#[stares blankly at the wall for 8 hours]

[trainingdummyrabbit]

god i want to draw so fuckig bad but i do Not have the mental capacity for it

[persevereforahappyending]

No Man's Land |5|

Pairing: Sam Carpenter x Reader

Summary: Sam can’t help but be drawn to the cute stranger from her gym, even if everything about them makes them the perfect suspect, just when Ghostface has returned.

Warnings: None?

Word Count: 3.1k+

Main Masterlist | Series Masterlist

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11

You leaned back in the steel chair, tapping your fingers on the metal table, as you stared blankly at the giant mirror taking up the wall across from you. You knew it was a two-way mirror and even though you only had the brief interaction with defective Bailey you were sure he was on the other side. Cops like him liked to toss someone in an interrogation room and then leave them for anywhere from ten minutes to over an hour, just to see how they would react. You weren’t being charged with anything, it’s not like they had anything on you, but you stayed seated because you just wanted to get this over with.

You tried not to shift too much, every movement pulled at your stitches. It wasn’t the worst injury you had gotten in your life; you had most definitely experienced a lot worse. The issue was it was in an annoying spot. The bastard had stabbed you right between the ribs, you knew you were lucky, if it had gone any deeper or had been at a different angle it would be a different scenario, you would have still been at the hospital and probably had surgery. None of that stopped the fact that because of where it was any time your ribs moved, therefore anytime you breathed, it pulled at your stitches. Your therapist wouldn’t like it, but you would be more than happy to point out this exact situation is why being used to pain was beneficial.

“Sorry for the wait,” Bailey said, entering the interrogation room with a thick file, stuffed so full, papers were sticking out of the top of it.

You had to give him credit, he even managed to make himself breathless as if he had been running here. The giveaway though was that there wasn’t a drop of sweat on him, meaning he was most likely on the other side of the mirror in the cool air-conditioned room, that was if the interrogation room was anything to go by, they had the AC cranked up.

“No worries,” you said, giving him a small smile.

Bailey gave a little awkward smile as he sat in the steel seat across from you, sitting the file on the table between the two of you. He wasn’t trying to let it show but it was clear he wasn’t thrilled about your nonchalant attitude. If he had made anyone else wait over half an hour just for a questioning, they would have surely thrown a fit, almost everyone at least.

“Shall we get started?” He asked.

“You’re the one with the questions,” you said, giving him a little shrug.

“What were you doing at the gym so late?”

“Working out. It’s a twenty-four gym.”

“Do you always workout so late?”

“Preferably. Less distractions.”

“But you were at the gym the day before,” Bailey flipped a paper up, as if he were referencing his notes. “But much earlier.”

“Sometime workouts require a partner. I go earlier when I meet up with friends.”

“But you usually prefer to work out alone.” It didn’t come off as a question, but you nodded anyway. “And you just happen to cross paths with Samantha Carpenter that night.”

You shrugged. “We overlap a lot; guess we have similar schedules.”

“So, it’s just a coincidence, you being at the gym the same time Sam is attacked by Ghostface?”

“Guess I was in the right place.” You knew you shouldn’t, but you gave him a little smirk. He had nothing on you, you were at the gym, that wasn’t a crime, and you happened to save Sam from a psycho, which was usually a good thing.

Bailey breathed out a little chuckle. “You really expect me to believe that?”

“Believe what you want.”

Bailey quietly chuckled to himself before leaning back in his chair, flipping the file closed. “Fine,” he shrugged. “Let’s say you’re telling the truth.” You had to suppress an eye roll, but you were willing to see where Bailey was going with this. “Tell me what happened.”

You let out a sigh and leaned back in your own chair, shifting when your wound started to ache at the previous angle. “I went to the gym, did my workout, I was finishing up in the showers and as soon as I turned off the water I heard a struggle,” you began to explain calmly. “I walked back into the gym to see some freak in a mask standing over Sam with a knife, I just reacted.”

Bailey let out an amused hum. “Just reacted,” he mumbled more to himself than you. “That reaction,” he said the word like he didn’t believe it. “Involved you holding your own against the attacker, taking their knife from them, getting stabbed, and still managing to continue trying to fight back.”

“What can I say?” You shrugged. “It’s not in me to just sit back and do nothing. I wasn’t about to let Sam get hurt and I wasn’t about to just lay down and die.”

“And all this is with what, no training?” Bailey raised an eyebrow. You couldn’t help the way your lips twitched up ever so slightly, Bailey had absolutely no idea who you were and what you were capable of, it was honestly amusing. “No one is that good just from boxing a few days a week at the gym.”

“They are,” a new voice came. You and Bailey both turned to see a blonde woman had interrupted the interrogation. She held a file of her own as she stepped into the room, letting the door swing shut, then she leaned back against it with her arms crossed. “Though, it’s not from boxing.”

You tilted your head, taking in the new arrival. She wore a leather jacket and jeans; her overall look was much more casual than Bailey with his collared shirt and tie. Even without the look, you were certain this woman wasn’t a detective, but she was definitely someone, the way she carried herself, just waltzing into the interrogation showed what sort of power she had. Bailey didn’t seem to recognize her, which meant she didn’t work at this station, meaning she wasn’t his captain or an immediate superior of his. You were actually willing to bet she wasn’t a cop at all, she held more authority than a cop or a detective, you were going to guess she was federal.

“Who the hell are you?” Bailey asked, shooting forward in his chair.

You glanced back and forth from Bailey to the woman. Bailey was fuming, even more than when he was first talking to you. The woman didn’t even look at him though, her eyes hadn’t left you and there was a slight smirk on her lips. She knew something Bailey didn’t, something about you. You figured you knew what she knew, meaning she was definitely federal.

“Agent Kirby Reed,” the woman now known as Kirby introduced herself. She held your gaze for a minute before finally looking at Bailey. “FBI.” You couldn’t help the smirk on your face, you called it.

Bailey just scoffed at that. “You’re taking over my case?”

“Look, I have information you clearly don’t.” Kirby held out her hands as if to show Bailey she wasn’t a threat. “I’d rather work together than this become a power struggle,” she gestured between herself and Bailey.

Bailey clenched and unclenched his jaw, tapping his fingers on the table as he mulled over Kirby’s offer. Kirby might not have wanted a power struggle, but you were still enjoying the show.

“What do you got?” Bailey finally sighed.

Kirby turned to you with a small smirk. She dropped her file in front of herself down on the table, then leaned forward as she rested both hands on said table. “Y/N here is special forces,” Kirby said.

You couldn’t help but return her smirk, she was already so much more fun than Bailey. “Still active,” Kirby added.

“Who cares!” Bailey rolled his eyes. “If anything, that just makes them more likely to be Ghostface.”

You ignored Bailey, as much as you wanted to shoot him a glare you opted for continuing your staring contest with Kirby. She had the same thought it seemed, because Kirby’s gaze never wavered. “What are you doing in New York?”

“Vacation,” you said simply, even adding a little shrug and smile.

Kirby pushed off the desk and nodded as she crossed her arms again. “Mind if I question them for a bit?” she still didn’t bother looking at Bailey as she asked the question.

Bailey sighed as he stood up and grabbed his file without a word. He didn’t stop and look back at you until his hand was on the door handle. “Goodluck,” he flicked a glance at Kirby. “This one isn’t much of a talker.” Without waiting for a response, he turned the knob and left the room. You were sure he was going to the room right next door so he could watch through the mirror as Kirby questioned you now.

“That’s not a surprise,” Kirby sighed as she moved around the table. She dragged the folder she had brought in, so it was in front of the chair as she pulled out the chair to sit down. “It is how you were trained,” she flicked a glance up at you.

You only smiled at her comment. You weren’t much of a talker, you could talk, it was actually part of your job when on missions but sitting and waiting was also a part of said job. You were trained to remain strong, to not show fear, and to keep your mouth shut when captured though. You knew you weren’t captured; you could walk out the door any time, the mentality of not telling these people anything was still there though.

“You have quite the resume,” Kirby mumbled. She flipped open her file and began flipping through the various pages. You didn’t bother trying to sneak a peek, you knew what was in there, it was your life after all. “I assume,” Kirby gave a little shrug. “It’s a little hard to tell,” she continued to flip through the papers. “There’s a lot of black.”

She turned the file around and held it up for you to see. You chuckled quietly at the file. Kirby clearly did her research, she got various papers and reports on you but every single paper she flipped through was blacked out. There were a few words here and there, usually your name, that weren’t blacked out. Kirby was FBI but even she didn’t have clearance to see your profile or your missions.

Kirby turned the file back around. “How is your address confidential?” Kirby asked more to herself than you, letting the papers flop back down. She glanced up at you and you just shrugged. “Why are you really here?” she asked again.

“I live here.”

“Awfully far from North Carolina.”

“I’m on leave.” You readjusted in your seat again, no matter what position you were in, eventually the stab wound started to hurt. “Decided to spend it at home.”

“You just happened to take your time off when Sam and the others all moved to town?” Kirby leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms as if she were having the most casual conversation in the world.

“Can’t really control when you’re injured,” you snapped.

“How were you injured?”

“Classified.”

“Where were you injured?”

“Classified.”

“On a mission?”

“Classified.”

“What is it you do exactly?” Kirby whispered, leaning forward as if she were asking you to share a secret between just the two of you and not in a room in a police station where everything you said and did was being watched and recorded.

You leaned forward, close enough to Kirby as if you were going to whisper in her ear. “Classified.”

Kirby slumped back in her chair. “You are no fun,” she grumbled.

You couldn’t help but chuckle. Kirby seemed to agree with Bailey but neither of them was the first to say such a thing to you. You heard how you were always too serious all the time. It wasn’t true though the only people who seemed to learn just how much fun you could be was your friends who were also in the military.

Kirby tapped her fingers on the table as she stared at you. You just stared back, keeping your hands nicely folded on your lap. “You’re free to go,” Kirby said.

You gave Kirby a tight-lipped smile and got up from your seat, not wasting anymore time as you flung the door open. You bushed past Bailey, barely sparing him a glance as he came out of the room next door. “You’re just letting them go?” you heard him whisper harshly at Kirby.

“There’s nothing to hold them on,” Kirby sighed.

You didn’t bother looking back at them as you made your way through the precinct and to the front lobby. Your movements faltered when you saw Sam and her sister sitting in a couple of chairs in the lobby. Sam looked up and had to do a double take when she seemed to notice you, almost instantly jumping to her feet.

“Are you okay?” she asked, coming to stand in front of you.

“Yeah,” you said, shrugging off the question. “What are you doing here?” you tilted your head. You figured you wouldn’t see Sam again if you were being honest, except maybe at the gym, assuming everyone made it out of this whole psycho killer thing.

Sam opened her mouth to answer you, but it snapped closed when she looked at something past your shoulder. “Kirby?” she asked. You furrowed your brow; you definitely didn’t expect that.

“Sergeant,” Kirby called, making you turn your attention back to her. “Don’t leave town.” You nodded; it wasn’t like you had anywhere else to go anyway.

“Sergeant?” you caught Sam whisper.

“Sam,” Kirby sighed, when she finally got to your side. “It’s good to see you, wish it were under better circumstances.”

“What are you doing here?” Sam asked, pulling Kirby into a hug.

“I’ve been investigating Ghostface killings all over the country, this is the first time one actually seems real.”

“You two know each other?” Detective Bailey asked, coming up behind Kirby.

“We went to high school together,” Sam answered.

“We have a shared history,” Kirby said at the same time.

You tilted your head, there definitely seemed more to it than just going to high school together. Not that you cared, all you wanted to do was go home, which is exactly what you planned on doing.

“Wait,” Sam said, reaching out to grab your arm almost as soon as you moved to brush past her. “Come back to our apartment.” You were taken aback, there wasn’t a lot that could catch you off guard.

“Sam,” her sister whispered harshly, grabbing Sam by the arm and forcing her to turn around. Her sister was short, but it was clear she had a lot of fire in her. “Are you serious right now?”

“Yeah, are you sure about that?” Kirby questioned. “You know how these things go,” she leaned to whisper in Sam’s ear but spoke loud enough for you to hear.

“Yes,” Sam confirmed. “I’m sorry but you’re involved in this now. It’s safer if we all stick together.”

“I can take care of myself,” you said, moving to turn back around.

“Please,” Sam reached out, gently resting a hand on your arm and stopping you in your tracks once again. “I’d feel better if you were there. You got stabbed for me, I wouldn’t be able to handle it if we left you on your own and Ghostface got you.” You tilted your head as your eyes searched hers. She wasn’t lying to you, but you could tell there was more, there was another reason she wanted you to join them, you just couldn’t figure out what it was.

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” Bailey said, cutting through whatever was going on between you and Sam. “We still can’t rule them out as a suspect.” You flicked a glare at Bailey. “And they’re practically a trained killer.” You tilted your head, narrowing your eyes at Bailey for a moment before looking back at Sam.

Your eyes instantly softened when they landed on her. “Okay,” you rasped out. “But I need to stop at my place first.” Sam opened her mouth, most likely argue against that, but you gave her a look, telling her you were going back to your place, or you wouldn’t be joining them at all.

“Fine,” Sam sighed. “But I’m going with you.” You paused as you thought about it for a moment, it had been a long time since you had anyone besides your army buddies over at your place. After a moment of consideration you nodded, it wasn’t like you would be there long anyway. You just had a couple things to grab and take care of, you had a feeling whatever you got dragged into wasn’t going to be wrapped up within a day. “Kirby, can you take Tara back to our apartment?”

“What?” Tara snapped, cutting off whatever Kirby was about to say. “No! I’m going with you. We stick together, remember?”

“Not this time,” Sam shook her head. “I’m not brining you to an unknown location at a strangers house.” You couldn’t help but shrug, it was a good idea, despite inviting you over to their apartment for all they knew you could be involved with the masked psychos.

Tara stared up at her sister, clearly trying to will her to change her mind. It obviously didn’t work, and Tara rolled her eyes as she finally conceded. “I’ll get her home safe,” Kirby said, resting an arm on Sam’s shoulder.

Kirby nodded to the front door and Tara began to follow but not before Sam pulled her in for a tight hug. “Nothing better happen to my sister,” Tara warned as she walked past you. You had stared down plenty of killers, war lords, the worst the world had to offer, but you couldn’t deny Tara’s look was intimidating. You didn’t know what she was capable of, but you didn’t have a doubt in your mind that if anything happened to Sam Tara would have no problem killing someone over it.

“Shall we?” Sam asked once, Tara and Kirby had walked out the front door. You gave a nod and gestured for Sam to lead the way out of the building. You just wanted to go home and rest, now you were in for what surely would be a long weekend.

Taglist: @thatshyboy1998 @artrizzler19 @btay3115 @acutenobody @godamnityess

[redcherrykook]

── ˙✧°📷 TORN PICTURES AND FROZEN LENSES 3

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College Photography Teacher!Jungkook x Student!Reader

27 year old, stupidly handsome asshole teacher Mr. Jeon has absolutely no human decency, he believes your victim complex is what keeps you from ever achieving anything, letting people use you as a bridge. When something unexpected happens, the ice starts to melt as a foreign word called "empathy" enters his egocentric lense. Maybe he will finally manage to teach you a lesson now, since you keep failing his class.

(Mini series)- Episode three!

Song recommendation: The heart wants what it wants- selena gomez

Content: Cold, mean, distant, unprofessional Jungkook, hurt, stubborn reader, enemies to lovers, lowkey dramatic, accident happens, mutually beneficial relationship (emotionally), Jk learns a lot from her, Jk is mean but has a soft spot for reader (eventually), 6 year age gap, Reader is from a struggling background, Jk kind of rescues her, happy ending, angst at first, fluff, smut, comedy/crack, bickering, college setting

Warnings: swearing, name-calling,mentions of an accident involving a biker, mentions of hospital, mentions of injuries, really mean Jungkook, i promise he gets sweet, mentions of trauma and abuse (non detailed), mental health struggles (semi detailed), arguments, alcohol consumption

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You're running around in a beautiful field, kissed by sun, however, when you listen closely...

Riiing

Riiiing

"God what the hell" you grumble, rubbing your eyes instinctively. Finally understanding you were infact not in a pretty field but instead awoken by that damn alarm, you turn to your phone, shushing the unbearable ringing.

6:45 am.

Confused and hazed by the morning, your brain still foggy and not quite caught up, you sit there, blankly staring at the wall.

Jungkooks wall.

Right, you are in your teachers house.

In his bed even, well, his guest bed.

Without knowing what to do next, you try follow your usual morning routine, a miserable attempt at normality. Like making the bed and opening the window.

Toothpaste, toothbrush, hairbrush, deodorant, moisturizer and fresh clothes in hand. On your way to the bathroom, starting an easy and clean morning

Opening the door you didn't think twice about seeing Jungkook, purposefully you had set the alarm early. Class doesn't start until 8:45, although it wasn't Jungkooks class today, he should be in school around the same time.

That would mean leaving at around 8.

So a little more than an hour earlier should do the trick just right.

"Look whos finally done sleeping"

His raspy voice makes its way to your ears,

Assumed wrong i suppose.

He's stood at the table in the living room, setting down a kettle and plates. Given the impression that he has already made breakfast, you wonder just when he wakes up in the mornings.

Most importantly, he's in the very same clothes as yesterday, loose grey sweats that sit lowly on his hips, a oversized black tshirt covering his torso. His brown- darkish hair is still a little rough from sleeping. Additionally to not wearing any glasses, he looks,

different.

You had always known that Jungkook was very physically attractive. You're stubborn sure, maybe a little slow.

Certainly not blind.

On this day, he seems particularly pretty. At this point you're practically oggling at his tattoos that are on full display, a casual outfit displaying his well built body, it made him look so,

Attainable.

Enough, enough of fanatasizing about the looks of Jungkook.

"Uh, yeah, good morning" you clear your throat after awkwardly noticing how obvious your staring must have been.

He chuckles quietly, "Had a rough sleep i see" his usually glaring eyes wander up and down your face, pointing to your hair with his finger as he holds back a cocky laugh.

It is only know you noticed how ridiculous you must look, haven just woken up, hair in a mess and the same clothes from yesterday all twisted and turned.

While he stood there, looking..

Whatever

"Shut up" you roll your eyes at him, walking to the bathroom.

But his voice stops you,

"Did you get changed already?" The question made no sense to you, was it because you worse the same clothes you went to bed with?

"What do you mean?"

He shakes his head "Because you are wearing the same things as yesterday. Don't tell me you slept in that?"

Your eyes wander to the ground, sighing in embarrassment while also asking yourself how slow he really is.

"Unfortunately Jungkook, I have to. I can't tell if you're making fun of me or if you're seriously behind, why do you think i only got one bag? I got like, 10 shirts, 6 pants none of them bad enough to sleep in" Furrowing your eyebrows, you meet his annoyed expression

Scoffing he waks into his room, leaving your question on heard.

What a great start.

After that lovely conversation, you make your way into the bathroom, trying to wash away the weird feeling of sleeping in Jungkooks guest bed.

By washing your face, freshening up, changing (finally) and putting your medium greasy hair neatly into a ponytail.

In all honesty you're in desperate need for a shower. Restricted by the thought of getting naked in your teacher's shower, it made you so repulsed you preferred spraying yourself in deodorant from top to bottom to cover up.

It's not like he meant what he said yesterday, not like you would have to use his shower eventually,

You wouldn't actually be staying here.

If it was not for your stomach grumbling loudly, you could be spending the rest of the day locked in the bathroom, thinking about that sentence

Just fucking stay here

As soon as you walk out of the spacious, brightly lit bathroom, you are hit with something else.

No really, you're hit in the face with a black shirt. The scent of cotton and wood immediately clouding your sense, this shirt did not belong to you. The much larger size being another give away that yes, Jungkook just threw his shirt on your face. Catching it in your hands, you look at him confused, fully stopped in your tracks.

"Just wear this when you sleep, dumbass. I have too many anyways. Get to eating now we need to leave soon"

He mumbles while sitting down at the table and eating the eggs he had cooked earlier, his eyes not looking into yours once.

There is no way he could look into your eyes after imaging you wearing his shirt to sleep, disgusted at himself for that image. He simply wanted to help you out, thats all.

For some reason.

Registering what just happened, you giggle in disbelief, thanking him for the food and sitting down yourself. He just groans in response.

He doesn't think he will ever get used to that clingy gratittude.

"You know, you're doing great at becoming nicer. Im starting to actually like you" you say while chewing on a toast.

It would be a lie to say you did not like him. After being a complete menace, he has only shown you kindness. In his own, very strange way. Someone showing you care trying to understand the situation you are in, that was rare. Naturally, it meant even more when the person has previously contributed to you feeling horrible.

