#making sure that the partner eats and drinks water— BARE MINIMUM

[hum-suffer]

(People stop romanticising the bare minimum and stop idealizing the exaggerated) challenge

[gilverrwrites]

Obvi Roman isn’t a “How is your day going” type of boyfriend, but do you think he’d be the type to like subtly make sure you’re eating well (of course he’s making sure you’re sleeping well by wearing you out every night)

I’d love to say yes because I love his irredeemable ass but honestly no. Partly because he doesn’t think/care to check. He’s very self absorbed. Primarily because he’s too busy to remember to feed himself let alone you.

It’s not unheard of however, but only if you’re a serious prospect; If you’re spending an extended period of time together, he will eventually notice if you’re routinely skipping meals and he will say something.

Or if your stamina isn’t what it normally is when he’s fucking you, he’ll question you about it. Have you eaten? When did you last drink water? etc.

I think he likes to take his partners out to eat, or to occasionally cook for them if you’re serious and he’ll notice if you’re not eating enough; You better not be wasting his money/efforts. He will use this as a tactic if he thinks it will get you to eat more. But this isn’t sustainable, he doesn’t have the time.

But if you’re just a play thing, he absolutely does not care one bit. He’s only spending time with you when he wants something. He’ll put in the bare minimum, which does not include catering. If you pass out, he’ll keep going until he’s gotten what he wants, and he won’t think twice about leaving you when he’s done.

[theramseyloft]

Shipping a Pigeon

This is not just important for breeders and rescues to know.

The recipients of shipped pigeons need to know how this works as well.

https://foyspetsupplies.com/new-vented-single/

This is the Horizon Micro Environment vented single box, currently the industry standard for shipping pigeons.

These shipping boxes are designed around the thermodynamics of air and the physiology of the birds.

They are made of sturdy corrugated cardboard, which is surprisingly well insulated! 

The wide vent at the top of the box vents out warm air as it rises, drawing cooler fresh air through the smaller holes all down the sides and across the bottom on the solid side of the box, where the label is attached.

Air holes are covered by a filter, which provides a few benefits: Keeping the bird and its mess contained, moderate protection from outside contaminants, and most importantly, darkness.

Pigeons are diurnal.

Deprived of light, they basically shut off and fall asleep.

If they could see and were active, more than 24 hours with out water would leave them dangerously dehydrated.

But while they sleep, their digestion is drastically slowed; allowing them to conserve water and calories for days longer than they could while active.

I line the boxes with two layers of paper towels and send seeds with them, but there is no safe or legal way to send water, which is why keeping them in the dark for the trip is so important.

Live birds travel mostly by ground, to protect them in case of hazardous materials ending up in the same scheduled shipment. 

If that happens, the live animal is simply delayed until the next scheduled truck or sent along a different rout.

Some times this results in delays. It is not uncommon for a bird to arrive a day or so later than projected, but pigeons travel very well.

If both bird and box are correctly prepared prior to departure, Pigeons are comfortably travel safe for up to seven days.

To prepare my birds for departure, I bring them in 24-48 hours before departure day and keep then in a hospital cage where they have nothing to do but eat and drink and their appetite and hydration levels can be monitored.

Both of which is done by observing the quality of the poop.

Hospital cages are lined with white paper towels to make this easier. 

Paper towels wick the moisture away from a fecal sample, letting you see how much liquid was present in a ring of what’s been wicked from an individual poop.

Too much liquid with a large portion of the first day’s meal left over warns of depressed appetite.

Lots of liquid with very little food left either means that was not a large enough portion, or warns that there may be parasites present that you had no prior knowledge of. 

If you give a larger portion of feed and the solids to liquids ratio corrects, then chances are you underestimated that individuals intake.

If you adjust the portion and the poop is still very sloppy and wet, it isn’t just a portioning issue and shipment needs to be delayed so that the necessary diagnostic measures can to be taken to work out what’s wrong.

If a bird is pooping too dry on the first day, it may just be stressed by the transition into a hospital cage.

If it’s still pooping dry the next day I alert the recipient that the bird is not sufficiently well hydrated and arrange to try again next week.

This is why 48 hour pre-departure holds are better than 24 hour holds.

It is always better to delay and risk the annoyance of the client to be sure the bird is in good enough condition to arrive safely than to assume everything will be fine and risk sending your client an animal that will arrive in need of medical care.

Six weeks is the bare minimum safe shipping age for a baby pigeon, as that is when their baby feathers have generally come all the way in.

New feathers are fleshy and vascular, and requite a LOT of moisture from the bird growing them, so while the baby is fledging, it is extremely prone to dehydration.

Mine go out at nine weeks, because six weeks is the youngest they can safely be vaccinated for PMV and Paratyphoid, and the soonest they can receive boosters and be fully vaccinated is three weeks later.

That puts them well into a travel safe level of development,

A word of caution on adult cocks!

While hens and young birds under four months are generally safe to ship together, It is safest to ship adult cocks with a divider!

Part of what makes pigeons such easy travelers is the close resemblance for them of a shipping crate to a nest crevice.

Adult cocks are VIOLENTLY defensive of potential nest spaces, and his travel partner cannot get away from him!!!

This can result in a travel partner getting scalped to the skull and neck vertebrae if they are lucky enough to shut down in time, 

Or being kept awake and active long enough to fatally dehydrate en rout, leaving only the winning cock and a corpse.

It does not matter if the cock in question was bonded to or friends with this travel partner.

Cocks in driving mode have even scalped and killed their own mates in the confines of the shipping box.

If you are sending out a cock over four months old with another bird of any sex or age, put a divider between them!!!

A length of cardboard running diagonally from one corner of the box to the other is all it takes to ensure that both an adult cock and who ever he’s traveling with will arrive safely and whole, if you do not have the option to send him in his own box.

On arrival, place new birds straight into their enclosure, and show them where water is.

It’s important to give them a few days to get their bearings and adjust to the new normal before being invited out for bonding time.

Human-social pigeons will look to you for comfort after all this change, and will usually beg to be let out on arrival day.

At the very least, wait until you have seen them drink and eat before you let your new bird come out and explore the room at large.

Expect a new arrival by mail to be thirsty and disoriented. They just spent 2-4 days asleep in a box, the jetlag is real.

For the first few days, expect wet poop. The bird will be more interested in water than food for about the first three days, though you should see a steady transition over to water and food intake balancing out over that period.

Ideally, shipping is only done a few times in the life of a pigeon.  If not from their breeder straight to their forever home;

Then from the breeder who hatched them to a breeder that wants peeps from them, and from there to their permanent pet home when they retire

Or from a rescue to a long term foster to a permanent home.

When done correctly, shipping is the safest, most comfortable means by which to transport a pigeon over long distances.

But if done incorrectly, it can be severely injurious or even fatal.

If you are adopting a pigeon from a rescue, purchasing a pet bird from a breeder, or purchasing breeding stock to add to a project, you now know what to ask the rescue or breeder about their shipping procedure to ensure that your birds travel comfortably and arrive safely.

[yarichin-imagines]

could you do like headcannons for yuri and tamura and how they express their love for their s/o? 🥺 either nsfw or sfw is good :))

Hi thank you so much for requesting! I wasn’t sure if you meant a poly relationship or separate, so I went with separate for right now! If you wanted something different, don’t hesitate to send in another ask!

Ayato Yuri 

Yuri, shockingly, is pretty hard to write for. I don’t think anyone really knows what is going on inside his head. So these headcannons are purely what I think. 

I would like to think he is the type to show his love for you rather than speak it. I love him to death but I know is not good with words by any means. Unless you know the full Yuri dictionary, then I don’t see how anyone can point out his verbal hints that he loves you.

Sweets! We all know that Yuri absolutely loves his sweets. After a while of getting to know you and dating you, he would figure out your favorite candy and or baked good. And every morning before school, he would hand you some so you can notch throughout the day. And on anniversaries, you’d find a whole package laying on your bed after class.

He would walk you to class every morning. Majority of the time, he would either sleep over at yours or have you sleep at his. But still, he makes a point to walk you to and from class. He just loves seeing you every moment he can.

He would look over your homework for you! Especially if you were struggling in a particular class. He would take it from you and disappear only to return with your paper. There would be red marks on the ones you got wrong and in the margins - you would see his sloppy handwriting with the right answer. He would also do the same thing with your tests once you got them back. It’s routine now that he expects to see your test every time. And he would do the same thing he did with your homework.

If you did good on a test, He’d definitely reward you with kisses and candy! His heart just swells in pride when you get a good grade that he can’t help but to cover you in kisses. 

If you are scared or even anxious during thunderstorms, he’d be the one to place his headphones over your ears and let you listen to his music. He’d hold his hands over your eyes so the only thing you could focus on was the songs coming through the headphones. I’m sure he has fears of his own or things that make him anxious so he knows how you feel.

He makes sure to always have dinner with you. He likes to make sure you’re eating well. Don’t let him cook though. Just don’t. While I think he is a decent cook, he’d probably manage to slip in some unwanted ingredients.

NSFW

He’d always show his love by going down on you several times in each session. He wants you to feel as good as you possibly can. He wants you in the clouds. Plus we all know how good he is with his tongue - even he knows how good he is with his tongue. This definitely leads to a lot of overstimulation.

Another way he’d show his love in the bedroom is by wearing protection with you in the beginning. Now hear me out. There’s a method to this madness. He has been with a lot of people. He knows he’s been with a lot of people. He doesn’t want to risk giving you anything. He cares about you too much and is too scared to risk it. But I know that when the two of you become closer and more committed, he’d stop using it. Although, if you are a person who could become pregnant and you wanted him to continue to use them, he would.

If you wanted him to, he’d stop having sex with other people. I am a firm believer that any relationship he goes into - it would be an open one. But if you sat him down and explained it to him, he would try and limit his partners and eventually stop altogether. But! If you do this, prepare to be railed about three times a day minimum. He has a really high sex drive hence why he had so many partners.

During sex, I think he would choose a lot of positions that would allow him to see your face and lets him be close to you. He wants to see you and feel you everywhere. When he’s with someone he loves, it’s almost like he wants to be enveloped by them. He begins to see them as home. So during sex, it’s natural he wants to have them wrapped around him. 

He’d take off his glasses during sex. Like above, he wants to see you. And he wants to do it without the tint hiding the way your body flushes in the setting sun that pours in through the window. He might even pin his bangs back so he could watch your reactions as he’s between your legs, making you see stars.

He would want you to look him in the eyes during the act. He shows a lot of his emotions with his eyes. The act of someone looking into your eyes is extremely intimate. You lay your emotions bare to him with your eyes. And he really appreciates it!

Yui Tamura

One of the ways he shows his love is through his physical strength. He would thrown down with anyone who tried you. And if anyone makes you cry? He’s beating them to a bloody pulp. He does it to protect you and your emotions. If you didn’t approve of him going around and beating up anyone who makes you feel slightly upset, you’d have to sit him down and explain why and that he has to stop. But for you, he would.

As I explained in another Tamura post, he loves the sunset. And he would love to watch them with you. He’d take you to the best viewing spot and sit with you wrapped in his arms as the two of you watch the colors fade to night.

He’d skip class with you to go on dates. He’d casually stroll into your math class and say the office needed to see you and that you were excused for the rest of that class. Once outside the class, he’d take your hand in his and run out of the building to a quiet place. He’d take you under the stands near the soccer field where he set up a small intimate date. He’d have all of your favorite snacks and he’d demand to feed them to you.

Unlike Yuri, Tamura would voice a lot of his love for you too. While it may not be a direct “I love you”, it’s in the questions he asks. “Have you eaten today?”, “Did you sleep well last night?”. 

He’d also remind you of a lot of stuff. If it was going to be particularly cold the next day, he’d remind you to set out your coat and gloves. If it was midterms, he’d remind you to drink enough water and not stay up all night studying. 

He’d randomly pop up to your dorm during one of your study sessions with a meal from the cafeteria because he knew you wouldn’t set a reminder to go grab it. As he sets it down, he’d definitely gently knock you in the back of the head for not remembering to eat.

He would be one of the ones to verbally say he loves you. If you were stressed about anything, he’d remind you that even though it feels like the world is against you, he’s there for you. “You know I love you right? Then relax and let yourself go - even for a minute.”

NSFW

Not to beat the dead horse, but he’d cover you in marks. When it comes to sex, I see Tamura being like a basic alpha male. He wants everyone to know you’re his. It gives him a sense of security. He loves you so much that seeing you covered in his love bites does things to him. When he sees them the next morning, he might have to pull you into the nearest closet or classroom and relive the previous night.

He would take things a lot slower when it came to sex. It would be a lot more intimate. With most of his other partners, there was no intimacy. Once they were done, they would just go their separate ways. But with you, he would keep you as close as possible.

The aftercare would be amazing. He’d pull you to his chest and kiss your face, asking if you needed anything. He’d massage the tense muscles if he needed to. He would use one of his old shirts to clean you up before hopping back into bed to just lay with you. In the afterglow when the room was silent all except for your breaths, he’d feel at peace with himself.

His dirty talk wouldn’t be as rough. Instead of the normal explicit words, he’d say things along the lines of “you feel so fucking good around me” or “you’re so good to me”. And of course the classic, “I love you so fucking much”. If you wanted him to be a bit more rough with his words, he will. But for the most part, he’d be more romantic with it.

When he cares for his partner, he learns to give more than receive. He would put your pleasure above his own. He would make sure that you are always the first to come. He puts more of his effort and time into your pleasure rather than his own. He would ask what you like in order to make you happy. He would even show vulnerability and let you tell him where he is lacking in certain areas of sex.

He’d kiss you a lot! Kissing is something that is very intimate to some within the walls of sex. When he has you on your back and is thrusting into you slowly, his lips would be on yours, pressing his tongue deeper into your mouth with every slow drag of his hips. His bedroom persona would drastically change when he finds someone he loves and cares for.

I hope you enjoyed! I’m sorry if these are really sappy! I put on a slow Japanese playlist and a lot of the songs happen to be love ballads. Again, thank you so much for requesting! 

- Admin Pinky

[whaleofatjme1920]

(Second letter, Dr Alto Clef, Romantic, you know my age, she/her)

{With the letter is a few pictures of my garden, picture of me with the teddy, wearing one of Clef's hat and one of my paintings of the northern lights.)

Hey Stranger

Thank you so much for the gift love. I love the teddy the most.

Poor Konny, man must be clinging to his sanity from all your antics. I made sure to get those pictures for you because I'm legit happy that it's thriving. Speaking of Bright owing me money. I got some $5 notes from him... there was also a letter saying that he also wants a back massage... I think he's reading the letters I send.

Anyways, the valentines party sounds like fun. I'm imaging the cafeteria decorated in various tones of pink and red. We will definitely play again when I come to visit hopefully. Give my regards to everyone back at the site ok. By the way, any new projects at the site?I actually miss working with the Scps. I know crazy right but yeah hey, here I am. Remember during one of the breaches I told 106 'Hail Hitler'and he chased after me or when I told 076-2 that we drink water because we can't eat it, he just walked away saying that I'm a menace to society or the time I made 049 and 035 watch a Bollywood film. Ahh good times.

I dunno when I'll write to you again so I wanna say that I'm still not used to you not being here and stuff. Kinda weird but it is what it is. I love you the mostest Clef. Never forget it not like I'd let you. Take care of yourself love. Sending kisses your way.

Thinking of you

Tia

P.S

Bright if you're actually reading this remember the time you had me give Glass lessons on how to belly dance. Atleast his hips don't lie. Also keep an eye out on Clef, make sure he is taking care of himself .You know he forgets sometimes. Be safe. ~ Tia

《I'm sending this in because i know I'll forget to send it in before the 23rd as life is getting busy rn and time is just flying. Anyways drink some water, eat something nice and maintain good posture. Also my dog told me that I should greet you for him. Love you. 》

[Disclaimer: Letters To Those You Hold Dear (Valentine's Edition) is a special event I'm holding from February 13th - February 23rd 11:59 PM. Find the guidelines HERE so you can send a letter or two to those you hold dear <3.]

Hey stranger,

Konny dear can handle my antics just fine! Promise. :) You want me to fight Bright? I am not above derailing Jack given the situation, It's kind of our thing. Perhaps I can persuade him to give you some more money? I can always send you some. Not in a creepy way, but like a "oh sometimes I like providing for my partner" way, y'know?

I'm sure the skips miss you too! But no, nothing has been going on as of late. In fact, it's still quiet. Oh, we've been considering having another date night with 173, throwing some poor D-Class in there to see what's been going on ever since it changed forms*. None of us have really been able to see the new form as we've been terribly busy doing work (the sarcasm is dripping, my dear. 343 knows I'm doing the bare minimum), but apparently, it likes to shift! Who knows 173 could do that when it feels like it. Stupid silly little peanut.

If you were here, we'd be able to mess around! I'm sure Konny dear would enjoy the break and that Bright would like have someone to run around with. Rights has been asking about you as well, seems she wants to make sure you're alright. She sends her love. I miss having you here, I really, really do.

You have all my love. You always have.

Yours, and only yours,

C.

Hi love bug,

I know you're having a bit of a thing going on, so you really do have all of my love right now. You're such a sweet and thoughtful individual, and I wish you nothing but peace of mind and good things.

Love you lots,

Elsie

P.S. My bird and dog say hi and that they're wishing you well too!!

[brook-182]

A Poisoned Chalice

Chapter 1

As soon as Warriors saw the army-sized horde of monsters he knew it was going to be a long day. The Links had been travelling together for months and the packs of monsters they had encountered during that time were less than half the mob they currently faced. They had covered the forest in this Hyrule fairly easily, only a few stray bokoblins bothering them. Yet the minute they stepped out into the vast openness of the prairie they were spotted and surrounded by swarms of monsters that had been a trademark feature in his Hyrule ever since the war.

“What even are these numbers? I’ve never seen monster camps this big, even in my Hyrule,” Wild gawked. 

“It’s just our luck,” Legend grunted as he clashed swords with a moblin that towered over the grumbling hero. “As soon as we finally make it out of those goddess-damned woods we get attacked. I’m willing to bet someone’s getting nicked today. We've been far too safe for far too long.”

“Ah, always the optimist,” Warriors retorted after he impaled a chuchu, a wave of gelatinous blue gunk spreading over the grass at his feet. “Can you at least try to be positive for once?”

“Easy for you to say, Captain,” the veteran shot back. “You’re used to mobs like these.” 

Legend wasn’t necessarily wrong, but even Warriors hadn’t expected to be ambushed like this in a foreign land.

