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theperfectawful · 1 day

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Blind Item / Chapter 1

Pairing: Dieter Bravo x OFC

Chapter 1: Gimme More

Rating: Explicit (18+) Series Summary: 2007. Hollywood, CA. As a former child star, you face the harsh reality of growing up in the unforgiving spotlight. A car crash on Sunset Boulevard and a cocaine scandal give you one option: Rehab. Reluctantly agreeing, you embark on a 90-day stay at Promises Malibu to attempt to salvage your career. But when Dieter Bravo arrives, your journey takes an unexpected turn. Drawn to each other, you navigate sobriety and the wreckage of your reputation. As the double standard of Hollywood's treatment of troubled stars becomes evident, you question if redemption is truly possible in a world of unequal consequences. Word Count: 11k

Content/Warnings: Age gap (~10 years, Dieter is in his mid-thirties), alternating POV, heavy drug use, illegal drug use, alcohol use, driving under the influence, frenemy dynamics, oral sex (f!receiving), dubcon/noncon, it is neither reader nor Dieter's finest hour when we meet them. Period-typical language and behavior, Hollywood assholes.

Notes: This is my first fic - I've never written or posted anything like this before, so please be kind and feel free to share any feedback or suggestions. I never would have been able to write something like this, let alone work up the nerve to post it, if it hadn't been for the kind and gracious support of @pennyserenade, @whatsnewalycat and @frannyzooey all lending me their advice when I slid into their DMs. They all inspire me endlessly with their work and talent and it’s because of their work that I was inspired to write something of my own.

Our reader is, for now, and unnamed OC. While I’ve done my best to avoid using physical descriptors of her, it should be noted that this story is a period piece that takes place in early 2000s Hollywood. The main character would have been a contemporary of stars like Paris Hilton, Lindsay Lohan and Nicole Richie, and there are certain assumptions I’ve made about what she looks like based on that factor of this particular story. The early 2000s could be dark, ruthless times, y'all, especially for young women in and effected by Hollywood. My intention is to examine that. Thank you for reading!

Desperate times call for desperate measures: sources say that this former child star’s team is working overtime to keep her employed. When she made her not-so-graceful exit from her latest film, the star cited conflicting schedules as the reason for her departure. The film’s producer has a different story: the Hollywood juggernaut has been heard around town calling the star unprofessional, accusing her of being late to her call times and using drugs in her trailer. She’s got a shot at a last resort: a return to television. Word is, the bad publicity has her team bargaining and drawing out sober contracts just to get her hired.

Whenever you were in town for work, you stayed at the Chateau Marmont. You were in Los Angeles often enough and long enough to justify buying a home there, but you refused, the idea of actually owning a home in LA never quite sitting right with you. Instead, you rented the same room each time you visited. You loved that little bungalow. The thick, lush landscaping shaded the windows and kept it nice and cool inside, and your front door was only a stone's-throw from the swimming pool.

It felt like home after a few years, anyway. These old, tucked-away places were what you liked most about Los Angeles, unlikely, quiet havens hidden between sky-high condos and overly sleek offices. The building breathed old-Hollywood luxury, vintage tiles and original hardwood floors and the ghosts of silent film stars wandering the hallways. The staff knew you well. The same breakfast was delivered to your door at noon every day. The top-tier maid service employed by the hotel kept the living room, kitchen, bathrooms and second bedroom impeccably tidy, though they were given clear instructions not to enter your bedroom.

Your bedroom did not inspire the same glamorous aesthetic as the rest of the hotel. Clothing was piled high against the walls and pouring out of dresser drawers, tags and receipts discarded in the wake. Empty bottles cluttered the hardwood floors, clear, crushed water bottles and rattly orange pill canisters. A full ashtray sat on a side table, a makeup mirror and various products scattered next to it.

In the middle of the room was a king-sized bed, an antique walnut headboard sprawling against the wall with a mountain of sheets and blankets layered atop a deep mattress. You laid swaddled in those sheets, rubbing your palms into your shut eyes and groaning as you rolled over, dragging your hands wide across your face to peek out at the clock on your nightstand.

4:41pm. You blinked, straining your eyes to focus and confirm you read that right. 4:41pm. Fuck.

Bleary-eyed, you reached for your phone, met immediately by a barrage of missed calls and unread messages when you slid it open.

MELANIE [3:21 AM]: Bathrrom

PETE [3:36 AM]: Did u leave

CORINNE [9:00 AM]: Call with NBC @ 1. Please be available. Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL: CORINNE

CORINNE [11:30 AM]: Confirming availability at 1pm. Corinne Roxford.

(212) 555-4325 [12:06 PM]: Hey gorgeous ;)

MISSED CALL [12:30 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [12:45 PM]: CORINNE

MISSED CALL [1:00 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:03 PM]: ??? Corinne Roxford.

MISSED CALL [1:05 PM]: CORINNE

CORINNE [1:07 PM]: Call immediately. Corinne Roxford.

“Hiiiii,” a soft, tired voice called from across the room. You looked up, squinting, at your best friend Natalie leaning in the doorway to the bathroom.

“Mmmm,” you hummed in response, peeking out from where you lay buried in the sheets. “Hi.”

She crossed the room, kicking piles of clothes out of the way and perched herself on the corner of the bed, her toothbrush hanging out of her mouth. You cracked open one eye, locking eyes with her. In an unspoken acknowledgment of your situation - what you got into last night, the state you’re currently in, the splitting headache you’re certain she has, too - you raised an eyebrow at her. She smirked back at you and the two of you erupted into laughter. You lifted yourself up to sit, pushing your foot into her side from under the covers.

“You were insane last night!” she accused, still smiling as she resumed brushing her teeth.

“Me!” your voice was raspy and you coughed. “Me? You were the one making out with the bartender.”

“He wasn’t a bartender. He said he was with the DJ or something.”

“Yeah, ‘cause that’s better,” you snorted, the sound muffled by the plush pillows that cradled your head. You rubbed your palms across your face again, feeling the coarse texture of your own tired skin. The room was dimly lit, with the soft glow of morning seeping through the half-closed blinds.

Your phone vibrated on the nightstand, disrupting the quiet ambiance. You picked it up, groaning when you saw your manager’s name blaring across the bright screen. With a sigh, you slid it open.

“Hi, Corinne,” your voice was a hoarse whisper as you did your best to sound alive. Natalie stirred from her spot and crossed back to the bathroom, old floorboards creaking underneath her feet.

“I needed you on that call this morning. This is your career I’m trying to save here. Do you think I’m doing all of this for my health?”

“I mean… you’re not not…” It’s out of your mouth before you can stop it. She is on your payroll.

“Very funny. I don’t think I need to remind you that you’re running out of friends and favors here, hun. I don’t think you want me to join that list.” Her sentence was punctuated by the sound of her horn honking and a muttered expletive. She sighs. “NBC still wants to speak with you, and soon, but they want to do a four-episode Growing special. The rest of the cast is on board, and they think if we play this right we can turn into a full-on reboot. But you have to straighten up, do you understand? I need you in the Santa Monica office first thing Monday to sign the paperwork.”

“I’ll be there. I promise.” Your eyes closed again, and you sunk into the plush embrace of the king-sized bed, the soft cotton fabric soothing against your skin.

“I don’t know how to make it any more clear to you how much trouble all of us are in. This is your shot at a comeback.”

“I understand.”

There’s a bit of silence, the noise of New York traffic floating through the airwaves and into your ear. You insisted on total honesty from Corinne, unable to tolerate your team coddling you, so her words might have hurt more if this was the first time you’d heard them. Or maybe if the haze you’d woken up in were a bit thinner.

“Tomlin and the team will be in on Thursday night to get you ready for the VMAs. I’ll see you then, too.” Corinne changed the subject, her voice a mix of stern professionalism and genuine concern.

“Okay. I’m sorry.” Your voice was sickeningly sweet, a defensive baby voice you switched into when you were nervous, a trademark of yours that had been mocked by everyone from ex-boyfriends to the cast of Saturday Night Live. Corinne said goodbye and you felt Natalie’s weight return to your side.

You groaned, long and drawn out, tossing your phone into the labyrinth of sheets and blankets surrounding you. The show she referred to was a reboot of the sitcom you spent your childhood working on - Growing Together. It's one-half cast reunion, one-half desperate, nostalgic cash-grab. The producer you sat across from at the pitch meeting was almost delirious with excitement - explaining what a smashing success it was sure to be, a “televised homecoming for America's favorite family.” It took so much strength not to roll your eyes right in front of him that you thought you’d pop a blood vessel.

“Are you in trouble?” Natalie asked, a teasing tone in her voice.

"Yeah, almost always," you replied, casual in your admission. As you sat up, fully awakening, you stretched and planted your feet on the floor. You chugged the warm Vitamin Water on your nightstand before reaching for your bag on the floor and digging through its contents. Gum, a fluorescent orange paper wristband, a baby pink Juicy Tube, a black and white photobooth strip of you and Natalie with your tongues out. Not finding what you were looking for, you dumped it out onto your bed and continued rummaging through the items and garbage inside. Your iPod, a receipt from the drugstore, 3 loose cigarettes and half a dozen empty quarter-sized plastic bags. You sighed, shoving everything back inside carelessly.

“Did we finish everything last night?” You call out, patting the bed behind you, your gaze darting around in search of your phone.

“We?” Natalie’s laughter rang through the room. “I don’t know about ‘we!’”

“God, no wonder,” you muttered, the realization of this morning's particularly splitting headache dawning. Locating your phone again, you typed out a text message to your dealer, padding out of your room to the kitchen.

[5:13 PM]: Andyyyyyy. U going to Lush tonight?

You tapped the side of your phone restlessly for a beat, then texted again.

[5:13 PM]: Can you bring what u brought last night

In the kitchen, you opened the cabinet, revealing an array of neatly arranged pill bottles. Without looking, you pulled out a bottle of Advil and an empty glass. Seated at the kitchen table, engrossed in her Macbook, was your assistant, Rhea.

“Corinne’s pissed.” She said before she even looked at you, focused intently on the screen in front of her.

“Good morning,” you responded, filling your glass at the sink and beaming an exaggerated, pageant-queen smile at her. She scoffed in response.

“The sun is going down in… 40 minutes.” she retorted, her gaze flitting momentarily to the clock on the wall, then back down. You made a mockingly offended expression, hands lifting with dramatic flair.

“Time is a social construct, Rhea,” you declared, tossing back the Advil and chasing them with the full glass of water.

“Yeah, for you, maybe.” She muttered, still typing like a maniac.

You were fired six weeks ago.

The movie was meant to signal a departure for you, a leap into serious territory - a drama marking an overdue graduation from the teeny-bopper films you’d spent the last decade of your life making. You’d been lucky a year ago - a really excellent writer took a chance on an elevated high school comedy with you at the helm that had people in the industry, finally, taking you more seriously.

Seriously enough to get you in the door, at least. Being on set gave you a different impression. You felt as coddled as ever, still treated like an unqualified child star whose presence was more of a slightly annoying novelty than a creative asset.

You wanted to be treated like an adult - a real actress, a professional. This movie was supposed to accomplish that. Despite the fact that this project had a huge, award-winning director attached to it, it was subject to the same issues you’d experienced on countless, lower-tier productions. Poorly communicated call times, technical issues, handsy producers hanging around your trailer. The latter issue caused you to insist on Rhea being by your side whenever possible - power in numbers in an attempt to keep greasy Hollywood exec’s hands away from you.

You weren’t going out any more often than you usually did. Now that you were old enough to not have to sneak into clubs anymore, you were having fun. Though your evenings often bled into mornings, occasionally pushing the limits of your call times, it felt manageable. However, Corinne was relentless in reminding you of the stakes and your professional expectations: show up, behave, perform.

That morning, exhaustion hung over you more heavily than usual. The night before, you’d been out celebrating Natalie’s 23rd birthday. A friend of hers had just returned from Amsterdam and brought with him a bag of European ecstasy as a souvenir. After Le Deux closed, you threw an after party at the Chateau’s pool, you and Nat drank champagne on your floaties as the chemicals rushed through your systems. Your fingers dipped in and out of the heated pool, the two of you gossiping and giggling and floating along until the sun came up.

You were on set on time - early, in fact - but the MDMA had worn off and your energy was plummeting fast. You’d run through the scene several times with Rhea, but it didn’t seem to have helped much.

“Cut,” the director called out, sighing and stepping out from his position behind the camera. Your costar groans softly, standing up from his spot across from you and stepping away as the surrounding crew moves quickly to reset the scene.

“I’m sorry Alan,” you offered immediately as the director approached your mark. A makeup artist swoops in, tapping a brush to your under eyes.

“You’re furious with him, remember,” he coached you. “I understand it’s early, but I need you to manage to muster up some energy.”

You nodded, trying to focus despite the persistent buzzing in your head. “I’m really sorry.”

“I don’t need you to apologize to me like a punished child, I just need you to perform the way I’ve asked you to. Can you do that?”

"I'll get it right this time, I promise," you assure him softly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

He eyed you skeptically, his weaning lack of patience with you made clear by his expression.

“We’ll break for five.” He called out to the room, still staring at you as you stood up and shuffled off behind him.

Rhea arrived at your side with your cell phone and a Red Bull. You flip open the screen as you walk, quickly scrolling through your text messages and trying to distract yourself from your dull, nagging headache.

“That was okay, right?” You asked, trying to sound casual but unable to hide the uncertainty in your voice. “Is it as bad as he says?”