Living a life of prejudice and judgement meant appreciation and insight on the smallest signs of help and kindness.

His eyes dart up to meet yours, surpised at first before regulating into a blank look. He nods, smirking just a little bit.

"You're becoming more annoying by the day. Guess we really are learning"

You give him a expressionless "ha ha" in return for that snarky comment.

He's still an asshole, that's for certain.

He hums, remembering something.

"So about yesterday"

Immediately you knew where this was heading, he was gonna tell you to get out today and find somewhere to go. Obviously, you weren't upset at that, he has done enough for you. It would just be painfully awkward to make the walk of shame out, still having no idea where to spend the next night.

"yeah dont worry, I'm gonna find something"

Confidently you set your finished plate on top of his, ready to clean up.

His eyes roll,

"You never listen huh? I told you, you can stay here. Im sure a shelter will call back within the week. Im not risking having to pick you up again anyways or you doing some stupid illegal shit" he reaches to take the plates into the kitchen while finishing his sentence, organized as always.

"You would actually let me stay?" Your voice sounding a little irritated, not because he suggested you to stay, it´s the way he presented it to you. Irritated that he assumes for you to cause trouble and having to act like a caretaker for you.

"Want me to say it a third time? Look, if you don't want to i obviously don't care"

Jungkook can't help but feel offened at the thought of you rejecting his help. He's trying way too hard for some student of his, the more he thinks about it, coupled by your silence, the angrier he gets,

that also reflects audibly in his voice.

"I know there isn't much in that head of yours but god can you say at least something? Im not wasting my time trying to help you if you're gonna be a lost cause"

You frown, looking at him nervously and taken aback at his harsh words. It had been some time since you had last seen him angry. The rapid change from the downlow mean guy you had adjusted to, to an angry man in front of you had made you begin to tremble, recalling past encounters.

"I-I'm sorry i, I just was surprised you would be willing to take that burden on you. I didn't mean to, anger you or something" the words come out in a low stutter, feeling like one potential conversation into the direction of genuine friendship was now endangered.

Upon hearing the way you responded he sighs, two fingers pinching the bridge of his nose as he closes his eyes.

It made him feel heavy.

Jungkook was slowly begining to let you get through all the walls he had so firmly build up, all to hold up that unattainable and cold exterior of his. He knew it aswell, he could feel himself wanting to be nicer to you, getting to know you beyond you being the worst student in his class.

Beyond what he had thought to be an awfully annoying brat.

He just could not explain why, why you bothered him so much, why you got through to him so much quicker than anyone who has ever attempted and notably, failed.

"Damn I, I didn't mean to get so loud. Let's just forget it yeah? You're welcome to stay here, if not i'm gonna drop you off at least"

Once his eyes open they nervously make their way over to you own, soft ones.

Relief enters his system seeing you less intimidated. However, looking down to your visibly trembling hand, a pang enters his chest.

"Are you-"

"Oh look, its almost time to leave. Im gonna get my bag" you rush past him, entering the guest bedroom and closing the door.

For the second time today, in the span of what had only been an hour, you find yourself staring blankly at his wall.

The question of actually staying with Jungkook for a couple more days floating around in your head. Was it really okay for you to sleep, eat, shower, exist in his house for so long? Wouldn't he be too bothered by it?

He did suggest it and hes not one for kindness out of respect.

Where else were you going to go?

It would only be for this week anyways, since it's tuesday already, that's five days at maximum.

Fuck, I'm really gonna have to stay here.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

The car ride to University has gone by for what felt like eternity. Jungkook refused to turn on the radio once again, claiming that it would give him a headache this early in the morning. Just like it would have at night or you guessed he would use the same , lame excuse for every hour of the day.

He hasn't spoken a word about your stay nor have you, feeling too afraid to trigger another argument.

In order to protect his job and your reputation, if there is any left, he lets you off at a cornerstore 10 minutes from campus.

"I"ll go collect you later at F41 yeah?"

You nod, closing the car door and walking on to campus.

The University is decently sized, not as big as a state college but far from a small town school. A library, a buisness, medical, performing arts building and a cafeteria all inter connected.

On any other day you would be walking to the performing arts building, tuesday morning classes are always practical lessons like guitar, piano, trumbone, violine and many more depending on your skills and chosen instrument, of course.

However having recently seen an advertisement around campus for a crash course and orientation in art majors, directed to the next freshmen, you decided to take up the chance to meet some new people. Although a massive introvert, you need friends, at least a couple. As a music major, you had every right to attend as well.

In reality you just needed an excuse to not show up to miss Yun's dreaded piano lessons.

F41 is a giant hall reserved for events and rehearsals, having been in that room countless of times over the past two years, seeing it filled with all sorts of people, sounds, activities. A warm feeling spreading inside your chest when remembering so many people come together to create.

Jungkook would be attending the event around 10:25, right when his first lesson of the day ended. As a representative of an arts major, he should be there to finesse new freshmen into his classes. Whether that be by his charming looks or his passion for photography.

When entering the room, it was already filled to the brim with people from your university. Familiar faces you had seen in classes, girls everyone knew and wanted to be like, guys everyone wanted to get with, all the while mentally groaning at the idea of it getting even more crowded with time passing.

And so the time did pass, glancing up at a clock hung up high, it read 10:05 am. You must have talked to over two dozen people at this point.

Lost in your own little world, ready to look for more potential freshmen interested in music, and making even more uncomfortable small talk with classmates you were able to tolerate, something fell to the ground.

A loud thump echoing across the hall, everyone in the vicinity turning around to look what could have fallen to create a sound like that.

Correction,

Who could have made a sound like that..

"Oh god do you need help?" You ask, crouching down and reaching a hand forward to the handsome guy that just fell face first on the floor.

His jawline is so sharp it could cut, his eyes are monolided and a dark shade of hazel, with a head full of curly black hair and full lips, a high nosebridge and lots of moles on his face.

He definitely looks like an artist.

"Oh uhm, yeah, thanks" he mumbles shyly, accepting your hand with his slim fingers, pulling his slim form up with your help.

When he stood in front of you, his figure was a lot taller than yours, looking down to you appreciatively.

"I'm Kim Taehyung" he says while smiling, the palm of his hand rubbing his nape.

The way in which he speaks has you smiling, dark and raspy,

It reminded you of Jungkook this morning.

"Y/n. Are you a freshmen?" You ask him curiously, he looks to be around the same age as you.

He nods before replying "Pretty name for a pretty girl. Yeah, looking into photography" he explains.

You´re kind of blushing at the way he so shamelessly flirts after having fallen on his face just two minutes ago.

Your eyes widen as you begin to shake your hands furiously in an X motion

"Oh my god don't even THINK about photography. I have it and its horrible, plus the teacher is an asshole, to get on his good side you have to be-"

"That would be me. Nice to meet you, I'm Mr Jeon., head of photography and you're currently speaking to my worst student"

Jungkooks stern voice cuts you off rudely, he shoots you a glare while wrapping a hand around your shoulder firmly when referring to you.

You look back at him with a nervous smile, squirming at the sudden touch

Taehyung bows to Jungkook, "I'm looking forward to meeting you mr Jeon."

He turns back to you, giving a flirty wink,

"See you around then, pretty"

Jungkook scoffs and makes a gagging sound once Taehyung has left, looking after him as if his eyes were lasers and Taehyung was the target.

You look up at him with a scrunched nose "Seriously? The one time i get hit on you remind me I'm gross?" you say to him clearly pissed off, his eyes roll as lets his grip on your shoulder go.

"Yeah you idiot, what else would i be doing. Lets get out of here I'm bored already, had a horrible meeting just now" his jaw clenches at the memory.

For Jungkook, there is nothing worse than people misjudging him. He so carefully, so delicately created his distance so no one could over interpret meaning into his words. His rough attitude is that way so everything is as clear as day, everyone is aware of the one and only way Mr. Jeon acts.

Surprisingly, some people still did not catch on. A substitute teacher started a huge fuss over Jungkook calling someone's artwork tasteless, she accused him of a billion different things except for honesty. The one thing he always tried to be.

Emphasis on tried.

"Responsible , mr. Jeon" you nod to mock him, he just groans and speed walks off to his car with you jogging behind.

When sat in his car, the conversation of where to let you be had to have come up eventually. You couldn't tip toe around any longer, see where things would go, it would just lead to Jungkook being frustrated at your carelessness, even if you did not mean to be careless at all.

"I'm staying at yours" you say suddenly, turning your head around to find him already looking at you, he smiles briefly,

"Not the bench huh? Liar" his joke about the night in the library makes you snicker but cross your arms in defense.

"Under one condition" you add afterwards, having a genius plan in mind.

As anticipated he does not look happy to even hear you out.

"We get drunk tonight. Just, lets just buy some cheap soju and get tipsy, i need to reset all of this mess" a sigh escapes your lips when you think about the past week and the events that have let you here.

Too much happening in too little time.

Jungkook shrugs,

"Sounds better than what i imagined that weird head of yours could come up with. What do you wanna eat? Soju pairs great with chicken" he suggests, small bundles of excitement forming in Jungkook's brain as he imagines you being drunk and funny around him, comfortable around him.

He wondered if it would be a chance for him to loosen up too.

"Sounds fantastic! Havent eaten that in a while. I'll pay for soju yeah?" you grin, hands clasped together as you turn towards him when he begins driving.

He shakes his head, "Am not letting you pay. You cried to me about being poor and think i'll let you buy me anything?"

You open your mouth in a dramatic gasp,

"Wowww okay rich teacher, I never cried though you absolute drama queen"

Jungkook rolls his eyes and chuckles, he mutters a "whatever" while continuing to drive back to his apartment.

"No, thank you though. I feel bad for being on your ass so much" you punch his shoulder lightly, a small gesture of friendship that tells him you're starting to become more free and easy going around him.

"Yeah whatever stop saying it like that. You're making it weird"

You knew he didn't mean it, his eyes remained soften for the rest of the drive.

-ˋˏ✄┈┈┈┈

Settling down has never been your thing, being used to moving around all the time and never really finding ground to sprout on has made you easily adaptable though.

Like spending nights at a library studying or sleeping in your teachers apartment.

It has not prepared you, however, to be comfortable in every situation.

Oddly enough, the past 7 hours you've been comfortably sitting at Jungkook's living room table, studying your heart out while he prepares his lessons and corrects exams.

A peaceful work space for the both of you as you have barely said anything to one another. Only one dim light illuminating the room, his laptop counting as a small light as well. You asked him to light a candle, since it would create a cozier space.

As expected he reluctantly agreed

The silence never once being awkward during this time.

Here and there you had exchanged glances and maybe you have stared at him and he caught you.

Multiple times.

So what? You simply appreciate a good looking guy when you see him.

Somehow the whole day it has been especially evident, from breakfast to the car to now.

How could you not look at him when he sits there, his face full of concentration and his tongue licking his lip piercing, probably unaware he is even doing it?

Moreover, how could he not clear his throat in an attempt to not call you out, asking you why you look at him like you want to kiss him?

Mutually impossible.

"Its getting late already. Lets go soon" he says while stretching his arms above his his head and tilting his head back, his neck exposed delicately to you, you wonder if he´s trying to tease you.

looking away trying to shake off that stupid thought, you answer him.

"Yeah, i'll take a shower first i think"

His nose scrunches up as he hold it, as if signaling to not wanting to smell you

"PLEASE you stink"

A quiet laughter fills the room when you look at him again, his face just looking so unserious and non- Jungkook, not super blank and not super stern either.

Perhaps this was actually the most Jungkook you had ever seen him.

"Nevermind I won't, so i get on your nerves even more" you stick your tongue out when you say that, he replies with his middle finger and you burst out in laughter at his childishly stupid behavior.

27 whole years old and holding up a middle finger.

"Im kindly asking you please take a shower for fucks sake. Didn´t you say you DON´T want to get on my nerves?" he says again, giggling slightly, his smile not matching his eyes that are focused on yours.

"Is it really that bad?" wondering self consciously, you smell your shirt, shrugging afterwards "Its alright to me"

"Yes, yes it is bad, awful literlly disgusting" he goes back and forth with you on this for a while, even while you to grab your sweatpants and a spare tank top you have from the guestroom, he keeps arguing with you, follwing closely behind and using every insult for smelling bad he could think of.

"You're so childish Jungkook it's insane"

Managing to manuver your way into the bathroom frame and he's still chanting for you to shower, you decide enough is enough

"Shut up you just wanna have me naked in your house you creep" and then, just like that, the door shuts, locking yourself in.

Your giggles can be heard from outside of the bathroom, clearly satisfied at managing to stun him in place.

Jungkook just stands there, stunned at the fact you really just said something so vulgar to him, something so out of left field.

It began with you guys arguing like crazy and ended with him following you around his own apartment before getting drunk together.

Cruel world?

"HEY! NO- THATS-" he tries to argue, banging against the locked bathroom door.

"LALALAL CAN'T HEAR YOUUU" you scream back, turning on the water and finally blessing yourself with a much needed shower.

So much to feeling repulsed at the idea of showering here.

One of many things you had said you would not do,

Oh well.

Jungkook laughs a genuine laugh when turning to lean his head and back to the door, listening to the water running as his thoughts start to cloud up his mind.

His eyes close when he understands that, you really were naked inside his bathroom, just on the other side of the door.

He can't stop himself from biting his lip when his thoughts shift to picture how you must look, small hands gently roaming to wash your wet frame, massaging and reaching for every inch of your skin covered in water.

How you must have looked stripping away each item of yours so carefully, slipping your panties down your hips and legs, your shirt stretched over your head

After what has been only a couple seconds to him, the water stops and he's ripped out of his daydreams.

Shaking his head and covering his mouth with his eyes growing more wide by the second, he realizes he had spend minimum the last 10 minutes fantasizing about your naked body, touching yourself, washing yourself under the warm soapy water of his very own bathroom.

Looking down to glance at the tent in his pants, he quickly scurries away from the door,

"What the actual fuck is wrong with me?" he mumbles to himself, practically running into his room to change.

[ace-of-zaun]

Pas de Deux Pt. 10: 

Silco x f!reader, 4.6k words, NSFW(ish)

cw: (please see chapter 1 for full series warnings) angst, fluff, sexual tension, references to masturbation and sex

also, the story rating is going up to explicit from here on out, but i’ll keep including individual chapter warnings so you can decide if that’s your vibe or not :)

PART 1 | PART 2 | PART 3 | PART 4 | PART 5 | PART 6 | PART 7 | PART 8 | PART 9

It really shouldn’t be a surprise when Silco reverts to his overprotective ways after the Jinx incident, where you’d been tied to your bed and interrogated by his surrogate daughter. And having been followed by the bar incident, in which you’d been held hostage in the middle of The Drop with a broken bottle to your neck, it's no wonder he’s acting like you’re a porcelain doll. 

But you’d grown so used to even just that sliver of freedom, the speed in which he’d torn it from your grasp quite honestly stings. 

Oddly enough, the thing that hurts more is that after the harsh reprimanding he’d given his staff for letting someone get to you, practically nobody but Silco will make eye contact with you anymore. It’s not like you’re allowed to go anywhere by yourself, but you’re pretty sure that if you were to wave a flag and scream in Thieram’s face, he wouldn’t even look you in the eyes. 

So, alone again. 

Again. 

Well, alone except for Silco, who not only won’t let you go down into the bar by yourself, but also insists on having you escorted to and from his office, and even to your studio. What’s worse, he’s reverted to wanting you by his side all hours of the day and most of the evening, as if you’ll slip through his fingers the very moment you’re out of his sight. 

Of course, protesting is no use. 

The times you’d asked why you needed a babysitter all day everyday, and why you couldn’t just go back to the one guard instead of a ridiculous three, his dismissive, drawling responses of, “I cannot take any precautions with your safety, you are too important to me,” and, "I need to protect you, my lovely," had awakened a deep urge to scream until your throat burned out.

You never do scream, of course. And since you categorically refuse to plead with him, after only three days of letting him shepherd you around, you resort to the only method that will get through to such a petty soul.

Sulking. 

So, as you sit on your bed, arms crossed petulantly, you futilely contemplate the odds of being able to smash the window, jump to the nearest rooftop, and just run until you reach people that have never even heard of Zaun, all without being noticed.

The newest guard, who’d made the mistake of infuriating you when he’d looked over your shoulder instead of at your face like a decent human being, had tried to escort you to Silco’s office, to which you’d responded rather emphatically, “Tell Silco I’d rather gargle water from the River Pilt and spit it in his face.”

By the time Silco arrives at your still-open bedroom door, a brief glance at the worried look etched upon his face indicates that the guard may have told him something slightly different. 

“Are you not feeling well, darling?” Silco asks, lithe fingers curling around the wooden frame. 

“I'm fine,” is your short response. You continue to stare blankly at the empty space of wall above your dresser.

“Why don’t we go to my office? Lunch should be ready soon,” he tries again, far more patient than you’d ever expected a crime lord could be. 

“I'm not hungry.”

“Sweetheart,” he breathes out in a tone that’s so soft, you practically feel your heart clench at the unfairness of it all. 

“Just put it on a tray and slide it through the door,” you bite out, building your walls even higher with every sarcastic word. “May as well, since you insist on treating me like a prisoner.”

Across the room, the door shuts with a loud, forceful click, and your head whips over to it, alarms instinctually raised. 

Your eyes widen at the sight of him stiffly leaning back against the closed door, his expression unreadable and hands clenched behind him. A part of you automatically panics that he’s going to get mad and turn this against you. But his promise rings in the back of your mind. 

“You truly think of yourself as a prisoner?” he asks, voice tender but thankfully filled more with frustration than anger. 

You sigh, immediately backtracking. 

Perhaps you were too harsh. He’s only trying to help. 

Elbows digging into your thighs, you allow your head to drop into your hands in defeat. 

“I just feel like you don’t trust me, Sil,” you tell him. (He shouldn’t, but that’s besides the point.)

Silco traipses over to you, carefully kneeling down between your legs as one hand links with yours, the other resting soothingly on the top of your thigh. Now face to face, he searches your expression. 

“Why won’t you let me do anything by myself?” you continue before he can suggest anything that will make you want to knee him in the stomach. "I don't understand what I've done wrong."

"You haven't done anything wrong, my love," he says, the fingers on your thigh squeezing gently. 

“Then why won’t you let me do anything anymore?”

You’re toeing the line of pleading, but won’t allow yourself to cross it. Not this time. 

He sighs and shuffles closer, strong arms wrapping around your waist until you can rest your forehead on his shoulder, a dance that almost feels natural at this point. 

“To keep you s-”

You cut him off by digging your nails into his lower back. 

“Silco. If you tell me one more time that you’re doing it to keep me safe, I’m going to spray perfume in your eye while you’re sleeping.”

He huffs a breath of air, pulling back ever so slightly to peer at you down his nose. His expression is entirely too cheeky and it makes you wonder just what ridiculous thought he’s entertaining.

“Your perfume or mine?” he asks playfully. 

You glare at him, clearly unamused by his antics, so he decides to clarify with a languid sweep of his hand up and down your spine. 

“I wouldn’t necessarily object to being reminded of your gorgeous scent every once in a while, even if it may bring some slight discomfort.”

The rolling of your eyes is accompanied by a muttering of freak under your breath, which only serves to bring out that crooked grin of his, much to your dismay. 

Silco reaches up to tuck a stray section of your hair behind your ear, letting his fingers rest delicately on your cheek as he looks into your eyes, expression suddenly grave. 

“I’m afraid I cannot let you wander about by yourself, my love, not after you were put in such an egregious amount of danger,” he tells you solemnly.

You have to physically hold in the bark of laughter that threatens to erupt from you. 

Egregious amount of danger? Did he even grow up in the same Zaun as you? 

It’s probably not the best course of action, but you can’t help your response. 

“Then, I’m afraid I can’t join you for lunch or dinner anymore,” you bite back, a little bit childishly if you’re being truly honest with yourself. 

Right on cue, Silco’s good eye narrows, his lip twitching in indignation as his hand drops once more to your thigh. 

“Darling, do you not think you’re being a tad unreasonable?” he asks, clearly trying to keep a lid on it. “Can I really be blamed for wanting to keep the ones I love close to me?”

You practically blanch at the gall. 

“I’m being unreasonable?” you gape at him. “You’re the one who’s trying to keep me locked up forever!”

“I am not trying to lock you up,” he snipes back before huffing out a sigh, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “All of this is for you, my darling. I brought you home from that wretched city and its people. I commissioned you a custom-built studio. I have spent hours upon hours ensuring your safety.”

You really could scream now. You never asked him to do any of this, never wanted this. 

