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blink knew better than to say yes.
unfortunately, though, he did accept. so now he has to suffer the consequences of his actions. isn’t this how it always goes?
the plan was simple, laid neatly. runt spoke first—practical, efficient—setting out the route from start to end—and just before he attempted to ask: where is his part of the plan? because so far, it seemed he had little to no role through.. like.. the whole plan.
but runt didn’t give him time to interject. she says the only thing standing between them and the dungeon was the overseer. they needed to earn time. to infiltrate safely, that is.
and to earn that time, they needed.. a distraction. someone to go undercover. in a ballroom thick with nobility, secrets hiding behind silk curtains, chandeliers and fancy drinks. and that was where blink’s part of the plan was.
blink’s first reaction was, as expected, a flat no. he can’t just- do that? be a distraction? cause trouble? get attention? what if he messes it all up- what if he ends up exposing them?
and then troy. he smiled through the whole thing—fucking sadist?—and was eagerly feeding into it, stacking reasons on top of each other on why it just has to be blink. the coward suddenly has enough brain cells to even know what pros and cons are.
he can’t remember the exact words, too overwhelmed with the realisation hitting him like a truck. feeling the weight of the entire room tilt toward him. troy probably said something like “yeah dude, you’re like, perfect for the mission!” and runt said something in response. most likely mocking. troy, not blink. probably another joke about troy shitting himself. yeah, those are the people he’s listening to. immature.
blink had laughed, because that’s what he does when the noose tightens. he rolled his eyes, made a joke, pretended this wasn’t the same role he was always pushed into—the distraction, the lure, whatever bleeds so the plan succeeds.
the bait.
drawing attention.
standing somewhere—visible, vulnerable.
smiling through his teeth.
and being watched from the dark.
that’s the worst part, blink thinks now, hours later, staring at his reflection as he adjusts the fabric of his clothes. he pressed his hand flatly against the wall, grounding himself.
the mission required proximity. performance. a careful kind of vulnerability that looks effortless from the outside, and feels like being dissected alive on the inside. smile. flirt(?). be seen. be watched. be wanted.
blink tells himself that he hates that. tells himself he hates when he lets others take charge to not have to decide where to stand. how to move. who to be. hates how avoids to make the decisions, because what if he’s wrong? he hates the part of him that aches for permission. hates the part that wishes to be used if it means being kept.
he knew better than to say yes.
but the music already started, curling through the room—slow and deliberate. swelling thick and heavy. louder than he expected. every light felt aimed, every laugh sharpened, every glance weighed with expectation. too late to back out.
blink immediately hated that. hated how every step has to be measured, every breath has to look effortless, how the mission pressed in from every direction at once. too much negativity today, huh?
he’s only made it three steps inside before he feels it—that familiar, crawling awareness that this is his cue. that this is the part of the plan where he stops being a person and starts being useful.
the ballroom is all gold and glass and eyes that never stop watching. a specific pair of those, actually. he scans the exit, just in case, but he nearly gasps when the overseer appears at his side.
blink adjusts his gloves, breathes in, pastes on the expression that says i know what i’m doing even when he very much does not.
“blink.” the overseer says smoothly—how does he know my name?—as they are equals meeting by chance and not two pieces locked into place. his gaze flicks over blink. understanding far too much too quickly.
“wow,” blink opens his mouth to speak first. to distract. to perform. “either i’m making a strong impression tonight, or you just have really good timing.” he said lightly. internally screaming at himself to he chill. he’s doing well, right? the bait is quite literally taken before he even puts it. he just has to keep him entertained.
.. the overseer chose not to respond, it seems. blink felt as if he’s being studied. not his face—his posture. the way his hands keep finding things to do, and the way they froze the second a word was aimed towards him.
“hm,” the overseer hums, noncommittal. not much to work with. maybe he is suspicious of blink. he waited for the follow-up. for some accusation-
“may i have this dance.” he asked- no, stated. glancing towards the dance floor, then back to blink. the music shifts then—low, dragging, intimate. tango. of course.
blink’s mouth opens on instinctive refusal, gesturing vaguely with his hand. “ah. i’m not good at that, unfortunately.” he hesitated before adding. “like, at all..” he starts to feel a slight panic wash over him. why is he doing this?