“You were fine,” Rhea’s voice was uncharacteristically high-pitched as she held out the straw of your energy drink in front of you. Her eyes flit back and forth, scanning the area, and her voice lowers into a whisper as she continues. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. I’m tired,” You brushed her off, shaking your head and handing your phone back to her. “I’m fucking exhausted.”

Rhea nods, a concerned eyebrow lifting as you arrive at your trailer. Everyone in your life was looking at you like that lately - as if doing anything less than completely coddling you would cause you to fly off the handle. The cautious glances, the careful choices of words, the subtle tiptoeing around your every move - especially from Rhea, who never gave a fuck about your feelings - it all grated on your nerves like an itch beneath the surface.

She held out her hand and you took it quickly, grabbing an orange bottle from her and slipping through the door of your trailer.

In your trailer, you sat at the vanity and closed your eyes, taking a couple of deep breaths before opening them and gazing at yourself in the mirror. You opened the bottle, pouring out two small pills on the counter in front of you. Scanning the surface quickly, you located a plastic card and pushed it against the pills with the ball of your hand. You pushed it again and again, finally finishing and scraping the excess powder from the card onto the table. Dragging the powder into two lines, you leaned down to inhale them and stood straight back up. You licked your finger and picked up the excess residue, pushing it into your gums and taking a couple more deep breaths to re-center yourself.

The acrid taste of the pills gave you a Pavlovian surge of energy, the anxious buzz in your chest subsiding and easing into a steady hum. You sat at the mirror, dragging a finger underneath your eye to wipe smudged eyeliner from your face. You sniffled, forcing the action into another deep breath and staring at yourself in the mirror. You belong here. You do. You know what you’re doing.

A sharp knock at the door pulled you back to reality with a jump.

“Jesus,” You called out “Alright, Rhea, one second!”

“It’s Alan. Open the door.”

Fuck. You frantically began cleaning the counter in front of you - slipping the credit card into your pocket and brushing your hands across the surface.

“Now!” Alan boomed from outside.

“Okay, okay!” You moved to the door and turned the lock, opening the door just enough for him to see you. You sniffled again, trying to camouflage the reaction with a cough. “Yes?”

Pushing the door firmly, Alan moved into your trailer, his body dwarfing yours in the small space.

“Listen to me,” he said, low but firm. “I’m done. I’m not doing this with you. I am not letting you fuck up my movie.”

“What?” You were dumbstruck.

“Don’t play dumb. Not now. You know exactly what I mean.” He was inches from your face now and getting angrier by the minute. You swallowed, desperately looking around for Rhea. Tears stung the corners of your eyes and you fought them, willing yourself not to blink.

“They’re prescribed,” you attempt. It doesn’t work.

“I don’t care what you do on your own time,” he continued “But this is mine. This is important to me and to everyone else out there whose livelihoods depend on this project, and I’m not going to let some spoiled, coked-out little actress spoil it.”

Your face burned with humiliation.

“Corinne fought hard to get you on this project. This was more of a fucking favor to her than you. But this movie does not live and die by your actions, do you understand me? You can kill yourself if you insist, but you will not pull my movie down with you. You’re fired.”

Your jaw dropped. You were unable to find words let alone choke them out. Rhea’s face was stark white when you spotted her just outside the door of your trailer, her cell phone firmly against her cheek, whispering into the receiver with her eyes wide.

“This is no longer viable for me or anyone else on this crew. I want you off my set now.”

You couldn’t move, your heart pounding in your chest. He stood there for another moment before exiting the trailer and slamming the door behind him. The force of the slam caused the door to open slightly, revealing Alan standing in front of Rhea.

“I don’t want to see you here again.” He said to her, loud enough for you to hear, his voice stern and uncompromising. “You’re lucky I don’t call the cops on you for bringing drugs on my set.”

You hung in the doorway as he stormed away, and as the room swirls into focus you see the eyes of the crew on you, their faces filled with curiosity and concern. Turning your head, you quickly blinked away your tears and wiped your eyes with the back of your hand.

Officially, you’d been let go due to ‘scheduling conflicts’. It was flimsy, Hollywood jargon for your star showing up fucked up, and unfortunately, the euphemism did little to quell the relentless scrutiny surrounding you.

Rhea had shown you the footage of you that began making the rounds after your firing was announced - a creepy, shaky video leaked by some PA of Alan berating you on set, cut with another clip of you walking around the soundstage. It was embarrassing - your hair was disheveled and you were pacing around in a way that looked strange out of context, but there wouldn’t have been anything interesting about it at all if the rumor hadn’t gotten out that you’d been fired for your drug use. Since then, the attention on you had been relentless.

The paparazzi had been a regular part of your life since you were a young teenager. It, generally, wasn’t as bad in New York, which is part of the reason why you preferred to stay there, but in LA it felt as if you were never more than a few feet from a camera.

When you were 16 and working on your first film after Growing Together ended, you started going to clubs with your coworkers. No one ever gave you any trouble, and you didn’t even start drinking until you were 18, but despite that, the mere optics of a child star reveling in nightlife proved a lucrative angle for the media to exploit.

Since then, you were followed almost constantly. Leaving home, returning, getting groceries, getting your nails done, driving through McDonald’s - flashing lights in the corner of your eye were such a regular thing that you barely even noticed it anymore. There were photographers you knew at this point, friendly ones who knew your angles and creepy ones who constantly tailed your car.

It’d never been like this before, though. Literal throngs of photographers showed up anywhere you went, watching you like hawks, all waiting to swoop in on the slightest slip up. Going shopping was an event that needed to be scheduled in advance, boutiques needing to be warned that you’d be coming in so that they could prepare to lock doors behind you. Every step, every breath, felt scrutinized and captured for public consumption, leaving you suffocated beneath the weight of it all.

You were so angry about being let go - your behavior, truly, was no different from what any other actor your age was doing. You partied with your friends, you were out late sometimes, but you knew you were a good actress. It had been your passion since you were a child, and it was beyond frustrating to hear people tell you they loved you and wanted to see you win and then have them turn against you the moment you made a mistake.

So, although you’d behaved and spent the first week or two lying low at the insistence of Corrine, you were over it now. You stayed in LA, uninterested or unwilling to go home to your family and friends in New York and explain to them what's been going on. You were going out with Natalie every night, usually to Le Deux or Lush or Teddy’s. You stayed out late and slept in late and generally just did your best to avoid confrontation with any paparazzi or journalists or producers you’d pissed off.

You weren’t lying to Alan when you told him you were only taking what had been prescribed to you. It just happened that a lot of things had been prescribed to you. Lately, you’d been alternating between Adderall and MDMA for the last week or so, making you too speedy and anxious to really dwell on the current state of your career. You were, admittedly, running through your prescriptions more quickly than usual, causing you to need to make some calls in order to fill in the gaps.

Throughout dinner, you anxiously slid the screen to your Sidekick open and shut, open and shut. You thumbed through the wheel of apps, trying to will into existence a text from Andy that didn’t seem to be coming. It’s not exactly like you expected rigid punctuality from the guy who sold you drugs, but his radio silence was making you antsy.

[9:05pm]: Hellooooooooo

Natalie exclaimed as a tray of shots was delivered to the table, echoed by the group of acquaintances that you met up with at Don Antonios, the restaurant you always went to before a night out. Eagerly, you took one off the tray, blindly grabbing another as you knocked the first one back. You chased that shot with the other, the warmth of the liquid making you feel more like a human being and less like a raw nerve.

Seated to your right in the booth was a girl you kind of knew. She was always hanging out on the fringes of your group, some friend of a friend of a friend who was for sure going home and telling everyone she partied with you. She’d been gawking at you all night, beady eyes locked on you since you sat down, craning her neck and sitting uncomfortably close to you, your dress pinned under her studded jeans. You’d been resisting the urge to ask her what the fuck her problem was for the better part of an hour. As the group around you became distracted by the arrival of the shots, you seized the opportunity to confront her.

“Can you please get off of my dress?” you spat.

Her eyebrows shot up as she took her eyes off of you for what felt like the first time that evening to look down, apologizing and scooching over. She had tall red stilettos on and, when she looked back up at you, you could see the smudged mascara on her eyelid. Just as you were going to take the opportunity to move away from her, she leaned over to talk to you over the noise that surrounded you.

“Sorry. Hey, I’m Katie.”

You grimaced, not in the mood to talk to this person.

“Hi.”

You turn away for a beat, but your attention is grabbed again by Katie’s voice lowly in your ear.

“Hey, I have Xanax, if you want one,” the offer took you by surprise, the prospect lighting you up immediately.

“Oh, my god, I love you,” you said, quickly turning towards her and extending your palm. “Please?”

Downers really weren’t your thing, even booze wasn’t your favorite, but this evening was going to turn from boring to maddeningly insufferable fast if you didn’t get your hands on something.

“I know someone who needs one when I see them,” she laughed, discreetly dropping two pills into your palm.

The clubs in LA were the same thing every time. You showed up in big black SUVs, posed and made nice for the photographers outside for a moment and then clamored inside towards the booth that was waiting for your party.

It felt like high school. Well, you assumed, since your high school experience took place entirely on set. You saw the same people everywhere, all scattered around the room, broken up into their own little cliques. All gossiping, the room alive with murmurs and whispers. Who’d just shown up? Who was fighting with who? Who’d stolen whose boyfriend? It all felt so juvenile, but not being here was worse, so you put up with it. The people changed, but not really - you usually ended up surrounded by the same cast of promoters, wannabe socialites and greasy LA club dudes, swapped out every couple weeks by stand-ins and understudies and new arrivals. They circled your table like vultures, mingled with one another and made use of your tab while you sat engrossed in your Sidekick.

The night became slightly more tolerable once you’d taken one of the bars Katie gave you, but you were still desperately trying to get a hold of a dealer. By the time you left the restaurant and were climbing into the backseat of your car to head to Lush, you’d even resorted to texting backup options, people you’d partied with once or twice who you suspected might be around.

Sinking into the plush booth, you let your head loll to the side, eyes shutting against the assault of strobing lights. The steady, pumping rhythm of the bass sent a rattle through your bones.

After a minute, Natalie's hand landed gently on your knee, snapping you back to reality.

“You okay, girl?” She asked. Her voice felt distant, barely audible over the pounding bass reverberating through the room. The glitter on her eyelids shimmered in the blue light, the only part of her face you could clearly make out in the shadowy corner of the booth.

“I’m fine,” you answered impatiently, kicking your feet up into the seat next to you. Just then, your phone finally buzzed, your heart skipping a beat as your dealer’s name flashed across the screen

ANDY [11:03PM]: not goin tonite

You scoffed, pausing for a second before furiously tapping out a response.

[11:03PM]: FUCK U ASSHOLE

You hit send and threw your phone into your purse with a huff. You were going to have to come up with something else. Or maybe just slit your wrists right here at the table instead.

You surveyed your group as bottle service brought two large bottles of tequila to your table along with a tray brimming with shots. knew all it would take was a couple hundred bucks from a photographer outside for them to spill about how you’d begged them for coke. They'd probably do it for free just for the attention. You'd already asked Katie, but all she had was Xanax and a joint, and Natalie would've let you know if she got a hold of anything else.

You started scanning the rest of the room, looking for anyone you knew. The club was packed, some sort of launch party that’d booked a huge DJ filling even the VIP section from wall to wall.

Suddenly, your attention was grabbed by the sound of a man shouting at the booth directly across from yours. He was the typical guy you'd find in places like this: a douchey-looking producer type, each of his arms wrapped around two miserable-looking models to his left and right. Intrigued, you followed his gaze to see who he was yelling at.

Oh, bingo.

Dieter Bravo. You recognized him instantly. An actor like you, you knew you’d seen him around at award shows and parties, but you’d never met. His reputation preceded him, though; you knew he partied, knew that he, too, had been let go from movies due to 'scheduling conflicts' more than once. You knew he’d been in trouble for drugs. Last you'd heard, he'd been in the news for cheating on his wife or something. You were certain that all it’d take was a little bit of flirting and buttering him up to get him to share whatever he had with you.

Without a word to anyone, you rose from your booth, ignoring Natalie's questioning as you strode towards Dieter's booth. Immediately, though, you lost your footing, lightheaded from standing up too quickly. You brushed it off, saved from a fall by someone at your booth. Straightening your dress, you grabbed a bottle of tequila before pivoting on your heel and starting back towards Dieter.

Dragged out against his will, Dieter was a guest of honor at a launch party for Elysium Fragrances, the cologne brand he’d shot a campaign for last year. His presence was requested tonight as a make-good for being a no-show at the launch of his own campaign, instead being spotted that evening by the California Highway Patrol speeding down the Pacific Coast Highway with a model in the passenger seat.

He’d been stopped by a cop as he attempted to pump gas, some asshole photographer seizing the opportunity to swoop in on the interaction and hurl all sorts of insulting names at his date. Dieter lost his patience, blowing past the cop to shove the paparazzo to the ground, shattering his camera in the process. He was arrested that evening on five charges - assault and battery, destruction of property, drunk and disorderly conduct, assault of an officer (come on) and, thanks to a thorough search of his car, possession with intent to distribute.

As his smug-faced mugshot circulated the tabloids, it eclipsed the glossy editorial photos that the brand had invested millions in. The extravagant campaign was reduced to a joke, its over-the-top glamour juxtaposed with candid snapshots of Dieter’s angry face shouting at the photographer.