Recognising that you’re about three seconds away from completely exploding, you try to remove yourself from the situation before you do something you’ll regret. 

“I’m not doing this-”

You push on his shoulders lightly, attempting to shuffle yourself backwards on the bed and decidedly away from him. 

Unfortunately, Silco tries to stop you.

“Sweetheart-”

One hand darts around to the small of your back whilst the other hooks underneath your knee, and in one smooth move, he pulls you towards him until you’re flush against him.

And your body floods with heat completely against your will, partly in awe of the pure strength needed to manoeuvre you so effortlessly, and partly because in doing so, the angle and position has pressed his broad chest and waistcoat buttons up against the most sensitive part of you. 

You jolt in surprise, a stuttered gasp escaping your mouth as your brain suddenly conjures the sordid image of your legs wrapped around his sinful waist, the look of shock he’s currently sporting twisted in your brain to fit an expression of pure ecstasy. 

And just as soon as it happened, it’s over. 

Silco immediately lets go, allowing you to shuffle back on the bed, but only far enough that you can hug your knees to your chest, as if it would hide your now racing heart and burning cheeks. 

“I-”

You cut him off before he can voice even one more word. You do not want to discuss it (and you’re already blaming it on the raised adrenaline levels from your argument).

“You said you want to keep your loved ones close to you but you let Jinx go wherever she wants.”

Luckily, Silco also appears to be amenable to moving on without acknowledging what just happened.

“Jinx grew up here, sweetheart,” he says after swallowing hard, hiding his unease about as well as you probably are. “She can handle herself.”

Well, you can’t really argue that point without revealing yourself to him, so you’re forced to accept defeat on that line of defence. 

A wave of exhaustion sweeps through you, legs dropping into a cross whilst your forehead drops into the hand propped up against your knee. 

It’s only in the silence that you realise just how heavily you’re both breathing. A cursory glance at the man still kneeling in front of you reveals just how torn he looks, and for some reason, it puts you on the verge of frustrated tears.

He clearly wants to comfort you. 

Slowly, a hand reaches out to rest gingerly against your knee, giving you plenty of time to reject him if you wanted to.

You don’t. 

In fact, against all better judgement, you press his hand firmer against your knee with your own fingers just to show him that it’s okay. 

“I know you don’t trust me,” you repeat softly.

And if he didn’t look heartbroken before, now, it’s practically radiating from him. 

“It’s not you that I lack trust in, darling, it’s everyone else.”

You sigh, flexing your fingers over the top of his. 

“I want to be more for you, Silco. But I just can’t like this. Not when I feel like a bird trapped in a cage,” you say with as much sincerity as you can muster. 

That seems to do the trick, his hand flipping over to entwine his fingers with yours as the other reaches to absentmindedly tug your shirt collar back into place. 

“I’m afraid I’ll have to keep the security for now, but I will… endeavour to find safe ways to help you feel less restricted,” Silco says gracefully. 

You try not to focus on the fact that you’re a million steps back and try to focus on the single step forward. As if this dance couldn’t get any more complicated. 

You achieved partial freedom before, you can get it again. 

“That would make me feel a lot better,” you say, hoping you sound grateful as you shakily climb onto your knees on the mattress. “Thank you.”

Arms encircling him, you feel the moment Silco relaxes in your hold, and you hate how much relief it brings you.

It’s quiet for a moment, the two of you lost in thought while Silco traces patterns on your back until he speaks over your shoulder, asking if you want to accompany him on one of his factory rounds, to see his ‘empire’.

Of course, there’s a list of rules and considerations he insists that he must put in place before you go, but in truth, you barely pay attention to it when you nod your assent. 

All you can think is that maybe there can be some compromise in this fucked-up situation you’ve found yourself in. Maybe this doesn’t have to be all bad. 

-

Almost a full week later, after Silco had meticulously planned out every single detail regarding this trip, you’re finally en route to the factory he’d chosen for your visit. 

Of course, one of the stipulations you’d agreed to whilst blissfully tuned out during Silco’s monologue was that you’d wear a face mask on your trip with him to the factory, one that obscured most of your features.

To protect you from the fumes, he’d said…

His levels of delusion are genuinely astounding at this point. Honestly, you should write a book about him, the real him. You could probably fix Zaun’s economy solely with descriptions of his insanity. 

You’re still fiddling with the edges of the mask by the time the carriage arrives at the large building, drawing to a stop in the darkened alleyway. 

Silco immediately exits the car without a word, and it’s his hand that is waiting to help you out and to swiftly escort you into the monstrosity that is one of his many Shimmer factories. 

At first, you’re not entirely sure how you feel about it all. 

Obviously, the conditions aren’t great. It’s hot, and noisy, and all the oversized pipes, vats, and crates filled with vials of Shimmer make the whole place feel far more cramped than it probably is. It’s like walking into the belly of the beast. 

But then again, you’d struggle to find a job in Zaun that was luxurious or even particularly nice, for that matter.

Silco meanders across the main floor with your hand tucked closely into the crook of his elbow, overseeing the nervous workers who scuttle about completing their jobs, all whilst trying to avoid eye contact with their stoic employer. 

Honestly, you’re unsure why he even suggested bringing you here, given that there’s nothing to really look at and you’re pretty sure half of his working policies aren’t even legal. 

That is, you’re unsure up until he begins yet another monologue. Except this time, you find yourself oddly captivated by his words.

He tells you in low, dulcet tones of his humble beginnings; how he started with nothing, much like the majority of Zaunites. He briefly describes the time he nearly lost his life as a young adult which prompted him to build all of this. How he plans to bring Zaun the independence and prosperity its people deserve, have always deserved. 

And by the time he’s finished speaking and has stopped for a moment to check in with one of the floor managers, you can’t help but stare at him, watching each careful movement and microexpression. 

Here is a man who’d had almost virtually the same start as you, who’d used every last shred of his resources to build himself an empire, all with the goal of elevating his city. 

Of seeking justice.

Silco returns to you after only a few minutes, where you instinctively reach to take hold of his arm again as he continues to walk. You let him lead. 

“Who will they think I am?” you ask when he offers you nothing more than a curious glance, nodding to the workers who keep shooting anxious glances at the both of you as you pass by. 

They definitely can’t see your face with the mask, but by your proximity to their boss, they must presume you’re somebody important.

“I suspect they’ll think you’re a potential business partner,” Silco responds diplomatically. To anyone else, he would appear just as impassive as ever. But you’re able to spot the twitch in his lips that tells you he’s holding back a smirk. 

You huff a short, sharp breath of air in amusement. 

“Do you have many of those?”

He finally comes to a stop at the bottom of a metal, spiral staircase, turning his head to glance down at you as he purses his lips. 

“None as beautiful as you.”

The roll of your eyes is thankfully covered by the mask. 

Now out of view from prying eyes, Silco delivers that smug little smirk he’s been holding back, almost as if he already knows your reaction, before elegantly gesturing with one sweep of his hand to allow you to climb the stairs before him.

And as you climb up and away from the toils of labour, you allow yourself to run away with the idea. 

If you’d met Silco in another life, one where’d you’d never conned your way into a privileged, Piltovian home, perhaps you could have worked your way into owning a large, successful business in Zaun. One that would have brought you into Silco’s world in an entirely different way.

You might’ve even been his equal, a chem-baron with almost as much power as the megalomaniac behind you. 

It’s this thought that inches you one step closer to the dangerous line you’ve been toeing, increases the pressure by just a notch. 

“I don’t think I’m entirely convinced that I should invest in this so-called business of yours anyway, Mr. Eye of Zaun,” you say coquettishly, adopting the air of an entrepreneur with unwavering confidence. 

“Well, that won’t do at all,” Silco drawls, clearly amused enough to entertain your antics. “What must I do to convince you otherwise?”

Perhaps it’s the fact that you’re not facing him that propels you to push it just that little bit further, just a little bit flirtier. 

“I can think of a few things.”

“Oh?” he intones, almost innocently. “Perhaps you’d like to share your thoughts so I can… accommodate.”

The heat that’s rapidly spreading through you must be from the factory machines, the cramped conditions. It must be. 

Reaching the top of the stairs, you find a darkened corridor lined with what must be office doors and for some gods-forsaken reason, it sends a thrill down your spine. 

Turning to face him, you walk backwards a few steps, letting him catch up to you in that slow, smooth saunter. And without thinking, you reach up to undo your mask, letting it drop to the ground as you take in Silco’s heated gaze, catching the way the pupil of his seafoam eye dilates in hunger. 

You allow him to come to a stop in front of you, but he doesn’t stray any farther. He seems hesitant, almost like he’s waiting for your next move, so you carefully loop your arms up and around him, forearms resting on his shoulders, hands clasped at his nape. 

“Hmm, in that case,” you tilt your head to the side, a tap to his shoulder blade with every demand. “I’ll take your crown, and your throne, and all your precious little treasures.” 

Then, you can’t help but lean forward ever so slightly, looking directly into those devastating eyes as you whisper.

“I want it all.”

It’s like watching an eclipse, the rapid darkening of his gaze an abyss, as the hands you’ve watched choke out a man come to rest oh so lightly against your waist. 

“And what would you give in exchange?” Silco asks with a rough swallow. The bob of his throat is simply captivating. 

“What do you want?”

“You know what I want,” he bites back, low growl a dichotomy to the gentle fingers tracing your sides. 

“Do I?”

Your attempt at coyness is met with a spine-tingling amount of conviction. Like he’s never been so sure of anything in his life. 

“I want you.”

Your legs guide him to slowly walk you backwards until your back hits the wood of the door behind you, your arms still looped around him whilst Silco’s hover nervously above your hips. 

He stares down at them, almost as if he desperately wants to but something is holding him back. 

His eyes dart up to yours in a brief look of trepidation, a question in his pointed gaze. So you nod once and resolutely ignore the voice screaming at you to just wait a minute, to stop playing with fire for just one moment. 

Silco’s hands finally press into your hips sending a jolt of fire racing up your spine. He stands between your spread legs, revelling in the proximity. 

“How much?” you ask. Silco only tilts his head in response, eyes distracted by the grip he has on your hips, so you grace him with clarification. “How much do you want me?”

That catches his attention, gaze snapping up to meet yours. 

And gods, you’re suddenly in need of air when Silco finally closes the distance, slowly leaning down to deliver his gravelly response directly against the shell of your ear.

“More than the body needs blood.”

Your hands instinctively reach up to thread into his hair, and Silco hips pitch forward into your own, a gasp escaping your lips at the joint sensation of his warm breath on your neck and the feeling of his arousal pressed firmly up against you. 

“Silco.”

“That’s sir to you,” he commands, scarred lips trailing down your jaw until they finally rest against your neck, pulse beating double time. 

Fuck, why can’t you think? Why can you only focus on the feeling of him pressed up against you?

“Yes, sir,” you repeat, forcing yourself to take a deep breath, in and out. 

He chuckles darkly against your skin as long fingers begin to slowly trail down your body, the other hand briefly snaking up into your hair, as if he just wanted to give it a short tug, just to see what it feels like.

You shiver bodily when that same hand travels back down to cup your jaw, his nose falling into place alongside yours, impossibly close now. 

Silco’s lips hover tantalisingly above yours, barely grazing them as he begins to speak again, tone low and rough. 

“Good g-”

He’s interrupted by an indignant voice from a little ways down the hall. 

“Excuse me.”

It’s like being startled awake - ripped from a dream - the way your body freezes in shock. 

Your hands drop to your sides as Silco inhales deeply, placing one hand flat against the wall next to your head. 

Slowly, he turns to look over his shoulder with a deadly precision and you watch as the worker’s blood drains from his body. It must be his office door that you’re currently blocking and in the darkened corridor, he must not have recognised the back of his boss’ head. 

For a brief moment you worry that Silco is going to literally drain the blood from his body right in front of you, but to your relief, he simply issues a sharp, cold command.

“Go. Away.”

The poor man practically scrambles away without another word, his footsteps tapping back down the metal stairs at a, frankly, quite alarming pace. 

Alone once more, Silco twists back around to face you, seemingly content to continue where you’d left off if his fervid expression is anything to go by. 

But you gently stop him with a hand splayed on his chest. 

The moment is broken, and there’s one thought ringing through your brain over and over again - what the actual fuck are you doing?

“We should get back home,” you tell him, watching as disappointment floods his features. “The fumes are giving me a bit of a headache.”

He pauses, just for a moment, as if he’s considering a counter-argument, but instead he just nods, accepting your lie at face value. 

“Alright, my love,” he says, carefully taking your hand in his and pressing a chaste kiss to your knuckles, not entirely dissimilar to the way he did when you were first brought to his office, all that time ago. 

Then, Silco wordlessly leads you through the winding maze of the factory and out to the carriage, where you begin the journey back home, the silence charged with something entirely different to the one you’d shared on the way there. 

-

It isn’t the first time Silco has laid flat out on your bed, legs crossed at the ankle with his hand linked atop his stomach. And it’s unlikely to be the last. 

He stares at the plaster on the ceiling above your bed, mentally replaying that delectable little gasp you’d made the moment he’d pushed himself up against you. 

For months now, all he’d craved was just a little taste. Just a little sample to tide him over. 

But now that he’d finally experienced the sensation of your lips grazing his, of your waist under his fingers, he wants more. He wants everything. 

And it was that everything he’d been imagining just minutes before in his shower, until he’d finished with one shaky hand on the tiles holding him up, head hung low, his panting breaths slowing down incrementally until he’d finally had the strength to turn off the water.

At first, he��d simply recalled the delectable feeling of your body pressed against his. Then, it had devolved into a sordid little fantasy of what could have happened. 

Perhaps one of you would have dropped to your knees right there and then. 

Or maybe you’d have dragged him through the office door you were blocking and he could have scratched the wooden floor beneath the desk and left a bouquet of bruises on your hips all in one go. 

It had all come to a crescendo quite soon after that particular image had graced his thoughts and once he’d dried and dressed, Silco had found himself wandering over to your bedroom before he was truly conscious of what he was doing. 

And now, as you bathe, completely unaware of his presence in the adjacent room, he lays on your bed and thinks. 

Of course, when he envisions you in the bath, some part of him naturally thinks of going for another round, this time surrounded by your heady scent, your clothes held against him. And if he were a younger man, he might’ve done just that, a race to finish before you discovered him. But now, he knows that his body is too tired to keep up with his overactive brain. 

Instead, Silco placates himself by turning his head to inhale deeply against your pillow. 

The fact of the matter is, he wants you. Badly. 

But he’d never forgive himself if he hurt you again or pushed you too far. 

Now that the bliss is beginning to fade, he realises that whilst it may be an incredibly arousing situation, he decidedly does not want your first time together to happen on a dusty old desk in one of his factories. 

He wants it to be absolutely perfect. And for that, he needs your full, unadulterated trust and love.

The sound of you rising from the bathwater next door jolts him from his daydream, and as the water rushing down the drain covers his swift exit from your bedroom, Silco shelves his fantasies for now and focuses his mind on the next problem to be solved. 

It’s only a matter of time now until he wins you over. He’s sure of it. 

-

a/n: hello everyone, i somehow managed to convince myself this was the worst story ever and had a whole-arse crisis about it, but we’re finally back on and i’m gonna continue to wrestle my demons in a boxing ring until this story is finished 🥊

Also, thank you so much to everyone who has left such lovely comments since i posted the previous chapter, I genuinely appreciate all of you so much <3 

[jwillbiteyourfingersoff]

Ch.2 : Understanding You

Whats a sheltered vault dweller to do when their kicked from their home? How should they feel? What crushing pain and greif must they feel? More importantly, how do those damn arm-thingys work?

Norm Maclean/Gn!Surface!Reader

Ch: 1

This vaulty is… something else. Hes quiet, reserved, and just generally uninterested in talking with or interacting with me. Hes been feverishly organizing and reorganizing his bag for the few hours we've spent in the same building, only stopping to pace and stare at his arm-thingy. Speaking of…

“Whats that thing on your arm?” I ask, languidly laying on the palette in the corner. His head swivels over to me, my voice breaking relative silence aside from the whistling of the wind. He looks down at his arm-thingy again, looking back over at me blankly for a moment before his brain stops loading.

“My… my pip boy?” He points to it on his arm, the chunky metal device snuggly fit to his wrist. The soft green glow illuminating the bottom of his face.

“Yeah, yeah, pip-thingy.” I wave my hand around in the air before pointing at it myself. “Whats it do?” I ask with genuine curiosity, never having encountered a vault dweller before. They were rare to see on the surface, often shunned or killed for the unique things they carried. I was quite honestly surprised he hadn't been killed yet. He hesitates for a moment, scanning me up and down before walking over to me and sitting down next to me.

“It… it does a lot of stuff.” He angles his pip-boy towards me. “You have a couple buttons, a few knobs…” He scrolls through a couple screens before one catches my eye.

“Wait, whats that special thing?” I poke his arm a couple times to get him to stop scrolling and scroll back.

“Oh uh…” He thinks for a moment “Its like… my ability report. Each letter stands for an ability or trait, like intelligence.” he points at the big I that has an 8 in its column. “It has an eight, which means I’m ranked an eight out of ten on intelligence in my vault. We get our rating based on a menagerie of tests we do every year or so.” He looks over his other scores, flipping past every letter. 

“Soooo, what I’m getting from your little screen is,” I wave my hands expressively around before standing up, bending back down a few inches from his face to make eye contact. “You're a smartass.”

He chuckles, a first for the entire time we've been sitting here together, and rolls his eyes. “You could say that, I suppose…”  He scootches back, getting up and looking down at me as he studies my face, then back down at his pip-boy. “I don't know why I still have it at this point.” He walks past me, his face dropping from the playful smirk he had on before back to the blank stare hes had most of the time we’ve been sitting together. “It shouldn’t really belong to me anymore, I’m not really a vault dweller at this point.” My head tilts to the side, one of my eyebrows shooting up in question.

“You’re wearing the vaulty uniform and got the vaulty tech, why wouldn’t you be a vaulty?” I roll my eyes at him, clearly not buying into what I’ve assumed is an over dramatization. He sighs, staring at me for a moment, opening and closing his mouth periodically seemingly trying to think of a retort. He can't. We revert back down into silence again, this time though, he's not pacing. He stares off into the wall in front of him. I start to feel… bad. We had been bantering before and I knew vaultys could be sensitive but this felt different than someone getting their hackles up over nothing. 

“Ya know,” I begin speaking, digging an arm into my bag and rooting around, “I’m technically not supposed to have these guns or this radway, but I stole it from my old guild.” I pull out two good quality blasters and a good ten radway packs from my bag, smiling lazily at him. He gawks at me for a second before shaking his head and getting a bit aggravated.

“Why are you telling me? Is this a threat or some kind of weird flex?” He yells at me, irritated and realizing my mistake I put that things back in my bag before I respond. He looks genuinely hurt, like I’d struck a fresh nerve.

“Look, I’m not trying to flex on you.” I crawl over to him across the ground, sitting cross legged a few feet across from him. “I wanted to show you that… well I guess, I’m not judging you.” I lean back on my hands, keeping eye contact. “Whatever you did, or whatever they did, or whatever happened regardless, I get getting kicked from a community you thought you could be a part of.” He stares into my eyes for, his blank expression felt like it burned and my face turned red in embarrassment. Had I said something wrong or ignorant? Shit, that was not my intention at all.

“Ok.” He finally responds. With the simple reply, he lays down, turning away from me in a ‘this conversation is over’ kind of way. For the first time in a while, I feel a bit of genuine dejection. I mean weren't vaultys supposed to be all welcoming and sweet? Naive and kind beyond any logical reasoning? What did I do to make this dweller so mad at me? The thoughts spun in my head as I layed down across the room, taking one last look at the back of his head before closing my eyes for another night of restless sleep.

So sorry on the long wait! Schools almost to an end for me (I got less than a month) so you can imagine the work I've been having to do. Anyways, I'm happy to continue this series considering how well it was received! Thanks to everyone who left notes on chapter one, yall were the serotonin boost I needed :3

[weirdmultishipper]

Everyone thinking Cale is suicidal and him doing nothing but fuel that belief.

So.... yeah! Another Cale fanfic! This is kinda a summary. I'll post this when I have more chapter on this fic and also the other Cale sicfic I'm working on.

This is basically Cale's slacker life. Kinda. With a lot of chaos.

It was another quiet day.

As always, people were bussling around the mansion. Administrators with work to do; knights with duties to take on; servants and maids with chores to finish; commoners with pleas to make; and the Henituses busying themselves in the work of the duchy.

All except a certain young master.