“im aware.”
the answer makes blink pause once again, feeling exposed. something about this interaction feels.. oddly suspicious. “you are?” blink asks.
“indeed.” the overseer offered his hand anyway. blink couldn’t read his expression. “that’s why you’ll do fine.”
blink laughs, breathy. “that doesn’t make any sense.” he stared at the hand like it might bite him.
“doesn’t need to,” the overseer says. “it only needs to look convincing.” he offers his hand again, and it starts to feel less like an offer with every time. a command disguised in politeness. something sharp, something close. maybe a little dance would keep him distracted.
blink turns his head, a little more deliberate. “careful,” he says, thin and nervous. “people might get the wrong idea.” blink hesitated a little—just long enough to be believable—before placing his hand in the overseer’s.
the overseer’s eyes shimmer with something in them that blink fails to make out before briefly flicking towards the watching crowd—then back at blink again, steady. “let them.” he says with confidence.
the touch is immediate. too intentional, in the worst ways possible. the overseer steps in close—closer than necessary, hand setting at blink’s waist like it always belonged there. blink stiffened, then forced himself to relax again as the first step begins.
“i told you,” blink muttered under his breath as he stumbled half a beat behind. “i don’t.. know what i’m doing.”
“good,” the overseer murmurs, guiding him smoothly back in time. “then you won’t anticipate me.”
blink’s pulse spiked. okay, he’s weird as hell. the correction wasn’t rough—just not that gentle either. firm enough to remind him who’s leading. the thought makes him feel nauseous. but the overseer thinks he’s in control, right? so this is working.
they move. slow, drawn-out steps. the dance left no space between bodies, no room to hide mistakes. blink can feel the overseer everywhere—the line of his leg, the pressure of his hand, the subtle push, and the pull that dictates where blink’s body goes next.
every time he tries to assert himself—adds flair, exaggerates a step—the overseer compensates effortlessly, redirecting him without breaking rhythm. why are you so goddamn perfect. “you’re very expressive, even when you think you’re acting.” the overseer says quietly. like a taunt. “don’t think, just follow.” he added.
blink scoffed. “you say that like it’s a bad thing.” he tried to be calm. by the gods, he swears he tried to be calm, but he couldn’t help it when his heart won’t stop racing.
“i say it like it’s useful.” the overseer says, and if the first statement wasn’t a taunt, then this definitely is.
they pivot. the overseer’s grip tightens briefly as blink is pulled back in, chest to chest now, breath catching in a way that felt impossible to hide.
“relax,” the overseer whispers gently. “if you fight me, everyone will notice.” he murmured, knowing.
“i’m not fighting, you’re making assumptions.” blink muttered, his jaw tightened. but he felt it—the shift. the interest. struggling would be noticeable. suspicious. a failure.
“i’m making observations.” he the overseer corrected before he dips him—not deep enough to draw a grasp, but enough to steal blink’s balance. for a heartbeat, blinks entirely supported by the overseer’s hold.
and after that blink didn’t exactly have the guts to respond. he straightened his back with an awkward chuckle. heat was crawling up his neck.
the dance grows bolder. more invasive. the overseer’s hand slides higher at blink’s back, fingers pressing, guiding him through a turn that leaves blink’s thigh caught deliberately between the overseer’s legs before being released again.
it’s controlled. measured. intimate in a way that feels intentional rather than indulgent.
“you let people hurt you,” the overseer says softly. “because it gives you purpose.”
blink’s breath stutters. “you’re projecting.” he meant it lightly. like, teasing? he tried not to take it too seriously. it was all part of the game, right?
“perhaps.” the overseer spins him again, slower this time, dragging it out. “but you don’t pull away.”
blink hates that he notices. hates that his body responds faster than his mind. hates the pressure, the closeness, the faint ache in his joints where he’s being held just a second too long—it all feels grounding.
but he was right—and that was the worst part of it. blink doesn’t—can’t—pull away.