Unbelievably, the brand hadn’t thrown him out then and there. He almost wished they had - he preferred the couple of nights he spent in jail to the following days spent in meetings, his team arguing with Elysium over their ability to sway this and use his reputation to their advantage. Ultimately, they maintained his status as a face of their brand as well as his 6 million dollar contract, with the stipulation that he shoot another campaign and make himself available for any event, launch or party the brand requested for the next year.

Being asked to party in exchange for six million dollars was a sweet deal - he understood that - but the reality of being a cosmetics brand’s puppet meant that he ended up at the same fucking parties week in and week out, always babysat by an appointed employee of the brand or, failing that, someone on his payroll.

Tonight was particularly torturous. The tabloids had latched onto the whispers of his crumbling marriage - rumors that were, fortunately or unfortunately, completely legitimate. Heidi was meant to be the one to tie him down, set him straight, clean him up. Their wedding photos looked like a fucking editorial, glossy photos ran with headlines predicting their domestic bliss. But a year and a half, a relapse, a DUI, and a string of affairs - all on his part - had shattered those illusions.

Last week, Dieter returned home from a 3-day bender to Heidi’s mother on the landing at the top of his stairs. She was screaming and hurling the contents of his closet at him, plus whatever else was within arms reach. Heidi, her once-bright eyes now dull with tears, cowered in a doorway behind her mother, slamming the door behind her when he called out in an attempt to reason with her. Her mom located his Oscar, hurling it towards his head with a warning to leave the house before she called the cops. He’d ducked just in time to avoid the statue concussing him, it instead crashing through the glass window of the door behind him.

The stories spread like wildfire, his team scrambling to reshape the narrative, casting Heidi as the cold, unfeeling spouse who couldn't handle his demons. They painted her as the villain, accusing her of rejecting him for his vices - after all, she knew who she married - all the while conveniently forgetting that she had stood by him through more than most people would be able to tolerate. It was an angle he wasn’t happy with; He may have been hedonistic but he wasn’t cruel. In the interest of giving her space and avoiding any additional negative attention sent her way, he moved out. He kept an apartment closer to town, and staying there made it that much easier to avoid any reminders of his failures.

The word on the poor, dejected husband had spread, causing every asshole he ran into tonight to look at him with the same pathetic, sympathetic expression. He resented their pity. He resented this party, this club, his obligation to be seen holding some stupid bottle of cologne in order to maintain his career. The four whiskies he'd downed had done little to numb him from it, and even the lines he'd snorted on the way over had failed to dull the edges of this evening.

You’d stumbled in about an hour ago, perching yourself in the booth across from his own. Your eyelids were heavy in a familiar way, his dirtbag instincts making him suspect you’ve popped a painkiller in addition to whatever you’ve been drinking. A group of giggly, hungry hangers-on swarmed around your table like flies, posing for pictures and parting only to let bottle service in and out.

Dieter knew you - or at least, he knew of you. The cute little starlet who always popped up next to him in the tabloids. He’d seen you in enough movies and on enough billboards to recognize your face, and he’d lurked around clubs like this often enough to have seen you before. Before you’d walked in, he’d resigned himself to an armchair as far back in the VIP section as he could find, determined to wait out the evening before bringing home whatever model ended up in his car. The whiskey he’d been drinking was only just beginning to kick in and he didn’t fight it, leaning back and willing the time to pass faster. But you… you were interesting.

Your gorgeous legs were stretched out along the booth, climbing up to the hem of your dress, a pink silky thing he imagined he could tear off of you with the smallest amount of force. Glossy lips pouted at your phone, eyebrows furrowed in a sweet little frustrated expression. When you looked up he didn’t look away - he kept his eyes trained on you as you looked around the room. You were looking for someone, obviously restless. A boyfriend? The thought twisted at his stomach uncomfortably and he willed himself to stop watching you, putting his glass to his mouth and draining it with a single swallow.

“Bravo!” a voice bellowed from his left, snapping him out of it. Clint - some hack from Elysium Fragrances and tonight’s designated narc waved enthusiastically from the booth next to him. “You gonna sit there and fuckin’ mope all night, bro?”

Fuck this guy. Like most of his brand-approved chaperones, he was content to accept the babysitting opportunity and spend the evening running up Dieter’s tab and shamelessly hitting on the girls at his table. The least he could do would be to leave him the fuck alone.

His attention returned to you when he heard a commotion from your direction. There you were, knees buckled, held at your elbow by one of the guys surrounding your booth. A couple of cell phone cameras lift and snap photos behind you as you attempt to compose yourself. He can’t take his eyes off of you as you stand back up, adjusting yourself, your little dress riding up for just a moment before you smooth it back into place.

The bottle he’d finished had begun to cloud his vision, so it took him a moment to realize you were stumbling towards him, your plush lips slightly parted as you swung a bottle of tequila at your side. Despite the haze, your smile was unmistakable as you arrived at his chair. When you held up the bottle with a subtle lift of your eyebrow, he nodded in agreement.

He wasn’t entirely sure if you climbed into his lap or if you simply floated there, an ethereal presence that captivated his senses. You were such a gorgeous little thing, soft legs draping over him effortlessly, while your electric fingertips traced delicate patterns along his arms.

“Where’ve I met you before?” You slurred, fingers playing with the buttons on his shirt as you settled in his lap.

You were fucked up. If it wasn’t obvious before, it was now. Good - he was, too. His plan had been to leave, get one of the models at his table to come home and roll over for him without much effort, but passing the evening with someone in his same state of mind would spare him from having another dull fucking conversation tonight. Plus, you were so pretty, big black pupils dilated and fixed on him beneath the lazy black fan of your eyelashes.

“You tell me,” he answered, running his finger along the rim of his glass.

Did you know who he was? He goes along with your guesses as to where you’d met before. Miami, London, the Met, whatever you said, as long as you didn’t piece together that you know him from a TV show that aired when you were still in middle school.

Music blasted through the speakers surrounding you, strobe lights flashing and highlighting flecks of glitter on your shoulders. He lifted his hand to run his finger along the thin strap of your dress as you lifted the bottle up between you and raised your eyebrows in question. He nodded, holding up his empty whiskey glass.

“Glastonbury?” You asked as you filled his glass.

“That must be it,” he agreed, knowing he hadn’t been to Glastonbury since 1995, and clinked his glass against your bottle. He watched as you took a long draw from the mouth and could see the grimace you were holding back as you squinted, your throat bobbing as you swallowed. He followed your lead, emptying his glass in three big gulps. Your eyes flitted over momentarily to the group he came with, crowded around the booth to his left, then back to him.

“You alone?” You asked him, glossy lips smirking.

“Just like you.”

You let out a knowing chuckle and leaned in closer to him, tequila and lime and smoke on your breath as it mingled with his own. The way you dragged your lower lip through your teeth had his cock twitching, the combination of the chemicals in his system and you purring in his lap like a kitten destroying any shred of inhibition he had left.

There’s an acknowledgment between people like you and Dieter. It’s one of those things that doesn’t lend itself to description, but he knew it when he saw it - in the mirror, in friends and acquaintances and enemies, in blown-up photographs on the covers of tabloids, suicides and DUIs announced in newsstands. Raw nerves covered in glitter, celebrity or civilian, death drives winning over life drives every time. He saw it in your dilated pupils and the way your thighs were rubbing together, the silk of your dress doing nothing to hide it. You’re like him, too, and most importantly, you know better than to ask why.

His hand cupped your face before he realized he’d done it and he closed the space between you, your lips soft against his the next sensation he was aware of. You tasted good, and he wanted more right away, deepening the kiss and digging his fingers into your thigh forcefully. He ran his tongue along the seam of your mouth, his own lips going numb as he licked into yours. He pulled you up to straddle him and you moved easily, hips lowering onto him immediately and settling, the lace of your panties brushing up against the thin fabric of his pants. His mouth trailed to your ear, worrying your earlobe between his teeth and guiding your hips to roll against his crotch again and again.

“You don’t give a fuck, do you?” He said, his voice low and hoarse in your ear. He knew you had the attention of his group and your own, not to mention anyone else who happened to look over, but it didn’t seem to matter to you. He knew you’d been in trouble lately - the same limelight, coming-of-age growing pains he’d been through himself several years ago - and his own instincts threatened to kick in and shield you from the excess attention.

You laughed with a shake of your head, tossing your hair over your shoulder and, without looking away from him, lifted his hand from your thigh to your lips, dragging your tongue across the length of his index finger and popping it into your mouth.

Oh, you were fun. You were already making him hard, and he knew you could feel it as you grinded into him again and again, letting his finger drop from your mouth when he pressed his lips back to yours. He needed to be careful - the linen lounge pants he’d thrown on to come here would betray nothing if you kept it up much longer.

It’s a noticeable absence when you hum and pull away from the kiss, the urge for more of you rolling over him and causing his fingers to dig into your thighs possessively.

“Do you have anything… funner?” You asked, big, blown out eyes pleading as you lifted the tequila bottle up again. Aha. It just so happened he did - a baggie of coke he’d brought along just in case sat in his pocket, along with two tabs of acid. It didn’t seem like that kind of night, though, at least not yet. He’d stick with the coke.

“I might have something,” he replied, a genuine smirk spreading across his face for the first time that evening. He sat up straight, smacking your ass and biting your jawline at the same time, the yelp it pulled from you quickly transforming into a wild giggle and sending a rush of blood to his cock as he peppered kisses and bites down your neck to your collarbone.

Quickly, he helped you to your feet and guided you through the crowded room, following you across the floor, his index finger linked with your pinky, prying eyes and pointing fingers meaningless to the both of you. You may have been stumbling, but you were confident. Or at least not at all concerned. A camera phone at the bar flashed and Dieter instinctively ducked his head, moving a hand to your hip to rush you forward and out of sight.

Tucking into a hallway at the back of the club, he kicked a door open and hurried you inside a small, dark room. It was clearly an employee restroom, high piles of backstocked paper towels and toilet paper toppling over when he pushed you up against the wall harshly, his hands cupping your face, the cool metal of his rings pressed against your cheek.

He pulled a pink baggie out of his shirt pocket, opened it and tapped a bump of white powder out onto the skin between his thumb and index finger. He held it up to your nose and, without any question about what it was, where he got it or if he’d already tried it, you’d inhaled, one hand holding his steady while the other held your nostril closed.

Fucking finally. Your head lit up immediately with euphoria and relief as the amphetamines rushed through your system and you melted against Dieter as he lifted you to perch you on a stack of cardboard boxes.

You let him move you like a rag doll, smiling as he propped you back and tapped out two more bumps onto your chest and snorted them, running your fingers through his messy curls as he dragged his tongue along your cleavage, licking up what was left.

His lips found yours again, and the pungent taste of the powder on his tongue mingling with his taste drew you in closer. Looping your arm around his neck, your free hand clutched his bicep. The acrid taste turned pleasantly tingly on your tongue, a numbness spreading as it explored his mouth.

“Here, baby,” he urged, breaking the kiss breathlessly, and you hummed in response as he tapped out another bump on the back of his hand. You inhaled it again, then he used his finger to gather the remnants of the powder. Cupping your cheek firmly, your jaw relaxed under his touch as he rubbed the excess powder into your gums. You reacted instantly, closing your eyes and drawing his finger deeper into your mouth, succumbing to the rush of sensation.

He groaned in approval, your lips already open when he kissed you again, drawing him in for more, thighs parting to wrap your legs around him. The flimsy strap of your dress fell off your shoulder, the fabric across your chest following shortly after.

Blissfully content with the relief of the chemicals rushing into your bloodstream for the first time today, you went numb, rolling your head back and watching patterns dance behind your eyelids. You allowed Dieter to touch and move you at his will, his hands skillfully brushing the other strap of your dress off your shoulder, exposing your chest completely. A throaty moan escaped him at the sight, the gentle sway of your breasts moving with the rhythm of the rough push of his hips into yours. He drew you closer, his lips finding purchase on your skin. Roughly latching onto you, he drew your breast into his mouth, his tongue drawing circles around the peak of your nipple before switching to the other side of your chest.

Sparks shot down your spine and your mind went blank for a second, lost in the feeling of him against you, the synapses in your brain firing and lighting up. You snapped back into the moment when you felt him grasp your hand with his own, his fingers intertwined with yours. He guided you down to press your hand into his crotch, grinding the firm length of himself into your hold again and again.

A soft moan escaped your lips, surrendering to the warmth and pressure of his body against yours. You tightened your grip around his neck, allowing yourself to fully yield to his control, your body pliant and responsive to his every move.

You’d fuck him, you figured, as you moved against him. He was good looking - now that you were feeling a little less edgy, you could appreciate it. Corinne would kill you if word got out, but he seemed like someone who knew a thing or two about discretion. He stiffened even more as he firmly thrusted into the cradle of your hand and you cupped your fingers around his length, the soft fabric of his pants allowing you to feel him completely. You walked your fingers up to his waistband, nails dipping under the fabric and pulling at it slightly. You’d go home with him. Whatever. You’d bring Natalie with you and you could leave by morning. He probably wouldn’t even notice a missing gram or two.

You followed the thought as he trailed kisses up your chest and neck, finally settling at your ear. His hand rose up your thigh, thick fingers dragging along the lace fabric at your center. The bundle of nerves there erupted at his touch and your thighs instinctively squeezed around him.

