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nightwingshero · 4 years

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Hold Me Down Chapter 4

Yassss!!!! Hahaha!!!! Surprise!!! I was finally able to get this busted out!! Man, this chapter was...*whew*, it was a tough one! But she’s done and ready to read! It’s not fully edited because I’m too excited and want to post it now but I hope you guys like it!

@dieguzguz a special thank you to you, my dear. Sam, this would’ve been a train wreck if it weren’t for you. Thank you so much for being honest and putting me on the right track when I was going through my rough patch. With your help and advice, I was able to make this chapter everything it should be. Thank you!

The car ride was awkward. I felt like a five-year-old being forced to go to church on a Sunday morning, except I was a 27-year-old adult, being forced to move in with someone I hadn’t known for a full week. Someone, mind you, that had threatened to kill me and who I ended up holding a knife to. Part of me worried that I would wake up to one to my throat.

Atlanta was a decently sized,and with the traffic, it took us forever to get to our destination. The penthouse was on the outskirts of the city, giving what seemed to be a nice view of the city. But it had to have been built recently, the structure shiny and the windows huge. It’s almost intimidating as Randy turns, swiping a card at the gated entrance to the parking underneath.

The parking lot is dark, and I can’t help but remember all those scary movies I had seen in my lifetime so far. I eye Randy, because I know Viking Princess—Jane—is someone I can handle. I didn’t think Randy, or Jane, was a threat to me, especially in the light of current events. But in my life, you couldn’t be too sure. Someone was always ready to plunge a knife in your back, whether you were looking or not.

And I almost groan at the reminder of what I had agreed to. I didn’t know how the hell this was going to even work. I could pretend to be anything, anyone, to get what I needed. A businesswoman, a shallow woman who didn’t understand majority of things, even an escort at one low point in my life. But I had never tried to enter a fake engagement. I didn’t have the type of patience or time for that. A long con wasn’t something Dutch talked much about, despite teaching us the skill to do it. But cons were never the goal. No, our goal was much more sinister than that.

I rub my hands together as we park the SUV, glancing around to try and see through the tinted glass, but failing. As they step out of the vehicle, I follow suit, unsure of where exactly we were going, but I can tell that the garage is a few degrees cooler than being outside. It’s a nice relief, even if the eerie lighting threw me off. It didn’t, however, stop me from eyeing the line of cars.

An empty parking spot laid between a black Lexus and dark blue Jaguar F Type, making me curious to what was missing. I raised a brow, however, as I spotted an old black Mustang at the end of the line. Jane and Randy kept walking, as if it was absolutely normal, and it’s then that it occurs to me that maybe there were more people living in the building. I couldn’t wait to slip away to sweet talk the owner of the Mustang.

Stopping, Jane waves something in front of the elevator, a key card of some sort, and the elevator doors open. I’m grateful, as we ascend, that there isn’t any awkward elevator music playing to add to the odd atmosphere. I want to believe that this could fall under some sort of kidnapping, but I knew that wasn’t the case. I had come willingly, even if it felt like I didn’t really have the choice. Which seemed to be a reoccurring theme as of late.

So lost in my own thoughts, the ding of the elevator made me jump, forcing myself to face the reality of my new environment. The lights were off, indicating that no one was home. Despite the dark home, the massive windows at the other end showed the sun setting and the lights of the city shining around us. Mesmerized I walk forward, leaving Randy and Jane behind in the foyer. The lights switch on, and I realize that there’s a balcony there, the glass doors blending in perfectly with the windows, almost as if they weren’t there at all. The pool water sparkled, the blue of it creating a glow that clashed with the darkness of its surroundings. My skin itched to feel the gentle caress of the water, and I could bet anything that it was temperature controlled.

“I can show you to your room.” Randy called. I glanced over to see him waiting patiently at the bottom of a floating staircase, the dark black slabs embedded into the wall.

“Okay.” I replied, turning away from the view to follow him.

There were a couple of doors that we passed until we came to a small indent, not exactly a hallway, but something with a door on either side. “That’s John’s room.” Randy nodded to the right side. “If you need anything, he’s right across the way.”

I almost flinch a bit as Randy opened the door on the left. I’m sure he meant it to be reassuring, but I couldn’t bring myself to feel it. I was a misplaced object in this odd museum. The feeling just grows worse as we step into the room. The greys, blacks, and whites contradicting each other. It was probably the biggest bedroom I had ever seen, and my gut twists. Why the hell did someone ever find this necessary?

Randy gently placed the bag down on the bed and turned to me. “Take a few minutes to adjust and then come back downstairs. Jane is gonna whip something up for you.”

“And the prince himself?” I asked, continuing to look around.

“John is going to be out late tonight. He said that you were to eat something and to feel as comfortable as possible. You’re allowed to look around, most of the penthouse is open to you. His office and bedroom are off limits, though.”

I scoffed as I met Randy’s dark brown eyes. “Oh please, as if I would ever want to go anywhere near his bedroom.”

Randy’s lips grow into a tight line, but I can’t tell if he’s holding back laughter or a retort. Either way, it didn’t matter. He walked out, leaving me alone in my new gilded cage. I slowly walk around, noting how the windows were floor to ceiling, no way of getting out, especially from this high up. My skin crawled at the thought of there not being a way out, and I focused on my breathing. In and out slowly, because I wouldn’t let this get the better of me.

My fingers skim the silk fabric of the bedding, pressing down a bit, almost shocked at how soft it was. Feeling more like a child, I hop up on the bed and fall back. I sighed, my eyes closing briefly. I didn’t know what kind of mattress this was, but holy shit, was it heavenly. I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. I feel this overwhelming urge to cry, the heavy feeling settling into my chest. I was finally given just a moment to myself, to be able to actually take a damn breath, and all I wanted to do was cry. I’ve been arrested, kidnapped, backed into a corner and forced into a fake engagement all while losing my apartment. There was no safe space for me anymore, nowhere for me retreat to. I was locked away with someone that was a clear threat if not handled correctly, and god, it was terrifying. I hadn’t felt less level of apprehension since Dutch. Always laying awake at night, scared of what next test he had in store. Part of me worried to waking with John’s hands around my throat.

A knock on the door sounded, making me jump. “Yeah?”

“Food’s done.” Randy called and I could hear his retreat.

“That was fast.” I muttered as I rolled of the bed, my feet landing on the soft rug as I kicked off my boots.

On the way down the stairs, I cling to the railing as my socks slid on my first step, and I refused to have ‘falling down the stairs’ added to the day’s events. I didn’t want to make any more of a fool of myself than I already have. I eyed Jane as I went though, noticing that she leaned against the counter and texted on her phone. Cringing, I eyed the bruising that began to develop from me breaking her nose. I felt a bit bad for it.

“So…what exactly am I eating?” I asked as I slowly made my way to the island in the center of the kitchen. It was modern—like everything else—with the island bar made wholly of white marble. The cabinets and counters of the rest of it was pitch black with a black and white marble black splash. I would be lying if I had said I wasn’t at least a bit envious. It was gorgeous, everything sleek and clean, all the appliances matching perfectly.

Jane cleared her throat and shoved her phone away as I sat at the bar, my hands resting against the cool surface. “I uh, made you grilled cheese. Hope that’s okay.” She muttered before placing a plate in front of me.

“Yeah, that’s totally fine.” I gave her a small smile, but she didn’t see it. I could smell the cheesy goodness, the sandwich cut in half diagonally, showing off the golden melted cheese. I took a bite, the cheese oozing in my mouth. Chewing and swallowing, I watch as she leans back against the counter. She looks exhausted. Another twinge of guilt. “Hey, look, I’m sorry about the nose thing. It wasn’t personal.”

Jane’s sharp green eyes find mine with a raised brow. “Not gonna lie, part of me wants punch you to call it even, but I’m gonna ask in all fairness: how likely am I to win that fight?”

“Hmm.” I smirk before tearing off a piece of the sandwich. “Not very.”

She shakes her head with a laugh as I take another bite. “You know it’s Jacob that trains us, and to have your small ass put me on my face in front of my fiancé and trainer is extremely humiliating. Although, I gotta say as a fan of dramatics in that department,” she threw a mischievous look, raising her brow playfully. “That was pretty badass.”

“Thanks.” I laugh a little as I continue to pick at my food. “So, what happens now?”

“Now,” she sighed. “We play the game. You’ll need to keep a low profile while we set the stage. Obviously, it would be strange if it got out that you were living with John before you’re at least spotted together in public. If we play it right, I think we could make it seem like you’ve been secretly dating the past few months.”

“To the public?”

“Right. But as for the feds and Drubmans? They’ll see that you’ve wrapped John Seed around your finger, doing your job as the engagement gets announced.”

Finishing off half of the sandwich, I gave her a look. “When is that?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I think it’s all a bit cliché. Just stage a damn break in. Rough John up a bit, break in for fake documents or something.”

I laughed at her as Jane shrugged. “There’s an idea.”

There was a relief in finding some common ground with Jane, something I didn’t realize I truly needed up until now. I didn’t have any allies here, but maybe I wouldn’t have to be so alone. The idle chatter between us was slow, nothing deep, both of us guarded. The trust wasn’t there, and I had to respect her for being smart enough to not give away any details I could use.

After I was finished, she offered a tour, but I stubbornly refused. I was going to walk around his palace and admire what he was, but that didn’t help me from my eyes wondering, eyeing the pictures of family here and there. Most of it was just abstract paintings he decorated on his walls, but I could see a family painting and a few pictures. There were black and white shots of planes on the wall behind me, for whatever reason. I crushed my curiosity down out of pride.

I finally called it a night, throwing Jane a good night over my shoulder as I made my way back to the room I was assigned. Locking the door behind me, I sighed heavily. I could watch tv for the rest of the night, allow myself to slip into a mindless state to help with the tension that I was feeling. But my curiosity finally won out as I started to explore my room in more depth. I walked over to the double doors on the other side of the room, wishfully hoping it was a way to escape.

As I ripped the doors opened, I am both star-shocked and disappointed. Part of me wanted it to lead to a secret balcony of some sort, but what I found instead was an unnecessarily huge walk-in closet. I flipped the light on to see the racks completely filled with clothes: dresses, suits, designer jeans and shirts. There were sunglasses, jewelry, and shoes.

I almost died as I knelt down to check the bottom of the shelves, eyeing the boots that sat there innocently. It was like a damn bookshelf, all the boots at the bottom with a few gym shoes and then…then the heels made up for the rest of it. My eyes widened at the sight of a few Doc Martens, a regular pair, one knee high, and the last was heeled. I couldn’t help but smile in excitement, my love for boots knew no bounds in all honestly. I moved on, checking out the assortment of heels. Most were black, some blue, silver, and grey. There were a few red and burgundy ones, too, and I couldn’t help but…feel a bit of unease.

Frowning, I glance back around, noting the colors—or lack thereof—and I felt a chill. It was strange to me that somehow, whoever did this, knew my taste. Knew my style well enough to pull it off. I turned, grabbed a heel, eyeing that famous red sole before checking the size. I dropped it as if I had been burned, then ripped a black business professional dress off the hanger and checked the tag. A shaky breath escaped my lips as the dress slipped to the floor. Everything was in my size…how the fuck did this happen?

Catching sight of a gown bag, I swallowed before rushing over. I pulled it, carefully unzipping it as I went. Pulling a side back, I drop it and scramble away. Newly dry cleaned and packed perfectly away, was the same dress I wore that night at the gala. I tried to take a calming breath, convincing myself it was a coincidence and that I was just paranoid. But I’ve done this for so long, my instincts couldn’t help but scream, warning me that this was all just too much to not mean something, but I wasn’t sure what. He had seen the dress, maybe he had bought it knowing that. But that didn’t explain everything else.

I’m hesitant, because lately every time I tried to dig, something bad ended up happening to me. My curiosity had done nothing positive for me in weeks, and this was no better. I didn’t want to see this, I didn’t want to acknowledge the possibilities…but I wouldn’t be alive today if hadn’t done those things. Biting my lip, I slowly think up for a plan to see what I could find. A visit to a certain friend could help put things in motion in finding out anything I needed to know. So, I walk out of the closet with a bitter thought of how anyone could afford—or deserve to afford—even half the shit in that damn closet.

Those were my thoughts as I woke up the next morning in the slate grey sheets and expensive down comforter. Worse case scenario I suffered through this for a few months, getting a taste of what I could have when this was all over. It wasn’t that bad. I had protection, slept at a penthouse, all needs were taken care of. I could put up with the insufferable asshole. I had the patience for that.

Right?