“you think you’re in control,” blink said, forcing steadiness into his voice. had to stop himself from calling the overseer an asshole. “dragging me out here. leading.”
“and you think you are,” the overseer replies as he leans in, lips brushing the shell of blink’s ear. “because you “chose” to follow.”
theycontinue like that—step, pull, turn—each movement a negotiation. blink lets himself be guided just enough to keep the overseer interested, just enough to keep the room’s eyes on them. the overseer, in turn, tightens the reins gradually, teaching blink exactly how far he can be bent without breaking.
it feels dangerous.
it feels deliberate.
and blink can’t tell anymore whether he’s being used—
—or being claimed.
the music slows. not an abrupt stop—nothing so kind—but a gradual unraveling, strings thinning until the final note stretches and dissolves into polite applause. the room exhales. bodies separate. attention fractures, already searching for the next thing worth watching.
blink feels it end before it actually does. the overseer doesn’t release him right away. his hand remains at blink’s back, firm, grounding, as if the dance has simply changed tempo instead of finished. blink shifts, uncertain, glancing around as other couples part, laughter and conversation blooming back into the space.
“we’re done,” blink murmurs, attempting lightness. “you can let go now.”
the overseer tilts his head, considering. then—without a word—he guides blink forward. to a side corridor half-hidden by curtains and shadow.
the night air hit blink like a shock—cool, sharp, cutting through the heat and noise of the ballroom as the overseer guides him through a side door and out into the terrace. the city glittering below like burning stars.
the music that started playing was dulled behind them, muffled, making it feel distant. jazz.
blink laughed softly, though he was feeling slightly pissed, but the heat of the moment—or rather the cold of it—chilled the intensity of his emotions. “you know,” he said, breathlessly. “if this is a part of your act, you’re really committing to it.”
the overseer didn’t immediately respond, not that blink expected him to. he suddenly stepped closer—close enough that blink’s back brushes over the iron railing, close enough that escape started to become more of a thought rather than an option. “you did well,” the overseer said at last.
“i— did?” blink asked, disbelieving.
“yes.” he answered calmly, almost as if he was certain. maybe he was. “you followed beautifully.”
the word followed made something flutter weirdly in his chest, unpleasantly warm. “guess i’m a fast learner,” blink said, attempting to be flippant. “or you’re a good teacher.” he added, teasing.
the overseer’s hand rises—not to blink’s face, not to his throat, but to his hair. finger’s slide in slowly, deceptively gentle. blink sharply inhaled. why was the touch almost.. tender?
then the overseer tightens his grip and pulls, with just enough force to make blink’s head back, just enough to get the message through. what was the message? why is he so- confusing?
“don’t mistake permission for ignorance.” the overseer murmured, making blink’s breath stutter—his hands hoovered uselessly at his sides, torn between pushing him away and staying still.
the overseer leans just once more, voice low and intimate. “you wanted the attention,” he continues, “so i gave you somewhere to stand.” the grip eases, but not releasing. fingers remain tangled in blink’s hair, an anchor.
blink swallowed. “you’re— maybe you’re reading too much into it?” he insisted. deny, deny, deny—
“am i?” the overseer tilts blink’s head slightly, forcing eye contact. “you responded to every correction. every pressure. you adjusted without being told.” .. blink was starting to get what he’s trying to say.
blink paused, heat started to crawl up his neck. “you didn’t seem to mind.”
the overseer hums thoughtfully. “on the contrary. i found it very encouraging.”
his thumb presses briefly at the base of blink’s skull. “you crave structure,” the overseer says. “even when it hurts. especially when it hurts.”
blink’s awkward laugh comes out thin. “don’t make it look so ugly.” he said, still trying to look stronger than he was. still crumbling.
“it is.” the overseer finally releases blink’s hair—but immediately replaces it with a hand at his waist, fingers firm, grounding, possessive.
“you did exactly what you were meant to do tonight,” the overseer says softly. “you drew eyes. you held them. you made people careless.” he said in the same tone that makes blink’s chest tighten with something like pride before he can stop himself.
