T KILL ME,” you chant as the sprinklers run to sanitise your body. 

Surprisingly, he stays still. But you don’t have the time to think why he has not stabbed your back yet. 

Once the adjacent doors slide open, you speed out of there through the hallway to get to the specimen room, grateful enough Ushijima had spared you just now. But maybe he was playing with you? Maybe he just wants to feel the thrill of chasing you just a bit longer?

You find the specimen room is empty and realise that most people must have been dead by now. You need to finish your last task. 

Leaving the room, you race back to the office. Feet feeling numb as you drag them forward towards the second decontamination room. You step inside and when the doors close behind you, you can see Ushijima running along the hallway. 

You take that extra few seconds to inhale a deep breath in an attempt to calm your nerves down. The sprinklers go off again, spraying mist down on you before the exit comes open.

Immediately, you dart towards the office to see that it’s empty. Right, okay. This is your chance to finish the undone task. You pick up where you left the water dispenser off earlier, continuing to refill it again. 

As the water fills the half-empty tank up, you watch the green light in the task bar do the same and exhale a relieved sigh. 

Ushijima then catches up to you but everything goes dark for one second before the Victory screen lights your phone up. 

“YESSSSSSS, WE WON!!” you jump out of the couch, punching the air. You then crouch down over your laptop to unmute your microphone before turning to Ushijima with a big grin on your face. He smiles back at you, eyes sparkling watching your reaction. 

“I HATE PLAYING WITH YOU GUYS, WAKATOSHI ALWAYS LET YOU LIVE WHEN HE’S THE IMPOSTOR!!” Tendou’s voice booms out of the speaker. 

“Thanks, Toshi,” you drop your body on Ushijima to squeeze him in your arms. 

“Sorry, Satori. I have a soft spot,” he announces, planting a kiss on your forehead, the smile just now still plastered on his face.

“I AM BANNING YOU TWO FROM MY ROOM!”

[chelsfic]

You’ll never break the chain - Donald Pierce x Tracker!Reader - Logan Fanfic

Boyd Holbrook Masterlist

Warnings: Unhealthy! Relationship! Dynamic! (This is fiction, please!), Power dynamic (captor/captive relationship), Stockholm Syndrome, Dark, What have I done?, Mentions smut, Angst!

Summary: Donnie returns to work after his medical leave and needs to do some damage control--which involves ignoring our tracker and making her feel bad--damnit!

A/N: I owe so much of everything I write to my engaged readers. You guys inspire me so much. @lackofhonor particularly inspired the scene where Donnie confronts Riley... And I *know* someone suggested the teleporting mutant to me and I can’t recall who it was!! Please let me know so I can give you credit!!

---

Donald leans back in the Land Rover’s passenger seat, watching the scene behind the windshield play out with seemingly bored, heavy-lidded eyes. He keeps his expression carefully schooled as Riley--your new handler--unlocks the back of the tactical van and pulls you out of the cage. The guy manhandles you, shoving you roughly and getting up in your face with his orders. He’s clearly chosen intimidation as his handling style and, well, Donnie can’t exactly fault him. Sure is a hell of a lot less complicated than the mess he’s made of things.

He feels DeWitt’s eyes on him from the driver’s seat, watchful...observant. Wondering if the boss is still soft for the mutant. Fuck. It’s been a month. A month since the injury. A month since you made your little scene on the roadside, clinging to his prone form as the Reavers tried to drag him back to the vehicles, raving and lashing out at anyone who tried to pull you away. They knew he was fucking you. They knew the boss had a soft spot for the little tracker. But none of the men knew the precise extent of things until that day. Hence the medical leave...the new handler...the distance. This is damage control.

He keeps his face inscrutable from behind tinted sunglasses, and he sees the moment your eyes land on him. He sees the recognition, the affection...the hope in your eyes. And he watches as it falters and wilts. Riley grabs your jaw, forcing you to face him as he spits words into your face. You’re trembling. How the fuck have they been managing to get anything out of you the last few weeks with these tactics?

Donnie isn’t perfect. He isn’t even a good man. But he tries more since meeting you...since keeping you. Riley, his...replacement, is another thing altogether. Donnie clenches his fists as he watches the man grab you by the arms and shake you when you don’t produce immediate results. How different are we, really, though? His mind drifts back to memories that send a sinking wave of shame to his heart.

---

You’re sitting cross-legged in the dust, head in your hands, straining against your exhausted powers in desperation. You can feel Donnie’s aggravation like a tangible thing, a suffocating weight on your chest, but it’s been hours of pursuit and you just can’t anymore.

“I’m sorry, Donnie.”

He growls in frustration, aiming a heavy-booted kick into the dirt at your feet that sends you scrambling backwards.

“Get up,” he hisses, his mouth twisting into an ugly grimace. You stand up, dusting the dirt from your pants and walking warily over to him. Without warning he grabs you by your ponytail, digging the fingers of his robotic hand into your hair and twisting painfully. 

He lowers his face to yours and you hear all the intensity of the contempt he feels for your kind dripping from his words, “This piece of shit injured one of my men. You been sendin’ us on a wild goddamn goose chase all day. What is this, mutie? You turnin’ on me?”

His hand twists harder in your hair and tears are streaming from your eyes as you shake your head, denying his words.

“Then. Do. Your fuckin’. Job.”

He releases you and watches you shake like a leaf. And inside, he feels nothing...nothing but rage.

In the end you successfully track the teleporting mutant clear across Texas to an abandoned cabin in the heart of a Louisiana swampland. Donnie and his men apprehend their exhausted quarry while you lay on your side in the back of the van, holding your aching head in your hands and keening with the pain. When Donnie sees the state you’re in he slides into the cage and gathers you into his lap. Now that the fury of the chase has passed he feels guilt creep in like a punch to the cut.

“Shhh, baby. You’re alright now. I got you. Donnie’s got you.”

---

When the asshole shoves you to the ground Donnie has finally had enough. He swings open the door to the Landrover and jumps out, stalking toward Riley with a feral grace that belies his still-healing ribs and the headache pulsing behind his eyes.

“Gimme your sidearm,” he snarls with an edge to his voice that brooks no argument.

Riley’s eyes widen but he reaches for the pistol on his hip, wordlessly handing over the gun. Donnie’s no fool. He knows that Riley’s been sneering behind his back and egging the other reavers on in their disrespect of him. It ends now. He takes the gun in his hands, pointedly refusing to turn his gaze in your direction. He can just see you in the corner of his eye, still lying in the dirt where Riley pushed you. Instead he trains his focus on the weapon in his hands, quickly and efficiently taking it apart and putting it back together as he speaks.

“As Riley, here, is well aware: mutants... are... our enemy,” he lets the words out in a slow drawl, locking eyes with every man around him in turn. “The enemy is powerful. Deadly. Not to be underestimated. If we falter--just once, just for a second--it could mean death. Now, I know some of you think I’ve gone soft on this little mutie--” 

He bends down and hauls you up to your feet, holding you with your back to his chest and pressing the gun’s muzzle to your temple. He feels your body instinctively leaning into his despite the danger and a splinter of some unthinkable emotion pierces his chest. He ignores it. He ignores the way your little hands wrap around his forearm; he ignores the way you try to pull your head away from the gun. He ignores you. Entirely.

“--What you fail to understand is that our little tracker is a tool just like this gun. If we keep it in working order, if we take care of it, if we understand how it works...it will operate effectively. If we neglect and abuse our tools they will fail.”

He lowers the gun from your head, gives you a reassuring squeeze with the arm wrapped around you, and then fires into the ground at Riley’s feet.

“Do you understand?” he asks with his voice pitched dangerously low.

“Yes, sir,” Riley responds automatically, but his eyes linger impudently on Donnie’s, his face set in fury. 

“Good,” Donald replies, dropping his grip from you like you’re some vile thing. He pushes you towards Riley and turns back to the Land Rover without a second glance, “Let’s find this fucker.”

---

Why did you think things would get better?

The question rattles through your brain as Riley frogmarches you through the underground parking garage. The sounds of car doors slamming echo off the concrete walls as the other reavers unload. You can’t help but crane your neck trying to catch another glimpse of Donnie. And there he is, running a hand through his perfect blond hair and studiously ignoring you. He looks good--healthy, rested. You ache to pull away from this brute and run into his arms. 

How many times have you imagined your reunion? He would come to your cell and make slow, deliberate love to you, his massive body dwarfing yours as he grinds you into the tiny mattress. Or he’d take you out on a mission and drag you behind the van while the others chase down your quarry. He’d push you to your knees and you’d be panting, salivating for it as he slowly presses his cock past your lips and down your throat. He’d run his fingers through your hair and call you a good girl as he fucks your mouth. Or he’d take you from behind up against the wall of the supply closet...or he’d use his hand to torture your cunt, edging you for an eternity before finally dipping his sweet lips between your legs and sending you over the top...or he’d simply kiss you with all of the love and passion he’s kept hidden from you all this time… 

Somehow you’d thought that after hearing him say the words, finally admitting his love, that things would change for the better. All this time you’ve been patiently awaiting the end of his medical leave--enduring the numbing boredom of your cell and Riley’s angry cruelty--believing that Donnie would come back and finally tell you that he wants to be with you. Really with you. That he’s come up with a plan to get you away somewhere. Somewhere safe. Somewhere without experiments and locking cell doors and punishments. Somewhere you can be together…But the cold indifference you saw in Donnie’s eyes today killed your last hope. He’ll never let you go. He’ll never change.

Riley drags you out of the garage, watching your eyes stay glued to Donnie’s form as he pulls you along.

Once he has you in the elevator he turns on you with a sneer, “Looks like you’re not daddy’s golden girl anymore, huh, mutie?”

Mutie. He says it like the vile slur that it is. But you recall all the times you’ve heard that same word fall from Donnie’s lips as something close to an endearment. My mutie. Little mutie. Good mutie. You feel a hollow ache in your stomach recalling how quickly he’d shoved you away before, like he couldn’t stand to touch you. He has to be faking this indifference. Because if he’s truly lost to you then what else is there?

Your feelings must show on your face because Riley laughs cruelly and uses his short, bulky frame to crowd you into the wall, his meaty hand groping your breasts as his breath rasps against your ear, “Don’t look so sad. I can be your new daddy.”

Note: I really agonized and struggled to write this one and, in the end, I’m just meh about it. I hope you liked it!!

Tags:

@nothing-but-a-comedy @ionlyjoinedforboydholbrook @theplumsoldier @meri47 @lackofhonor @sabinemorans 

I feel like I’m probably forgetting some people that asked to be tagged...

[recurring-polynya]

9, 13, 19, 23 for RenRuki OTP meme!

9. Have they made each other cry?

Neither Rukia nor Renji are criers by nature, but absolutely yes.

I looked it up, and weirdly enough, Rukia does *not* cry in the manga version, but she does cry in the anime when Renji tells her to go to the Kuchiki. Regardless, I think they both had some wet face syndrome in the days following that.

Rukia was having a pretty tough time in the Academy, and Renji was in a constant state of unconsciously rubbing it in. I bet he made her cry at least once, although she is way too stubborn to actually do it in front of him, I think she did it in private, later.

I’m not sure crying over someone is the same as them making you cry, but I believe with 100% of my being that the “fear she was trying to avoid” in the As Nodt fight was Renji-related, and even though she held it together pretty well at the time, I hope homegirl went home and had a good cathartic sob after the fact.

In the same vein, it’s very believable that Renji had at least one tearful breakdown at some point in the Soul Society Arc. I imagine he came home and puked his guts out after he had to arrest her and throw her in a holding cell and there could have been some tears that went along with that, and possibly also after he found out that Byakuya had no intention of lifting a finger to stay her execution. (I just realized this is not the first time I have headcanoned Renji puking out of grief and it’s true, I think he does, it’s great, I love my brain, thanks)

I would bet money that Renji (possibly both of them) teared up a little when Ichika was born, and/or when they found out about the pregnancy.

Also, not to ruin the vibe, but it seems highly likely that at some point in their acquaintance, probably in their Inuzuri days, Rukia kicked Renji in the nards hard enough to make tears come out of his face.

13. Name something they would never do for the other person.

Like the dealbreaker question, this one is really hard because they are both really intense people who are absolutely ride-or-die for each other (as well as everyone else they know). I am still sticking to my guns that Rukia became a shinigami in the first place for Renji’s sake, and Renji’s entire first character arc involved him binning 40 years of hard work and career ladder climbing to be with her.

That being said, though, they do maintain a fair amount of personal autonomy that I think they would stick to. Renji would never get his brow tatts removed, for example, no matter how much Rukia hates them (or conversely, I think he didn’t tell her before he got them because he knew she’d tell him not to, and he was determined to get them and wouldn’t have listened to her anyway). Likewise, if she asks, he will refrain from wearing a particular pair of extra-terrible sunglasses to a Kuchiki family picnic, but he’s not going to get rid of the sunglasses collection for her. I honestly can’t imagine her seriously asking him to do either of these things-- she’d rather just drag him for them.

I think the part in WDKALY where Rukia decides to keep “Kuchiki” as her professional name was written in a kinda stilted and dumb way, but I do not disagree with it. I am reasonably sure that this was decided at an editorial level, because if they have a Bleach continuation, they would want the character to keep her more familiar name, but then they added the fact that she took his name more generally because people are weird about women who don’t take their husbands name (and then people argue that her keeping her name is “evidence” that she doesn’t love him... so, honestly, there’s no winning either way). Personally, I didn’t like that they waited until they were actually in line at the Soul Society DMV to have this discussion (with Byakuya standing around, no less), but but otherwise, I think it’s a nice compromise, and that Rukia would want to use the names of both the men she considers her family. Renji seemed vaguely disappointed that she wasn’t taking his name entirely, and I can see that, but also, it’s her choice and he doesn’t make a stink about it, which rings true to me.

In all of these examples, the principle is that, all else being equal, each of them will take input from the other, but they would stick to their guns when it comes to decisions about themselves. That doesn’t mean they are going to die on these hills out of sheer stubbornness. I wrote a fanfic once where Byakuya died and Renji married Rukia in order to help her consolidate power in the family, and he took her name and very vehemently made everyone call him by it. 