Cale was sitting by the window in a rocking chair, blankly staring at the scene outside. On and Hong were curled up in his lap in their Cat forms while Roan was sleeping in the comfy armrest of the rocking chair. He absentmindedly continued to pat all three children with soft, equal strokes, not unlike a machine.

The slacker was having a fun time doing nothing. Absoultly nothing. He was consistently patting the children averaging 8 years old while keeping his mind so blank, the author of this fanfic was feeling that the repeat of Cale's thought(less) process was so boring that she needed to cause some chaos.

"Hey, Choi Han," the redhead suddenly called out, his eyes never leaving the window.

The black-haired man gaurding the door turned to look at his liege who had been sitting silently for over an hour.

"Yes Cale-nim?"

Cale didn't answer back immediately, even though he was the one who initiated the conversation. He continued to look out the window before turning to study the intricate gold designs on the window sill. Cale then slightly leaned forward to better peer at the ground below. Cale's room in the Henituse esate was on the third floor.

Unlike Korea's buildings, which mostly have a relatively low ceiling because of cost and other factors, the floors of the manor were really high because of all the lights and chandeliers decorating the walls. After all, the Henituses' never lacked money. In conclusion, even with only being on the third floor, Cale felt like he was on a six-story surface.

Cale shared his honest opinions with Choi Han.

"Do you think I'd die if I jumped from here right now?"

Cale suddenly felt chills on his back. He subconcously straighened up, feeling like a teenager who had been trying to sneak out, only to be caught before he could.

"And why would you do that, Cale-nim?"

Choi Han's sickeningly sweet voice filled the room, not at all matching the aura he was currently emitting.

Cale gulped. He sensed that he just started a shitshow; without knowing how he did it.

[jahayla-parker]

King Of My Heart : Nikolai Lantsov x Reader Series

Part 8

For warnings, descriptions, and previous parts, see series masterlist here.

Y/n stared blankly at her reflection in the shiny mirror a few feet before her. Her brows were furrowed faintly and lips curled downwards into a slight pout. Her posture and facial expressions reflected in the mirror matched her inner frustration. Y/n was deeply confused and annoyed.

Y/n wanted to be relaxed and carefree. But, once again Nikolai wrecked that. Even though she found herself unexpectedly having time to sneak off to the dance studio, she wasn’t exactly happy. Nikolai had stopped y/n on the way to their trade meeting this evening. She had been prepared for him to hurl some insult her way. Only, he instead told her that she was no longer needing to attend the nightly trade meetings.

Y/n wanted to just accept Nikolai’s statement and run with it. Trade meetings were the worst. Plus, it would mean one less mandatory meeting spent with the Prince. However, last time she skipped the trade meeting, it had gotten back to her parents and she’d gotten in trouble. So, she couldn’t risk trusting that Nikolai wasn’t lying about it in hopes that it would happen again.

Y/n wasn’t sure she believed him, and Nikolai sensed as much so he had shown her the signed letter from the King stating she’d that was not needed in attendance at those meetings anymore. So, y/n had, of course, then asked the Prince why she didn’t need to be there suddenly. That’s when things shifted. Nikolai told y/n that he couldn’t stand her being there if all she was going to do was try to correct him or speak over him. Y/n knew they hated each other. But, Nikolai was taking it to the point he was making things up things now?! She knew she had never once spoken over him, nor attempted to correct him. Well, not during this particular type of meeting. Trade was out of her scope of knowledge, and given that she knew about Sturmhond, she always let Nikolai take the lead. Yet, he was now saying she was doing the opposite?

Y/n couldn’t understand it. Why just this meeting? And why was he lying about what she was doing during the meeting? She was half tempted to still attend out of spite. And also to be sure there wasn’t anything going on behind her back as it was all too suspicious. However, she had to admit she was pulled to use the free time in the studio more. Her desire to practice her ballet outweighed her curiosity and concern. Plus, she determined she wouldn’t likely know what was going on even if she did attend nor if she spent the time spying on the meeting taking place in her absence.

Yet, here y/n was, standing in front of the mirror, not dancing. She groaned and ran her hand down her face before she took a deep breath. She needed to focus. She could stress about that all later; now was the only time she’d have to use the studio though. She closed her eyes and repeated the reminder as a form of meditation before she began her stretches.

Nikolai glanced over at the gold encrusted clock on the far wall. It had only been twenty minutes into the two hour meeting. Yet, he had already found that his attention waning and his eyes were lingering on the doorway even as the rounds of merchants updated him. He took a sip of his kvas as he nodded along to the latest update.

As another merchant began complaining about the weather making their latest shipment of sugar and jelly harder, Nikolai had to resist the urge to roll his eyes. There were far more important things he could be doing now rather than reassuring nervous merchants that the kingdom understood bad weather could impact trade routes and delivery estimates. As such, when he watched the next man hesitate as he slowly approached the Prince, Nikolai called it. “Anyone else who has run into trouble after Storm Sashan can rest easy knowing Ravka recognizes this and sympathies with you,” he stated as he rose from his dais. “Should you find yourself needing resources due to any decreased compensation from such troubles, please see Sentinel Baranov. You’ll find him near the office on the left of the second floor to the palace,” he advised politely. “Anyone with other issues, please see General Nazyalensky for assistance.” Zoya wasn’t going to be pleased with him. “My apologies, but I have something pressing to attend to,” Nikolai declared as he made his way to the exit he’d been staring at throughout the meeting.

Nikolai rested the side of his head against the wooden doorframe as he watched y/n through the cracked doorway. He knew his friends and family would surely make fun of his facial expressions if he were caught right now. Yet, he still couldn’t help but smile as he find himself awestruck once again at y/n’s flawless dancing.

Nikolai’s irresponsible behavior went on all week. He hadn’t been caught right away as the storm in True Sea had continued for several days resulting in countless trade impacts. It wasn’t until one of the merchants they’d not heard from before Nikolai prematurely left actually needed further help that he’d been caught. As Nikolai had advised in his typical nightly statement, the merchant reached out to Zoya for further help. In turn, Zoya questioned Nikolai’s behaviors. Nikolai had brushed it off by offering a generic response, saying he was needing to be elsewhere. When General Nazyalensky understandably questioned it, he deflected by suggesting that she should take over completely for him at the trade meetings moving forward for awhile. To justify the suggestion, he pointed out that as the second Prince, he was unable to offer much help. Whereas, given it was a storm, Zoya could use her abilities as a squaller to potentially do more or at least have more insight into the storm and its impacts.

General Nazyalensky had her doubts but complied nonetheless as she knew it was her duty to do as asked. That didn’t mean she wasn’t deeply curious to where the youngest Lantsov heir was truly running off to each night.

In his defense, Nikolai wasn’t skipping the trade meeting for no reason. He had a reason. If anyone asked, he could claim to just be trying you get to know his betrothed. After all, she was going to become the Grand Duchess of Udova and daughter-in-law to His Most Royal Majesty, King Alexander the Third, Ruler of the Double Eagle Throne. Therefore, how could anyone deny the importance for Nikolai to get to know her?

Besides, it technically wasn’t a lie. After all, each night that week, Nikolai had left the meeting in order to go watch y/n dance. The sight of her y/h/c shining under the dimmed lights while it was tucked into a bun as she frolicked throughout the room elegantly often stuck with him long into his dreams each night.

After Nikolai had asked Zoya to take his place, that week turned into several more weeks just like it. He knew he was falling hopelessly for the Princess from the first time he saw her so gently and gracefully dancing (instantly thinking about how different it was from how he usually saw her when she was around him) & felt the way he did years ago. The only difference was Nikolai was in deep now. So deep in fact, that after the first week he had arranged for Genya to teach him how to dance. The Prince of course had some basic dance skills given his Royal upbringing. But, he didn’t know ballet, nor did he know how to dance with someone while doing ballet. So, he had to recruit the one person he could trust to know every dance imaginable and would be willing to teach him; Genya Safin.

Nikolai waited until he’d completed several sessions with ease before he joined y/n. That way he’d be less likely to make a fool of himself again in front of her. He had messed up last time when trying to make his feelings known and he didn’t want to do that again. That’s why they hated each other; or rather, why y/n started to hate Nikolai. It was a mistake, but one he couldn’t risk to make again. At the time, Nikolai hadn’t known how she had interpreted it. He thought y/n knew what he’d been about to do and was so disgusted by his interest in her that she began to show her hatred towards him. In turn, he had shielded himself from the hurt by returning said hated. At some point, the hatred felt so natural that Nikolai had forgotten what even started it. But, now he knew better. However, if he messed this up it risked everything as y/n would never believe him explaining himself for that day if he messed up that badly again now.

Tonight, Nikolai had finally summoned up enough confidence to approach y/n. Well, more like he had enough of Genya pushing him to do so, and as she put it, “stop being a creepy stalker and approach her”. Either way, he found himself wandering down the hallway to find y/n tonight. He paused briefly in the doorway, the idea of entering feeling unnerving.

“It’s is a shame no one will dance with you,” Nikolai mumured as he made his way into the old office space.

Y/n spun around and glared at Nikolai. “I was enjoying-,” she groaned.

“The people in this palace really do have bad taste,” Nikolai added with a small smile. When the Princess’s glare softened, he took another step closer.

“Excuse me?” Y/n interrogated. She squinted pointedly at Nikolai in suspicion. “Was that a… compliment?”

“Well,” Nikolai began quietly as he stood before y/n. “You are much more tolerable when dancing,” he smirked.

“How would you know?” Y/n scoffed. She crossed her arms over her chest and analyzed him dubiously.

“I’ve seen it,” Nikolai admitted, his cheeks flushing at the confession. He hoped the light from the chandelier overhead wasn’t highlighting his bashful blush too much.

Y/n raised an eyebrow at the Prince in question. “So, you were.., what? You were watching me?” She shook her head. “Degenerate,” she huffed. “I will have you know that sane women do not find that flattering, moi tsarevich,” y/n remarked.

Nikolai forced himself to roll his eyes. “Well, I will have you know that given that we may have to dance together for the reception coming up, I had to make sure you weren’t going to step on my toes all night,” he said as a coverup.

Y/n hummed dismissively. She shot Nikolai a look as she turned around to resume her dancing. Why did he have to ruin everything? Couldn’t she just have one thing the Prince didn’t intrude on or destroy?

Nikolai shook his head to himself. He threw his head back and glanced up at the sparkling crystals of the chandelier. He took a deep breath as he lowered his head back to center and closed the gap between him and y/n. Nikolai cautiously reached down and grasped her hand.

“What are you doing?” Y/n questioned as she stared at Nikolai in disgust.

"What are we dancing to?" Nikolai asked as he walked backwards. His lips curled up slightly as hesitantly y/n followed him to the center of the wooden floor.

“I was dancing to Zvezdnaya Noch' Lyubvi,” y/n answered slowly. She wasn’t sure what the Prince was up to, but his hand was oddly gentle and hers fit way too properly in it. “By Konstantin Belov,” y/n added. She didn’t know why she was answering a question he hadn’t even asked. But, the still silence and uncharacteristically soft way Nikolai was looking at her made her feel like she had to break the silence. This was getting too weird.

“I propose it would be better as a pas de dux,” Nikolai causally commented. He held y/n’s hand in the air between them in silent question.

“How did you…,” y/n’s timid voice trailed off. “Where did you hear that term?” She wondered, still staring at Nikolai in disbelief.

Nikolai smirked. Thank the Saints for Genya Safin and her infinite knowledge of dances. He innocently shrugged. “Seems maybe I am not as uncultured as you thought,” Nikolai teased, “hmm?” He laughed lightly as y/n sucked in her bottom lip hesitantly but got into her starting position nonetheless.

Nikolai took hold of y/n’s hand, lifting it up in the space between them as he watched her spin around on her toes. He grinned as her facial features softened in time to the dance. He noticed the way she refused to look him in the eye but nonetheless maintained physical contact as they progressed through the moves.

Nikolai gently tugged y/n’s hand towards his chest, his breath suddenly knocked out of his lungs when she elegantly slid into place against him. He stared down at her as he kept her close, their heated breaths increasing the palpable tension between them.

“Don't you dare look at me that way,” Y/n suddenly ordered as she stepped back to begin her next move.

Nikolai’s face flushed as he tried to pull himself together. “Like what?” He asked breathlessly.

“You know what,” y/n hissed. She sent him a sharp side-glare as she completed her Arabesque. “Do not play with me, Nikolai,” she commanded as she lowered her horizontally extended leg back to the wooden floor.

“I am doing no such thing, Princess y/n,” Nikolai assured her. He kept a firm grasp on her hand to ensure she didn’t lose her balance. Not that it appeared as though y/n needed such assistance. He just couldn’t help himself.

“You are looking at me as though you do not hate me,” y/n argued as she spun back into Nikolai’s chest. Her hand was clasped in his and pinned against his torso by her own chest. She gazed up into his eyes as she waited for an answer.

Nikolai blinked slowly as his eyes took in the scene before him. Y/n’s face was slightly flushed from the exercise, her lips plump and slightly pursed as she questioningly stared up at him. “I am trying so hard to hate you still,” He admitted in a barely audible whisper. “But, I no longer know why,” Nikolai confessed as he slowly licked his bottom lip, his eyes resting on her.

“I do,” y/n defended. Although, she couldn’t deny the way her voice sounded far away. She quickly tore her eyes from Nikolai’s. As she spun away from his chest, she closed her eyes; only to find it was as though Nikolai’s hazel eyes were now somehow burned onto the inside of her eyelids.

Nikolai didn’t respond, instead, he resumed watching the Princess dance. His eyes struggled to find a singular point to focus on. Was he to focus on y/n’s delicate fingers as elegantly rolled her free hand out her side in time with the music, her long legs as she extended one swiftly behind her as she spun out of Nikolai’s hold, her lips as she unconsciously let her tongue peak over her bottom lip just enough to moisten it as she focused? He couldn’t decide. His rapidly changing focus nearly caused him to miss the signal for his next movement. Nearly.

Y/N held her demi plié, one hand extended for Nikolai to take once he completed an entrechat. She watched with silent intrigue as Nikolai moved into perfect fifth position. Her lips parted in awe as the Prince gracefully leapt from the ground and executed an impressively refined entrechat.

Heat flowed to Nikolai’s ears as he noticed y/n’s amazement. He fought off a smirk and settled on a charming smile as he took hold of her hand once again. Despite having seemingly impressed the Princess moments ago, he again found himself breathless as the two of them danced around the long forgotten Royal office, their bodies never more than a few inches apart.

Y/n stared into Nikolai’s eyes as he cautiously wrapped his arms around her waist. She noticed how he was consciously respectful of his hand placement despite the closeness between them currently. She rested her free hand on his torso as she left him slowly recline her backwards.

Nikolai focused intently on keeping his hands steady as he hesitantly dipped y/n backwards. It was the final movement to their ballet, but he feared his nerves would get the best of him and he didn’t want to drop her. However, as he looked into her eyes to see if she was worried he’d let her go, he found her to be staring back at him. His cheeks flushed crimson as a bashful smile took over his face. He listened to the peaceful sound of y/n’s breathing as he gazed back admiringly at her.

A million self-directed scolds echoed in y/n’s mind as she practically gaped at the Prince. But she couldn’t help it. When did Nikolai learn to dance? Had his eyes always been that bright? Always had that sunburst effect to them? Y/n wasn’t sure. All she knew was she couldn’t stop surveying their appearance now as Nikolai peered down at her. She felt his warm breath tickle her skin as his eyes appeared closer. Y/n had barely registered that his eyes had closed briefly before she felt his supple lips on hers.

Y/n gasped audibly as Nikolai’s lips parted from hers. She felt him guide her back until she was once again standing straight up. Yet, she felt far dizzier than she ever had before. She instinctively clung onto the satin fabric that was cinched at the Prince’s wrist for balance. “Y-you kissed me,” y/n whispered.

Nikolai chuckled. All the ecstasy he’d felt when his lips met hers briefly shifted into confidence when he saw y/n’s dazed gaze. He smugly bit into his bottom lip and nodded. “You’re stating the obvious, Princess,” he teased.

“But,.. “ y/n huffed quietly. She stepped back infinitesimally, her hand not leaving Nikolai’s wrist for fear of her legs giving out under her. They were still tingling uncontrollably and she wasn’t sure why or how to make it stop. Y/n’s eyes scanned Nikolai’s face with bated breath. “Why?” She asked wispily.

Nikolai smirked. “Because it’s fun,” he answered.

Y/n squinted as her eyes flickered aimlessly. “But… you hate me,” she argued.

“I used to believe that too,” Nikolai admitted. He dropped his cocky smirk and slid the arm y/n was gripping back to himself until he was able to take hold of her hand.

Y/n stared at Nikolai in confusion. Her eyes trailed from their hands back up to his face. “I hate you,” she reminded him, her voice soft.

“Do you?” Nikolai questioned y/n. She had every right to. But, the look on her face right before he’d found the courage to kiss her suggested otherwise. Or, that at a minimum, there might be other feelings there as well.

“Yes,” y/n replied as she glared down at their hands.

“Really?” Nikolai pressed, tilting y/n’s head up with his left thumb.

“Yes,” y/n repeated. She internally scolded herself for how flimsy the word sounded leaving her lips. She needed to get ahold of herself. “Really,” she added defiantly as her face returned to Nikolai’s face. She stared at his right eyebrow, the slightly bushier one, in order to not allow herself to fall into whatever trap she had when looking into his eyes earlier.

Nikolai’s lips curled as a small exhalation left his nose. “I must say, lying does suit you, sweetheart,” he flirted. He wasn’t sure what had suddenly come over him. Maybe it was the potential he saw in y/n’s eyes right before he kissed her. Maybe it was the tension he felt throughout their ballet. Maybe it just his normal confidence finally allowing him to act on the feelings he had harbored for the Princess for ages.

Y/n sharply slid her hand out of Nikolai’s with a pointed gaze. “Do not flirt with me,” she stated defensively. She should’ve known this was all some ruse the Prince was conjuring up. “If I was a fool, I’d think you didn’t actually hate me as much as you say you do."

Nikolai’s smile faltered as y/n’s hand left his. Nonetheless, he kept his head high. “You aren’t a fool, y/n,” he stated. He saw the confusion, hesitancy, and a range of other emotions stir up in the Princess as she squinted at him. He quickly covered up his sudden compliment/confession with a cocky remark. “After all, even my duty couldn’t force me to marry a fool,” he commented.

Y/n huffed and rolled her eyes. “And how does that work when you are the fool, Your Highness?” She taunted.

Nikolai smirked at the familiarity of y/n’s banter. “Admit it,” he dared, stepping closer. “You've always sort of liked me”.

Y/n scoffed and promptly stepped back to keep the distance between them. As much as she wanted to keep the belief this was some trick, she could see the worry in the Prince’s eyes. He should have nothing to fear if it truly were a trap in which he was trying to get y/n to say she liked him. Worse case scenario, he’d not get the chance to tease her for the unrequited feelings he seemed to be implying she had for him. So why did he look afraid? Her scowl shrank as a terrifying possibility came to mind. “You're not...falling for me, are you?" Y/n asked hesitantly.

“I will confess that things were easier when we had set our minds on hating each other,” Nikolai replied. It wasn’t an answer exactly. It wasn’t truly an answer at all. But he didn’t know what else to say.

“Hmm,” y/n mumbled as she tried to read through Nikolai’s words. His vague statement left too much room for misinterpretations. Which was likely his goal. “It would be easier now though to not,” she conceited with a sigh. “So, in the interest of that, do not start these games,” she warned.

“That’s true,” Nikolai nodded. “But-“.

“But, what?” Y/n inquired skeptically.

Nikolai slowly moved closer to y/n. He gave her a warm smile as he gently pulled her hands to him by her fingertips. “But, it’s not a game,” he confessed when y/n didn’t instantly pull away. He took a deep breath and gazed down at her. While maintaining eye contact, he whispered, “and I do not care what’s easier, I’d chose you regardless”.

“Don’t do this,” Y/n said, her breath shaking.

“Do what?” Nikolai asked as he closed the space between him and y/n.

“Try to make me like you,” y/n answered. Her breath hitched as her and Nikolai’s interlaced hands became trapped between their chests once again.

“I don’t think I have to try,” Nikolai replied quietly as he stared into y/n’s y/e/c eyes.

“I hate you,” y/n said breathily as she fought to maintain her composure.

Nikolai pulled y/n impossibly closer and lowered his head until he had kissed her again. “Do you?” He asked as they parted.

“Yes,” y/n gasped quietly. Her eyelashes fluttered against her high cheekbones as she stared back at the Prince. “I hate you,” she echoed in a whisper as she eyed his lips.

Nikolai’s warm breath trailed over y/n’s face as he lowered his head and dove in for another kiss. “Say it again,” he whispered.