The battle raged from noon to dusk but, unbelievably, contrary to Legend’s pessimistic prediction nobody was seriously hurt. But even with everyone righteously exhausted, Twilight, their current Hyrule’s patron, noted that there was a village nearby where the Links could spend the night instead of camping out and restock on supplies in the morning.

Without further delay, the group made their way to the village.

So with the day’s events behind him and the safety of an inn to revel in, the captain dragged his feet through the hall and stumbled into the small room he would share with Legend and Sky. After doing the bare minimum of taking off his armour and kicking off his boots he flopped onto the bed, thoroughly worn-out.

 

“I know you’re tired, but don’t you want to get more comfortable?” Sky asked, noticing Warriors’ less-than-cosy position. The hero simply grumbled in reply as he sat up and took off his tunic, launching it to the far side of the room before he fell back onto his pillow and closed his eyes. Sky sighed. “That’s not exactly what I meant.”

Warrior slept like a rock the minute his head hit the pillow. The bed was comfortable and warm, and the room was dark; the perfect atmosphere for a peaceful sleep. However, no matter how many people Warriors knew were with him, his rest was not without dreams.

~~~

He was seated in the palace dining room for some reason, an elaborate feast spread out on the grand wooden table before him. He wouldn’t have thought it that strange if he wasn’t the only person in the room, however. Well, he and a figure he could feel staring at him from behind his back. The captain turned around to see who was standing there and found the figure to be shrouded in heavy shadows.

 They stalked closer, the darkness following them as they walked. The faceless shadow silently set a large platter of food from the feast in front of the knight. He was about to refuse the meal when his hand unconsciously picked an apple off the plate and he greedily devoured it, seemingly much to the satisfaction of the figure, who was eager to pile more food onto the plate. Again Warriors began eating against his will.

The food seemed endless, an abundant cornucopia of fresh fruit, stews, meat and vegetables.

After consuming many helpings of food Warriors was deterred by his full stomach and stopped his ravenous feasting. The figure, now next to him, lifted a spoon full of stew to his lips but the captain refused it. “I don’t want to eat anymore.” The shadow simply urged the utensil closer until Warriors had no choice but to open his mouth to protest. “I don’t-”

He almost choked as the spoon was shoved forcefully into his mouth, the offender leaving no room for protests. He wasn't sure how he could tell that the figure was growing impatient by his squirming, but he was no longer a willing participant in this feast. He reached his hand out to try and stop another onslaught of food when he found that his hands were firmly bonded to the armrests of his chair. His legs as well were bound to the floor.

“What is this? What did you do to me?” the captain said, glancing up from his bonds to look the figure in the eyes, except he was no longer there. Replacing the shadow was a man he hadn’t seen in nearly six years. “Thomas? I don’t understand. You’re supposed to be-”

“Dead? Gone? Forgotten in the middle of a nowhere region?” Thomas laughed. “Glad to disappoint you.”

“They sent you to Faron.”

“And yet here I am, willing and eager to give you the best treatment a hero could receive. Now, you must be hungry after saving the world and all. Come on, open up!”

Another spoonful of food was messily shoved into Warriors’ gawking mouth. When he recovered after nearly choking on whatever nasty concoction was shoved into his mouth- at this point he wasn’t even sure it was food- he struggled vainly against the chains securing him. He was too afraid to argue, too afraid that he would get another mouthful of whatever Thomas was feeding him. He felt sick, his stomach too full and the meal too vile to keep down.

“Aw, are you feeling unwell, Captain? That’s too bad, I almost feel sorry for what I’m about to do.”

Without warning, Thomas pried open the captain’s mouth. Warriors jaw was clamped like a vice but somehow Thomas had the otherworldly strength of Ganondorf himself and was able to separate his lips without effort. The captain saw him reach for a chalice on the table behind him. The cup was filled with a sour-smelling liquid that’s colour and fragrance reminded him too much of wine to be something else.

“Sto-” Warriors started to cry but a mouthful of alcohol followed his plea. He hastily gulped the liquid and tried to beg again, trying and failing to stop Thomas from continuing this torture. When the chalice was empty and he got a chance to breathe, the effort making his stomach hurt, he asked, “why are you doing this?”

Thomas laughed lowly, his deep voice echoing on the cavernous walls. “Why do you think I should?”

As Warriors was about to reply a feeling of weightlessness overtook him and before he was able to process his surroundings he was in a new setting entirely.

The training grounds of the castle were not an odd sight for a soldier of Hyrule, but the sheer number of training dummies left without partners to train was startling. There were over one hundred wooden dummies and nobody besides him in the courtyard.

He heard a voice on the balcony, a feminine voice like water trickling in a cavern, a quiet echo carrying her soft words. “You know what to do, Link.” It was Zelda.

The master sword was in his hand. He felt his grip on the blade tighten. He was afraid, but of what he was uncertain. He held up his sword, his grip loosening as he made a practised jab at the wooden dummy that suddenly emerged before him. The blade slid straight through the chest of a soldier that hadn’t been standing there before. Warriors jumped back, shocked and horrified by what he had just done. He recognised the face, he knew the person he had just killed!

“Don’t stop,” he heard and turned sharply to the sound of general Impa’s voice. She was calm as she took in the scene before her, and Warriors wasn’t sure if she’d witnessed the same thing he had. He reluctantly shook off his anxiety and brought his sword down on another inanimate dummy. But he was convinced this must have been a strange hallucination or test as the once-wooden figure once again turned to the flesh of a soldier he recognised. He gasped and nearly dropped his weapon when the soldier fell dead to the ground.

“Don’t just stand there! Attack them!” That was Cia! Why was she there?

He didn’t have time to think about that though as he cut and sliced dummy after dummy- soldier after soldier- killing them almost instantly, blood and gore carpeting the once clean courtyard floor.

“Do it!”

“Cut it down!”

“Fight for your kingdom!”

“Do the right thing!” They cheered as he single-handedly reduced the numbers to a mere handful.

He was shaking as he made the final attack on the last still soldier. The captain sank to the ground with a strangled cry along with the body of the man he had just slaughtered, unwilling to look the three spectators in the eyes. He was crying, feeling unbearably guilty for what he had just done. Why did he not stop? He knew every single one of the people he just killed, but he hadn’t stopped. He couldn’t hold back his sob as he looked at the dead eyes of the man before him. He shared a room with this soldier. His name was Neil. He ate with him, fought with him, and finally killed him. He wanted to scream, he wanted to attack whoever was responsible for this rampage, but he only had himself to blame.

He felt the familiar taste of bile before he was startled by the feeling of hands wrapping around his throat.

What was happening?!

Warrior woke with a start, the leftover emotions from his dream prominent on his face. He was shaking. He felt sick to his stomach. He gagged and jumped to his feet, looking for the bucket of drinking water Legend had collected for the room. He threw the water out, not caring about the soaked wood under his feet and knelt in front of the bucket. He heaved and retched until he felt his abs ache. He couldn't even remember half of his dream yet he was still terrified of whatever had caused this reaction. He couldn't make himself go back to sleep. Through the adrenalin, he still felt so tired but he would rather keel over than reimagine whatever nightmares his mind had conjured up.

Warrior took several deep breaths, but he couldn’t control the flow of tears streaming down his cheeks. He choked on a sob, trying to stay quiet for his companions’ sakes. But it seemed Legend had already woken up to the sound of his retching.

"What's wrong?" Legend asked groggily, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he shifted in his bed. "I heard someone being sick." He looked around the dark room and spotted Warriors on the floor. "Pretty boy? Are you okay?"

Warriors bristled at the nickname but let it roll off his back. After debating on how to answer the question he decided that lying to Legend wouldn’t get him anywhere since the vet would simply just pry an answer out of him anyway. He couldn’t give Legend the whole truth though, even if he wanted to. “I’m fine,” he said shakily, exhaustion still thick in his voice. “Just a bad dream. Go back to sleep.”

“That must have been some dream if you’re losing your lunch over it.” Warriors didn't have the will to comment on Legend's statement. Instead, he kept silent, his mind already swimming with vague images of his dream. Legend rolled his eyes so far back he looked possessed. “Well, I don’t know about you but I can’t sleep in the same room with a bucket of puke. I’ll come with you to throw it out but I’m not touching that,” he said and Warriors almost heard the genuine concern in his voice.

“How generous,” he huffed but accepted the company nonetheless. “Just don’t make a big deal out of this,” he said. As he stood he felt his pants cling to his legs and noticed with annoyance that the water he threw out of the bucket was all over the floor and his trousers. “Great,” he muttered.

“Better change those pants. There’s a chill in the air and we don’t need you getting more sick than you just were.”

“I wasn’t-”

“Yeah, yeah, just cool it. Now come on, you look like you need some air.”

After a quick change of clothes, Warriors followed Legend outside. Sky- by some divine miracle- was still fast asleep so they quietly shut the door behind them.

They were silent as they walked through the corridor and down the stairs, nobody willing to make small talk or ask questions. But Warriors could feel Legend’s eyes on him, looking for any reason or excuse to bring up what had happened in the room. Finally when they reached the outside Legend spoke.

“I’ll take care of this,” he said, scrunching his face and gesturing to the gross bucket the knight was carrying. “Just go back to bed.”

“But you said-” the captain started to argue, but he was promptly cut off by Legend’s exasperated response.

“I know what I said, just go before I make a scene.”

“It’s the middle of the night.”

“Did you not hear me?” the veteran screeched and Warriors couldn’t hold back a snort. He held up his hands placatingly and went back inside to the room. He eyed his bed for a long moment before deciding that pretending to sleep was probably the only way to get Legend off his back for now. He got under the blankets and closed his eyes, trying his hardest to look convincingly at peace while his mind was still racing with fear and guilt.

About half an hour later he heard the door creak open. He could hear Legend speaking muffled nonsense as he got into the bed next to him. Warriors did his best to even out his breathing to fool the veteran. There was a brief pause. He could feel Legend’s eyes burning a hole in his skull before he heard an audible huff and the sound of a body hitting a soft mattress.

He was about to celebrate his successful hoodwink when he heard the vet mutter, “go to sleep.”

He wished it was that easy.

A gigantic thank you to @autumnalchemist for being my beta❤❤ Much appreciated, friend😊

[justoneday-namjoonii]

Don’t Breathe | 3.5

»Genre: hitman!au || stalker!au ||

»Warnings: kidnapping, stalking, obsession, themes of potential Stockholm syndrome, mono-phobia, mature elements, manhandling, breakdowns, yandere (? i think ), he thinks it’s cute when she cries, eventually they fall in love, Disclaimer: I do not condone nor suggest stalking/kidnapping or anything of that nature, this is pure fiction ok, kidnappers and stalkers DON’T love you.

»Summary: He doesn’t get shaky hands, he never forgets his gloves and he never leaves a trail. He was paid to get rid of everyone who witnessed the exchange between a gang lord and a politician, they were picked off, one by one. He found out a month later, he missed one. A young writer who attended the event where the exchange took place. He has to kill her. Can he do it?

✤ pt.1 - pt.2 - pt.2.5 - pt.3 - pt. 3.5 - pt.4.0 - pt.4.5

A/n: enjoy 💜

⇢ 6 years ago ⇠

“Don’t forget us when you’re a famous writer,” 

Your mom brings in the third meal she packed for you, she insisted on making you a week worth's of your favorite meals. She said you were gonna miss home and her cooking would cure that longing in a heartbeat. 

“Mom stop it,” You smile, unwrapping the electric kettle they bought you after graduation, “you two are everything to me, I’d never forget you guys,”

She packs the fridge, making sure you don’t starve due to your inability to look away from your computer when you’re writing. After graduating with a bachelor's in communications, you were able to get a position as a writer after interning at The Auburn Times. Your dreams were finally becoming a reality. You have a high-paying job that you love, a nice apartment, a boyfriend—life is perfect.

“We love you, Y/n,” Both your parents walk over to you and give you a big hug, this is it, “you’re gonna do great.” 

Their embrace feels like love and reassurance, you’re so grateful for everything they’ve done to get you here. With a few more goodbyes, you walk them out as they drive away to get home, hours away from where you are now. 

Your apartment is perfect, your kitchen is perfect, everything is just as you imagined. After a few hours of tucking in your bedsheets and setting up your bathroom, you order a large pizza and rightful gorge yourself to a messy reality TV show on your new couch.

On the other side of the city, he waits patiently, the large and lavish office. The chair is stiff under him, but he’s calm, composed.

“Hi, Mr. Kim,” The man with dark brown enters the room finally, a beige folder in his hand as he takes a seat in the chair across from him, “sorry for the wait.”

Taehyung tilts his head a bit, not upset or impatient by any means, “You’re fine,”

“So, you have an interesting profile,” Minho sits back, the folder sitting on the desk between them, “not a lot of kills under your belt but the jobs you have done, not one slip up. But tell me a little bit about your personal life, your background.”

Taehyung’s eyes drift from the desk to the man in front of him, “I moved here when I was eighteen, joined an organization but I just quit recently. I was born in the countryside, lived in a foster home for most of my childhood. My birth mom was strung out on drugs and my dad, don’t know a thing about him. That’s about it.”

“Any close friends? Do you live alone?”

“I have a friend, but other than him, I don’t know anyone here. And yes, I live alone.”

“Good, you’re perfect for off the grid jobs,” Minho takes out a pen and pad to write down a few things, “okay, you’ve got the job.” He takes out the contract and hands Taehyung a pen.

He reads over the official paper, finding the X where he’s supposed to sign at the end of the paragraph of terms and agreements, “When do I get my first assignment?”

“I’ll have one to you by the end of the week. But let’s go over the rules: first, don’t come in contact with the target. That’s guaranteed screw up. Secondly, keep your observation time at a minimum, if not, you’re at risk for developing an obsession with the target, that’s never good. And lastly, one of the most important rules of all; under no circumstances should you form a bond of any kind with the target. The contract you’ll sign to secure this job states just that, a target is a target. If you accept, you get the job done, no exceptions. Got it?”

“Not a problem,” He signs his signature, swearing his life to this organization for a full 7 years. 

“Good,” He takes the pin and tucks the contract back into the folder, “Welcome to the guild.”

It’s noisy.

You’ve been awake for a few minutes, but you’ve heard little movement upstairs—he must be getting ready to go out. Staring up at the ceiling, you keep thinking of that night. How he looked when you hit him, his face flushed, and his eyes tender, he wasn’t angry.

The urge to scratch him when he’s near has lessened, you scold yourself for that. There should be no reason for you to feel anything more than hate for him, so any positive feelings you might have, you have to push down. He kidnapped you, you hate him—you need to hate him.

The door opens and you shyly sit up and gaze at him, he’s dressed nicely in a beige knit sweater and his hair looks freshly washed. He slips the key out of his pocket, “I’m going out today,” Taking your wrist into his hand, he sticks it in the lock and the cuff falls off, “I want you to shower and eat something before I go.”

You can feel him looking at you, waiting for your compliance. But you refuse to move or even look him in the eyes, your attitude will be your downfall one day.

“Hey,” He grabs your arm a little tighter than usual, making you frown, “get up,”

You spare him a halfhearted glance before standing up and walking past him, eager to get to the shower and away from his overbearing presence. 

Surprisingly, he lets you walk upstairs and he follows you to the guest bathroom where you’ve been showering since you’ve been here. He shuffles you into the bathroom as if to tell you you’re walking too slow. You stumble a little, why is he handling you like this?

“Um,” You bite your bottom lip when you only see a towel and washcloth on the counter, “do you have any clothes for me?”

“Just take a shower, I’ll be right back,” He answers flatly, closing the door in your face. He’s so moody right now, you know you can be pretty cold to him, but he didn’t have to slam the door. That won’t keep you from indulging in a nice shower though. You’re grateful that he at least gives you this luxury twice a day. Taking off your clothes, you sit them on the counter and hop in the shower. A few minutes go by and your stomach twists when you hear the bathroom door creak open.

“I need you to hurry up,” He glances at the curtain, trying not to think of you being completely bare behind it, “I have to be somewhere in an hour,” 

“I’m going as fast as I can,” You mumble. When you hear the door close, you get out and quickly dry off so you can get dressed. You notice that nothing he brought you to wear is yours, aside from your underwear and socks, which you choose to not to think of how he picked them from your drawers. There’s a baby-blue hoodie with gray sweat pants, these are definitely not yours, are they his? You cringe, but slip them on anyway. Ugh, you chastise for liking how the clothes fit, it reminds you of how Jin’s clothes used to hang on you. 

It’s comforting to think of him, you haven’t thought of him in a while. He used to be your everything, you two were partners in crime for a majority of your life in the city. But things didn’t work out and you have no negative feelings about it. If anything, you’re grateful to have had the time you had to figure out what you really wanted. Now, look at you, your free lifestyle just a distant memory. 

When he hears your light footsteps he looks at the end of the stairway to see you, his mouth opens to speak but nothing comes out. Damn it, why do you have to look like that? He forgot to do your laundry last night, now he has to live with the image of you like this for the rest of his life. Not paying any mind to his gawking, you glance at the delicious-looking plate and try not to look too excited from it. The sandwich and chips with a large bowl of fruit have become normality, knowing he’d have it prepared every day was one of your only joys.

“I didn’t get the chance to wash your clothes last night, so I had to give you something of mine,” He breaks the silence with a firm voice. He walks up to you and holds the plate in front of you, gesturing for you to exchange it for your dirty clothes. “you can take that downstairs,” He vanishes into the laundry room. 

No need to tell you twice. You hold the plate gladly and head back to the basement or what you mentally refer to as a cave. It doesn’t take long before you’re perched on the cushion and picking at the bowl of fruit.

He makes an appearance once again, this time he stands at the stairs, not fully entering the space. “I’ll be back in a couple of hours,” With that, he locks the several locks on the door and seals you into your dungeon for however long he pleases.

Music, you hear music. You assume it’s from his speaker, but you’re just not sure from where. You listen and you can hear the song clearly, Fly Me to The Moon to be precise. A tune you often hum mindlessly at home. You think, he had probably heard you humming it several times. There’s no telling how many nights he watched you prance around your home as if no one were watching. Unbeknownst of his presence, oblivious of your nearing future. The thought alone makes you sick to your stomach. You push the plate to the end of the cushion and lay down, dying to return to the peaceful realm of sleep.