Also, I am sure there are some household chores that Renji would like done to some particular specifications, and Rukia just will not. Like, she refuses to rinse the dishes before she puts them in the dishwasher and she won’t squeegee the glass after she showers, or whatever the Soul Society equivalents of these things are.

19. If they could each write a single line in their marriage vows, what would they be?

I cannot emphasize enough that Byakuya paid for their entire fancy Kuchiki-ass wedding and even though they are constantly on their best behavior around him, he knows how they are and he would never, ever let them write their own vows.

So, here is a dispatch from some secondary drunken, backyard wedding that they had for close-friends only (Byakuya was also there, but Isshin slipped him a pot brownie and he was feeling very at one with the universe at the time)

Who the heck writes a single line of their wedding vows?? I gave them each a paragraph.

Rukia:

People have been joking a lot, every since we started dating, how lucky you are, but the fact is, I am the lucky one. I’ve been so fortunate, in my life, to have such good friends and family, but I feel luckiest of all to have you-- you’ve always been there to cheer me on, to pick me up, to make me pickles. You’re brave and you’re handsome and you have really, really great hair, and I feel like the luckiest person in Soul Society that I get to marry you. I love you so, so much, you big dummy.

Renji:

I used to think that I would be content if I could just love you from afar. That just being able to see you and hear your voice and know that you were happy was enough for me. But I was wrong, as it turns out, because being able to touch you and kiss you and tell you I love you a hundred times a day has made me happier than I ever thought I could be. I expect that being married to you is going to make me more powerful and obnoxious than anyone here could possibly imagine and I am absolutely not sorry. I love you so, so much, you little dummy.

See, Byakuya, that wasn’t so bad! (maybe it was)

Bonus! In the dead Byakuya fanfic I mentioned above, I had them get married under Gotei authority and I wrote some (partial) shinigami wedding vows that are basically perfect for them and also I was really proud of them:

How will you meet your enemies? As one, we shall meet them, as one, we shall fight.

And how do you swear this? We swear on sword and soul.

Let it be so. With this, you are forged together, a single blade. May your battle be long, and when you fall, may you fall together.

23. Write a ~300 scene between them with no dialogue, only body language.

Wow. Dang. This felt like a personal attack. Anyway, it was really hard, and I did it, but I didn’t like it.

Here’s the scene right where Renji hauls Ichigo off to go fight Ywhach, because I am always thinking about this scene and willing it to make sense (Rukia should have gone with Ichigo, I will die on this hill!!!!), and I think it only works if there’s a bunch of unsaid subtext. It’s depressing, but it’s only 511 words, which is very much like 300 words, almost exactly the same, honestly.

~

The others don’t see it, because they are busy watching Orihime restore Ichigo’s sword, his swords, for maybe the last time, but Rukia does, because she needs an explanation.

Renji’s shoulders slump, his chin tips down, his hands are open at his sides.

He is sorry.

He better be sorry! Rukia clenches her jaw, her eyes burn at him. She is the one who should have yanked Ichigo to his feet, she is the one who should go with him to his death.

Renji’s eyes slide upward and meet hers. His jaw is set.

He is right, and she knows it.

Orihime is hurt. Her lungs are making ominous bubbling noises as Zangetsu pieces itself back together under her care. Rukia is exhausted, but she can manage the kaidou that will save her friend’s life. Renji cannot.

It is more than that, though. Rukia’s bankai is perilous. Ichibei warned her that she should use it sparingly-- that it will take many hours of practice before her body can handle the wrenching temperature shocks. She has used it too many times already in the last 48 hours. She still can’t feel all her fingers and toes since she came back from killing As Nodt. Another go at it so soon may kill her before she even has a chance to be useful. It could kill her and everyone in her blast radius, which might be helpful, but probably...not. Her hand rubs nervously at the hilt of her sword. She tries to flex the dead pinkies, but they deny her.

Renji sees the motion, and he grips Zabimaru confidently. His bankai is new to him, too, but Hihiou Zabimaru was like a weighted practice blade-- So-oh Zabimaru is familiar enough and easy in comparison. Sode no Shirayuki and Zabimaru are both temperamental blades, but Zabimaru has always been at their most dependable when the odds are stacked against them.  

Rukia reaches out and gives Orihime’s hair a gentle pat. She will stay, but she will not like it. 

The side of Renji’s mouth ticks up in a rueful half-smile, and his eyes glitter with the last bit of humor he can muster. She can beat him up all she likes when he gets back.

Rukia flings an arm around Orihime, and stuffs her face into her friend’s shoulder. None of this is fair. 

Renji’s eyes soften briefly, and his eyes are filled with so much love for her. He knows he has the easy job. There aren’t any words to thank her enough for letting him go on a suicide mission with Ichigo while she stays back to give them something worth fighting for.

Then he stiffens, and squares his shoulders once again. He jabs Ichigo impatiently with one foot and screws up his face into the same scowl he always uses to armor his heart. 

It won’t work, Rukia thinks, as Orihime finishes her task and slumps backward. She will keep Renji’s heart here with her, and Orihime will keep Ichigo’s, and no matter what, none of them will die alone.

[ashintheairlikesnow]

Disaster Lads, Part Two: The Flirtening

The second part of my AU collab with @whumpiary, Cass (Ace) and Kauri meet, and inevitable disaster ensues. Read Part One right here for context! This is part two, where shameless flirting is on the menu when Cass and Kauri head off to eat.

Things get, uh, spicy starting in Part Three. But I highly recommend you all reading Kauri just fail at flirting when he’s not using his training here...

CW: Shameless PG-13 flirting, discussion of past noncon/dubcon, discussion of an abusive relationship from the point of view of a survivor with fucky headspace, referenced consensual spice, discussed abusive relationship with INCREDIBLY dubious consent issues

Kauri pulls down on the stretched-out neckline of his shirt, and even in the dim alley, a bit of a large, twisted scar shows over his collarbone. 

"He paid a lot of money for, for me. I wasn't supposed to be able to leave. I took out the thing he put in to control me."

“Holy shit dude,” Cass breathes, fingers ghosting over the glossy pink of the scar tissue. He barks a sharp laugh of disbelief, looking back up to Kauri’s face like he’s something close to holy. He raises the hem of his own shirt, runs his thumb over the scar along his ribs. At least that particular excavation had been a success. “Snap.”

Cass grins, craning his neck to look closer at Kauri’s scar. He doesn’t even know Kauri, but looking at the mangled skin along his collarbone he feels something close to pride. 

“So, what? You cut out a tracker or something and then, what? You just… you just walked away?” he says. He can barely breathe with the thrill of that. This skittish, weedy little twink had more courage in his clavicle than Cass had in his whole body.  He’d dreamed about leaving Christopher so many times. He’s thought about leaving the Facility too. Of course he did. Everyone did. But you couldn’t just leave. “Weren’t you scared?”

"N-no, I ran away with it still… in me." Kauri grins, not quite nervous at the touch to his scar - he actually feels a little flutter of pride in himself, something Nat is always telling him he's allowed to have. That what he did was hard, especially for one like him. 

He can't quite hide his eyes lingering a little on Cass's scar. 

"It was, um…" He gives a kind of carefree smile, maybe the fakest one yet, and tries not to let himself think too hard about the rage and the pain. "A… like a shock collar. In my… skin." He flushes, looking down. "I fucked up really badly, and he just-... But, no. It wasn't because I… anyway, I ran away with it still in. I had to cut it out later because he wouldn't… stop…" He trails off, eyes sliding away, back down the way they'd come, looking ashamed of himself more than anything. 

He wouldn't stop because I ran away, I left him, I was all he had and I betrayed-

"He put up the reward after that."

Cass feels his heart sinking as Kauri talks. The long, hard nosedive Kauri takes from pride to shame is palpable. Visceral. It sits in Cass’ chest like a hunk of rock and he would do fucking anything to shift it. 

“I’m sorry,” Cass says, voice rasped. He can barely even look at Kauri. There is so much fucking guilt. “I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Cass stares at the zipper of Kauri’s oversized sweatshirt so he doesn’t have to make eye contact. He wonders for a moment if maybe he should kiss him again. Easy distraction. Bit of fun. But the line of panic that has spiked up again, talking about his past. About his… owner. Cass pushes the impulse away, gives Kauri’s knee a friendly nudge instead. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“But hey, at least you got away, right?” Yeah, and ended up homeless for his efforts. He’s really livin’ the dream.  “Now that sadistic fuck can die lonely.”

"I hope not," Kauri says, softly. "He was lonely, that's what I was for. I was supposed to fix it but I kept fucking it up." He catches this before it can go too far, too, and pushes himself away, as if trying to escape the thought. The spiral of guilt that ate him alive sometimes, the knowledge that him leaving was ruining Owen's life. It's his fault, because he couldn't take everything he was given. 

He hadn't been good enough at loving him. And he wasn't a good enough pet to go home. 

He wants to go home, back to Owen, so badly it hurts. Curl up in his lap and say he was sorry, he wouldn't ever leave again. Let his head be tipped back and be reminded that Owen might not love him but he wants him, which means he matters. And he wants to never ever do that, both at once. Is pretty sure Owen would kill him if he did.

He just has to find other people who want him instead, to fill that space. 

Kauri digs into his pockets, rummaging around until he finds a handful of bills all crumpled up. "Come on. I fucked up your night, I might as well buy you some fries or something? I mean, if you want. There's a place open all night near here, they like me, I can probably get you a milkshake for free."

Cass tries his best not to stare too pityingly at the woeful amount of cash in Kauri’s hand. 

“Yeah. Alright. Why not?” he decides all at once, pushing up from the ground “But either you get it for free or it’s on me. I definitely owe you one for the shiner.”

“I can buy you fries,” Kauri says almost dryly, although he stuffs the money back in his pockets quickly enough. It hadn’t been the best panhandling day, but he’d been in one of his slow spots and kind of expected it. But he wasn’t the only ex-pet wandering the streets begging for cash, and they tended to trade off areas to make sure everyone got an equal shot at the people who were more likely to give a little more.

As Cass stands, he feels the world slide backwards away from him at the weight of Kauri's wants come crashing down over him; booming echoes of regret and guilt and fear that go on further and deeper than any of the words he'd said aloud. 

There are people in the world who keep their thoughts inwards. Their desires are still there and ready to be listened to but it's almost like background music, a hushed murmur like a conversation in a library. And then there are people like Kauri, full of aching and wounds and messy thoughts, who feel things so loudly it almost hurts. 

Want to go ho- should’ve been a better pe- make him feel bette- he’s going to kill m- want to matter. Need to matter to someo- I’m so sorry Mr. Owen

Grief strikes at Cass in waves, just being near everything Kauri’s thinking. It’s dizzying. It's like the worst kind of homesickness. Yearning for a thing you can't have and don't want but need all the same. It's so much worse because the feeling's so familiar. Cass had hated every inch of Bergen Estate. And there'd been nights he'd have cut off his hand to be back with the devil he knew.

He screws his eyes shut against the pain of it spiking through his head, clinging to the wall with one hand as he feels the world tilt off its access. 

Cass wants to go home. He wants Christopher. He wants to throw up.

"Sorry," he croaks, eyes shut as he steadies himself. He lets out a ragged breath  "Must've stood up too quick or something. Gimme a sec."

Kauri frowns as Cass seems to tilt into the wall, nearly falling against it, and steps forward despite himself - whether or not he can really trust Cass or if he’s as nice as he seems doesn’t really have anything to do with if he needs help - and grabs at his arm to slide himself under it and help him balance.

“Hey, you okay? I think I can get you real food, not just fries. Have you eaten today? I fall over a lot when I don’t eat all day.”

Cass barks a laugh, but it's pale and wheezing. 

It's sweet. It's so incredibly sweet and charming and so fucking sad that that's Kauri first thought. But it's so earnest that Cass finds himself thinking back to what he has eaten.

"No, I've eaten plenty,  it's not that," he says, blinking his eyes open as the dizziness ebbs. "I just need-"

Need what? Need you to stop thinking about your fucked up Stockholm syndrome? Need you to stop feeling so saturated in shame and guilt it pours off you like an oil spill? He shakes his head, as if that'll be enough to clear the thoughts. 

"Yeah, uh, maybe you're right," he says, because he has to say something. People aren't fine one second and falling into an alleyway wall in the next for no reason "Need some real food."

“Then we’ll get you some,” Kauri says firmly, keeping himself under Cass’s arm to help him balance. “I’ll tell ‘em you kept me from being drugged, they’ll definitely give you free food, then.” He tries on a sidelong smile, going for something sort of dry and I’ve-seen-it-all but the expression doesn’t quite work - he’s too genuine to pull it off. 

“I know you just think I said I was sorry because I was supposed to, but I really am, um, sorry for pissing you off. I know people are mostly nice, I just… freaked out because of that guy earlier saying he would, um, would tell the cops who I was. Am. Was. Actually,” He changed subjects without even a pause for breath, walking with Cass out of the alley and onto the sidewalk, giving a cheery little wave to what was clearly a prostitute at the corner, who waved right back with sparkly fingernails that caught the streetlamp light. “Do you like milkshakes better or root beer floats? I had a root beer float for the first time at this place, it was so good.”

"Root beer floats are for six year olds," Cass teases through the thumping headache, taking care that his feet are keeping straight. "Strawberry milkshakes are the MVP."

He focuses on breathing in the crisp night air as they walk, already feeling better. It's stupid, actually, that he doesn't have more control over this shit. Weak that just a few minutes of someone else's thoughts and he's wilting like a fucking daisy. 

The place isn't far, as it turns out, but it seems like there's some displaced person on every corner that greets Kauri with a smile, or a nod. The guy’s obviously universally liked. The sort of person that people gave free milkshakes to. That people avoided calling the cops for, even if it meant missing out on some decent reward money. Like the universe figured he'd been served enough bullshit for one lifetime and was trying to protect him now.

"For what it's worth, I wasn't pissed at you," Cass says after about half a block. "To be honest, I'm usually pretty good at being selfish. But then when we started fucking around, some of the stuff in your head was just way too-" he blinks, stumbles on his words for a second "Like you, you wear your heart of your sleeve, I mean. And I dunno. I didn't want you to feel like… I dunno. It just got to me."