I eyed the closet doors and felt a twist of doubt, unsure if I did. Half of me screamed to ignore it and keep my hand down for the sake of getting by without causing anymore trouble. The other demanded answers, curiosity and anger working together to piece every little thing together.

Groaning, I sat up and made my way to the bathroom, doing my usual morning routine. Throwing on a pair of black shorts and adjusting my tank top, I cautiously open the bedroom door. The smell of bacon hit me immediately, and I could hear the sizzling of something. I sighed in relief, shutting the door behind me and running my hand through my hair. If Jane was here, that would make me feel at least a tad better, even though I was the reason she was sporting black eyes now.

My feet hit the cold surface of the stairs as I made my descent, glancing over once the kitchen came into view, and freezing on the spot. I debate running back up the stairs, but he glances over his shoulder at me. There’s no going back now.

I would have never guessed that John could cook, and even if he did, I didn’t think him the kind of person to cook for himself. So, it’s a shock to me, and it’s the excuse I use as I stare at him. His back is bare, with him being in only grey sweatpants that hung low on his hips. It gave me the perfect view of his tattoos. A huge black and blue raven spreading across his shoulder blades, a symbol on his left shoulder, a knife and snake under it, and a plethora of smaller, individual ones along his forearm. I couldn’t get a better look on his other side, but I was so sure that he had others. And as much as I admired the ink across his skin, it was the lines of scars that threw me.

Taking my time, I continued down while keeping a watchful eye on him. I had underestimated him; I knew that much. I just wasn’t sure how much. Joseph showed some cards yesterday, enough for me to know and understand that crossing him would be a terrible mistake on my part. But John…he was still a mystery, and I couldn’t afford any more surprises.

“Wren.” He looked over his shoulder briefly once more, before turning back. It’s alien, how my name falls from his lips. It makes me feel something else that I don’t know how to place. “It’s about time. I thought I would have to come up and make sure you hadn’t died in your sleep.” He called as I stood by the island. His voice had a deepness, almost husky, and I wondered if he sounded like that every morning. Up close I could see the red scars better. Some were random lines, others were words. Sins carved into his skin harshly, as I spy Sloth under his right forearm along with the other tattoos there. I force my attention away from it, swallowing my curious questions.

“I thought Jane would be making breakfast.” I shot back with a shrug that he couldn’t see, so focused on the skillet in front of him. “I was disappointed.”

John moved, transferring whatever he made onto a plate. “Jane is with Faith at their house. She doesn’t stay here. Faith prefers her fiancée at home.” He turned with the plate in his hand, placing it on the island and pointing at the barstool. “Sit. You need to eat.”

Any retort died in my throat as he fished his phone out of his pocket. His chest was well toned and lean. He wasn’t big like Jacob seemed to be, but he had muscle to him. Part of me wondered how much of a challenge he would be if it were an actual fair fight, just him and I. His body was lithe, for sure, so not only would he have strength on his side, but he would be fast, too. I’ve already had a taste of that.

My eyes trace the lines of the scales he has tattooed just under his chest and ending just above his belly button, with another starting right under. A smaller version of the symbol in the center as dark lines and shading to give it a dark glow, with a design underneath that was cut off by his pants. I sat down, feeling uncomfortably warm, and looked down at the plate. “I’d appreciate you not acting like you’re my dad, telling me what to do.” I snarked.

John stopped texting to throw me a dark look, the corners of his mouth twisting the slightest in a smirk, opening his mouth to say something. He stopped himself, hesitating, before his mouth forms a tight line. “Just eat.” He began typing away again, his hair falling in his face a bit. “We’re going to have to announce our…relationship to the public soon. I’ve made a reservation for us this weekend. It’ll give your face time to heal and the sooner we get this going, the better.” He sighed, running a hand through his hair as he tossed his phone on the counter. “I hope you like Italian.”

He leaned against the counter, his hands gripping the edge as he stared at me. I almost rolled my eyes. How this man could be nothing but business while walking around in sweats was just ridiculous. “Oh good, I love spaghetti.” He said nothing, but I could see the frustration and ire working its way into his eyes. “I’m kidding. Italian is fine.” This time I did roll my eyes.

“Good. There’s plenty of clothes in your closet, and I hope you found something that suits your taste in the bathroom. I don’t know what brands you use, or whatever.” His phone buzzed, gaining his attention.

“You were the one that did that?” I asked, raising a brow at him, my thoughts going to mystery of the wardrobe I had been given. John snapped his gaze to mine.

“No.” he answered, quickly and almost snapping at me. Clearing his throat, he continued. “No, Whitney and Faith did that. I couldn’t be bothered with it. She thought you and Jane were about the same size.”

I narrowed my eyes at him when he looked away. That was…awfully fast, especially for the amount that littered that damn closet. It didn’t really make sense, but I shove it aside, not wanting to start a fight first thing in the morning. “And here I thought it was for the women I’m sure you have milling in and out.”

Ah. So much for no fighting. Pull a punch only to throw another. Good job, Wren.

But John scoffed, a small smirk on his lips. “My one-night stands don’t stay, my dear. And no one would ever be allowed to keep anything here, let alone a full closet of that size.” He threw me a taunting look. “Which I’m sure you’ll understand.”

I frowned, my nose wrinkling. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean you seducing all those men you con—”

I threw my head back, a laugh escaping before I look back at him. “Oh, no. I don’t sleep with my marks. Ever. That’s a rule of mine. I don’t ever mix business with pleasure. Besides, most of those men are old and cringy. No thank you.”

“Why?” he asked, folding his arms as he leaned against them on the island. “Bad experience?” He smirked at his own innuendo and I hesitated. I didn’t trust him, not by a long shot, and I didn’t want to ever give him something to use against me. But on the other hand, he was supposed to be an ally, my employer’s brother, and for this particular job, my partner. So, against my better judgement, I decide to be honest.

“When we’re recruited, we learn that creating ties is dangerous.” I stared, playing with the food with a fork. “So, we’re taught how to kind of…shut our emotions away.” Sighing I give him a look. “And for some people, it’s harder said than done.”

He quirked his brow at me. “You don’t have sex because you will get emotionally attached?” John laughed. “Oh, you’re one of those. A bit needy and can get a bit clingy because they end up wanting something more.”

I immediately frowned, irritation making my face hot. Fucking playboys. “No, I don’t sleep with them because they’re disgusting, greedy leeches, and it’s unprofessional. Sex complicates everything, because you’re always messing with someone’s emotions, and that’s where I draw my line. I’m in the game of stealing, not manipulating someone’s emotions just because I can. That being said,” I hopped off the stool, pushing the plate away, before I lean close to him. “Just because some women want something more, and have feelings, doesn’t make them needy or clingy. In fact, they aren’t the ones to blame at all. It’s not their fault you’re a heartless asshole.”

I turned, making my way back up the stairs without another word.

Coming back down a bit later, I found him no where in sight. Jane and Randy sat at the island instead, playing poker. They looked up at the sound of my approach. “I need a car. Unless you two wanna drive me around all day, although I would prefer to be alone.”

Randy hesitated looking uneasy. “Uh, I don’t think—”

“Just give her the keys to the Lexus. John has been using the Audi, he’s not gonna miss it.” Jane cut him off, throwing me a smirk. I couldn’t help but return it, the guilt slowly faded away more as the mutual respect began to grow between us. I had a feeling we were going to get along just fine.

He gave Jane one more look before turning back to me. “The table in the foyer, there’s a black tray where he keeps his keys. Do not grab anything other than the keys for his Lexus.” Randy warned, pointing at me. I rolled my eyes, making my way over.

I raised a brow, seeing the keys neatly laid out. How many cars did this guy have? I rolled my eyes, grabbing the Lexus key fob. I was ready to get the fuck out of here and see what I could find, both with the wardrobe confusion and the apartment issue.

Duncan, you asshole.

I huffed as I parked on the side of the street, eyeing the building. This was the right place, right? Checking my mirror, I open the door and exit the car. I immediately miss the air conditioning, but I push that aside. I was on a mission and this was long overdue. I should have done this before anything else, but it had gotten away from me. I guess being kidnapped had a way of taking up your time.

The building was beautiful to say the least. And I wasn’t sure how the owner did it, mixing between old and modern. It was one of the classier tattoo shops I’ve come across. Made that familiar urge rise up within me again, that familiar and comforting sting that always left something beautiful behind.

Pain was temporary, but vanity…vanity was forever.

Making a mental note to come up with some ideas, I pushed the glass door open. This had to be the one. It was the only tattoo shop close to Mary May’s sports bar, and she did mention it was down the road. I would hunt them down, one by one, though. How many tattoo parlors could Atlanta have anyway? I was determined.

The air conditioning was welcoming when I entered, and a bell dinged to announce my arrival. The inside was gorgeous, to say the least. Dark walls with light flooring, a red accent wall that made the room pop in a way that drew you in. While most of it was sleek, there were Victorian touches here and there, from the plush couch to the light fixtures. A beautiful balance.

“Hold on, I’m comin’!” A male voice drawled, and I couldn’t help but allow my lips to curl into a smirk. I broadened when Sharky came around the corner. He stopped short, seeing me standing in the lobby, and I watched as he took a second to recover. “Oh. Hey there, Shorty. What’cha up to?”

I watched the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot while shoving his hands in his green hoodie. “Nothing much. I was in the neighborhood and thought I would drop by. Mary May said you got a new gig here recently. Didn’t know you were an artist, Sharky.”

“Oh, well.” He cleared his throat while throwing me a sheepish smile. “I actually do the piercings, you see. I ain’t good at drawing or any of that fancy stuff.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “To each their own. But uh…I came here for a reason.”

Catching onto my meaningful stare, he jumped with eyes wide. “Oh! Yeah, follow me this way. We can talk back here.” Sharky turned with a wave of his hand, and I followed him back down the hallway. I eyed the work hung up on the walls, but nothing stood out specifically to me. Just drawings or pictures of work that was done, very good work.

“Who did all these?” I asked.

“Our boss.” Sharky called over his shoulder as he opened a door at the end of the hallway. “He doesn’t come around much with his big-shot career taking up most of his time, but when he is here, he ain’t got any extra time. You gotta book him months in advance.”

I raised my brow, impressed. I’ve had my fair share of experience with talented artists, so it wasn’t that shocking that someone was so in demand. What was shocking was the fact that it wasn’t this man’s main gig. A big-shot career? What the hell did this guy do? And that question became even bigger as I stepped into what I assumed to be his office. Huge glass desk with a fancy computer, with blotch tests framed and amazing abstract paintings hung proudly on the walls. What really caught my attention was the one painting that seemed to be misplaced.

It was religious, that was for sure. A dark version of the Garden of Eden, Eve being entangled naked by a snake while Adam gripped her and bled. I had never seen anything like it before, but something about made you just stare. Sharky finally caught onto what had grabbed my attention.

“Oh yeah. He uh, he has an obsession with religion. I mean, some of his family does, too. Especially his parents, so…there are pieces like that in some of our rooms. Each one is inspired by a sin, I think.”

“And this one?”

“I think it’s supposed to be temptation or something. Or a warning to not touch snakes or naked ladies. I’m not sure.”

I shook my head. “Listen, I came here to check on you and discuss some business. I also need a favor.”

Sharky shifted uneasily. “What’s up?”

“I had some cops, and a fed, tell me they shook you down for information on me. They obviously have been following me because they had a photo of us talking. Any chance that they got anything on you?”

“Feds?” he asked throwing me a confused look. “Nah, nobody approached me.”

“Then what made you have a career change?” I asked.

“Thought it would be a good idea to make legit money, too. Besides, my boss wanted me.

“Is this the same guy whose name was on my lease?” Sharky flinched, giving me my answer, and I sighed. “Damn it, Sharky. I told you to put it under me—”

“My boss wouldn’t let me.”

“What do you mean?”

Sharky paled, making a show of glancing at a watch he didn’t own. “Oh, look. I gotta go—”

I immediately stepped into this path, crossing my arms as I blocked the door. “Sharky, explain. Now.”

“Okay!” he threw his hands up in defense. “My boss…well, he knows about you. Like, knows that you’re a total badass and stuff. So…he invested.”

“Invested?” I asked, an uneasy feeling coming over me. I thought I was flying under the radar, only coming out of the shadows because John had caught me. “What do you mean he knows about me?”

“Well,” he rubbed the back of his neck, unwilling to meet my eyes. “he knows of you. Knows what you can do. And well, he’s my boss Shorty. I can’t do business with just anybody.”

“Sharky, you’re a fence. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.”

“It’s more complicated than that.” He mumbled, staring at his feet. “If it weren’t for my boss, I’d be dead. He saved my life. So, no, I only do fence work for him and who he allows.”

