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fluentmoviequoter · 10 days ago

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The Memories Get to Kickin' In

Requested Here!

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!singer!reader (former cop)

Summary: Tim gets roped into going to a concert. He doesn't expect to have his heart broken during the first song, or to apologize to his ex-fiancée.

Warnings: r's stage name is OFCR, angst, breakups, lots of feelings, vulnerable Tim, fluff, Nyla and Angela, I changed the lyrics to 'Nobody Gets Me' by SZA and made up an album title/additional songs

Word Count: 3.2k+ words

Masterlist Directory | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Rules/Info

“Where’s your boot?” Angela asks Nolan.

He looks around quickly, frowning as he answers, “Uh, I know exactly where she is. Do you need her?”

“Yes, we do,” Nyla replies. “So maybe we should find her.”

“Who?” Lucy inquires.

“Celina,” Nolan says.

“Oh, she’s in the bullpen. She got a call or something right after roll call.”

Nolan, Angela, and Nyla follow Lucy to the bullpen. Celina paces back and forth with her phone outside the roll call room. She rubs her thumb against her lip before she slows to type.

“What are you doing?” Lucy asks as they approach her.

Celina startles but doesn’t look up from the screen as she answers, “I’m trying to get concert tickets.”

“This is not the time or place, Juarez,” Nolan chides.

“Wait, Nolan,” Nyla commands, raising her hand toward him. “We have lives outside of police work. What concert?”

“Uh, OFCR,” Celina answers carefully, flitting her eyes quickly between Nyla and her phone.

“Wait, tickets are on sale again?!” Angela exclaims, pulling her phone from her pocket.

“Second presale,” Celina explains. “If you’re on her email list, there’s a code to get in but there’s a waitlist and the site keeps reloading.”

“What’s the limit?” Lucy asks. “I’ll send you money right now to get me a ticket.”

“Five, I think,” Celina answers. “If I ever get through, I’ll get tickets for all of us.”

“Officer?” Nolan repeats.

“Yeah, but it’s o-f-c-r,” Lucy explains. “Bailey listens to her music; you’ve probably heard it.”

“This is the second sale for the LA show, but we couldn’t get tickets the first time,” Angela adds. “They sold out in like 90 seconds.”

“You guys talking about OFCR?” Aaron interjects.

“Yeah, we’re trying to get tickets,” Celina responds.

Aaron unlocks his phone and says, “I got it.”

“Don’t tell me you have a guy for concert tickets, five minutes,” Nyla deadpans.

“No. Well, I do, but I also know OFCR, we’ve been friends for years. How many tickets am I asking for?”

“Can I bring Bailey?” Nolan requests.

“Of course.”

“Then, six- seven if you want to go, Aaron,” Angela says.

“What is going on over here?” Tim demands.

“Eight it is,” Lucy announces with a smile. “Tim, you’re going to a concert with us.”

“Wasn’t a question, Bradford,” Nyla says before he can oppose.

“Alright,” Aaron says. “VIP tickets will be emailed within the hour. I’ll forward them to everybody.”

“VIP?” Celina repeats. “Aaron, you are the best!”

“Me, pssh,” he responds playfully.

“Can we get to work now?” Tim asks.

“Yes, yes,” Lucy answers.

“Bailey is going to be so excited,” Celina tells Nolan as they walk toward the shop.

“Thorsen, wait up,” Tim calls. He approaches Aaron and drops his voice to ask, “Wanna use my ticket for a date or something?”

“No, you’re going. I’m not getting on Nyla’s bad side again.”

“I don’t even know her music, Aaron. Or when the concert is, what if I have plans?”

“Start with Streets of LA, it’s the album she’s touring right now, and if you do, change them.”

“Nyla can’t protect you forever, Thorsen.”

“Yes, I can!” Nyla yells from her desk.

Tim hesitates but presses play on the album Thorsen mentioned. He flexes his fingers under the wrap protecting his knuckles, preparing to hit the heavy bag to clear his mind. When OFCR starts singing, however, Tim freezes. At first, Tim thinks maybe it's because the voice is impressive, but as he listens to the words and finds himself relating to them a bit too much, he turns the music off.

“I’m not going to that concert, Thorsen,” he grumbles as he shuffles his usual playlist and strikes the bag.

Tim asks Wade to be given desk duty the day of the concert so he doesn’t have to hear the others gushing about OFCR all day.

“No,” Wade answers immediately. “You have a job to do. Besides, the girl can sing.”

“It’s not about whether she has talent, it’s that I’d prefer to do my job without hearing speculation about what color her shoes will be.”

“Luna thinks blue,” Wade says with a smile.

“Oh, come on.”

“Have a good day, Bradford.”

When Tim finally gets home, he sighs and sags against the front door. However, someone knocks on the door before he can think about what he wants for dinner. He opens it and sees Angela and Nyla standing in matching shirts bearing the letters OFCR in a font that looks like painted roads.

“Let’s go,” Nyla demands.

“Maybe you should change first, actually,” Angela interjects. “Do you want help picking an outfit?”

“I am not your child, Lopez,” Tim snaps.

“Then stop acting like one, Timothy. You have two minutes to change, spray cologne, whatever it is you do.”

Tim considers arguing briefly, then nods and disappears down the hall. He dresses quickly, feeds Kojo and ensures he has water, then follows Nyla and Angela to the car.

“It’s a limo,” he realizes aloud.

“Oh, yeah, when Hollywood said they were great friends, he meant it,” Nyla muses.

“Apparently Lincoln helped her get in with a label and a producer buddy of his, and since she and Aaron are pretty close in age, he introduced them. They hit it off and have been friends ever since,” Angela adds.

“Is that why you listen to her music? Because of Thorsen?” Tim inquires.

“No,” Nyla says. “We listen to her music because it’s good.”

“And she sings about things we can relate to. She seems pretty amazing.”

“So did Charles Manson,” Tim grumbles as the driver pulls away from the curb.

From their VIP seats, they have a clear view of the stage without any screaming fans blocking the stage. Lucy records one of the songs performed by the opening act while Bailey, Nyla, Angela, and Celina talk about which songs they are most excited to hear OFCR perform.

“Nobody Gets Me is probably my favorite,” Bailey says.

“Oh, yes!” Celina agrees.

“So good,” Angela adds.

Aaron returns with a bag of OFCR merchandise and smiles. “Showtime.”

The lights dim, and the crowd silences. Tim watches, growing restless as he sits between Angela and Nyla like they think he’ll run. At the sound of OFCR’s voice, however, he’s frozen just as he had been in the gym, yet he still doesn’t understand why.

“Los Angeles!” you call into the microphone, looking out into the dark arena. “I need you to sing this first song with me.” The crowd roars, and you smile as you continue, “It’s about my ex-fiancé. He will not talk to me, so we’re gonna sing this for him. You ready, LA?”

The lights come up, and you stand in the oversized flower display the set designer built specially for this performance. It’s an inverted version of the last bouquet your ex got you, and it means nearly as much as the song.

“Took a long vacation, no uniform, just sandy. You kissed me, now we silent, Los Angeles was ours to rule then. So tired, screamin’, ‘What now?’ Love me, but I’m anythin’. Hurry now, baby, kiss me ‘fore the memories get to kickin’ in. It’s too late, I don’t wanna lose what’s left of you,” you sing, standing from the flower petals as the sold-out arena screams the lyrics with you.

Tim watches you from the VIP section to your right with no discernable expression. His breaths are uneven, but he can’t look away as his chest tightens, feeling as if his heart will rupture from the pressure. He suddenly understands why he related so much to the song he heard. Like this one, it was about him.

Angela and Nyla stand with Lucy to sing together. Tim only watches you, listening to every word you’re saying and wondering if knowing you felt this way would have changed what he did. What he’s still doing.