"Besides," Cass adds as they reach a crappy-chic little diner with a red sign "No offense, but I'd rather not get laid when the other person's terrified of me"

Kauri actually laughs at that, soft and kind of a sweet laugh. His voice is surprisingly deep for how small he is. “You’d be the first guy I’ve slept with in a while who cared about that.” There’s dry humor to his words, like Cass has said something sort of ridiculous that Kauri finds totally at odds with his everyday life.

“Besides, I wasn’t scared of you,” Kauri lies easily, and probably would have been perfectly believable if Cass hadn’t been able to feel the fear coming off of him at the time. “Just nervous about the bar. I used to never go out alone, but some stuff happened and I’m on my own, for now.” He shrugs, casually, pushing the door open and looking with a shy smile to an older woman behind the counter.

“Kauri, good to see you,” The woman says in a voice that says she’s been smoking since she was a teenager and that was no doubt a very long time ago. “It’s been a while.” Her eyes move to Cass, taking him in. All that comes from her is a vague sense of wishing her shift would be over so she could go home and sleep already. “Found yourself a new one?”

“Nah, just a friend.” When she raises an eyebrow, Kauri rolls his eyes. “An actual friend, Brenda, I have those.”

Cass grins a little despite himself. Kauri was an idiot. And way too trusting. But it’s sweet, being gently defended like that. It’s nice actually.

“First I’ve heard of it. Grab yourself a seat wherever, I’ll send Nick over to get your order.” She fixes a more scrutinizing eye on Cass. “You too, young man.”

“God, do you just bring out the White Knight side in everybody or something?” Cass says as soon as Brenda’s out of ear shot. Even as he says it, Cass’ thoughts slide to Matt at the bar, and then even further to Kauri’s owner — ex-owner — and he feels almost guilty for saying it. Maybe not everybody.

Kauri is just so fucking nice. He’s nice and he’s kind and he’s good. He deserves to have people defending him and looking out for him. Cass has known him for barely an hour and even he can tell that. But instead, the fuckheads of the world had found that goodness and twisted it and made it so he couldn’t say no – no just drink it don’t make him mad–  and he couldn’t ask for what he wanted - I want this I want you - and couldn't let himself be afraid –just say no Kauri you can just say no just say no stop it sto–

Cass scrubs a hand over his face and pushes his hair back, like maybe that’ll dislodge the sticky tar echoes of Kauri’s thoughts and the headache slamming an off-beat behind his eyes.

“What’s good here?” he asks, grabbing the laminated menu out from behind nearly-empty sauce bottles, desperate for the conversation to just stay normal for five minutes “It’s been fuckin’ ages since I’ve had diner food”

“Um, I mostly get cheeseburger and fries. It’s the cheapest whole meal and they usually give me more fries than it’s supposed to come with,” Kauri says, ignoring the menu entirely, drumming his fingers lightly on the shiny Formica tabletop. 

It’s the kind of menu that comes with pictures, and he could probably fake looking at it if he had to, but just the back of it facing him from Cass has him wincing if he looks too close. So he keeps his eyes carefully on Cass’s face, refusing to let the letters on Cass’s menu be anything more than unformed blurs. 

Instead he settles on pretending he’s such a regular he doesn’t even need the menu anymore. 

“I know they do, um, breakfast all day too so if you want eggs you can get those, or sausages, or whatever. I like their breakfast. Just get whatever.” He glances sidelong at Brenda, currently greeting another couple of customers, and then leans forward, putting a hint of a sneaky smile on his face.  “Just don’t get the fish. They don’t even know what kind of fish it is.”

Cass laughs, loud and loose as he tosses his head back, "Aw man. Now I want to order the fish" 

He puts the menu back in its place and scans his eyes over the patrons. The harsh pulse in his head is ebbing now, soothed by the soft, tired yearnings of late night diner patrons. There's a dad sitting in a booth across the room with his daughter, two giant milkshakes abandoned in favour of cramming tight in to play some video-game together on a tiny console. Cass watches as the girl points at the screen, stepping her dad through something with intense focus before they both cheer, throwing their hands up in victory. 

A side-hug. A high five. It's sweet. Heartwarming in a simple way. Even if they won't see each other tomorrow. 

Cass flicks his focus back to Kauri with a soft smile, "I can see why you like it here. Even if the fish is questionable, the people seem nice"

Kauri shrugs, melting a little under the softer smile. Most of Cass’s expressions have been sharp, and Kauri likes that, too, likes the way Cass flashes looks like light off a knife, but the softer look… Kauri grins back, hunching his shoulders forwards a little shyly. 

He feels weirdly warm all over, being looked at like that. It’s not an unfamiliar feeling, but it’s weird to feel it and not have the worry or fear running underneath it, too. For the moment, all he feels is warm.

“People are mostly nice everywhere I go,” Kauri says, trying to look away from Cass so it won’t seem like he’s staring, but he’s… not sure he’s pulling it off. 

A young man, about Kauri’s age or maybe younger, wearing a black apron tied at the waist over a white shirt and black pants, steps up with a little notepad in his hand. He smiles brightly at Kauri. “Hey, Kaur, you went out tonight?”

“Um, sort of.” Kauri shrugs again, making little circles on the tabletop with his finger. “For a little bit. Then this guy, um, I met… anyway. This is Cass. Cass, this is Nick.”

Nick glances over at Cass, taking him in with a slightly more false customer-service smile. Oh, sure, I only get the once but then you go find this guy who looks like he punches shit for fun…

“Good to meet you, Cass,” He says, brightly enough. “What can I get you two tonight?”

“Whatever he wants,” Kauri says quickly. “I’m buyin’.”

"That's still up for debate," Cass shoots back, grabbing the menu back again to make a show of his deliberation. Kauri’s got something a little giddy about him at the minute, and it's almost distracting, but it has nothing on the low level of jealousy and impatience radiating off of Nick. It's almost irresistible to play with. Nothing more than puppy love shit. But still enough to twist. 

"Let's see. I've heard amazing things about the fish," he shoots Kauri a wink, and the other man ducks his head, smiling down towards his own legs, biting his lower lip a little as he flushes. "But Kauri here reckons the cheeseburger's the way to go. So… two of those I guess? Oh, and a root beer float, right?" Cass flashes his very best smile at Kauri, who visibly brightens, before looking back at Nick, raking his eyes over him for a second as he slots the menu back into place, "Thanks hot stuff."

Nick’s customer-service smile freezes, just slightly, and there’s a moment where it’s clear that he is resisting the urge to roll his eyes with genuine difficulty. 

“Two root beer floats,” Kauri corrects, and then tilts his head just a little up at Nick in the same slightly-false way he’d done to Cass earlier in the night, seemingly without even realizing he’s doing it. “With cherries? I know they don’t come with them, but-”

“Yeah, Kaur, we know you get cherries.” Nick smiles, relaxing again, jotting that down. He clearly can’t tell that Kauri’s flirtation is artifice. “Let me see if I can get you and your, uh-” His eyes back on Cass for a second, uncertainly. “... friend here your floats on the house.”

Kauri doesn’t quite let out an audible sigh of relief, but the feeling is there. He won’t have enough for his bus pass after this, but that’s all right. There’s a bench in a park he can crash on, anyway, where he’s slept before. 

“See, there you go,” He says to Cass once Nick is gone. “Now we get drinks for free. Most people are really nice.”

Cass snorts a laugh. Hardly.

"I don't think it really counts as nice when they're just tryna get in your pants. That guy was a dick.” 

“He is not! He’s really nice! He let me stay over for breakfast and take a shower at his apartment, he didn’t have to do that.” Kauri’s jaw is set in a stubborn line, but it was still playful. He was relaxed here, in a way he hadn’t been outside the bar when it had all still been so fresh and he’d been scared of being found out. 

But if Cass was lying about promising not to tell, he was being really slow about it. Kauri doesn’t mind getting to have something nice first.

Cass glances over his shoulder at Nick, running the chances in his head. He looks back to Kauri with a grin, "Ten bucks I can get all our food on the house."

“Get all our food free? From Nick?” Kauri leans over, half-whispering the words, glancing sidelong at Nick putting the order in with the cook and then moving to start up the root beer floats. Nick looks their way and Kauri quickly turns his eyes back to Cass, half-laughing as he ducks his head down again. “I feel like letting you do that is really mean. But also I could really use ten dollars, so, uh, okay.” 

Kauri sits back up and sticks his right hand out across the table. “Shake on it?”

Cass grins like a shark, leaning forward a little further than necessary to shake Kauri's hand. "When he comes over next."

He risks another glance over his shoulder, struggling to hide a smirk as he watches the poor guy he's about to earn a meal from. Cass grabs at the ketchup bottle idly, spinning it in one hand as he watches. Nick's cute, in kind of an awkward, intense way. He gives the vibe of someone who was in a band in highschool and took it way too seriously. 

"He seriously took you home and didn't try anything?" Cass asks, turning back to Kauri. He tosses the bottle from hand to hand with nimble fingers. "What is he, a church boy?"

“Oh, no, I didn’t mean-” Kauri blinks, flushes bright red, and sits back in his seat again, unsure whether he was meant to be ashamed of this or not. It’s sometimes hard to tell - with Nat, yes… with most people, yes...

But Cass didn’t feel like most people. He felt almost like talking to another pet, except he had no idea what those were as far as Kauri could tell, and he’d been horrified by the idea, before. But he talked like he knew.

“No, we still… I just meant, a lot of people kind of say, um, ‘you were great, hope I see you around’, or whatever, and I just… go. Not everybody is okay with me staying over all night. But… he was. And he was really, really nice about it. He… wrote me a note and everything.”

Something went tight and uncomfortable in Kauri’s smile at that. He still had the note, shoved down in the pocket of the backpack he’d hidden in a secret hiding spot up in the vents in a bathroom at the park. He had no idea what was on it. 

“So get us free food but you gotta be nice to him about it, okay?”

Cass waves his hand, he smiles, replacing the sauce bottle back in its holder, "Yeah, yeah, yeah.”

He has to stop himself from cringing a little at Kauri's story. It's kinda cute, in a fucked up way. If you ignore that one of the leading men is only a part of the romance because he needs a place to crash. But it's also just… so blatantly innocent. Ridiculously, painfully naive. Cass shakes his head.

"Dude has it bad for you, huh?" It's strange that Kauri seems so oblivious to that fact when he's so very, very practiced in everything else. Ready to suck Cass' dick in an alley, no questions asked, but totally blind to the sight of someone head over heels for him "I still don't think that makes him nice. If this guy’s so nice why aren't you just shacking up all the time? What'd the note say?"

“I don’t, uh, I don’t know,” Kauri says, flashing the quick little making nice smile, looking away from Cass to glance out the window at the street outside. “I didn’t read it.”

He wanted to be able to read, for that to have been allowed, but Owen had wanted him a certain kind of way, he’d said it over and over again. I asked for a brainless slut, but shit, this seems like a little much, Kore-Bore. He had lots of papers in his backpack - things he’d been given for whatever reason. Pamphlets and handouts and the note from Nick, pages of books with cool illustrations. None of it he could read. All of it he hung onto because one day he wanted to. He knew words had been important, once, for whoever he’d been before. He wanted to make them important again.

“I don’t really stay with people more than once. If you stay a lot, people, um… want to know you.” Another flash of the nervous little smile. “It’s usually better for other people if they just see me sometimes. You know?”

Cass nods. He does know. Maybe not as well, or the same, but he knew. When you hung around someone a lot, they started looking a little closer. And once they started looking closer, they started wanting things from you. Sometimes they wanted something to hold over you. Sometimes they just thought they wanted to know you. But either way, they wanted your story, wanted to split you open and see all the ugly parts. Make a judgement.

“I get it,” he says, tracing lines between the grey flecks of the table top. He looks back up to Kauri, smiles something like understanding. Cass can’t give him much but he can give him that. He can give him understanding. “Safer that way, huh?”

Almost as soon as the words leave his mouth, Cass sees Nick out of the corner of his eye carrying over their two impressive looking drinks. He leans back in his chair, posture loose and open and grins at Kauri, bouncing his eyebrows conspiratorially. Game on.

“Here we go. Two root beer floats,” Nick says, placing the drinks down before he smiles at Kauri, gaze lingering a little long “Extra cherries.”

“Thanks,” Cass says, smiling as he pulls his drink close. He picks up his spoon, skimming a little foam of the top and turning the spoon upside down on his tongue. He waits for Nick to turn away before he pipes up again, as if on an afterthought. “Hey… Nick, right? Can you settle a debate for us?”

“Uh…” Nick glances over his shoulder, in the vague direction of Brenda, who was currently engrossed in the photos on some regular’s phone “Yeah, sure.”

“Well see, I think Kauri here must be your favourite customer, seeing that he’s scoring the drinks for free and all. But he seems to think he’s not that special,” he makes quick eye contact with Kauri, resisting the urge to wink. “You like him though, right?”

Nick gapes a little, clearly flustered as he turns slowly red. He rubs a hand over the nape of his neck while looking pointedly everywhere but Kauri. “Uhh… Yeah. Sure. I mean- you know. Everyone likes Kauri.”

“See that’s what I said, but he refuses to agree with me,” he says with a heavy sigh. “Reckon you could score him his food for free to convince him?”

“Oh. Um,” Nick glances at Kauri, clearly embarrassed that he’s been caught between a rock and looking like an asshole. “I dunno. The um, two drinks is already kinda...”

Cass groans in a teasing way, reaching his foot out to nudge Nick’s leg as though they’re dancing around the inevitable. Which… well... 

“C'ᴍᴏɴ ɴɪᴄᴋ,” he says, reaching into that part of him that wants so badly to impress the boy with nothing to his name than a pretty face and the twenty bucks in his pocket. Cass catches the waiter’s eye and tilts his head to the side in a shadow of Kauri’s little trade-mark. “Gɪᴠᴇ ᴜs ᴏᴜʀ ꜰᴏᴏᴅ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴏᴜsᴇ.”

Nick glances back over his shoulder again at Brenda before looking at Kauri again, a rebellious little smile tugging at his mouth as he makes the choice. Or tells himself he makes the choice. “Yeah. Yeah alright.”

Kauri blinks, eyes slightly widening in surprise, but he covers it fairly well and smiles up at Nick with all his sweetness on display. “That’s really great, Nick,” He says, leaning his chin on one hand. Nick looks a little dazed at the attention from them both at once and swallows, almost compulsively, before he looks down with his head tilted, kind of rubbing at the back of his neck, a little shyly.