“Let me taste you, baby, please,” He growled just above a whisper into your ear. You arched your back into his arms, moaning and nodding in agreement, the cool porcelain of the sink underneath you causing your skin to goosebump as your dress rode up further. You opened your eyes, peeking at the chestnut brown curls, the color blending into the dark room surrounding you. Your eyelids felt heavy, and you fought to keep them open, wanting to stay present with him. But the warmth of his breath against your skin and the gentle touch of his fingers on your cheeks were lulling you somewhere else. You felt like you were floating, your vision blurred at the edges and you fluttered your eyes shut again, feeling his fingers curl around the waistband of your panties and stall there for a moment.

Your fading in and out like that threatened to spook him away. You couldn’t be too fucked up. He lightly tapped your cheeks a couple of times, tucking a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Stay with me, baby," he whispered urgently. "Gotta hear you say it."

“Mmmm,” Dazed, faraway eyes looked up at him, your blown-out pupils mirroring his own. You nodded again, dragging your teeth along your bottom lip. Your pulse raced between your legs, and you felt your hips moving towards him, trying to ride something that wasn’t there yet. “Do it, Dieter, please.”

There we go. He smirked, lifting you from the stack of boxes to push you up against the wall and sinking to his knees. He bunched up the fabric of your dress at your hips, roughly pulling your panties down your legs, the black fabric hanging loosely at one ankle as he lifted your leg to hang over his shoulder.

You shrieked when he slid his tongue through your folds, your knee buckling when he repeated the motion, his strong hands moving up to your hips to support you. His tongue pushed wide against you, him tasting and exploring you as his fingers dug into your hips with bruising force.

He felt fucking amazing. You typically hated when men touched you, especially when you were high, but he felt incredible. You’d give him anything. Despite your rapidly dulling senses, the feeling of his tongue working your clit back and forth was at the front of your mind. He pushed his tongue wide against you again and again, fucking two thick fingers up into you without warning.

You gasped, your mouth opening wide as you root your fingers into his hair to ground yourself. He wanted to wreck you completely, to smear the dark makeup around your eyes and watch that glossy mouth of yours stretch around his cock. His lips locked around your clit, and as the blood rushed to the bundle of nerves there you threw your head back, chest heaving, loud, wretched moans spilling from your throat.

With your senses dulled, he knew it’d take a little more to send you over the edge. A third finger pushed into you with a stretch, starting slow and working up to get in and out of your tight, soaked cunt. You moved your hips to match his rhythm, your pace hiccuping as he began working you faster and faster, working your clit between his teeth with a pinch.

Your moans were frantic, hitching higher and higher as he confidently worked you towards an orgasm, your surroundings blurring and swirling around you.

THUD, THUD, THUD. Just as you neared your release, a loud pounding at the door shattered the moment.

He groaned in frustration, pausing briefly before attempting to resume. You struggled to regain your focus, your chest heaving with heavy breaths, nerves coiled tightly at your core.

The knock was followed by a muffled argument and the clanking of keys from the other side of the door. Reluctantly, Dieter's head emerged from between your thighs.

“Fucking assholes,” Dieter grumbled in frustration as he stood up, moving the straps of your dress back up your shoulders and quickly adjusting himself. You steadied yourself with a hand on his shoulder as you pulled your panties back up, frustration pounding angrily between your legs.

“Find me, alright?” He breathed, smoothing out your dress, his hand lingering on your ass and eyes slowly moving up your body. “I’ll take you home.”

You nodded as the door was thrown open, the bright, white light of a flashlight shining into the small room. You stood up straight, quickly fixing your hair in the mirror and sneakily grabbing the small, plastic baggie Dieter left on the counter, hiding it in your fist behind your back.

“Let’s go. Knock this shit off,” a voice bellowed from behind the light, which darted back and forth between you and Dieter. “We’re not doing this in my fucking club, get the fuck out, let’s go!”

“What the fuck is this?” Dieter asks, moving to stand in front of you and block you from the bright light.

“I’m sorry, man, I tried to stop him,” Another voice followed from outside the room. You squinted and peeked over Dieter’s shoulder, annoyance showing on your face. A large bald man in a suit held the flashlight and to his right was the small, douchey-looking guy you recognized from Dieter’s booth. Natalie’s head popped up behind the both of them, looking relieved to have found you.

“You’re not doing drugs on my floor and fucking little girls in my bathroom. That’s it, Bravo. Get the fuck out of here, let’s go,” the angry man repeated. Dieter raised his hands and murmured an apology to you as he shuffled out, one hand poised defensively in front of his face. He pushed out of the room past Natalie, her brows furrowed at him in confusion as he passed. His counterpart flocked to his side, immediately rushing into what sounded like a flurry of explanations and reassurances. Natalie slid into the room smoothly, wrapping an arm around you to usher you out. You stumbled at her side, annoyed and disoriented.

“I’m TWENTY-TWO, ASSHOLE!” You screamed at the man with the flashlight, attempting to shove him with your balled-up fists. He raised his eyebrows, bald head wrinkling and frown deepening. Natalie pulled you away from him quickly and you could hear her apologize behind you. “Don’t tell’um sorry, Nat, ’m not fucking sorry, I was in the fucking bathroom!” you slurred, your voice disjointedly raising and lowering in pitch.

“C’mon, babe, let’s go,” Natalie urged you.

“Yeah, ’s get the fuck outta here,” you agreed, stumbling as she shepherded you out. She handed you your purse and you quickly shoved your hand inside, dropping the half-empty baggie into the side pocket. One or two flashing lights from the crowd gathered at the bar stole your attention for a moment, but it quickly returned to the big, bald, interrupting gorilla with the flashlight. “This place SUCKS!” you screamed as you began to turn back towards him, leashed by Natalie’s grip around your arm.

“Let’s go,” she repeated firmly. You followed her through the crowded bar, stomping across the floor and ignoring the unending stream of heads turning towards you. The two of you shoved out the heavy metal doors of the club, clicking and flashbulbs immediately erupting around you as the cool evening air breezed across your skin. Your name was shouted from your left and right as Natalie dug in her bag for the valet ticket.

“Having fun tonight?” A photographer asked. You rolled your eyes. “Alright, over here, honey,” the same voice continued. With a resigned sigh, you turned to offer a practiced pose, your mind ticking through your media training despite how fucking annoyed you were. Stumbling a couple of times as you attempted to maintain your balance, you moved through a lazy pose or two. You knew the routine - let them get their shot and maybe they'll back off.

“Partying tonight?” Another voice interjected. Moron.

Natalie finally located the ticket and the valet handed the keys over immediately, your car already parked and waiting curbside. Impulsively, you decided you’d drive, intercepting the keys before Natalie could take them and nearly smacking them out of the attendant’s hand before stumbling towards the vehicle.

“She’s not getting in the driver’s seat. No way,” reasons the voice of a man with a video camera to your left. “There’s no way!”

Another blinding eruption of flashing lights emerged around you. You stared down at your feet as you stumbled forward, trying to see where you were walking through the relentless assault of flashbulbs. Natalie called out your name from behind you. You struggled a couple of times with the handle before throwing the car door open heavily.

“Hey, you can’t drive, honey,” Another voice called out. You rolled your eyes.

You climbed into the driver's seat and slammed the door shut, exhaling loudly as the noise of the chaos surrounding you finally muffled. Flashing lights continued, your windshield now completely blocked by cameras. The volume raised again for a moment, a cacophony of voices and camera clicks, as Natalie scrambled into the passenger seat beside you.

“Are these people serious,” you asked, angling your head in towards Natalie and shielding your eyes from the barrage of flashbulbs pointed at you, frustration mounting with each flash. “How’m I supposta drive when they’re fucking blocking me?”

“Yeah, maybe you shouldn’t.” Natalie said, concern in her voice. “Let me, okay?”

You shook your head adamantly. “’M not going back out there.”

“So climb over,” She suggested.

“Not in this!”

Natalie let out an exasperated sigh, her fingers tapping anxiously on her thighs.

“Hey, since when do you know Dieter Bravo?” She asks, momentarily changing the subject.

“Who? Oh,” you replied, the question registering with you once you answered. The reminder of him sent your attention between your legs and you shifted slightly in your seat. “I dunno. I know’hm from an awards thing.” You offered. It was an unconvincing lie, but Natalie didn’t fight you on it.

“He’s so random,” she laughed. “I can’t believe you hooked up with him. I think my older sister had a poster of him in high school. Right next to River Phoenix.”

“Whatever,” you huffed, everything about this evening now pissing you off. The incessant clicking of the paparazzi's cameras only added fuel to the fire, and you narrowed your eyes in irritation, slamming your hand down on the horn for a solid ten seconds in a futile attempt to disperse them.

“MOVE!” you yelled, only inciting more flashing lights.

“Let me drive, babe,” Natalie tried again.

“Oh, my god, fuck this,” you snapped, frustration finally boiling over. With your hand still shielding your eyes, you shifted the car into drive. “You're my eyes now.”

“What?! No!” She replied, her voice rising in panic.

“Be my eyes. I’m going.” You repeated. Very slowly, you eased your foot off the brake, the car beginning to inch forward. Voices clamored outside the vehicle.

“Oh my god, um, okay. Go slow. Turn left. Slow!” Natalie began to guide you. The crowd cautiously parted around the car, photographers scrambling to avoid being flattened while still unwilling to sacrifice this shot. “Oh my god, this is so stupid. Slow, slow, slow.”

“They’re fuckin’ stupid! What am I supposed to do?”

“No, yeah, okay, just slow, keep going left.” Natalie's voice trembled slightly as she continued to navigate. The relentless barrage of flashing lights illuminated the interior of the car, casting everything in stark, blinding brightness. “Okay, cut it! Cut it and keep going straight.”

You cut the wheel to the right and straighten it out, cautiously peeking through the gaps in your fingers to confirm you'd cleared the throng of photographers.

“Haha!” you exclaimed, your laughter echoing through the tense air as you slammed the gas pedal to the floor once the street ahead is clear. With a screech of tires, you peel off into the night, Natalie's nervous chuckles mingling with your own laughter. “Bye, assholes!”

You rocketed down Highland with reckless abandon. A couple of familiar vehicles creeped up behind you - regular photographers who paid their bills by stalking you. The driver to the left’s hand hung out the window, a digital camera pointed squarely at you. The light was yellow at the intersection in front of you and you smirked, not letting up on the gas and rolling your window down to flip off the camera as you raced through the intersection just as the light turned red.

“Slow down!” Natalie yelled, panicked, her hand clutching the door handle in a white-knuckled grip. “What is your problem?”

“My problem?! These guys are the ones with the problem,” you fired back, your tone frustrated. “I can’t do anything without getting fucking cornered!” Your car veered dangerously across the yellow lines and Natalie yelped. You overcorrected, the vehicle lurching back into its lane just in time to avoid a collision with an oncoming car, its horn blaring in warning. Natalie’s body stiffened further in her seat as you took a wide right turn onto Sunset. You turn on the radio, a Rihanna song picking up midway through.

“Did he give you something?” she shouted, her tone urgent. You furrowed your brow, shooting her a confused look. “Dieter,” she clarified.

“Oh, right!” you exclaimed, mood shifting as you suddenly remembered the baggie tucked in your purse. “Look what I got us!” You reached for your bag on the passenger floorboard, swerving again. Natalie lunged across the seat, her hands fumbling for the wheel to correct your course, while a chorus of horns blared from the vehicles behind you. Finally retrieving your purse, you fished out the baggie from the side pocket and held it up between your fingers for Natalie to inspect. She grabbed it from you quickly, examining it in her lap.

“What is it?” She asked. You shrugged.

“Coke, I think. Shit, hold on,” you floored the gas to race through another newly red light.

“Stop!” Natalie shrieked. “This is so fucking stupid, dude, let me drive!”

“Jesus, Nat, fine,” you groan, slamming on the brakes. You both jolted forward as the car came to a stop in the middle of the road. “You wanna drive so bad, fine.”

You unlocked the car doors, opening yours slightly and reaching down to unbuckle your seatbelt.

“Are you serious?” She scoffed, disbelief etched across her features as she surveyed the chaotic scene unfolding around you. You nodded in affirmation, a defiant smirk playing on your lips. “You’re such a bitch.”

With a surge of stubborn adrenaline, you stormed out onto Sunset Boulevard, Natalie following suit. The gray Honda belonging to one of the persistent photographers tailed you, coming to a halt beside you as the driver scrambled out, camera at the ready.

“LEAVE ME ALONE” you shouted. “I gave you your shot at the club, I’ve been nice to you guys, what more do you want?!”

You considered what it would take to get him to go away. Words weren’t working. Should you kick his car? Throw something? You began to stumble towards him, interrupted by Natalie yelling your name again. You turned around to see Natalie standing in the street, gaze fixed on the intersection ahead. Your car - which you apparently failed to put into park - was rolling into the intersection on its own.

With a frantic surge of panic, you and Natalie sprinted after the runaway vehicle, the strobe of camera flashes behind you incessant. Arms flailing, you both desperately signaled to other drivers to stop, your heels clattering against the pavement as you raced towards the car.

As the car veered left, you were powerless to stop it from crashing into a parked BMW at the corner. Rushing to catch up, you flung yourself into the open driver's door, slamming on the brakes and throwing the gear into reverse. You leaned across the cab to fling the passenger door wide open.

“Come on!” You shouted at Natalie as she climbed back into the car. With a tense exhale, you navigated the car backward, turning wide in the intersection before screeching forward.

Your mind was completely clear with pure adrenaline. You were only a few blocks away from the hotel now, the castle-shaped outline shrouded in trees just ahead on your right. You floored it, a tense silence hanging in the car, both you and Natalie’s eyes locked forward on the road in front of you.