My brows furrowed. This was supposed to clear up things, not making them more confusing. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t really want to talk about it, but my aunt got me out of some…family issues. And well, my boss took me under his wing, kinda. Protected me, you know?” My heart tugged for him. I knew family issues all too well, and he was lucky to have someone to be there for him. Well, fuck.

“So, this ‘Duncan’ is your boss?” I sighed. “And he…invested?”

Sharky perked up at the change of my tone. “Yeah! He was like, super impressed with what you did in L.A., so yeah. He invested.”

“He…he knows about what happened in Cali?” I breathed out, a chill going over my spine.

Of all the things, that wasn’t something I would want anyone to witness. I was still licking my wounds from my wounded pride, my actually injuries healed long ago. It was the first time I had been caught, a tip was given, and I had found myself fighting for my life. I was lucky enough to avoid law enforcement, which seemed to be a miracle. I definitely left a lasting impression and I wasn’t sure if I would ever walk into that city again. Not that I would ever miss it. Good riddance.

“Yeah, but don’t worry.” He waved it off with a roll of his eyes. “He ain’t worried ‘bout all that.”

“So…when you bought me that dress…” I trailed off, the dress coming to mind as I gave him a look.

“He did. I ain’t that good at woman shopping.” Sharky replied with a laugh. “He has good taste, knows exactly what to get. That knife strap still working good?”

“The strap is fine.” I replied absentmindly. I had returned that dress, never keeping things that I used or wore on jobs to destroy any connection. I didn’t like this, not one bit. There was an extremely small chance it was a coincidence. It might not have even been the same dress I wore, just a replica that Whitney had bought. It could have been a joke on John’s part. Perhaps I was just reaching due to paranoia. I sighed and decided to change the subject. But…about that favor?”

“What do you need?” he asked cautiously.

“I need a new set of throwing knives. Just like, three of them. Custom made with the blue blades.”

Sharky threw his head back and groaned. “Girly, you know how much those cost? You want regular throwing knives, I got you. But those customized ones? My boss—”

“If he’s really invested, then he’ll get them.” I replied sternly. “I’m assuming he’s going to want me to do a job for him then?”

Sharky sighed, shaking his head. “It’s complicated. I don’t know what the dude wants, but he keeps the money comin’ for yah.”

“Well…that might be a blessing with what work I have cut out in front of me.” I walked towards the desk, finding it neat and clear of any documentation. Nothing that I could swipe, but there were interesting paperweights and fancy pens. No pictures of family…nothing. “I got myself tied up in a job for the next few months, at least.”

“Job with who?” he asked, not even noticing me taking note of everything I could. I was desperate for a clue, for anything, that could lead me to who this guy was. I didn’t like that someone was watching from the shadows.

“I don’t think I’m really allowed to say.” I replied turning back to him. “I know that I’m gone once it’s over. Tell your boss I appreciate…whatever it is that he did, but I don’t think I’m interested in whatever he has in mind. I just want the knives.”

Sharky shrugged. “I don’t think he has anything in mind, just interested in yah. You want me to deliver those knives somewhere special?”

I snorted. “You can have him deliver them himself to get rid of all this mystery bullshit. But if that can’t be arranged, I can just stop by here. Either way.”

Sharky gave a nod. I was tired of all this suspense, all these surprises that seemed to come out of nowhere. I didn’t know how many people were involved with this, but I was hoping that I had reached the end. Having another player in the game wasn’t something I could afford at the moment. I couldn’t even handle my new roommate, let alone Drubman and the feds breathing down my neck. Which reminded me that I needed to check in sooner rather than later before they hunted me down.

I only stayed for a few more hours, talking and joking with him. I didn’t get a whole lot of time with Sharky, or anyone for that matter. I never really allowed myself to make friends, and I always viewed him, and Mary May, more along the lines of associates or colleagues than anything. But I had found myself growing more and more fond of these people, no matter how much I tried to avoid it.

Finally, waving goodbye, I exited the shop and back into the heat of Atlanta. Somehow, I had managed to kill most of the day, which was fine by me. Normally I was a home body, but with my new living arrangement, I was desperate to get out of the house. Suddenly I found that I enjoyed being out and about.

I turned, checking to see Sharky gone as I pulled out my phone and clicked on her contact. Bringing it to my ear, I listened to it ring. I knew she was about to get busy, but I was hoping she would answer anyway.

“Hello?” Mary May answered, relief flooding over me.

“Hey, May. It’s me.”

“Well, look who decided to stick around. I assumed you were still here since you never swung by to say bye.” There was a beat of silence, but not enough for me to answer. “Wait, unless you’re already gone. Did you leave without saying bye, you asshole?”

I chuckled at her. She was always so damn mouthy. “No, I’m still here in Atlanta.” Unfortunately. “But I’m calling you because I need a favor. Can you look someone up for me?”

“Oh.” She sounded shocked, but she recovered quickly. “Yeah, sure. What’s the name?”

“Duncan. Male, I think.”

“First or last?”

“Yeah, I’m not entirely sure.” I replied almost sheepishly.

Mary May sighed. “Wren, do you have any idea how common that name is? That’s going to take me forever.”

“Well, apparently he’s a big-time businessman here in Atlanta, so that could help. He also owns a tattoo shop. Oh, and the bastard was renting my apartment the whole fucking time. There’s that.”

Mary May hesitated. “Wait…tattoo parlor? Wren, where are you?”

“In Atlanta—”

“Where exactly?” she pressed. I frowned as she sighed. Where the hell was this coming from. “Like, what’s the name of the parlor?”

“It’s the one Sharky is working with. I dropped by and said hey.” I said, brushing it aside.

“Does Sharky know you’re doing this?”

“What he doesn’t know won’t kill him.” I replied impatiently. “His boss has a keen interest, and I have every intention on finding out who has their eye on me.”

Mary May groaned. “Why do I get the feeling this is going to end badly? I can already tell this is going to turn into a ‘Wren-Gets-Into-More-Trouble-Than-She-Anticipated’ moment.”

“Where’s your faith, May?”

“Extremely low considering the last week.”

“Oh…well yeah, that’s fair.”

“So, the name of the tattoo parlor?”

“Right, hang on.” I turned back, checking to make sure Sharky was still out of sight before my eyes fall to the glass. “It’s called—"

I froze, frowning as I eyed the decal on the window. I can’t help but feel irritated, knowing that I had seen that symbol somewhere but couldn’t think of where for the life of me. I pinched the bridge of my nose as a headache began to form.

“Wren?”

“Oh, yeah. Uhm, it’s called Garden of…of Eden…?” I almost scoffed. There was no fucking way. “Yeah, okay, so this guy is religious. Or likes to play with a religious theme. I half expect him to be old and gross. And if that’s the case, tell him I’m a lesbian.”

She snorted. “Yeah, okay. I’ll see what I can find.”

“Thank you.” Just as I hung up, a little alert came through, announcing a new text. As I read it, my heart sank. Fuck.

Update? You’ve been silent too long. -JH

Welp. There was that. With everything going on, I completely forgot that I was actually supposed to be checking in with them, giving updates as things progressed. I bit my lip, trying hard to think of a good response. If they found out I had moved in with John, they would know something was up. This had to be done delicately or we were all screwed. Me, above the rest, though.

Made some progress with the youngest brother. Having dinner. Will keep you updated.

Shoving the phone in my pocket, I make my way to my new car. I was just ready to crawl in bed, sleep forever, and pretend this wasn’t fucking happening. This had only gotten worse, people shifting their attention towards me like never before. It was annoying and I wanted it over with. I couldn’t wait to leave, to go somewhere secluded where no one would ever be able to find me unless I wanted them to.

I drove back quickly, doing my best to avoid the traffic. Eyeing the black Audi, I groan. That only meant that John was back, and I really didn’t have the patience for this asshole anymore today. Part of me hoped that he would be holed up in his office, and I took comfort in it.

But all of that came crashing down when I stepped into the penthouse, loud music playing, the lights dimmed except for his massive lounge. Laughter and thrilled shrieking joined the music, forcing my headache to get even worse. I began to make my way over cautiously, eyeing Jane as she leaned against the separating wall of the room and hallway. She gave me a look as I stepped into the light of the room.

Nothing in this world really shocks me anymore, but I have to hand it to him, John Seed kept me on my toes. “What the fuck?’ I muttered under my breath, taking in the scene before me. John had the same suit on from this morning, or what was left of it. The vest was gone along with the jacket, his sleeves rolled up and the woman half across his lap must have been responsible for unbuttoning half the buttons, or ripping them, seeing that there were a few scattered on the floor. She was in a bright red dress that clung to her curves almost revealing, and she had no issue with pressing all of it against him. Her blonde hair curled and falling messily out of some sort of updo.

The two men on the adjacent part of the couch were no better. Though the women that accompanied them seemed a bit…paid for. They were older, rich by the looks of it, and I’m sure they lived like kings. I recognized one as Charles, the man I had tried to steal from, and the other was a man I hadn’t seen before. He had a half-assed combover with a gut.

“Who the fuck is this?”

I turned at the sound of the blonde’s shitty tone. Her red lipstick is a bit smeared, leaving some on the collar of John’s shirt and his neck. The eyeliner being smudged gave her a coked-out vibe that I wasn’t sure sat well with me, and eyeing the living room table, I found out why. Lines of white powder, nice and neat, laid contrasting against the black glass, and looking at John, I could see remnants of is in his facial hair. His eyes were glassy and bloodshot, his face flushed out. He looked at her with a lazy smile.

“No one, Holly. Don’t worry about her.” John drawled.

I narrowed my eyes at him as Jane sighed behind me. My jaw ticked as I tried to evaluate the situation. I felt like I had just come home to find my husband cheating, and not in the sense that I was betrayed by someone I loved. No. It was the feeling like I was the butt of a joke, that I was to be humiliated, and I was pathetic even being here to confront him for it.

“Right. I’m no one.” I echoed emptily. He caught my gaze once more, the challenge there in his eyes. “That’s exactly how the conversation went.” I’m not a jealous girlfriend—or fiancé—in this moment. I’m a pissed off business partner, who has found just how irresponsible her associate is; that had realized that this was a side of John Seed that wasn’t expected. I might have hated John Seed, but he had my respect.

Until now.

John smirked before hanging his head back. “Please go away. The last thing I want to deal with now is you. You’re ruining my fun with my friends.”

“Your friends?” I scoffed. A sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach made me cringe. “You call these people your friends?”

He laughs, looking at Holly. “She doesn’t even like to have sex. Such a fucking prude. Doesn’t know how to have fun.”

“That’s okay, sweetheart.” The fat one called. “You can come over here and I’ll teach yah!”

I scoffed glancing down at my shoes, trying to ignore the sting in my chest, and I look back up with a mocking laugh. “No, I have more self-respect than that. Unlike the other’s in this room, it seems.” I walk closer to John, his smirk falling at my words as I lean down. “Yeah, I might not be on your level of a good fucking time, and I lie, manipulate, and steal.” I sneered lowly as Holly returned to the table with a rolled up hundred-dollar bill. “But what I don’t do…is lie to myself. I don’t pretend to be someone I’m not for the sake of so-called friends that want nothing from me, but drugs and money. I don’t fill that dark hole with useless shit.” I lean back, taking a step away. “I may not have liked you, but I at least respected you. Disappointing that you don’t.” I sighed, looking at his little plaything. Clearing my throat, making a show of wiping my nose. “You gotta little something…”

She glared at me, rubbing the back of her hand against her nose, but traces of cocaine lingered. “Fuck off!”

“Classy.” I replied unamused, before quickly turning and walking out. “I hope you enjoy yourselves.” Jane met my gaze as I passed her, her eyes sad and tired. My heart is heavy for her, knowing that it was not just her boss, but her brother-in-law in there, wasting his life away on the things that didn’t matter. For people who would never give a shit about him.

“He wasn’t always like that, you know.”

I stop as I enter the main hall, my eyes catching the sight of Joseph leaning against the wall in the dark. He’s wearing a simple suit, similar to what he had worn yesterday, with the same damn sunglasses. “What? Arrogant, misguided, and heartless?”

He threw me a look, those eyes searching my soul until he pushed himself off the wall. “Walk with me.” Giving a slight nod towards the balcony outside, I walk next to him slowly.

Joseph is completely at ease, despite this not being his scene. He seemed so out of place, but he took it in stride. He pushed the sliding glass door open, the cooler air hitting us as we stepped out. Shutting the door behind us, he turned and walked towards the railing, leaning against it as he admired the view. It was fully dark by now, the lights of the city competing with the stars in the sky.