“I mean, it’s not like I’m doing much, just some food.”

“No, but it’s really cool of you, thank you,” Kauri says, sincerely. He’s not sure why Nick made that decision tonight, but he’s genuinely grateful for it. “Panhandling didn’t go super well today, it’s, it’s a big help.”

“Yeah, well.” Nick shrugs, and grins. “You want to apply for a job here, Kaur, you got it and you know it. I can get you an application, like, anytime.”

Kauri’s flirty little smile goes cold, for just a moment, and is immediately back to the artificial warmth from before. “Don’t worry about it,” He says, a little too softly. “You’re really cool, Nick, thanks.”

Nick just smiles back at him, gives he and Cass one more nod, and has his mouth open to say more when Brenda calls his name. “Gotta go, I’ll get your food out in just a minute.”

Kauri waits until he’s safely out of earshot before he leans forward, digging in one pocket with his hand. “How did you do that? I mean, I guess I’ve never actually asked for anything free, it just sort of happens sometimes, but… how’d you get the whole meal? I can’t believe he just gave it to you.”

He pulls a crumbled ten-dollar bill out of his pocket and slides it across the table. At least he can still look at numbers, if he’s careful. “All right, I owe you this.”

Cass grins, taking a spoonful of ice cream and turning it upside on his tongue as he looks over his shoulder, giving Nick a little wave and a smile. Poor sucker.

“Nah, keep it. Wasn’t really a fair bet.” he says, plucking one of the cherries from the top of his drink and topping Kauri’s with it instead. “You might be good at getting people to like you, but I’m good at getting people to do what I want. I knew he was gonna do it before I even asked.”

Kauri snorts, digging in himself, dipping the cherry out first to bite into it, enjoying the burst of cold sweetness on his tongue. “Clearly,” Kauri declares airily, “you have an ego the size of my dick.” He flushes, then, looking vaguely embarrassed. “I mean. Not, uh, mine. I mean, I think mine’s okay-...”

If he gets any more blood in his face he’s going to pass out.

“... I’m just going to stop talking now.” 

Kauri picks a big bite of ice cream off with his spoon and jams it into his mouth to shut himself up - only to wince when the brain freeze hits, groaning. Cass tosses his head back in a mad laugh at Kauri's self-spun embarrassment. Fuck he's cute. 

"Relax, man, don't hurt yourself," Cass says through the last of a chuckle, reaching out to grab Kauri's hand in mock-sympathy. "I'm sure you have a very nice-sized dick."

Kauri makes a sound that's somewhere between laughter and a please let me sink into the ground now noise, turning even redder if that's possible. He's not sure it is. 

He feels weirdly dizzy and his hand lights up where Cass touches him. He's sure he has the dumbest fucking smile on his face but he can't seem to stop it. 

Cass draws his hand back with a smirk and goes back to his own drink, taking a very deliberately very reasonably sized scoop of ice-cream from the top and tilting it towards Kauri before eating it. He looks at Kauri's face, still recovering from the flurry of a frozen head and the foot in his mouth. Cass taps his fingers on the table top, considering. How much did he want to show off?

"I mean like… you're not wrong, but it's also not ego if it's true," he shrugs "People just do what I want them to do. Call it a talent.”

Kauri feels an urge to say something like I would do what you want me to do, but he pushes it down. Last time Cass had… seen his training, and freaked out, and he doesn't want that to happen again. Cass was maybe the first person to notice when Kauri was in his head, at first. 

"Then why are you spending your time with a homeless guy and not, like, getting someone in a suit to buy you…" Kauri trails off. He has no idea what rich people eat, except what Owen ate, and he doesn't know if Owen was… like other rich people. He hopes not. "... I don't know, fancy steak or something?"

He leans over to sip through his straw, closing his eyes at the dark taste of root beer mixed with the cream and vanilla of the ice cream. 

It was getting increasingly difficult to even be in the general vicinity of Kauri existing and not be endlessly distracted by the slutty virgin shtick. The guy ate his root beer float like it was a gift from heaven, made by God personally and, even more infuriatingly, seemingly unaware of what that amount of blissful indulgence was doing to everyone around him. 

Not even seemingly unaware. Literally so. If it was intentional, the desire for attention would be rolling off of him in peutrid, sticky flashes. As it was, all Kauri seemed to care about right now was enjoying exactly what was in front of him. Cass has to stop himself from smiling too fondly. He was starting to see why the guy was so fucking liked. 

"I don't like people in suits. I like you," he says, simply. "Besides, you ever actually spend time with a rich person? They're all boring as fuck."

"Just, um, just the one rich person," Kauri says, trying not to let Owen's face find its way into his mind. How sad and lonely he must be by himself in the condo, without Kauri to curl up with him on the couch or in his bed. 

All by himself in the shower…

Kauri's eyes are distant, thinking of Owen drinking alone on the balcony with no one to talk to and be sad to, and he opens his mouth to say - something, he doesn't really know what, but he feels the sudden urge to tell Cass too much. To confess, just say I can't read and I can't look in the mirror I don't know what I look like I only know how to be good one way and everything they say about the ones like me is true and he hurt me and I still miss him - and just as the first vibration of sound is in his throat, Nick puts the plates down in front of them.

Kauri looks up at Nick with a smile shining with more gratitude than just bringing food out really calls for, and Nick blinks at him, a little thrown off. "You guys good? Need anything?"

"Everything looks great," Kauri says, with entirely too much sincerity. 

Cass smiles briefly at Nick in thanks as he grabs his plate, but he keeps his attention on Kauri, whose thoughts are currently as calm as a drum kit is when it's pushed down the stairs. Cass tilts his head to the side, eyes searching Kauri's face as Nick walks away. 

The same sadness and shame from earlier is coming off of him in waves, ebbing and flowing endlessly. A gentle desperation, searching for some way out, some way to relieve the constant storming.

"Did you want to tell me about him?" Cass asks, before he can stop himself, and immediately he feels the tugging of a yes and a no tangled violently together. He breaks eye-contact and turns his attention to the food. They really had given Kauri a whole damn mountain of fries. "The guy who, uh… who owned you."

There's no extra influence to it yet, no pressure. Just the question. Kauri could walk away from answering if he wanted. Sometimes a locked door didn't need a lockpick. Just the right key. 

Kauri picks up a fry, stares at it like it might bite him, then bites into it, half hanging out his mouth as he reaches to the side of the table, against the window, to get the ketchup bottle and pour some out on his plate, not quite looking up. 

Only when he finishes the first and picks up the second does he shrug, a little barely visible movement of his shoulders under his oversized zip-up. "You know how they say - people in, in movies say - that you can't force someone to love you? That's, uh. That's a lie. You can. You, um. He's… he was in a lot of movies, when he was a kid." Kauri's voice dips low, nearly a whisper. "Have you heard of Owen Grant? He was in, um, Dimmer Switch. That had a big international release, really popular in, um, overseas. And a movie about baseball when he was really young…"

Cass frowns, face twisting as he tries to place the name. He's heard of Dimmer Switch, he thinks, but he hasn't actually seen it. It sounded like the sort of cult classic horror junk Lou would watch. He's about to shake his head and shrug when he has a vague memory of an old VHS cover, a kid with insanely green eyes posing precociously with a baseball bat.

"Jesus Christ. The kid from fucking Swing for the Stars?" he blurts out as the pieces slot into place. Henri had been obssessed with that stupid movie. He shakes his head with a scoff, picking at the fries on his plate but not actually eating. It's kinda difficult to feel hungry, now. "What a fucking creep."

"Yeah!" Kauri brightens when Cass guesses right, a look of weird mixed sadness and guilt and pride on his face. "He was, um, that's what got him famous. Was that one. He's good in it, for a kid, right? Really good. He did a lot of movies but he stopped acting… um." There's a hesitation - he wants and doesn't want to tell Cass this, Cass is the only person he's ever said it out loud to. "He, um. You know who Vincent Shield is." His smile gets more nervous now. "I know you know, he's um, Nat always says he's like Tom Cruise. I, um. Nat says I… look like him. They used to be… they don't talk anymore. And Mr. Owen wanted… um." He swallows a bite the wrong way and has to clear his throat, fingers tapping nervously on the tabletop as he drank half of what was left of his root beer in one long go. 

"You can have someone made for you. If you have money." Flash of nervous smile again. "Mr. Owen has a lot. And he wanted the, um, Vince. To do that. To love him." 

A mix of cold rage and bone-deep sorrow sweeps through Cass like ice water. When Cass had gone with Christopher, when he'd agreed to sign his sentence over to the Bergen Estate, it'd been entirely his choice. He'd chosen to land himself juvie, he'd chosen to sign up to the indenture program, he'd chosen to sign that fucking contract, had chosen a life with Christopher. And he'd chosen when to end it.

He'd even chosen the Facility, chosen Tucker, in the end.

Kauri hadn't had any of that. Or at least, certainly not by the sounds. Cass had thought he'd looked familiar at the start of the night. Turns out he was just some poor bastard with a movie star's face.

"I'm sorry," Cass says for the second time that night. It's an effort to keep the shaking fury out of his voice. "I'm… that's horrible. That's really fucking horrible."

Cass runs his thumb up and down along the rim of his plate, clenching his jaw. The fucker wanted to force someone to love him, huh? He closes his eyes, takes a deep shaking breath, and swears he can see Christopher imprinted on his eyelids. I don't need you to love me back, darling boy, but I need you to know that I love you. He never thought he'd meet someone who made him feel lucky in comparison. He opens his eyes again, looking at Kauri with earnest. 

"You had a life, though, right? Before he took you? Why don't you just-" Cass cuts himself off and shakes his head, wiping a hand over his mouth like that could take the words back. For all he knew, Kauri had as much to go back to as he did. Maybe less. "Sorry. Stupid question. Don't answer that."

Kauri blinks at him, baffled by the question, before he smiles again. It’s a reflex more than an emotion - Kauri smiles to stave off conflict and deflect questions just as often as he smiles out of any genuine feeling. “He didn’t take me, he bought me. From a company, WRU? I don’t know who I was before.”

He shrugs. “The first thing I remember is training in the Facility. They, um… they probably know what my name was before. I don’t… remember it. They wipe us clean and then make us what the order form says.” He winces, reaching up to rub a hand against his head - the headache comes on fast, a sharp slice of pain across his mind, as soon as he tries to think any further back than training. 

“We sign contracts? We signed up for this.” The words come out almost monotone on the second sentence, clearly memorized, pushed out of him by some base conditioned instinct that isn’t even conscious thought. “All pets are of legal consenting age,” He intones, his eyes going distant again, before he shakes it off. “So, um. That’s why you can’t… I hope you won’t, anyway… tell the cops. Because I kind of broke the law, um, running away.”

It's so obviously a stack of beaten in, awful lies and Cass can't tell if Kauri actually believes them or has just had them forced down his throat so many times he doesn't know to say anything else. There’s an electric rage bubbling under his skin at the thought of Kauri being taken to some facility. Fucking signed up for it did he? Agreed to have his thoughts wiped clean and his personality reset to Sexdoll Barbie? What a crock of shit. 

Kauri flashes the sweet, slightly nervous smile again. “I’m a hardened criminal, believe it or not. I… I signed up for it, but… it doesn’t feel like I did...” He winces again, rubbing at his head. “Sorry. You did not sign up for all this when you tried to help me at the bar.”

"No, you're fine," Cass says, voice strained with the effort to keep it calm.  He doesn't know what else to say. “This isn’t exactly my first… fucked up backstory rodeo. I won’t tell anyone, I won’t say anything.” Cass’ word wasn’t worth much on a standard day, but he means this. “I promise.”

He stares at his food instead of Kauri, picks up a fry, puts it back down, turns the plate a little, picks up another fry. His vision darkens around the edges, a pressure in his head, and he realises his breaths have gotten quietly shallow and strained, air barely reaching his lungs. He takes a deliberately deep breath in, flashing a numbed smile at Kauri.

“It’s funny, well not- not funny,” he clears his throat “You’re the first person I’ve met who, uh… Look, I know a lotta people who have… contracts to people. To businesses. You’re the first person I met who doesn’t seem like they deserved it.”

Kauri tilts his head, glancing over at Nick - just around, really, but it seems like no one is listening in or anything - and then he turns back, reaching his hand back out, brushing his fingers against the back of Cass's hand holding the fry. 

"I'm okay," He says, reassuring, his voice low and sincere. "A lot of us have it, um, a lot worse than I did. Some pets get hurt a lot… I just, um." Another flash of his nervous smile. "Only after I messed up really badly. I was really lucky. He, um. He told me I was lucky all the time. I'm okay, Cass. See?"

A slightly sunnier expression, more sincere. He pushed himself up just slightly and leaned over to boop Cass on the nose.

"What could be more okay than hanging out with you, right? I don't mind. Don't feel bad for me or anything, I like moving around. Anything's better than not being allowed to leave, right?"

Cass finds himself smiling, despite himself, "Right."

He tries not to think about his bed back at the Facility, or the lab session he had tomorrow, or the interstate trip he'd have to do with Tucker next week. It wasn't the same. He chose to transfer his indenture. He could leave. He was here after all.

Kauri's a tragedy on legs and he doesn't even know it. He thought he was lucky because he wasn't hurt that much. Lucky, because he had the luxury of being homeless instead of chained to some guy's bed. And he was sitting here trying to make Cass feel better. He'd even been ready to give up his next-to-nothing savings to buy Cass a burger. It was almost enough to have you considering restoring your faith in the world.

Cass smiles again, properly this time, shaking his head. He shoves the fry in his mouth at last and grabs his glass, tilting it towards Kauri in a belated toast, "To moving around and root beer floats."

Kauri’s smile brightens even more and he picks up his already-half-gone glass almost eagerly to clink the rim against Cass’s. “Right! To never being stuck behind a locked door, ever again. That’s why I’m really lucky. When I got the chance to walk away… I could.” 

Well, not walk.

Throw himself out of a moving car, rolling along the road curled around his backpack to protect it, and then run like hell while his collarbone lit up and dropped him to the ground, again and again and again… 

But Cass didn’t need to know that part.