“How am I supposed to tell ya? I don’t wanna see you with anyone but me, Nobody gets me like you. How am I supposed to let you go? Only like myself when I’m with you. Nobody gets me, you do,” you sing with the crowd.

When you step away from the inverted bouquet, which Tim recognized the moment you became visible, Tim watches you. His lips pick up at the corner at the sight of you, but he knows.

“Took me out to ballpark, you proposed, I went on patrol, you was feelin’ guilty, so you left me, now I’m stuck dealin’ with a deadbeat,” you sing.

If Tim had any doubt left, that would have eliminated it. You’re not OFCR, the singer his friends love, you’re you, Tim Bradford’s ex-fiancée. The woman he would do anything for; the woman he left because he thought it was what was best for you. The woman he thinks about every night and the woman he now realizes isn’t a better police officer without him.

“If I’m real, I deserve less. If I was you, I wouldn’t take me back.”

At that line, Tim stands and pushes his way past Angela. He exits the arena, and though he can still hear you singing inside, it’s muffled, and Tim can breathe.

Aaron rushes out behind him and raises his arms as he asks, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s stuffy in there,” Tim lies.

“Sure,” Aaron agrees slowly. “Is that all?”

Tim narrows his eyes and says, “Yes.”

“Okay. Because I know her. But I’m guessing I don’t know her like you do.”

“You don’t know anything, Thorsen. Leave it alone.”

Aaron remains silent for a moment, then asks, “If you did something similar to the guy in the song, maybe listening to it can help you find a way to fix it.”

“Not everything can be fixed, Aaron. There won’t always be a rich friend ready to get you things you couldn’t get otherwise, there isn’t always a second chance, and people fall out of love. It’s the real world.”

“Despite what you think about me, I know the real world too well. And it has taught me that when it comes to doing the right thing, there are second chances, even if they aren’t exactly what you want them to be. Sometimes an apology doesn’t take things back to how they used to be, but it’s something. Come back whenever you’re ready.”

Tim doesn’t acknowledge Aaron, but deep down, he knows that he is right. If he can get through the concert, listen to your songs, maybe he can unblock your number and send you a text to apologize. And then you can both move on with your lives.

“I see your sign,” you call with a smile as Tim returns to his seat. “I’m going to sing it later, I promise. What I want to do right now, though, is tell you guys that half of the proceeds from our merchandise sales tonight are going back to Los Angeles. I’m sure some of you know that I was a police officer here for a while, and I still love LA, despite all the scars it gave me. So, what you buy tonight is helping this city. There are also some LA-specific items, which I already see some of you wearing, and 100% of those sales are going directly to the LA Police and Fire departments. So, thank you for all of your support, and let’s sing another song.”

At the end of the concert, Aaron tells the others that there’s a back exit they can use to bypass the crowds. As they follow him down a hallway, Angela, Nyla, Lucy, Bailey, and Celina talk about how amazing the show was and how great your second outfit looked on you.

“Did you decide to do something?” Aaron asks Tim under his breath.

Tim nods, and then Nolan asks everyone if their favorite song has changed after hearing so many live.

“Aaron!” you exclaim as you walk into the hallway from your dressing room. You hug him and say, “Thank you so much for coming.”

“Thanks for hooking us up,” Aaron replies. “You were amazing, as always.”

“You dad tell you to say that?” you joke. You realize that his friends are staring at you and wave as you say, “Hi. Thank you so much for coming, I hope you enjoyed it.”

“Enjoyed?” Angela repeats. “This was the best day of my life, and I have kids.”

“Agreed,” Nyla adds quickly.

“You are incredibly talented,” Celina compliments. “All of your music is so heartfelt and meaningful but also sounds great.”

“You’re all being way too nice to me,” you interrupt with a laugh. “And I am terrible at accepting compliments, so please stop. Are you all cops?”

“We are,” Nolan replies. “Mid-Wilshire.”

“I know it well.”

“I bet,” Aaron murmurs.

When you glance at him with your brows pinched, he cuts his eyes toward Tim, who is standing against the wall on the other side of the hall. Your eyes meet Tim’s, and you immediately look away.

“Hi,” you whisper, keeping your eyes down.

“Hey,” he replies softly.

“Well, guys,” Aaron says, clapping his hands together. “Let’s go. Tim, I’ll send a car for you.”

“Thorsen,” Tim warns.

“Can’t hear you,” Nyla interrupts. “We’re going. He’ll send a car.”

Angela nods at Tim, then pats his arm as she passes. Though Aaron is the only one who has an idea of what is happening between you and Tim, his friends can tell that he isn’t himself.

“I didn’t know you knew Aaron,” you say once you’re alone.

“Yeah, they, uh- they made me come,” Tim explains.

You scoff and say, “No one can make you do anything, Tim.”

“I didn’t know it was you. Didn’t know you were OFCR.”

“That I believe. Look, I’m sorry this is awkward, but you don’t have to stay, you can catch up to your friends and-“

“I’m sorry,” Tim interrupts. You look up at him, your expression shocked and confused but soft. It takes every bit of willpower Tim has not to reach out to you.

“Don’t,” you plead.

“I thought I was doing what was best for you,” he continues. “I thought breaking off the engagement would make you be a better cop, give you less to lose.”

“I lost you anyway,” you remind him, your voice breaking. You shake your head and look away from Tim as you add, “Tim, that hurt worse than anything else I’ve ever dealt with.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop apologizing. There- it’s over, and now you know who I am and that I wrote a bunch of songs about you because… because nobody gets me anymore and I couldn’t even talk to you about it.”

Tim remains silent momentarily, but then he pushes off the wall to be a few inches closer to you. “Why’d you leave the force?”

“Are you serious? How was I supposed to go to work every day knowing I would see you? The week after you left made me question everything. I couldn’t stand not knowing what would happen each day, and the idea of seeing you with someone else was more than I could handle. There wasn’t any reason to keep serving when I couldn’t even take care of myself.”

“I never intended for it to be like that.”

“But it was.”

You look at Tim with tears in your eyes, and he takes a step closer.

“I didn’t want to,” he admits. “You were… I thought I was a distraction, that if you weren’t worried about me and us that you’d be able to protect yourself and do your job.”

You nod, trying to understand.

“In the song, you said you deserve less. You don’t really believe that do you?” Tim inquires.

“I don’t know what I believe anymore. You hurt me Tim, and there are days where I don’t think I’ll ever get past it.”

“Can I say anything to make this better?”

“Are you happy?”

“I haven’t been happy since we left the Dodgers game and you had a ring on your finger,” Tim confesses.

“Why didn’t you just talk to me then? Why did you walk out of my life and then make sure I couldn’t get back in? I know you blocked me on everything because after I left I tried to talk to you.”

“I don’t know. At the time, it seemed like a clean break would be better for you.”

“All this talk about what’s best for me, but you never once stopped to ask yourself what I might want? I have never been happier than I was with you, and there is only one you.”

“I-“

“You should go. Aaron’s driver is probably waiting for you.”

You turn and walk to your dressing room, and Tim watches you go. He doesn’t reach out to you, doesn’t say your name or ask you to wait, he just lets you go again.

In your dressing room, you drop your head into your hands and let your tears fall. You expected the show to bring back some unpleasant feelings but seeing Tim Bradford brings back everything you’ve buried over the years, and the hurt feels fresh.

Someone knocks on your door, and you call, “Just a minute.”

“No,” Tim replies from the other side. “This can’t wait.”

You open the door slowly, and Tim doesn’t let you speak before he says, “You deserved more. I thought it was best for you, but I realize that I was wrong. Listening to you sing about what I put you through… broke my heart. I can’t leave you again with you thinking that I deserve more than you or that I don’t care about what I did. I’ve loved you since before I first told you.”

“Tim, please don’t do this,” you plead.

“Do you really believe that nobody gets you like I do?”