The brunch spot isn’t as packed as he thought it’d be. He sits at the table, drinking his second cup of water as he glances at his watch, Yeosang should be arriving soon. Yeosang was the only friend he had in this city when he first moved here, they go way back. About a year ago, he got a job offer abroad and he hasn’t seen him in person since. Today he’s back to visit family and he made sure to schedule a time for one of his best friends.

“Taehyung!” A cheerful voice calls his name, “Long time no see,”

Taehyung greets his blond-haired friend with a and he insists that he takes a seat. “Man, how long has it been?” 

“Too long,” When the two finally sit down, the waitress brings Yeosang a menu and says she’ll be back to see if they’re ready to order, “Berlin is nice, but my social is suffering, I work too damn much,”

“Tell me about it,” Taehyung stares at the menu, debating over the green tea latte or an americano, “it hasn’t been the same since you left.”

“Yeah?”

Yeosang has always been the one person in the guild that he fully trusts, something about him that 

“Yeah, I went on a job with Park Jimin, can you believe I actually agreed? if you were here you probably could’ve talked me out of it,” He sighs, finally deciding that the green tea latte is the best option. When the waitress walks by, he waves her over gives her his order. Yeosang puts his orders in as well and the two go back to their conversation, “the payout was too good to pass up,”

It’s not long before their food is on the table and they’re reminiscing on the good times they used to have. Taehyung was great support for Yeosang and vice versa. They used to get jobs and split a hefty payout for their services as a team, it was nice to work with someone he trusted. But even working alone had its perks, larger pay, less loose strings, no one to debate with. 

“So,” Yeosang peeks at him, noticing how his hair is threatening to grow past his eyes completely, “have you found anyone special? Or are you still living in that huge place of yours all alone,” 

Tugging his bottom lip into his mouth, his feline eyes drift to the window beside him, he has to answer this carefully or it’ll become obvious that he’s hesitating, “No, there’s no one,”

He pries, smirking because he just doesn’t fully believe that, “You should broaden your horizons, Kim. Go out, date, have a little fun,”

Tae sits his drink down and sighs, deciding not to entertain that, “Where are you staying?”

“A hotel, I won’t be spending too much time there though, I have a packed schedule,” HE tilts his head in thought, “maybe I can crash at your place this weekend?”

He smiles, “Sure,”

“Agh!” You slam your body against the door for the third time, but to no avail, it stays locked. If he’s nothing, he’s smart when it comes to keeping you from trying to escape. There are no windows down here and the door isn’t budging for anything. 

After your shoulder began to throb from the constant impact, you decide to give up and sit on the floor in front of the cushion. It’s been days since he’s let you out of here and you think he’s doing it on purpose. Aside from getting you up to bathe and eat, he hasn’t taken you to his room or come down to sit with you. It’s not something you want to miss, but he’s proving to be right about what he said when you were first brought here—you’re feeling isolated. He hasn’t threatened to starve you, he hasn’t made threats of any kind actually, it’s starting to seem like he’s trying to spite you? Whatever he’s trying to do, it’s creating a distance that’s starting to make you feel more uneasy.

Everything feels scary. Not him, but what he’s doing to you. You feel so alone, isolated. When human interaction becomes nonexistent. That’s what he once said but you ignored it at the time, brushing off as a threat to keep you afraid. But he was right, it’s starting to get to you, these four walls. You’re beginning to have a hard time telling what time it is, it’s messing with your senses. You can’t remember the last time you’ve seen another human being beside him. He hasn’t given you crossword puzzles, a notebook to draw in, he doesn’t even let you watch TV. You do nothing, every day you just do absolutely nothing. 

And at night, you’ve developed a bit of insomnia. You stare into the corners of the dark space, telling yourself that there aren’t dark figures staring back at you.

Sometimes, you find yourself thinking of him in the dead of night—his face, his voice, the way his hands feel. Knowing he’s probably the only person you’ll have for a while. There’s something so warm about him, the way he looks at you, those eyes... That’s what gets you the most, those deep brown eyes that you can’t look straight into without your mind wandering. It doesn’t even occur to until now that you don’t know his name, you don’t know anything about him. 

Maybe you could learn, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to get to know him. You’re conflicted about it, but what choice do you have? The only other option is to sit down here and go crazy. He’s proven to have a mild obsession with you, why not use that? It’s not so shameful to switch it up and make him think you’ve changed—anything to get you out of this hellhole. 

That’s your decision, seduce him. Get close, if you can get him to trust you, even just a little bit, that’s one step closer to getting out of here.

In your hours of isolation during the day, he’d wait to the late hours of the night and peek down into the basement, seeing that you were asleep. He’d creep down there and sit next to your cushion, eyes trained on you when you��d toss and turn. Sometimes you’d pull on the cuff on your wrist, and he’d get the urge to take it off, but that thought wouldn’t last long. When he’s not working, he’d dedicate himself to learning about you from a distance. Lately, he's dedicated some of his time to painting when the need to see you becomes unbearable. It’s a good distraction. Right next to his room, he goes into his little art studio. He hasn’t been in there as often because he’s been so busy, but he’s thought about letting you occupy yourself in there. Being able to express yourself creatively might put you in a better head-space.

“Are you sure he’s legit, Jungkook?” 

Jin looks over the card, still not too sure about all of this.

“Of course, he’s ex-FBI, very legit, best PI I know,” Jungkook speaks muffled over the phone, “man, he’s a genius when it comes to stuff like this, he finds wat the cops miss.”

Jin sighs, “I hope so. I never liked her living alone, and this was why, just thinking about it makes me sick to my stomach,” The silence piques concern in his friend, knowing he’s hurting, “I know we’re not together anymore, but I care about her, I’ll always have love for her, we’re like family,”

“I hear you, just take it one step at a time, she’s a strong girl, always has been” Jungkook tries to comfort him, but he can’t blame Jin’s concern. He’s a lawyer. There are so many cases that he’s come across with missing victims who haven’t come out alive. He only hopes that he’ll never see a case file with your name in it.

Jin looks up when he hears a knock on the door.

“I’ll talk to you later, he’s here,” He hangs up, straightening up his dress shirt before opening up the front door.

“Kim Seokjin? I’m Min Yoongi, Jungkook connected us,” The man stands relaxed, dirty blond hair and a pair of soft eyes, surprising for a man of his reputation.

“Yes, please come in,” He gestures him inside and Yoongi obliges, eyes discreetly checking the place out, “I prepared the folder last night, was there anything else you needed?” Jin closes the front door and grabs to the beige folder off of the kitchen bar.

“Let me see,” Yoongi extends his hand, taking the folder and opening it up. With narrowed brows, he reads over your address, social media, your workplace, little things like that, “this is good. What is your relationship with her again? Boyfriend or-”

“Ex-boyfriend, but we were on good terms, we’re friends. Her supervisor, Suzy, called me, she’s the one who found out she was missing. I was on her emergency contact list, she must’ve forgotten to update it when we broke,” He bites his cheek to stop himself from rambling, “anyway, she hasn’t answered any calls or texts,”

“It says here she’s a writer for The Autumn Times,” He nods to himself, “I think I’ve read a few of her articles. Do you think there would be anyone out there who would have any reason to abduct her? I heard there was a briefing that some of the attending reporters started vanishing from, is she connected to that in any way?”

“No, not at all,” Jin couldn’t anyone would ever target you, “well, now that I think of it, I wouldn’t know.”

“How about new friends, family, a new boyfriend, an old flame, anything like that?”

“No- Well, I wouldn’t know that either, we haven’t talked for a while, but I don’t think so. She’s very career-driven, after me there was no one else that I knew of, and she’s never had a huge social circle,” Jin furrows his brows, a bit taken aback by the thought you getting with someone else who would potentially put you in harm's way.

“Well, I never rule that out, so I’ll do a little digging to see if it’s possibly someone of that nature, but who knows, she could have run off on her own accord, could be a lot of different things,” He closes up the folder, “anything else I might want to know?”

“No, I think that’s everything, if there is anything Suzy finds out, I’ll contact you immediately.” 

“I appreciate it, it’s nice meeting you Mr. Kim,” He shakes his hand, “and I assure you, I’ll carry the burden of worrying about her, you just relax, okay? I know it’s easier said than done, but you’ve gotta stay calm somehow.”

“Thanks.”

With about as much information as Jin could possibly gather on you, he decides to go to your home first. Assuming it’s under police investigation, it might be blocked off, but he knows the department well, so getting in won’t be a problem.  One call and he’s given permission to investigate. It takes roughly an hour to get to your apartment, and sure enough, when he approaches the front door, it’s untouched. At least it appears that way. Taking the liberty to survey the home, he pops the lock and walks inside. 

You have a nice place and there’s no immediate sign of forced entry. If it was an abduction, there’s no sign of it being violent, maybe you were unconscious? The said necklace was no longer at the scene, so that was probably confiscated as evidence. With his blue rubber gloves, he starts to plunder through the house. First, he checks your bedroom. The first thing that catches his eye is the bed being made. In theory, if you were taken in the night, why would your bed be made? As he enters your room further, he opens a few of your drawers, nothing looks unusual so he closes them up.

“Hm,” He furrows his brows, if you were kidnapped then your abductor is good. The home looks virtually untouched. For a moment, he’s about to go to his car to grab his camera so he can take pictures of the place, but he hears a beep that comes from the window.

The open window.

Curious, he crouches in front of it and looks it over. There’s no way someone with enough skill to, in theory, make up the bed after taking you, leave fingerprints on the window, but that's not what he’s looking for.

Grazing the window pain, he looks for dirt, gravel, anything that could fall from the bottom of a shoe. Nothing. “Damn.” He sighs, opening the window further.

Just when he thought there would be nothing, he sees the alarm lock. It’s been tampered with. He takes out his phone and snaps a quick photo before writing this down on a notepad. “We’re getting somewhere,” He mumbles, pushing the window down. He’ll come back later for prints, now he has to make a few phone calls.

He’s at the grocery store and he tasked himself with purchasing personal items for you. Soap, razors, lotion, things of that nature. He avoided the impressed looks from women who probably assumed he was purchasing these things for a girlfriend. One particular woman was watching him, pitying his indecisiveness.  He was seriously having a hard time choosing a razor, he forgot what he saw you use at your house.

“Hi,” She smiled, moving into his line of vision, “this one of better for sensitive skin, it’s the one I use,” She points to the one that was fairly priced between the least and most expensive.

“Thanks,” He was relieved to finally just put one in the basket.

“No problem, I’ve been shopping for my boyfriend before, I know how it is,” She winked and went off into another aisle.

After running a few more errands, it was almost sunset and he decided to head home. Instead of checking on you like usual, he showers first. He’s been thinking about you, it’s been a while since you’ve gotten any real interaction. The only time you’ve been seeing him the last few days is to get food or use the restroom, the distance was necessary. He wasn’t kidding when he said you were tempting him, he needed to step back. When you were scared because of him and cried for a while, it was interesting to see that he frightened you that much. He’s got emotional control over you, that much is true. But he’s not sure he’s controlling the emotions that he wants to control. Coming out of his thoughts, he dries off and slips a shirt and sweats on. 

Meanwhile, you can hear his piddling upstairs and you start to lose confidence in your plan. If you could get him to a point where he trusts you enough, you would have a better chance of escape. It seems cruel to deceive him and wrong to want to get close to him just because you don’t want to live in a basement anymore. But if you stay down here any longer you’re going to lose your mind, it’s already happening.

The door suddenly opens and you sit up to see he’s dressed in a white tee and gray-sweats, his hair jet black and fluffy, his expression soft. 

“Come up so you can shower and eat,” The same line you’ve heard for the last few days. 

Testing your boundaries, you don’t move. You continue to sit curled up on the floor, knees pressed to your chest and head hung low. Without a word, he calmly walks down to you.

He crouches in front of you, “Why are you being difficult?”

“I’m just not hungry...” You lie.

“Yes, you are,” He sees right through you, “it’s been hours since I’ve been home.” He tilts his head. Insistent on going through with your experiment, you stay where you are. He scoffs, an amused grin on his face, “You want me to carry you?”

You look up at him, your confidence wavering. “No...”

“Then get up.” His tone isn’t soft like usual, he sounds impatient.

Reluctantly, you stand up, trying to push yourself to your feet. Hoping you can muster up the courage to go through with your plan, you shyly follow behind him.

It’s the same routine, he tells you to get in the shower (his shower this time) and disappears to get your clothes. This time is a bit different, in the shower you notice a few extra thins. A lilac-colored razor, floral smelling body wash that you’re so used to buying for yourself, he bought this stuff for you? Either way, you take the time to shave, there’s no telling when you’ll get the chance to do it again. 

When you turn off the water and wrap yourself in a towel, you see that he put some clothes and underwear out for you, as you expected. Again, his clothes but your underwear and socks. This time, he gave you a dark green shirt and sweats, similar to what he’s wearing now. 

He’s standing in the kitchen, making your plate and his. Dumplings, rice, and a few other sides, one of his favorite meals. When he hears the bathroom door open, he looks up at the banister to see you walking to the stairs with your clothes bunched in your hands. 

“Let me see,” Taking your clothes from you, he gestures to the table, “go sit down, I’ll get you something to drink after I put your laundry in the washer.”

You do as he says, and your stomach growls, debunking your lie from earlier. Taking a seat, you wait patiently until he emerges from the laundry room. 

When he comes to the table with two cups of tea, he glances at you, wondering why you haven’t eaten yet. “Go ahead and eat,” Casually, he picks up a dumpling and starts to eat, “it’s gonna get cold.”

Gazing down at your plate, you hesitantly pick up a dumpling at bite it—it’s actually really good. So, even though you were trying to seem uninterested, you end up eating a little over half of your plate. He grins when he sees your chewing the last dumpling on your plate, now he knows what food you can’t resist.

“Are you finished?” You nod. He takes your plates and takes his time putting the dirty plates in the dishwasher.

Oh god, this isn’t working. How are you supposed to get on his good side when you can barely function when he’s around? You can barely speak you’re so nervous.

“Let’s go, you’re going back to the basement.” 

No no no no, you can’t go back down there. Say something, do something. But nothing comes to your mind and you freeze. Before you know it, you’re walking back down to that dark abyss and you start to feel hazy.

“It’s gonna get a bit cold tonight,” He thinks aloud, “I’ll bring you an extra blanket,” 

You take a seat with a sigh, dejected and disappointed in yourself. This was supposed to be easy. But now that you’re back down in the basement, you’re starting to feel it again. The dread, the isolation that you know he’s trying to make you experience. It’s overwhelming. Why is he doing this? Maybe he’s upset about that night when you hit him, he may resent you for that. But how could he blame you? You’re the victim, you’re the one suffering, being treated like a prisoner, and then he tries to kiss you. Warm tears stream down your cheeks and you don’t try to hide it, there’s no point. Softly, you sob into your hands, you’re sure you look pitiful.

“Why are you crying?” His voice breaks you from your train of thought and you look up. He’s holding a blanket and standing in front of you, more so curious than concerned. Not expecting you to have broken so soon, he takes a seat beside you, eager to hear your reasoning. “What’s wrong?”

“I-” You sniffle, trying to get your words together, “I hate it down here, I see things at night, it’s so dark and- and I see things...”

“You’re just imagining things,” He reasons, not an ounce of sympathy in his words, “there’s nothing down here.“

“But it’s scary, it’s hard to sleep at night,” You wipe your tears, “I keep think you’re going to let me drown like last time, that’s what I keep thinking...” He finds your accusation interesting, given he told you he had that problem fixed.

“No, that’s not gonna happen again, I got that problem fixed,” He grabs the cuff from the wall and you keep a steady eye on his hands. “You’re sleeping down here, give me your hand-” 

“No,” You scoot away, holding your wrists behind yourself so he can’t grab them, “please, it hurts when I sleep...” 

“I really don’t care, you should be used to this by now,” He tries to grab your arms again but you pull away—you’re really testing your luck. “Stop it, I’m not in the mood. Give me your hand.” 

You bite your lip and your eyes glisten with fresh tears, you don’t budge. Being as skilled as he is, he grabs your arm anyway but he regrets it as soon as your deafening cries meet his ears.

“No! No,” Whining at the top of your lungs, you roll your body onto the floor, “p-please,” You sit back on your butt, heart beating out of your chest. You really weren’t planning to lash out like this—but you couldn’t take it anymore.

“You’re really pushing it,” He stands up, glaring down at you. “I swear to god I won’t say it again. Get up.”

When you look away, he takes that as your final answer, you just don’t want to listen.

“Fine,” He picks you up with a strength you didn’t realize he had and tosses you onto the cushion. He easily straddles your waste to pin you down and that’s when you really kick into fight or flight mode. You pull him back to the ground with you and you’re a mess of tangled limbs for a moment. You get the opportunity to crawl away, but he grabs your ankle and yanks you back, making you collapse onto your stomach, “Agh- L-let go,” 

“Stop acting like this isn’t what you asked for,” He pants, “I tried to be nice to you,” He’s trying to get you to stay still. Realizing your difference in size, he gets the idea to press himself against you, smothering you to the hard floor to get your arms without you sitting up, “didn’t you want to be down here? What happened to that? You don’t get to change your mind and do what you want,” He seethes, pressing the side of his face firmly into the crook of your neck while he busies himself with trying to get a hold of your erratic moving arms.

“Get off!” You cry out in a high-pitched squeal, kicking and squirming, trying to get him to give up.

“Stop moving,” He warns through gritted teeth, “what the fuck is wrong with you?” He sits up to look you in the eyes but that doesn’t last long. You violently kick your legs which causes him to lose his bearing, giving you the freedom to move your upper body now. You quickly turn onto your stomach and hold your hands to your chest, sobbing into the hard floor. It’s no use to keep going with you, you’re relentless.

“Okay, I get it, calm down,” He sits up a bit out of breath, now straddling your lower back. Your eyes squeeze shut when you feel his hands run down your sides, extremely slow. 