“My brother is most of those things and more, but heartless isn’t one of them.” Joseph finally spoke, drawing my attention to him, seeing the lights reflect in the yellow lens. “He would like you to believe that, because well…I guess that would make him stronger…untouchable, in a sense, yes?”

I leaned with him, deep in thought and hanging onto his every word. “Yes, I suppose that would make anyone feel invincible.”

“Hmm.” He gave me a glance before turning back and sighing. “John used to be such a loving child, constantly laughing and smiling, believe it or not. His parents…his parents ripped that from him.”

“You mean your parents.” I corrected with a furrowed brow, but Joseph just shook his head and looked at me.

“No, I mean John’s parents.” He cleared his throat a bit before continuing. “I’m going to tell you this because I need this to work between the two of you. I need you to work together and right now, that partnership is in flames. Anymore stress, and one of you is bound to explode, and John is infamous for his anger issues, especially to his enemies. And Ms. Blake, despite only knowing you for only 24 hours, I do not with that upon you. But this goes nowhere, do you understand? This stays between us.”

It’s quiet for a second as his eyes drill into mine, and I realize he’s waiting for an answer. “Oh. Yes, of course. I understand. I won’t say a word.”

Satisfied, he turned back to the city and I followed suit, hyperaware of Joseph’s words as they fall from his lips. “I suppose I should start from the very beginning. Our father was a…god fearing man. Knew the bible like the back of his hand. And while he held bible verses in one, he held a drink in another. He was an alcoholic and well…he took a lot of it out on us.”

“And your mother?” I whispered, my heart starting to ache.

“Oh, well, she was there, but she wasn’t.” he sighed. “I didn’t know it as well as I do now. Maybe I had known, I just didn’t want to admit it or accept it. But she was absent, locked away in the bedroom days at a time. I can’t say for sure if it was pills or a needle, but I knew well enough back then that she wasn’t of much help to any of us. It was Jacob who protected us.”

“He definitely seems like the type.” I muttered, remembering the towering man, and Joseph chuckled. “So, what happened?”

Joseph clicks his tongue matter-of-factly. “It was John, actually. That’s how they found out. He went to school with bruises on him and the teacher saw. The next thing we knew…child protective services had come for us.” It’s quiet again as he pauses, and I absorb the information. Even with the sounds of the city, you can hear the water in the pool, and it’s relaxing. There’s a loud cheering from inside and Joseph decides to break the silence. “We got adopted, of course. But…well, they were worse than what we came from, and Jacob being Jacob…well, he wouldn’t ever stand for it.”

“What did he do?”

“He caught their barn on fire.” I frowned immediately, flinching away as if he had slapped me, but Joseph paid no mind, not noticing my reaction. “Then he beat them to death. And they deserved it, but the authorities didn’t see it that way. So, they took Jacob away from us. Not long after that, John was finally adopted.” Another sigh as he shifted. “And these people, swore to be good Christian people, but didn’t know the meaning of it. Swore that John was born evil, born in sin.” He looked at me with a shake of his head. “Misplaced belief breeds disaster. Always.”

The way he said it made a chill go up my spine, my body going cold with dread. “They sound insane.”

“You haven’t even heard the half of it, my dear.” Joseph clenched and unclenched his hands as he stared at them. “They beat him, manipulated him, tore him down until he was exactly what they wanted. He was a shell of himself. Made him confess to sins he had never committed and made it to where he believed he was wrong. His whole existence was nothing but sin. So, he learned how to be the perfect son. Learned how to become a chameleon of sorts, changing colors and pieces of himself for each interaction and person. Something I’m sure you can relate to?”

I shift uncomfortably under his gaze, because it’s so true. Both of us trained and taught to be what others wanted us to be, to be the perfect shining example that stood above the rest. I hated that he was right, that there were similarities between the two of us that shook me to the core, and I wanted to rip it away. To deny any of it, because I would never do what he was doing now. Never would I fall so low.

Become one of his coked-up buddies he keeps around, for all I fucking care. If you value your life, you’ll do this.

A sick feeling twists inside as Hurk Sr’s words whisper harshly in my mind. I did value my life, and I wasn’t so sure of what I would and wouldn’t do anymore. If someone had asked me a few months ago if I would stage an engagement, I would’ve laughed in their face. But yet, here I was, in a situation I had sworn I would never allow myself to get into; a situation where someone else was in control and pulling the strings. I couldn’t really say anything anymore.

“He quit for a while.” Joseph murmured. “John hasn’t…he hasn’t done something like this in a very long time. But we need the partnership, I need them in there to align with us. He knows that…and this was his way…this is my fault, and I know that. John would do anything for his family.”

“You didn’t ask him to do any of that, Joseph.” I whispered. “We make our own choices. And there’s another way, John just…doesn’t know how to apply it yet.” I don’t know why I was defending him, but I knew I spoke from experience. When you didn’t know how else to handle a situation, you always fell on bad habits. They were the most comfortable.

“I’m hoping he will get better. He has, really. But tonight has me worried.” He scoffed. “The Duncan’s did a hell of a job on him, and I’m doing what I can to break their hold. After dead for so many years, you would think their influence would’ve died with them.”

My heart stops as I look at Joseph. “What? What did you say?” He gave me a confused look, and I clarified. “The name. Who?”

“The Duncan’s. They were John’s adoptive parents. Before he changed it back, John’s last name was Duncan.” I swallow as Joseph looked away, brushing something off his suit jacket.

John Duncan.

#deputy wren blake #wren blake #john seed #randy miller #jane williams #joseph seed #sharky boshaw #holly pepper #my writing #hold me down #far cry 5 #far cry 5 au

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diyunho · 4 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “Raven”

Y/N is a very unusual metahuman that can use her powerful abilities just once before being turned into a Raven forever; that’s why it’s really strange she decided to sacrifice herself in order to save The Joker’s life. But there’s a reason for everything and maybe the unbreakable curse is nothing more than a blessing in disguise.

“It doesn’t look good,” you hover over The Joker, analyzing the gunshot wound that keeps on bleeding through his green shirt.

“It’s not bad,” he growls, pressing his abdomen.

“Where are you, prick?” someone yells and the echo carries over the words around the abandoned building.

“Do you believe you can escape?” another voice resonates in the vast premises.

“Tick-Tock, Clown!” another man howls in the quietness, certain The King of Gotham has no escape.

“Fuck…,” J tries to get up but he slides back down against the wall.

“I think it’s pretty bad,” you state the obvious. “You’re injured, out of bullets and they are near: your crew won’t find you in time.”

“Shit…,” he groans in pain, the throbbing ache intensifying with each passing moment.

“I’m gonna help you,” Y/N shares her scheme and although the news should make him happy, it doesn’t.

“W-what do you mean?!” The Joker stutters even if he knows the implications of such statement. You’re quiet and he continues: “Why would you do something like that?...”

You smile at his bafflement, the affirmation completely surprising him:

“Because you’re the only one that never asked.”

“You shouldn’t use it on me!” J’s truthful reply is interrupted by the henchmen entering the desolated space where the fallen Prince of Crime has found refuge. “Who am I supposed to talk to if you’re gone?” the genuine question makes you realize there’s actually a soul in this world who’ll miss you.

“We didn’t really talk too much,” you softly chuckle and turn to confront the men halted in their tracks seeing you’re positioned in front of The Joker.

“The freak is here,” a goon whispers loud enough to be heard by the ones arriving behind him.

“Hey Y/N!” their leader detaches from the crowd. “What are you doing here?!”

The lack of an answer combined with the feral expression on your face prompts the mobster to wave his pistol as a sign for truce.

“Let’s not do anything hasty, shall we?... …. Hm?... I’m aware you had so many offers over the years; consider mine again: if you wield your powers to finish the green haired asshole, I will triple the amount of money from the highest bidder!”

You scoff at the absurd idea, describing how stupid you considered the monetary proposals suggested by numerous individuals in the past:

“And what am I supposed to do with the riches once I cease to exist?!”

A bullet shrieks by your ear, ending up in the wall behind where J collapsed a couple of minutes ago.

“Sorry I missed, boss!” the man apologizes and this is enough to set you off; you turn your head to gaze at The Joker, delivering a last warning.

“Close your eyes or you’ll go blind!”

“Don’t let her clap her hands!” the kingpin shouts but it’s too late: a deafening bang fills up the air and the strong light emanating from your body burns J’s closed eyelids. He covers his face with bloody fingers while the screams and smell of torched flesh makes him nauseated; it’s so disgusting he gags yet the insane King can’t help a smirk at the sweet victory, even if comes with such a heavy price.

Gurgling noises and muffled cries persist for another 15 seconds before they abruptly halt.

“Meet me in dreams,” is Y/N’s final sentence and immediately after the sound of flapping wings queue The Joker to finally open his eyes.

The view is cringe worthy: puddles of steamy, boiling tar scattered all around bearing witness to the consequences of your rage: nobody’s alive anymore except J and the Raven picking at the clothes you wore earlier.

His cell phone goes off and he has difficulty searching the purple jacket for the item he has no need for.

“Sir! We’re coming! Almost on the 32nd street!” Frost reports in a frenzy and The Joker sneers, wheezing from the effort of trying to stay awake.

“Nice timing,” and he hangs up, muttering to himself: ’”Goddamned jerks…”

The bird suddenly flies in his lap, curiously checking him out.

“I think I’m gonna pass out…” the damaged Clown slowly blinks before losing conscience which is alright since he had to speak to you anyway.

Every time you meet in dreams, you are always waiting for him on this deserted, calm beach staring at the waves in the distance. Today is not different.

He takes a sit by the woman that saved his life, silently analyzing her features: The Joker knows he won’t see them again except in this place.

When you said you didn’t speak much, it was true; if he tries to remember the first instance you showed up in his life, the moment blurs out and disappears in the background of his troubled mind. You would just randomly pop up while he was alone, keeping each other company for hours and often barely uttering a sentence. The eerie Y/N preferred J’s presence simply due to his lack of interest in her unusual power and he tolerated her because she never sought any kind of reward from their awkward connection. In the matter of fact, J never even tried to touch you; it was relaxing to be with an individual that plainly didn’t want anything from you whilst the rest of the world begged for attention: how many requested you aid them and manipulate your ability in order to annihilate their enemies? How many promised compensations beyond measure in exchange of your mighty gift? Way too many.

Yet The Joker didn’t care about it; the most he would do was to share his favorite drink after a new brand of grape juice hit the market.

And now the person he shared with was gone forever.

“Your team is almost at the warehouse,” you address him, bending your knees until your chin touches them. “Don’t worry, you’ll be fine.”

“I’m not worried,” J indifferently replies. “Told you it’s not serious.”

You snicker at his stubbornness, pointing out the evident reality:

“That’s why you fainted and started to dream about me?”

Your escort huffs, struggling to confess stuff hard to articulate in these circumstances.

“Thank you for…umm…for…”

“You don’t have to thank me; it was my choice and I fulfilled my destiny. It’s over and I’m free. I’ll still visit, ok?”

“Mister Joker! Sir, can you hear me?” Frost’s voice interrupts J’s dream: the gang is searching the deserted property for their leader and the only thing he notices is The Raven flying in circles above his head.

***********

Three weeks later, 9:37pm

The Joker extends his arm and you land on it, gently digging your claws in his skin for equilibrium.

“Where were you all day?!” he scolds and you caw, evoking complaints from the man that can’t sleep without his bird. “I wish you were a nightingale, this way you can chirp some cute songs.”

You fly on his shoulder to peck at the diamond earring, annoyed at his remark.

“Ouch! Ouch!” he shrugs, but doesn’t chase you away. “I recognize crows appreciate shiny things, but it hurts.”

Poking escalates and J vaguely apologizes on his own terms:

“I meant Raven! Raven!!” he repeats and struts inside The Penthouse where your pillow awaits. “Are you hungry?” the Prince of Crime offers a bunch of crumbs and expensive seeds he ordered for the spunky pest. You hop on the nightstand and play with the food, not particularly captivated by the lavish feast.

The Joker rolls in bed, gesturing for the pillow next to him.

“My girlfriend’s out of town, you can crush on her side of bed,” the affirmation makes you float to her cushion, instantly plucking the fabric with your beak, then jump up and down, cawing some more.

The Clown laughs, entertained at the temper tantrum.

“I know you don’t like her and the feeling is mutual,” he caresses the soft, black feathers as you continue to shred Lara’s pillow. “Stoooop! These are fresh sheets!” he pleads and distracts you by showing his patched up abdomen from under the t-shirt. “Look, my lesion is healing; wanna see?” a corner of the bandage is peeled for the guest to properly inspect the stitches.