You tell yourself not to answer, but you nod regardless.

“Then let me show you I still do. One more chance, and if you want to walk away, I’ll let you.”

“We can’t just pick up where we left off, Tim, it doesn’t work like that.”

Tim raises his hand toward you, palm up, and you step toward him. When his hand meets your jaw, you sigh and pinch your eyes closed, pushing fresh tears down your cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You smile and admit, “I never stopped loving you, either.”

“May I?”

“Kiss me.”

“Let the memories in,” Tim tells you. “We can do this, but not if we forget where we – I – messed up, we don’t stand a chance.”

“Tim, if you don’t kiss me, I’m going to start singing about how much I cried when I recorded these songs.”

Tim drops his hand from your face, but before you ask what’s wrong, he pulls a chain from under his shirt. It has your engagement ring band on it, and you lay your hand on his chest.

“And I thought I was sentimental,” you murmur.

“I have a lot to make up for,” Tim says before he brushes his lips against yours.

“Maybe we should just start over,” you suggest, wrapping your arms over his shoulders. “I could use a new muse to sing about.”

“As long as you don’t tell Aaron he was right.”

“I’m not done with my tour yet,” you remind him, pulling back.

Tim catches your arms before they fall to your sides and holds you close. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “As long as it takes.”

“I love you, Tim Bradford,” you murmur.

“You move fast,” he jokes before you shut him up with another kiss.

#tim bradford x reader #tim bradford fic #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford x fem!reader #tim bradford x you #fem!reader #requests #hanna writes✯#the rookie x reader #the rookie abc

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maladaptiveobsession · 3 months ago

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“Jealousy and Isolation”

Synopsis: How might the yandere DOL NPCs isolate the player?

Contains: gn!reader, gn!NPCs, abduction, body mutilation, blackmailing, coercion, death, degradation, drowning, gas lighting, isolation, manipulation, murder, restraints, surveillance, threats of suicide, threats of violence, yandere

Words: 1,050

A/N: Ivory Wraith presents a unique case, so they get an entire section dedicated just to them. I’m not completely satisfied with this, but I can’t bear to stare at it for a second more.

Manipulation

They use your fears against you. Town isn’t safe; you’ve said so yourself. Don’t go anywhere. No harm can come to you so long as you stay by their side. Just let them shoulder your burdens. They’ll support you and take care of you. You only need them.

➥ Alex, high love!Avery Bailey, Black Wolf, Charlie, Darryl, Doren, Eden, Great Hawk, Gwylan, Harper,Jordan, Kylar, Landry, Mickey, Morgan, Relaxed Guard, Remy, high confidence!Robin, Scarred Inmate, Sydney, Quinn, Sam, Sirris, Veteran Guard, Whitney, Winter, Zephyr

Every insecurity is weaponized, reminding you constantly just how weak and alone you truly are. You’re less likely to rebel if you think so little of yourself. Only they won’t abandon you by the wayside. Who else gives a damn about you? Can’t you see how much you need them?

➥ high dom!Alex, Anxious Gaurd, Avery, Bailey, Black Wolf, Briar, Charlie, Eden, Harper, Jordan, Leighton, Mason, Methodical Gaurd, Niki,, Remy, Quinn, Sam, Scarred Inmate, pure!Sydney, Veteran Gaurd, Whitney

They take advantage of your emotions: guilt tripping, love bombing, and holding you hostage using their life. Haven’t they proven themself capable? Haven’t they shown how much they care? Does what you have mean nothing to you? It’s so lonely without you. They need you. Please don’t go. Can’t you see how much they love you? They can’t live without you. Don’t make them do something you’ll both regret.

➥ low dom!Alex, high love!Eden, Charlie, Darryl, Doren, Great Hawk, Gwylan, Kylar, Mickey, River, Robin, Sam, Sirris, corrupt!Sydney, high love!Whitney, Wren

Coercion/Intimidation

It would be a shame if your friends suddenly disappeared, wouldn’t it? One by one, everyone you care about is disposed of in some puzzling manner or another. Who could have predicted this series of unfortunate events? It’s just such a dangerous place, you know?

➥ Avery, Bailey, Briar, Eden, Jordan, Kylar, Mickey, Niki, Quinn, Remy, Scarred Inmate, Veteran Guard, Wren, Zephyr

You can certainly try to get away, but your life will be torn to shambles. Failing school, struggling to find work, and/or suddenly a social pariah? Maybe you were better off with them, after all. Grovel for forgiveness, and perhaps they’ll take you back.

➥ Anxious Guard, Avery, Bailey, Briar, Charlie, Jordan, Leighton, Mason, Mickey, Niki, Quinn, Relaxed Gaurd, Remy, high confidence!Robin, Sam, Sirris, Whitney, Winter

Blackmailing you is laughably easy. There’s so much dirt to choose from! Disobey their commands, and suddenly the whole town will know of your affairs. Perhaps the police will knock on your door, finally having enough evidence for an arrest? If you enjoy your privacy and freedom, you’d best listen well.

➥ Avery, Bailey, Briar, Harper, Jordan, Landry, Leighton, Mason, Mickey, Niki, Quinn, Relaxed Guard, Remy, pure!Sydney, Whitney, Wren

Abduction/confinement

You made them do this; you left them with no other choice. You can’t leave; not now, nor ever. The thought of losing you is unbearable. Don’t worry; they’ll take care of you now that you’re home.

➥ Alex, Anxious Guard, high love!Avery, Bailey, Black Wolf, Eden, Great Hawk, Gwylan, high confidence!Robin, Jordan, Kylar, Landry, Mickey, Morgan, Relaxed Guard, River, Sam, Sirris, Sydney, Veteran Guard, Wren

Much too impatient and suspicious of a person, you’re kidnapped with little to no hesitation. There was too much risk in letting you roam free. You’d have made a mess of things, but that was in the past. Now, nobody could steal what belonged to them. You’d be going nowhere so long as they were near.

➥ Avery, Bailey, Briar, Eden, Harper, Kylar, Landry, Mickey, Methodical Guard, Niki, Relaxed Gaurd, Remy, Scared Inmate, Veteran Guard, Zephyr

It hadn’t been intentional, but there was no turning back. Whether recovering from an injury while under their care or simply utilizing their home as a safe haven, your presence became a familiar constant—intoxicating, addictive, and natural. The reality of you leaving sunk in slowly, despair gnashing at their nerves each time the topic was broached. No, it hadn’t been intentional, but their dependency on you pressed against their throat like a knife. Life without you was inconceivable. You can’t leave yet; they’re not sure they ever want you to leave. They supported you in your time of need. Return the favor by staying, will you? Don’t force their hand; there’s no telling what they might do if you resist—anything to keep you right where you belong.

➥ Alex, Avery, Bailey, Charlie, Darryl, Doren, Gwylan, Jordan, Landry, Leighton, Mason, Methodical Guard, Niki, Relaxed Guard, Remy, River, Robin, Sam, Sirris, Sydney, Veteran Guard, Whitney, Winter, Wren

Restrained with whatever they have on hand: rope, shackles, straightjacket, cages, handcuffs, leashes, and the like. Don’t complain; they’d have no need to do this if you weren’t a flight risk. There’s certainly no hope of freedom when you can’t even sit up or use the bathroom without help. You’re more likely to injure yourself, but if you do somehow manage to undo your restraints, heavily locked doors and windows keep you from going anywhere.

➥ Little to no hesitation: high dom! Alex Anxious Guard, Avery, Bailey, Briar, Eden, Harper, Kylar, Methodical Guard, Niki, Relaxed Guard, Remy, Scared Inmate, Sirris, corrupt!Sydney, Veteran Guard, Whitney, Winter, Wren, Zephyr

➥ Reluctant last resort: Charlie, Darryl, Jordan, Mason, Mickey, River, confident!Robin, pure!Sydney

Your every moment is monitored. The constant surveillance dehumanizes you and fills you with paranoia. They always know where you are and what you’re doing. Your absence will be noted immediately, so don’t even think about leaving them. Temporary freedom is not worth the punishment.