“that’s good,” the overseer adds, watching his reaction closely. “you should be praised when you perform well.” and he said the magic words, as if blink wasn’t already falling. he hates—hates—how much that lands.
then the overseer’s tone shifts. just slightly. “and now,” he continues, almost gently, “you’re going to stop pretending you don’t know i was watching your little friends the entire time.” there it was.
blink’s stomach drops, and the overseer leans in, mouth close to blink’s ear. his voice a whisper meant only for him. “i know about the plan,” he says. “i know who decided you would be bait, and i know exactly why you agreed.”
“but don’t worry,” the overseer adds again, fingers tightening at blink’s waist, grounding him as he wavers. “i don’t mind sharing, for now.”
blink exhales shakily, caught between fear and something far worse.
“next time,” the overseer murmurs, “ask before you offer yourself up.” he then steps back—just enough space to make the loss of contact ache.
“we’ll talk again,” he says calmly. “when you’re ready to choose who you belong to.” and then he walks away, leaving blink alone on the balcony, pulse racing and scalp tingling where fingers had claimed and released him—already aching for a hand he knows he shouldn’t want back.
“hey—” blink takes a step after him before he can stop himself, then another. “what do you mean by that?” he demanded an answer, voice too sharp for things to look casual now. “choose what, exactly? you don’t get to just say something like that and—”
the overseer stops. it all happens.. too fast. one moment blink is mid-step, reaching, chasing the last scrap of warmth left behind—the next, the overseer turns, grips him hard, and slams him back against the stone wall.
blink’s breath punches out of him, the impact rattling through his spine—not enough to injure, but definitely enough to shock the life out of him. the overseer caged him in, like it was the easiest thing to do. one arm braced behind blink’s head, the other firm at his waist, pinning him there with terrifying precision.
“lower. your. voice.” the overseer says calmly, threatening. blink swallows, pulse screaming loudly in his ears. ringing.
“there are places,” the overseer continues, leaning in. making it impossible to look away. “where chasing me like that would be interpreted very differently.”
blink’s laugh comes out strained, nervous. “you dragged me out here—” he resists against the grip.
“you followed.” the overseer replies. corrects. “don’t confuse that.” they were close enough that blink could feel the heat of him, the controlled stillness. the overseer wasn’t angry, and that might be the worst part of it all.
“what do you want?” blink asks, quieter now. the overseer looked deeply at him, studying his face like he’s deciding how much truth to allow.
“i want you to stop pretending you’re expendable,” he says. “and i want you to stop letting them decide when you bleed.”
blink’s fingers curl against the wall. “sounds a lot like recruitment to me.”
the overseer’s mouth curves faintly, not nearly a smile. “it sounds like an opportunity.”
blink tilts his head despite himself, defiant even as his body stays pinned. “you don’t know me.”
“i know enough,” the overseer says. his hand tightens at blink’s waist briefly, reminding him who’s in control of the situation—who’s always been in control of it. “you offer yourself where you think you’ll be needed. you mistake being used by others for being chosen.”
blink’s breath stutters. “and you’re different from them?”
the overseer leans in closer, voice dropping to something dangerously intimate. “i’m very different,” he says. “i don’t waste what i take.”
blink feels that land—feels the hook sink in, slow and deliberate. “you want me to what,” Blink says, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite hold. “abandon them? switch sides in the middle of the night because you asked nicely?”
the overseer’s hand rises again, fingers sliding into blink’s hair—not yanking this time, just holding, keeping his head tipped back, exposed. “i’m not asking nicely,” he murmurs.
blink’s breath catches. his eyes flicker, searching the overseer’s face like he might find the line where this stops being a game.
“i can give you protection,” the overseer continues. “direction. purpose that doesn’t end with you being thrown into danger so others can stay clean.”
“and the cost?” blink whispers, because there is always a cost. maybe he pissed the overseer off with that one, judging by the way his grip tightened.