Only slowing down to make a right turn into the hotel driveway, you didn’t bother waiting for the valet. Tossing your keys onto the driver’s seat, you left the door ajar as you stormed through the garage toward your room, ready to put this evening behind you.

#blind item #dieter bravo #dieter bravo x ofc #dieter bravo x reader #putting this out into the world and definitely also shitting bricks

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twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat · 8 months

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i’ll go see you again tomorrow (spring is coming to an end) ; sashisu

[ part 0 - first meeting ]

synopsis; the gradual blossoming of a youth shared with three strange classmates, at the weird, isolated boarding school you all attend. as the seasons of your first year together pass, the relationship between you changes into something you don’t need to put into words to understand.

word count; 1.6k

contents; sashisu/reader (but can be read as either platonic or romantic, or something inbetween!! i wrote it with the latter in mind), gn!reader, no curses au (dw they’re all still a little bit insane and damaged), very shoujo manga-esque, reader is a little bit in love with all their friends, just wholesome comfy vibes :), characters may be ooc but pls bear with me </3

a/n; this is the shorter opening piece of a sashisu/reader series i’m writing and the first out of six planned parts!! :> the rest will be much longer this is just me setting the tone. sorta. i’m extremely normal about sashisu and i wanted to write something summery and sweet so <3

you first meet them in a sun-soaked classroom, with blue-tinted windows.

the room in question, clearly not having been of use for some time, is just a little dusty. enough that you notice it, nose scrunching up as your gaze trails over the space.

tiny specks of light dance around, meeting and intersecting between the gaps where streaks of sunlight fall and illuminate the floorboards. they’re oddly mesmerizing, a little hard to forget. the flicker of their movement begins to etch itself into your retinas; for some reason, you can’t quite take your eyes off them.

eventually, your attention is caught by something else, coaxing you into moving your gaze towards the translucent windows. they glimmer softly, tantalizingly in the sunlight, reflecting the blue of the sky. through the glass, it’s all you can see at first — a sky so blue that it’s a little irritating. big, white clouds are scattered like splotches of paint across a blue canvas, treading gently over the boundary of your vision.

in a similar fashion, the ground of the schoolyard is littered with dots of white. for just a second, you delude yourself into thinking that it’s snow; it’s not until you spot the skeletal trees and their pale blossoms that you see them for what they are. soft petals flutter down to the ground eagerly, covering everything in a pure white.

it really is eerily reminiscent of a snowy landscape, ephemeral in its beauty. it gives you the impression of having stepped over some sort of threshold, into another realm, another world entirely. coated in apricot blossoms, soaked in sunlight.

(it shouldn’t be possible from where you’re standing, behind the windows — but the scent reaches you all the same. everything smells of apricots.)

it’s springtime, and you’re in the prime of your youth.

a youth you’re about to share with three other kids, all standing in front of you and wearing mildly indifferent expressions as you give each other a brief glance.

you try not to stare too hard, but it’s difficult to resist the temptation. three new classmates, mysterious and just slightly intimidating; two guys, and one girl. the tiny glances you steal at them aren’t very sneaky, but you doubt they’d care, when they’re all doing the same.

you study their appearances, eager to sate the curiosity clawing at your heart.

the girl is pretty.

the expression on her face is laid-back, almost bored, and she looks a little like she doesn’t quite want to be here. her hair reaches down to her chin, just barely, brown and smooth and silky. estimating her exact height is a little tough; you can tell she’s fairly short, but you don’t know how much of it is exaggerated, courtesy of her placement between the other two. their lanky legs and broad shoulders only make her look smaller in comparison.

her eyes are chestnut-coloured, a little dim, somewhat hazy. there’s a mole under one of her eyes, too, and you’re acutely aware of how charming you find it. you’re relieved to have at least one girl in your class, anyhow. you hope she’s nice.

the boy on her right is pretty, too.

he’s much taller, and wearing a somewhat serious expression, but something about him feels almost comforting all the same. he seems relaxed, but also sharp, as his eyes trail across the room. his hair is black and silky, and it’s long — or so you assume, judging by the fact that he’s got it in a bun. two things about him stand out in particular; one, the black gauges on his ears, and two, a single lock of hair framing his face. his hair is tied up and neat, prim and proper, with the exception of his bangs. you don’t think it looks bad, exactly, but it’s an odd choice.

at first glance, you think his eyes are black, but when a ray of sunlight falls across his face you realize that they’re brown. a deep colour, oddly soothing, warm. little sparks of amber glitter in the depths of his irises, illuminated only by the sun. it gives you the impression that there’s more to him than meets the eye.

then there’s the other boy.

he’s the most intimidating out of the three, without a doubt, though you still can’t pinpoint exactly why. he strikes you as particularly unnerving; maybe it’s the expression on his face, that you can’t seem to identify. he’s also tall, very tall, even taller than the other guy — though only by a smidge. he towers over you slightly, and that unnerves you even further. there’s something in the way he’s standing that almost seems a little menacing. his hair is white, and soft, and just a tad messy. and he’s wearing a pair of round sunglasses, even though you’re indoors.

you can’t see his eyes well, behind the black glass, but you get the vague impression that they’re blue when sunlight cascades down the contours of his face and reflects in them.

you take another moment to simply look at them, observing them, as if trying to reach some sort of conclusion about what they’re like. it doesn’t really work, but you do get some semblance of an impression.

finally, your teacher clears his throat, breaking the silence of the classroom — urging you to hurry up and get the introductions done and over with. the impatient reminder snaps all four of you out of your collective trance.

the first person to speak up is the boy with the weird bangs. that alone gives you a sense of his personality; polite, proper, the first to do the thing no one really wants to do.

”my name is suguru geto,” he begins, well mannered. ”it’s nice to meet you.” his voice is pleasant, somehow. nice to listen to. there’s something comforting about it, that you can’t quite place; it sounds almost familiar, like you’ve heard it all your life.

then, the cute girl chimes in, casual and unbothered as she fiddles with something in her pocket. ”shoko ieiri. just call me shoko,” she says, short and sweet.

she really is pretty, you muse, bathed in the streaks of sunlight falling haphazardly across the room. and she seems nice, not uptight or obnoxious; the kind of person that’s easy to talk to, easy to be friends with. you think you like her already. but she notices your lingering stare, and so you look away, gaze falling to the floorboards.

finally, after a slight pause, the boy with the sunglasses speaks up. you still can’t get a good read on his expression. ”… satoru gojo,” is all he says, and you can’t seem to grasp his tone of voice, either.

it irks you, though. you’re not sure why. you almost get the sense that he thinks he’s appeasing you, by introducing himself, like hearing his name is a priviliege. that, and you feel a little like you’re being dissected when his gaze falls on you — like he’s weighing your value, deciding your worth. you think you almost catch a glimpse of his eyes behind the black tint of his glasses, and they strike you as acutely menacing, bright blue and uncanny. you decide that you don’t like him, and that his sunglasses are kinda ugly.

their gazes fall on you, at last.

you’re the only one whose name they don’t know, now. it’s a kind of power, in a way, the power of mystery. intrigue. their stares feel heavy on your skin, and you feel more than a little nervous; but you’re intent on following the silent cue, all the same.

and you do so, dutifully, raising your hand up in a silent hello before tentatively saying your name. then, in a voice you hope doesn’t come across as bored or unpleasant:

”— it’s nice to meet you.”

some of them hum in affirmation, as if to say it’s nice to meet you too — others remain silent. even when the introductions are finished, you continue to look at each other, vaguely and discreetly, as if trying to look inside each other’s heads.

but then your teacher begins to speak, in an authorative voice, and you’re snapped out of the trance, once more.

he babbles on and on, about something you’re sure is important, something about the school and the classes you’ll be having and the dorms and so on. you try to listen, you really do, but it’s tough — you vaguely get the gist, but all you can really think about is your classmates, still so mysterious and intimidating.

you try to repeat their names, inside your mind, trying to ingrain them into your memory.

suguru geto, shoko ieiri, and satoru gojo.

you still don’t really know what to think about them. shoko will probably be fairly easy for you to warm up to, but the other two are a different story. all three of them seem to have strong personalities, reflected in their eyes; a dim hazel, a deep umber, and a stark azure. you don’t know what’s hidden in them, but you have a strange inkling that you will, in due time.

that’s how the four of you meet. and in this moment, as you look into their eyes for the first time, you have no idea how much your life has changed — how much they’ll change it for the better.

you only know that it’s springtime, and that you’re in the prime of your youth.

a youth you’re about to spend with these three kids in front of you, who you know nothing about. some part of your soul urges you to find out, for yourself.

maybe you will.

(outside the sun-soaked classroom, through the blue-tinted windows, the world observes your meeting with bated breath and barely contained excitement.)

part i

#title is taken from the lyrics of yorushika’s ’spring thief’ btw i listened to it while writing this n cried <3 its sooo sashisu.#anyway!!! this series ended up kinda reader-centric but the focus is meant to be on the relationship between all 4 of them #its just… really easy to analyze the characters from a third party pov. and im a shameless self inserter so. x reader it is!#this series is also my excuse to (attempt to) analyze sashisu as a trio/individually but idk if my own interpretation will align w/ canon #in my defense theyre a lot less traumatized in a no curses au #but i still wanted to try and explore their high school selves + their issues w/ intimacy and trust n all that. im obsessed with them.#so i hope i did a decent job :’) anyway thats enough ranting in the tags if u read this far i am in Love With You #sashisu x reader #shoko ieiri x reader #geto suguru x reader #gojo satoru x reader #sashisu #gojo satoru #geto suguru #shoko ieiri #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #…. i think thats all #jujutsu kaisen #jjk

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quickhacked · 10 months

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Chapter >> 17 [x] Characters >> Cato Wu (oc), Eddie Wolfe (oc), Lauren Dimas (oc), Mikhail Koshechkin (oc), Panam Palmer, Rogue Amendiares, Viktor Vektor, Vincent Mayer (oc), Vitali Dobrynin (oc) Total >> 9.2k Warnings >> Blood, chess mention :/, death, injuries, irresponsible driving, violence

‘Hey- Get up. Can’t have you dying on me now.’

The constant, gentle beeping of a nearby heart monitor slowly woke Cato from her slumber, the noise reminiscent of her alarm yet she did not even have to open her eyes to know that this was anything but an ordinary morning; if it was even morning to begin with.

She inhaled deeply, eyes moving behind eyelids and head heavy on the questionable-quality pillow of the unfamiliar bed she found herself in; a weight pressing down on her chest, keeping her locked in position, even the slightest of movement burning painfully through her muscles.

Where the fuck am I?

Cato only remembered flashes.

A car chase- no, she had been on a motorcycle- a stolen one, no less, racing through the streets of Northside in the middle of the night after yet another failed attempt to get help, trying to-

Trying to-

She groaned, memories from seemingly another lifetime flooding back into her mind and her chest painfully tightened, sudden fear overtaking her. Had they finally captured her, now? After everything she’d done- every precaution she had taken to get them off her trail, all the cut ties, all the words left unspoken-

Another deep inhale. It did not smell like a hospital, wherever she was; it did not smell like any of their medbays, or a Trauma Team ambulance, or any other corporate location for that matter. The vague smell of blood and sweat lingered around her, mixed with bleach, some sort of disinfectant-

It stung a bit.

Finally Cato opened her eyes, squinting against the bright light of some lamp pointed directly at her face. She slowly let her gaze trail the room- oh, yeah, a ripperdoc, alright- past cold concrete walls, a surgery chair, makeshift medical equipment and a cluttered desk in the corner on her far right, until she found two figures; one sitting on a stool, the other leaning against the wall.

She did not recognize either of the two men; that was, until the one standing took a few steps closer upon noticing she was awake. Her heartbeat instantly spiked and she jolted up- but her vision faded instantly and with that she sank back down onto the surgery bed she was-

Handcuffed to?

‘Standard procedure,’ the man said, gesturing at Cato’s wrist before running his hand through his short, bleached hair. ‘My apologies. It is always tricky to determine if a merc is going to resort to violence once awake or not.’

‘I’ll fuck you up,’ Cato spat before she could stop herself, her voice hoarse as it left her lips- words scraping past raw throat and it caused her to cough, the raspy noise echoing through the room.

‘I don’t doubt that for a second.’ A pause, as Vitali Dobrynin reached into his pocket and took out a key, then reached for Cato’s wrist and- respectfully keeping his hands to himself- freed her from her restraints.

‘Cato Wu,’ he said, grabbing a chair from the side of the room and setting it down next to the surgery bed while Cato slowly sat up a second time, carefully now, allowing the dizziness to settle before she moved any further.

‘How’d you know my name?’

‘I have my ways.’

‘Right- fixer.’

‘Do I sense contempt?’

Cato sucked in her cheeks and raised her hand, mockingly putting her thumb and the tip of her index finger a mere millimeter apart. ‘Thiiis much. Pinky promise.’

Perhaps not her wisest decision- mocking a fixer like that only inches away from his face. And not just any fixer, either; a new face on the big stage in town, sure, and not nearly as famous- or infamous- as Rogue Amendiares or Dexter DeShawn, but one making his way to the major leagues quicker than anyone ever before.

Of course Cato had heard of him. She had gone looking for him to ask for his help, for fuck’s sake.

She watched carefully as Vitali’s eyes trailed over her face, scanning every little detail- reading her, and she slightly straightened her back in response. No one said anything; and instead it was merely the sound of the heart monitor filling the space around them, Cato’s heartbeat once more steady now that she had calmed down.