➥ Anxious Guard, Avery, Bailey, Briar, Darryl, Harper, Jordan, Kylar, Landry, Methodical Guard, Mickey, Niki, Sydney, Quinn, Sirris, Vereran Guard, Wren

Perhaps some solitary confinement will do you good. You can only handle the seclusion for so long before the craving for any form of human contact sets in. Well-behaved darlings get cuddles and comfort; disobedience, however, won’t be tolerated. You’ll realize just how much you need them when they’re all you have.

➥ Little to no hesitation: high dom!Alex, Anxious Guard, Avery, low love!Eden, Harper, Methodical Guard, Niki, Relaxed Guard, Remy, Sirris, Zephyr

➥ Reluctant last resort: Bailey, high love!eden, Charlie, Jordan, Mason, River, Sam

They’ll dull your temper by keeping you intoxicated, too junked up to even dream of escape. You’re so much more pleasant and cooperative this way; so eyes void of thought. You don’t even resist when their hands wander, giggly and playful and responsive. While they do miss your authentic self, the power they wield over you is much too appealing to surrender. Why, you can hardly feed yourself! Subduing any fits of clarity is laughably easy when you’re body is unresponsive to your efforts. There’s just no way you could leave with mush for brain.

➥ Little to no hesitation: Anxious Guard, Avery, Briar, Harper, Kylar, Leighton, Niki, Quinn, Sirris

➥ Reluctant last resort: Mickey, Relaxed Guard, Whitney, Wren

Don’t make them hurt you. They’re not above breaking a few bones to immobilize you and send a message. You could even lose your vision or leg entirely. It’s not like they wanted to disable you, but you left them no other choice. Now, you really won’t be able to leave, having to depend on them for just about everything. You should have listened; at least then you’d still be able to walk yourself to the toilet.

➥ Little to no hesitation: Briar, low love!Eden, Harper, jealous!Kylar, Leighton, Methodical Guard, Morgan, Quinn, low love/high dom Whitney, Zephyr

➥ Reluctant last resort: high dom!Alex, high love!Avery Bailey, Jordan, Kylar, Relaxed Guard, Remy, Veteran Guard, high love!Whitney, Wren

Death

If they can’t have you, no one can. You can’t abandon them if you’re dead; you can’t do much of anything, in fact. Fueled by obsessive hysteria, your life is cut short. Viscera paints your skin, body tight from rigor mortis. Though you can no longer kiss them, hold them, or whisper tender affections in their ear, nobody can steal you away from them. Even as your body molds, bowels becoming home to maggots, you’ll at least never leave. Even as your flesh melts to reveal bones, you’re still only theirs.

➥ Harper, Kylar, Morgan

Their capabilities wax and wane with the moon, only ever to call you home when the blood moon dyes the night skies red. Some cycles, you evade them entirely. They so desperately crave your touch, the longing intensifying with each passing lunation. The desire to possess you had since long replaced the resentment. No longer did they seek restitution, but rather your continued company. Though a grave robber you may be, you belonged to them all the same. The wraith owned so very few things—one of which you so cruelly stole—so forgive them if they’re not keen to share. Your departure each moon was torturous and heart-wrenching. It occurred to them that you would only remain if the option to leave was stricken. Mindless tentacles confined you deep under the lake surface, large hands possessively clasping your neck. Grave robber and grave dancer united by death—drowned in the cold depths and buried by water—as two, as one. Bound as malefic phantoms, days mean nothing in the maw of forever.

➥ Ivory Wraith

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sexhaver · 1 year ago

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there's this really cool phenomenon that happens sometimes with computer-illiterate people (especially on the internet) where they'll ask me/someone else with a CS degree how to do something relatively complicated/nonobvious, like commenting "how do i download this file" directly on a github repository, or bailey asking me to get her Skyrim installation with upwards of 50 mods that have not been updated in months to launch without throwing a fatal compatibility error, or someone at my old job asking why our proprietary software wouldn't launch after he updated a robot drive; and when the CS person in question starts explaining using basic industry-standard terms like "driver" and "command line" they get snappily told that not everyone knows fancy computer jargon like they do, so they slow down and define every single basic term as they encounter it, which takes forever (especially via text/over the internet) and inevitably results in the other person going "wow that sounds way too complicated for me", and eventually the CS person gets tired of having to explain networking troubleshooting procedures as if to a toddler, and they tell people to just google the terms they don't understand to find a better explanation online than whatever they (the CS person) would have written, at which point the computer-illiterate person goes "wow, this is why everyone thinks tech bros are so stuck up and elitist". yes i worked in tech support for a year and a half why do you ask

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writereleaserepeat · 8 days ago

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Hear No Evil - Chapter 3

Masterlist

Chapter 2 // Next (Chapter 3) (tbd)

CW: bbu, bbu-typical institutional slavery, nonsexual and sexual nudity, implied prior noncon, it/its pronouns used to dehumanize

Rowan stared down, transfixed on the boy kneeling at his feet. The starkness of it all washed through his blood like ice. His eyes swept over the pale, naked skin, a canvas covered in scars that spanned hues from pale white to deep red. Fresh bruises overlaid the scars, a similar patchwork of purples and blues that belied the shape of handprints and bludgeoning tools. As he drank in the carnage, it dawned on Rowan that the boy was even scrawnier than he’d suspected when peering through the bars of the cage on the sales floor. Now, in the bright lights of his condo, he could see frail that ribs showed through the taut skin of the boy's back.

Then, Rowan’s eyes locked on the thick, standard-issue leather collar, the only item resembling clothes this boy had been afforded for transit. It was tight around his neck, a small padlock affixed in the back. Rowan knew that the key had been secured somewhere in the box, likely in a packet along with the rest of the paperwork. The paperwork, of course, that was affixed to the lid of the empty box just a few feet away.

“Hey there,” Rowan said, using the same voice he would if he were speaking to an injured child. What else could he do? He was in a position of undeniable power and influence, and the least he could do was try to reduce the threat of his very presence. “My name is Rowan Bailey, but uh, you can just call me Rowan. Welcome home. Well, it doesn’t have to be your home forever, but uh, for now, yeah? Oh, man, I’m getting ahead of myself here. I’m already talking too much, I know, I’m sorry. I just want you to know that you’re safe now. That’s the most important part. You’re safe now, and you’re going to live here for a little while, and I’m going to help you. You’re safe, I promise”

The boy didn’t react, didn’t flinch, didn’t lift his head. Rowan bit down on his lower lip, still tender from where he’d worried it raw overnight. Part of him wondered if even a single word of what he’d just said had gotten through, stirred any understanding, instilled any comfort. How could it, when Rowan didn’t even believe in himself?

---

The pet strained to make out what Master was saying. There was a warm buzz of words above its head, but it couldn’t discern a single one. Master had certainly said a lot, and the pet could only hope that there hadn’t been any important instructions. Its first impression with its new master was important, it knew that. Its old master had discarded it for this same insolence, this same tendency to ignore his words and to exist only between the ringing of its own ears.

So the pet strained further, titled its chin up just a little bit, hoping that it could steal a glance upwards and to Master’s lips. Then, only then, it might be able to discern the commands from the other rambling words. And if it failed to do so now, it would certainly feel the sting of its disobedience in short order.

---

The boy didn’t move, much to Rowan’s disappointment. He felt almost certain that he’d said something wrong, or otherwise not said something that he should have to get his attention. It’s not like he could ask the boy’s name – he knew that the so-called pets were expected to respond to their ID numbers, but there were no proper names given – and it’s not like they could speak as equals until some serious deprogramming had taken place. As far as the boy was concerned, Rowan owned him body, mind, and soul. There was no conversation to be had.