“I hate you,” y/n murmured quietly. She hated him; didn’t she? She undoubtedly hated herself as she watched her gaze drop back down to Nikolai’s mouth expectantly.

Nikolai’s lips were hovering just above y/n’s when she suddenly stepped back. He felt the tremble in her hands as she yanked them away from him.

“I…” y/n breathed. “..I…, Saints, I hate you!” she huffed as she spun on her heel. As soon as her back was to Nikolai, she felt her eyes water. He truly just had to ruin things, didn’t he? She desperately had to get back to her chambers before anyone saw her tearful eyes.

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[honeysuckletoast]

Sense my drawing tablet wouldn't work, I decided to write a quick fic on what I was going to sketch, thank you @nyxie-is-peculiar for the sketch (now fanfic) idea✨

Who in the world?" Esmerelda Avocet peeked outside her window, having been awoken by a racket in the garden. "Who's out there at this hour…Aoibhe wouldn't have gone diving this early…" she murmured, stifling a yawn. With a slow glance towards her clock, she mentally groaned as she read 3:22 AM. Esmerelda pinched the bridge of her nose, trying not to curse whichever girl was outside at this hour. 

Esmerelda slowly sauntered down the dark hall, watching as the full moon dappled the floor as she checked each door. Each one was shut tight, not at all disturbed.

"Diana?" Esmerelda hissed into her room at the end of the hall. The tiny woman in the bed barely shifted, curled up like a cat in her thick quilt "Diana rose!" Esmerelda whispered, but gave up after a second failed attempt. 

"Well, good to know that if I scream for help I'm out of luck" the tall woman pushed her glasses up as she descended down the rickety steps to the main level of the academy. Only a single candle sat on the kitchen table, a few papers sprawled out along with an empty chair.

"What's the matter?" A cold flat voice whispered from behind Esmerelda, causing her to jump nearly a foot into the air as she flattened against the wall. A tiny girl stood staring at her blankly in front of the doorway to the main entrance. Her silver eyes traced over her headmistress as she tilted her head "you're never up this late." She said matter of factly. Esmerelda pursed her lips, letting out a sigh of minor relief. 

"Grace!" Esmerelda snapped once she regained her wits. "What did I tell you about sneaking up on others!?" The nightjar just blinked, rocking on her heels 

"I didn't sneak up on you. I asked you a question" 

"Just-nevermind." Miss Avocet didn't have the time nor will to argue with the 14 year old. Sometimes with Grace, it was simply better to give in than try to make her see the point. "Were you the one causing the racket in the garden?" 

"No. But I did hear it. Alma left the house at 2:38 AM and 16 seconds and hasn't returned. She was very pale and was crying." Grace turned towards the window as the Avocet stared at her, unsure if  grace was toying with her.

"You let a 8 and a half year old leave the academy alone!?" She clenched her fist, quickly loosing her patience. Grace nodded as she collected up her papers, avoiding Esmeralda's burning glare unknowingly.

"You have not given us rules on when to not leave the academy." Grace said as she scribbled in her journal "I finished all of your work you have given me for the week. I'll leave it on your desk." 

"I assumed the rule was implied!" The taller woman ran a hand through her hair. "Just- hold on. I have to go….do you even know where she went!? It didn't even occur to you to ask her where she was going!?" She demanded, nearly bouncing from the adrenaline pumping through her veins.

"Don't get so nervous. She told me she was going to the garden. She asked me not to follow nor get you, so I didn't." Grace leaned back in her seat, directing Esmerelda as if she was a child. Miss Avocet seethed, but turned around, rushing to the door. She would deal with Grace later.

"Alma!?" She yelled out into the night air. Her socks quickly stained a murky brown as she hurried across the west wing to the east garden. "Alma lefay Bentham!" She called again.

"What if she went into town!? What business would she even have there!?" The Avocet quickly found her mind unusually racing. "What if she gets taken, or falls off the rocks into the sea!?" Esmerelda wiped her quickly reddening face as she looked around the empty garden. 

"Okay, okay okay  okay…..she has to be here somewhere" she wiped her eyes "Oh my birds!" Her dark brown  eyes  scanned every place the little girl could be through tears. "Ive-ive never had a child leave…did she run away?" Esmerelda felt her breath leave her lungs as  she realized the girl was nowhere to be found in the midst of the flowers. 

"Alma!?" She shouted for more time,   being drowned out by the thunder in the distance. "The storm….she can't be out here in the rain she'll get soaked if she hasn't been kidnapped already-" Esmerelda's words hitch in throat as she felt two tiny arms wrap around her hips, along with a weak wail. 

"ALMA!" Esmerelda swiped the girl up, collapsing   down in the grass as she did. The tiny girl sobbed, hugging her headmistress as if she was her lost teddy bear. 

"What's wrong?!" Esmerelda held Alma under her chin, taking note of how feverishly hot the girl was. Alma burrowed into her embrace, hacking painfully into her sleeve. Miss Avocet quickly lifted her thin chiffon nightgown sleeve over the palm of her hand, using it to wip Alma's tear stained cheeks

"I don't feel well" Alma's raspy voice breathed in between heavy coughs. Esmerelda gently patted her back. 

"Why are you out here? Why didn't you come wake me!?" Her harsh tone stung Alma who sniffled in return

"I didn't want to make you- you get up so close to dawn! And I felt nauseous, and I didn't want to vomit on the my bedroom floor, so I came out here, and I tripped and fell on one of the plant stands, and I scraped my knees!" She wept between shaky shallow breaths against Esmerelda's shoulder "And  now you're awake anyway and I made you cry!" Her tiny fingers nearly turned white from how hard she was squeezing her headmistress's shoulders.

"Darling you didn't make me- '' Esmerelda paused as she felt her cheeks, wiping away some warm tears of her own. She hadn't realized she didn't get a chance to wipe them away before she found Alma. Her cheeks turned pink as she quickly dabbed her cheeks. She had never ever cried in front of one of her wards, or for that matter even Diana. It was one of her unspoken rules with herself. 

"Okay let's take a deep breath." Esmerelda didn't know if she was saying more to herself or to Alma at that moment."first off, I would never be mad if you woke me. Even if your not sick." She rubbed her back "you can wake me whenever you need." 

Alma nodded, "really?” She blinked “you won't be mad?” 

Esmerelda shook her head “I'm an incredibly light sleeper, so if I don't wake up when you open the door, just nudge my shoulder okay?” She instructed. Alma nodded, thinking for a moment. 

“Thank you miss" she sniffed. Esmerelda sat back up to get off the sturdy bench  "Let's go inside and get your knees cleaned, and then you need to lay down. I'll bring you some tea, and- 

"No!" Alma exclaimed, but shriveled back up "Im sorry for shouting miss….I just don't want him to see me cry! He will tell me I'm a baby!" Alma exclaimed 

"Who?" 

"Jack!" Alma murmured "he thinks I'm a big baby and this will prove it!" She shook her fists for emphasis. Esmerelda couldn't help but stifle a chuckle

"Love, you crying over being ill proves nothing. Truthfully," she leaned in "your more mature than both of your brothers. Jack screamed two days ago because he saw a centipede in the cellar that then fell from the ceiling onto him and startled him. It was so loud even Miss Bunting's cat swiped at him to tell him to shush up.

 Alma's nose crinkled and she couldn't help but giggle at the idea of jack jumping from a tiny little bug. 

"You must've gotten that sickness that's been going around town when we went down to get your dress hemmed a few days ago” Esmerelda Said as she stood up "Do you want to go sit in the garden and calm down for a moment then go inside?" She asked, eyeing the house to see if any candles had been lit in Diana's room.  Truth be told, she didn't want to go in with her most likely still tear stained face either if her partner was already awake. She was unsure how much time had passed, but Diana was going to be getting up at 4:00 AM, and the rain would be here at 4:06..

"Please?" Alma asked, laying her head on her headmistress's shoulder. Esmerelda nodded, gladly taking the sick girl to the garden. For once she found  herself thankful for picking such a warm day to set her loop as she took a seat on one of the wooden benches she had built herself when she opened the academy. 

Alma didn't move at all, too physically and mentally worn out to try and move off her shoulder

"We can only stay out here for a little bit though. Your fever feels awfully high. I'll see if we have any more syrup for your cough and maybe some Ginger tea if your still nasueous "The Avocet spoke more to herself as she  leaned back, making a mental checklist of things she watched as the dawn started to slowly break the horizon that was being overtaken by the morning storm clouds. 

"I don't want syrup!" Alma grumbled, but shut her dark green eyes before she could meet her mentors gaze. “It tastes like sour rotten cherries” 

"Just go to sleep for now then. We can decide later" Esmerelda said as she wrapped her knit robe around Alma. The tiny girl's eyelids fluttered, watching the clouds start to bring upon the mid morning rain she had become so accustomed to waking up to. She didn't even feel herself start to hum, but soon she found herself singing as softly as she could to the little girl in her arms. 

“You sing pretty miss” Alma mumbled “You should do it more often” Between the upcoming rain and the smooth singing Alma found it impossible to stay awake, finally falling into a deep sleep. 

Esmerelda smiled, finally finished her smooth lullaby as the first rain drops started to drip down onto the earth. The Avocet finally stood up, staring back at the house. Diana's candle was lit, burning brightly in the window. The Avocet smiled, taking it upon herself to hum just a little longer as she walked with Alma inside. 

“You will always be a baby Alma” Esmerelda told the sleeping girl as she walked. "My little baby." She put her hand on the door handle, pushing it open and regaining her strict demanor as soon as she stepped back inside

"Thought it was odd the door was cracked open." Miss Bunting turned around from the open flame in the kitchen "I got breakfast all set for you to start. I'll get started on setting the table- wait why is she in your arms?" She inquired "Was she outside?"

"She got sick in the garden." Esmerelda informed, then turned towards the stairs "I will be down in one minute to start the oatmeal"

"Poor thing" Miss Bunting opened the China cabinet. "Do you want me to get the oatmeal started? I'm sure it can be that hard!" Miss Bunting called as she grabbed some plates out of the cupboard.

Miss Avocet grimaced from where she stood on the stairs "No thank you, I would prefer to only have one sick child for the time being." She responded as she finished climbing the stairs

"That's fair."

[bri-is-spookyyxx]

⭐︎ study blog day 7 + 8 ⭐︎

sunday-monday 16/17th june

so i took a day off on saturday because i felt really shitty, but had a huge road trip on sunday! in which i did 3 hours of chemistry, 1 hour of biology, and 2 hours of staring blankly out of the window :)

Today was the road trip back (another 6 hours ughhhh) but i managed to get 6 hours of alkenes revision in so i'm like, an organic pro now or something. ask me anything about carbon double bonds. i'm a literal wizard.

Anyway i finished my audiobook, and i looked at 2 uni's this weekend! oh my GOD i fell in love with Edinburgh uni today. It's an actual dream come true. It was everything i wanted in a veterinary school with the added bonus of cat memes ALL OVER THE WALLS!!! dream come true hahah

📖- the secret life of a vet - Dr Rory Cowlam

🎧-Harry potter and the goblet of fire/order of the phoenix - both narrated by Stephen Fry

🎵- carolina drama - the raconteurs

[whataboutsimple]

Did someone say Groundhog Day 8 years part 2? Yes please!!! Only if it’s alright with you

Groundhog Day but it's 8 years Part 2.

TW: blood, mentions of suicide, injuries.

Part 1 is here.

Which race is it? Which number?

He didn't know, didn't remember and didn't even try to. It's all happened again. The same hackneyed conversations, the same faces, the same old world.

Even he's the same. Hasn't changed at all. Only a hideous large scar adorns his neck. To think that he can't even cut his throat properly, what a failure. The man was staring blankly at the wall opposite, ignoring the worried glances of the younger boy. What was his name again? Ah, something like Lukas maybe..

In this race, Jesse decided to save him instead of his friend. Such a pity, he can't properly help them anyway. The "Great Warrior" is even more useless than an ordinary girl. Tired.

Tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired, tired.. why is it so hard?

The coughing became way worse than before. He can almost feel his lungs burst and the uncomfortable warm blood rush onto his rifle.

It hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts.. why?

The Warrior repeated the last race. He told Ivor all sorts of nonsense, hoping that maybe this time he would decide not to start the Storm. He didn't kill himself. And was wrong. The Potion Master showed up for the performance anyway. He created the beast.. The Warrior was almost ready to give up and die from the creation of the Command Block. Their eyes convinced him. The eyes of Olivia, the eyes of Axel, Jesse, Petra, Lukas. He shouldn't have looked at them.

There was so much fear. The poor children were so scared. They weren't to blame for this. It just happened that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time. He overcame himself and put on a mask. He started playing according to the script.

And now he regrets it. So tired. Sleep.

He humbly awaited the hour of battle with the Potion Master. Perhaps he would allow him to win and put an end to it all. Perhaps he simply wanted to look him in the eye and ask if he was happy. The Warrior didn't know. He knew only a few things: pain, fatigue, and sleep.

The debilitating illness didn't make him feel better. To be honest, he barely made it here, almost dying from a simple zombie attack on the way. Huh, just think about it. And this man believed he could defeat the EnderDragon? Weak. Worthless. He wanted to end it there. He was tired of it.

Jesse went to find The Rogue. Olivia and The Redstone Engineer should be coming soon. He doesn't want to see their fake eyes. He doesn't want fake hugs. He doesn't want to hear another stupid argument that didn't mean anything. He doesn't want them there.

Hours passed. They should have be there by now. He swore he heard Olivia’s voice. So, The Engineer was there. What, she doesn't even want to talk to him now? Doesn't even try? Pitiable.

MaybeLukas explained the situation to them. Maybe not. He didn't care. It hurts so much.

So, so much. His arm was aching. Aching and aching like hell. The withersickeness progressed much faster here than in other races. Perhaps his weak condition influenced this. His hand was literally completely covered in black stuff and throbbing unpleasantly with purple. He could feel it making its way to his collarbone and back. So disgusting.

Maybe he fell asleep at some point. Maybe his brain just decided to shut him off from watching the boring wall. He doesn't know. But he heard a voice. A voice of a former friend. Lover. Magnus. They were back.

The Warrior didn't even try to get up from his seat. He didn't want to waste energy on them. Couldn't. This sleep crushed him even more.

The headache is back. Disgusting. He looked down at his trembling hands slowly. Even if he wanted to stop it quickly, he was unlikely to succeed. Needed to come up with something.

Somewhere far away, Lukas's voice caught his attention. They didn't know where he was or what he was doing. He didn't want to be found. Although he wasn't very far from Ivor's library, he decided to stay there.

What did the children called it? Strange basement.

A dull pain shot through his right lung as if he'd been pierced with a sword. Another fit of coughing, more blood. Pain. Stained armor. Someone's sharp intake of breath. Turning to look to the exit, he saw Magnus there.

Notch, he didn't want to speak to him. Couldn't they just leave him alone?

It hurts. Lungs were burnimg. It hurts, it hurts. Hands were shaking. It hurts, hurts, hurts. The blood flowed.

He looked blankly at his former friend. Nothing has changed. None of them have changed. Boredom. The Warrior closed his eyes for a moment. Magnus tried to tell him something, but he wasn't listening. He didn't want to listen. Couldn't.

The white noise was back. Only veil in front of his eyes. What is it? He didn't know. Didn't feel anything. Just pain and fatigue. Maybe his body couldn't take it anymore and gave up? No, no, he can hear Magnus trying to speak to him. He can hear how angry he is because The Warrior is silent.

A new wave of blood. He bends over, clutching his stomach. Uncontrollable trembling. Red liquid quickly makes its way from his lungs into his throat and then out. There's a lot of it. More than he can handle. The floor is covered in blood. His hands are covered with blood. It tastes like metal. What's wrong with him? This never happened before. Is it a novelty? Side effect? Doesn't matter now.

It's too hot. When did it get so hot here? His head cracked harder. Growling softly at the unfairness bursting through him, The Warrior took off his helmet, trying to reduce the temperature. He didn't like the heat. Ignoring Griefer's continued attempts to say something to him, he abruptly jumped to his feet, tearing off his chestplate with great fury. Perhaps at some point, he threw it somewhere in the direction of Rogue. He wasn't sure, but poisoned "Enough." came out from him. All he managed to say before falling back into silence.

Hurt, hot, tired.

He doesn't understand what's going on. His hands continued to trembling. Trembling, trembling, trembling without a way to calm down. The Warrior tried to grab his sword and finish it all off, to starti a new race, but, dropping it into his own pool of blood, pretty quickly he realized that it was useless. He needed to find another way. Slowly The Warrior leaned back against the wall, feeling hot and sore. Too painful, Too hot. He looked at his injured arm. Purple ripple was stronger than usual. Breathing heavily, he gave up and fell to the floor moaning softly from the pain in his ribs, his T-shirt stained with blood under his armor.

Everything was blurry. He couldn't see anything. Only Magnus' worried cries. Voices of others.

He had heard a lot. Didn't see anything. Heard a former friend asking him to hold out for a little longer. Was he crying? The Warrior didn't know. Didn't want to know. Not anymore. Didn't care anymore. Suddenly, the world went black. The voices faded away. It got quiet.

[survivingplaytimefanfic]

Prologue and Chapter 1

Under readmore for length, I DO NOT GIVE PERMISSION FOR AI TO USE MY FANFIC

Poppy Playtime is (c) Mob Entertainment

All characters/scenarios are works of fiction. Any resemblance to persons/scenarios living, dead or fictional are purely coincidental. This project was made for fun and not profit.

Enjoy!

Prologue: The Hour of Joy

8/8/95

11:32 AM

Welcome Center

Paul Winters could only stare blankly at the distant wall from where he was left to slump. Something in his back or hips had been broken when he was flung into the wall, and for the past half an hour was left in shock as the unbelievable happened before his eyes. For the last half an hour, he was wondering if he was going crazy, if this was some sick show done for someone's amusement, a horrible prank for one of those hidden camera TV shows. But he was hurt, eyes dry and scratchy from crying out all his tears, any screams of pain and horror were an afterthought before they could even be caught in his throat. He stared at the wall so he wouldn't stare at the bodies strewn around the floor. His fellow coworkers, many of whom he hadn't met yet, lay sprawled in various forms of death. Some with their heads bitten off, some with missing limbs, some having just been picked up from a tall height just to be dropped to the ground and left in a splatter of blood. The smell was starting to creep in, in the distance there was still the occasional scream of a person followed by loud thuds or inhuman shrieking. More bodies were starting to be strewn and left behind somewhere else, not just here, further numbing the mind from any hope of rescue. Or survival.

His attention was then turned to the doors of the testing wing as they opened, and a massive figure covered in blue fur lumbered towards it. Paul couldn't take his eyes away as the Playtime Co. mascot, Huggy Wuggy, flopped himself in half to fit through the much smaller doorway to come into the atrium. Seeing the creature that flung him aside earlier caused Paul to whimper and breathe in a sniffle, fear slowly growing back inside of him and slowly making him shake. It was enough noise for the giant toy to notice, turning its glassy eyes to him and its large red lips parting from its usual friendly smile to show rows and rows of needle sharp teeth. It's loud thumping steps was all Paul could seem to hear, even when he finally opened his own mouth to cry and scream. “No! NO!”

Huggy reached his new victims side, and gathered a fistful of Paul's dirty blond hair with a Velcro hand before turning and walking to another doorway. Paul started to scream in pain, finding the tears to flood his eyes again, causing them to shut. The pain in his lower back kept him from lifting his arms to fight back, or his legs to kick futily. He couldn't move, his entire world was pain and tears, his own screams and Huggy's loud footsteps next to him. He was going to be eaten by Huggy Wuggy, like his coworkers all around him, and there was nothing he could do!

After what felt like forever, they stopped moving. There was a sound of a large metal hatch opening and the feeling of being lifted up by the hair again. Paul screamed as he then felt himself fall, his eyes popped open to show that Huggy had dropped him into one of the trash hatches, watching him fall with its smile full of teeth. Paul landed on his stomach onto a pile of other unfortunate employees like himself, and again could only watch, cry, and scream in helplessness as smaller Huggy Wuggies crawled from the trash system's piping with their own floppy bodies, glassy eyes and smiling mouths filled with needle teeth.

As he felt himself be eaten alive, mouthful by tiny mouthful, only a couple thoughts crossed his mind. Life wasn't supposed to be this. He was hired to be a toy designer, making joy and wonder for children around the world. He was supposed to be sitting at his desk, sketching what could have been the next big thing. Just twenty four hours ago, he was sitting in orientation, listening to Dr. Nightingale talk about the Innovation wing and all the fun he was going to have designing toys and chasing dreams. He was supposed to be going places, he was supposed to be following his dreams, he was supposed to just work a desk job in peace and quiet.