‘You have quite some history, from what I could gather,’ the fixer finally spoke, slowly leaning back in his chair as the corner of his mouth slightly pulled up. ‘Active in security since age 17- and now on the run from Kang Tao, no less.’

‘Nothin’ I can’t handle.’

‘I’ve sent some of my people after the squads. They won’t find you here.’

‘Wasn’t concerned.’

‘Of course not.’

Unbothered by her attitude, playing along- yet playfully so, and Cato finally relaxed a little bit as the other man in the small ripperdoc clinic wheeled himself over as well, moving around her to carefully unplug the medical equipment from the port in her neck.

‘Take it easy the next couple days, alright?’ he said. ‘Hit your head pretty hard in the fall. Your helmet caught most of the impact and took most of the damage, but-’

His voice trailed off and Cato immediately glanced into the rest of the room again, her eyes finding- well, what remained of her motorcycle helmet, sitting on top of the desk in the corner.

‘You got lucky, kid.’

Wouldn’t be the first time.

A sharp exhale left her nostrils as she redirected her attention to Vitali, who had not taken his eyes off her for even a second; alert, still, perhaps waiting for her to do something now that she was no longer held down by the handcuffs and the cord in her neck. Their gazes met in the middle, and he leaned forward again, resting his elbows on his knees as he tilted his head in a questioning manner.

‘You were calling out for me, when my mercs found you,’ he said and Cato instantly lowered her gaze again, glad the monitor beside her no longer showed her heartbeat. ‘Said you needed to speak with me.’

‘I need protection,’ she cut him off, turning on the bed to let her feet dangle down and she placed her hands on either side of her body, shoved underneath her thighs.

‘I can work. Do gigs for you, provide security- hell, you’ve done your homework. Seen my resume. Whatever you need, can get started whenever, just- I don’t think I can stay ahead of ‘em for much longer.’

Oh, how she hated to admit it.

Had done fine for months- but she was tired, slipping up left and right, and Kang Tao had not given up on her just yet for whatever fucking reason and it was driving her up the walls. She had no idea if her old squad was still out there, if they were even still alive; and had no way to check it either, each and any attempt to reach out a risk for all parties involved.

‘Endurance hunting,’ Vitali said, a sudden sharp edge to his voice that had not been there before. ‘Running you to exhaustion- minimal effort for them over a longer period of time, while your whole life falls apart around you until there’s nothing left and you are right for the taking. They’re good at that.’

‘Sounds like you know what you’re talkin’ about.’

‘Better than you can probably imagine.’ He paused, jaw slightly clenching as he straightened his back. ‘It’s a good thing you decided to reach out. I think we can help each other.’

Not the first fixer Cato had spoken to- but the first to not tell her no. His words slowly settled in her brain and the look on her face must have told him enough, because he merely smiled in return and slowly stood up again.

‘Go home, for now,’ he said, the rings around his irises lighting up bright blue as a location in the north of Wellsprings popped up in Cato’s view. ‘Get some rest. Visit my office when you are feeling better, and we will get you relocated to a safehouse and discuss business, yes? Vik- You can put the costs on my tab.’

‘One step ahead of you, Vito.’

‘Full price, this time, I hope?’

‘Eh- returning customer discount.’

‘I’ll…allow it this time.’

Cato was no longer listening to them, a strange sense of relief washing over her to the point she suddenly noticed just how exhausted she was. All her muscles were sore- and even with the painkillers she had probably already gotten she could still feel the heavy thrumming in the back of her head, constantly threatening to move closer.

Months of uncertainty, of being alone; and it was all finally going to change, and hopefully for the better. Cato did not know much about how Vitali Dobrynin worked, but his surprisingly charming attitude and his treatment of both her and the old ripperdoc were already a lot more promising than what she had seen from many others before him.

Perhaps it would all be over now. Perhaps Kang Tao would finally give up, finally leave her alone, perhaps she would no longer have to be scared to get taken back in- to get tortured, and killed, if they would even show her that kind of mercy after everything that had happened.

Perhaps she could finally be safe, now.

Cato had not felt safe in months.

She could no longer tell where it had gone wrong. Too much time had passed, too many parties involved; and frankly, at that point it mattered very little who was to blame. She understood why Vitali also didn’t know what to do anymore- he was grasping at straws, but so was everyone else.

But now things were starting to get seriously out of hand.

Hurried pace through the hallway, combat gear on and gun holstered and at the ready. Another day, another tragedy; another citywide mercenary attack traced back to the Broker, yet the man himself once more stayed out of the spotlights like he always did.

Yet something was wrong about it all.

Prior incidents had all had a clear purpose; taking away their resources, exhausting them, rising tensions in town and in the Council and attempting to frame Vitali as the big bad behind it all. Weeks of planning, carefully thought out moves- like some fucked up, intricate game of chess.

Man, the fucking irony.

Yet this time it had come entirely out of nowhere.

And Matvey’s mercenaries merely seemed to be out for blood.

‘Hey-! Cato, wait.’

Cato had almost reached the elevators, but she stopped in her tracks and turned around, heart skipping a beat upon spotting the source of the voice behind her; Lauren, running after her and easily catching up only to drag her in for a hug, arms wrapped tightly around her shoulders and hand on the back of her head.

‘Forgot to say goodbye, was in a hurry,’ Cato sheepishly said, Lauren’s hand gently running through her hair and moving to her face to cup her cheek. ‘You on runner duty today?’

‘W-What? I- Yeah, I am, but-’

Lauren’s voice got caught in her throat and she looked up again, a worried frown decorating her brow as her eyes trailed over Cato’s face and her thumb softly ran over her lips.

Cato didn’t know what to say.

Her brain was stuck in work mode; it left very little space for any distractions, and as much as Cato loved her girlfriend she found herself completely at a loss for words, eyes briefly wandering off as she slightly leaned in to Lauren’s touch and took a hesitant step closer to her.

And in response, Lauren leaned down and kissed her, the scent of her cologne mixed with a hint of coconut from her shampoo wrapping around Cato like a warm blanket, as if the two of them were safely at home rather than in the hallway of Vitali’s office, preparing to make dinner together instead of preparing to put their lives on the line once more in an attempt to regain control of the situation out in the streets.

Cato stood on her tiptoes and kissed Lauren back, grabbing the edges of her jacket to tug her closer and she could feel the corners of Lauren’s mouth turn up into a small smile.

Oh, how she had missed the quiet moments with her; they’d had some time, between all the chaos, but with both of them focused on work and the constant threat hanging above their heads it had been difficult to fully find some time for themselves.

They had wanted to move in together at the start of the year.

Cato still lived alone, now.

‘Be careful out there, okay?’ Lauren quietly said, her lips brushing past the bridge of Cato’s nose before she kissed her forehead, lips lingering on her skin a lot longer than necessary.

‘I’m- so good at that,’ Cato replied and wrapped her arms around Lauren’s waist. ‘Powerhouse. Unkillable, even.’

‘Holding you to that.’

‘As you should! As you fuckin’ should.’

She smiled when a quiet giggle left Lauren’s chest and she hid her face in Cato’s neck, carefully wrapping her arms around her again and nearly lifting her from the ground.

‘You be careful in there, too,’ Cato hummed in her ear and gently ran her hand through her girlfriend’s curls. ‘Wanna come home to you, ‘kay? Alive.’

‘And you will, baby. Alive and well.’

And with that, they finally parted ways, Cato glancing over her shoulder one last time and smiling at Lauren before quickly stepping into the elevator and mashing the button of the garage until the doors closed- but she kept going just a little longer, even when the elevator was already on the move, as if the action would keep the tears welling up in her eyes from rolling down her cheeks.

Cato knew like no one else their jobs came with risks.

She had always been a risk taker- largely calculated decisions but with an uncertainty or two that would make most mercs reconsider their options. Cato was too confident for that; or too stubborn perhaps, if you’d ask her friends, but either way she knew what she was doing and she knew how to clean up her messes like no one else.

She sucked in a deep breath and glanced at herself in the mirror of the elevator, quickly grabbing a hair tie from her wrist to pull her black and pink hair into a tight ponytail to get it out of her face. The elevator came to a stop, and the doors opened- but she lingered inside just a little longer, expression blank and eyes fixed on her own reflection.

Hope I can get some sleep tonight. Looks like I fuckin’ need it.

The garage was surprisingly crowded, several squads getting ready to try and get a grip on the situation outside. Cato left the elevator and quickly pushed her way through the crowd to the other side, until she reached Mikhail, Eddie and Vincent, waiting for her next to one of their armored vehicles.

‘Everyone ready?’ she asked, hopping on her tiptoes and sinking back to her heels as she nodded at the car.

‘Almost,’ Mikhail responded and clicked his tongue, not moving away from his position against one of the pillars of the garage. ‘Waiting for one more.’

‘One more- seriously? Bit crowded for one car, don’t you think?’

‘Would you prefer for me to sit on the roof, then?’

The sudden voice from behind her caused Cato to freeze and Vitali walked around her, fastening the clip of his chest armor as he gave her a playful nudge with his elbow. A soft scoff left her lips in return and she quickly averted her gaze to the ground.

‘Alright, listen to me!’ Vitali shouted, causing silence to instantly wash over the room and everyone’s heads to turn in his direction.

‘We don’t know exactly what is going on, just got eyes on important locations they’re attacking,’ he continued. ‘Lauren is pinging you the hotspots, report back to her once everything is dealt with. Panam- I want you and your squad to follow us.’

‘Where to?’ Panam asked.

‘Afterlife. Rogue called.’

Well, that can’t be good.

Cato slowly wandered over to the passenger seat while everyone got on the move, head completely elsewhere. She did not know Rogue like Vitali did, or Vincent- but she knew her well enough to know she was not one to ask for help, more than capable enough to deal with situations such as this one herself.

‘It’s chaos out there,’ Eddie said as they climbed onto the backseat on the left side of the car, next to Vincent who was sat in the middle. ‘Bet they already got eyes on us.’

‘I do not doubt it.’ Vitali buckled his seatbelt and started the car, slightly adjusting the rearview mirror before starting to make his way outside the garage. ‘V- Are you alright?’

‘Yep,’ Vincent quickly answered, though Cato could hear how strained his voice was. ‘Peachy.’

Deafening silence washed over the car and Cato glanced in the side mirror to look at Mikhail, who merely stared straight out of the window with no readable expression on his face.

Trouble in paradise?

Not the right time to ask.

The sun already hung low on the horizon, leaving the city in warm orange and pink light; yet smoke lingered in the air from a nearby fire, rapidly threatening to get entirely out of control due to the heat and drought. Not an uncommon occurrence during Night City’s summers- despite the vastly different current circumstances- and Cato quickly took a mask out of the dashboard locker to cover her nose and mouth.

The streets were still busy, as they always were; though Vitali appeared unbothered by it as he swiftly maneuvered between all the other vehicles on the road, hands white-knuckled around the steering wheel.

He was stressed.

Of course he was- Cato was too, heartbeat like a drum in her chest and breathing shallow behind her mask. She let her gaze carefully trail their surroundings, looking for anything out of the ordinary-

Bingo.

Through the side mirror she could easily spot the heavily armored Arasaka SUVs closing in. Entirely out of place in the otherwise still relatively calm Wellsprings; and when someone leaned out of one of the windows, dressed in makeshift armor and holding some sort of customized assault rifle, Cato knew exactly who they were dealing with.

‘Behind us!’ she yelled over her shoulder and quickly reached for the control panel between herself and Vitali- grabbed the cord of the car’s systems while Eddie and Mikhail both opened their windows to lean out and shoot at their pursuers, and plugged it in the slot in her neck after a deep inhale.

She was never going to get used to it.

Vision going dark instantly, despite being wide awake and having her eyes open; it never failed to trigger her fight or flight response, body instinctively taking the sudden loss of vision as a direct attack, and nausea washed over her as she tightly gripped the edges of her seat to not lose her balance.

It settled quickly when her vision returned to her; though not in her own body but in a drone deployed from the underside of the car instead, and it slowly emerged from underneath as Cato gained control over its movement.

Mostly intuitive, but disorienting- Cato had done it enough times to no longer randomly lose control of the drone because of concentration loss, but it had happened one too many times in the past. Too worried about her surroundings, worried about getting killed, or getting disconnected too early; or she would think too hard about how to steer the drone, actions that would otherwise come naturally to her in her own body.

She relaxed in her chair as the drone flew up into the air and circled above their car, to assess the situation down below; three cars in pursuit, one of them trailing behind a little as it appeared to be in combat with Panam’s squad.

But the other two were closing in quickly, switching lanes to try and flank the car on either side. Cato dove down with the drone, her hands intuitively moving up as she readied the two small SMGs installed in the bot- and without wasting any time she began firing, quickly maneuvering around the side of the car so she could get a clear shot on the tires.

One of the mercs took notice of her and fired at the drone, knocking it out of its course. Cato hissed a quiet fuck and readjusted its alignment, instinctively leaning to the side in her seat as well as if that would help. She took another sharp turn with the drone and positioned it in front of the car instead- and shattered the windscreen with ease, hitting the driver in the shoulder and chest several times and causing them to lose control of the wheel.

The car rammed into the guardrail, causing Vitali to be forced to hit the brakes and swerve around it. An involuntary yelp left Cato’s lips as she nearly lost her balance, despite being sat down- hands desperately reaching around to find any support until Vitali suddenly grabbed her hand and gave it a squeeze, pulling it closer to the wheel so he could keep driving.