Rowan took another breath to muse over his current situation. He wrung his hands together to hide the fact that his fingers were shaking, body buzzing with adrenaline. All he’d done so far was talk, rambling and tripping over his words, a directionless prattling of platitudes. Since he hadn’t issued an explicit command, perhaps, it was possible the boy wasn’t going to move or respond until Rowan gave him something more to work with.

For all his time and effort invested into the PLF and its mission to liberate people from oppression, Rowan had never spent much time with victims in active rehabilitation, and certainly none in the early stages of rescue like this. He was trained to blend into the crowds of buyers, of skeptics, of men poisoned by lechery, lust, and power. His mission was to capture the horrors, the abuses, to steel his stomach against the cogs of the system and the bodies it crushed as they turned. And with the coolness of an undercover operative, he’d sit at this desk into the early hours of the morning, stitching together the footage and audio that he’d spent his weekends capturing. It was the niche in which he’d thrived, and it was one that he’d never had an interest in moving beyond.

Facing the victims that had been pulled out of hell was a different skillset altogether. Rowan believed it wasn’t just a different skillset, but an entirely different personality type, that was required to do such important work. To try and heal the victims, to see them clawing their way to personhood from brokenness, had always put a deep discomfort in his bones.

But now, his own discomfort would have to be secondary. He’d made the decision to bring this boy into his home, and now it was his solemn duty and obligation to bring the boy from where he knelt now and into a future of freedom. Rowan knew that it would take the heart of a man much stronger and braver than himself in the moment, but for now, he was all the boy had.

“Alright,” he said out loud, hoping his voice sounded steady despite his nerves. “I’m going to head over to the box you got here in, yeah? I’m going to grab the papers there and find the key to undo your collar. Once I get that off, I’ll show you your room and some of the clothes I got for you. I think- well, I know that the papers lied about your weight, so I’m sorry if the clothes are a bit big. You can get dressed and then I’ll make us lunch. I’m sure you’re hungry – have they fed you? Oh, that’s a stupid question, of course they haven’t, they never give food or water before transport. Right. That’ll be our second order of business, then. Collar off, bedroom and clothes, then food and water. That sounds like a plan, yeah?”

Rowan thought he could see the boy’s head perk up just slightly, almost imperceptibly, eyes peeking up between thick black eyelashes and unkempt hair. But as soon as Rowan peered down at the boy’s face, that same gaze darted back down.

“Oh, it’s okay, you can look at me,” Rowan continued to ramble as he fished the key to the collar’s padlock out of the black bag that included another standard-issue collar, an ID tag with Rowan’s contact information and the boy’s WRU number, and a referral card to WRU-sponsored electric collars. Once the collar was off the boy’s neck, this whole bag would be disposed of, Rowan was sure of that. He’d never have to wear such a cruel device again, not so long as Rowan was breathing.

Despite his attempt at reassurance, the boy kept his eyes glued to the floor. If they were going to make any progress, Rowan knew he couldn’t let it bother him, and he certainly couldn’t take that behavior personally. They had to take this at the boy’s pace, not his own. However slow that would be, Rowan had to be okay with it.

“I’m going to touch your neck now,” he said as he leaned down towards the collar. “You can let me know if I need to stop. I’m just going to unlock this collar, and then I’m going take it off.” Just as the rehabilitation materials had encouraged, Rowan walked through every step of what he was going to do, using plain words and reassurances.

He also knew that he’d receive no protest. Resistance and the concept of refusal were trained out of victims of the system, so he just had to hope that he was doing right by the boy in removing the collar right from the start. Part of him wondered if this action was for his own comfort rather than his new guest’s comfort, but he couldn’t stomach such a blatant sign of the system binding this victim. There was no way he could hope to begin rehabilitation with a mark of ownership sitting heavy on the victim’s neck.

The padlock came undone with just a slight twist of the key, and the collar came unbuckled just as easily. Rowan eased the collar off and stuffed it in the bag, tossed the key in after it, and cinched it shut. It would go in the bin just as soon as the boy was settled in.

“There, how’s that feel? It must feel nice to let that skin breathe a bit. I’ll take care of that – I promise you’ll never have to see that collar again.”

---

The pet felt more naked without its collar than it actually felt from its true nakedness. The collar from its old master had been exchanged for a standard-issue collar once it had been processed through the facility, but it seemed that Master had no intention of fitting it for a new one at the moment. That was okay with the pet, of course it was, because its job was to abide by its new master’s preferences. If that meant that it would go without a collar, so be it. Perhaps Master had a different mark of ownership that he preferred.

Master was talking still, going on and on, a soft hum of sound that wrapped through the hall. He’d stepped to the side, so the pet couldn’t try to read his lips even if it dared to look up. Given that there was no shouting, or no blows against its body, it figured that there hadn’t been a command yet. It strained its senses for the sharp bark of a command, a change in tone that would indicate the pet’s attention was needed, but none came.

Instead, Master began to walk down the hall, spilling words into empty air. After a moment Master’s footsteps stopped, and turned back towards the pet.

Oh, the pet realized with a jolt of fear up its spine, Master wanted it to follow.

So, follow it did. It did so on its hands and knees, as was expected unless given the command to stand and walk, and it followed Master down the hallways of its new quarters. Something inside its chest tightened, a sensation of both fear and excitement. What awaited it down this hall? What would its first few hours here with Master bring? Its skin puckered with the lingering chill of transport, and its body ached with the final bruises and scars of the latest refurbishment cycle, but it could bear whatever lessons Master was going to imbue. After all, it wanted nothing more than to serve Master with all of its being. It wanted to be good.

---

“You, ah, can walk if you’d prefer. Upright, that is, on your feet. Or, uhm, if that’s more comfortable for you right now, that’s fine too.” Rowan felt like he was tripping over his words as he looked back at the boy crawling behind him. It was enough to make him feel like he was going to be sick.

This isn’t about you, he reminded himself again. This isn’t about you and your comfort level. Get comfortable with being uncomfortable.

The second bedroom was the first door past the kitchen, a door which Rowan had left ajar. He’d purchased a two-bedroom condo with the intention to use the second bedroom as his office, which it had been for the last three years. That was, of course, until the early hours of the morning as he’d prepared for the boy’s arrival.

In many ways it was still more of an office than a bedroom. A few hours had only given Rowan so much time to redo the space in preparation for his guest’s arrival. There were some things – including way too many boxes of old AV equipment piled in the far corner – that wouldn’t have a place in the condo otherwise. But Rowan had still managed to take out the desk and his main workstation so the futon would fit comfortably. He’d also filled the filing cabinet drawers with the clothes he’d purchased for the boy, a temporary fix that would have to be sufficient until he got a proper dresser set up. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. It was certainly more than the boy would have been afforded in the training facility.

“Here we are,” Rowan said as he swung the door fully open and turned on the light, “this is your room. I know it’s really messy right now, and that there’s a lot of junk in here, but I’ll have that moved out in no time. But, yeah, the futon is yours, your bed I mean. All of those blankets are yours too, but you don’t have to use them all, just however many you want. I didn’t have more than one extra pillow, but I have another one on order. I’ll get around to ordering you a proper bed this week, you know, a mattress and all, plus some new sheets. Those sheets there are clean, I promise, but I didn’t have time to patch the holes or deal with the fraying. I mean, okay, I didn’t have time to do even half of what I wanted before you got here. But this was kind of a last minute thing. I know that doesn’t make it right. But, I mean, those clothes are yours, feel free to put them on. If you don’t like those, there are some more in the filing cabinet over there, some different options for pants and shirts and stuff, maybe you’ll want to layer up. I bet it’s a little cold in here for you, yeah? I can turn up the heat. Or if you’re fine, I won’t. It’s your call, yeah.”