“Nat says the ones like me usually can’t.” He paused, considering something, eyes moving over Cass’s face thoughtfully. “And, hey. I really, honestly do think you’re, um, cute.” A hint of the flush again, unpracticed and genuine. “I know that you think it was because I was scared and that I was just saying it so you wouldn’t tell anybody about me, but… I can, uh. I can just want things like normal people do, too. You know? If I asked again and I wasn’t scared… what would you, um… what would you say?”

Cass smirks, and picks up his glass, ignoring the straw as he takes a long, slow drink from the rim before replacing it and sitting back in his seat. He tilts his head to the side, considering. What would he say?

There was no denying Kauri's attractiveness – he had the face of a goddamn movie star for fuck’s sake – but what was a pretty face stacked up next to a story so tragic the guy had to apologise just for telling it?

He thinks back to outside of the bar. The horrible whiplash between the desire to please and the terror to refuse. The faint, bitter aftertaste of I don't want this after every touch, every kiss. Even sitting here, now, Cass feels his stomach flip, his throat close up at just the thought of it.

But then he thinks about how Kauri looks, enjoying his float, complete and unapologetic bliss painting his face. Or the starry-eyed awe when Nick had agreed to the free meal. The way he's blushing right now, an equal mix of excited and unsure. That kind of enthusiasm was something Cass could get on board with. If Kauri asked him again and he wasn't scared, if he looked at him like that?

He lets his eyes travel down Kauri's torso and then back to his face. Lets his tongue flick out over his lips, as his mouth tugs into a dangerous smile. 

"Baby if you wanted it..." – if you really wanted it – "...I would eat you alive"

Kauri’s shy smile widens, until the usual hint of teeth instead flash bright white and light up his entire face, wide blue eyes sparkling, looking right at Cass, not ducking his head or using the practiced head-tilt at all. Just genuine, outright joy. 

“Do you, um…” The blush again, and he bites down on his lower lip, sitting leaning forward with his shoulders hunched, watching Cass’s face. He’s not as good as being suave as he wishes he was, and has to hope Cass is as much into a stammering mess as he might be into someone who had themselves together a little better than this. “... do you promise?”

Cass smiles at the blush, at the awkward. It's so much better than the low airy voice of complacency. He reaches forward, his fingers drawing a line up the back of Kauri's hand until they're sneaking their way up the cuff of his sweatshirt. He could almost swear there was electricity buzzing underneath Kauri's skin.

"Why don't you finish your burger? Maybe I'll prove it"

It feels, to Kauri like every spot Cass touches on him sparks and lights up, the feeling of his fingers lingering after he has pulled his hand back. Kauri wants to be on his knees or his back with Cass so badly he could scream.

He picks up his burger but he hardly cares about it now, he’s more interested in eating the exact amount necessary for Cass to figure it was enough to count as ‘finished’. Something about being way more honest about himself than he ever was with almost anyone feels like pure weight off his chest, leaving Kauri almost drunk on the feeling, more than he’d been drunk on the actual booze back in the bar. 

“I think I need to know more guys like you,” Kauri says, feeling a little dizzy with how fucking great tonight has ended up. He needs to know more guys who care if he’s scared or not, who even notice. He needs more guys who do the right thing when someone needs help.

“You’re really fucking nice, Cass.”

Cass snorts, throwing a fry in his mouth and speaking through a mouthful of potato, “I’m really not. You just caught me on a good night.”

If he’d been another few drinks in when he’d first noticed Kauri, he would’ve turned a blind eye and melted away to make out with Krystal or Kylie or whatever her name had been instead. If he’d been feeling a little more reckless fighting the douchebag in the corner, they’d probably both be sitting in a jail cell. If he’d been feeling a little more self-destructive outside the bar, a little more dangerous, he could’ve ignored the screaming in his head, the screaming in Kauri’s. He could’ve just kept kissing him. He could’ve… would’ve…

It doesn’t matter what he would have done, he tells himself. Because he didn’t. Not this time. That was what counted.

He wishes he believed it.

“What about your friends?” he asks, trying to shake off the thoughts rattling him as leans forward to dip a fry in Kauri’s sauce “They’re not nice?”

“Yeah, they are.” Kauri smiles a little. “I stay with them sometimes.” There was only one person he always picked up the phone for. The only person who knew all the bad things inside of him, not just the ones Kauri felt safe sharing. “But he’s, um.” Kauri’s smile slips and then reappears just as quickly as he shoves the guilt deeper down inside of himself, buries it under a cascade of not fucking now, damn it. 

“I’m kind of taking a break from bothering him with my shit.”

Kauri shifts around in the booth, moving to sit with his back to the window so he can pull his knees up, a hint of skin showing through where holes were beginning to wear. 

“He’s probably pretty happy to have me stop showing up at his door all the time. We just… sorry, none of that’s important.”

Cass taps his fingers in a steady rhythm on the tabletop as he watches Kauri carefully from across the booth. He doesn’t want to talk about this, Cass’ mind supplies. Literally anyone could see how uncomfortable Kauri was. Scared, even. 

“Nah you’re good,” Cass shrugs with an easy smile “I just wondered.”

Cass wants to ask what happened between the two of them. More than to empathise, he just wants to know the story. Which one of them fucked it up so bad that ‘only real friend’ goes to nothing. It was pretty fucking clear that Kauri thought it was his fault. But to be fair, Kauri more or less thought that getting punched in the head was his fault.

Cass wants to know the truth of it so bad. Instead he changes the subject. 

“I kinda fucked up your chances to find a place to stay tonight, huh?” 

Kauri snorts, resting his chin on his knees, watching Cass with a hint of the same small smile on his face. Just watching his hair move as he talks, and the way his fingers look touching the table.

Kauri wonders, vaguely, if he knows how to pull hair just the right way so it hurts a little, but not too much. With hair like his, he probably does. 

“You’re okay. Better than waking up drugged-up in that guy’s basement or whatever, right? I have a bench I go to sometimes if I don’t find anybody for the night, I’ll go over that way eventually. I have a blanket I hid over there we can, um, use, if you want. Or just an alley.” He tries for a wink, and he isn’t entirely sure it works and doesn’t just look a little bit ridiculous. “I’m not, um. Picky. You said you sleep at the place you work, right? It’s like a, a dorm thing?” Kauri hesitates, knowing the question is stupid he knows he’s stupid about this, but… “Do you, uh… do you get a bed, to sleep on?”

"Yeah," Cass says, trying not to sound off-put by the question. At what point in this sad fuck’s story did he not get a bed? "Yeah, I get a bed." He frowns briefly at his food before looking up again with a smile. "Lumpy as fuck, though."

The joke feels stale before it even lands. It's not exactly consolation in comparison to a park bench.

Cass can feel the offer on his tongue, heavy and loaded, and it's so fucking stupid to say it but guests aren't technically banned or anything, just frowned upon and the guy would be sleeping on a park bench.

"Do you... I mean it's not exactly homey, but did you want to come back to mine?" He nearly lets a thousand caveats fall off his tongue like, we'd have to be quiet and you'll have to leave before 8 and by the way my minder might decide to drop in for a late night chat, you cool with that? But instead he grins the easy way. "Can't guarantee we'll do much sleeping."

Kauri can’t quite hide the way he brightens again at the suggestion, although he tries, trying to look cool and smooth and like he wasn’t at all sort of not looking forward to the way he inevitably got woken up on the bench by some jogger yelling at him to go get a job.

You can’t get a job with no ID when you’re fucking illiterate.

“If, if you just wanted me to sleep,” He says, making his tone a little flirty, with a hint of a lopsided, shy smile. “I’d be disappointed. I hardly take up any space when I sleep, I promise. I’ll be up and out of your hair, I’m not, um, I don’t try and stick around or anything. That’s… see, you are nice. You just tell yourself you’re not.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Cass snorts. He leans forward conspiratorially, walking his fingers up Kauri’s arm as he speaks “How do you know this hasn’t just been some long play just to get you into my cult or something? Maybe once you go inside, you’ll never leave.”

Kauri shivers a little, moving his arm just slightly to make it easier for Cass, biting down on his lower lip with the same hint of a shy smile. The feeling of Cass’s fingers was like little sparks on his arm, and it felt like his touch lingered even after his fingers had moved. Kauri felt warm and cold all at once, heat starting to pool in his hips as he shifted around.

I am going to ride him until I can barely walk, after.

“You’re, um-” Kauri’s voice caught in his throat, and he cleared it, embarrassed. “That’s not fair, doing that in public.”

Cass smiles, tilting his to the side, feels it rush through him like an electric thrill even time the guy shudders like that. “Told you,” he murmurs “It’s a talent.”

He slips his fingers under the cuff of Kauri’s sweatshirt again, running little circles over his wrist. The guy is so responsive to touch it’s intoxicating. And Cass hasn’t even got him undressed yet.

It’s been ages since Cass has had the chance to play this role. He usually just melts into whatever the other person wants. He’s scrawny looking and gets flirty when he's high and he moves like a slut on the dancefloor, so recently that meant he pretty consistently landed himself in the role of desperate twink, ready to turn his brain off and let his partner take the lead. But this. This is what he likes, if he’s honest with himself. He likes seeing someone dissolve under his hands.

He smirks, pulling Kauri’s hand towards him and planting a kiss on his palm, “I could have you falling apart before we even leave the table, huh?”

Kauri’s fingers twitch, a little, with the urge to touch right back. It’s a familiar feeling, the need to touch, to be touched, to be reminded that someone wants him. It’s a more reassuring one that it doesn’t feel as desperate or worried as it sometimes does. This feels more like all of Kauri wants him, not just the parts that only know to want one thing. 

It feels like wanting Dustin - almost safe. As close to safe as he gets.

“You’re about h-halfway there already,” He says, not quite a whisper, not quite speech. “What, um. I’m bad at this. What other talents do you-... no, that sounds stupid-... I’m so bad at it when I’m not, um, trying to be good at it, I don’t… please just-” He’s bright red. He can’t finish the sentence, not out loud. 

Please just take me somewhere and fuck me.

[heartofsnark]

This Is Love (Chapter One): Welcome to Hope County

Notes: Soooo, I’ve been talking about this for a bit and it’s time to just take the jump and start publishing my Far Cry 5 fic. I hope you enjoy. Also, i have like a series warning for this that will be on every chapter cause it needs it. 

Summary: Dahlia Hale is the youngest person working at the Hope County Sheriff’s Department. Hailing from a small town in Louisiana, it’s going to take her some time to fully acclimate to the new environment and living on her own. Developing friendships takes time even for the most functional of people and for disasters like Dahlia it takes even longer. She gets along with her coworkers and there’s some religious family who’s taken a shine to her, for some reason. It seems like she’s on her way to getting the kind of friends she’s only ever dreamed about, even if it’s going to take some more time. 

Then everything goes to shit. 

Halfway through her six-month probationary hire and that nice religious family has kicked off a holy war with her becoming enemy number one.

To one side she’s a hero. 

To the other she’s a monster. She’s not sure which is right. 

Word Count: 9,290

Series Warning: I usually do not like to spoil endgame pairings in my fics, but this warrants being up front. This series is polyseed and involves heavy, recurrent themes of at times romanticized noncon, dubcon, large age differences, and stockholm syndrome that develops into a romantic relationship. The relationship between my oc and the Seeds is extremely unhealthy, toxic, and should never be replicated or sought out in real life. No matter how things progress or how they are portrayed at different points, this fact remains the same. i am comfortable exploring and enjoying these themes in fiction, not everyone is. If you are uncomfortable with or triggered by any of these things, please skip this and take the precautions you feel necessary to avoid this material. If you are an individual who struggles with separating reality and fiction; please do not read this. Otherwise, if you’re comfortable with and enjoy that kind of content, please enjoy. 

Chapter Warnings: Bliss flowers, hallucinations, threats of violence (really not bad compared to whats to come)

A shiver rolls down Dahlia’s spine, the chill of the Montana night settling into her bones. A sign welcomes her to Hope County, her motorcycle tire spinning dirt at it as she passes. The moon shines bright in the sky, cascading silver light down on everything. It’s beautiful despite the cold, light reflecting off the lakes and streams that pass through the county.  

It’s mostly woods and forests, fields of big white flowers and animals wandering through. The entire county is begging to be put on a postcard, from the animals, to the fields, to the…giant cement statue of a guy with a manbun…

Her tires squeal as she comes to a stop on the thankfully vacant road, she pushes the visor of her helmet up, as if the tint could cause her to see something like this. Sure enough, the white hunk of stone is still there. It’s of a man with his hair pulled back in a small bun, in one hand he holds a book and the other gestures outward. 

Hair raises on the back of her neck and goosebumps collect across her skin, the statue is…eerie. It looms across the entire region, a creeping specter. Unnerving doesn’t even begin to describe it, her body has started to lean towards it, almost drawn to it. 

Maybe it’s a historical figure for the county? People do that right, build monuments to founders or something. The clothes of the figure seem old fashioned, but she’s not sure about how far back the manbun goes.

She shakes her head and slaps her visor back down, she needs sleep. It shouldn’t be much further to her hotel. Dahlia revs her engine and rushes off that way, finally finding the large wooden hotel with its red roof. There’s a large wooden sign welcoming her to the King’s Hot Spring Hotel, the parking lot is decidedly vacant, and she comes to a stop by the smaller stone black sign that sits close to the larger wooden one, easy to overlook if someone wasn’t looking close enough. 

“King’s Hot Spring Hotel

On May 12th, 1902 a 7.6 earthquake struck the mountain south of the hotel. It created a 10 million ton landslide that sliced a deep crevice in the earth and destroyed half the King’s hotel. 16 people were killed in the landslide, their bodies never recovered. To this day, their ghosts are said to haunt the site of the rebuilt hotel. 

Built 1866.”

So, from a dirty cockroach motel to a haunted hotel, certainly a step up. She doesn’t really believe in ghosts, they’re cool as all hell, she loves creepy shit. But she doesn’t think any of it is real and if she’s wrong, maybe the ghosts will be nice enough to kill her. She parks her bike and shuts off the engine, unclipping her storage bag from it and making her way to the door. 