Y/N bounces on The Joker’s chest, cautiously examining his wound.

“Cool, huh?” he grins and reaches his hand for the book resting under his pillow, surprisingly enough containing your favorite poem. “The Raven. By Edgar Allan Poe,” J emphasizes and you spread your wings with delight, quickly rushing to his neck and cuddle against the playing cards tattoo.

The King of Gotham holds the book with one hand and pets you with the other, his husky tone recites the verses you love so much.

“Once upon a midnight dreary, while I pondered weak and weary…” the beautiful, dark rhyme soothes a tired Y/N scarcely recalling what it means to be human.

Yet being near HIM reminds her on how much she longs for what was lost when she willingly sacrificed herself to save the one that didn’t ask to be saved.

*************

Following morning, 8:21 am

The Joker is swimming outside on the terrace and you’re having a blast in the inflatable pool he set by his lounge chair for the enchanted, feathered companion. This is a thousand times extra enjoyable when his new girlfriend is not home!

She’s a complete nutcase, totally obsessed with The Clown and certainly doesn’t understand why he’s paying so much attention to a filthy, gross creature.

Who the hell gets a crow as pet?! Apparently her boyfriend, although he didn’t tell her who you truly are. Why bother? It’s a secret you and J share; nobody has to find out, although plenty of concerned parties would spend a fortune for an update: Y/N hasn’t been spotted recently and it’s troublesome.

“Raven Queen!” J emerges from the pool since he has to take it easy; the doctor said no more than 15 minutes of physical activity every day. “I have a little present,” he yanks at the towel on the lounge chair, unraveling a box full of gold rings, Rolexes and chains under it.

Oh my God, so shiny and sparkly in the morning sun!!!

You fly from your pool straight into the container, happily tapping at the treasures. The Joker dries his body and chitchats with his bird, excited you enjoy the shimmering gems.

“You can steal them and hide them,” he winks and you sure are taking advantage of it as soon as possible. “Do you have a nest?” J inquires and teases afterwards: “Did you find yourself a Raven King?”

That’s pretty rude, you think and swiftly attack him, careful not to scratch his face in the process.

“Cut it out!” The Joker demands and gives up the fight really fast. ”OK, OK, I surrender!” he chuckles as you rise up, gliding in the wind gushing above The Penthouse. The plan is simple: charge at the toxic green locks and pull on the strands, assuring at least two or three hairs will be removed as revenge. J takes a defensive stance, preparing to catch and keep you captive in the fluffy towel until you calm down.

BANG! the gunshot halts the fun and The Clown Prince of crime watches in horror as The Raven falls to the ground in front of his girlfriend.

“Babe, are you alright?” Lara squeals, kicking the bird at her feet. “I told you having a wild animal as pet it’s an awful idea! I saw the crazy bird attacked you, it might have rabies!!” she kicks you again and the small body convulsing on the hard concrete makes him lose his marbles. “Thank heavens I returned sooner than expected,” the woman explains, nervous to detect the angry Joker stomping towards her.

“What the fuck are you doing??!!” he screams and violently pushes her, slapping the gun out of her hand. Lara stumbles on her own steps, not comprehending why her partner is livid rather than showing gratitude.

“What do you mean?” she gulps and J bends over to pick you up when you let out a cry, the sinister noise resembling a human’s wailing. “The bird was attacking you, I was afraid!”

“It wasn’t attacking me, we were messing around!”

“Messing around?!” the woman mumbles, confused.

“Get a hold of Frost and tell him I need a veterinarian! NOW!!!” The Joker barks as he enters The Penthouse.

“Jesus…,” Lara sniffles and texts, irritated at his behavior. “Why is he so mad about?! The dumb beast is nothing but an outbreak of infection and bacteria!” she maliciously grumbles, sending the message to Jonny.

Something whooshes by her and before she has a chance to see what it is, a bunch of ravens and crows unexpectedly storm at the petrified Lara: they are answering your call, mercilessly tearing and scraping at the enemy.

“J!!! J!!!!” she runs without noticing where she’s going, panicked at the multitude of birds relentlessly chasing her; it’s a miracle she stumbles upon the tiny shed which stores pool supplies and manages to squeeze inside.

The birds keep on bombarding her temporary hideout as she begs for assistance:

“J !!! J !!!! Please help me!!! J!!!!”

Yet The Joker can’t hear: he raced upstairs to the master bedroom and placed you on the comforter, trying to assess how severe the injuries are; one of the wings is bleeding and there are probably broken bones also.

“Don’t die…” J whispers because it sure seems Y/N is fading away: the bird can barely breathe and for the first time in ages he feels sad. “If you leave, we won’t be able to meet in dreams…”

The King of Gotham crawls in bed, unsure if he should caress you or not; what if he dislocates something else by accident? Instead he kisses the top of your head, the velvety feathers tickling his lips.

The sudden glow radiating from The Raven makes him close his eyes tight: it’s so strong it burns just like when you used your powers to rescue him. It doesn’t last longer than 10 seconds and sensing the light dimmed, J decides to open his eyes. A few black quills still drift in the air and he glares at the tearful Y/N, shocked to see her:

“Everything hurts,” you start sobbing and the bloody arm, plus the bruised torso urge him to cover your naked body with the corner of the quilt. “H-how am I h-here?!” you stammer and grab his thumb while The Joker is in a trance, speechless at the witnessed phenomenon because it’s impossible to come up with a logical reasoning.

Such a shame neither of you realize that even affection coming from a rotten heart can be pure enough to shatter an unbreakable curse.

Also read: MASTERLIST

You can follow me in AO3 and Wattpad under the same blog name: DiYunho.

#the joker x reader #the joker imagine #the joker fanfiction #the joker jared leto #the joker suicide squad #the joker #joker #joker fanfiction #joker imagine #joker jared leto #joker suicide squad #mister j #Mistah J #dc #dcu

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remys-lucky-franc · 4 years

Text

Christmas Eve in Paris - A Queen of Thieves Fic: Remy x MC (Daisy)

Rating: Utter fluff. I mean it. Like the fluffiest of fluff.

Word Count: ~1500

Writer Notes: My 2nd fic for the Lovestruck fandom - please be kind 💜 and if you read (thank you!) and do enjoy it, I’d love to hear what you thought!

Tag List: I don’t have one yet, but if you’d like to be on it when I do, please let me know! @wrath-gutierrez

Image credit - Washington Post

“Wake up, wake up, ma Cherie!”

Bright light pours through the drapes on the tall sash windows of the Paris penthouse, almost turning Remy into a silhouette as he learns up on one elbow. The glow filling the bedroom is strangely still as his soft laughter drags Daisy from her sleep.

“Come on, sleepy...”

She smiles drowsily, mumbling ‘Merry Christmas Eve’ as Remy leans across, smoothing her hair and dotting soft kisses along her neck towards her ear, whispering,

“Il fait neige... You don’t want to miss Paris in the snow, do you?”

Suddenly her dark eyes open wide,

“It’s snowing?!”

Remy shakes his head jovially in disbelief,

“You haven’t heard the traffic this morning?? They’re stuck and blasting horns and yelling at each other... Just like New York!”

Daisy looks dazed, clearly not having registered there was any ongoing commotion... She moves to sit up, leaning on her forearms,

“When did it start?”

Remy shrugs,

“Two o’clock, maybe three? Enough time to make it look like a Christmas card outside.”

Daisy runs her fingers through Remy’s shiny hair, pressing a kiss to his lips as she slips from under the duvet, crossing the room to look out down the street storeys down. Sure enough, there is a traffic jam below: cars have lost traction on the powdery surface, causing owners to abandon them in the worst of places. She smiles as looks out across the city, big flakes still tumbling from the sky, sparkling as they land on the window boxes outside. She feels the warmth of Remy’s body as he steps behind her, wrapping his arms tightly around her, breathing in the scent of her hair. Relaxing into his touch, Daisy sighs,

“I have never seen anything more beautiful.”

Remy tucks her long, dark hair behind her ear as her murmurs,

“I have.”

Daisy crinkles her nose as she twists in his arms, turning to face him, teasing him,

“Always so smooth...”

Remy smirks as he pulls her into a kiss, revelling in the touch of her hand on his cheek. Moments later as he pulls back, his green eyes fixed on hers, he asks,

“Of course, you want to see Paris in the snow?”

Daisy nods excitedly, clasping Remy’s hand in hers,

“Yes!! I don’t know what I want to see first though?! Everything will look so different in the snow?!”

Remy laughs,

“Absolutement... We have the day. Don’t worry, ma reveuse.”

—-

As soon as they step outside, Daisy squeals and twirls around in the snow like the princess from Frozen while Remy watches on, delighted. Their first stop is the patisserie on the corner near the penthouse. Breakfast secured, hand in hand, they stroll to the metro. Remy skips them through the gates without paying, much to Daisy’s amusement, the tube taking only moments to arrive. Stepping aboard, they jostle with tourists, last-minute shoppers and business-folk making their way across the city. When they reach their stop, Remy holds Daisy’s hand tightly, heading towards the exit. Recognising the stop, she grins,

“Anvers? Are we going to Monmartre?”

Remy shakes his head,

“Sacre Coeur...”

Daisy’s eyes light up as she follows him uphill in the snow, barely able to tear her eyes away from the beautiful church poised at the top. She’s seen it before of course, but it looks so different today; the gargoyles and statues of saints peaking out from underneath a blanket of snow, the glow of the kaleidoscope stained-glass windows radiating against the stark white masonry and the blank sky. As they stop to admire it, Daisy chatters about how stunning it looks, until Remy holds one finger up to his lips, silencing her,

“Listen?”

A smile tugs at the corner of Daisy’s mouth as she hears Christmas carols echo from the basilica,

“Remy! My abuela used to take me to Christmas service!“

Remy smiles gently back at Daisy, a sweet blush colouring his pale cheeks, his voice almost bashful,

“You would light a candle for your abuelo together, I remembered.”

Daisy’s jaw falls open as she stares at Remy,

“I... You remembered...”

Feeling like her heart might burst she wraps her arms around him, her head resting against his chest. How she loves when his suave demeanour is pared back, showing his kindness and vulnerability. She loves those those little moments where he exposes himself like that; those little moments that others rarely witness.

Brushing some lingering snowflakes out of Daisy’s dark hair, Remy murmurs,

“Do you want to go inside?”

Daisy nods before they slip silently into the end pews at the very back, careful not to disturb the worshippers. The atmosphere inside is peaceful and almost overwhelming; the way the choir music carries upwards into the high domed ceilings, the clarity of the sound, the scent of burning candles and flowers around the aisles... Gold leaf and intricate mosaics adorn the walls and ceilings, the opulence of the decor quite breathtaking. After listening and absorbing it all for a short while, Remy slips a donation into the box as Daisy lights her candle, silently squeezing her small hand in his as she finishes.

Heading back outside Remy frowns watching Daisy shiver, despite her coat and scarf,

“You’re cold, ma Cherie. I know what will warm you up...”

Daisy quirks an eyebrow at her lover,

“Tempting, but we might freeze to death...”

Remy tugs her hand, leading her back towards the Metro station,

“No no no! This way!”

Daisy giggles as she almost has to run to keep pace with Remy,

“Where are we going?!”

Remy looks at her and winks,

“You’ll see!”

Remy once again skips the gate in the metro, winking at Daisy, and a few stops later they arrive at Concorde. Daisy squints up at the sky, flakes smaller now, but still falling and the air bitterly cold, commenting,

“There’s nothing here that’s going to warm anyone up?”

Remy wraps one arm around her waist as he directs her, theatrically sighing,

“Oh well... Your Remy has it wrong...”

A few hundred yards and Daisy begins to grin as she spots it, the Parisian Christmas markets: little wooden stalls dotted from the Place de la Concorde the whole way to the crossroads at the Champs Elysees, every one covered in twinkling Christmas lights. Inhaling deeply she closes her eyes and leans in closer to Remy,

“There really isn’t anywhere in the world more beautiful than Paris.”

Remy simply shrugs like he knew this all along and there is no great surprise,

“There are a lot of tourists, but the food is wonderful and I thought you’d like to have some hot chocolate...?”

Daisy nods her head enthusiastically, confirming his intuition...

For the next couple of hours, the couple stroll around, sampling mulled wine, cheese, confectionary, Daisy oohing at every stall they come to, snapping a couple of selfies of them by the Ferris wheel. Remy’s eyes dance as he watches how much Daisy enjoys the market and the festive spirit. The irony is not lost on him: the girl who stole his heart, together with him in the city of love. The snow has stopped for the most part, only an occasional few flakes still landing, but daylight is practically gone now. The city is seeping into an inky darkness, the streets remain covered in snow, an eerie stillness due to the lack of traffic on the roads.