Rowan wished he had the ability to shut up. He was usually more composed, more succinct in his words, concise and direct. Silence and attentiveness was his trade. Now, with the world shifting beneath his feet - the feet at which a young man knelt - he felt like he was coming undone. Words came freely from an otherwise tightly-sealed mouth. But the boy crawled into the room with fluid determination, clearly indicative he’d retained something from Rowan’s rambling.

Instead of going to the bed, and instead of proceeding towards the filing cabinet with the clothes, the boy crawled to the center of the floorspace that Rowan had cleared and resumed his kneeling position there. Motionless.

---

The pet tried to glimpse what it could of the room as it moved forward, head bowed, eyes supposed to be on the floor. There was something resembling a bed to its left, and piles of boxes to its right. There was some furniture further into the room it couldn’t quite get a good look at, not from this angle. Still, it could sense the room was small, furnished as though it were an afterthought.

Master was much chattier than its old master, a continuous hum of noise that should be words, but words that the pet couldn’t quite hear. It was still all too distant through the ringing in its ears. Fear replaced frustration, it always did now, ever since the last of its hearing had started to fade. Its attempt to obey any commands, even at the training facility, were usually its best guesses. Only when its old master or its trainers would raise their voices, bringing their yells to a fever pitch, could it reliably decipher what they wanted.

Of course, it couldn’t raise the issue with them. For as much as hearing had been taken from it, speaking had been taken from it as well. A pet was seen, and not heard. Its old master had commanded complete and utter silence, and since the pet had failed to obey that simple principle, it had paid in its hearing.

Silence. And so now, as it knelt and prostrated before Master, it ensured its breath was level. No errant wheezing, no sobs choked up in the back of its throat, no whining or whimpering. Silence, beautiful silence, and listening as best it could for whatever command might follow.

---

“You go ahead and get dressed, yeah? I’m going to head to the kitchen get us both something to eat. I’m not really sure I have the stomach for it – hell, I’m not sure you do either – but it’ll be easier to tackle the day with some food in our systems. I’ll make sure to get you some water too, you’re probably parched. I’ll shut the door so you have some privacy, and I should be back in just a little.”

Rowan still wasn’t sure whether any of his words were getting through, but he knew he had to try. A few steps back and he shut the door, giving the boy enough time to cover himself in private. In the meantime, Rowan turned his attention to making something resembling a meal. He had picked up a smattering of ingredients from the supermarket last night, as much as he could grab in the fifteen minutes before it had closed. That haphazard grocery haul had included a few varieties of jams and breads. Rowan had no idea if the boy had any personal preferences for his sandwiches, and he had a feeling that he wasn’t going to learn any time soon.

“Can’t go wrong with a PB&J, right?” He muttered to himself as he opened the fridge to grab the bright purple grape jelly. “That’s a solid meal, shouldn’t upset the stomach, palatable by most people’s standards. Yeah, some peanut butter and grape jelly for me and him, that’s the plan.”

The sandwiches came together quickly, although Rowan paused to put an extra spoonful of peanut butter on the boy’s sandwich, and then another. It looked like he was at least thirty pounds lighter than had been marked in his WRU papers, and likely at least twenty pounds lighter than he should be for his size. Although Rowan wouldn’t be able to tell for certain until he convinced the boy to stand, it seemed that there would be a lot of dense and calorie-rich meals in the boy’s future. But as with everything else, healing from starvation would require time and the intervention of professionals much better equipped than Rowan. A sandwich would have to be a good enough start.

Rowan fished his phone out of his back pocket and glanced at it. The screen was blank – no missed calls, no missed texts. It seemed that the rehabilitator hadn’t called him yet. After double-checking to make sure that his ringer was on so he wouldn’t miss the call when it came, he grabbed the plate with the boy’s sandwich, as well as a fresh glass of water, and took it back to the bedroom.

A knock on the bedroom door elicited no reaction, not even a creak of the floorboards. Rowan hadn’t exactly expected an answer, but he still paused an extra moment before pushing the door open.

To his disappointment, but certainly not his surprise, the boy was kneeling in the exact same position he’d been left in almost ten minutes prior. The blankets hadn’t moved, the drawers hadn’t been opened, and the boy was still naked. He clearly hadn’t moved a muscle.

“Alright, you don’t have to get dressed, I guess,” Rowan tried. Again, he would certainly feel better if the boy got dressed, but he wasn’t going to push his luck. Not yet. Clothes would come in due time, and as long as he was meeting the boy’s needs, discomfort was survivable.

Instead of pressing the matter further he knelt and placed the plate and glass of water within his new guest’s reach. Even this didn’t elicit any movement. Maybe, just maybe, Rowan thought he saw the boy draw in a slightly deeper breath, skin shifting over his stark and visible ribs. Perhaps it was just a trick of the light.

Before Rowan could speak again, his phone rang.

Ah, shit. A quick glance at the screen confirmed that it was the call he’d been waiting for.

“I’m real sorry, I have to take this call,” Rowan said while scrambling to his feet. “I’ll be back soon – you can go ahead and eat and drink, yeah? That’s all yours.”

A few seconds later and he was out the door, phone up against his ear.

“Hello, this is Rowan Bailey.”

“Mr. Bailey, this is Angela Herrera, the PLF Rehabilitation Specialist assigned to your case. Mr. Greyson Valentine reached out to me personally to make sure you had immediate support for this unexpected intake.”

Again, just as with Grey’s call, Rowan felt an immediate sense of relief. He wasn’t in this alone. Not now, not ever. There were people that were going to fight for this victim with the same zeal and enthusiasm as they had for so many others. It didn’t matter that Rowan fucked up by taking this on so brazenly, not in the grand scheme of things. Help was on the way.

“You have no idea how relieved I am to hear your voice. And, please, Rowan is just fine. Did Grey – I mean Greyson – tell you the details of our situation here?”

“Rowan, got it. As for the details, well, I got the Clifnotes version via email. It seems that you brought a ward home from a liquidation event with no prior notice or planning. You’re currently lacking any advanced rehabilitation training, and no rehabilitation training with high support cases like this one. You’ve held a primarily investigative job with little to no interaction with victims in rehabilitation at all. And, if I can make a guess from your voice, I’d presume your new guest has already arrived?”

“Yeah,” Rowan said with a wry chuckle, “you’ve got the gist of it. And now I’ve got a naked man in my spare bedroom, and I’m trying to get him to eat a sandwich or get dressed without either of us crying. I’m in over my head here, if I’m being honest. I just wanted to do a good thing, but now all I can think about is how much I’ve fucked up.”

“You did a good thing. I promise, no matter how ill-equipped you might feel right now, you still did a very, very good thing. Rescues aren’t always as clean and well-prepared as they seem in the rehabilitation materials and training modules. For every perfect rescue, the ones where the ward is painstakingly selected based on their best chances at successful rehabilitation and reintegration, there are scrappy, impulsive, and unexpected rescues from well-meaning individuals like yourself. And let me tell you upfront, most of those rescues get happy endings too. That’s where I come in. My job is to support you and make sure that this goes as smoothly as possible, and we can work together to get our new friend healthy and confident in their personhood.”

Her voice was level and soothing, as though she’d practiced these words dozens of times. Maybe she had. It was her job, after all, wasn’t it?

“You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” she said, and Rowan heard the faint shuffle of papers. “And I’m already getting materials prepared so I can come over and do an assessment and get you guys started on the path to recovery. What does your availability look like for a visit today or tomorrow?”

“I’m completely free until next Monday, which is when I have to go back to work. I took a few days of PTO to handle this whole… situation.”

“I can work with that. It looks like you’re not too far from me, so how about I head over in a few hours? I want to make sure I have all of my materials here in order for you first, but after that, I’m ready to get this case opened and some progress started for both of you.”