“you already know the answer,” he says. “obedience. honesty. loyalty.”
blink laughs softly, shakily. “you make it sound like it’s remotely reasonable.”
“it is,” the overseer replies. “for someone like you.”
blink shifts just enough to feel the constraint, the wall at his back, the arm blocking his escape. he lets his voice soften—deliberately. “and what makes you think i wouldn’t just be playing you?” he asks. “buying time. saying what you want to hear.”
the overseer’s eyes darken—not with anger, but interest. “you’re smart enough to not keep playing with fire,” he says. “and you still haven’t tried to leave. isn’t there a reason for that?”
“you want my attention,” the overseer adds quietly. “you want to know what it feels like to be chosen deliberately instead of conveniently.”
blink hates how accurate that is. “and you,” blink says, breath warm between them, “want to see how far you can push me.”
the overseer hums. “among other things.” they stay like that for a moment too long—both of them suspended in the tension, both of them pretending this is still about strategy.
finally, the overseer eases back, letting blink breathe again. “think about it,” he says. “who keeps you alive. and who keeps putting you in front of the blade.” he releases blink completely.
“next time,” the overseer finishes. “don’t chase me unless you’re ready to be caught.”
the absence of pressure aches, and the space between them is sudden and unbearable.
blink’s breath is still uneven, his back still pressed to cold stone, his body humming with the memory of restraint. the overseer turns as if to leave—already done, already decided—
“no,” blink says. it comes out before he can stop it.
the overseer pauses.
blink steps forward into the space the overseer just vacated, heart hammering. this is stupid. reckless. desperate. exactly what he needs. “you don’t get to do that,” blink says, voice low, almost steady. “you don’t get to corner me, threaten me, promise things—and then walk away like you’ve won.”
slowly, the overseer turns back. “oh?” he says mildly. “is that what you think this is?”
blink doesn’t answer—he closes the distance himself.
for a heartbeat, the overseer doesn’t move—just watches, assessing, curious. that hesitation is all blink needed. he grabs the overseer by the front of his coat and pulls him in.
the kiss is not gentle.
It’s sharp, messy, all teeth and heat—blink pushing into the overseer’s space like a challenge, like a dare. It tastes like defiance and panic and please don’t leave yet. blink puts everything he has into it, not because he wants tenderness, but because he wants time.
for a split second, the overseer is still. then—he responds. not by deepening it, not by yielding—but by taking control of it completely. one hand snaps to blink’s jaw, grip firm, thumb pressing hard enough to hurt as the overseer tilts his head and uses the kiss instead of returning it.
It’s over almost as quickly as it started. or it felt shorter than it actually was. the overseer pulls back first.
blink’s lips tingle. his pulse is roaring, and his breath shakes in a way he absolutely did not plan for.
the overseer looks at him like he’s just been proven right. “.. dangerous,” the overseer murmurs. “and very instructive.”
blink swallows. “you didn’t stop me.”
“no,” the overseer agrees. his thumb lingers at blink’s jaw for one final, deliberate second before dropping away. “i wanted to see how far you’d go.”
Oh.
“and now i know.”
the overseer steps back, adjusting his coat like nothing happened. “you’ve bought yourself time,” he says calmly. “enough time.” then he’s gone—truly gone this time.
blink stays where he is for a moment too long, fingers curling uselessly at his sides, mouth still burning. his body feels wrong—too awake, too heavy, too aware of where he was held and how easily he let it happen. he exhales shakily and forces himself to move.
by the time blink slips away from the ballroom entirely, the estate feels emptier. quieter. he moves fast now, keeping to the edges, following the plan he half-remembers—out through the gardens, past the lanterns, toward the treeline where shadows swallow sound.
the others should be done by now. waiting.
his mind won’t shut up.
the wall at his back.
the grip at his waist.
the hand in his hair—god, what happened to him?
he replays it over and over, every step syncing with the memory. the slam. the breath knocked out of him. the way his body had gone still before his mind caught up.