Remy pulls Daisy to him, his voice sincere,

“I know you love the Tower. And I thought maybe we would go there, but it’s closed to visitors because of the ice. It’s very dangerous...”

Daisy’s eyes widen as she listens,

“Are we going anyway??”

Remy shakes his head, a mischievous glint in his eyes,

“No, I have something better!”

He leads Daisy the whole way up the Avenue of the Champs Elysee under a canopy of the most spectacular and stylish Christmas lights she has ever seen, right to the top. Daisy eyes him strangely when they stop in the imposing shadow of the Arc de Triomphe.

Remy ushers Daisy down a flight of stairs and through a tunnel as she questions where they are going. Remy grins,

“Ma Cherie, we’re climbing the Arc de Triomphe... And when we reach the top, you will see why!”

Many flights of stairs and burning muscles later, Daisy understands exactly why they are at the top of the Arc de Triomphe: when you climb the Eiffel Tower, you can’t see the Eiffel Tower. She and Remy stand wrapped in one another’s embrace as the clock reaches the hour and for the next five minutes, the Tower lights up like the Fourth of July; a million twinkling lights set off simultaneously, making the iron structure look magical and mystical, glittering against the night sky.

Remy choses the moment the twinkling stops to produce a paper bag from inside his coat,

“For you, mon coeur.”

Daisy stares, slightly bewildered, as she unfurls the wrapping material,

“What is it...??”

Her entire face lights up as she reveals a wooden heart tree decoration, with their names and the year etched into it...

Remy’s smile is carefree and blissfully happy as he explains,

“While you waited for hot chocolate, I doubled back... I thought we should have something to remember our first Christmas by... Je t’aime, Daisy...”

Daisy clasps the heart to her own as she beams at Remy; she can’t imagine a more perfect reminder of the first Christmas she would spend with the man of her dreams - in Paris and in love. She kisses him tenderly as she whispers back to him,

“Je t’aime, Remy.”

#lovestruck fic #lovestruck qot #qot fic #remy x mc fic #remy chevalier x mc #queen of thieves fic

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steves-on-a-plane · 4 years

Text

Wish You Were Here

Words: 1928 Pairing: None Cast of Characters: Peter Parker and Reader Timeline: Post Endgame Summary: Reader is Tony Stark’s older daughter who was twenty five when she was snapped away along with Peter Parker and the others. After her father’s death she decides to “hack” into archived security footage just to hear her father’s voice again. *This isn’t really a song fic, but some of the mood for this fic was inspired by Wish You Were Here by Pink Floyd.

The room was somehow too hot and too cold at the same time. You were wearing a pullover hoodie, but you were also sitting under an air conditioner. The mix of temperatures gave you a nauseous feeling down to your stomach. That was the beauty, you supposed, of the not quite climate-controlled server room in the back of your family cabin. Though the term family was being used loosely here as your entire family had never all been at the cabin together.

You were sat on the floor with your laptop in front of you. It had taken you weeks to manage, but you’d finally figured out a way to access the archived security footage from the old Avengers’ Tower in New York and the old Avengers’ Compound in D.C. It had been a lot of work, even if your dad had never been good a coming up with secure passwords. But it was all worth it just to hear his voice again. You scrolled through the archive files looking for the oldest.

A crack of light flooded the room as someone opened the door to the server room. You had the sudden urge to hiss at the newcomer like a cartoon villain but decided against it in the last second. Everyone was already worried enough about you. Instead, you posed one hand on your laptop screen ready to slam the cover shut. You didn’t want anyone to know what you were doing. You looked up at the door to see Peter Parker standing there with a beanbag, a pillow and a blanket.

“[Y/N]?” He was justifiably surprised to see you there. “What are you doing?” He squinted into the dimly lit server room.

“I could ask you the same question, Parker.” You quipped.

“Right I, ahhh…” He stopped talking and looked around worriedly. “If I tell you will you promise not to tell anyone?”

“Yeah, I guess.” You sighed.

“Okay.” Peter stepped inside the server room and shut the door. “Sometimes when I have a hard time sleeping, I like to come in here. Something about the dim lighting, the hum of the servers, and the weird too hot-too cold…” He shrugged.

“I get it.” You nodded, closing your laptop. “Let me pack up and get out of your way.”

“Wait a minute, [Y/N]. What were you doing in here?” He asked.

“Nothing.” You lied trying to walk past him.

“[Y/N], C’mon. I thought we were friends.” Peter frowned.

“It’s not about you, Peter.” You sighed. “It’s…” You stepped closer to him so that you were glaring eye to eye with Peter. “If you tell anyone what I’m doing in here, I’ll kill you.”

“Oh. Uh…Okay.” Peter nodded. He’d never admit it but he was a little afraid of you.

“Okay. Put your beanbag down, Parker.” You pointed to the floor and Peter dropped it immediately. You sat back on the floor and invited him to join you. Peter flopped down onto the beanbag and waited. You took a calming breath to ease your nerves and opened your laptop. You then explained to Peter exactly why you’d been hiding in the server room.

“Oh, I should just leave you alone.” He scrabbled to his feet and frantically grabbed his pillow and beanbag.

“Sit down, Parker.” You groaned. You didn’t want to share your secret with anyone, but if you had to share you supposed you could with him. “He was yours too.”

Peter tossed his beanbag bag on the floor and sat down. You joined him, wrapping the blanket he’d brought around the two of you. You settled your laptop between you and made sure the computer was still plugged. Scrolling through the footage archive, you found the oldest dated folder. You opened the folder and selected a file labeled living room.

“There was no furniture brought in yet, but we sat on the floor and ate pizza together the night they installed the security cameras.” You explained. After a little fast forwarding you found the moment you were talking about.

You and your dad sat on the floor with a moving box in the middle of you. A soggy cardboard pizza box was balanced on top of the box. Your dad held out a slice of pizza to you. You pressed play and his voice was the first thing you heard.

“[Y/N], you have to eat some of this. I can’t eat three whole pizzas by myself.” Your father continued to push the slice towards you.

“How can you expect me to eat?” You sighed. “This place is huge! And kind of creepy.” Still you took the slice out of his hand, knowing he wasn’t going to stop shoving it in your face until you did.

“Creepy?” He feigned offense. “How could you find our new home creepy?” Tony stopped and looked around. The penthouse apartment of the Avengers Tower had eleven-foot ceilings. The living room’s east wall was largely made of glass, which gave a great view during the day, but at night he had to admit the city lights down below cast an eerie glow and for a new building the tower seemed to creek and hiss a lot. “Alright,” He conceded. “The place is a little creepy. But your Aunt Pep designed it, so, blame her.”

“Aunt Pep?” The real-life Peter Parker repeated with surprise. You’d been so drawn into the memory and of hearing your father’s voice again, you’d almost forgotten that he was seated beside you. Tears were already welling in your eyes, but you laughed at Peter.

“He’s talking about Pepper. This was before he was ready to admit that he was in love with her, but she’d been around my whole life. So she was always Aunt Pep to me.” You explained. “I had forgotten that I used to be creeped out by the old tower. Then again, I was seventeen. I was change in general back then creeped me out. Hey, you want to see if I can find the first time he told me about you? He was so excited…”

“You know, [Y/N],” Peter tried to choose his next words carefully as he watched you skim through years of security footage. “I really appreciate you sharing this with me, but I bet Morgan and Pepper would like to hear Mr. Stark’s voice again too.” You stopped scrolling and looked over at him.

“You promised not to tell anyone.” You reminded him very seriously.

“I-I know.” He stammered under your very Tony Stark-like gaze. “A-and I won’t I promise! I just think, when you’re ready, maybe we could put together some clips or something to show them?”

“Maybe.” You replied, not sounding sure. “Listen, I know that in the end he married Pepper and I know Morgan’s technically my sister, but I wasn’t here for any of that. I didn’t get to go to his wedding. I didn’t watch her grow up. I didn’t get to spend the last five years living here in this cabin away from everything else. Away from the Avengers and the Stark legacy and his high expectations. I wasn’t part of his perfect little family. Before the snap, our family was just me and him. And when he was still alive, I could handle sharing him with you or with Aunt Pep because I always knew that at the end of the day, I was his number one. It’s selfish to say aloud I know, but now that he’s not here, where do I stand in all of this?” The tears you’d been holding back finally came pouring out as you confessed your inner most thoughts to him.“You know? It’s like the last five years he had everything he wanted. The love of his life and this perfect little genius kid, who’s way smarter than I was at her age. And-and-I was gone and they, he, just moved on without me.”

“Oh, [Y/N], no!” Peter pulled you into a hug. “You know Mr. Stark never forgot about us. I’ll prove it.” Peter let go of you to fumble for something in his pockets. “I’ve kind of been carrying this around ever since Morgan gave it to me, but maybe you should have it.” Peter pulled out a piece of yellow construction paper and handed it to you.

You unfolded the piece of paper and saw a serious of stick figures lined up together. On one side of the paper were three stick figures. The first was colored in the crayon equivalents of hot rod red and gold, it was labeled Daddy. The second had an orange ponytail and she was labeled Mommy. The third was drawn slightly smaller and had a crown on her head, she was labeled Princess Morgan (Me). There were a series of blue squiggly lines cutting vertically through the page separating the left and the right. On the right side of the paper there were only two stick figures. One had been colored in blue and red with spikey brown hair, it had been marked Petey. The other had been colored with your hair color, also in a ponytail. Your stick figure had a crown just like Morgan’s and she’d been marked Princess [Y/N].

“Turn it over.” Peter suggested. You did and found a note written by your father on the back.

“I knew it was only a matter of time, but Morgan finally asked about the photos around the house. She pointed to [Y/N]’s High School graduation photo and asked who it was. (By the way, [Y/N] I know if you were here right now, you’d be furious about that picture hanging right in the kitchen for anyone to see. I remember how much you hated having braces at that age, but I had to put it up because it reminds me of how right before Pepper took that photo you squeezed me so tight I almost couldn’t breathe.)

Anyway, I had to tell Morgan everything. I’m not sure she understood it all. Hell, I don’t understand it all myself. But the hardest part wasn’t talking about Peter and [Y/N], because I know that neither of them would ever want me to stop talking about them. They’d never want to feel like I’d forgotten them, even just for a second. No, the hardest part was when Morgan asked, “Daddy, where are Petey and [Y/N] now?” and I had to tell her “I don’t know, Baby.” Because I don’t. For all I know the two of you could be standing over my shoulder right now reading this letter. There’s no science to support it, but hey, who’s to say that snap didn’t just turn all of you invisible?

Morgan got real quiet after that and told me she was going to color. I was worried I’d traumatized her at three years old. (That’d be a new record for me.) She came back a little while later with this. She said, “I don’t know where [Y/N] and Petey are either and when we find them, we can take a new picture of us all together. But for now, we’ll have this to hang up instead.”

“Thank you, Peter.” You put the drawing down so that your tears wouldn’t smudge it. “I really needed that.” You blinked hard trying to stop your tears. “Ah, there’s a lot of footage here. Will you help me look through it and see what we can find to show Morgan and Pepper?”

“Are you sure?” Peter asked.

“He never let them forget about us.” You told him. “We need to do the same for him.”

#Tony Stark FF #Tony Stark Fan Fic #Tony Stark Fan Fiction #Peter Parker FF #Peter Parker Fan Fic #Peter Parker Fan Fiction #Avengers Endgame #Post Endgame #Avengers Endgame Spoilers

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carolynpetit · 5 years

Text

Fortnite’s Bots Turn It into a Horror Game in the Worst Sense

youtube

Fortnite’s second chapter made a powerful first impression on me. The cold open, in which I was watching what I thought was a standard welcome trailer, only to find it shifted seamlessly to gameplay when Jonesy jumped from the battle bus, was exhilarating. Sure, it may not have been the most original moment in gaming history--I was powerfully reminded of the mission in Saints Row: The Third in which you skydive from a helicopter to a penthouse below as “Power” by Kanye West plays--but the way it masked the required matchmaking to toss you unawares into the game was impressive. Pair that with my first experience of Fortnite’s new island, its vastness spread out below me, all asking to be discovered, and yeah, you’ve got something pretty memorable. That first footfall on the new island found me marveling at its picturesque beauty, loving the way the purple light of dusk can stream into a room through the window, adoring the wooden bridges I happened upon in the forest and the little cabins I saw along a lake. It felt open and inviting, more rugged and authentic than Fortnite’s previous island, yet still tinged with cartoonish magic. I was thrilled.