“Please,” he said, and he hoped after the words left his mouth that he hadn’t sounded as desperate as he felt. “Today is great. Any time, as soon as you’re ready, we’ll be here.”

“Sounds like a plan, then. I’ll finish getting my things together and then I’ll be on my way. Focus your energy on surviving the next few hours, get him as settled as you can, and then we can take it from there together. I’ll see you soon.”

Can’t be soon enough, Rowan thought, casting his gaze back to the closed bedroom door.

---

The pet stared at the food lingering just within its reach. Its stomach growled with a painful gnawing sensation, a hunger that it felt in its very soul. It couldn’t remember the last time it had eaten a full meal, even a proper serving of the standard issue nutrient shakes at the facility. The last time it had real food, proper food like this, had been with its old master. And even then, it had been many, many months. Maybe it had been years. Only good pets got proper meals, and its old master had been certain about one thing: the pet was not a good pet.

Even after Master had left the room, the pet knew better than to touch either the water or the food. It hadn’t been given permission to eat, not yet. No matter how thirsty, and no matter how hungry, it knew that if it were to survive under Master’s rule, it would have to be obedient. That meant that until it was explicitly allowed to touch this food, until it was given the order to eat and to drink, it would continue to wait patiently.

Hunger was a familiar companion by now. Food was denied as part of its training, often one of its first punishments, and its continued disobedience now showed in how frail the pet had become. It had watched as its ribs began to appear, first barely perceptible across its abdomen, and then so sharp that they caught shadows in the low light. Then came the dizziness, the shakes, the difficulty with its memory. The skin over its collarbones had been pulled tight, and it felt like coldness sat in the hollows between its shoulders and its neck. Its fingers had always been thin, but now they were skeletal, the tendons of its hands dancing like the strings of a marionette whenever it moved.

Those same hands rested patiently on its thighs now. The aesthetics of its body had never bothered the pet, and it knew that its hair and body were to be kept according to its masters preferences. Maybe Master would expect it to keep this particularly lithe form, which the pet wouldn’t mind. It only hoped, a hope that was brief and fleeting, that it would be permitted to eat enough that the incessant shaking and dizziness would finally cease.

The sight of feet reappearing pulled the pet from its wandering thoughts and ever-present hunger.

---

Much to Rowan’s disappointment, both the sandwich and the water remained untouched. Again, just as the first time he left the room, it appeared that the boy hadn’t moved at all.

This second instance of inaction gave Rowan immediate pause. This behavior was exactly what the paperwork had said about the boy, hadn’t it? He’d been sent to the liquidation floor because of apparent selective disobedience to commands.

But Rowan hadn’t given a command, not in the sense that most people did when they spoke to their pets. His suggestions had been conversational at best, his best attempt to emphasize the importance of the boy’s autonomy from the very beginning. The rehabilitation handbook had said this method worked for some individuals who were eager to grasp that first bit of freedom.

Others, however, would sometimes require the familiarity of commands and hierarchical structures before they were comfortable enough to come out of their shells. It seemed that maybe this boy would be a part of the latter group.

Rowan had hoped that he would go his entire life without feeding into the depravity of the system, that he would never issue a command to another human being, that he would treat all persons as equals to himself. But his own choices, his own rash decisions that brought the boy here in the first place, meant that this philosophy would have to change.

It wouldn’t hurt to try gentle persuasion one more time, though, would it? For his own sake, Rowan knew would have to try.

“Hey,” he said, trying to keep his voice soft despite the lump in his throat, “I need to make sure you’re eating and drinking, okay? I don’t know when they fed you last, or if you’re even feeling okay right now, but can you at least drink that glass of water and eat that food? Please?”

Nothing. Not so much as a blink or a twitch that showed any recognition of what Rowan was asking. The boy hadn’t even acknowledged Rowan’s presence besides following him to the bedroom.

Fuck, he groaned internally. There was no use in putting it off any longer. He’d gotten himself into this mess, and now he was going to have to get them both out. It was time to grow a spine.

“You need to eat and drink,” Rowan said, raising his voice ever so slightly. He winced in spite of himself. “You’re going to drink that full glass of water, and eat all of the food on that plate. Now.”

To his horror and surprise, it worked.

---

Master’s voice split from its warm murmuring to a tone that was sharp and commanding. It was the cue the pet had been waiting for.

Cautiously, ever-so-carefully, the pet raised its eyes to meet Master’s lips. It peered through the web of its greasy-thick hair and tried to make out exactly what Master wanted it to do. Lips moved, sharp words cut, and the pet thought it understood.

Drink the water, eat the food.

There would be no second chance to get this right. The pet was incredulous that those were truly the words that Master had uttered. But that increase in vocal pitch, paired with the movement of Master’s lips, was all that the pet could abide.

Even if it was wrong, and even if it had mistaken the precise command Master had issued, it was hopeful that it would at least get a mouthful of water to soothe its parched tongue before the punishment came.

The pet slowly moved its hand from its lap and towards the glass of water. It braced itself for a kick to the ribs, or perhaps another blow to the head, but none came. Hand trembling, both from the fear it couldn’t mask and exhaustion of the last few days, it grabbed the glass. Just as methodically, still waiting for a correction, it raised the glass to its lips. A final pause. No correction came.

It drank. It drank with a ravenous thirst, one that one single glass wouldn’t quench. It could have easily drunk another glass, no, three or four more glasses. The taste of the cool water over its tongue was heavenly bliss. The relief and release of the drink was enough, just for a moment, to dissolve the fear of being in a new place with its new master.

Fear returned as it reached out to grab the sandwich. Eating this would be more challenging, requiring just enough grace so that not even a single crumb spilled from the corners of its lips, but still demonstrating the swiftness and efficiency that was expected of a good pet. Wasting food was a sign of disrespect, and the pet was absolutely grateful for a meal like this. It had no intention to disrespect Master and his generous offerings.

As carefully and daintily as it could, the pet tore its teeth through the bread and the thick spread of peanut butter and grape. It was so hungry that it didn’t pause to appreciate the flavors or textures. Instead, it focused on devouring as neatly as was possible in a near animal state. Without its training it might not have accomplished such a feat, but somehow, it managed to eat the entire offering without a crumb dropping to the floor.

A rumble came from Master’s lips, that same warmness that he’d been using since the pet first emerged from its box. Although some part of it expected some punishment for eating, it didn’t come. Instead, all the pet could feel was some queasiness: it had been so long since it had eaten a meal of that size, and its stomach was soured by the heaviness and a lingering hunger from the recesses of its mind. The signals in its body were conflicting between hunger and nourishment, and the pet could only hope it would keep the meal down long enough for it to make a difference in its foggy mind.

Maybe the meal had been the punishment in and of itself? Maybe, just maybe, keeping itself together after the meal was its first test?

Then another command, a sharp voice, and Master’s feet turned towards the door. The pet hadn’t had the opportunity to look up at his lips, but the options were to either stay or to follow. It paused to think, a moment in time to decide its fate. Master had left the room before, but hadn’t issued a command, and the pet had done right by staying. Now, Master was leaving, but had clearly spoken a command. It paused a moment, but could intuit that the command had been to follow, rather than to stay.

And so it followed.

---

“Follow me to the bathroom, let’s get you cleaned up,” Rowan barked out. He still tried to speak gently, but it seemed that a sharper, more commanding tone was the only thing that was going to work for now. It felt too much like shouting for comfort, and the act of issuing commands itself was disconcerting, but the boy didn’t seem bothered. Still on his hands and knees, the scarred houseguest followed Rowan’s every step.

It was a short walk across the hall to the bathroom. The smell of bleach still lingered in the air, but at least Rowan had been able to mask the stench of mildew and weeks of neglect. For now, though the white tiles didn’t gleam, it was serviceable for a shower.