“There you go, just calm down,” He rubs your shoulders and drags his hands down your sides down to the dimples in your lower back, where he remains. He does this over and over, relishing in the way you seem to become pliant, less rigid. When you let out a small exhale he withdraws his hands and pushes his hair away from his face, “I get it now.” 

“What?...” You whisper.

With a deep sigh of relief, he lays down on your back in a bear hug. What is he doing? You whimper at the extra weight and heat but there’s nothing you can do to get away. He lays on top of you comfortably, not moving or saying anything, he just breathes in sync with you.

“I understand,” He groans against the shell of your ear, “you have to get this out of your system, I know you’ve got pent up frustration against me.” 

“I can’t stay down here, I can’t,” You bite your bottom lip, too confounded physically and emotionally to say anything more comprehensive, “I can’t...”

“Do you want to sleep upstairs?” He asks softly, lifting off of you so you can look back at him. When you nod, he gets up and pulls you to your feet. He can’t help but coo at your flushed face from all that crying, he brushes your cheek with his index finger.

“Come on, take my hand,” He looks at you with earnest eyes, urging you to take his extended hand, “it’s okay.” Carefully, you take his hand and you let him walk you upstairs, freeing you from that dark and lonely place. 

Thinking he’s going to take you to the spare room, you look to the left as he takes you further up the stairs. To your surprise, he turns right and your heart sinks straight into your stomach, you grow farther from the room and closer to his room. Not knowing how to react, you follow him, trying your best not to look terrified, you didn’t expect him to do this.

He leads you inside and closes the door, noticing your shock, he lets go of your hand. As if your feet were bolted to the floor, you stand where you are and watch him walk to his closet. 

“Where-...Where do I sleep?” You ask like a mouse, your voice barely coming to his ears.

“The bed.”

You breathe in and breathe out, it’s okay. You walk towards to the bed and sit on the edge, not undoing the bed-sheets or even getting near the pillow. You know you look awkward but you don’t feel comfortable. When he emerges from the closet, your eyes direct to what he’s holding, handcuffs? Not again.

When he sees that alarmed look in your sleepy gaze. He holds his hands up to show you that he means no harm, “It’s okay, don’t worry, I have to take extra precautions,” With one hand, he pulls the sheets back and stares at you with warm eyes. You start moving, but a little too slow for him, he drags you to the middle of the large bed by your arm like a rag-doll. 

“Lay down,” He pulls the sheets over you and then gets under himself, “I won’t do anything while you’re sleeping, I promise.” 

Taking his word, you do as he says and scoot further under the sheets to lay on your side, facing away from him. 

You’re so impossible. “Face me,” You feel his hand on your shoulder as he turns you over. He grabs your wrist, clicks one cuff on you, and the other on himself. 

Confused, you look at him then at your left hand and his right hand that is now bound by the metal restraint. 

“Don’t try anything stupid. I don’t trust you enough to let you roam free while I’m asleep.” He yawns, scooting a bit closer so that you’re not pulling his arm uncomfortably. “Sorry, you lost that privilege a while ago.”

This didn’t go as planned. He wasn’t supposed to take you to his bed, you weren’t supposed to have a breakdown and fight him, you were hoping it would go smoother than this. Now you’re laying in his king-sized bed, cuffed to him as you face each other.

His eyes are open and prying, enjoying being so close to your pretty face, he’s been waiting for this moment. You’re so entertaining to watch, he smirks when he notices you struggling to stay awake. Every few seconds, your eyelids would flutter a bit and you would frown, trying to keep them open despite your fatigue.

“I know what you’re trying to do,” You swallow the lump in your throat, feeling caught, “you should go to sleep,” He mumbles, rubbing your arm with his free hand, “I won’t go to sleep until you do, so we could do this all night, but I know you’re not gonna last.” He murmurs with a sleepy grin.

“Why did you break up with Jin?” His question is so sudden, it catches you off guard and you stammer, trying to figure how he knows that and how you should respond.

“How did you know that?...” 

“Just tell me why.”

“We were good friends, an- and it should have stayed that way,” You pause, a little shy to explain further, “we had two different lives that just weren’t compatible anymore, that’s it...”

He makes a sound of acknowledgment, satisfied with your answer. 

“I know you’ve been living alone for the last few years, I’m sure you got lonely after the breakup, you don’t have a lot of friends,” He keeps his hand on your shoulder, still rubbing gently, “but you seem okay. You do a lot of things to busy yourself, your job, volunteering, things like that...That’s good, you function well by yourself. But here, you seem so small and your independence is gone, you have to rely on me, you hate that don’t you? I’m sorry, I know you do...But I’m all you have, you’re starting to understand that,” 

His hand is warm, and you find yourself leaning into the feeling when he scoots even closer, your face now centimeters from his, “That’s good, you’re so good Y/n...” He praises you, nuzzling his head against yours.

“Hey, you know what’ll be fun? How about you ask me a question,” Sleepily, you shake your head no, and he frowns.

“Come on, there must be something you want to know,” He pries, pushing your hair aside so you can look up at him, “Ask me something, I’ll answer one question, then you can sleep.”

“Um...” You rake your tired mind for a question and one suddenly comes to mind, “What’s your name?...I- I don’t know your name...” 

“Good question,” He coos, “my name is Taehyung.” Finally, you know something about him, rather than him telling you any and everything you’ve ever done in your lifetime. You breathe in and shut your eyes, squeezing your fist and exhaling against his skin. 

You relax in his heavy embrace, you let him hold you and he sighs when he feels you succumb to sleep. He knows this isn’t real. He’s been in his line of work far too long to be played, even by someone he adores as much as you. Unbeknownst to you, he knows exactly what you’re doing but he’s letting you do it anyway, for selfish reasons. He knows the drill, become friends with the enemy, sleep with the enemy, and your chances of defeating the enemy increase. Despite being aware that you’re deceiving him, he doesn’t care. If it means he can hold you close and not be pushed away, it doesn’t matter how real or fake it is—he wants it anyway. 

[concussed-to-pieces]

To Tell You The Truth Part One

Fandom: Prospect [2018]

Pairing: Eventual Ezra/Prospector!Reader

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Hello everyone, and welcome! I present a new indulgence, as I am a simple man subject to the whim of my hyperfixations. I hope that you all will enjoy this tale, though I warn it will be a tad less carefree. Darker subject matter will be tread in this series. But! My indulgences will shine through regardless, and my trigger warnings will be at the beginning of each installment. If you're interested in reading more of my attempted writing involving a space Pedro, I will direct you to Stay Safe, my completed Mandalorian fic. Enjoy!

Tag List: @huliabitch @renegademustelid @wrestlingfae @zombiexbody @sporadic-fics @rzrcrst

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: This installment contains allusions to previous abuse. Stay safe!]

You ran.

The thrower knocked against your leg as you fled, almost tripping you numerous times. You couldn't bring yourself to fix it, though.

You didn't stop, even when your ribs started to ache and your vision went patchy. The pod is just in the next clearing, you kept telling yourself, the next clearing for certain. Once you were inside it, you could…

It had no lock. Damon hadn't deemed it necessary. Maybe...maybe that other man just wouldn't find you. The one that Damon had shot and tried to thieve everything from. How could he have believed that his greed would go unchecked?! Those two men had clearly been slaving in the Bakhroma Green for ages. Months at a bare minimum. Now one of them was dead, and the other had been wounded by Damon before your oh-so-illustrious companion had succumbed to the injuries inflicted by that railgun. 

You had been involved in dig disputes before, of course, but you were hard-pressed to think of a time where one had been settled with such...messy finality. 

You entered the pod with a gasp of relief, jerking your helmet off to breathe the comfortingly stale air. You dropped the thrower by the door, unable to bring yourself to even think about using it. 

Damon was dead. 

You pressed your hands to your temples and sank to the floor. The man who had bullied, browbeat and press-ganged you into this remote locale, was dead. And you…

You had no idea how to urge this pod back up past the thick canopy. You were a digger. Digging was what you were good at. It was what you knew. You were not a pilot.

Despair took hold then, as you realized you were truly trapped. Precious seconds ticked by while you laid there on the floor, a curled-up ball of miserable floater. There were three cycles left before there would be no escape, before the freighter slingback would be entirely inaccessible.

You dragged yourself out of your funk eventually, doing your best to wipe your face clean of all your tears. You could figure this out. All Damon had been good for was flying, right? You would inventory the supplies and see how many days you could eke out. Maybe you could reach someone on the long range. 

...

The sorting and cataloging work kept you busy. Which was good. You liked busy. Busy limited headspace. Busy kept people alive on digs. 

It was a little warm inside the pod once the sunlight started beating down on it. You wiped your sweat off with your forearm for the millionth time, flipping through your notes. If you were cautious about certain resources and supplements, you might be able to last two months down on the Green moon. But that was only if your filters continued to hold recharges. Uncharitably, you wished you had taken Damon's before you bolted. 

There was nothing for it. You would just have to make it back to the freighter in time. Two stands of miserable living would do you no good if you were still on this moon. Judging from the thickness of the pollen in the air, the plant life would be noxious. You wouldn't survive without your filters.

You leafed through the radio manual, flipping the power switch and grimacing at the burst of static that greeted your ears through the Arcsoko long range headset. "To anyone listening, this is Dasha Landcraft Rental, parcel-class, pod number-" you paused, fumbling through to the back of the manual for the number scrawled there by the company. "Number...eight-eight-three-nine-seven-five dash-zero-zero--" you stopped to inhale, "-two-seven-four-two. We have landed off course. I repeat, we are off target in the Green. Pilot lost." Your voice started to shake. "P-Pilot lost. If a-anyone is within range, please respond."

You flipped the switch on the signal amp and then pushed the looper, setting the message to repeat broadcasting for an hour. It would be a varying amount of expenditure on your chit for every additional hour you wanted to keep your transmission on the air, and you didn't exactly have money to throw around, so all you could hope was that someone would hear your distress message within the first free hour. 

You kept the headset on, rocking back and forth in your chair as the minutes ticked down. A few times there were bursts of static that sounded like someone was about to come on air, but they peaked as fast as they arrived. 

Hope faded the longer you sat there, sorting and stacking the brightly-colored Calori-pouches of Pastors Henry slurry. You staunchly ignored the way your lower lip was quivering. Damon hated it when you cried.

Within the last few precious minutes of your free broadcast, a noise outside sent your heart into your throat. You yanked off the headphones, scrambling for the nav console. The wall of bulky, jutting screens was the first thing you could seriously consider cover, but it was only once you'd tucked yourself beneath it that you remembered you had left the thrower by the door. 

You started forward to grab it, but ended up just lowering your body closer to the floor as the noises advanced, footsteps you realized. So he had found you. He would certainly kill you if only for what your partner had done. It had been careless of you to start your broadcast so soon after returning to the pod. You had essentially beamed out a homing signal to your exact location. 

For an hour.

This was it. Cowering in a rented pod, weapon feet away, clutching an itemized list of all the things to eat and drink. A fitting end, for a timid dust-scratcher like yourself.

I will not cry or beg, you told yourself sternly. It would do no good here. It was better to face your demise with some shred of dignity, and Damon had just gotten more angry when you cried. 

The hatch hissed loudly and you somehow made yourself even smaller while that man, the talkative one, lurched up into the pod. He stumbled, fighting with the latches on his helmet for a good ten seconds before finally managing to get the thing off, thus affording you a clear view at his face.

He didn't look particularly cruel, or Brism-busted like Damon had. Mainly, he just looked tired and dirty. He had a head of shaggy brown hair, olive skin and deep-set brown eyes. His nose was hawklike, prominent even alongside that heavy brow and the square jut of his scruffy jaw. When he turned his head, you spotted a curious chunk of blond hair that grew determinedly out at a different angle from the right side of his hairline, Mallen streak, your brain supplied oh-so-helpfully. An old scar, silver with age, meandered along his left cheekbone, and a halfway-maintained mustache shielded his upper lip.

His eyes roamed the pod curiously for a moment, taking in all the notes you had tacked to the walls in your inventory sweep. He absolutely noticed the thrower abandoned by the door. 

"This is a vexsome position that your friend Damon has put you into, I'm afraid." He drawled, his pistol loose at his side while he slowly rotated. "I will not apologize for my hand in his death, as he wounded myself, razed my associate and was planning to abscond with several stands worth of my hard work. His greed outplayed his hand."

Dark eyes landed on you, curled up against the wall beneath the console screens, and the smile that bloomed under his mustache was decidedly predatory. 

"I'm...I have food." You began to bargain shakily. 

"You certainly do, don't you?" He crooned in a patronizing tone, the thrower pistol humming as he primed it. 

"I'm a good digger. Th-That's the only reason Damon dragged me here." You cringed when he took a step towards you. "P-Please, I didn't-"

"I have no doubt that whatever it was, you surely didn't. You could have picked me off easily out there had you wanted to, plenty of range on that thrower. What is a gentle soul like you doing with a character that had such a predisposition for marauderous pilferin', I wonder?" The man mused, his expression cheery to an unsettling degree. The grip he had on the pistol didn't waver an inch.

"He promised I-I would be able to finally quit with the points this planet would make." Why bother lying? This man would just kill you anyway. "B-But the pod, it...something happened during the landing. A malfunction, I'm not sure."

"Ah, so your friend Damon was the Ahab of this vessel as well. No surprise there, that steadfast moral compass of his must have seen you two just flawlessly across the vacuous expanse." 

Your lower lip began to quiver again and you dug around in your suit pockets for the lone gem that you had uncovered on your trek earlier. "I don't...I don't have anything to offer aside from the supplies and this. But...p-please, I just…" 

Your sketchbook tumbled out of your pocket as you removed the gem. The barrel of his gun grazed the side of your head in obvious response to the action and you froze in terror. "You keep those hands where I can see them, gentle soul. I am not in a gaming mood at the mo…" His words trailed off when he caught sight of the massive pearl cradled in your palms. "Well well, it seems you've got a bit of bargaining power yet." 

"I don't need much food, I p-promise." You had told yourself you wouldn't beg, but this seemed...very close to begging. "J-Just water and a pilot." You extended the aurelac, knowing full well that you were surrendering your ability to go home. That miserable rock would have paid for the lease on the pod and passage back to the Pug at the bare minimum. Which you had pointed out to Damon, but he insisted on trekking further. You found yourself agreeing wholeheartedly with this other man's earlier observation, his greed outplayed his hand.

"I am not overly inclined to rid this world of you, gentle soul. If I am reading the situation correct, you are not here because you wish to be." The man said after several breathless moments. He didn't seem concerned about taking the gem from you at the moment. "However, we are at a bit of a stalemate when it comes to locomotion." 

His gun dropped from the side of your head and you flinched again when he stretched out his hand towards you. "H-Here, here! Just p-please, don't-" You shoved the rock against his fingers, your eyes shut tight with anticipation. Why couldn't he just shoot you and get it over with?!

"I'm offering you a hand up, gentle soul. Squirrel away your bargaining chip for the time being." The man said, gently easing the gem aside. "I am not an unreasonable man. Let's get you up off that floor and we shall discuss terms as civilized folk do." 

"You...you're not going to kill me?" You asked weakly, daring to open your eyes.

"At this juncture? No." The man tilted his head. "Are you planning on doin' anything nefarious that may encourage my own expedient shuffle off of my mortal coil?"

You had to take a minute just to try and figure out what he'd actually said. It had been ages since you'd interacted with anyone aside from Damon, and your late 'partner' hadn't had the most expansive vocabulary. "I've never killed anyone before." You replied, your voice a whisper.

"A prudent answer, to be certain, for one never knows what the tides of fate have in store for them." He pondered for a breath, his eyes almost impossibly dark. "I'll take your word all the same, face value. You seem an honest sort, gentle soul. Makes me inclined to wonder how you got tangled up in this sorry soirée, though." His boot bumped against your sketchbook and he toed it a little closer to you, obligingly keeping his distance.

"That's not...it's not important right now." You snatched the book up and crammed it back into your pocket. Then, you floundered into one of the flight chairs, sitting sideways so you were able to maintain the barest pretense of eye contact. You clasped your trembling hands in front of you, trying to remember to keep them where he could see them.

"The terms will be as follows: we work together to get this craft airworthy once again. By my late partner's calculations, Kevva rest his soul, we've only got a few turns of twenty-four left until we're well and truly cut adrift on this forsaken Nessus." The way that he was using the term 'we' had your chest strangely tight. "I am loathe to be restricted here for the rest of my days, especially with a royal's ransom stashed in my trophy case. I doubt you wish to suffer that same perdition." 

He leaned forward and you shifted back on reflex, quickly dropping your gaze from the scar on his cheek to the floor. "I understand." You said softly. "What do you want me to do? I'm not...I don't know anything about the nav systems or engines or-"

"Gentle soul, how long had you wandered this world with that disreputable thief?" 

To your horror, you couldn't actually remember how long it had been. It was a haze of silent travel, punctuated by violent outbursts as you tried to make yourself seem even smaller than you already were-

"I did not mean to wound you, gentle soul. I offer my most sincere reparations." He apologized quietly.

"What?"

He gestured with his hand, a little slower now. "You are weepin'."

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry." You fumbled to wipe your face off on your sleeve. "I'm alright, I'm fine." You assured him with a watery smile.

He studied you for what felt like a lifetime, those brown eyes boring into your own. "I am Ezra, gentle soul. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance." 

Ezra. That's right, he had introduced himself as such to Damon before everything had gone so incredibly wrong. "I'm sorry about what happened to your friend." You said thickly. "I didn't...I didn't want anyone to get hurt."

He waved off your words, scoffing a bit. "Number Two was a utility, not a friend. I am none too aggrieved by his loss, and I implore you not to trouble yourself with such dour ruminations on his behalf." Ezra stretched, then swiveled his head around. "What does our supply situation look like? I can see your scrawlings, naturally, but I would prefer it from the merchant's mouth."

You leafed through your notebook pages. "If we're careful, we should have enough to last one month." Split between the two of you rations were a bit harder to calculate, so you went with the safe route of halving the time evenly. "I don't know your appetite. Damon would go days without food sometimes, because of the sleep meds."