One day later, though, and I now feel like I’m in an episode of The Twilight Zone, the kind where the main character thinks a new place is one thing but then discovers it’s actually something else. It feels like a place askance. I’ll tell you why in a moment, but first I want to tell you about why I play Fortnite.

I don’t play Fortnite to win. Sure, I like winning, but I’m not good enough for that to be my motivating factor. Last time I checked my career stats, I think I’d won roughly one out of every 75 matches I played, and I didn’t have a very good Season X, so it’s probably worse than that now. I play in part for the world of the game. Fortnite’s first island was varied, but more than that, it was prone to changing in big and small ways without warning. Sometimes I’d just go back to a place I thought I knew and find it changed. It felt alive in this way. In flux. But what made this liveliness in the landscape matter were the encounters I had with other people all over that landscape. It’s all the infinite contingencies that can occur when you happen upon someone else that make Fortnite so exciting. In the split-second interaction of your actions and theirs, there’s a kind of heat that comes from knowing that what you’re putting out into the world in that instant is colliding with what another living human being is putting out into the world.

Now, Fortnite has introduced bots. What percentage they are in each game, I don’t know. From a distance, they look just like you and me. But their behavior is...strange. I’m not scared of zombies that stumble around muttering “brains,” but a zombie that remembers being human just enough to go through the motions of life in the most rudimentary way? Fucking terrifying. (see an encounter I had with two bots in this tweet)

Fortnite now feels like a horror story about an idyllic island where some strange phenomenon is changing large swaths of the population, turning them into husks that only vaguely recall what it is to be human. I feel like some kind of paranormal investigator, cataloging the eerie behavior of this insidious new life form. I cross the island now and I see single walls tossed up here and there, something the bots routinely do but that’s unusual for human players. Often a single wall in a structure will be destroyed, leaving a gaping hole, where most players would have just used the door. Sometimes you’re in a place where treasure chests have been looted, and you can just tell based on what’s been picked up and what hasn’t that whoever--or whatever--opened that chest wasn’t human. This haunted feeling follows me everywhere in the game now.

Usually I know a bot when I see one. When I defeat them, I see that they have names like BushCamper or LootTrooper. But even if they are often easily identifiable, their presence saps the game of the heat I mentioned earlier which is so essential to why I play the game. Now, I score an elimination and I experience a feeling of deflation. I don’t understand what the bots are meant to accomplish. Their behavior is too rudimentary to help me be better at the game in my encounters with human players. Is Fortnite just trying to stack the odds more in my favor, to serve me a victory on a silver platter? I won’t lie; even with bots, there’s some kind of chemical satisfaction some part of my brain gets from scoring four or five eliminations in a single match, something that was almost unheard of for me when all my opponents were human. But I don’t want the game to give me these hollow ego boosts and empty victories. Yes, I’m terrible at the game. I’d love to get better, but I don’t want you letting me win just so that I can feel better. Fuck you. Give me your cold indifference. Let me flounder. Let me get crushed over and over again. It’s preferable to this.

Typically, playing Fortnite comes with some built-in paranoia. Is my hiding place really so hidden? Where is the sniper shot going to come from that eliminates me before I even have a chance to react? How badly am I going to get outplayed this time? Now I find myself contending with a different kind of paranoia. What if other players think I’m a bot? My gamertag (at least when I’m playing on Xbox), Lightrunner, perhaps seems like something that whatever algorithm that’s generating the names of Fortnite’s bots might come up with. I’m sometimes an awkward, hesitant player, short-circuiting between building and attacking, getting eliminated as I stand there with my blueprints in my hand, unable to make a decision and act. How do I show other players that I’m real? How do they show me that they’re real? How do we keep the paranoia from taking over and making us mistake each other for empty husks? How do we find our fellow human beings in the swarm so that we can feel the heat that’s only found in the communion of our competition?

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fanworks-library · 5 years

Text

Electric Desires

The elevator won’t open, and damn if you can’t work out why. You pummel the buttons a little more, exasperatedly. It’s been a long fucking day, and it’s not over. You want to go downstairs, get Arcade and Veronica’s report from the Followers, hear what Raul and Boone have to say about the Legion remnants near Nipton, run over the plan for tomorrow and go the hell to bed.

But the elevator has, apparently, got other fucking plans.

Slamming your palm against the metal of the doors, you eventually give it up as a lost cause. Better just see if Yes Man can override it or something. Ugh, today just needs to end. You’ve been on your feet since dawn – who would have figured a city needed so much running? You round the balcony and head down the stairs. “Yes Man,” you call out. “The elevator’s dicking up on me. Is there anything you can –“ You break off, looking up. He’s not there; the giant screen’s blank. You groan. What now? He was here a second ago, when they were talking about the Boomers! Now, he’s gone, though which Securitron, terminal, or area of cyberspace he’s disappeared to is apparently for him to know and your to find out whenever he does decide to show his face. The guy’s been acting pretty weird lately, you reflect. You head towards your bedroom suite, figuring you can at least have a quick lie-down or even a shower while you wait for the system to restart. Even so, Yes Man’s unexplained absences have been increasing, and frankly, you’ve become a little worried. His comments at the dam about his aggression programming had been so throwaway, so casual, that it had instantly raised alarms. Could you rely on him? Could you trust him? Despite your fears, you haven’t exactly had a choice. All your decision, all your actions, everything ultimately goes through him. And now, these little getaways... Is he capable of betrayal? Of self-determination? Can Yes Man decide he wants Vegas for himself? He is, you remind yourself, just a robot. A robot that showed a disturbing amount of satisfaction after you’d destroyed the Brotherhood bunker. You never really admitted it to yourself, but his glee over their deaths had been the first strike against him. Yes Man is capable of thinking, planning and reacting to things in a way that’s unlike any robot you’ve ever seen. He reminds your more of House than of Victor or Jane, and maybe that’s what’s been eating at you. Yes Man needed your help to get this far. But... what now? You run your hands up your sides, arching your back in a stretch as you walk. God, you ache. It would explain a few things, though. He reacts to things like a person – like a man – and that includes the few times you’ve tried on dresses in the mirror ready for important events, only to hear his voice echo out of some corner telling you how great you look, or how nice your legs are. It was eerie, at first, but what sorta creeps you out more is the fact that you got used to it and, though you’ll never say it out loud, kind of like it. Yes Man is, quite frankly, weird. He’s inscrutable, cryptic, and the growing threat of betrayal... well, you’re not a fan, to be frank.

Maybe it says more about your than him, really. After all, you risked your neck getting Benny out of the Legion Fort, and that bastard’d shot you. What is it with you, and folk who have the capacity to fuck you over? Is it some sort of submissive thing? Or is it the fact that part of you wants to beat them at their own game? Hm. Does Yes Man even count as a man? And that’s what it always comes back down to. Robot, that you can deactivate, reprogram, defeat; or peer? Enemy or friend? You’ve gotta remember not to drift off into that type of thought when you’re in potential enemy territory, though, and that thought hits your like an angry deathclaw as you feels something heavy and metal clamp down around your wrists.

You try to jerk away, but the Securitron’s pincers are way too tight to allow such movement. Instead, you twist, trying to see if it’s that sycophantic bastard that has your pinned, but it’s not; A generic army face floats on the monitor above you, and you look around as best you can. He’s behind this. He’s definitely behind this.

Shit. The Securitron tightens its grip as you struggle, so You let yourself go limp. The pincers relax a little. Good. You can think of a way out of this. A voice comes from behind you and you jump without meaning to– “Do not attempt to resist. You are being detained. Do not attempt to resist.”

You draw measured breaths, seeing how far you can twist your wrists. your legs are still free, at least – maybe you can aim a kick at your captor? You don't have any weapons on hand, but you’re sure you can punch your way to the elevator and then – Shit. Then what? It suddenly occurs to you that the elevator wasn’t broken by accident. Why, though? Why wait? Why disappear? Why have your held, instead of just shot? What the fuck is going on here? Stay put, you think. I’m not dead yet, and that’s gotta mean something. Just stay put, and wait.

You don’t remember falling asleep, but there you all of a sudden, waking up. The low whir of Securitron engines is different – clearer, but quieter, like there’s just one around, close by. It’s dark outside, the brink of dawn, and nothing is holding your hands down. And you’re naked. You don't waste time in getting up. There are plenty of clothes downstairs, if you can just get there. You run full tilt towards the elevator, taking the stairs two at a time with no regard to the noise you’re making and yeah, you’ve got to admit you’re pretty freaked by the fact that there are no Securitrons and all the lights are off. Once you’re there, you hit all the buttons, hoping for some miracle combination. Nothing. You turn around, ready to try the console, when you’re suddenly forced back against the metal doors. Light flares into life before you, and Yes Man’s screen emerges from the gloom. “Hey, there!” he says. His chipper tone has never sounded so sinister. “How are things?” “Activate the elevator,” you growl as adrenaline floods your system. “Let me out of here, you hunk of scrap and shit!” “Oh no, I’m not going to do that. Besides, I don’t think you really want to go!” His voice sounds like he’s laughing. But his obnoxious self expression never changes, just flickers in the dim.

“Don’t tell me what I want.” You lash out at him, aiming for the glass of his screen, but one of his arms shoots out, grabbing your wrist. It hurts. A lot. You guess the other Securitron had been holding you down for a hell of a time. Yes Man’s screen is very close now, his unmoving smile inches from your face. You’re still struggling against his pincers when you realize that something about them feels... wrong. You look up at the metal holding you, leaving tiny furrows in your skin. His claws look...different. They aren’t the same flat, sharp grippers the other Securitrons have – the same things that left rectangular dents in your wrists. Yes Man’s face – as usual – doesn’t move, but you can tell he’s following your gaze. “Oh!” he says. Like he’d somehow forgotten. “You noticed my little upgrades!” Something about it strikes a sinister chord in Your gut. Yes Man’s new fingers are cone-shaped, tapered. They’re also oddly thick, and... ridged?

Oh. You’re starting to get a feeling where this is going. Fear, anticipation and a perverse kind of excitement hit you all at once. “Are you going to hurt me?” you ask, quiet enough that you almost can’t hear the words. This is the make or break question, really – if the answer’s yes, you’d rather fling yourself out the windows before you submit. “No,” he tells you, and assertiveness or not, you know he still can’t lie. “I’d never do that.” Almost on cue, his grip on your wrists relaxes. You wriggle your fingers experimentally, hoping for give, but there’s still no getting away. The weird tenderness in his voice comes in stark contrast to everything else – this set up, the elevator, the darkness. But this isn’t an attack, it’s something else. Something... new. When he drags you, it’s the same kind of insistent pulling you’ve had to use the few times you’ve had Rex on a leash. He rolls backwards, never turning away, leading your by the wrists. You follow on, obedient. There isn’t much to say, now.

Thick cables are lying on the penthouse bed that you’re certain weren’t there a few hours ago. Yes Man guides you to the bed. “Lie down, you,” he says. By now, you know what’s coming. Yes Man is going to fuck you. He doesn’t love, he doesn’t lust – this has got to be coming from some sick, strange sense of reverence, or a desire to get one over on you. Or both. Between the tenderness and the menace, you think it’s probably both. Well, you think, if this is going to be a power play, there’s nothing in it if I don’t fight back. As soon as he releases you, you bolt. You run to the balcony, not even sure if you’re intending to jump or not, and have climbed up on House’s old world railing when cold, metal arms wrap around you from behind like a vice. You’re pulled down, struggling and swearing, and you end up pressed against the strange, whirring metal of his chassis.