Rowan patted the new towels he had folded and placed on the toilet tank. Although he wasn’t issuing a command, because the boy hadn’t looked up, Rowan raised his voice slightly nonetheless. It was the only thing that seemed to get through to him.

“These towels and washcloths are yours, so use as many as you need. Soap, shampoo, conditioner, it’s all in the shower. Go ahead and clean yourself up, yeah? Take as long as you want, use hot water, use whatever is in there. It’s not much, but I’m going to pick up some more things that are just for you later this week.”

He stepped towards the door, lingering for just a moment to see if they boy would respond. Instead of verbal recognition, the boy’s frail frame clambered over the lip of the bathtub and into the newly-cleaned porcelain. Hands started to reach for the knobs to turn on the water, head still bowed, so Rowan took his leave.

---

The pet tried not to wrinkle its nose at the heavy stench of powdered bleach lingering in the air. It could already feel the burns that would form on the skin of its palms as it scrubbed the bathroom clean with the caustic chemicals. It knew it shouldn’t have preferences, but it did anyway. They couldn’t beat the preference out of it, no matter how hard they tried. There were so many cleaning products that were easier to work with, that didn’t burn its lungs and throat, that didn’t make its hands raw and red with pain the way that powdered bleach did.

But the bathroom wasn’t the thing that Master had asked it to clean, at least not yet. There was no use dreading an uncertain future. Instead, Master had asked it to clean itself, make itself presentable.

There was no surprise there. The fear and discomfort had served it well, and would continue to serve it well as it learned what Master expected of it. It had shown restraint in waiting to eat until a command was issued, and it had showed obedience in following Master’s commands to follow and to shower. But now, the pet was being asked to read between the lines. A good pet was not only responsive, but could anticipate its master’s needs with effortless grace.

There were few things that a new master would want to explore with their pet on their first day, and the pet was well-acquainted with what likely came next. It certainly wasn’t as clean as its old master would have required before such activities, having only received a quick hose-down before it was loaded into its box. There was still some dried blood stuck to its skin, and its scalp was thick with grease and dandruff that it hadn’t been able to wash out since it began its refurbishment those many weeks ago. Its nose was blind to it by now, but the pet was certain that it smelled faintly like the fear and sweat that clung to the training facility walls.

If it had any hope of pleasing its new master, it would have to spend the time and effort to clean itself up a bit more. First impressions, particularly first impressions of its primary skillsets, were of the utmost importance.

After a few moments of scrutinizing the silver knobs on the wall, it eased the showerhead on. It flinched as the cold water hit its skin, it always did, but then it relaxed into the gentle stream. This was better than any of the rough hose-downs it had received while at the facility, and better than the showers provided for its old master’s pets. The privacy felt like an unearned privilege, and the pet was determined to enjoy the luxury while it still could.

Nerves made it hard to hold steady as it climbed to its feet. Without Master present, it didn’t have to kneel, and standing would make it easier to clean itself. Its head swam with a familiar blackness and ringing in its ears, and it leaned on the tiled wall until the dizziness passed. The food that it had just eaten would help, even if it would take some time to feel the effects of the nourishment. And maybe, just maybe, it would steal some water from the tap now, drink a few mouthfuls as the cold water ran down its face…

No, it reminded itself with a sharp correction, balling its fists up as though Handler Green had shoved the cattle prod into its ribs. This was its first day with Master, its first chance to prove its worth, and it was already thinking of disobedience. Master had already given it something to drink, and it should be grateful. There was no need to steal even a single mouthful now, not even from the freely flowing showerhead, not even in the privacy of solitude.

It banished the thought from its mind and got busy with scrubbing itself clean. First came its hair, so much longer now than when it had entered the refurbishment program, the curls heavy with water and shampoo. The shampoo was light, faintly floral, and the pet relished in the sensation of soap pulling the grime and blood away from its scalp. When it glanced down at the floor of the bathtub it saw that the water was rust-colored as it flowed down the drain.

Once its hair was clean, shampooed twice and rinsed thrice, it took to scrubbing its body down with determined and practiced vigor. Every inch of skin was worked over, even the skin that was heavily bruised and covered in scabs. It allowed itself the grace to wince as it pressed down on the bruises and still-healing wounds, but it still scrubbed away at them with the same determination.

Mostly, it tried not to think about how much its ribs had begun to stick through its skin, and how easily they would break under the slightest application of force. It was fragile now, filthy and covered in the marks of its disobedience. Its insolence was captured by the permanent paint of scars from head to toe.

It scrubbed, and rinsed, and then scrubbed again, until the water turned from copper, to pale pink, to clear. Its arms had begun to pucker with goosebumps under the steady flow of cold water. But finally, with a final rotation and a check that the water was indeed flowing clearly now, it shut the water off.

The towels waiting for it were warmer and fluffier than anything it could remember being given at either the training facility or by its old master. As it wrapped itself in the terrycloth it sighed a small sigh of relief, an exhalation it was sure made no sound. Even if it couldn’t hear such quiet breaths itself, it had learned when others could from its old master’s many corrections. A sigh, by itself and behind a closed door, would likely go unnoticed.

After it had dried itself it carefully folded the towel and placed it on the floor. It would have to figure out where Master kept his dirty clothes and towels sooner or later, especially since it would be responsible for the laundry. There would be time for that soon. But now, since it was clean, it was time to get to work.

The pet settled back down onto its knees, carefully selecting the tiles of the floor to kneel on rather than the rug in front of the sink. It wasn’t going to seek out small pleasures and privileges that it had not yet earned, not on this first day. Everything it did would show that it was good, that it was obedient.

The tiles were better than cold cement it was accustomed to, anyway.

A few moments later the door pushed open. Master was back, here to fetch it, take it back to the room it had just come from. That soft murmuring of Master’s voice came again, the conversational tone like water lapping on a white-sand shore, not the hot knife of a command. The pet still tried its best to listen attentively through the ringing of its ears.

Then, the command came, cutting sharp through the susurrus. Follow. And so the pet did.

As it expected, it was led back to the same room it had just come from. Its heart fluttered in its chest. It remembered where the low-lying bed had been pushed against the wall, and how far it was off the ground. Climbing up on the bed from the ground would pose little difficulty, a single fluid motion enough to situate it comfortably atop the flat surface.

Master walked towards the bed with broad strides, and with a rush of adrenaline, the pet climbed up onto the bed beside the towering pile of blankets. Fabric and plush bedding were soft beneath its knees, and it gave a small sigh of relief that the bed was so comfortable.

There was no time to relish in the comfort, however. The instinct of its training and prior service took over. There were multiple options for it to begin, to entice Master’s senses, but one came to the forefront of its mind. That one, it decided, would show off both grace and the care it put into its servitude.

It placed its hands evenly apart, symmetrical and in line with its knees, forming carefully orchestrated lines throughout its body. Once it found its balance it arched its back, pushed its hips firmly into the air, and lowered its chest towards the bed. Weight shifted forward, onto its forearms now, and it felt confident it would be steady despite its latest wave dizziness and nausea. Although it couldn’t quite see itself from this angle – there was no mirror here like there was in the training facility – it was confident that its posture was perfect.

There were many things the pet had failed at during its training, and during its time with its old master, but this had never been one of them. Of its many tasks and duties, the pet was certain that it was able to pleasure its masters. And despite its fear, it was certain it could do the same for Master now. This was its chance to prove itself, make a good first impression, show Master that it was more than its inability to hear his commands.

All that remained was to slowly, carefully, turn its head to the side, look up at Master and push its lower lip out ever so slightly- And as soon as its eyes met Master’s, Master shouted with a roar of what the pet knew was fury.

A/N: And in this chapter, we spend 8,000 words to eat a sandwich, make a phone call, and take a shower. I wonder what happens next!

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