"I am ravenous at any and all opportunities, I must confess." Ezra admitted. "Been surviving off bits bars for the last four stands. Calori-paste is my damn marrow at this point in time."

"W-We still have some powdered things, tea, if...I mean can I offer you...um, some coffee?" You warily turned your back to him and started rummaging in one of the many side compartments, pulling out a tiny sealed bag of dehydrated coffee mix.

"I would be…" He paused, sounding like he was fighting for breath. It was so dramatic that you actually looked at him, a touch alarmed. "I would be forever in your debt if you would grace me with so much as a watered-down teaspoon of that heavenly beverage." He settled on one of the side benches, his pistol holstered for the time being. "We will not need rations to last the month, gentle soul, so our best option in the event of calamitous mechanical difficulties may be to take any excess off to the Saders to trade for goods."

"Saders?"

"They are a group of people that inhabit the Green. Religious settlers, tedious scavengers."

Your brow furrowed. You were no religious expert. "Like Kevvaites?" You tried.

"No no, not so much with the monotheism. They believe in the Tides of the universe. The Currents, a certain...ebb and flow of life." Ezra waved a hand to illustrate. "All very poetic, giveth and taketh kinda' sort. Not bad folk to deal with, all things considered, but voraciously against conventional arms and armaments."

You wracked your brain for any other useful items you may have stowed away from Damon, lest he pawn them to pay for his drugs of choice. After you set the hydro to churn the precious dust into coffee, you knelt and shuffled your small personal storage compartment open. "I don't have a lot to offer, I'm afraid." You murmured, tugging out a few duct tape sealed bags. "Almost all the basic hygiene items, my emergency filters...anything he could get his hands on, really. He would just trade it for more drops or Brism." You continued apologetically. 

"That man was a junkie." Ezra said bluntly. "Now, I have my own vices and I am not above reproach, but I always assured that my consumption was never at the cost of someone else's comfort." 

Your throat felt tight and you ducked your head down, avoiding eye contact. "I...I'm sorry." 

"Whyever for, gentle soul?" He asked curiously. 

"I-I shouldn't have-" You had no idea what you were apologizing for, your words dying in your throat. After so much time with Damon, you did it automatically. The hydro beeped, offering you the opportunity to bolt. Which you took immediately. "Coffee!" You announced brightly, the flimsy cardboard container that it dispensed into almost scorching your hand. You passed it off to him, warning, "Be careful, it's-" 

Ezra slugged half the scalding contents in one go, his Adam's apple bobbing convulsively. 

"-h-hot." You finished weakly.

"Kevva above, it sure is." He grunted, shuddering. "God damn, I have missed that acrid nightmare of flavor burnin' my esophagus like Satan himself. Absence truly does make the heart grow fonder." He pawed idly at his wounded arm after a moment, grimacing. "I don't suppose that Damon kept any of the usual med supplies? A field kit, maybe?" The older man queried hopefully.

You hesitated, gnawing on your lower lip. "He...didn't." You answered carefully.

Ezra looked momentarily distraught before he seemed to catch himself, his expression smoothing into something closer to weary resignation. "Well, can't say I'm surprised. They're worth good currency in a trade. Bodes poorly for the survival of my arm, however." He said glibly, the wince that followed contrasting dramatically with his unphased tone.

"Y...Your-?"

"Once the dust gets in, it don't take too long for the fester to permeate." Ezra explained. The wound on his arm oozed a sickly, yellowish fluid down the sleeve of his exosuit when he pressed his hand over it. "It wasn't originally just myself and Number Two, you understand. We had a full crawling party before the muti--" He jerked to a stop, shooting you a wary glance. "Now, gentle soul, I don't want you thinkin' that you have anythin' to fear from me. The mutiny was...a misunderstanding. You saw today what depths desperate men stoop to over a bit of aurelac."

You nodded, your throat gone dry. 

"There were...concerns voiced about equal shares, it was a Kevva-forsaken mess. I don't know how many times I've told folk to draw up their union contracts before they get boots on the ground. Nobody listens, though. It's always 'mutiny once we're planetside' this and 'we can take everything' that." He griped. "Words and metal flew and, regrettably, myself and a few others were marooned on this damnable moon." Ezra drew his hand away from his arm, that yellowed fluid clinging to his fingers in thick, pitchy strands, "We quickly found that these climes are fiendishly inhospitable to floaters in damaged suits."

Your lip felt like it was about to drop off your face from how hard you were worrying it. "I...D-Do you promise not to hurt me?" You finally asked.

Ezra gave you a look of confusion, brown eyes narrowing slightly. "Gentle soul, I thought I had made it abundantly clear that-"

"Just-! Just say yes or no." 

"Yes, dammit, but I fail to see what that's got to-"

"I h-have a kit. A f-field kit." You stammered out. His eyebrows drew together in a thunderous frown and you saw his jaw working. "Wait! Wait, just let me f-f-finish." You extended your hands in a placative gesture, your heart hammering wildly in your chest. "I...trade. I'll trade you. Nobody does anything for free, right? I'll help you, and in exchange, I want you to promise me you won't hurt me."

"What would you do if I did hurt you, gentle soul?" Ezra inquired softly. Your breath hitched. "Indeed, what would you be able to do? Especially now that I'm aware you've got a kit hidden somewhere." The man got to his feet and you immediately flinched. "Your powers of persuasion need some...refinin', but I am not immune to civility. Gentle soul, if you give me that kit not only am I willin' to work with you to get us off this moon, I'll throw a chunk of my haul your way as a show of good faith." He offered, dark eyes watching you closely. "And, I will give you my word as an individual with the slightest, infantessible modicum of moral standing, that I won't lay a finger on you fueled by dubious or malicious intent." 

You stared up at him, your mind entirely blank from panic. His strange words certainly weren't helping your comprehension. "I..." No, no, this was wrong. He was putting far too much up for his end of the bargain! He must be planning something, some sort of trick.

Ezra cocked his head. "You still with me, gentle soul?" He asked cautiously. "Don't tell me you're strokin' out, it'd be a shame to lose such pleasant company."

Your laugh was a jagged hiccup in your chest. Ezra huffed out a breath after a moment, obviously uncomfortable. He probably thought you had gone moony, entirely lunar. "I'm...I'm sorry, I...that's a good, um, deal, b-but I can't accept it." You struggled to get your words out. "Y-You…that is, I don't...I don't want…" to be like Damon. 

"Perhaps your persuasion isn't nearly as uncalibrated as I originally surmised. Very well, gentle soul. How much is my dominant arm worth to you?" Ezra queried dryly, misunderstanding your hesitation. "Because to me, as a workin' man, it's worth its weight in aurelac sixteen times over." 

You hadn't thought of it like that. You felt a bit foolish now. "Oh. Oh, I'm sorry. I...I'm sorry." 

"Kevva above, you are a tender thing. I don't mean to be so grim, but that's the harsh reality that I've been livin' with since I found myself marooned. It's a miracle I've managed this long with the meager supplies allotted to us." He said, sounding rueful. "I mourn my stomach every morning as I eat those crunchy bastard bits bars and I pray for my sufferin' to end."

You didn't mean to snort, but his colorful terminology caught you off-guard. His smile was less predatory this time, as if he hadn't expected your mirth. You knelt, burrowing even deeper into your compartment until you hit the false bottom. There, underneath several sheets of whitewashed cardboard, resided your precious field kit. You had traded the entirety of your meager share from an equally-meager haul for it stands ago, once you realized how deeply entrenched Damon was in his addiction. You had always clung to the faint hope (albeit perhaps in vain) that you might be able to escape from Damon and, if you struck out on your own, you knew you would at the very least need a good field kit as a failsafe for emergencies.

You hesitated before you tugged the box free, your fingers stroking the smooth plastic. You felt silly for the melancholic sensation that rose in your chest, it was just a field kit. You could always get another one. But it had seemed like so much more than a porta-surge. Until today, it had represented your dreams of getting out from beneath Damon's thumb. 

"Not to-" You had been so lost in thought that the unexpected sound of his voice caught you by surprise. You bolted to your feet in a rush and the top of your head met the bottom of his jaw with a bone-jarring impact. Your vision faded momentarily from the force of the blow, black dots exploding and fading out. 

The older man grunted, staggering back a step. He proceeded to sit down heavily on one of the bench seats as you held your aching head in pain. The porta-surgery box laid abandoned on the floor. You could only imagine what level of punishment you were in for now. 

"Martyr's malfeasance, gentle soul, if you try to ring my bell like that again you may do me in." He groaned hoarsely, working his jaw and tonguing the inside of his cheek. "What the fuck is your cranium comprised of?"

You didn't answer, sniffling a little bit and blinking back your tears as you scooped the field kit off the ground. You held the box out to him, your eyes focused on your boots while you struggled to keep your hiccups to a minimum; Damon hated when you would cry.

You cringed when a gloved hand rested gently on the top of your head, clumsy fingers parting your hair. What was he…? "You are goin' to have a fine bruise, gentle soul. Mercifully you didn't break skin. Guess my jawline isn't as sharp as I've been claimin'." 

Was he...was he joking with you? You dared to glance up at him and you were startled by how concerned he looked. Oh, I'm still holding the kit. You gracelessly pushed the field kit against his stomach, trying to use it to give yourself some breathing room. 

Ezra seemed to get the hint and he shifted a step back, taking the kit as he went. "Kevva, this is one of the portable surgicals. Sequestering it was the intelligent choice, gentle soul." He muttered, almost like he was speaking to himself. "I am loathe to willfully use your resources, so I shall do my best to be prudent." You could feel him looking at you again. "This is all that you have, isn't it?" He asked abruptly. "The kit, those few possessions you've already dug out of that compartment."

You just cleared your throat and avoided his searching gaze with studious intent. "You're wasting time." You whispered.

"True enough." Ezra agreed. He flopped back down on the bench and rummaged around in the box, tugging loose the tiny orange sepsis kit and the patch gun with a grimace. "Hello, old friend." He then raised his voice to address you once more, "I will be makin' a copious amount of noise presently, gentle soul."

You nodded jerkily, covering your ears and turning your head away.

Part Two

[littlegrrl7]

A Dance for Three

Ikemen Vampire Big Bang 2021

Pairing: Comte/Leonardo/MC

Smut with plot 18+ NSFW

Masterlist for 7 chapters 17k words

read on Ao3

Chapter 6- Desire

Leonardo took her hand to help her from the carriage. Niamh retouched her hair and make-up, and her eyes shone brightly in the lanterns strung by the entrance to the grand manor. He tied the soft black velvet mask to his face. Leo was never one for these costumed parties and was only willing to do the bare minimum to fit in. She smiled as he once again tucked her hand into his arm.

“My Lady.” Leonardo gestured her forward. He wanted to crush her to him, to secret her off into the gardens, and whisper the naughtiest of things to her until she would wrap her body around his in passionate need. But here he was, acting like a proper escort until her partner arrived.

Her lover.

His lover?

Niamh's gasp of wonder interrupted his thoughts. Couples were already on the floor dancing, the elegant room flowed with champagne fountains and ice sculptures. Beyond the dancers, wide glass doors opened to a torch-lit garden. Niamh tugged him forward.

“Leo, dance with me!”

He froze, and she paused, her smile dropping.

“Why don’t we get something for you to eat first, and perhaps when Comte arrives, he will dance with you.” He maneuvered her over to a table laden with food.

“Please?” She tugged his sleeve, looking up at him with pleading pale blue eyes. He sighed softly.

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Cara mia…I never learned how.”

She flipped her fan open, hiding a small smile. “You jest, the master of everything doesn’t know how to dance?”

Leonardo frowned, then with a sly smirk, he leaned in close. The warmth of his lips caressed her ear, “There is a dance I can do, but I think you’d prefer more privacy for that.”

Oh, her blush was glorious. He kissed Niamh’s fingertips, nipping her lace gloves, then snatching a drink from a passing servant, he led her outside to the balcony.

Leonardo leaned on the railing overlooking the formal gardens. The front part was lit with a string quartet playing soft music. As the gardens stretched father out a lantern flickered here and there, enough to light the path. He handed Niamh a flute of champagne; she leaned back against the rail gazing into the room longingly.

“Who taught you to dance?” Leonardo took a small plate of tiny cakes from a passing servant and held one out to her lips. She bit into it with a grin, then he brought the other half to his mouth.

“Comte, actually, I didn’t know how to dance when I first got here. Well, not ballroom dancing.”

Leonardo wiped a bit of frosting off the side of her mouth with his thumb. Then watching her, he brought his thumb to his lips. Niamh’s eyes got darker, watching Leo’s tongue flick out over his calloused skin.

“And what kind of dancing did you do? In your time.” He leaned in close, his voice a low hum near her ear. Niamh’s eyes looked around the large wrapping porch, then she stood, setting her glass and plate on a small table.

“Come with me.” She was off in a rustle of claret satin and black lace. Grinning, Leonardo followed her to a quiet area, off to the side. They could still hear the music and soft chatter of the crowd. She took his hands.

“Cara mia, what are you doing?”

“We are going to dance.”

“But I-

“Hush, even you can do this, it’s like swaying in place while hugging.”

  Well, that didn’t sound so bad.

She placed his hands on her hips, then stepped close into his arms. Her hands went to his shoulders, and then she smiled up at him.

With those stunning blue eyes...

Niamh was smiling just for him. His cara mia.

“See, and now you step back and forth, like this.” She swayed with him, then laid a hand over his heart and rested her head against his chest.

Something swelled tight in Leonardo; for a moment, tears pricked his eyes, and he blinked them back. Her fingertips stroked the back of his neck, toying with his hair.

“Is this so bad?” Her voice was muffled into his chest.

Leonardo held Niamh just a little bit closer, “I think I like your ‘dancing,’ it is more like an embrace.”

He could feel each of her breaths as her breasts gently caressed his chest. Her hand stroking his neck was almost making him tremble. The warmth of her lilac scent infused his senses; there was no one else in this world at the moment but them. Her breath puffed against the cloth of his shirt, caressing his chest.

He wasn’t sure exactly where this night was going. Would he be dismissed once Comte arrived? Would he be the third wheel? He didn’t know what Comte had planned, only that he had requested he attend with them tonight. Leonardo tried to calm his mind and just enjoy the moment. Allowing himself to be close to Niamh the way he had wanted to be. The way Comte had inadvertently shown him was possible. To be in the moment.

“Can I ask you something? You don’t have to answer if it’s too personal,” Niamh’s soft voice whispered up from his chest.

“Go on.” Leo’s hand slipped around her waist, his thumb stroking her lower back.

“How long have you known Comte?”

Leonardo had to think about it a bit. The years all tended to blend together. “I don’t know, more than a hundred years, I guess. It all gets a bit indistinct after a while, cara mia.”

“And you were…are lovers?” she stumbled a bit over the words. He stopped and placed his hand under her chin, lifting her eyes to meet his.

“Niamh, he cares for you far too much to have continued things with me after you and he became serious. He came to me and ended it before the first time he took you as a lover. You offered him something I couldn’t.”

“Being female?”

He chuckled softly, “No, your heart. Your love. He wanted that, and I always walled him out.”

“Like you did me.” She looked away again and took a step back out of his arms. Leonardo stepped forward, embracing her closely.

“I was wrong on both counts.” Leonardo brushed a kiss over her forehead. “Would you like to view the gardens?” He held out a hand for her to take.

“That sounds lovely.”

Comte stepped into the ballroom, instantly attracting the usual amount of attention. Men swarmed. Women, seeing his arm empty tonight, simpered. He gave them all a polite smile, but his amber eyes scanned the crowd for just one couple. He knew Leonardo couldn’t dance. He expected they would spend the time eating and talking. Becoming comfortable with one another again. His eyes lit on the open patio doors across the hall. Ahhh, the gardens, not a bad idea at all. With a polite smile, he slipped away from his adoring throngs, tugging the light silk mask he wore snugger over his cheek, so it didn’t block his vision. A woman played a large harp off to the side. He scanned the porch looking for Niamh’s deep red gown.

Then he spotted her, Comte released a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

Leonardo held her hand tenderly entwined with his as they walked along the garden paths back toward the main ballroom. They both looked at ease, smiling and relaxed. No more bitterness or hurt coated Leonardo’s features. Niamh laughed at something he said, and Comte saw how tender the look was in the large man’s eyes.

If he didn’t love her now, he soon would.

He started walking toward them, Leonardo’s head lifted first, spotting him. Comte gave him a slow sensual smile and nodded his head. Leo nodded back, then turned to Niamh. Blue eyes sparkled with excitement as she turned toward Comte.

She lifted her voluminous skirts enough to run toward him, throwing herself into his arms. He lifted her up with a twirl, kissing her, then set her gently to her feet. A few people stared at the impropriety, more smiled at her evident enthusiasm.

“Ma chérie! You act as if it’s been years instead of mere hours,” he teased, his hands caressing her waist. He kissed her again, savoring the softness of her lips.

“You know I always miss you,” she admonished, looping her arm through his, they strolled back to Leonardo. Comte didn’t miss the surprised, pleased smile that tugged at Leo’s lips when Niamh slid her other arm through his.

“Where to now?”

“I believe Niamh desired to dance, Comte, and we both know how woefully deficient I am in that.”

“Ma chérie?” Comte brushes his fingers lightly along her cheek.

“Yes, please! Oh, but Leo, do you mind?” She leaned her body into his, and another pleased smile lit his face.

“Not at all, I’ll be waiting out here on the balcony, watching.”

The three of them walked up to the stone terrace. Leonardo released her arm and leaned casually against the banister, lighting a smoke. Comte nodded to him again as he led his lover inside to join the other dancers.

Taking Niamh’s hand, he gracefully swung her into a waltz, moving around the dance floor like they were floating. His thumb lightly stroked the palm of her hand.

She positively glowed. Comte wanted to scoop her up and secret her into the gardens now with Leonardo. Another turn around the dancefloor and she was beaming up at him, his fingers tickled up her ribs, and she giggled, leaning against him as the music came to a conclusion.

“Another?” he asked, handing her a glass of water from the buffet table. She nibbled at a strawberry, her eyes going out to Leonardo on the patio.

“Just one.”

“Did you enjoy your evening with him, ma chérie?” Comte moved her out onto the dancefloor again; another couples dance. He disliked the sets that would have her passed from one partner to another. He didn't like other men touching her, even in the context of a dance. Comte’s eyes momentarily went to Leo, the man still watched them from outside, a hunger building.

“I did,” she leaned in on a turn, whispering into his ear, “but I admit I am hoping for more now that you’ve arrived.”

Comte chuckled softly, spinning her out and then back into his arms. He held her close, enjoying the lushness of her curves, the way her heartbeat had quickened.