The inside feels warm and welcoming, rustic. A large stone fireplace with a bear skin rug in front of it, wooden stairs leading to the upper floors. Her eyes scan the room and she finds a registration desk where a woman sits, reading from a white book. She stands out slightly in the old styled hotel, tattoos covering her arms. The woman’s light, almost milky, green eyes, look up to see Dahlia as she makes her way to the desk. 

“I called ahead and reserved a room for tonight.” 

“Hale, right?” The girl flashes a soft smile as she slides the registration forms across the desk and Dahlia finds herself looking down at the receptionist’s arms, SLOTH and ENVY with strikes through them; half tattooed and half scarred in the woman’s skin. Heavy-handed work. 

“Yeah, that’s me, how’d you know?” 

“Oh, not many folks check in here anymore, between the ghost tales and the new management.” 

“Management?” Dahlia raises an eyebrow as she finishes scribbling in her info and handing her card over. 

“Here,” the woman hands Dahlia’s card back along with a room key and a map, “I’m sure you’ll find the path.” 

“Uhh…thanks…” 

She shakes her head as she leaves the desk, doing a double take at the worker, who’s now back to reading the large white tome with a soft smile on her face. Dahlia is entirely too tired to deal with weird cryptic people, maybe she’s trying to play up the creepy factor of the supposedly haunted hotel. Probably intrigues the tourists or some shit. She takes her phone from her pocket, ringing Lloyd as she walks to her room. 

“Hey, Stray,” He greets her with the nickname he gave her and she already feels a little better despite the chill and exhaustion. 

“Hey,” Dahlia unlocks her room and strides in, there’s a deer head mounted on the wall and a vase of those white flowers on the bedside drawer, “just wanted to let you know that I am officially in Hope County.” 

She tosses her luggage, along with the gunk the receptionist gave her onto the bed and does a fist bump for no one’s benefit but her own. 

“That’s good, your interview is tomorrow, right?” 

“Yeah, hopefully it’ll go well, if not it might be another year of me eating cheese puffs on your couch.” 

“You make it sound like you’re some sort of bum.” 

“I mean…” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, I’m gonna be a mess when you go.” 

“If I go, still gotta get the job.” 

“You’re gonna nail it, I know it, me and Earl were friends way back. He’s not dumb enough to let you go. And if he is, well, I’ll be having some words with him.”

“You can’t fight someone for not wanting to hire me.” 

“I mean, I can, uh, yeah, sweetie it’s stray, I was kinda, oh Caroline wants-“ 

“Stray, did you throw your fucking phone away?” Caroline, Lloyd’s wife, is on the phone in a second, worriedly yelling. 

“I talked to you when I stopped off in Denver.” 

“Yeah, in a dingy nasty motel and then we didn’t hear a word from you for over twelve fucking hours!” 

“I’m pretty sure I could handle myself,” Dahlia laughs and rolls her eyes, the concern is appreciated but unneeded. She’s a cop and despite her short stature, she’s got muscles and knows how to protect her. Maybe it’s cocky and arrogant, but at this point in her life, she’s not afraid of anything hurting her physically, mentally and emotionally is a whole other ballpark. 

“Still, what if you were in an accident. Have you ate? Do you know where you’re eating tonight?” 

She ate back in Denver and her stomach is growling now, but she mostly just wants a shower and sleep. She’d rather just grab room service for breakfast. 

“I’m fine, I’ve ate and I will eat. Stop worrying, now I’m gonna get settled in for the night, I’ll call you after the interview.” 

“Wait, ha-”

“Goodbye, mon cher,” Dahlia ends the call after her casual term of endearment, cher and mon cher as normal to her as bud or pal. Maybe it’s just a Cajun French Louisiana thing, or it’s one of the many things she picked up from her dad. She instinctively plays with the ring that hangs from a chain around her neck, he was always so proud of where he came from, teaching her Cajun French from the moment she could talk. Would he be upset with her leaving the state? 

She shakes the thought from her head, she can’t concern herself with the opinions of people who aren’t here, as much as they’d mean to her. Dahlia finally has the tools to be independent and make her own way in this world, she needs to seize any and every opportunity. She double checks that her door is locked, before stripping out of her clothes. 

Dahlia sets her phone to play music as she takes a shower, singing along to it as hot water eases her aching muscles. Once she’s cleaned, she dries off and starts to make her way to the bed where her luggage is. 

The large white blooms on the table between the bed and window, draw her eye, her suspicion confirmed that they’re the same as the fields of flowers she saw on her way here. They must be a common flower here. She’s not a plant person, but she can appreciate pretty flowers when she sees them. The petals are soft against her finger and she pulls out one of the fresh flowers, sniffing at it. It tickles her nose, the soft scent pleasant, but it makes her want to sneeze. She tucks it back in the vase and scrubs at her nose.

Her vision swims for a moment, suddenly light-headed. She hasn’t slept much and has been driving a lot, her eyes must be tired as well. 

Dahlia digs some comfy sleeping clothes from her bag to change into. Content in her shorts and tee, the hotel much warmer than the outside chill. She pushes her luggage off her bed and takes a look at the Hope County map.  

Her vision is still swimming but she reaffirms where she needs to be tomorrow for her interview. It’s over in Fall’s End at the Sheriff’s Department. Dahlia fishes a marker out of her discarded jacket pocket and then starts to write directions down on her right forearm before tucking the map away. 

She rifles a cigarette from her quickly emptying pack, most places don’t like their hotel rooms stinking like nicotine.

Cool air rushes in as she opens the window, she leans against the windowsill, appreciating the view of the moonlight reflecting in the pool of spring water. Montana really is beautiful. 

She lights her cigarette, looking away for a second to ignite it. 

“Ooooh ooooh~” A soft melodic voice drifts in, piercing the quiet, and Dahlia’s head snaps back to the window. 

In the grass, a woman surrounded by green mist spins and dances, singing softly into the night. She’s young, but still older than Dahlia with dirty blonde hair that falls past her shoulders. A white lace dress with flowers across the waist and skirt. Illuminated by moonlight, a heavenly glow, angelic but singing a siren’s song. 

Who would be out there at this time of night?

Dahlia’s the only one in the hotel and she doubts the staff indulges in nightly dance sessions. 

When did Dahlia start leaning further out the window? 

Every fiber of her being screams at her to run to the woman. To jump out the window if she has to, anything to get closer to the hauntingly beautiful woman dancing along the decks before the spring. 

Dahlia slams the window shut, quick and hard enough to rattle it. It’s late, she’s exhausted, she’s ridden her bike almost twenty-eight hours straight. Only stopping for a late night in a shitty hotel in Denver before getting back on the road at eight am this morning. 

Between ghost stories and exhaustion her brain is fucking with her. 

The woman’s singing is still there. 

Softer now but still present, still beckoning. 

Every muscle in her body is tense, prepared to bolt in order to go find that woman. 

She smashes her fist against the side of her head, the impact of her knuckles rattling her skull as she literally tries to knock sense into herself. Her visions seem to clear a bit and she can’t hear the singing anymore, but she also might have concussed herself. 

Her cigarette is stamped out before she’s even halfway through it and she’s setting her phone alarm before jumping into the bed. 

She buries her face in the pillow, no matter what she hears or thinks she’ll see, she’s not going anywhere until the morning. This interview is the most stressful thing she’s dealt with in years, so much rides on it, and she can’t be exhausted tomorrow from chasing fairy ghosts or what the fuck ever. 

Her mind is just playing tricks on her, it’s an asshole, it does that. 

She’s not certain exactly when she fell asleep, but the next thing she knows her alarm is going off. Dahlia groans and forces herself out of bed, she hates waking up. Her interview isn’t even late, but god, fuck waking up. 

Her head is clearer now, no swimming in her vision and no singing or sirens. She forces her way out of bed, groggily trying to go about her day. 

She’s running late, she’s always running late, time isn’t real.

After taking her sweet sleepy time to get herself put together and inhaling a room service breakfast, Dahlia is running down the hotel stairs and scrubbing syrup off her chin. Why does she do this to herself? The receptionist calls out something and she waves her off. 

Helmet slapped on and engine revving, she guns it out of the parking lot and makes her way to towards the Valley. She comes to a bridge and pulls her arm from her jacket to read her scribbled directions, remembering too late that she can’t read her own handwriting. 

She squints trying to decipher what the hell she wrote, her chicken scratch leaving a lot to be desired. It looks like it might say she’s going to Holland Valley or Halland Volley or Hallard, something to that effect by crossing the Honne…Benne…Rover….Dridge… Why does she do this to herself?

She’s probably on the right track, probably. Dahlia readjusts her jacket, confirming that her mess of directions won’t be getting any clearer the longer she stares at it and makes her way over the bridge. More signs hang from the inner framework of the bridge, half of them bearing a cross symbol with what looks like sunbeams coming from the center, the other half states The Power Of YES; Take The Leap.

Heebie jeebies nest in her gut, those goosebumps from earlier coming back. Religion…

Maybe it was too optimistic, but she had hoped further up North she’d see less of…that. She did searches online and was told based on some statistical thing that Montana was less religious than Louisiana. But apparently religion isn’t completely avoidable in the United States. 

The crisp smell of apples manages to break through her helmet as she leaves the bridge. Apple trees as far as the eye can see, bright red fruit gleaming under sunlight, a giant orchard surrounds the road. People mill about the apple trees; couples holding hands and parents hefting their children up on their shoulders to pick the highest apples their little hands can reach. A few people look at her as she rides past, the rev of her engine and the music pounding from her helmet drawing attention. Some looks are judgmental, others unconcerned, a small kid waves at her as she passes by and she waves back, smile teasing at the corners of her mouth. There’s a constructed Apple Statue in the orchard, noting that she’s riding through the Gardenview Orchard.

Over the horizon, built into the hills of the Holland Valley is a giant Hollywood style sign that says ‘YES’. It’s infinitely less creepy than the weird man statue, but far cheesier. Whether that’s better or worse? Who knows, but Hope County is definitely…weirder than she anticipated. 

She passes through the orchard and coming up on the left apple trees are replaced with pumpkins on the ground. Fields growing them, some clearly bigger and further along in the growing process, none fully ripe, however. A house is built among the fields, one fence with a sign that says Rae-Rae’s Pumpkin Farm. 

There’s a couple walking around, holding hands, but more importantly there’s a dog. A mottled coat of black, white, and blue gray with a bandana around their neck. The dog’s head raises at the rev of Dahlia’s motorcycle engine passing by on the road, tail wagging but he doesn’t run out, a well-trained doggo. 

She’s running late. 

She doesn’t have time. 

One pet can’t hurt. 

Dahlia comes to a screeching halt, tires squealing and bracing herself against her handlebars of her bike so she doesn’t fly across the farm. The couple taken aback, staring wide-eyed at her as she kills her music and yanks off her helmet. The doggie is still wagging its tail, eager to meet their new friend. 

“Can I pet your dog?” 

The couple is older, by Dahlia standards, so probably around their thirties…or forties…or twenties…ages confuse her. A woman with short sandy hair and a man with a knit hat over his head, the woman’s dropped jaw becomes a soft smile, her eyes gentle. 

“Of course,” a thick southern accent tints her voice, “Boomer’s doesn’t know a stranger.” 

Dahlia stays outside the wooden fence, not wanting to step on crops or something, but she leans over it. Boomer’s big brown eyes landing on her, so cute, she already loves him. A few coos and he’s already rushing over, standing to put his paws at the top of the fence so he can get some much-deserved love. She pets the top of his head, scratching behind his ears and around his neck. He eagerly leans into scritch and pet, licking her. 

“Awww, such a good boy, yes you are,” she praises and laughs, soaking it in. Even if she’s running late, this is more than worth it. 

“You’re not from around here, are you?” The woman asks. 

“Nah, here for a job interview,” Dahlia answers, hugging around Boomer’s neck as she snuggles him. 

“Where you interviewing at?” 

“Sheriff’s department.” 

“You’re kind of young for a cop, ain’tcha?”

“I’m an adult,” she says, shrugging her shoulders through the hug. She is a young adult and that’s all that needs to be said on that. 

“They finally trying to fill that deputy position?” 

“Seems like it.” 

“Sorry, to brush you off so soon, but we have to go pick up some equipment before noon and we’re already cutting it close.” 

Shit, right, time. She’s running late too, but the dog was worth it. 

“No problem, have a good one, you keep being a good boy, Boomer.” 

She gives a final scratch to his head, then slides her helmet back on, waving off the couple as she hops back on her bike. Her nerves have eased slightly at having gotten some time with a dog and even if she’s late, she doesn’t regret it. 

Her engine revs and she’s back to traveling down the quiet Montana roads. The sheriff’s department is in Fall’s End. A water tower baring the town’s name lets her know she’s arrived in the right area. It’s not a huge town. Along the main road, there’s the sheriff’s department, a general store, a bar, a church. There’s little streets and roadways showing that beyond those there’s houses and an apartment complex. Not huge, but certainly bigger than where she’s from, which…isn’t saying much. 

Dahlia parks her motorcycle outside the sheriff’s department, all those initially dissipated nerves are bubbling back to the surface. Her stomach in absolute knots and her muscles tense with anxiety. She shuts off her bike and pockets her keys then pulls off her helmet, fiddling with her hair. A deep breath, before she finally steels herself to step into the building.  

There’s a desk to Dahlia’s right when she enters the building, an older woman with a layered bob of red hair. 

“There something I can help you with, darling?” Her southern accented voice asks. 

“I have an interview with the sheriff.”

“Really,” the woman’s eyes scan Dahlia up and down, eyebrows furrowed in judgement, “can I get your name?” 

“Hale,” she murmurs, once again fiddling with her messy strands of dark hair. She knows she doesn’t exactly look the most professional right now. But professional clothes and motorcycles don’t truly mix. The woman, her desk tag says N. McClure, shuffles through some documents and reads over something. 

“Okay, just take a seat and I’ll let Earl know you’re here.”

Dahlia plops down in one of the reception area’s chairs, fiddling with the cat ears on her motorcycle helmet. Her leg bounces up and down, shaking out excess energy as the woman at the desk starts to call back, asking for Whitehorse. It’ll be fine, Dahlia reassures herself, Lloyd and Caroline have been talking her up to their old friend. All she needs to do is be herself, maybe, probably not. She’s kind of a mess. 