None of this was supposed to happen. Not to him. Not today.

Not on his first day of work.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Chapter 1: There is no escape

8/8/95

12:31 PM

Gift Shop

As Morgan started to come to, she noticed there were no screams to be heard and the room seemed to be quiet. The toy train above was still moving and chugging along, and in the quiet sounded loud enough to wake the entire room. And call attention to her throbbing head. Quietly, from where she lay curled in the space between the wall and the fallen shelving, she reached a hand up to feel an aching spot on her head and held back a wince at the painful bump she discovered. But there didn't seem to be any blood, which was good, for now. While her head did hurt, she listened carefully for any sound at all of movement other than her, and so far there was nothing. She was scared, but she needed to risk checking if she was alone in the gift shop at all.

Slowly rising to her hands and knees, she quietly crawled to the closest end of the shelf and slightly craned her neck to look around. The gift shop was empty of people, or any toys that moved around. There were still knocked over displays, fallen display shelves, burst open boxes, and a few splatters of blood around. Someone or something was dead for a while based on a large pool of blood by the door, but based on the large streaks that trailed out the door, something picked up the body and dragged it outside. The sight of so much blood would have made Morgan faint again, if not for the new sounds that came from the other fallen shelving from the other side of the room. “Pssst. Morgan. Pssst.”

Morgan watched carefully as a fellow coworker could be seen peeking from the end of the other shelf just like she was. It was Gabbie, short brown hair and heavily freckled nose and cheeks, peeking over and trying to be quiet. Morgan nearly burst into tears, feeling so happy her friend was still alive and okay. She put a hand to her mouth to cover her sobs before waving back to signal that she was alright. Gabbie looked relieved, as the two started to whisper talk.

“Thank God you're alright. Are you hurt?”

“I hit my head...” Morgan groaned in a whisper. “What about you? Are you alright?”

“My arm really hurts... I can't move it.”

“Is it broken?”

“I don't know. It's not bleeding.” Gabbie looked around the room before she also noticed the giant puddle of blood by the door. “Oh God...”

“Gabbie, what's going on?”

“I don't know... but it's really bad. Like... I really think people are dead kind of bad. We gotta get out of here.”

Morgan tried to angle her head and look at the door, desperately keeping her eyes from looking at the floor. The gift shop doors were still wide open, and they lead to the front hall. The outside doors to freedom were only twenty feet away. But while the gift shop looked empty and safe, outside those doors were certainly not.

Gabbie looked at the doors with those same thoughts.

“I'm gonna see if the coast is clear.” she volunteered. “Hang on.” She shuffled through the shelving to get to the other side, closest to the doors. Morgan decided to do the same thing, shuffling carefully, feeling the shelving scrape along her back. Reaching the other side, in the dim light, she could see the figure of a person and paused. She didn't recognize this person at first, but they had a Playtime lanyard around their neck.

The person was an older man, with brown hair and graying strands peppered in. The remnants of a blue security jacket were tied around his left forearm, holding back a wound that has since stopped bleeding. But there were still streaks of dried blood down his left arm and hand, and flecks blemishing his yellow shirt and face. His eyes were glued to the door, and it wasn't until Morgan very timidly came out of view that he turned to her, showing his eyes were a piercing bright blue.

Morgan wasn't sure how to react, but Gabbie's gasp to her right drew her attention. Gabbie saw the man too, then looked to the glass doors for any sign of danger before carefully skittering to their sides. “Vern?” Gabbie whispered with a shake in her voice. “Are you alright? What happened?”

“Do I look alright?” the older man snarled. “The entire world has gone to hell for all I know.” Morgan flinched at the man's response, and took a second to more carefully look at his lanyard.

Vernon Price – Night Guard

“We need to get you out of here.” Morgan offered quietly. “That's... a lot of blood.”

“It stopped bleeding a while ago.” Vern huffed, putting a hand to his makeshift bandage. “But, yeah... There's no getting out of here as things are.”

“What?” Gabbie looked to the doors of the gift shop and started to point to them. “The front door is. Right. There! If we make a run for it, we can--”

“I've been listening to people trying to 'make a break for it' for the last half an hour.” Vern sighed. “If it's not that giant Huggy Wuggie, it's the little Huggy Wuggies. Or the security system. Or... Something watching the door to keep anyone from going out.”

“Then what do we do?”

“Head to the security office.” Vern suggested. “There's a phone in there. We can use it to call for help.”

Morgan turned her head to the check-out counter behind them. There was a phone under the counter, but it only made calls to other departments in the factory. Would a phone in the security room be any different?

“Let's all go there together.” Gabbie suggested. “Can you stand, Vern?”

“Yeah. Just waiting for the coast to clear.”

“Sounds clear. And nothing's come in here since it started.”

Gabbie moved to get under Vern's uninjured arm and help him up. He was much larger than the young girl, so Morgan came out from under the shelving to come help lift Vern to his feet. He didn't seem to have other injuries, so the two girls very carefully positioned him to peek through the door to the main entryway.

The view was limiting, all that could be seen was the stretch from the gift shop doors to the security doors directly across. The tiled floor of the welcome center had spatters and smears of wet and dry blood, and tracks of bloody footprints, both human and not-human, scattered in all directions. But there was no sign of any attackers, or people, and there were no sounds to be heard.

Vern took in a deep breath before preparing the plan.

“Okay, here's what we're gonna do. We need to make a run for it across the hall to the security office. No matter what, don't stop. The Huggies, big and small, are really fast, so don't even slow down. And the security system is in full swing, so don't let those bubbles touch you. Got it?”

“Huggies?” Gabbie asked, perplexed.

“Bubbles?” Morgan wondered, equally perplexed.

“No time to explain. I need to get to that phone in the security office. Are you coming or not?”

Both girls nodded their heads. And with that, they all opened the gift shop doors and quickly moved through the entryway. Gabbie didn't stop but she did get a look around while they moved. The blood trails and footsteps lead into the main atrium of the welcome center, where the giant Huggy statue stood, and beyond that she could hear something crunching and breaking. She didn't want to think of what it was. Hearing a small motor buzzing above them, Gabbie looked up to see the security system Vern mentioned. It looked like an overhead light or speaker, but instead of light or music, a curtain of bubbles was streaming out of the nozzles at a steady pace. Gabbie kept moving, feeling some of the falling bubbles fall onto her face and hands, which instantly felt numb and heavy.

Hearing the heavy padding of felt footsteps on tile coming closer, Gabbie turned her head to look and watched with widening eyes as the giant Huggy Wuggy statue stepped around the corner and locked gazes with her. Its long, gangling arms swayed with its movements as it started to step foreword, and its bright red lips parted into a toothy grin as it approached the survivors. Gabbie gave a startled yelp, and as she planted a foot down to run, it slipped in one of the pools of blood and sent her sprawling foreword. Morgan turned her head to see what happened, and immediately started screaming at the sight. Of Gabbie lying in a pool of blood, her hands and arms too numb to push her back up to her feet, and a giant toy taking its time to get to her.

“Gabbie!” Morgan cried, trying to turn and run to her friend. Vern kept his arm locked around her, continuing to the security doors without looking back.

“She's dead, and you'll die to if you go to her!” he snapped as they finally reached the doors. To open them, he just needed to put the code into the colorful security panel by the doors, and he started pressing the combination frantically.

“HELP!” Gabbie screamed, writhing on the floor to try and stand up. Her arms felt like lead, and as more bubbles rained down from above, the rest of her body felt too heavy to move. She was completely stunned and helpless as the Huggy leaned his entire head down and put her torso in his mouth.

“GABBIE!” Morgan shrieked, just as the doors to security opened. Vern shoved her inside before diving in himself, managing to look back at the scene. The pool of blood under Gabbie grew, with her own as Huggy chomped down and flicked his head back so the rest of her body could slide down his throat. However, the toy had ignored the security system of bubbles, and being soaked in its formula of tranquilizing agents, its shoulders slumped and its head lulled to the side. Vern could see one of Gabbie's feet still hanging from the knee from Huggy's jaws as he rushed inside, unable to do much else.

The toys had come to life, attacking and killing the staff, and there was nothing he could do.

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8/8/95

12:05 PM

Playtime Theater – Dressing Room 2

It was finally quiet. Sam thought he was about to pass out from either hyperventilating or holding his breath for so long. Dad had just shoved him into the room and told him to be quiet and never come out, and just seconds later came the screaming, the loud thumps of something large running down the hallway, chittering laughter and squeals, and occasionally something trying the doorknob to let itself in. Sam had pulled a blanket over himself, clamping his hands over his mouth and nose to stay completely silent, having no idea what was going on at all. But instinct told him to stay hidden, out of sight, or something horrible would happen.

After what felt like forever, the noises outside died down, and Sam felt safe to start breathing normally again. Whatever happened, was it finally over? He carefully let the sheet down from his face, and his eyes immediately adjusted to the dark from being covered for so long. It was the second dressing room in the back of the theater, and nothing looked amiss in here at all. The hanger of costumes in the corner, the wall mounted TV that had gone dark in the corner, along with a playtime phone on the wall by the door. The makeup vanity and mirror were beside him, which left him tucked in the corner. The room was just as quiet as the others, but while he was told to stay here no matter what, he couldn't. Something terrible happened outside, and he needed to leave. Urging his stiff legs to lift him up, he braced himself on the wall and pushed off to the door. The gentle thuds of his footsteps seemed to thunder in his ears as he walked, and the following silence made his ears ring. His hand closed around the door handle, and the click of the door might as well have been a gunshot in his mind how it rang out. Thankfully, the door opened quietly and as soon as he had room to peek his head out, Sam took it for a cautious look around the back hallways.

Even out of the room, it was quiet. About now, a show would be starting in the theater downstairs. Employees and guests alike would be lining up to the concession stands for snacks. There should be cheering, laughter, music, goofy sound effects, singing and dancing for hours and hours. The only thing that greeted Sam's ears was silence. And nothing looked out of place. The halls were just empty of noise and people. Sam craned his head to look back and forth down the hall several times before finally emerging and carefully making his way back to the theater.

Taking the stairs, he took note of the heaviness in the air. It was still quiet, but there was a palpable weight that filled his lungs. And a smell he couldn't quite place. The lights were still on, and even the smallest sounds seemed to resonate and echo in his ears. He had never seen the theater area so empty before. He was tempted to call out, but the foreboding feelings lingering in his chest and throat kept any sound Sam could have made. All he could do was look around and try to find out what happened. And if he really was completely alone now.

He passed the concession stand, and still there was no sign of anyone. The silence added to the heavy, oppressive feel in the air, as if pressing down on Sam from all sides. Standing at the counter, as if expecting someone, even Dad to pop up and ask if he needed anything, Sam put his hands down flat on the glass candy case and took another look around. Even here, nothing seemed out of place except for the emptiness and the quiet. The lights were at their normal range and pointed in the right places. There were still posters on the wall for the newest toys to perform on stage: The Traveling Talent Show. Sam looked them over again to get his bearings. Posters advertising Ms. Song and Dance, her husband Mr. Hat Trick, and their Lovely Assistant as brand new puppets had replaced many other posters as of late, but their colorful signage and the cheery faces of the toys were enough of a distraction. But standing here was still not helping things. Sam needed to find someone, to find out what happened here.

He took in another strong breath and finally made his way to the theater stage and seating areas. And then he found signs of something being horribly wrong. All the seats seemed to have been ripped from the ground and tossed about, left lying all around the area. There was still no sign of people anywhere, the silence made Sam's ears ring until it was all he could hear. The smell had grown stronger in this area, and Sam was growing too paranoid and distraught to place it. He still had no clue what was going on or where everyone went.

Then, finally, there was a sound. A loud strike of a tap shoe on wood, coming from the stage.

Sam whipped his head up, just as a spotlight snapped on and shone stage center. Within the spotlight were toys that were exclusive to the theater, and finally seeing some familiar faces Sam breathed a sigh of relief.

All four Baby Steps were on the theater stage. Representing a new toy line Playtime Co released earlier that year, of robotic toy dolls that moved their tap shoe feet to music, these four were much larger dolls and did more than just lifted their legs side to side to dance. The four theater dolls had full articulation in their arms and legs to dance and tap like any skilled performer, and all were dressed in their dazzling blue dresses and their blond hair was pinned away from their sweetly painted faces with decorative blue bows. And once they realized that attention was on them, the four stood side by side and started striking the stage with their steeled toes in unison.

Tap, tap, tap, tap...

Sam started to walk up to the stage, with a nervous smile on his face and a shake in his voice.

“Oh, girls, am I glad to see you. Are you okay? Something really bad happened here. We need to--”

All four Baby Steps kept their eyes on him as they continued to tap, and then began to sing their trademark song in perfect unison.

“You won't believe your eyes,

“Once you notice

“What we've got on the inside,

“Toys all sizes come to life

“All the same to your surprise

“Don't you want to stay

“Hugs are what we pay

“Held tightly till the day

“In this wonder factory

“Lovely's coming out to play!”

Behind them, a louder set of taps began to sound. Tap shoes on a larger foot walking foreword until their owner walked into the spotlight for her grand entrance. A much larger marionette toy designed to look like a beautiful woman with her silky blond hair tied into a high pony tail, dressed in a sparkly and lacy pink dress that shone bright enough to not even notice the many wires and strings that held her up from above. She took her place between the four Baby Steps, and started her own tapping and singing entrance.

Tap ta-tap ta-tap ta-tap-tap--

“You won't believe your eyes

“Once you've noticed

“What we've killed from the inside

“Toys all sizes come to life

“All the same is your demise

“You won't need to fray

“Hugs are what we pay

“Held tightly to the day

“In this carnal factory

“Now we're rising up today!”

Sam wasn't sure what to make of this, watching in stunned confusion. The Baby Steps and the Lovely Assistant were here putting on a show among all of this destruction? He took a step closer.

“Lovely?” he called out to the large puppet in the center of the stage. “What's going on? Where is everyone?”

The Lovely Assistant gave a couple bats of her large green eyes before her delicate fingers pointed up into the air. Sam was confused for a second, did she mean the rafters? He turned his head up to look, and he felt the blood drain from his face and neck.

Hanging from the ceiling were various human bodies of all ages, sizes and shapes. Some were hung from their necks, others from their arms or ankles, others hung like meat on a hook, and none of them were moving. How long had they been like that? Why were they just hanging from marionette wires and strings?

The sight was too much for Sam's nerves, the tension finally broke, and all he could do was scream at the top of his lungs. His legs couldn't move to run, his eyes couldn't look anywhere else but the massive collection of dead bodies. He just kept screaming, powerless to do much else. Beyond his own screams, he heard the zipping of a cable line and then felt a stabbing pain in his left shoulder. One of the marionette strings had come down from the ceiling and stuck into his shoulder? He couldn't even register what was happening as the line pulled taunt and effortlessly lifted him up into the air. With his head forced down from the sudden lift, his eyesight changed to the Lovely Assistant below him, who just watched with a half-bending hand waving goodbye.

Up in the darkness of the rafters, Sam finally started to flail in panic and pain, trying to get the line out of him. He had been stabbed with some kind of barb that sunk under his skin and was starting to draw blood. Unable to think or come up with a plan, Sam was helpless in his torment. Until he felt something wrap around his waist and squeeze slightly, making him scream louder. Past everything funneling into his ears: his own screams, his panicking heartbeat, the high pitched ringing from too much silence and stress, finally came a familiar voice.

“It's okay, Sam. Everything is going to be okay.”

Sam was held steady in the air as he felt something yank the barb out of his shoulder, causing him to yelp. He could feel the blood oozing out, and this finally tipped him over the edge. With a whimper, everything gave out and he fainted away. The last thing he saw was a large, cartoon styled yellow hand connected to long elastic plastic blue arms holding him tight. The familiar voice tried to calm him, but it was just a distant, blurry echo.

“It's gonna be okay, Sam. Dad's got ya. You're gonna be okay...”

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8/8/95

11:45am

Cafeteria – Kitchen Freezer

As the head chef of Playtime Co.'s cafeteria, it should have been Damon Bennett's role to keep things under control. He was the head chef after all, as well as the manager of the cafeteria. But once that emergency broadcast alert blared on all the television sets and PA systems, everything happened so fast. Cookie had immediately turned on him with the knife in her hand, stabbing into his chest and sides. He was too stunned to move, rendered powerless as she turned on the patrons there. Vern was sleeping on the counter, poor bastard didn't even see it coming. There were stampedes rushing for the door in and out at the same time, which left them vulnerable to both Cookie, and whatever was screeching outside. Once the chaos had subsided, Cookie just lifted Damon's prone form, humming a cheerful tune, and left him in the walk-in freezer.

He was left slumped by one of the shelves, using a slab of raw meat to hold his bleeding wounds, and watching helplessly as Cookie kept bringing in more human bodies and leaving them in the freezer. Damon had been locked in a walk-in freezer before, and knew to slow down his breathing and rapidly blink his eyes once in a while to keep his eyelashes from freezing. And once the pile of bodies was enough to conceal him at a sit, he made his way to it and used the bodies to keep himself warm. It was morbid and awful, and he did his best to pretend he didn't recognize any of the victims in here with him. For now, he had a plan, and had to wait, slowly breathing, rapidly blinking and trying not to fall asleep.

Soon, the bodies nearly took up half the freezer space, and when there was a considerable gap of Cookie not coming in and out, Damon made his move. Carefully finding footholds and grabbing points, doing his best to ignore the intensifying pain in his side and left arm, he climbed the pile of bodies until it took him to the vent grating above him. Hooking his fingers into the slanted paneling, he strained every muscle he could in his right arm and shoulder to yank it down. It took several tries, each time stopping to see if Cookie heard and opened the door, but he eventually pulled the grating down with a clamor. Knowing this would draw attention, he summoned strength into his arm and his back to pull him up into the vents. He didn't completely know what was going on, but he wasn't going to let a toy lock him in a freezer and get away with it!

The vents blew more cold air into his face and eyes, and he forced himself to put one arm in front of the other painfully, to escape. It was noisy and slow, but he had to keep moving. He knew that all this movement was burning away what body heat he had, and he needed to find another grate to get to fast. Anywhere had to be better than the freezer, or the cafeteria guarded by a knife wielding toy chef. He seemed to crawl and shuffle for hours and hours, growing more stiff from the stinging pain and the biting cold combined. But soon, a source of light shone below him, from a grating, and through it he could see the factory floor! Freedom, at last! He pried the grating off and let himself drop into a pile of boxes below, taking a moment to catch his breath and adjust to room temperature. His back hurt, his left arm and side nearly left him in too much pain to move, but he needed to get up and find his way back to the front to get out of here. There was just enough adrenaline for him to hoist himself to his feet, cradle his left arm, and take a look around.

But there was no safety or freedom in this room, where the Make A Friend machine sat as a silent observer. In a part of the factory meant for tourists to create a toy to take home, where supervisors and workers kept the room neat and tidy and maintained a flow of toy parts for the giant machine to put together a new toy. Now, there were bodies. Human bodies sprawled across any open area of floor possible. Some were slumped on the now stopped conveyor belts. Some were still oozing blood into messy and dark puddles, any open spots had some degree of blood splatter. One of two looked to be ripped in half. And there were so many human bodies in this one room alone. Not even being locked in the freezer with a pile of twenty bodies prepared Damon for this sight, for his body finally shutting down into shock.

Damon only let out the faintest of whimpers and a single step foreword, his adrenaline vanishing and his eyes finally thawed enough to spring tears. His ears rang from the stress and the silence. He couldn't understand what was going on or how this happened. Or if Cookie was the only toy going on a rampage.

He was so distracted by the horrors of a massacre and the ringing in his ears, that he didn't notice the toy lying in wait a few feet behind him. Two eyes peeked from an over sized play block, watching Damon as he took another shaky step. The human was left completely unaware, unable to even comprehend what happened next.

It only took a couple of seconds for Boxy Boo to spring his head from the top of his box, snap his jaws around Damon's neck and drag the entire body effortlessly back into the box. The silence in the Make A Friend room resumed, the machine helplessly watching the events unfold.

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Video Tape #1

“Project Request”

Dated: 4/6/92

My name is Dr. Gemma Dawn Nightingale, and I'm a child counselor in Playcare. It's my job to listen to the concerns, problems and challenges the children here face every day, when they can't do it alone. But one day, something interesting happened. I noticed that Craftycorn was much more quiet and withdrawn that usual, so I sat and talked to her. She opened up to me about her own problems, and that's when it dawned on me. The toys that Playtime Co. makes, the giant toys for the Playcare kids to play with, have... problems. They have a side to them that the children don't see, and that the company doesn't want to recognize. They don't just have problems; they have thoughts, feelings, insecurities, deep seeded fears that the company didn't create them to have. These toys are truly alive, and there is so much going on in their heads that isn't being addressed.