he almost doesn’t notice when the ground changes beneath his feet—stone to dirt, gravel to leaves. almost doesn’t notice the figures ahead. blink stumbles slightly as he slows, heart still racing, thoughts tangled somewhere between fear and something dangerously close to longing.
runt and troy are there. they reached it before him. maybe they didn’t need that much time.
blink stops a few steps away from them, chest rising and falling, the night air cool against his still-warm skin. his mouth still tastes like the overseer, and his head is still against that wall, and whatever just happened is going to follow him long after tonight.
maybe what he did tonight wasn’t just about time. maybe he did it because he wanted to.
blink is too quiet. that’s the first thing troy notices, even though he doesn’t really know what to do with it.
they found him where they agreed to meet—far enough from the estate that the music is only a memory, the lights reduced to a distant glow behind trees and stone. blink is standing there, arms folded, gaze unfocused like he’s listening to something none of them can hear.
for a moment, no one speaks.
troy shifts his weight, glances at runt. runt glances back. It’s the same look, mirrored:
is he… okay?
do you want to ask?
absolutely not.
“so!” troy says finally, far too loud, clapping his hands together once. “you miss us? ‘cause we were thriving.”
blink stared, like he’s just remembered where he is. “yeah,” he says quickly. “yeah. good. that’s— good.”
runt steps closer, careful. troy was holding something small in both hands—a tiny clockwork machine, brass limbs tucked in close, eyes glowing faintly blue as it whirs to soemthing like life.
“my plan worked,” runt says, quieter than troy. “mostly because we had enough, time thanks to you.”
blink nods. “cool.”
troy grins. “see? told you he’d be just great at it. didn’t like, die or something.” he leans over runt’s shoulder, poking at the little robot-like construct. “hey. hey. can it talk? do you talk? blink, do you think it likes me?”
blink stiffens. just for a second—but runt sees it. she elbows troy.
“hey, ouch! what was that for—” troy cuts himself off, realising. “oooh, fuck. err, that was a joke. we didn’t think you’d actually just like, fucking die or somethin’.”
blink forces a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “it’s fine.” the word lands flat. dead.
troy just adjusts his grip on the clockwork creature, lets it crawl up his arm and settle against his shoulder like it belongs there.
“okay, now get your asses up. we’ve got to get back. it’s pretty fucking late and i don’t want to stay here all night!” runt says before they start walking.
the path back is uneven, dirt, roots, and scattered leaves crunching underfoot. troy lags behind almost immediately, crouching to fiddle with the construct, whispering at it like it’s going to whisper back.
“okay, but i’m just saying, man. if you can shoot lasers,” troy mutters, “now would be a great time to show off.” he pats it like a little pet of sorts.
blink walks ahead, hands jammed into his sleeves, shoulders tense like he’s bracing for something that never comes. runt matches his pace, intentionally. they walk in silence for a bit, it makes blink almost relax.
“hey,” runt says eventually, not looking at him. “what happened back there?”
blink exhales through his nose. “nothing.” runt hums to his answer. not convinced—but not offended, either. another few steps.
“he figured out i was a distraction,” or knew blink was a distraction from the start. “tried to… mess with me. get in my head.” blink says finally, voice low. stripped of detail. maybe ashamed.
runt nods slowly. “did it work?”
blink doesn’t answer right away. “…maybe?” he admits.
runt lets that sit. “you gotta tell me,” runt says. blink glances at her, surprised. she shrugs. “but you’re not as subtle as you think.”
that gets a weak huff of a laugh out of blink. “yeah. i figured.”
they keep walking. troy’s voice drifts from behind them, loud and animated, bragging to a robot that absolutely does not care at all. at the edge of the path, runt stops.
“someday,” she says, giving blink a sideways look, “you’ll tell me the truth. or i’ll find out.”
blink raises an eyebrow. “you sure you want that?”
runt smirks. “yeah. probably.”
blink nods. this time, it’s real enough. they rejoin troy after examining him from afar like he’s a menace to society—he is—and exchanging weird looks. the night closing in around them, the mission moving forward,
and blink carries the rest of it quietly, tucked somewhere he hasn’t figured out how to name yet.