The drone had lingered behind a bit in the brief moment of panic and Cato quickly turned it around to get it back within shooting range. The second car was still close; now positioned slightly ahead of them on the driver’s side, and Eddie was attempting to get one of the tires to pop.

Cato activated the boosters on the underside of the drone to speed it up and dove down once more, positioning it underneath the Arasaka SUV. She carefully deployed an explosive and stuck it right between the two front tires- then slowed down and steered the drone back to their own car.

‘Turn right!’ she yelled, and the second she felt the motion of the car switching direction- and saw it happen through the camera attached to the drone- she detonated the explosive, causing the SUV to get blasted from the road and catch fire mid-air before landing on its side.

‘Preem work, Cato,’ Lauren’s voice suddenly popped up in Cato’s earpiece. ‘Taking control of the drone now- you can disconnect.’

‘Thanks, baby,’ Cato replied and quickly let go of Vitali’s hand again to disconnect the cord; she had to blink a few times to regain control of her vision, Kiroshis briefly struggling to focus on what was in front of her.

‘More of ‘em closing in as we speak,’ Lauren continued, and Cato rolled down her window to be able to lean out of it as well. ‘Four vehicles approaching from the east. Cato, Mish- get ready.’

She had not even finished her sentence when the vehicles in question skidded around the corner on Cato’s side of the car, one of them cutting the curb and nearly ramming into a food stand as the driver struggled to stay in control of the wheel. Cato drew her gun and charged up a power shot- released the trigger and the bolt of energy hit the front car right above the grill, sparks flying off the point of impact as the hood of the car flew open and obscured the windshield.

She charged up another shot as she let Mikhail deal with the now vulnerable and exposed car, a small smirk taking shape on her face when dark smoke followed by flames-

Followed by an explosion that knocked her back into her seat, seatbelt cutting into her skin and flesh and head forcefully snapping back causing a cry of pain to leave her lips. She released the trigger of her gun and the projectile got freely launched into the air, managing to hit one of the other cars’ side mirrors on its path.

‘Blyat- They’re flanking us!’ Vitali yelled from beside her and suddenly Cato’s gun was no longer in her hand, taken by the fixer as he leaned out of his own window to assist Eddie in taking down their pursuers. Cato cursed and grabbed the wheel, only just able to get the car back in its own lane- then cursed again when the cars in front of them slowed down for a traffic light and she swerved around them onto the lane on their right, grabbing the back of Vitali’s chest armor to make sure he wouldn’t fall out of the window.

‘This is a horrible fucking idea, boss!’ Cato screamed, wincing as the car rammed into a line of traffic cones, each of them flying over the windshield and landing somewhere behind them scattered all over the road. She took a sharp turn right, only vaguely remembering the route to the Afterlife- but with that cut off one of the other vehicles and it rammed their backside, causing the car to skid around and come to a full stop in the middle of the intersection.

‘Putting ‘er in reverse, hold on!’ Cato yelled and yanked on the steering wheel, slapping Vitali’s knee to make him put all his weight on the gas. Her eyes rapidly scanned the control panel again and she mashed some buttons- until she found the one that added an additional layer of bulletproof glass over the windshield.

She turned around on her seat, holding out her free hand to Vincent to pull him in; he quickly climbed over her and joined her in the passenger seat, leaning out of the window to shoot at the cars now all positioned right in front of them while Cato kept an eye on the road through the back window.

‘What the fuck are you guys doing?’ Lauren asked, genuine confusion audible in her voice.

‘Don’t even worry about it,’ Vitali replied, sitting back down in his seat to reload and wincing when some gunfire hit the side mirror and with that nearly his shoulder. ‘Cato is a fantastic driver.’

‘Cato would love to be in the fucking driver’s seat for that next time round!’ Cato roared in response, reaching over to drag both Eddie and Mikhail back into the car one by one before reaching back to grab Vincent by the arm and give the steering wheel another spin with all the strength left in her body, to position the car back in a forward position on the road.

Vitali hit the gas again and Cato reached up to adjust the rearview mirror, a sharp exhale leaving her body when she noticed two cars still in pursuit. Panam’s squad was no longer on sight- probably took another turn somewhere, to deal with more mercs, or to make use of a shortcut.

‘We have to get across bridge,’ Vitali said, nodding to the road up ahead. ‘Get back on highway and turn left- we get rid of them there.’

‘Yessir,’ Cato said, slightly relaxing against Vincent’s body. ‘Heads up, they’re closin’ in.’

Not her first car chase, by far- but Cato hated all of them, and for good reasons. Her breathing was shallow behind the mask, hairs on her arms standing up straight as she took the turn onto the highway, toward the bridge; a wide open space, both an advantage and a disadvantage at the same time.

Vitali accelerated and Cato repositioned herself on her seat, readying herself to maneuver between the vehicles up ahead. Eddie, Mikhail and Vincent leaned out of their windows again, opening fire on the Arasaka SUVs in pursuit; but Vitali seemed to be waiting for something, eyes carefully scanning the road before slowly but surely leaning out of his seat, aiming his gun at something ahead of them.

Cato instantly realized what he was going to do.

‘Is that a good idea?’ she asked, raising her voice a little to be audible over the gunfire as she steered around a few cars.

‘No,’ Vitali replied, ‘but when have I had any good ideas lately?’

And with that, he opened fire on the tires of an NCPD vehicle driving diagonally in front of them, effectively causing the driver to lose control of the wheel. Cato clenched her jaw and moved in, cutting the car off and causing them to swerve to the side- and both Arasaka SUVs rammed right into it, causing it to flip on its side and come to a stop in the middle of the road.

‘Easy,’ Vitali said, sitting back down and taking the wheel from Cato again. His voice was a few octaves higher than usual.

‘Well, that takes care of that,’ Lauren said. ‘Cut their communication, no backup en route currently. Dunno how long I can hold them off, though.’

‘Just do what you can,’ Vitali replied. ‘We will be arriving shortly anyway- NCPD would be stupid to try and enter Afterlife.’

‘They could send MaxTac.’

‘For the sake of this conversation, let’s pretend they don’t exist.’

Everyone remained quiet for the rest of the car ride. Vincent crawled back onto the backseat and Cato closed her window again, heartbeat settling down only a little bit as she took her gun back from Vitali and put the safety back on. She was waiting, still- waiting for more of them to show, or waiting for Lauren to warn for incoming backup-

But much to her relief, nothing else happened.

The silences after combat were always the worst to her.

Cato’s brain often needed a moment to catch up, body still alert and ready to jump back into the fight if necessary- but in those quiet moments it would often all come crashing down on her, realization kicking in to the point she would be more aware of the pain in her body and the taste of blood in her mouth than she would be of her own heartbeat.

She relaxed in her seat, eyes carefully trailing the roads surrounding them as Vitali continued their way to the club. It was getting darker and darker; street lights turning on around them and the neon lights and signs of Watson turned the streets into colorful hazes of distractions, marking the beginning of the city’s nightly life.

The entrance of the Afterlife was a mess.

Cato hopped out of the car before Vitali could even bring it to a full stop and she readied her weapon again while carefully scanning the parking lot. Cars stood scattered everywhere- two of them merely a chassis and still smoldering, dark smoke lingering in the stuffy evening air and obscuring her view.

She stayed low to the ground, biting the inside of her cheek as she stepped over a couple of bodies- no idea who they belonged to- until she reached the front entrance of the place that once used to be a morgue; and by the looks of it was now reduced to that very same earlier functionality.

Another car arrived at the scene and Cato instantly turned, raising her gun- but noticed Mikhail raising his hand at her from the corner of her eye and waited, realizing soon enough the car belonged to them and was simply Panam and her squad.

‘Mikhail, stay out here with Panam,’ Vitali said, the usual strictness to his voice Cato was used to; though she could hear his exhaustion, the slightly pleading undertone seeping through his words, as if he was no longer sure whether or not his authority was still in place.

‘V, on me!’ she immediately said, raising her voice a little as she pulled her mask off her face. ‘Eddie, stick with the boss, take the back entrance. We’ll meet in the middle.’

‘Copy that. Lauren, you got a visual?’

‘Nix plugged the whole network, you’re on your own from here. Bet Matvey’s runner is tryna poke some holes- I’m stayin’ out of that.’

Cato’s gaze met Vitali’s-

And for a brief moment she could barely recognize him.

The sudden defeated look in his eyes, a stark contrast with only minutes ago when they had been back on the road; demeanor similar to that of a kicked puppy and the gratitude and relief spilling from the expression on his face suddenly made her realize how vulnerable her friend was.

He had always been different from other fixers to her.

Had been the first one to open his doors to her, let her in- and he had offered her a safehouse, protection, things he did not have to do yet did anyway from the kindness of his heart.

‘We’ll figure this out,’ Cato said, loud enough for everyone on the parking lot to hear- yet she was talking to one person directly, eyes still fixed on his face as she spoke and he gave her a weak nod in response, rapidly blinking a couple times before looking away and following Eddie around the building.

Cato inhaled deeply, taking a moment to regain her composure as she pulled herself out of her head and turned to Vincent, who gave her an affirming nod in return. The two of them quickly entered the building through the main entrance, already able to hear gunfire coming from within while descending down the stairs. Security turrets snapped into their direction the moment they turned the corner- but did not fire upon seeing who was entering, and they both did a quick wave at one of the security cameras before quickly running inside.

The interior of the Afterlife was similar to its current exterior, bodies and debris scattered around- some sort of explosion, perhaps- and several tables had been overturned, used by mercs and clients as cover in what appeared to be the final moments of a gunfight.

Cato made a run for the bar and jumped over it with ease, taking cover behind it as she carefully assessed the situation; she recognized some of the mercs as Rogue’s and could easily tell the remainder of the Broker’s mercs apart from everyone else- makeshift armor, cobbled together from what they had been able to find at the abandoned Arasaka facility as well as their own supplies.

She steadied herself on the countertop and fired a few shots in their direction, most of them bouncing off the wood and metal of the tables and chairs- but it did what she was hoping for, getting the mercs agitated enough to attempt to fire back and with that exposing themselves to the lines of fire of everyone else in the club, soon enough leaving the ringing in Cato’s ears as the only noise filling the space around her.

‘Everyone still in one piece?’ Rogue’s voice echoed from the other side of the club. Cato slowly stood up and quickly glanced around until she found Vincent- not too far away from her, giving her a thumbs up the second she looked in his direction.

More gunshots sounded from the hallways further into the building. Cato turned and finally noticed Rogue- emerging from behind a pillar, hair tied back to keep it out of her face and some blood splattered across her cheek and jaw- and watched her march into the direction of one of the doors, only for it to bust open before she could reach it.

Vitali tumbled inside, two mercs attacking him at once and one of them attempting to slit his throat; Cato instantly lunged forward over the bar to close the distance between herself and the scuffle on the floor, but before she could do anything Rogue pulled out a gun and fired- two rapid, loud gunshots, two dead bodies, and Vitali yelped as he pushed them both off himself and scrambled back to his feet as fast as he could.

‘We clear?’ Rogue asked, glancing up when Eddie too entered through the door, and Vitali quickly nodded in response as he straightened his back and pushed back his shoulders while rapidly scanning the room- found Vincent and Cato, and he visibly relaxed again.

Thought Matvey didn’t want Vitali dead?

‘Nix says there’s more on the way,’ Rogue continued, speaking loud enough for everyone inside to hear as she took a few steps back to look around. ‘Including MaxTac. Which I can only describe as an unpleasant fucking surprise.’

‘Probably best if we delta,’ Vincent immediately said, hints of a grimace on his face as he shared a nervous look with Cato. ‘Let them- you know. Fight it out.’

‘Where to?’

‘Whe- Uh. Boss?’

‘Safehouse.’ Vitali paused to lick his lips. ‘Rancho Coronado, should be abandoned. Enough space for all of us, for now. Regroup there?’

‘Preem, lead the way. And, hey- you owe me an explanation, Dobrynin.’

‘Let’s get out of here alive first, yes?’

There was not much to explain, from Cato’s point of view. They hadn’t figured out what was going on still- did not know what Matvey was trying to achieve with any of this, and frankly, it had gotten to the point where trying to find an ulterior motive was more pointless than attempting to make sense out of his weird revenge fantasy in the first place.

She lingered behind a little with Vitali while everyone began making their way back outside, eyes once more trailing the interior of what remained of the Afterlife. It wouldn’t be the first time a gunfight had taken place inside- though she doubted it had ever gotten that bad before, and already feared for the consequences the Council would decide on were they to catch wind of all this.

Problem for later. Got more pressing matters at hand.

Reinforcements had shown up outside in the meantime and Cato instantly snapped back to reality, following Eddie and Vincent around the burnt out car chassis to put more distance between themselves and their enemies. She crouched down, moving around the both of them to get to Panam- kneeled next to one of their other mercs, bleeding from their shoulder.

‘Wound’s superficial!’ Panam yelled over the noises around them. ‘But we gotta get ‘em out of this heat!’

Cato glanced over the concrete road barrier they were sat behind; several vehicles blocked the only road out of the parking lot, and there was no way of safely getting past them without having to abandon their own cars in the process.

She turned back- eyes frantically scanning both Panam and the other merc until they landed on two grenades attached to their belt. She snatched them off and hopped over the barrier, trailing along the side of the parking lot to stay out of sight as she slowly moved closer to get a better angle.