I've been told that the supervisor of these bigger toys, Diane, is retiring in a few months. I not only formally request the position as her replacement, but I wish to do something else with the role. Make me a counselor specifically for these toys. Not only can I maintain their mental conditioning so that they remain “in character” and “on brand,” but I can relieve them of any psychological hardships and emotional baggage they are certainly have. And I do believe failure to see to their mental development and emotional well being will bring dire consequences to the company.

These toys were made to bring smiles to everyone, but there are days when it seems like the toys are not smiling themselves. And I think they need more than a supervisor or even a councilor. I think, more than anything, these toys need a friend of their own. And I am more than willing to help them feel the happiness that they give these kids, and to keep to our founder's promise that everyone inside Playcare always has a happy, genuine smile everyday.

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Job Request Form

“Approved”

Dated 4/10/92

Promotion accepted. Job training can begin immediately under Dr. Diane Post. Current access to Bigger Bodies projects is regulated to Experiments 1180 – 1188. More permissions to be given when promised results come in.

Extra comments: This should be entertaining.

Signed: Dr. Harley Sawyer

[snow-in-the-desert]

damn the news really be like 'every worst possible thing that could happen has happened also we investigate why more and more young people want to kill themselves, more at 6' and then you're expected to be productive and not stare blankly at a wall for 8 hours

[looneyleyle]

darlin pt. 3 ~ f. odair

pt. 1 ||| pt. 2 ||| pt. 3

synopsis: the quarter quell has ended, the survivors being taken to either the capital or district 13. finnick, one of the fortunate few to be taken to 13, finds himself separated from his darlin, and he can’t find a way to live on without her.

warnings: hunger games typical violence, inability to cope, mentions of finnick’s past iykyk

words: 3058

third person pov

a mess. that's what finnick was. his days were spent sitting in his room, staring blankly at those dull grey walls. occasionally, he would be dragged out by someone to eat, only to poke at whatever food was on his lunch tray. it was as if his mind shut off, just a corpse walking through the halls of district 13. it seemed like no one could help him. coin, plutarch, katniss, and annie would all try to talk to him, but nothing ever worked. he would give them a hollow smirk and some half-assed joke. he was trying to seem like his normal self, but it wasn't fooling anyone.

the worst part was, he refused to talk about aldera.

after that first day of finding out that she wasn't in 13, if someone would mention her, he would either walk out of the room or scream for them to shut up. he hated their pity, their pity wouldn't bring her back to him.

annie tried to give him some sort of normalcy. she would talk to him about the people back in 4, or stories of them when they were younger, but her words fell upon deaf ears. she would ask what he was thinking about, what was bothering him, but he would always dismiss it. she wasn't the one he needed.

after a while, instead of focusing on his grief, he hyperfixated on missions. attack plans, studying maps, and assessing damages were all that he did.

when it came time to send katniss in for a propo in district 8, finnick got suited up, ready to go. when he got to the hovercraft, however, boggs put his hand out to stop him.

"coin has deemed you unfit to go on any missions until further notice," he told the boy.

"boggs, i'm ready, i've been planning these offensives for weeks, i know where the enemies are, i-"

"you're staying here, and that's an order," boggs commanded. he then looked into the boy's eyes, and his face softened. "i'm sorry kid. we're doing everything we can to find her." finnick's fists clenched. pity. why did everyone pity him? why wouldn't they just fucking do something? instead of picking a fight, finnick turned on his heels and stormed out, going back to those all too familiar grey walls. and there he sat, staring, stewing in his anger, frustration, and long repressed sadness. when the tears started, they wouldn't stop. he wept and wept and wept for what felt like hours. he hugged his pillow, wishing it was the one person in this world who could calm him down. he fell asleep like that, uniform still on, tears pouring out of his eyes while grasping for dear life at the pillow in his arms.

most of district 13 didn't see him again until the air raid. he had holed himself up in his room, only leaving for meals at odd hours of the day. he only left his room, albeit reluctantly, when the alarms went off.

he found himself a bed and sat there, looking around at everyone. the air was full of fear, and yet finnick felt very little. all of these people felt some sort of fear for the possibility that they could lose something, whether it be their friends, family, lovers, belongings, or their lives. the only reason finnick pushed himself out of his room was for his friends. for katniss, for annie, for all the people who had tried being there for him, no matter how epically they had failed.

"hey," a voice started, taking finnick out of his thoughts. "can i sit?" katniss asked, motioning to the spot next to finnick on the bed. he let out a noise of assent before she sat down next to him, beginning to speak her mind. "snow's using aldera to punish you. he's taunting us with them. i didn't understand until just now watching that stupid cat." the boy nodded. he had assumed as much. he felt for katniss. snow had taken from them some of, if not the most important people in their lives. he took away their motivations to live, and without them, they were merely surviving.

"after your first games, i thought the whole romance was an act. we all expected you to continue that strategy. but it wasn't until peeta's heart stopped and he nearly died that..." he stopped. he was teetering too close to the memories of aldera, and his feelings bubbled up in the form of unshed tears in his eyes. "i knew i'd misjudged you. you love him. i'm not saying in what way, maybe you don't even know yourself. but anyone paying attention can see it." katniss was shocked that she managed to get finnick to even talk, let alone show his emotions.

"how do you live with it?" she asked the boy.

"i drag myself out of nightmares and there's no relief in waking up. but... it's better not to give in to it. takes 10 times longer to put yourself back together than it does to fall apart." finnick's tears began to roll softly down his face, his fists balled up tightly. he finally looked katniss in the eyes. when she looked back, she didn't see finnick. she saw a man who had lost his purpose in life, a man who had lost himself by completely giving himself to another. that terrified katniss. love had rendered finnick a zombie. but wasn't she the same? pulling herself out of nightmares, only to wake up to her hellish reality? only helping out 13 to get peeta back?

after the air raid was over, district 13 was oddly quiet. finnick heard nothing of plans or battles or moves or countermoves or anything related to the war waging around them. until a knock came at his door. he got up reluctantly from his bed and opened it, his tired eyes looking over the person in front of him.

"coin? what's up?" he asked lazily.

"finnick, we're flying a hovercraft into the capitol to save the other victors." finnick's entire body tensed.

"when do we leave?" he asked, immediately going back into the room to grab his gear.

"you will not be going. we have a different job for you," she told him, beckoning for him to come with her. he looked at her cautiously, slowly putting the gear down.

"you're not trying to administer me to the med ward again, are you?" he asked. she smiled lightly at him.

"no, not this time." she refused to elaborate further, and so finnick went along with her, not wanting to jeopardize any plans in place to get the other victors.

poked and prodded. just like his time in the capitol. hair being pushed and ruffled and styled every which way, tight and proper garb draped over his shoulders. light makeup being applied to cover up the dark bags under his eyes.

and then, the lights. it was the dead of night, so they blinded him. he had orders to keep talking, no matter what. keep talking so that it's him and only him on the air.

"this is finnick odair. winner of the 65th hunger games. and i'm coming to you from district 13, alive and well. we've survived an assault from the capitol. but i'm not here to give you recent news." he talked slowly, but with confidence. it was different from his usual capitol facade, the one he would slip into when getting sponsors or doing his late night duties. this finnick was serious, but still seemed to be putting on a show. he demanded the attention of anyone watching. all over the districts, leaders of the rebellion sat and watched his propo.

"the truth. not the myths about a life of luxury. not the lie about glory for your homeland. you can't survive the arena. the moment you leave, you're a slave," he continued, finally getting used to the lights in his face. he adjusted himself and took a small breath before continuing.

"president snow used to sell me. or my body, at least. i wasn't the only one. if a victor is considered desirable, the president gives them as a reward or allows people to buy them. if you refuse, he kills someone you love." gasps erupted across the districts, but to one person in panem, the puzzle pieces finally clicked.

"to make themselves feel better, my patrons would make presents of money or jewellery. but i found a much more valuable form of payment. secrets."

as finnick spoke, plutarch got a message from district 8. "district 13? copy district 13, we have some precious cargo headed your way."

"see, i know all the depravity, the deceit, and the cruelty of the capitol's pampered elite. but the biggest secrets are about our good president, coriolanus snow." the blood started to boil underneath finnick's skin, but he forced himself to remain calm, as if he hasn't resented president snow for the past decade.

"such a young man when he rose to power. such a clever one to keep it. how, you may ask, did he do it? one word. poison. he stopped every mutiny before it even started. there are so many mysterious deaths to adversaries. even to allies who were threats. snow would drink from the same cup, to deflect suspicion. but antidotes don't always work, which is why he wears roses that reek of perfume. help cover the scent of blood from sores in his mouth that will never heal," the words kept flowing out, the truth seeking any listening ears. finnick would spare no detail, he could go on for days if need be.

"but he can't hide the scent of who he really is. he kills without mercy. he rules with deception and fear. he takes without remorse. his weapon of choice is the only thing suited to such a man. poison. the perfect weapon for a snake."

"snow has taken everything from me and the other victors. he promised us lives of peace and prosperity after the games. instead, we are followed by his pawns to keep us in line, we are pushed to follow his will, forced to sell our bodies, and drowned by the fear that any day, we will come home to find a loved one dead." he took a breath, composing himself. "president snow has taken almost everything from me. my dignity, my happiness, my district, and now? the one person in the world that i truly care about. the woman i love. and for that, i can never forgive him."

as finnick spoke, katniss, plutarch, and the others managed to get through to snow.

"you couldn't run from this... any more than you could have run from the games," snow smiled.

"please. you've won. you've already beaten me. release peeta, johanna, and aldera, and take me instead. i'm who you want, not them," she pleaded. snow's eyebrow quirked upwards ever so slightly.

"ah yes, aldera, the girl from 10..." snow trailed off, looking to someone nearby. katniss, plutarch, and coin all exchanged looks.

"he doesn't have her..." plutarch mumbled. as soon as snow finished their broadcast, katniss started sprinting towards the film crew.

"finnick! finnick!" she yelled. the people filming him tried to shush her.

"he doesn't have her! snow doesn't have aldera, he never did! she got out somehow!" she yelled. finnick felt as if his legs were about to give out.

"what?" he whispered, his eyes trained on katniss, eyes starting to water. the film crew cut the cameras.

katniss and finnick sat in anticipation for hours, just sitting in the rafters, waiting for the hovercraft to come back. they had heard nothing from the rescue team since snow's message. finnick didn't know how to feel. on one hand, she hadn't gone through the torture the rest of the victors in snow's grasp had. on the other hand, she hadn't shown up once since the quell, which could only mean...

no. he wouldn't think about it. he couldn't bare the thought of her climbing limply out of the arena, bloodied and bruised, only to die from starvation or dehydration in the wilderness.

but, if she wasn't in the wilderness, and wasn't in snow's grasp, and wasn't in district 13, then where could she be?

finnick's thoughts were cut off by haymitch's voice.

"they're here, so stop your sulking and head on down," he told the two, katniss immediately springing up and leaving the rafters. finnick remained in his spot, something that haymitch had to comment on.

"i'm not gonna tell you that everything's fine, because i don't believe in lying to you. but, we're not gonna stop looking for her, at the very least to get some closure. coin is about to contact each of the districts to send out search teams." finnick wasn't quite comforted by this. how long had it been since the quell? the likelihood of someone finding her alive at this point wasn't very promising.

with much reluctance, finnick got up and followed haymitch back to civilization. the least finnick could do was check up on the others.

as he got down to where the hovercraft was being unloaded, he watched as the medics worked swiftly, bringing the alive but unconscious peeta and johanna to the med ward. the volunteer soldiers came out, a bit bruised, but nothing serious. finnick was about to turn around and hide back in his room when he saw something. his head whipped around immediately.

he knew that hair anywhere.

his body jolted forward. the loud sounds of his thumping footsteps caused everyone in the area to look at him, including the figure in question. her eyes widened immediately, tears seen from miles away. he pulled her into his arms and didn't let go. it didn't feel real. how was she here? how was she alive? she tried to pull back.

"finn," she started, but he pulled her back in.

"i love you," he rushed out. he wouldn't let another second go by without saying it. "i love you, i love you and i'll never leave your side again," he mumbled into her hair, kissing her head. she laughed, and his body relaxed for the first time in many months. he pulled back to stare at her face. it was dirty, and her cheeks seemed a bit thinner than before, but that was nothing a bath and the cafeteria couldn't fix. he stared into her teary eyes, her bright smile, and for him, the war was over. she whispered those three words back to him, and he rested his head against hers, the tears flowing down his face, running over the widest smile he had ever had grace his face.

"i saw your broadcast, i never knew that-"

"it's fine, it's all in the past now darlin. it's just you and me from now on." the two held each other for what felt like days, as of letting the other go would cause them to disappear.

after that, the pair were inseparable. they had lost time to make up for. it was damn near impossible to get one without the other. at breakfast, meetings, lunch, speeches, dinner, no matter what time it was, they were there, together, hands clasped tightly together. when it came to missions, finnick took a step back, still planning offenses, but never going out into the field. the two had just been reunited, and they weren't ready to be apart again.

while the couple started rebuilding their lives in district 13, the war came to an end. the resistance had seized the capitol. snow and coin were dead. commander paylor was elected president of panem.

with their newfound freedom, most of the victors returned to their home districts, or what was left of them, in the case of katniss, peeta, and haymitch. only beetee chose to move into the capitol after the war, claiming that he had much to do to improve panem.

even with panem in good hands and away from the poisonous reign of snow, most of the tributes refused to step foot into the capitol. there was no love in their hearts for that wretched place. the memories from the games and mentoring were all too much. watching friends, family, mentors, and lovers die in the arena wasn't something they wanted to be constantly reminded of.

as for finnick and aldera? it took them a while to get back on their feet. between the games and aldera's disappearance, the two had a constant fear of losing each other. they remained in district 13 for a while, finding safety and comfort in the military-style bunkers, even after everyone else moved out. eventually, johanna, ever the kind lass, told them to "grow the fuck up" and "go the fuck home". the two decided then, unrelatedly, of course, to go travel through each of the districts, saying hello to old friends along the way.

the last stop of their trip left them in district 4. the moment he stepped out of the train, finnick seemed to glow. it was the place he was raised in, the place where he belonged. he had been trapped underground for the past year, and seeing the sun sparkle over the waves seemed to rejuvenate him. he almost immediately ran for the water, dragging aldera along with him. he all but dove into the water, letting himself truly relax. aldera, while peeved about being forcibly pulled into the water in her clothes, couldn't help but stare at finnick, so happy, so free. this wasn't just the witty finnick that she fell for while mentoring, this was so much more, and it made her fall even harder for him than she could have possibly imagined. the water was an extension of himself, and she wouldn't dare take him away from that.

"let's get married, yeah?" he asked casually, the two standing on the docks, looking out at the water. she "thought" about it for a while, causing him to pick her up and pretend to throw her into the waves. the two laughed in a way they hadn't been able to in a long time, no longer fearing for their lives and running from the capitol's grasp.

"let's do it darlin," she mimicked, unable to stop smile taking over her face.

[ms-erin-kallus]

I Can’t Destroy What Isn’t There

Chapter 8

AO3 link ~ https://archiveofourown.org/works/44541196/chapters/122272963

Agent Kallus woke groggily and rubbed hard at his tired hazel eyes as he slowly looked around into the unknown darkness that surrounded him. The meteorite that sat above him had long faded into nothing more than a simple stone, and so left the only light afforded him to come from the small chrono at his bedside. 

Panic quickly set in as he realized that he was in <em>his</em> bed before he shot up and scanned the room with sudden focus. How did I get here, he thought as he racked his brain for memories that wouldn’t come.

Wait, who put me into these clothes?

At the foot of his bed sat bottles of water, a few small foil packets, and a couple of protein bars. There was also a note, stay off of it for a few days, please.

He stared at it for a few confused seconds before he finally managed to bring himself to look at his bedside chrono, 1430.

At least it’s not too late in the day, he thought before the date made his eyes go wide in shock. It had been a full rotation and a half. His mind began to reel with excuses for his unauthorized absence; that was, until he remembered that no one had probably even noticed, or cared that he was gone. There would be no surprise either way. 

A tangle of hair caught in his fingers as he tried to run them through the disheveled mess on his head and he could only sigh before he carefully moved to sit on the edge of his bed. The deep ache in his leg felt substantially better than it had before as he carefully kneaded his fingers deep into the muscle. 

As he placed his feet onto the cold floor, his toes stretched back and forth as he tried to recall and categorize his last memories into some semblance of a memory of what might have happened prior. 

Ambush. Bahryn. Orrelios.

Family.

His face fell forward and he stared blankly at a wall that offered no answers before he managed to clumsily push himself up to standing.

Before he could realize what was happening, a bright blue light suddenly filled the room as an electrical current came hurtling toward him.

R3 unexpectedly charged up to him from the dark corner by his door, “what does the note say, stupid human?”

“What the hell?” Kallus yelled as he threw himself back into the corner behind him to avoid the droid’s rage. “You are definitely her droid,” he scoffed loudly when he realized who his attacker was. He gingerly scooted back to the edge of the bed and glared at an annoyed R3 before pain suddenly shot down to his toes and reminded him of his real problem.

“What are you even doing here anyway, don’t you have someone else to torture?”

“Yes.”

Kallus placed his feet on the floor again and the droid increased the current and pointed it directly at him. “Okay, okay, the cold feels good on my feet,” he conceded with his hands up at his sides in surrender, “calm down.”

Definitely her droid.

“Seriously. Why are you here?”

“I don’t know why she cares about you after everything you’ve put her through, or how she can overlook that you’re going to get her killed, but she told me to keep an eye on you because she had to go back to Lothal before you woke up,” R3 beeped.

Kallus shook his head, “back?”

“You don’t remember? Probably best. She’s too good for you and I despise you,” R3 beeped at him in a way that Kallus knew was hate filled sarcasm. “She dragged you to medical because you were seriously hurt and wouldn’t go on your own.” They backed up and took one of the packets from the table, “I will give you two every eight hours and monitor your progress.”

“How long do you plan on staying here?” Kallus almost yelled in literal horror. The few minutes they had been together were already too many. Entire rotations would end with either the angry little machine in the compactor or a very annoyed Kallus back in medical, or a corpse floating through space.

“The medical droid said to keep you off of your feet for at least three rotations. It has been one and a half. So, I’m here for another one and a half rotations.”

“You are absolutely not going to sit here and babysit m-,” Kallus started before the room lit up a bright blue again.

“I absolutely am.”

Kallus sighed hard as he realized that he had no choice. The droid was as stubborn as he was and had obviously been programmed to accommodate the fact, “where is Rhoan now? It would be nice-”

“Like I said, she’s on planet, not far enough away from you in my opinion. Her work here is done so she had to go back this morning.”

Dammit, he thought as he opened the packet. “What is this?”

“I’m hoping fatal, but they’re probably just painkillers.”

“You don’t have to be such an asshole,” Kallus retorted harshly as he tried to determine how to get a restraining bolt inconspicuously delivered to his room.

The droid just sat silently.

Kallus tore open the packet. “Maybe I’ll have to tell her?”

“Do it. Who do you think she’ll believe, the dangerous Imp or her faithful little droid? The droid that she loves.”

Kallus narrowed his eyes and glared at the machine with a jealousy he didn’t expect. “Sure, a droid can understand complex human emotions?”

“Probably better than you can.”

Kallus breathed in slowly to keep himself from reinjury while attempting to break the hateful and angery machine in front of him. Rhoan may have been able to put the things he had done in the past but he knew that she would end his future if he did anything to her protective little companion. “Fine. My datapad is in the drawer at the end of the bed. Will you get it for me since I’m apparently bedridden,” he asked nicely out of feigned defeat. 

Kallus watched the droid turn away before he quickly and quietly stood up.

The R3 unit turned and threw the datapad at him on sight as it rolled over, arm aglow again.

“Stop,” he yelled as he put his hands out in front of him. “You can’t shock me because I might reinjure myself and th-,” he protested.

The current surged twice before R3 warned him, “that’s your problem, not mine. I can stay here for weeks if that’s what you really want.”

“That is the last thing I want.”

“Then, sit down,” the droid threatened as it rolled over to the dark corner from where it came. “Find something stupid humans do and leave me alone.”

~

Kallus did find something to do; he researched Geonosis.

I never asked questions.