“Do you desire us both at once, mon cœur?” He nuzzled her cheek, placing a tender kiss at the soft spot below her ear; her earring tickled coolly against his skin.

“Yes,” Niamh whispered, almost imperceptibly, but he heard. She pulled back to look into his eyes searchingly. Her blue eyes darkened in lust, “But that is also what you desire.”

“Mmm,” he purred into her ear, daring to drop a kiss on the pale temptation of her shoulder, “Are you ready to rejoin him then? Or would you continue to let his hunger grow, watching us dance?”

“That seems unusually cruel since it’s been at least a year since he’s had your touch.” Her grin was impish as she sunk into a low curtsy when the music ended. Comte pulled her snug to his side as they walked toward Leonardo.

“Do you like being watched, ma chérie?” He nuzzled her hair, his lips grazed the curve of her ear, sending heat through her with his words.

“I guess we will find out,” Niamh’s reply was coquettish as they reached Leo, and she extended her hand.

The tall man bowed forward like the most gallant of gentlemen and brushed a kiss over the back of her hand.

“It was a delight watching you dance.” His eyes went to Comte, burnished gold burning with desire.

“Perhaps we should take a walk in the gardens.” Comte murmured, his gaze on Leo just as heated. His hand clenched at his side, he wanted to reach out, to stroke Leonardo’s cheek to run his fingers through the silkiness of his hair. Comte breathed in, catching that scent of cinnamon clove sweet tobacco and the virile, male essence that was all Leo. There were still too many people here, too many eyes. He stepped forward, leading them deeper into the garden.

[starrybethany]

Clayton Keller: Part 3

Word count: 2201

A frown covers my face as I wake up with confusion. I was having such a great dream, why did I wake up? Another kick to my thigh answers my question and I look to see Clayton curled up on his side of the bed, his left leg the only limb to be far away from his body.

And it’s digging into my thigh. I groan at the predicament, covering my eyes to help me wake up more calmly, then uncover my eyes to look back over at Clayton.

I will admit, he is a good looking sleeper. His jaw is dropped open slightly but no drool is coming out- it just looks like he’s in a little bit of shock. His eyelids are closed peacefully and apparently I didn’t notice that he fell asleep without a shirt last night. I admire his torso for a while before the sun begins to rise, streaming through Clayton’s sheer blinds into his bedroom. The orange light lands on his calm body, portraying him as some kind of angel.

Yeah, well, I bet an angel wouldn’t pay a girl for sex.

I reluctantly reach for my phone, see that it’s six o’clock and figure out that I should leave if I really want to make it to my morning class. I think about skipping it. I really think about skipping it, especially after sneaking another glance at Clayton’s naked upper half.

The bed frame creaks quietly as I step out of it. I clench my teeth in anxiety, looking back at Clayton’s still body and sighing in relief when I realize that he’s still out. I pull on the clothes that I came here in, making sure to grab my phone and wallet before heading towards the bedroom door.

But something stops me. I don’t know what it is but I feel myself being drawn back towards Clayton, where I brush back his shaggy brown hair to plant a soft kiss on his forehead.

Then I leave. I want to take care of myself before I have to spend all day listening to my teachers go on and on about wars and the periodic table so I go for a jog, shower, and eat before driving over to campus. I barely make it to class on time but I do make it.

Somehow I make it through a full day of lectures and instead of going out with my friends for a drink like they beg me too, I decide to go home and sneak in a nap before I make myself some dinner.

I’m just about an hour into the nap I’ve been dreaming about all day when I wake up to the sound of a vibration.The sleepiness begins to fade as I locate my phone on my nightstand. I groan, reaching over to grab it. “What?”

“Well hello to you too,” a mocking voice calls through the phone.

“Oh my god, Clayton, I was sleeping.”

“I was wondering if you wanted to go to dinner with me,” he requests.

I pause. “Tonight?”

“Yes, tonight.”

“Clayton it’s already,” I look over at the clock, “Eight o’clock and my bra is off and my bed is warm and-””Fine, then lunch tomorrow,” he decides.

I let out a loud groan. I don’t have anything going on tomorrow, my class was cancelled and I don’t have a job or any plans with my friends. But I was looking forward to staying at home the whole day watching movies…

“Rule four.”

And that does it. I guess I have to obey him, right? “Fine.”

“Send me your address, I’ll pick you up at eleven.”

“Make it noon?” I try to convince him.

“See you at eleven, Y/N.” Then he hangs up.

~

Clayton: I’m here

Y/N: I’m not ready yet, I’ll buzz you in. Front door’s unlocked, I’m in apartment 401.

I click the buzzer and wait until I think he’s gotten in before walking back into my bathroom, picking up my eyeshadow to make it look perfect.

“Y/N?” His familiar voice calls out after the front door creaks open.

“In here,” I holler back. I hear him walk down the hallway and see his silhouette standing in my door frame but don’t look away from my task, giving it all of my concentration.

“Well don’t you look gorgeous.” I put the eyeshadow brush down and look up to see him leaning against the door frame with his hands in his pockets, casually watching me with a smirk on his face.

I roll my eyes at him but don’t respond, finishing up with my lipstick. “I just need to choose my shoes. Where are we going, somewhere fancy or casual?”

“What? Why would that matter?” He questions as he follows me to my closet.

“Well if we’re going somewhere fancy I’m wearing my wedges, if we’re going somewhere casual I’m wearing my Converse. Where are we going?”

“Why would I know that?”

“Well didn’t you choose the restaurant?” I give him a ‘duh’ look.

“Yeah but it’s not like I notice those things,” he defends himself.

I sigh, looking him up and down to see what he’s wearing. Some tan shorts and a patterned, short sleeve, button up. Guess I’ll wear my wedges. Clayton tries to make small talk with me as we walk towards the elevator, and when we step in I almost gag at the sight of who’s already here.

“Hi, Y/N,” Debbie gives me another fake smile and a look of judgement to Clayton. “Is this your new friend?”

“Sure, you can say that,” I give her a knowing look and she suddenly gets uncomfortable. Good.

The elevator is tense as we go down and I’m just waiting for her to mention something about my rent money. She brings it up just as we’re stepping out. “Oh, and by the way, we’re still expecting your money for rent-””I’ll give it to you soon, Debbie. Bye bye.”

And I pull Clayton away before she can respond.

“Who is that?” Clayton asks, laughing at my annoyance. Great, just what you want in a partner, someone who finds joy in your pain. Not like we’re dating or anything…

“My dumbass landlord,” I grumble. “Where’s your car?”

“Right here,” he motions towards the luxury vehicle in front of us.

I raise my eyebrows, not wanting to show him that I’m impressed but on the inside I’m feeling it. I know that he’s watching me for a reaction so I do my best to mask my face. “Are you going to open the door for me?”

He steps forward, pulling open the passenger side door and holding out his hand for me to balance on as I step inside the car. He leans in, hovering over my body with his. I can feel the heat radiating off of him and all I want him to do right now is to press his body against mine and bang in the backseat of his car.

“You’re a tough cookie, aren’t you?” And before I can respond he’s closed my door.

~

“Wine?” The waitress asks, looking between me and Clayton.

Clayton gives me an expectant look and I shake my head, so the waitress walks away to put our orders in.

“No wine?” Clayton asks in confusion.

“I’m not really a drinker,” I smirk, taking a sip of my water. He gives me an amused look, obviously remembering me ditching him for drinks.

“You expect me to believe that?” “Fine.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not really a day drinker.”

He laughs and we make small talk as time goes on. I can tell he’s trying to learn more about me since he asks questions about my family and where I grew up, but I try to keep my answers to a minimum. I don’t know how long this will last and I really only want to see this as a business transaction, no matter how hot Clayton may be, and I know the moment I start telling him about my family pets that I’m gone.

The waitress comes back with our meals and we eat in silence, admiring the taste of our foods and the nice weather this afternoon.

“It’s only been an hour,” I say once I check my phone.

“Really?” His eyebrows furrow, causing a cute dent in his forehead. “Guess I have to plan something else to take up your time.”

“You wanna take me to get my nails done?”

He’s quiet for a moment, then says, “Let me see your shoes.”

I stick out my foot, showing him my wedge that’s worn out at the toe by how often I stumble.

“Yep, we’ll do that,” he confirms as he waves to the waitress for the check.

“What?”

“Let’s go shopping.”

I raise my eyebrows at him. “You want to go shopping? With me?”

“It’ll be a nice thank you for the other night,” he sends me a cheeky smile.

“Then let’s do it, Keller.”

~

I laugh loudly, attracting some attention from fellow shoppers. Clayton gives me a weird look at my laugh and I give him a look.

“You can’t be serious, Clayton.”

“I am,” he emphasizes.

“I seriously doubt that you don’t have a limit of what you’ll spend on me,” I challenge him.

“Why would you doubt me?” He questions instead.

“Clayton, we just met,” I point out, “You’d be straight up dumb to not put at least a cap on how much I’ll buy.”

“I trust you,” he responds simply.

I sigh, heading into the first store determined to prove him wrong. I don’t know why I’m so annoyed at him not putting a limit on how much I’ll spend- maybe it’s because of how it shows how much he thinks he knows me.

And I don’t want him to know me. This whole situation is a lot more personal than I thought it would end up. I thought it would be a lot more sex and a lot less socialization, but it’s turning out to be half-and-half.

Clayton spends two hundred dollars on me at the first store without batting an eyelash. I’m surprised at the fact that he sticks by his promise and the fact that I found two hundred dollars worth of clothes that I like.

Maybe my eyes are opening to more things since I have a broader budget to spend.

He spends two hundred and fifty dollars on me at the next store, but I’m actually kind of relieved this time since it’s all on expensive makeup. Makeup is where I like to spend my money and if it’s not my money to spend, well, the more the merrier.

“Keep going, princess, we have all night. Or at least until the mall closes,” Clayton smirks at me, connecting his hand that’s not full of bags with mine.

I don’t make a comment about the hand holding but give him a look, tugging him into a lingerie store.

“A treat? For me?”

“What’s your favorite color?”

He looks taken aback at the question but replies, “Blue.”

I walk towards a matching bra and panties set, holding it up in my size. “Like this shade of blue?”

His eyes darken and he nods slowly. I start to head towards the changing room and look back at Clayton, who’s still standing where I left him.

“So are you coming or do I have to put this on by myself?”

He closes the door behind him once he’s in the changing room, turning around to see that I already have my top off and I’m pulling my shorts down my legs.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” He questions.

I pull the straps of the bra up my arms, turning my back towards him. “Clip it for me?”

I watch him in the mirror as he carefully takes the clip in his hands, connecting them so the bra is hooked. His hands travel down to softly rest on my waist and we examine the bra in the mirror.

“How do I look?” I ask softly.

He shakes his head, letting out a laugh of disbelief. “Amazing.”

Our eyes connect and we just stare at each other for a while, enjoying each other’s company. I don’t know when we’ll get a moment so intimate again so I’ll make it last as long as possible.

A voice comes over the loudspeaker informing us that the mall will be closing in an hour and although Clayton doesn’t think I notice, I catch it when he mouths a swear word to himself.

~

I roll over to straddle Clayton’s naked torso and he grabs my hips to help balance me, a small smile on his face as he gazes up at me.

“So I was thinking maybe we could try out the new lingerie that I got today,” I say softly, leaning down to play with his hair.

To my surprise he shrugs, then pulls me down into a hug. “I don’t know, I’m kind of tired. Let’s just cuddle tonight.”

I don’t respond, still in surprise by his rejection. But by the time I get over it he’s already sleeping.

[heartofsnark]

The Bidder’s Cum (Headcanons)

Note: Some friends and I on discord have talked about this, but I wanted to do a bit more research and make an official headcanon post. Also, I wrote this and searched for it while sitting next to my mom, so please appreciate how awkward that was for me.

Eisuke, our resident pancake man, you know what makes cum taste good; sugar. He also likes sweet fruits, like strawberries, which is healthy natural sugar. However, caffeine can make it a bit more bitter and a more concentrated flavor. That being said, I still feel it would balance out to him having cum on the sweet side since lets be honest he likes sugar milk more than coffee. He manages to be short of sickly sweet most of the time. On days he’s going on a particularly strong sugar benders, it’s like swallowing melted sugar. He’s mostly healthy, so his cum is fairly normal in terms of thickness and whiteness. Gets a bit thinner as he’s with his mc, as he’s cumming more often.

Soryu, not sweet but not bad. He eats extremely healthy which is good, but I imagine it’s also protein(egg) and vegetable heavy over fruits, which adds more bitter and salty undertones. I also imagine it’s thick and has a kind of strong smell, nothing unbearable but proteins tend to do that. It’s also thick because, well, he doesn’t cum a lot at the start of his story, so lots of build up. It lessens a bit once he’s having sex regularly with his mc, but he also just naturally has kind of thick cum and has large loads.  

Baba, maybe it’s just him being a bartender but he seems to socially drink a fair amount, more so than a lot of the other bidders it seems. Alcohol is not great for the cum taste. He also eats a fairly balanced diet, cause he cooks for himself, with some preference for indulgent food. I imagine he likes lots of seasoning and herbs, not sure why but I do, which usually means his cum is alright as long as he’s not in a garlic kick. Overall, I feel like his cum balances out to be pretty normal, definitely more of a salty taste, bit more bitter when he’s been drinking. Not particularly thick, but not thin either.

Ota, I think it was said in a special story that Ota is a fan of French food, which according to a brief google search is dairy heavy. Not great for the cum. Leaves a more musky smell and bitter taste. I’m also gonna say it’s on the thinner more watery side, not because he’s necessarily cumming a lot, but because he goes with eating a lot when he’s caught up in his art. I also don’t imagine he cums a lot, like his loads aren’t huge or thick. Unless he’s been pent up a lot or has gone a while, a tissue or two is probably enough to clean up after one round on his part

Mamoru, my absolute love, holy shit his cum would be disgusting. You know what really fucks with the taste of cum? Cigarettes. Our chain smoking old man would have such bitter salty cum. It would smell strong as well, musky strong smell and he cums a lot of it. His cum is definitely thick as well. He leaves his partner an absolute mess after any session. RIP his MC the first time she blows him, for her sake someone better slip him some pineapple. Please.

Rhion, his diet I imagine is a bit inconsistent. Most of the foods at his wonderland tea parties are sweet in nature, but he does like shepherd’s pie and can be persuaded to eat certain vegetables. I feel like his cum would be the most of a wildcard, sometimes its more sweet and other times it’s a bit saltier. I can’t bring myself to ever say it’s gross though, cause I refuse to call anything about this boy gross. The consistency might be a bit more, well consistent, usually pretty average in terms of thickness. His loads are a little on the larger side and he has some, uh, distance as well. He’s one of those guy’s who can cum and some will manage to make it all the way across the room.

Luke, did he just cum or did someone splash MC with water? I joke, I joke, But, given his diet, I can’t see his cum being much of anything at first. He just does the bare minimum of taking vitamins and drinking tea to survive at first. So, I’d say at first his cum is very thin and watery, not much taste, maybe just a slight almost synthetic chemically taste (from the vitamins). Once, he’s slowly starting to eat more it will get a bit thicker and get more noticeable flavor. In a substory he is shown to like pineapples and pineapple juice, which would make his cum really sweet when he’s doing that.

Shuichi, he likes super strong coffee which is not good for the taste of his cum. He likely has a really balanced rigorous diet, given his tendency to like things in order and organized. Plus, his health is likely important to him to a certain degree, if only for his political career. Consistency wise, his cum is on the thicker side and his loads are fairly large. Definite noticeable smell and bitter under taste, but nothing unbearable. While he isn’t to the point of having sweet cum, he’s on the less severe scale, I’d say more bitter than Baba’s or Soryu’s, but he’s not pushing into gross territory like a certain someone.

Hikaru, I don’t know much about in terms of his diet. I haven’t read him yet, but I’d feel mean if he was the only one left out. He doesn’t like milk which is good, since dairy is bad for cum tastes. I imagine he eats relatively healthy, given he’s an assassin, like you should probably be in decent shape. So, might be a cop out because I know the least about him, but I’d say his cum is pretty average. If he eats healthy vegetables and drinks espresso’s like Shuichi (which I think he does, but I don’t actually know), that would add some saltier and bitter tones, but if he avoids milk it might cut down on some of that. So, I’ll say he balances out well.

[tomoewantsdolls]

Spice it up

- tomoewantsdolls

Written for Drarryland 2019

Rating: T

Wordcount: 667

Prompt:  “Harry likes his food spicy. Draco won't admit he can't take the heat. From another character's POV. Minimum: 267 words - Maximum: 833 words.”

Summary:  “I don’t think your partner here can handle all those spices.”Malfoy scoffed. “Speak for yourself Weasel. I can handle it well enough, thank you.”

Read on AO3

It’s a Saturday night, they’re all in their early 20s and they were spending it studying old files and cold cases. Bummer.

“Weasley, that’s stupid. There is no possibility that the potioneer assistant had adulterated his boss’ powdered asphodel root stock with the unidentified poison without the man noticing. He was an expert potioneer! Am I right, Malfoy?”

Ron wanted to strangle his idiot partner. Ernie McMillan was a pain in the arse at best and a nuisance… all the time. And he thought it was Harry who drew the short posh straw with Malfoy…

“Don’t get me involved,” said the poncy git. “I am well past my capacity to run without food.”

“Let’s order Indian, then.” Harry chimed in cheerfully. Malfoy’s glare could have stopped a mandrake mid scream.

“I don’t think your partner here can handle all those spices.”

Malfoy scoffed. “Speak for yourself Weasel. I can handle it well enough, thank you.”

“Ah, is that so?” Ron could spot a challenge from afar. He looked at his friend with a half smile and spoke with solemnity. “You choose the menu, Harry. I’ll pick the drinks.”

Half an hour later they were sitting at the table. Well. The three of them at least. Ernie was hopeless and had fallen asleep just before the food arrived. More for them anyway.

“What is this?” asked Malfoy looking at the little round ball as if it was an especially uncooperative suspect.

Harry was happy to provide the information. “It's an onion pakora.  They are not very spicy, you should start with it and the dum aloo. This is biryani and this a samosa. Oh, and you maybe should avoid the chicken jalfrezi.”

“Nonsense, I can handle it.” He said eating the pakora.

To Ron’s delight he didn't have to wait long: as expected the git brightened like a light bulb.

Ron sniggered. “You ok, Malfoy?”

“Sure.” He said trying to suppress a coughing fit. The prat waited until Harry wasn’t looking to drink a mouthful of wine.

“Mmmm, this is delicious,” said Harry around a samosa. Ron took one for himself and it was, certainly. Not. Ok. His taste buds screamed in unison and he took a bite of bread to try to ease the burning sensation. Merlin, he was going to avoid the jalfrezi for sure.

After the second bite of the biryani he decided to go for a  glass of milk, bread and wine weren't enough to appease his tongue any more. He should have known better, because he almost missed the moment Malfoy lost his dignity and started to wail and cry.