The clock hand ticks slowly, Dahlia feeling like she’s about to go crazy waiting for her interview to start. Finally, the woman hangs up the phone she was calling back to Whitehorse on, a soft smile on her face that pulls at the wrinkles around her eyes. 

“Earl’s ready to talk to you, come on back.”

The older woman steps out and helps show Dahlia to the office door, passing through a bullpen style office area to get there, Sheriff Whitehorse is scrawled on a plaque by the door. Dahlia knocks and he tells her to come on in, she slowly opens the door and steps in. There’s a modest sized quaint office with only a few personal touches. She’s only seen old photos Lloyd had of himself and Whitehorse, from way back in police academy. The man before her is much older than he was in those photos, weathered with wrinkled skin. He looks like an old sheriff pulled directly from a movie; green uniform, cowboy hat, scraggly brown hair, and a mustache.

“You’re Lloyd and Caroline’s Stray, right?” He says, standing up from his desk to shake her hand over it. He’s over a foot taller than her, probably close to a foot and a half. His hand swallows her own whole, it’s probably bigger than her face. 

“Holy shit, you’re tall.” 

That’s not a good way to start an interview, but he seems to be laughing and smiling. So, maybe it’s fine. Lloyd once said she has a charm about her despite her lack of tact or decorum. She’s still trying to figure out what that charm is, but still. 

“Go ahead and take a seat,” he says, gesturing at the chair in front of his desk. She follows suit, leg still bouncing like it was in the waiting room. Whitehorse puts a manilla folder down on the desk, the little tab labeled D. Hale. It’s surprisingly thick for someone who’s never met her in person. 

“Lloyd and Caroline talk highly of you, hell the whole town does.” 

“The whole town…?” She raises an eyebrow, what’s that supposed to mean? Reinette, Louisiana is a small town, it’s police department has about six people in total and everyone knows everyone. But certainly, they wouldn’t call up Whitehorse to talk about her. 

“I swear Lloyd must have handed out the stations number to everyone down there, we’ve been getting two, three calls a day of people who can’t say enough good things about you.” 

“Oh god.” Heat flushes up Dahlia’s cheeks, god damn it, Lloyd. 

“You’ve left quite an impression on the place.” 

“Uh, yeah, I guess.” Dahlia pushes some hair off her face, fidgeting with the locks.

“And you haven’t been working there long, have you?”

“Not counting training, about a year and a half, I know I don’t have much experience.” 

“Still making such an impact in a short amount of time, says something.” 

“Thanks.” His words soothe her nerves and embarrassment a bit, maybe this will go well.

“But, there’s the issue of your record…”

“My record…?” She shouldn’t have a record, he opens the manilla folder and she feels bile raise in the back of her throat. 

“Between what’s on the books and what everyone was saying, I was starting to wonder if there were two of you, Hale. Runaways, break in, fights, attempted grand theft auto, and petty thefts, the list goes on. Doesn’t exactly scream future cop.” 

“I thought records got expunged at eighteen.”

“If you request it.” 

“Oh…well then…”

“I know this all happened when you were a minor and you’ve been clear for the past two or so years, but…”

“It still looks bad, I know, I know. I’m not going to try to tell you some bullshit excuse or sob story. I did a lot of shit I shouldn’t have for a lot of reasons. I regret most of it, not all of it, but most of it. Lloyd and Caroline helped me get my life back on track, I know two years doesn’t seem like a long time, but I’m not the same kid I was when I did that shit.”

That what she tells him, but she’s not sure how much she believes it. It feels more like her situation’s changed than she’s changed, but if she just said that she’s no longer a delinquent because she doesn’t need to be, well, it wouldn’t sound as good or employable. 

“What made you wanna be a cop?”

“Wanted to help people,” she answers with a shrug, it’s not really anything more complicated than that. Whitehorse huffs out what sounds like a laugh, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Okay, I gotta ask, why here? Lloyd and the whole town loves you. It’s a hell of a move and the pay raise ain’t much.”

“Look,” she sighs and folds her hands on top of her motorcycle helmet, calming her body down, “I love Reinette, I love Lloyd and I love Caroline. I owe them and the whole town a debt that I’ll never pay back. But, I’m twenty years old. I’m not their kid and even if I was it’d be time for me to go, I’ve taken enough of their time, money, and everything. Reinette, bless the town’s heart, it’s...dying. There’s more cows than people, our station has more cars than officers. It won’t be long before they do away with the town’s department and just do everything through the Parish. And the parish’s department doesn’t need any more officers.”

Her throat constricts as bile raises in the back of it, her stomach churning. After everything that town and its people have done for her, she’s leaving them. A traitor, betrayer. 

“You figure any of those officers will even find work in the parish, at all?” He asks with a knowing, soft look in his eye. If he keeps in contact with Lloyd, he’s already well aware of the trouble in Reinette. 

“I doubt it, town’s a sinking ship. Lloyd…he’s willing to go down with it,” her eyes sting and she clenches her jaw, containing herself, “I can’t do that. As much as they all mean to me, I can’t. Lloyd’s gonna retire when it goes under, I’m twenty, the fuck am I supposed to do? I’m trying to help people; I’m trying to make a difference. But my hands keep getting tied because of money, resources, anything and everything. Lloyd and Caroline gave me the means and the tools to make something of myself, I’m not gonna piss that away because some fucker decided we weren’t worth investing in, I…”

She’s clenching her fists and nearly smacking her helmet, anger and frustration welling up inside of her, a geyser of emotions threatening to break through. This is an interview, she can’t do this, can’t be emotional. She needs to stop this, a deep breath before she starts to speak again. 

“I can do more here, I know no place is perfect, but I can do more here.” 

“Well, no one can say you’re not passionate.” Whitehorse lets out another chuckle, seemingly amused. 

“Sorry, certain shit, just winds me up.” She massages the back of her neck, why is she such a fucking idiot? No one wants to hire a cop who can’t keep their cool and throws a fit. She was supposed to tone down her dumbassery, not ramp it up. 

“There’s nothing wrong with caring about what you’re doing.”

“Yeah…” She half-heartedly agrees, Whitehorse is trying to make her feel better. Her interview has become him trying to console her, absolutely pathetic. She might as well call Lloyd and Caroline now and tell them she blew it. 

“You got any questions for me?” 

“Uh…”

Did she just fuck this up as bad as she thinks she did?

 “Not really, I just wanna get to work.” That earns her another chuckle from Whitehorse, even if he doesn’t think she’s competent, at least she’s entertaining it seems. 

“Full of piss and vinegar, ain’t ya?” 

“To say the least.” She lets out a dry laugh, but there’s no mirth of joy behind it. Not a shred of happiness as she thinks about what a fucking idiot she is. 

“Well, if that’s all,” Whitehorse stands up from his desk, “I’ll go ahead and show you out.” 

Dahlia stands up, the sheriff places a large hand on her back as they leave his office, finding their way back into the reception area. 

“It was nice to finally meet you, Hale.” 

“Same, thanks for taking the time to talk to me.” She’s sure that he’d rather be doing literally anything else, especially after that beyond trash interview. 

“It’s no problem at all, I-”

The doors to the department open, a man and a woman in green deputy uniforms coming in. Another giant, the man is barely an inch of two shorter than Whitehorse, with shaggy dark hair and hazel eyes. More importantly, the woman while taller doesn’t absolutely tower over Dahlia, her long black hair is braided over her shoulder and her olive skin makes her hunter green eyes stand out all the more. 

Dahlia’s throat feels tight and her heart race is a little faster. So…that’s a thing. 

“We running a daycare, now?” The guy asks, looking down his nose at Dahlia, though that might just be because of the height difference. Either way, she glares at him, he’s been around her a grand total of five seconds and he’s being a dick. 

“Pratt…” The woman, her name tag says J. Hudson, rolls her eyes at him. Her voice is warm and rich; why is Dahlia’s face so hot? Is she sick? Has the Montana weather already kicked her ass, what is this?

“This is one of the interviewees. Hale, these are my deputies.” 

“Nice to meet you.” Hudson flashes a soft smile and what is Dahlia’s heart doing? It’s like someone’s squeezing it and filled her gut with bugs while they were at it. She fucks up an interview and now she needs a doctor, great. 

“Same, I was, uh, just on my way out actually.” She needs to go sleep off whatever the fuck has just hit her. 

“Good luck,” the taller woman gives a friendly tap to Dahlia’s bicep, “hopefully we’ll be seeing more of you around here.” 

Dahlia is dying.

That’s the only explanation. She fucked up an interview and now she has the heart plague or some shit, hell of a day. 

“Uh, yeah, I, um, ‘preciate it.” She’s avoiding eye contact and she doesn’t know why she's stumbling over her words and she doesn’t know why.

“Pssh,” Pratt scoffs, “she’s gonna need it.” 

Suddenly, she can talk again. Weird. Hudson and Whitehorse shake their heads, clearly use to his bullshit

“Sorry about Pratt, he’s, well he’s Pratt.” 

“Eh, every station has at least one cop who’s just trying to make up for his tiny dick.” 

“I assure you, I-”

“Enough,” Whitehorse cuts him off, talking like he’s breaking up a child’s squabbling. Doesn’t really help make her look any more mature or competent, way to steer into the skid, Dahlia. 

“For the millionth time, no one wants to hear about your dick, Pratt.” Hudson rolls her eyes, why is that being said for the millionth time?

“Well, that’s certainly my cue to go, have a good one.” 

Dahlia quickly waves off the sheriff and deputies, making her escape. She takes the couple steps to her motorcycle with quick rigid movement, making sure she’s away from windows or the glass door, not wanting any of them to see her. 

She lets out a low guttural groan muffled by how tightly her jaw is clenched jaw and knocks her knuckles against the back of her head. 

Idiot, she fucked everything up by going on some huge ass fucking rant. 

Despite the distance, this was a phenomenal opportunity the best she’s had. It’s not like she hasn’t looked into place in Louisiana, but something is always wrong. She’s never made it as far as the interview. Either she never gets a call back, maybe they’d seen her records the same way Whitehorse did and didn’t even bother giving her that chance. Or she’d learn the town, parish, city, whatever was no better off than Reinette. One of the sheriffs she talked to on the phone knew her stepfather and recognized her name, nearly making her puke before she hung up. 

This was beyond a shadow of a doubt the best chance she’s had. Whitehorse has the Lloyd seal of approval which is as good as gold. And as much as the distance is guilt inducing…, the fear of betrayal and abandoning people who mean so much to her. But, she needs somewhere far away. 

As many good memories as Lloyd, Caroline, and the people of Reinette have given her. There are still too many bad ones, too many people figuring out where she came from, one too many bad memories trying to be more than just that. As much as it may eat her up to leave, it’ll eat her up even more to stay. Between the impending unemployment and her own past, every good moment there has a shadow looming over it. 

When she gets back to Reinette she’ll start working to get her record taken care of. Once that’s settled, it’s back to job hunting. A bump in the road, a moment of frustration, but she’ll come out the other end. She always does. 

Her stomach growls, burning through a pack of cigarettes and stress binge eating sound like a great way to deal with this. She’ll find some place to stuff her face and call Lloyd once she gets back to the hotel. 

There’s a general store, she doesn’t know if the bar lets minors in, so it’s probably her best place to grab some quick snack. She plops her helmet on and makes the short drive to the store, parking her bike outside and pulling her helmet back off to light a cigarette by the dumpsters. Her stressed brain is desperately craving nicotine. 

She rips open her pack of cigarettes and lights one up, bringing it to her lips. Smoke pools in her lungs, clawing to her insides and easing her nerves if only for a second. Holding it there for a moment before breathing it out into the air. Her eyes are drawn to the neon sign of The Spread Eagle bar, even bright in the daylight. It also seems to have some activity despite the early hour. Well, early for a bar. A white truck pulls up in front of the building, a man with long grungy hair climbing out of the passenger seat. 

Those odd pains in her chest and churns in her stomach fade as she inhales the smoke, looking up at the clear blue sky. A soft breeze blows through, carrying the gray trails away with it. Montana really is beautiful…

“Get back here!” A woman yells out, door to the bar swinging open violent as the man with long hair comes rushing back out, arms piled high with crates of alcohol. 

Dahlia drops her cigarette and helmet, bolting towards the bar, as the thief tries to scramble into the back of the pickup truck. He gets the crates set down, but she’s grabbed the back of his shirt before he can climb in. A harsh yank, pulling the tall man back into her and away from the truck. She encircles her arms under his armpits and locks her hands behind his neck, grappling into a full nelson hold that keeps him from running off. The odd angle of these heights and the way he was yanked from the back of the truck leaves him on his knees in his grasp. 

“Someone call the sheriff’s department!” She yells out, she doesn’t have any jurisdiction here or cuffs to actually arrest the guy. 

He tries to fight back against the hold, attempting to break free, but all he manages to do is writhe and squirm. The door of the truck swings open, the driver jumping out, his feet hitting the ground with a heavy sound. Another man easily a foot or more taller than her. 

“Help me, brother Theodore,” the man in her hold struggles to beg for help. 

“We have strict orders from John Seed to confiscate this liquor.” 

“Don’t know or care who that is, mon cher.” 

“Someone like you doesn’t deserve to know him,” the guy tells her, sneering and she sees his finger twitch, brushing over the gun in his belt holster. She can’t have firearms going off in a residential area. 

“All you’ll do is end up shootin’ your friend, don’t be stupid. Liquor ain’t worth bloodshed.” 

He lets out a sigh and his hand relax, something clicking in his mind. The man, Theodore, chews his lip, eyes flickering as she nearly sees the gears turning in his head. 

“What’s going on here?” A familiar rough voice asks over Dahlia’s shoulder, she doesn’t need to look to know Whitehorse has come to investigate. Even if she did, she wouldn’t dare look away from the man in front of her, not until she’s sure he won’t try to shoot. 

“These pieces of shit peggies were trying to steal my liquor stash,” a woman explains, somewhere behind Dahlia. 

“Liquors still in the back of the truck,” Dahlia tells them, none of it seemed to break, so hopefully it won’t hurt the bar too much. 

“If it wasn’t for her, they would have cost me a month’s worth of sales.” 

“Pratt, Hudson,” Whitehorse calls the names of his deputies. 

“I got it here,” Hudson taps on Dahlia arm, cuffs in hand, and that weird heart thing is happening again. 