And once she was close enough, she pulled the pins out of both grenades without hesitating and hurled them at the cars of the Broker’s mercs, covering her ears and withdrawing herself back behind the corner of the wall as the double explosion rattled her bones and caused the ground below her feet to shake.

She stayed in her position, waiting until her heartbeat had settled down; waiting for the pained screams and cries to die down, waiting for the gunfire to end, waiting for her nose to become used to the smell of burnt flesh- or for her brain to successfully convince her someone was simply throwing a barbecue just around the block, and there was nothing else to worry about.

‘Everyone, move out!’ Rogue yelled when Cato finally lowered her hands- and a humming noise somewhere above them instantly caught her attention, a sudden breeze picking up, and she turned her head to sky to-

Another explosion blasted her straight off her feet and she fell backwards, back hitting the wall and everything momentarily went black before she was suddenly face down on the ground. She tried to push herself back up on her elbows, grunting as the muscles on the left side of her body painfully protested-

And with that she was yanked back on her feet though not in the friendly manner she had been hoping for and a heavily armored figure appeared in her view, holding a heavy handgun firmly pressed against her forehead.

MaxTac.

But Cato was fast.

Smacked the weapon aside before they could pull the trigger on her and forcefully grabbed the helmet to yank it off their head, spinning 360 degrees before slamming it into the MaxTac agent’s face at full speed. Her arms were grabbed from behind and she was pulled back, one hand reaching up to grab a handful of her hair and drag her along, away from her friends-

But then she was on the ground again, a large boot kicking her in the face and her vision faded away once more for a couple of seconds. She blinked, coughing and wincing in pain as she noticed a tall figure hovering over her and they grabbed her hand to pull her back up on her feet.

‘Hey- Get up. Can’t have you dying on me now.’

Mikhail’s voice was soft, yet somehow the only thing Cato could hear as she suddenly struggled to realize where exactly she was; as if the two of them had been sent years back in time, back to when they used to work together- before Cato ran off with Kang Tao and Mikhail went to work for Arasaka instead-

Still difficult to believe, sometimes, that he had been part of the reason Kang Tao had started to hunt her and her squad down.

‘Wasn’t planning to,’ Cato quietly replied and gave him a small smile in return, allowing her friend to ruffle her hair before they both crossed the parking lot to get around the now empty MaxTac aircraft back to the car.

Let’s get the fuck out of here.

‘Get a medkit!’

‘Alright, sit down, careful-’

‘Misha? Catch.’

‘Someone bring me some towels!’

Vitali slowly followed the others inside the abandoned house in southern Rancho Coronado, lingering behind just a little longer as his gaze moved over the empty streets one final time. In the clear, for now- yet he remained alert, gun still in his slightly shaking hand as he dragged himself through the entrance hall and the living room to the other side of the house to sit down on a stool in the kitchen next to the large glass door leading to the backyard.

His leg and forearm were burning.

He’d forgotten to take any painkillers before departure.

The merc’s injuries were superficial and nothing Mikhail could not fix; just another day at work and one of the risks of their line of work. But the panicked sounds surrounding him, of his friends running around looking for more supplies, Panam nearly running right into him on her way to grab more towels, people getting weapons ready and sharing ammo with each other while preparing for yet another thorough perimeter check-

Vitali’s eyes fluttered shut.

And for a brief moment, it was entirely quiet around him.

The black void swallowing him whole was comforting, in a way; a cool patch of shade on a scorching hot summer day, a gentle breeze on a balcony overlooking the ocean, a wild river dragging him down by his feet until his entire body was submerged.

He often found himself standing there, in the dark- wondering. Wondering when it would end, when he would regain control again; wondering what else was left there for him; wondering what else he could say, if a half-assed apology would be enough to save him this time.

And all he would get in response was silence.

Strange, how that worked- to crave something he feared so deeply at the same time, to want something he knew he could not have without losing himself in the process.

And with that, the noise returned to him, panicked screams and cries and sobs and the feeling of hands grabbing his wrists and tearing at his clothes and clawing at his face, nails and teeth drawing blood, like hungry wolves feeding on a deer’s carcass-

He knew what dying felt like.

‘Hey.’

V’s voice had always been strangely soothing to him. Like a gentle kiss on a bruise- a voice that could cause his heartbeat to settle down even in the most stressful of moments.

But Vitali could not open his eyes.

Could not bear to look at him- what would he even say? After everything that had happened and everything that was happening around them now; he would only end up digging himself deeper into that hole, as stubborn as he was, unable to accept his defeat.

A quiet sigh left his lips when V gently cupped his cheeks, thumbs running over his skin as he gently tilted his head a little to the side.

‘You’re bleeding,’ he quietly said, and Vitali finally allowed himself to open his eyes, watching worry spilling from the expression on the merc’s face as he carefully moved his fingers to just behind Vitali’s ear.

‘It’s nothing serious,’ Vitali merely responded, holstering his gun and reaching up to push V’s hand away, but V dodged him and instead tried to tilt his head further.

‘I said-’

‘I heard you. Let me take a look.’

‘V-’

‘Vincent.’

A short pause, and Vitali sucked in a shallow breath.

‘Please.’

Vincent.

Vitali held his breath, heart skipping a beat as a weirdly comforting fog in his head blocked everything else out and caused him to only see what was right in front of him. He slowly scanned V’s face as his head was once more tilted to the side- no sign of sarcasm, no sign of discomfort, or hesitance.

Their gazes met; and V shot him a small, encouraging smile, lower lip trembling slightly as he did.

And with that, Vitali finally allowed Vincent to assess the damage, a wave of relief washing over him as he closed his eyes again and briefly pressed his lips against the bloodied palm of his boyfriend’s hand.

The carnage at the Afterlife had taken its toll on him, a lot more than he had initially expected. Something had caused the harsh reality of it all to fully kick in there- and they had learned nothing, other than the fact that apparently Matvey’s mercs were now taking a completely different approach.

Vitali involuntarily clenched his jaw and sucked in a deep breath, the memory of the two heavy bodies on top of him creeping back into his mind- the knife that had only been inches away from his throat- Ravager’s hands wrapped tightly around his neck-

‘Is anyone here gonna tell me what the fuck’s going on?’

Rogue had walked over to the two of them and stopped right next to Vitali the moment he looked up again, hands on her hips and a mostly unreadable expression on her face- though he did not need to ask to know she was fucking furious.

‘Genuinely wish I could,’ he answered, flinching lightly when Vincent dabbed the wound behind his ear with a wet towel. ‘Attack came out of nowhere, I don’t think any of it was planned. No pattern, no motive- they tried to kill me, as you saw. That’s new.’

‘So your- the Broker is changing their strategy?’

Vitali clenched his jaw again, but did not answer.

He didn’t know what his father was attempting to achieve with any of this. It made no sense- had their last encounter finally caused him to stop fucking around, to stop wasting time? Had this been part of his plan all along?

Vitali swallowed heavily and pushed the thought out of his head. Anything was possible at that point, but he decided to choose to believe his father had better backup plans at hand. Whatever had happened, whatever it was that had changed- there had to be a logical explanation to it all.

‘Just gotta figure out where they’re stayin’, then we can get this over with,’ Vincent quietly said, glancing in Rogue’s direction before looking back at Vitali. ‘Whatever happens, happens.’

He was right.

Vitali closed his eyes again and inhaled deeply, a strange knot settling deep within his stomach as he realized what that meant. Whatever happens, happens- no way around it anymore this time, nothing else left to do or say. No more grasping at straws; nothing left within his reach.

All he had wanted for himself, was a happy ending.

Selfish, in hindsight, to wish that for himself after getting so many other people caught up in the crossfire. Stupid of him to think that his father would stop, naive of him to think that he could get his family back after everything that had happened between them, after all their years apart.

Vincent cupped his cheeks with both hands and left a soft kiss on the corner of his mouth- I know, baby, I know- and it only then dawned on Vitali a tear had escaped his eye and was steadily rolling down his cheek, Vincent’s thumb softly running over his skin to wipe it away.

Oh, how Vitali had hoped it wouldn’t have had to get to this.

He opened his eyes again and slowly let his gaze trail through the room. Most people had sat themselves down in the living room, everyone a bit calmer now that the mercenary’s injury was being looked after by Mikhail and weapons had been reloaded. Rogue slowly wandered away again too, redoing her ponytail while quietly mumbling to herself- just too quiet for him to hear what she said.

‘Boss-? Someone’s approaching the house!’

Vitali’s head snapped up toward the front door, a rush of adrenaline instantly waking him up again. He grabbed the gun in his holster, dragging himself from the stool and pushing past Vincent to get to Cato, who had called out for him. She briefly glanced over her shoulder, then readied her own weapon and kicked open the door, both of them stepping outside and aiming at-

‘Wait, wait, wait- Don’t shoot!’

Dusty?

Vitali froze.

It was unmistakably his ex mercenary, hands up in the air while he stumbled back a few steps, wide eyes focused on the guns pointed at his head. Vitali instantly lowered his own- and so did Cato, though she also walked closer without hesitation and used the butt of her weapon to smack Dusty in the head- hard.

‘You fucking cunt of a traitor!’ she yelled, stuffing her gun in her holster while grabbing one of his arms and forcefully twisting it behind his back.

‘Cato-’ Vitali said and raised his hand, but other than that did nothing to stop her and just stood motionless to the ground while Dusty sputtered and cried out in pain as Cato dragged him off the street, closer to the house.

‘You got some serious balls showin’ your ugly face here after everything!’ she snarled, pushing Dusty into the outer wall of the house and aiming her gun at him again. ‘I should shoot you where you stand!’

Vitali’s brain struggled to catch up.

He walked a little further into the street, eyes carefully scanning each and every corner; it was too dark for him to be able to see very far but everything seemed clear from where he stood, the only movement he could see coming from the corner of his eye, some of the others emerging from the house to see what was going on.

‘Check the perimeter,’ he heard Rogue say, and turned around again just in time to see a few mercs scatter and vanish into the dark, weapons at the ready- and then he realized everyone who was still there was staring directly at him, even Cato, a questioning look on her face and her gun pointed directly at a still whimpering Dusty, her hand slightly swaying from side to side.

‘Why are you here?’ he asked, slightly raising his voice as he walked back and straightened his back, regaining his composure within mere milliseconds. ‘No fucking around- give me something to work with or I’ll let Cato do whatever she wants.’

‘Sanders is dead,’ Dusty promptly replied, and he dropped his arms past his body, carefully lifting his head from the wall. ‘Your old man killed him. His mercs are out of fuckin’ control- out for your blood, they don’t care about no contract anymore.’

Oh.

Vitali stopped in his tracks, mouth half open as the words got caught in his throat and he exchanged a look with Cato as a sudden location in Charter Hill popped up in the corner of his vision.

‘They locked him up,’ Dusty continued, his voice low. ‘Usin’ every little bit of the supplies he keeps in that building to burn this entire city to a fuckin’ crisp- and they’re not gonna stop any time soon by the looks of it.’

Dead silence fell over the dark street.

Well, as silent as it could be.

If you listened closely you could hear it in the distance- vaguely audible over the light breeze and some distant music- the noises of what was going on downtown, sirens howling through the night sky and heavy gunfire rattling through the streets, not uncommon at all but far heavier than it usually was.

Vitali felt light-headed.

Unsure what to think of it all- unsure if he could even trust Dusty’s word- but the sheer panic and fear in the merc’s eyes said enough and he bit the inside of his cheek, heart beating heavily inside his chest.

They locked him up.

This is not his doing.

He promptly walked back inside, past all his mercs, past Rogue- avoiding eye contact with each and every single one of them as he ran up the stairs as fast as he could to reach the safehouse’s weapon storage. His heart was once again racing in his chest, ramming itself into his ribcage as the pain in both his leg and forearm flared up again.

Painkillers can wait.

The small closet wasn’t nearly as impressive as back at home or at his office, but Vitali didn’t care. It was enough to stock up on ammo- and all he was looking for anyway was the box of explosives, tucked away in the far right corner and hidden behind some shotguns.

Nothing too powerful, of course- there was no need to level the whole thing to the ground, no need to potentially harm innocent people in the somewhat impulsive act of destruction he was carefully planning out in his head. Merely enough to get rid of what was inside; wipe out the threat and get rid of every and any tool used by the mercs to keep their citywide onslaught going.

He closed the door of the storage closet with his hip and nearly walked right into Vincent and Rogue, the both of them having followed him upstairs and giving him a puzzled look before glancing down at the box in his arms, realization kicking in for the both of them at once upon seeing the explosives and the dangerous shimmer in his eyes.

‘Get everyone together,’ Vitali said, and the corner of his mouth pulled up into a small smile.

‘Let’s go blow up a building.’

#nuclearwriting #rbs much appreciated :) <3 #it's all coming to a fucking end baybeeey #hope dusty doesn't feel like too much of a deus ex machina here. technically he's been relevant since chapter 1 so like. you know #was only a matter of time before his scrawny traitor ass would come running right back #ANYWAY. HEHE. much to think about much to yell about #lots of cato pov because i love my girl and also the way she observes situations is interesting to me #the car chase was so facking difficult to write. the rest of the action scenes too tbh but i was being very brave about it #the fact that the last sentence kind of implies that this will end similar to like. the canon in-game events #and also kinda similar to the end of the arasaka arc. and all of them being about arasaka in a way #idk it's interesting!!! it's like an endless cycle that the characters are stuck in. can you ever really get away from arasaka and all that #anyway let me know what you guys think of this one!! as always super excited to see everyone's thoughts >:^)#ch:the broker

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