��Oh gosh, did you try the jalfrezi? I told you not to!” Harry was desperate to help but someone who had a high tolerance level as him couldn't understand the struggle of the average British dude.

“I think he’s dying.” Harry’s glare could have wilted the silenced mandrake. Ron raised his hands in mock surrender.

“You utter prat,” at least Malfoy hadn’t lost his voice, but he sounded raspy. “You could make yourself useful and bring me some water, you useless pri…”

“Aguamenti.” The conjured water poured from Ron’s wand, leaving a speechless and soaking Malfoy gulping like a goldfish, Harry jumped barely avoiding the flood and Ernie jolted awake and looked at them in confusion.

“What was that for?” Malfoy screamed. But Ron wasn’t paying attention to him, he was staring at Harry, who seem frozen on the spot looking red as a tomato towards the git’s clingy shirt.

Oh, Merlin and Morgana both.

He hurried to cast the charm Hermione taught him and dried Malfoy's clothes with a brusque stream of hot air. The resultant disheveled state did nothing to divert his friend’s attention, whose ears were now matching his face.

Then it was chaos. Food forgotten, Malfoy kept yelling at his attempts of covering him with the sofa’s Afghan, Ernie kept repeating  wh’t’s h’pening, the alarm in his tone increasing each time and Harry… Harry was now the hopeless one.

[honestgrins]

Hi! I was wondering if you could do one where Caroline goes to NOLA for whatever reason with enzo (if you want), and they get invited to some fancy dinner party. klaus gets all jealous and stuff. Bonus points if you can include jealous camille, and the rest of the Mikaelson gang, especially Kol. NO HAYLEY please. Sorry i just realized how long this is.

“What’s a beautiful vamp like you doing in my town?”

Caroline was halfway to a scoff at the terrible line, only to catch her breath at the very, very handsome man saying it. At least, until she processed what he said. Her eyes tracked the line of him suspiciously. “How’d you know I’m a vampire?”

Nodding toward her hand clutching a hurricane glass, he smirked at the obvious twitch in her finger. “Lapis lazuli doesn’t come easy around here, I make sure of it. May I ask where you got yours?”

“An old friend,” she answered simply, not wanting to give any more ammunition to what felt like an old soul. Before she could figure out just how old, a heavy arm fell onto her shoulders.

Enzo smirked down at her annoyed expression. “Gorgeous, did I ever tell you about the witches I fell in with? This was right before Augustine trapped, and it bothered them quite handily for the first decade or so why I didn’t burn in the sun. When one of the bastards figured it out, I made sure he lost a hand for taking my ring.” He glanced toward the stranger, his smile just a bit tighter than Caroline was used to. “Hello, mate. Has anyone told you how nosy you can be?”

The man held up defensive hands, his smile bright with a false ease. “Chalk it up to old habits, I look out for my people. Strange vampires usually mean trouble.”

“Are we strange, Gorgeous?”

“You are, maybe.” Rolling her eyes, Caroline shrugged Enzo off her. “But I can agree that we are strangers. I’m Caroline, this is Enzo. We’re just passing through town, figuring out our next steps.”

Leaving Mystic Falls had been a difficult decision to make, but once she made it, Caroline had her car packed within the hour. It wouldn’t be forever because she needed to keep up with her mom, she just needed a fresh start at her eternity. “Magically prevented from entering her hometown” seemed like as good a reason as any.

Enzo was a surprise, though not an unwelcome one. She always thought it’d be Bonnie in her passenger seat when she finally got up the courage to leave her childhood behind, and god, she missed her best friend so much. Stefan was supposedly trying to get her and Damon back, Alaric working on the border issue…and Caroline was tired. Whether it was a vacation, sabbatical, or just a new life, she needed to get away. Inviting himself along, Enzo made the hours of driving fun. No adventure was too small, no diner too greasy.

He also lacked a certain judgmental streak when she mentioned a brief visit to the Big Easy, just to see the sights. Despite a knowing disbelief in her flimsy excuse, Enzo just leaned forward to fiddle with the radio. He kept his pointed comments about her romantic life - or lack thereof - to a minimum, and even then, there was an affectionate teasing to his tone. Taking that as passive support for her plan, Caroline allowed herself to feel a tiny bit of excitement.

Because New Orleans, she found, was fun. Music could be heard all throughout the touristy areas, people happily dancing in the street. She and Enzo gleefully ducked through the shops, both cute ones and those of a naughtier variety. There were food vendors everywhere, each bite spicier than the last. Only one bowl of gumbo made her vampire eyes water, but she looked forward to testing even her expanded capabilities.

Somehow, the magic floating through the city made her want to let the monster loose, to relax the tight control that had become second nature to maintaining her human facade. As night fell, Caroline grew more aware of other vampires enjoying a similar freedom. She pulled Enzo with her as they followed some of the crowd to a bar, apparently a common enough haunt for Marcel to keep an eye out for newcomers.

He looked over them both warily, though his charming smile never dropped. “Do you know anyone in town? I’d be happy to introduce you to some friends, they would love to know more about your visit.”

Sensing an ever so slight murder vibe, Caroline figured mentioning a certain hybrid could go very poorly, very fast. But she didn’t like the implied obligation behind his offer, either. “No one is expecting us,” she admitted, hoping he wouldn’t get the chance to realize the small fib of omission. “I’m always up to meet new people. Enzo?”

“Lead the way, mate.” He gestured for Marcel to go first before helping Caroline hop off her stool, keeping her close out of suspicion. That was something they had in common, she’d realized over their road trip, loyalty was too easy for them both. Their fall into friendship was still new but no less absolute, he was Caroline’s person and she was his. If Marcel thought to test that, he would have a nasty lesson to learn. “And where are these royal friends of yours that care about two measly vamps?”

Caroline elbowed him as they walked down a spookily quiet street, the dark no longer comforting; instead, it had her monster on edge.

But Marcel laughed. “They certainly think of themselves as royalty, and they’re hosting something of a family dinner.”

“I would hate to interrupt,” Caroline said, having stopped dead on the sidewalk. She had a feeling whose house they were going to intrude upon, and she was nowhere prepared for that. This trip was supposed to be a whim, to get a peek at what that voicemail had promised. Eat some beignets, take in a haunted tour, then call him for a night to dance and drink and enjoy their banter before she jumped on a plane to see everything else in the world. Another promise he’d made, she would have argued if he tried to get her to stay. If.

It all sounded so good in her head, but Marcel was opening the gate to some creepy compound lit with a bunch of ancient-looking candles.

“Someone forgot to pay the electric bill,” Enzo teased, surprised when Caroline remained far too quiet.

At his concerned look, she just shook her head. “No, they’re just dramatic.”

Marcel’s head whipped around, though it was the sudden displacement of air coming from elsewhere that held her attention. Her eyes could barely track his approach, moving too fast for her mere vampire senses. Still, she knew better than to flinch when he finally appeared just inches from her, dimples cut deep into his cheeks. “Hello, Klaus.”

For a moment, it was like they were too focused taking each other in to see what might have changed since they last saw each other. Then a familiar glint in his eye as he smirked sent her right back to that forest floor and the remnants of a pretty pink lace bra. She blushed, looking away first, and Klaus puffed his chest in triumph. “Sweetheart, what a pleasant surprise,” he greeted smoothly, the warmth in his eyes bleeding out when he turned a dangerously curious gaze on Enzo. “I don’t believe we’ve met, mate.”

Ignoring the crisp accusation and immediate dislike rolling off the hybrid in waves, Enzo pulled Caroline closer just to make things interesting. “Gorgeous is something like my girl Friday lately, a real partner in crime,” he explained in a cheery voice. “So, how do you two know each other?”

Caroline dug an elbow into his side, though she refused to cower under Klaus’s angry expression at their proximity, even if a thrill of pleasure shot down her spine at the obvious display of jealousy. Pettiness might not be pretty, but she had learned to accept that about herself. “Freshman year wasn’t all I’d hoped it would be,” she explained as lightly as she could manage through the memories. “Anti-vampire society, doppelganger drama, everyone died then came back-”

“Thanks again for the save, Gorgeous,” Enzo chimed in, enjoying how Klaus’s face pinched in annoyance.

Rolling her eyes, Caroline couldn’t help a small smile when he looked to her with concern. “Long story short, I can’t go back to Whitmore or Mystic Falls.”

“Mystic Falls?” Marcel looked positively gleeful, and she watched in confusion as Klaus pressed his lips together, his ears flushed the deepest red. “Something about that place always seems to make him grin like a fool,” he explained, turning to Caroline and Enzo. “I think I’m beginning to understand why.”

“Sorry, she likes them a bit furry,” Enzo said with a cheeky grin. He let out a soft oomph at the harder jab from her elbow, though it didn’t seem to dampen his mood. “One wolf is a mistake, two is a fetish, Gorgeous. It’s just not healthy, a death wish to get your jollies.”

Klaus flashed toward him and pressed him to the wall by the neck. “It’s a good thing my blood is the cure to wolf venom, then.” Caroline had expected him to snarl, but his voice was perfectly calm and even courteous in a sense. “You seem to be the one with a death wish, given your flippant regard for certain intimacies that don’t involve you.”

Enzo regarded him through narrowed eyes, not at all appearing to care that his life was in mortal danger. Immortal danger? The whole vampire vernacular was something Caroline still had to get used to, thanks to her mostly sheltered, unique experience back home. It was a particular goal she hoped to accomplish during this first world tour, provided she got Enzo out of New Orleans alive. “See what I mean?” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Dramatic. This has been fun, but-”

“Honestly, Caroline, you should have known better than to show up here with some Salvatore knock-off expecting Nik not to tear his head off.” Rebekah strode into the room, heels clacking on the brick with each step. “Now take your little friend and leave, you’re not invited to dinner. Marcel, show them out, please.”

Caroline’s jaw ached with the tension required not to snap at the other woman and her imperious attitude. Of course, Klaus had yet to move an inch while Enzo just smiled in that easygoing way of his. “Trust me, Rebekah,” she sighed, pressing her hands to her face. “This isn’t how I hoped to be spending my evening either. I wasn’t going to call until-”

And in an instant, Klaus had dropped Enzo from the wall to flash before her with that predator look about him. A possessive gold ringed his pupils. “Until?”

Swallowing at the intense focus he seemed to have only for her, Caroline shook her head. “I wanted to explore a little bit,” she explained in a shaky voice. “You know, see the city myself before I let you try to sell its good qualities.”

His mouth pulled up into an indulgent smile, like she’d fallen into his meticulously laid trap. “I look forward to hearing your thoughts on New Orleans, love, to know your mind in all things. But I take issue with the idea that I might try to sell you a false image of the city when I think you’d enjoy it despite its more sinister tendencies. I have a feeling you’ll come to love those as well, in time.”

“She’s got rules against eating people, mate,” Enzo helpfully supplied, having worked himself up to leaning against the wall on his own accord. “If you can get her to loosen up on that front, I’ll be your biggest- What was the word, Gorgeous? When you tried to set up your dear friend Matt to date anyone other than Elena?”

Eyes wide, she wondered if she could actually learn how to kill with a glare alone. “You are not,” she fumed, “going to be Klaus’s wingman when it comes to me.”

“Like he needs one,” Rebekah scoffed, making a sour face. “She’s already fascinated. No taste, that one.”

Enzo shrugged. “She didn’t go for me, so I’m inclined to agree. But she kept me on as a friend, which means you don’t get to talk about her that way.”

Arms crossed and veins just beginning to show, Rebekah looked ready to kill while Marcel watched the show with a sense of amusement and alarm in case things got bloody.

Klaus smirked, hardly paying them any attention. He gently tugged at a curl hanging loose on her shoulder. “Have you seen much of the city yet, sweetheart? Your plans aside, there are some hidden gems I think you’d like to see.”

“I’m not staying,” Caroline blurted out, needing him to hear it once before he had a chance to talk her out of it. At his hurt expression, though, she felt the need to continue, “I’m going to see the world, and I’m excited about it. Enzo kind of invited himself along, but I like the company and he spent like sixty years in a cell getting tortured, probably deserves the vacation. Anyway, we still don’t know where we’re going first, maybe we’ll leave when we figure it out. I’m leaning toward India, but he likes South America.”

Smiling, Klaus seemed almost enchanted by her rambling. His plain enjoyment of her habits was something she never thought she would get used to. “You came here first.”

“Don’t get a big head about it,” she said with a roll of her eyes. “I might be willing to accept suggestions and warnings about certain locations, figured you would be a good brain to pick. You’re never short of opinions.”

Klaus looked up with that infinitely smug grin of his. “Happy to be of service in any way I can. I may have a list or two for you, but only once you’ve decided upon a starting point. I’d hate to influence this trip of yours, if I’m already not to be trusted in my own city.”

Watching Rebekah and Enzo bicker with each other, Caroline met his gaze once again with a little more confidence. “Show me you can be trusted,” she challenged, her hips twirling just a bit in a tease. “I haven’t had a chance to find a beignet yet.”

Somehow, his grin widened further to show off his dimples in earnest and said, “It would be my pleasure.” Raising his elbow, Klaus waited patiently until she slid her hand into the crook of his arm with an amused, though resigned sigh. As he led her out of the compound, he couldn’t help pressing his luck. “Now, tell me all about this freshman year that finally pushed you out of the nest of the human life you were chasing.”

“Ugh,” Caroline groaned. “Where do I even start?”

Klaus didn’t care, he was just thrilled that she was there at all.

[somewhatcoherentrambles]

Lost His Marbles

Even though he was 67 years old and an accomplished professional, he carried marbles in his pockets and only wrote in crayon.

Scratch that- if the document was really important he used pen. During our break at 3:00 pm on the dot he would quietly play with the marbles by himself, sometimes mumbling something I couldn’t hear. He only wore a suit when he absolutely needed to and if you looked over he’d break into a goofy smile. I mostly tried to avoid him at all costs, but it was hard to since I was an intern. At lunch, he ate weird things, like PB&J’s or pizza rolls. I wondered how someone like him worked his way up the firm.

The accounting firm was small and family-owned, with just a few locations. I’m for sure working my way up in years time. Lord knows how dense my competition is. They couldn’t even get black coffee without somehow messing it up. It was this particular day, as I watched him sit at his desk contently, that I prayed I wouldn’t ever have to work on a project with him; I knew better than to open myself up to karma.

I got a bad feeling in my stomach as we went through the daily briefing. Being an intern usually meant getting the scut work, like filing. Something told me I was in for a change today. The head of my department began describing an upcoming project for us and apparently, we’d be helping prepare local tax returns. I don’t know how we land big jobs as such a small company, but I’ve learned to accept it. This internship is coming to an end soon so it was obvious they were assigning the project to help decide which intern would get the job offer. Senior department members would be partnered with interns and lower department members to fill out the files and create a presentation.

Like a high school teacher dooming some apathetic teens to a group project, my superior read of the list of partners. My hopes for someone competent were dashed as I heard my name: “Jonathan Keys,” and then the name I had been dreading: “Claude Bairn.”

He spotted me down the row and gave me a half wave. I knew then and there I’d have to take over most of the project if I had any chance of winning the job. Half of the time it looked like all the old man could do was make copies of things. I reluctantly approached his desk after the meeting ended. Today he was wearing a blue button-up shirt that was slightly too tight with an uneven collar. His khaki pants had a stain or two on them but he didn’t seem too bothered.

I got straight to the point and told him I’d handle all the math and filing, he just had to put all my work into a presentation. I prayed that at the bare minimum he’d be able to make a powerpoint.

“Wait, Jonathan?” He called out as I walked away.

I turned and nodded.

“You don’t want this promotion as much as you think you do.”

“What?”

But Claude didn’t respond, just went back to playing with his marbles and eating his pop tart.

Delusional I thought.

The rest of the assignment, fortunately, went on without a hitch. I did all the work and Claude stuck it into text boxes and bar graphs. Sometimes he’d furrow his brow or tilt his head in a way that made me suspect he didn’t truly know what we were doing or what it all meant. We usually worked in silent derision, but I began to grow curious.

“What got you into accounting?” I asked.

“I was sort of forced into it.”

He darted his eyes and didn’t say any more on the subject.

Three days later we all had to sit outside the conference room and wait to go in. It struck me as odd that the company thought this was the best way of determining who would get the promotion. It must be one of those “alternative” and “modern” workplace practices.

After fifteen minutes of waiting and preparing, we were called inside.

“Mr. Keys, Mr. Bairn.” Greeted the Chief Financial Officer, Mr. Keres.

The higher-ups sat like a judge's table, each with notebooks and faces of stone-cold indifference. It was a rather short presentation, I started out with the bank reconciliations then moved into the general ledger entries. Claude stood to the side, silent, hunching his shoulders and rocking faintly side to side. They all stared at me with wide eyes, watching my every move.

At the end of the presentation, the panel turned and looked at each other, seemingly communicating in a secret language only they could understand. Mr. Keres opened the floor for up questions.

“Is that your natural hair color?” A man on the panel asked.

I looked to Claude then back up to the man.

“Yes?”

The panel just shook their heads in agreement and continued to scribble down notes.

“Do you have a history of hereditary diseases in your family?”

“Not that I know of,” I said.

Maybe these questions had something to do with the company provided health insurance, which would mean the job is as good as mine. I smiled at the thought.

“Excellent job, excellent job indeed.” Said Mr. Keres after a moment of silence.

“Mr. Bairn you are dismissed,” He said, “Mr. Keys if you wouldn’t mind I’d like to discuss something with you.”

“Of course.”

We walked out of the room while the rest of the panel spoke in hushed murmurs.

“If you would just come right this way…” Mr. Keres said, leading me down the hallway.

“Jonathan wait!” Claude called.

Mr. Keres nostrils were flaring and his eyes were wide but an uncomfortably big smile still sat on his wrinkled face.

“Claude, what is the meaning of this?”

“Jonathan don’t go! You don’t want this! It’s a sham and this place is just a tar baby, a tar baby I tell you!”

I saw Mr. Keres hurriedly gesture for two men to escort Claude away, as his crazy pleas got louder.

“Their evil! Evil, evil, evil! Mommy said to stay away from the bad men, stay away…”

I watched in shock, as Claude’s lips trembled and he was forcefully taken to another room. Blinking, I turned to Mr. Keres, hoping for some sort of explanation. His eyes were entirely fixed on the room Claude had been dragged into.

“It’s a shame,” Mr. Keres said shaking his head, “You see Mr. Bairn is the grandfather to our other financial advisor James Portman.”

It made so much more sense why Claude was apart of the company in the first place.

“His episodes that have only gotten worse with age.” Mr. Keres continued.

“It’s a shame indeed,” I said.

“Well,” Mr. Keres said, clasping his hands, “Shall we proceed?”