“Um, yeah, o-of course.” She maneuvers away from the guy, she’s never stumbled over her words like that before. Hudson cuffs the guy and starts reading his rights off. 

“Keep your hands where I can see ‘em,” Pratt barks out at the Theodore guy who's surprisingly obedient as he lets the deputy cuff him. 

Dahlia scratches at her nose, watching the scene unfold. She’s finally gotten a good look at the woman who was being robbed. 

And, not only is everyone here tall, they’re also apparently beautiful. The woman is than both Dahlia and Hudson, with honey blonde hair tucked up into a bun and soft blue eyes. Her features are soft, cherubic almost, with freckles over the bridge of her nose. 

Have women always been this pretty?

When did women start being this pretty?

The fuck is her heart doing?

“Looks like it’s a good thing you were here,” Whitehorse tells her, a soft smile tugging at his lips, “you managed to get Mary May’s liquor back and stopped it from escalating.” 

“Oh, yeah, I guess.” 

“Someone you know, sheriff?” The blonde, Mary May  asks. His smile gets wider and he squeezes Dahlia’s shoulder, a comforting touch. 

“This is my new Junior Deputy.” 

“I am?” 

He’s not serious, there’s no way, he has to be fucking with her. 

“Unless you changed your mind?” 

“Hell no,” she shakes her head, “I am the new Junior Deputy, wait, Junior?”

“You’ll start with a six-month probationary hire, paid of course, manage that and we’ll take you on permanently.” 

“Sounds good to me.” 

“You’ll start next, c’mon down to the station Mary, we’ll book ‘em and get your report in.” 

“See you around, stranger,” Mary May tells her as she follows after Whitehorse, Hudson and Pratt forcing the thieves along. Theodore shooting a glare Dahlia’s way. 

“Look forward to working with you, Rookie.” 

“Pfft, I give her a week, tops.” 

And with that, Dahlia is left alone on the road of Falls End…with a new job. 

She got the job. 

She’s got to get through the probationary hire, but she got the job. Holy shit. Holy shit. And she starts in a week. She needs to call Lloyd and Caroline, she needs to find somewhere to live, there’s so much to do. 

Dahlia is practically skipping back over to her helmet and bike. She’s gotta start getting her ducks in a row. 

She speeds her way back through Hope County, making her way back to the hotel. She has so many fucking calls to make and shit to go through. Before she knows it she’s back in the Kings Spring Hotel parking lot, fumbling to get her phone. As silly as it may be, she’d rather call Lloyd and Caroline in a less populated area. She’s grinning ear to ear, enough to hurt her cheeks, she looks like a dork and that’s not going to get any better. Helmet under her arm, she dials Lloyd as she paces in the isolated parking lot. 

“How’d it go?” Lloyd is asking before she even says hi. 

“Six months, probationary hire, then we’ll go from there.” 

‘So, you got the job?” 

“That was the bummer way of saying I got the job, yeah.” 

“I can hear you smiling!” 

“Shut it!” 

“Caroline! She got the job, yeah!” 

“I,” she rubs a hand down her face, “I thought for sure I blew it.” 

“What changed?” 

“Some bar across the street got robbed right after my interview, I stepped in, next thing I know I’m the Junior Deputy.”

“Holy fuck, do you know what that is, Stray?” 

“Dumb luck?” 

“Fate, Stray, it’s fucking fate! The world telling you that you’re exactly where you’re meant to be!” 

“You really are a sap, ain’t ya?” 

“What are you doing now?” 

“I’m staying another night here, but once I hop off I gotta start looking into where I’m gonna stay. I start in a week, so I gotta start moving, I’ll see you all in two or three days once I make the drive. It’s gonna be tight, but I’ll manage.” 

“Man, you’re really leaving.” 

“No crying.” 

“Seems like yesterday Caroline found you in the barn.” 

“No crying.” 

“You were so thin, just a little bag of bones…” His voice is choking up.

“I’m hanging up, you cry baby!” 

She does just that, smiling up at the sky. It’s happening, it’s really happening. It feels like the start of a new life, a new her. There’s a jump in her step as she makes her way back into the hotel, room service food and she’ll start making phone calls. 

“Miss Hale!” The soft lilted voice of the receptionist calls out when she sees Dahlia. 

“Oh, hey.” Dahlia walks to the desk, head tilted in question, what could she need?

“A heads up, we’re switching the water in the tank for the shower and bath system to water pumped in from the spring.” 

“Oh, that’s cool.” 

“It’s so much more relaxing than regular tap water, be sure to use it tonight.” 

“Uh yeah, thanks, by the way can I order some room service?” 

“Of course.” 

Dahlia goes through her order for room service, being assured the order will be put in and delivered before she knows it. With that she goes back up to her room, she starts digging through the bedside drawer, searching for a phone book for the area. There’s a white book in the top drawer, with that same strange cross like symbol that was on the signs along the bridge. She throws it on the bed, finding a local phone book beneath it, much more important. 

She starts rifling through pages. Hope County is mostly a trailer park town, for people who can’t afford to build or buy an actual home and land. There is an apartment complex in Falls End, but the rent is high for pretty small apartments. The prices probably jacked since housing is so limited. She’d rather get a whole trailer to herself for cheaper and just travel further for work. 

Hours pass by her making phone calls, seeing about housing and stuffing food in her face when she’s not talking. The Silver Lake Trailer Park that’s nearest the station has no vacancy or trailers available for rent, but they refer her to the Moonflower Trailer Park. It’s some distance, but with how fast she rides her bike, it’s doable. It’s the only place with vacancy, she’ll drop by with a down payment and check out the trailer tomorrow before she heads back to Louisiana to get her stuff and everything tidied up there. The world outside the hotel window has gone dark, moon hanging bright in the sky. 

That settled she finishes off her food and collapses back on the bed. She’s still smiling, grinning ear to ear.

“Wooooooo!” She yells out and pumps her fist up at the ceiling, fuck yeah, she’s got this. 

She’ll grab one of those spring water showers and then pass out for the night. She grabs her phone and sets it up to play music in the bathroom while she washes up. Her clothes hit the floor, air conditioner chilling her skin as she waits for the water to heat up. It has a soft floral scent and is tinted slightly green, spring water. 

She steps in under the hot spray of water, letting it wash away the sweat and dirt of the day. Her muscles relax under the water and steam, as she scrubs the hotel soap into her skin. She blinks her eyes open once she’s done washing her hair, finding her vision clouding, her body feeling heavier and heavier. Must be the exhaustion of the day. Dahlia quickly finishes washing, the last thing she needs is to fall asleep in the shower again. 

Her steps are shaky, her body swaying as the world swims around her. Colors distort and shift in prisms before her eyes. It’s like the night before, but times a million. Her movements sluggish as she dries herself and quickly pulls on her sleep clothes. She was feeling ill earlier, maybe it’s catching up to her? But it doesn’t feel the same. Not panicky and nervous. One of her favorite songs starts to play through her phone, though its eerie tones aren’t as welcomed in this moment. 

She grips the sink for leverage, steadying herself as she looks into the mirror

All our times have come.

Her dark brown eyes aren’t dark brown, not quite. She tugs at her eyelids, the iris growing milkier and lighter than she’s ever seen it. What the hell is this? A soft melodic laugh echoes through the room, like it’s near. 

Here but now they're gone.

She stumbles out of the bathroom, finding her empty bedroom. Nothing unusual. 

Seasons don't fear the reaper.

The laugh rings out again, a flash of white passing by her open door. When did it open? She didn’t leave it open. 

Nor do the wind, the sun or the rain...

She’s walking out her door before she can give it another thought, looking back and forth across the hall, who’s there? 

We can be like they are

Her feet pad down the hallway, steps suddenly sure and confident as she tries to follow the voice. Like her body is being drawn, pulled, following sheer instinct. She needs to find them. 

Come on baby... don't fear the reaper

A flash of white, the swish of lace fabric, that laugh again vanishing into one of the rooms. Dahlia is there, trying to wrench open the door. Then it rings out from behind her. 

Baby take my hand... don't fear the reaper

A woman stands at the end of a long hallway, the one from the tight before. Long sandy hair and beautiful green eyes. A blue butterfly perches itself on her fingers, the woman looking at it in awe. Dahlia takes slow steps forward, she wants to speak, ask who she is and what she’s doing here. But her tongue is heavy, her throat tight, vocal cords numb, not a sound escaping. 

Baby I'm your man...

Green eyes flicker from the butterfly to Dahlia, a soft almost mischievous smile tugging at the woman’s lips. She laughs again as Dahlia nears her, then she runs, childish and giggling she runs towards one of the rooms. Dahlia is chasing her even after she vanishes from sight, legs moving without her permission, instinct driving her to reach this woman. She doesn’t know why, but she needs to reach her, touch her. Be closer. 

La la la la la

La la la la la

The laughter turns into soft humming, singing echoing through the halls. Somehow the sound is everywhere, all consuming and right in her ear, but also distant the source too far away for her to find. She walks down the halls, taking turns and climbing up stairs, following her instinct that pulls her in each direction she goes. 

Valentine is done

Flashes of white fabric, doors closing and shutting. It’s a game of tag that she can’t seem to win, the small hotel has somehow become a labyrinth as she tries to find the humming woman. Short hallways and few rooms have been traded for never ending paths with room lining them. 

Here but now they're gone

Sometimes spacious and open, other times claustrophobic, choking, walls scraping the skin of her arms where she has to fear she might become stuck. More halls and more floors than she’s ever seen, winding paths that make her dizzy. But she can’t stop searching for that woman. 

Romeo and Juliet

One more turn, the woman is at the end of a hallway. Standing before a door, softly singing to what is now two butterflies balanced on her fingers. Dahlia starts to walk down the hallway, tight, claustrophobic. She keeps her hands on the walls as if it will give her more space, as if she could force the walls to open wider for her. 

Are together in eternity...Romeo and Juliet

Her heartbeat races as she walks closer and closer, the walls threatening to crush her between them. She can hardly breathe, every breath ragged and tight. Dying. She feels like she’s dying, air being stolen from her lungs and heart pounding lie it’s trying to escape her chest. It worsens with every step she takes near the woman. 

40,000 men and women everyday... Like Romeo and Juliet

Some part of her brain, the small part that doesn’t have a thick haze of fog clinging to it, tells her to run the other way. That with this feeling only growing with every step towards the siren, with her heart pounding harsher, breathing getting raspier, she’ll die if she keeps going. That this truly is a siren luring her to death, but she can’t listen to that part of her. Her body won’t. She needs to reach her. 

40,000 men and women everyday... Redefine happiness

She’s getting closer and closer; the woman isn’t running this time. Just calming singly, like she doesn’t even notice Dahlia. She tries to reach out for the woman, her fingers nearly brushing the woman’s dress sleeve. 

Another 40,000 coming everyday... We can be like they are

Then the woman walks through the door, Dahlia could curse and cry if her vocal cords would only work. Once again, the woman evading her, being just out of reach. But this hall has no doors along its sides, no turns or twists. The only two options are going back or going through the door after her. It’s not even a choice. 

Come on baby... don't fear the reaper

She wrenches the door open and she’s in another world. No more wood walls and floors, her bare feet touching lush grass that tickles her skin. White petals float in the air and scatter across the ground. Trees curl around the area and when she looks out at the horizon, she sees that large statue of that man looming over the area. 

Baby take my hand... don't fear the reaper

When she looks straight ahead at the middle of the field is the woman, she twirls, short white dress fanning out around her hips. She stops, turning to face Dahlia, she smiles softly. Delicate and angel like, she stretches her hand out. An offer, a beckoning. 

We'll be able to fly... don't fear the reaper

The feeling of impending death lifts the very moment she sees the woman. Her heartbeat and her breathing easing, relief and contentment filling her body. She’s smiling and she doesn’t know why she feels alive. Free, like she can do anything. She’s walking closer and closer to the woman, each step making her happier and happier. Her body lighter and lighter. Calm and peace, she’s never known. She’s right where she belongs, she doesn’t need to be anywhere else. 

Dahlia reaches out, finally about to touch her, a touch of their hands is so simple, so minor. But it feels like the only thing she wants. All she’s ever want, like every moment in her entire life has been building up to this, being here with her, whoever she is. 

Before skin can meet skin, the siren fades to mist. 

No, no, no!

She grasps desperately at the air where the woman once was, her heart racing, her lungs stinging like the airs been knocked out of them. The world is crumbling, falling down, everything going out beneath her feet. It’s falling apart and she can’t stop it, she can’t fix it. 

Dahlia takes a heavy gasp, desperately sucking in a heavy breath and she blinks, the world around her has completely shifted. Her vision isn’t blurred, no more prisms of color before her eyes. 

Cold, goosebumps raising up on her skin, shorts and tee doing nothing to save her from the Montana breeze. She’s outside the hotel, in the world she knows. That damn statue looming still in the distance ahead of her. 

Dull. 

The landscaped she was so mesmerized by this day, seems so dull now. She feels dull, after so many emotions, so much intensity both in fear and happiness…she feels so numb. Dahlia rubs her fingers together, her craving for the feeling of another’s hand in her own…there’s an ache. She was so close, but now she’s been plunged back into reality. 

She stands out in the field outside the hotel, staring at that cement statue, it still seems to call her. Her heart telling her to go towards that looming structure, but her head tells her to go back inside the hotel. 

So, she doesn’t move. 

She doesn’t know how long she stands there, just staring. 

“Miss Hale!” A voice pulls her further back into reality, the hotel receptionist walking out towards her with a large blanket. 

Dahlia blinks a few times, she no longer feels numb, the very real emotion of shame flooding in. She’s standing out in public, in her pajamas. Did she just wander out of her hotel room in her sleep clothes? She must look ridiculous. 

“Hey…”

“Is everything alright? You just walked out of your hotel, looked like you were sleepwalking.” 

“Uh…yeah, I guess.” 

That makes sense, she must have went to bed and had a weird dream…yeah. 

“Here,” the woman wraps the large blanket around Dahlia, “you must be freezing.” 

“Thanks, sorry, I, just, weird dream.” She murmurs as they walk back to the hotel, Dahlia giving one last glance at the hotel.

“Dreams are nice, aren’t they? Sometimes you just wanna stay there forever.”