The next two rotations were spent relentlessly digging through anything and everything he could get his hands on regarding the planet and what could have happened to cause its population to completely disappear. He had a feeling that he couldn’t shake, and much to his horror, it was for good reason.

He had initially hoped that perhaps it had been a planet wide exodus due to some sort of mass extinction event. They already lived underground due to prior events that caused the surface to become uninhabitable; perhaps something new had happened that drove them completely off world. Something he somehow had never heard about. Or, possibly, it was a full-scale re-colonization. The Empire had a habit of confiscating entire planets to bleed dry their natural resources if said resources were of value, or even simply if its location was beneficial. 

But, he knew deep down that the Empire wouldn’t waste those kinds of funds, not on civilians.

He also knew neither scenario was correct.

Judging by what he had found, along with what he had seen in orbit around the planet, the population had basically been enslaved to build some sort of Imperial project. Whatever the project was, it was massive and a pretty well-kept secret.

He felt sick. Apparently, once they were of no use, they were simply eradicated. It was the only plausible explanation. It was genocide. It was one hundred million souls gone without hesitation.

By association, it was his fault.

Kallus wiped any traces of his investigation from his datapad and tossed it to the foot of his bed. Everything that he had been trained and conditioned to believe throughout his entire career was authoritarianism, plain and simple. He couldn’t believe that he was too stupid to never see it for what it was.

The ISB’s brainwashing techniques were impressively and terrifyingly effective.

~

The small green machine that had spent their time slowly tormenting him was gone when Kallus woke on the third rotation of his droid mandated medical leave. The small red light, the one that he knew was some sort of warning beacon, was replaced by darkness and his newly found freedom. 

Things could’ve gone much worse, R3 mostly left him alone unless it was time for medication or food. Unfortunately, the one thing he wasn’t allowed to do was shower. They were afraid he would slip and fall, and Kallus would never admit it out loud, but he was too. The refresher alone was a difficult task at first. 

An encrypted message of physical therapy stretches was sent to him before he even woke up from his procedure. The need for encryption was puzzling but the gesture was appreciated nonetheless. Most of that night was a blur of fuzzy or straight up missing memories, so he was sure there was a good reason for it that he just couldn’t put together.

The painkillers prescribed didn’t help any. He didn’t even know how he got back to the dome from the star destroyer he was on.

Though he was sure that his absence had gone unnoticed, it was time for him to at least make some sort of appearance before he could disappear into his office until summoned for some sort of task or mission that he couldn’t just delegate to a subordinate. 

The residual emotions from his cold reception lingered in his mind with their claws dug deep and refused to let go. That was assuming they ever even would.

It felt like they were a parsec away as he walked as nondescriptly as he could to the communal showers at the end of the hall before someone could notice his still unsure gait. Empathy was hard to find in the military, but gossip was not. A few sideways glances quickly reminded him of that adage.

He could’ve spent the entire cycle under the hot water that relaxed his sore and tired muscles as he tried diligently to work the knots from his shoulders and relieve the strain on his knee. A sudden thought jarred through his mind and he immediately turned the water off and grabbed a towel. 

A few minutes later he stood in front of an empty cooler while seriously considering leaving the base to go to a market and find fresh fruit. He would have done it too, but his datapad chirped something about a stowaway rebel and a defected droid that included a report that he needed to read and a search party that needed to be formed to look into the matter.

That overachiever will probably thank me, he thought as he immediately forwarded the message and transferred the assignment to Lieutenant Lyste. Aside from the menial task, he didn’t want much to do with any of their targeted missions or operations, and knew he wouldn’t for awhile.

However, the correspondence was a sign that people were aware that he was available again and so his fruit fiasco was put on an unwanted hold. A caf and one of the better-quality protein bars would have to suffice.

~ 

Kallus hummed mindlessly to himself as the lift began its descent into the depths of the dome. The reverberations went all the way down into his chest as he tapped out an erratic rhythm on the side of the cup he held. There was an ease about him that he rarely felt and it was a welcomed respite from the recent hell that he found himself, and her, thrust into. 

Small echoes carried down the hallway with each step and he let them fall in line with the rhythm of his fingers. He almost let himself make up the lyrics to a verse but remembered that he had a reputation to uphold and ‘the singing ISB Agent’ didn’t carry the same bravado of his typical character.

However, the second he rounded the corner and made eye contact, a suffocating tension filled the air with an almost choking heaviness and uneasy warning.

It was more than obvious that the woman standing at the counter with her back to Kallus felt it because she took a small, obvious step backward the instant Rhoan’s gaze hardened. Their transaction continued in a loud whisper until R3 came out from behind the counter to pull a dysfunctional droid back into her work area, and did so without acknowledging him at all. 

The woman’s face immediately fell to the floor when she turned and saw one of the last people she thought she would see there before she scurried away silently into the safety of wherever it was she was going.

“Okay then,” he mumbled to himself as he looked up to a face he didn’t expect. He cleared his throat quietly before he set his offering on the counter, “I assumed that you probably didn’t eat.”

Rhoan sat silent, but he could see that her mind was racing as she tried her best to decide her next words or her best course of action; he assumed it was most likely both. 

Kallus felt his throat go dry.

The hinged door of the counter slammed loudly before Rhoan grabbed his hand and began to literally drag him toward the farthest wall of her work area.

“What is going-” he started but the look on her face when she turned back to him stopped him from finishing. “Rhoan, I can’t move that quickly yet,” he pleaded.

She didn’t stop but she did slow substantially as they came around the last row of shelving and toward a small door at the end of it. It hissed open quickly and she practically shoved him into it before she put her fingers up to her lips.

Be quiet.

The door closed behind her and Kallus was left standing alone in what appeared to be a small utility closet. What felt like an eternity later, she finally reappeared with a small micro ion pulse mine and activated it. His eyebrow raised at the suspicious move as a soft, blue glow illuminated the concern on her face. 

For a long, few seconds the only sound between them was the soft hum of the apparatus at their side, “Rhoan?” he asked carefully.

She began to say something but no words came. Her mouth closed and she thought hard before she finally spoke.

“You can’t be here.”

She shook her head mostly to herself, “the droids didn’t record but if there was a malfunction in any of them,” her whisper trailed off as she looked at the floor in contemplation of possibilities that he didn’t know what were.

“What is going on? You are beginning to seriously worry me,” he asked with quiet concern, unsure as to whether or not he could speak normally as the smell of the grease on her clothes blended subtly with the faint scent of the Imperial issue shampoo in her hair. It was a unique mix, but then, she was as well. He liked that about her, that he never knew what he was about to get. Except this time was an exception.

“What do you remember from that night? When you went to medical.” she snapped as his stomach immediately fell to the floor with the force of a seismic charge. “All of it. Everything. Tell me.”

“I, um,” he looked at her and she cocked her head to the side as if to tell him to both hurry and also be as thorough as he could. “I remember the hallway, kind of.”

I remember that you wanted to run from me.

“And after the hallway?” she asked, ignoring her own demand of everything.

“Not much. There was a needle.” He let out a nervous laugh that she disregarded.

“This part is important,” she reiterated with raised eyebrows, “do you remember anything you said?”

Kallus could barely breathe through the thick suddenly stagnant air, what did you do?

“I don’t,” he wasn’t sure what to say. Apparently he remembered less than he thought and her behavior wasn’t helping his memory in the slightest. “I feel like I-”

“You said some stupid shit, Kallus,” she told him with a quiet waver in her voice.

 Call me Alex.

The sound of stretching leather reverberated through the brutal silence.

She looked back down at the ground, “you really don’t remember anything,” 

“Feel free to let me in on the mystery,” he said, his temper beginning to rise out of confused desperation. If he put either of them in danger then she was wasting time. He would need to run damage control as soon and quickly as was possible. 

“You said something,” she took in a long breath and nodded slightly as if summoning the courage to keep looking at him, “something that bordered on sedition.” 

Her last word echoed loudly through his mind.

“You said you hated the Empire.” Rhoan’s brow furrowed and she looked at the device on the counter, “they have executed people for much less, and considering I didn’t go straight to command with this, it looks like complicity on my part.”

She was right. He had just spent almost two days learning about how they carried out the literal extermination of a species for no good reason. Killing one ISB Commander gone rogue would be nothing. A lieutenant on an outer rim planet that heard some words would easily be less.

“Look, I didn’t think that anyone was going to come looking for me out there, and I was just still upset about it. I was heavily sedated and emotional,” he said carefully. It wasn’t a complete lie; he was actually pretty pissed about the cold reception upon his return.

“I guess that makes sense.” She looked down to her side, “You’ve been nothing but a good and loyal agent of the ISB. I knew better than to think that way of you.”

“You’re also a loyal and outstanding servant to the Empire, which begs the question, are you going to inform anyone anyway," he asked cautiously, his heart pounded in his ears so hard he could barely hear what he said to her. Command could know whatever they wanted as long as it didn’t include her.  

“I can’t now. Not without incriminating myself,” she said with an abrupt tinge of hostility.

He could tell that she was angry with herself for that, for not only risking her career but possibly her life. He was angry with himself for putting her in such a situation. Again.

“Fixing this is all contingent on one thing.” She looked him dead in the eye, “this infatuation of yours has to stop. There is no reciprocity and you need to accept that already,” she said pointedly. “This is the third time that you have put me in a precarious situation. Two of them could’ve gotten me killed. One still may.”

She was stern in the delivery of her verdict, her resolve unrelenting, and it shattered him into a million invisible pieces held loosely only by a fleeting hope. 

“Rhoan, I-“

The low hum of the device went silent and the cold, blue light went dark when she reached over and turned it off, “no, you need to go now.”

 Please don’t. 

She looked down as she reached over and opened the door. 

There was the sudden sound of wheels racing away; R3 had obviously been listening in. 

When he didn’t move, she looked out subtly to let him know that it was, in fact, time for him to leave her.

He looked down at her, desperate for eye contact, for her to see that she was making a mistake. “You don’t want to do this. I know you don’t.” 

He felt her anxiety skyrocket as her body instantly went stiff, but still she didn’t look away from the door. “I have to,” there was a graveness in her voice that caught him off guard and he was finally forced to come to the realization that there was nothing left for him there anymore. There was nothing in the Empire and certainly nothing in that closet.

His shoulders fell at her words and he reluctantly turned away from the only decent thing that had happened to him in as long as he could remember. Even if it was merely infatuation, it gave him something to look forward to that wasn’t saturated in war. And yet, once again, war was all he had, except now it was in two theaters instead of one.

“Alright,” he said quietly as he began to walk out. 

He had given her no reason to trust him but every reason to fear him.

The door quickly whirred shut behind him and like that, he was alone. Again. 

He walked to the end of the row of shelves and looked back one last time before he scolded himself. “What did you really expect?”

Deep inside of him he knew that to protect her from the impending wrath of the Empire that would eventually fall over him was to forget that she ever existed. It was the only way that he couldn’t risk putting her in danger again.

Her nonexistence was his new reality.

With that, his head fell and he slowly made his way back to the lift, giving her time to change a mind that he knew was already set. 

Disappointment is built on false hope.

Unlike before, every step he took down the suddenly long hallway sounded like a seismic charge in his ears. His feet dragged heavily as if the floor had become a thick swamp that he could only try to free himself from. He knew total escape itself would be impossible no matter how hard he tried.

175…174 the lift chimed in front of him with every level it passed. Kallus could barely wait to get to his office where he could try to decompress some.

And most likely break something.

That wasn’t going to happen.

Konstantine’s voice unexpectedly grated against his ears.

“Ah, Agent Kallus, just who I was looking for,”   

[star-kissed583]

A Twisted Turn | Eric Dekerson

« 3rd Person POV »

«TW; abuse mentions, murder »

"You just can't do anything right huh?! God you're such a mistake, I wish-" His father's screaming was toned out.

Eric sat in the office, staring blankly at a family picture hung on the wall...

It was all 8 of them-before the accident had happened. They all looked at least a bit happy. It was the day before their mother demanded a divorce after a bit fight...it was a couple days before the bus accident happened and his father and him lost everyone but each other.

"C....Er...Ic!! ERIC!! ANSWER MY DAMN QUESTION!" His thoughts were interrupted by a louder yell and getting harshly slapped across the face.

Eric fell off the chair and looks up at his father with tears in his eyes. "N-no...I don't know!" He whimpered out a random answer. Trembling in fear.

"So you DON'T know if you fucked us up?! Well lemme give you the answer! You fucked us up big time!! No one is gonna wanna buy from us again and it'll all be your damn fault!! God it's a shame to have you as my son" Derek's growl sounded so pissed. The father running his hands through his hair. Clearly frustrated.

Eric could only look down in shame... this was all his fault...right?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Eric walked up to the doorsteps with his father. His hands fiddled with the handkerchief in his hands. Looking up at the mansion with worry. Worried about messing things up for his father. There was one rule that his father gave him when they were arriving to the mansion

Do NOT speak to any of the people there

So Eric, trying to be the son his father wanted from him, was determined. He wouldn't speak unless told he could.

"Remember...let me do all the talking. You stay silent" Derek hissed, glaring back at his son.

Eric looks down, "yes father..."

"Good"

Derek finally knocks on the big doors. Crossing his arms and keeping his look calm. Eric standing a bit behind him-not wanting to bother his father.

When the door opened-a woman stood there. A raised brow looking at the pair.

She had short hair with slight bangs.having a simple black dress. It surprised Eric that her pale-grey skin wasn't what shocked him the most. It was actually her eyes. A red and one blue glowing eyes. Yet they held power in them

"Ah...you two must be the new ones huh? The Delerson family if I'm not mistaken...very well, come on in. We can hold our meeting in our office room." She hummed. Opening the door more for them to let them inside.

Eric followed behind his dad. Looking down when the lady seemed to watch him a bit with a curious look.

Derek nods, not exactly having expected a woman in the establishment. He let the lady lead them to the meeting room, "I was told a certain man, something about his name being Dark, was going to come talk with us. I wasn't expecting a fine lady like you to join along"

"My name is Dark. I do not apologize for my appearance. I'm aware when we meet I was in my male form-but I must warn you-it does tend to change based on my gender preference. And please, Mister Dekerson, keep your language professional. I do have a husband." Dark spoke with a sharp tone. Giving Derek basically a side glare.

Yet, Derek only rolled his eyes, sitting down on a random seat. He grins at Dark, "well then ma'am, allow me to introduce us. I'm Derek and this is Eric-my son. I do have one quick question. How do you expect anyone to take you seriously when your gender just keeps changing?"

"D-dad! That was rude-"

"Eric...silence..."

"I think your boy is correct, Derek. What I am has nothing to do with my business and has never had any business with my employees. Now...to get to the real matter of the fact." Dark held a cold gaze towards the man. Glaring straight daggers into him.

Eric could only shrink in his chair-too afraid to say anything again. Seeing also the harsh glare from his father

'I'm gonna get it tonight...'

1-2 hours later

"Well, your guy's rooms are upstairs. We don't know if you guys prefer having your rooms near each other or not...but Derek this is your room and Eric, your room is right there-across the hall from your father. Anymore questions?" Dark asked, her hands clasped behind her back.

"No, zero questions" Derek huffed.

Dark glanced over at Eric, his expression softening a bit, "and you Eric?? You have any questions?"

Eric stood in disbelief, before seeing the little glare from his father. He quickly just nods. His gaze falling down to the ground shyly.

Dark stared between the two, before giving them a small nod. She turns back when she heard her name be called, "alright. I must go. Tomorrow you two start at the studio at 8am. DON'T be late. Farewell now." She hummed before walking away

Eric yelped as he was dragged into his father's room. As soon as he heard the door shut and lock, he was shoved to the floor. Whimpering softly while his father kicked him harshly, knowing it'll be another beating for speaking."

§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§§

It's been a whole two years since they moved in. Eric now could speak to the others-but was limited on his time to be around everyone.

While he became great friends with Yandere, his father for some reason didn't like her. And would beat him up if he spent too much around her.

Even when Yan began to take note of Eric's behavior around his father-or how more anxious he became when they hung out-Eric would always deny anything going on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~≈

"I want you to stay away from my son! He doesn't need twinky people like yo-"

"Does there seem to be a problem here?" Dark's voice interrupted Derek's talk with Yan. Eric was cowering behind his dad. Looking down ashamed and upset. All while Yandere looked about ready to throw hands.

Dark glared softly at Derek, his gaze cold as he gently led Yandere to be behind him. "I said...is there a problem here??"

Derek straightened up, fixing his sleeves a bit, "No sir...there's no problem here. Just need that girl to stay away from my son. She's a bad influence and only weakens him more." He growls.

Eric looked down, "I-I'm sorry sir...it won't happen again.." he mumbles to his father silently.

Right when Dark was about to speak, he watched Derek grab Eric's wrist tightly, "We gotta go now. I must talk with my son" his voice held disgust at even mentioning Eric as his son.

Yan was about to protest, only to see Eric shake his head before being dragged off to Derek's room.

"Mama...I think Eric's dad doesn't like Eric.." Yandere spoke with worry. She looked up at Dark.

Dark sighs, "I'll try and get the poor boy alone...now c'mon Yan. Wilford made some cookies."

While Yandere grabbed Dark's hand to drag him downstairs excitedly, he couldn't help but look back at the door where Derek's room is with worry.

*********************************************

"You're just a bad excuse of a son"

Eric could still feel the stings...

" I wish your brother survived instead-but I'm stuck here with you!"

Tears kept running down his face. His body trembling...

"Why can't you do anything right!!"

That rush that suddenly went through to him...

You're just a mistake

Just a mistake

A mistake

•

•

•

It was a mistake-

"ERIC DEKERSON! PUT THAT DOWN NO-"

The silence fell over the room.

Eric brought a slow hand up to his face-feeling that warm red liquid that had splattered on him.

Looking down, hearing a thud, and then a shatter.

His father looked at his son in shock-before his gaze went down to the knife embedded into his chest.

Eric's hands trembled as he stared at his father silently.

"I'm sorry I wasn't enough, dad..."

And then Derek's vision went dark.

///////////////////////////////////////

Eric sat on the floor against the bed. He had tears running down his face but he just looked in the distance in deep thought. Seeming to be spaced out.

He didn't even notice when the door opened. It wasn't until he felt a hand on his shoulder and someone sitting beside him.

Eric looks over confused, seeing Dark was there. Eric whimpered softly.

"I-I...it was an accident!"

Dark only frowns as she held Eric close, rubbing his back, "It's okay...you're okay...he hurt you, he only got what he deserved. C'mon...I'll have Willy clean it-let's get you a change of clothes"

[alphareleasemedia]

Daily Drabbles for 8/1/24 - 8/5/24

8/1/24 Jill had to stop herself from looking at the clock every five seconds. She had a book open in her lap, but she'd scarcely read a word of it. She just stared blankly at the pages while her fingers fidgeted with the dust jacket. Jill looked up and glanced at the window rather than the time. The sun hung low in the sky, but it would still be a couple more hours before it set completely, then a couple more before the night was fully dark. There was nothing Jill could do until then, so she might as well read.

8/2/24 Lexie paused her rooftop gardening to straighten up and wipe the sweat from her face. They'd been having a lot of sunny days lately, which was good for the plants, as long as Lexie kept them watered, but it did make working outside hot and uncomfortable. The tall, corrugated sheets of steel that augmented the original walls of the roof blocked any breeze from getting in, except through the thin gaps at regular intervals just wide enough to fit the barrel of a rifle through. Lexie stood in front of one and caught a glimpse of the ruined city beyond.

8/3/24 Patty took a deep breath to steady herself as she stared down at her phone. It was so simple, all she had to do was call the number and tell them what she wanted. And yet, her heart wouldn't stop hammering in her chest. Patty didn't know why talking on the phone was such a challenge for her. If she could talk to them in person, that would be perfectly fine. If she could send a text or an email, that would also be easy. But dialing a number and talking over the phone was just too much for Patty.

8/4/24 Eric heaved a heavy sigh. The world was a dark and loathsome pit full of unending misery, just like his soul. Nobody could ever understand him or what he was going through. They all went about their normal lives, blissfully ignorant to true despair. Normal people never had to worry about being accepted by others. Normal people never had to wonder if the girl they liked liked them back. Normal people never had to worry that all their hard work would never be appreciated. Eric was all alone, totally unique in his suffering. He would forever be just a freak.

8/5/24 Danni checked her watch. He was late. Again. She'd been standing by the car for nearly ten minutes now. They were already cutting it close with all the traffic they would have to deal with on the freeway. And then there was no telling how long it would take to get through security. Some days it could be done in five minutes, others could take nearly an hour. But Benson hated waiting around with nothing to do, so he always had to leave everything to the last possible minute. It made Danni's life very difficult. She checked her watch again.