Part of me hoped he would be awarding me the promotion then and there. He lead me to the elevator and pressed the second floor. I hadn’t been there, nor did I know what was located there. When the doors opened we faced stark white walls and a hallway that has riddled with thin glass doors.

“You see Jonathan I like to think that we’re more than an accounting firm,” He said as we turned right.

I nodded, unsure of where he was going with this.

“Accounting is more of a side quest. We do important work here. Groundbreaking, life-altering type of work.”

He unlocked a door at the end of the hallway and lead me inside. It was all white as well, with two chairs and a table with all sorts of science equipment. I looked at him skeptically.

“We are trying to help humanity. Do you know what the common man’s greatest plight is Jonathan? What irrefutable struggle has incarcerated all of humanity?”

“No, sir,” I said with hesitance. Maybe Claude wasn’t the only one with a few screws loose.

He chuckled and walked to the cabinet on the other side of the room.

“Water?” Mr. Keres offered. I took it. He sat in the chair at the center of the room and gestured for me to sit.

“It is our mortality,” He stated, “Futile as it may seem we spend our short existence doing nothing but distracting ourselves from the inevitable closing of the curtain.”

Part of me felt like leaving and not turning back, but for some reason I didn’t. I should’ve.

“But someone like you and me, we can see that math, that science holds the answers.”

“Scientists at Harvard University,” He transitioned, “Discovered a protein called GDF11. When it was injected into older mice, their bone and muscle strength changed to resemble their youthful selves.”

He stood up.

“Now. Imagine if this same science were applied to humans.”

“You could...live forever,” I said, wondering what any of this had to do with me or accounting.

“I see something in you, Jonathan. An ambition, the type of ambition we want here.”

I rubbed my hands together, hoping he was granting me the promotion.

“The question is, do you want to change the world? Do you want to do more than accounting?”

“Yes?...”

He chuckled once more.

“Good. We have completed one human trial and hope to do more-”

“Here? At an accounting firm?”

“Why yes. Now the only problem is we had to take the GDF11 protein out of younger mice for it to work.”

“So you need a young candidate for the next human trial?”

“See? I knew you and I thought on the same wavelength.”

“Oh no Mr. Keres I c-couldn’t possibly, I-I would never-”

“This is the future Jonathan. An end to the infinite torment that haunts our lives. You would, would make history! Help liberate the human race!”

My eyes widened as I started to make my way towards the door.

“Don’t bother trying to leave. The drink I gave you should start to take effect.” Mr. Keres said.

He walked over to me as I leaned on the wall.

“It’s a shame. I was hoping you’d cooperate more.” He sneered. “You know the last human trial didn’t go so well. Our first candidate was much too young, following the loss of the protein he aged rapidly. Maybe you’ll do better.”

I was sitting on the floor up against the wall now. I tried yelling for help but no sound could force its way out of my burning lungs. I looked up at him, desperate to keep my eyes open, to no avail.

“After you pass out we’ll start. Congratulations Jonathan.”

[unlimitedskyeproductions]

100 Random Things About Daisuke Okana

1: goes by the name of Daisuke Okana 2: 21 years old 3: born on a Wednesday at 8:47 AM on February 29th 4: works as a detective 5: always has a way of fucking things up (and thus gained the nickname "Ohno" - used in the context of  "Oh no, Daisuke!") 6: generally pretty chill and laid back about shit 7: always the calm one 8: despite this he gets really excited way too easily over the stupidest, simplest shit 9: smooth-talking charmer who's also kind of an airhead 10: knows he has a tendency to fuck shit up so he always goes out of his way to do better - though he usually just fucks up even worse than before 11: really great stamina 12: doesn't really care for material stuff  at all, but when someone gives him a materialistic gift he cherishes that item like it's some kind of blessed artifact 13: spends about 10 hours a day just snacking or eating 14: generally whenever you see him there's a 70% chance he'll be eating something 15: sweet but very very clumsy 16: can't seem to get his shit together 17: the only kinds of music he ever listens to is either hardcore dubstep or really shitty pop music (Skrillex and Britney Spears come to mind) 18: lovES CATS 19: dedicated smoker and has been for 7 years 20: bisexual as hell 21: has a lot of really unusual quirks 22: his social cues are kinda fucked sometimes 23: he's either really great at reading people's emotions or absolutely hopeless at it, just depends on how his day's been so far 24: never goes anywhere without his lucky penny tucked safely into his coat pocket 25: he's a super sweet guy and he absolutely Can Not take it when people are upset with him because he feels so damn guilty about it 26: really fucking smart despite being such an airhead (university graduate with honors) 27: possibly might have some level of high-functioning autism but nobody's really sure 28: hates memes but at the same time is a total memelord 29: he has a really bad habit of using the office computer to send  funny cat videos to his coworkers 30: His Voice Is Like Fucking Silk 31: if he hears one of his favorite songs on the radio he'll immediately start singing along no matter where he is 32: instantly becomes Illiterate without his reading glasses 33: manscaping expert (seriously this guy's entire body is fucking  h a i r l e s s) 34: MASTER OF MARIOKART AND STREET FIGHTER 35: loves zombie horror movies (his favorite movie of all time is Shaun of the Dead) 36: afraid of thunderstorms and the dark (but shhhhhh that's a secret) 37: owns three cats - Mr. Pickles, Bowtie and Whiskey (whom was supposed to be named Whiskers but his phone changed it and it sort of stuck) 38: always seems to have exactly what you need at that exact moment - need a pair of scissors? he has em. need an extra sock? he has that too. also snacks 39: here's a secret - he has no idea how to tie a tie (all his ties are clip-ons) 40: here's another secret - he has a three year old daughter (the marriage didn't work out and now he's only allowed to see her three times a week because his ex is a spiteful bitch) 41: he's a very good daddy tho and his daughter practically worships him 42: can't cook whatsofuckingever 43: loves the wintertime because then he gets to run around in the snow 44: airheaded man-child 45: has a scar on his left shoulder from that one time he casually took a bullet 46: actually kind of artistic and doodles a lot 47: one time his neighbors called the cops on him because they heard him screaming and stuff getting broken and they thought he was being murdered - in reality a bat had flown in and he was having a very difficult time getting rid of it (the cops helped him out with that tho) 48: LOVES pulling stupid pranks on his coworkers, especially his partner 49: his partner kinda hates him apparently so he's always doing dumb shit to try and make him smile - often fails 50: collects socks (only the cool kinds with awesome patterns though) 51: he'll generally dress however you tell him to but you're in for one hell of a struggle if you tell him he can't wear his favorite coat and his favorite pair of fluorescent green glow in the dark socks 52: he'll get really aggressive when he's protecting his loved ones but most of the time he's just a gigantic marshmallow 53: he hates when he makes people upset with him and he'll pull out all the stops to get that person to forgive him 54: he watches a lot of cartoons with his daughter and long story short he's memorized every single fucking episode of My Little Pony Friendship is Magic (unintentionally, of course. dude ain't no brony.) 55: LOVES BOARD GAMES 56: super athletic and goes to the gym every night after work 57: will not hesitate to go on a 45 minute rant about why the best television show in history was Doctor Who 58: a bit of a slacker but dependable as fuck when it matters most 59: hates spiders 60: his hair is suuuuuuuuuper fluffy and soft 61: he'll let his daughter give him makeovers and dress him up like a princess 62: he doesn't mind this at all and the only thing that matters is seeing her smile 63: one time after a visit with his daughter he came to work he next day and completely forgot the fact he had a bunch of brightly colored hairpins in his hair and a Hello Kitty headband on (he was pretty chill about it when people told him this information) 64: his number one weakness is food 65: loves ramen noodles oh my fUCKING GOD he loves rame noodles 66: he loves getting praise and compliments from people because he knows he always messes things up so when he gets praised it makes him feel extra special 67: he'll usually let you say whatever you want to him and tease him to your heart's content - he generally just does not care if you're poking fun at him because he only wants to make people smile. and if you're at your happiest when you're making fun of him, well, he'll let it continue 68: 100% cannot function properly in his daily life without his morning cup of coffee (with whiskey added, obviously) 69: despite having an ex-wife and a kid he HAS actually been with dudes in the past (that's actually part of the reason why his wife left him) 70: WILL FUCKING NOT let people mistreat his loved ones 71: cancer survivor 72: generally lives off of McDonald's, rice, and ramen noodles 73: he'll go grocery shopping like a normal but usually not unless it's the day before his daughter gets dropped off (he's fine living off the bare minimum, but he'll be fucking DAMNED if he lets his daughter eat fucking ramen noodles for lunch) 74: he's actually SUPER ticklish 75: an expert at guns and shit 76: very knowledgeable about cheese????? for some weird reason????? 77: he can literally rant for two hours on all the types of cheese and how good or bad they are compare to others 78: recently he had to buy a new phone because he couldn't turn off the capslock and there was a whole week whrere he was just scREAMING AT HIS COWORKERS THROUGH TEXT and it was very awkward 79: he can and will fall asleep literally fucking anywhere 80: despite being a dedicated smoker he NEVER smokes around his daughter EVER 81: when he's not working a case he'll spend every second of his free time either working to get full custody of his daughter or trying to get his partner to open up more and be more sociable 82: loves singing and playing this prized  guitar and he'll often do karaoke night at the bar on weekends 83: not an alcoholic but he will go to his favorite bar at least three nights a week because he's super great friends with the bartender (who also happens to be his best friend from high school) 84: he won't get drunk on those nights and while he may have a drink or two, but generally he just drinks water since he's there to socialize, not get wasted 85: loves sweet foods and desserts 86: juuuuuuuuust a little bit vain 87: also sort of flirtatious 88: just a little bit tho 89: always VERY enthusiastic about the smallest things (you could tell him to meet you at a fancy hotel and he'd literally just stand in front of the room's door for three minutes just staring at the doorknob like "check out this awesome doorknob! it's so shiny! i can see my reflection in it!") 90: just a big gigantic soft fluffy marshmallow up to 98% of the time 91: he loves showering his loved ones in compliments and random yet VERY EXPENSIVE BORDERLINE BANKRUPTING gifts 92: approximately 6-something-ish feet in height 93: really bad at swimming 94: master at playing pool 95: LOVES hugs and physical affection 96: has a secret manga collection but nobody knows this 97: sort of a dork 98: loves stupid comedy movies and silly tv shows 99: cannot ever resist the opportunity to make a cheesy joke or a pun 100: only true anime fans will get this but generally his ENTIRE character is a cross between Kotetsu Kaburagi, Dazai Osamu and Lockon Stratos (yes, I know, I'm VERY original here)

[fraink5-writes]

Human Qualification- Chapter 19

March 14

Please enjoy the good times while they last.

Thanks to @missmizpah @gracieuxetoile and @deathly-oreos for reading this over!

Summary: To slowly lose all your functions until you are nothing but a trapped mind in a deteriorated shell, that’s what it means to be ‘No Longer Human.’

This chapter can also be found on Ao3 here. Without further ado, please enjoy!

Knock knock. “Hey, Mister Romantic, can we come in?” A nostalgic voice rang through the door.

Having nothing better to do, Dazai had been waiting on stand-by and quickly flung open the door.

The shorter of the two men jumped back a little. “That was fast. Does that thing have rocket boosters?”

“That would be convenient,” Dazai sighed with a smile.

Without another word, the two men, Odasaku and Ango, had made themselves comfortable on the living room couch. They acted as though nothing had changed. Perhaps for them, nothing had. Dazai had met with them on occasion, and each time, Dazai was surprised at how similar they appeared, as though they had been torn out of a photograph of their last meeting at the Bar Lupin. Each conversation picked up as though the previous had only happened the day before. Even as they sat on Chuuya’s sofa, and Dazai, thin and frail, in a wheelchair, they were teleported back to the Bar Lupin.

“On your request, we came bearing gifts,” Odasaku said and gestured dramatically towards Ango, who raised the gifts, flowers and chocolates, with less enthusiasm.

Ango handed the items to Dazai before pointing back to Odasaku. “Of course, we also brought something for you.” Odasaku lightly shook the bottle in his hand.

Dazai’s chin fell. “What’s this? You didn’t need to buy anything for me.”

“We figured you weren’t getting many gifts otherwise—”

“No offense,” Odasaku added.

“Well, what am I going to do with gifts...” Dazai gazed at his lap, his immobile right hand.

“Drink it!” Taking his own initiative Odasaku poured Dazai a glass, then Ango, and finally himself.

“Right now?”

“Why not?” Ango tilted his head. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a drink together.”

“Alright,” Dazai couldn’t repress a grin. “Cheers!” Taking a slow sip, he let the liquid nostalgia warm his inside. Yet it didn’t go down properly. Something felt off, and Dazai had to force down a cough. Because he didn’t want to interrupt the mood, he masked his discomfort with a smile.

“So where’s the lucky guy?” Odasaku leaned in as if expecting gossip.

“Chuuya? He’s hardly lucky. I sent him away.”

“On White Day? How romantic,” Ango snickered.

“It’s alright. We’ll be gone before he even realizes we were here.”

Their time flew by faster than even Dazai could realize. Somewhere along the way Dazai’s drink managed to disappear along with his unease. He laughed so hard that his chest ached, but that too was dismissed by the merriment.

“I’m home.” Dazai heard Chuuya in the doorway.

“Shit,” Odasaku muttered. “It looks like it’s time to disappear.”

“It was fun, Dazai-kun. We should get together again soon.” With that and a brief greeting with Chuuya, Ango and Odasaku were out the door.

“Did you have fun?” Chuuya sat down on the sofa, stretched his legs across the cushions and, closing his eyes, threw his arms behind his head.

“Before you fall asleep—” Dazai interrupted the beginning of Chuuya’s nap—“I have a gift for you.”

“A what?” Chuuya half-opened one eye. Upon seeing the gifts in Dazai’s lap, both eyes shot open. “How the fuck…”

“That’s not how you say ‘thank you.’”

“Thanks...” Chuuya sputtered, face red.

“I had them delivered.” Dazai smiled, and Chuuya’s eyes, scanning Dazai, the gifts, and the door, widened with revelation.

“Say thanks to the delivery men then too.” Chuuya slowly took the purple flowers from Dazai and then the chocolates, which he placed on the couch. “I guess I should put these somewhere.” He stood up. “They’re very pretty, but um...”

“They’re hyacinths.”

“Yeah, sure, I knew that. So, um, how about I put them on the table? They can help set the mood later.” Even from the other room, Dazai could hear a familiar (and long missed) melody as Chuuya pruned and prepared the flowers. When he returned, he had a lighter step than that morning when he had trudged out of the apartment.

“About the chocolates, I couldn’t make them myself—obviously—but there’s a surprise in there for you.”

“Oh?” Chuuya grinned. “Can I try one?” Without waiting for a response, he was already opening the box. He popped a square in his mouth, and immediately, his face lit up with a smile. “Woah, that’s fucking amazing. You really know my taste,” Chuuya laughed.

“Of course, you’re my partner.”

“I really didn’t think you’d actually pay me back on White Day.”

“You know I would hate to be in your debt.”

“Is that right? Well, I hope you don’t mind if I give you this.” Cupping his chin, Chuuya kissed Dazai. Tasting of chocolate and alcohol, Chuuya’s lips seemed to sing that long-unheard tune against Dazai’s. How could Dazai mind?

“I hope you saved room for dinner.” Chuuya steered Dazai’s wheelchair into the dining room. “I made something special—tempura!”

“That’s not all that special.”

“It is for me; this time I made it!”

“Well, if it’s Tsuuya’s first time, it’s probably dangerous...”

“Is that right? Then you can keel over eating it.”

Although Dazai was secretly looking forward to the meal, there was indeed some fear; making tempura was an exact science, and Chuuya had no practice. Recently, his cooking had been on a good streak, and Dazai hoped that would hold up.

Luckily, Dazai was hungry enough, which meant less and less as time passed. As Chuuya laid out the platter of food, the puffy, yellow crisp was enough to get Dazai’s stomach started. It certainly looked edible. “I see shrimp, obviously. What vegetables are there?” he asked.

“You’ll just have to find out.” Chuuya winked.

“It’s eggplant, mushroom, and sweet potato, right?”

Chuuya stared blankly at his partner, a hint of irritation around his eyes. “Why’d you even fucking ask?”

Dazai laughed. “Alright, let’s eat!”

Despite Dazai’s enthusiasm, eating was unbearable as it was enjoyable. And it was undeniably enjoyable. Each bite was encased in a fluffy yet crispy coating while each vegetable still carried its own flavor underneath. But that was only when he could get a bite. In his quaking hand, the food often made it anywhere but his mouth: his cheek, his lap, the floor… His jaw wouldn’t assist in the effort either; it hung slightly agape and unbudging. It was repulsive. Was Chuuya equally disgusted? Dazai didn’t know; he wouldn’t dare face him.

Assuming a bite made it into Dazai’s mouth, the task of eating was still not any easier. Like a wooden spoon against solid butter, his teeth would grind against each bite; but they were unable to reduce it from its solid state. His tongue moved sluggishly, tasting the food, but never moving it. Thus, each morsel sat still, waiting for the digestive juices to corrode it away. They clogged the sink of Dazai’s mouth, unwilling to go down, so the water would pool and pool, threatening to spill over if Dazai didn’t force everything.

Sharp panic rose from Dazai’s throat. Something was there—stuck—a large object which scraped the walls of his trachea. Only tiny gasps of air escaped in desperate heaves. A flame seemed to burn in his lungs, scorching his trachea and eating up any air. Despite his coughing fit, he couldn’t make a sound. Lurching forward, he grabbed at his throat with his usable hand.

Agonizing seconds later, Chuuya’s eyes slammed open. “Dazai?!” He ran over and hesitantly wrapped his arms around Dazai’s chest. The blue death was growing, spreading rapidly from his lips to his face. One. There was a rapid punchlike impact in his abdomen, which rattled Dazai’s entire rib cage. Two, three, four… Finally, something was ejected, and a huge rush of air entered his lungs. Was it the air or some remaining food which made Dazai continue to sputter?

“Are you okay?!” Chuuya hurried around to look Dazai in the face. With a napkin, he wiped away the half-digested dribble which creeped down Dazai’s chin.

Dazai couldn’t speak; he could only answer with a subtle nod: yes, he was okay—the bare minimum. Nothing felt okay—not his scorching throat, not his exhaust lungs, not his frantic heart, not his scrambled brain—but he was alive. Instead of words, he used sighs, which conveyed relief, fatigue, and a multitude of feelings he couldn’t understand.

For a while, Dazai and Chuuya sat frozen in silence. Occasionally, Chuuya would eye the remaining food, but neither of them wanted to touch it. The savory smell had become oppressive. Finally, Chuuya, who had been shifting oddly in his chair, cut through the grim air. “There are still a lot left. Do you plan on eating anymore?”

“Nnnn.” Dazai couldn’t eat it. If he didn’t choke, he would certainly throw up. His stomach roiled at the thought. Even the lingering aftertaste, once so sweet, was bitter, a haunting memory. If Dazai could wash it away with water, he would, but he feared even that.

“Me neither. I’m going to clean up.” Chuuya rose from the table with a dish in his hand. He gazed at Dazai piteously before turning away to the kitchen. Dazai did nothing, watching lifelessly as the evidence of what happened disappeared. Nevertheless, the horrible memory persisted.

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