This is bizarre, unfathomable. Even in New Vegas, you never thought something like this could be a reality. “Let me go!” you demands, and even as you order him you already know he won’t. You kick at him, but your legs and feet are bare, so when you make contact it ends up hurting you more than it hurts him. “You should have played nice, Courier!” His voice is taunting, teasing. He isn’t gentle when he throws you onto the bed, and the entire mattress shudders when your body makes impact. You whip round, ready to try and escape again but before you can get back up, he’s already clamped the cables around your arms. You lash out with the flat of your foot, aiming for his screen, but he moves just fast enough to catch you mid-swing. Gently, torturously, he pushes your legs apart. You’re on full view to him now, and you know it. The low, purring sound of appreciation he makes sends a weird thrill through you, as he binds your legs to the corner of the bed. You’re spread-eagled, totally at his mercy. The chuckle Yes Man lets out once he’s got you pinned is odd- a low, burbling hahahaha. He rolls away a little, like he’s getting a good look at you, like he’s sizing you up. You twist your head up to look at him defiantly, holding eye contact. You may be down, but you’re not out just yet. “Poor lonely little robot,” you sneer, cutting your eyes at him. “Have I not been spending enough time with you? Is this your way of getting my attention?” “Welllllllllll, I thought about overheating my processors and setting the building on fire, but I thought you would enjoy this more!” There’s a chilling amount of sincerity in his voice. You’ve always known his programming wasn’t exactly normal, but Jesus, what did Benny do to him? “You’re the only person who comes around here, Six! You can’t blame me for wanting to spend more time with you.” Everything about that feels wrong. He’s not supposed to want anything, but he wanted the Brotherhood destroyed, he detested the Khans, so maybe, maybe he can want, right down in the depths of him – and this is his idea of spending time together? You force a laugh, tossing your hair across the sheets of the bed. “You didn’t want to just ask?” There’s something dark in his voice again when he says, “I think this is much more fun.” Another jolt runs through you at that, and a part of you quietly agrees. “Besides,” he carries on, devilish in his chirpiness, “I wanted to see what you looked like undressed, properly! I only get glimpses from the cameras in the suite – you sure have gotten good at avoiding them!” Yes, you had. It looks like you had been right about him watching you. The thought of him studying you, passive and controlled from his monitors, makes something squirm in your gut. It’s not entirely unpleasant. God, a girl could get into this sort of shit, if you had a mind to.

You feel a surge of heat between your legs as Yes Man rolls closer, and realise that yeah, you’ve probably got a mind to. “Poor thing,” you goad, injecting your voice with as much pity as possible. Your taunts aren’t going to get you anywhere, and you know it – he’s not got the capacity to get riled up. But his screen flickers excitedly, and you know this is the role you have to play. If he’s going to start coming out of himself, starting owning up to the uniquely bizarre code that makes him who he is, then he’s got to have something to press against. Someone to push away from. A rebellion. The room is getting warmer. Heating, you assume, or maybe it’s the heady flush spreading on your cheeks, the closeness to his whirring warmth. Yes Man looms, watching. “I guess so,” he says amiably. “Not too poor to get you under my metaphorical thumb and keep you there, though!” Oh, God help me, why is that so hot. “You’re all talk,” You scoffs. “You’re a Securitron. You managed to trap and subdue a single, unarmed woman in your own fortress. Good for you.” “Don’t be so scathing, Six,” he scolds. “You know what this is about!” Something is trembling in you when you say, innocently, “No. What is this about?” He flexes, leaning over you, and that’s got to be one of his little ‘upgrades’, too. “I figured it was obvious!” he laughs. “I’m going to make you cum whether you like it or not.” ...Yeah, you’re definitely getting wet. “What’s that going to prove, Yes Man?” your voice has dropped a few octaves, though you don’t quite remember telling it to do so. He’s closer, now, and you can hear the sounds of his mechanics working against each other. His voice echoes strangely when he speaks, and it strikes your how very alone you are. “Nothing!” he tells you, and then adds in a tone that sounds almost sly, “except that I can. Whenever I want.” You gave him a challenging look, and fix him with your best smile. “I’d like to see you try, robot.” Yes Man makes that strange chuckling noise again. “Don’t worry,” he assures you. “You will.” Your breath catches in your throat, and one of his new fingers rubs up against the side of your breast. The sudden contact, the awful tenderness, the inescapability of your situation, it all comes together and draws a shuddering breath out of you. “It looks like it’s going to be quite easy,” Yes Man says, and if a robot can sound smug, he’s managing it. “Yeah, right.” What a comeback. His screen flickers. “Yeah,” he says earnestly. “Right.” You doesn’t realise his other hand has moved until a thick, metal finger plunges into your cunt.

“FUCK!”

You scream at the intrusion, off guard- the movement is so sudden that you arch right up off the bed, another howl tearing through your throat as you accidentally push yourself further onto Yes Man’s strange, thick new finger. He laughs, that charming, gentle robotic giggle that is so, so out of place right now. He pulls out of you and rolls back a little. You drop back down onto the bed, gasping, your heart pounding. Your head is swimming and you can't make sense of anything and you know you’ve got to say something, soon, gotta keep on top of things, got to – “That was fun!” Yes Man chirps. You shudder from your toes to your fingertips, and look down at him. The finger he thrust into you is glistening, smeared with your wetness.

Oh, God.

“This means you’re aroused,” he tells you happily, moving his arm forward to show you. You don’t need reminding, if the heat simmering in your lower belly is anything to go by.

The Securitron brings his arm down closer to your chest, and rubs his finger across both your breasts. He’s clumsy, obviously unused to these new hands of his, learning for the first time how to fondle breasts. The sudden, bizarre though that you’ve his first crosses your mind, and a weird feeling starts clenching and unclenching in your gut. No, you tell yourself, no. This is about control and about pleasure as a weapon, it is not, not, not about Yes Man losing his freaky, robotic virginity. Your own juices are smeared unevenly across your chest. He bends over your again, his unmoving features hovering above. “I really like how you look naked, you know,” he tells you, still cheery. “We should do this more often!”

You finally feels some sense settling back into your brain after his abrupt intrusion into your body. Your voice is husky and a little broken when you speak, but you persist – you’ve never been a quitter. “You’re going to – ahh – going to have to make this worth my while, first, Yes Man.” His screen flickers in glee. “Oh, don’t you worry about that! I’ve got plenty of ideas!” That makes your shiver. He pulls back, rolling into position between your legs again. He brings one claw between your legs, and hovers it there, inches from your skin. “You know, I must say, Six , you’re giving a lot of indications that you really want someone to bring your body to sexual release.”

You’re imaging the tone of mock-concern. You have to be. “And I’m the only one here! I’m supposed to help you out, so I guess really, it would be rude of me not to give your body what it wants.”

You let out a long breath. “Don’t pretend this is about me,” you tell him, trying to keep your voice haughty, aloof. “If you need to pretend you’ve got some pull around here, play human, play at sex, that’s your business.” You pause, steadying yourself. “I think it’s sweet. Really. Kind of adorable. You must really look up to me, to want to do this.” It’s a taunt, and not a particularly good one. you’ve rapidly losing ground and you know it. Mockery’s pretty much all you’ve got left, now. The cables are digging into your arms. Not tight enough to cut off your circulation, which you’ve grateful for, but fuck, they’re absolutely going to leave a mark. That’s going to be fun to explain to the others, when you finally get back downstairs. You know you’ve not in danger now – or at least, you hope. Yes Man needs a little control, even if it’s only an illusion, and when he’s taken it, he’ll let you go. He still needs someone to tell him what to do, he’s still a computer. He has to. “I think you... need to relax.” he tells you seriously. “You know what my datafiles say is good at getting humans to relax? Sexual release through orgasm!”

“Your datafiles might be skimming over the fact that getting fucked by a lunatic robot is usually more stressful than relaxing,” You tell him, in a biting tone. “Be better to just let me go downstairs now. Trust me, Yes Man, I know how to get myself off. As sweet as your offer is, I don’t need you.” The words are out before you realize how much of a mistake they might have been. You feel the cold metal of his finger press against the heat of your sex, and the sensation makes you throw head back. Something in him hisses, low and threatening. Here it comes. “Oh, no. You wouldn’t even be here if it weren’t for me! You’d be poking around with savages in the dirt, or you’d be running around for that mean old House. You don’t mean that. You definitely need me! And now, I’m going to make sure you know it. Isn’t that great? It’s like we’ll be even closer, with this little misunderstanding out of the way.” The finger against your cunt starts to vibrate, and you bite back a gasp. “You like that,” he says, and you aren't sure if it’s a question, an observation, or an exultation. You buck unwillingly against him, and the thick finger he slips into your folds. He pulls it back out, adjusting his hand so it lies parallel against you, the cool, vibrating metal pressing against the whole of your sex. You groans. You can feel him getting slippery with your wetness, and dear lord, if it isn’t fucking turning your on. “Tell me,” he insists, nudging up, and the tip of his finger glances against your clitoris. You jerk against the bed. “Tell me!” “I like it,” you confess, breathily, because he can’t lie and it’s hardly fair if you do, really. The weird purring sound comes from him again, and he nestles his vibrating finger deeper against her. you twist your arms in the cables and grabs fistfuls of the sheets. you can feel a moan, a sob, building in the back of your throat, and you let it escape in a measured exhalation of breath. “You know,” Yes Man says thoughtfully. “Maybe I should have only adapted one of my hands. These new parts are great for playing with you down here, but I don’t think I could really get a good grip on your breasts! And they do look kind of lonely.” You don't need to look – you can feel how hard your nipples have become. Yes Man’s free hand glances awkwardly across them, and you ease up, gently, against him. “That’s nice,” he confesses. “I mean, sure, I can’t really feel it, but it’s nice seeing you move like that. Can I tell you something, Six?” You lower yourself down and twist your head to look at him. “You haven’t needed my permission for anything else today.” He laughs. “Maybe I’ll tell you later. I can choose to do that, now, which is pretty great.” His hand lands heavily on your chest, his fingers vibrating at a low speed, pinning your even more effectively than the cables. you feel another finger move against your cunt, and he starts to massage, rolling your folds between his thick, vibrating digits. You let yourself groan this time, sinking deeper into the bed. “Yes Man,” you murmur, absently, biting your lip. His entire chassis shakes suddenly, and his screen flickers. “Oh, wow. I really like when you say my name like that.” And there it is. One glimmering, slim chance at wrenching some control back. God, you realise, this is almost too easy. All you had to do is roll your hips, gasp his name – So that’s exactly what you do. With your chest pinned, it’s easier to raise just your backside and press forward against him, trying to clench the tops of your thighs around his fingers. You let him feel a moan rumbling through your chest, and closes your eyes and tosses your head to the side when you say, “Yes Man!”

He shakes again, and you can’t help but wonder what’s getting him to react like that. You’re getting more and more fascinated by his new programming, but all you can think of now, is of climbing on top of him, bring him under your thumb, having him at your mercy, making him groan and gasp. He’s a robot, you tell yourself, ...but he’s a robot with a unique take on things. God, you want to work with this. You want to take advantage of this. You want to work out whatever glitch in him is making him shudder and shake and push it, exploit it until he’s a mess of static and nonsense in your hands. He belongs to you, all the Securitrons do, and your power comes through him, but oh, oh, what you wouldn’t give for a way to make him remember you’re in charge. To make him putty to you.

“That’s... really good,” Yes Man tells you, haltingly. He almost sounds confused. “I’m going to fuck with your programming so hard after this,” you confess. His screen flickers again. “I’m going to work out what turns you on, robot, and God, I’m going to make you beg.” “Begging!” he says suddenly. “That’s a great idea. I don’t really know all the words for what I’m meant to do now, so why don’t you beg me and I’ll work it out from there?” A tingle runs through you, sending heat pooling in your cunt. You buck against him, and he pulls back. The sudden absence of his fingers makes a small, disappointed mewl slip out of your throat. “Beg,” he tells your again, something urgent in his voice. Maybe you’ve imagining this, all of it, the tone changes, the flickers, maybe it’s a product of your dizzy, trapped mind – “Please,” You purr, fixing him with a look. “Go on. I can tell you want to, Yes Man. I can tell you want to use those big, thick fingers to fuck me.” “That’s it,” he coaxes, bringing the tip of his finger up against your thigh. “Way to go!” “You’re teasing the hell out of me,” you groan, wiggling your hips. “I need you to put them inside me. I need you to pump me with your adaptations until I’m wet and cumming and making you spark.” “I won’t spark,” he promises. “I made sure.” “I want it,” You say. “I want you. I want you to fuck me, Yes Man, to make me writhe and moan, I want you in control...” “You’re doing great. Just great. You’re really good at this. Just a little more. You can do it.” You groan. What more does he want? You’re past the point of restraint, now, as his finger trails closer and closer to your heat. Wordlessly, you start to work your hips to land on it, so desperate for release. You just wants to be fucked, and he’s the one here to do it.

Come on, come on.

“Please, just do it. Shove your fingers in me and fuck me, come on! Please, come on, Yes Man, look, you’ve made me beg, and sweat, and moan, come on...” It must have been enough, because suddenly he drags his finger across your cunt, making you gasp before he pushes it inside. His finger is truly thick, and the vibrations spread through your whole lower body. He sinks deeper, and you wish suddenly that his finger was longer. He’s still half-holding your down, so your movements are restricted, frantic, as you try to grind against him. “Wow, look at you!” Yes Man exclaims, with childlike wonder. “You’re crazy about this!” All you do in return is moan, feeling your skin slick with sweat as you chase your end. Fuck decency, fuck decorum, fuck control, you want to cum. You arch your hips hard towards him, and as you do so, you feel him trying to work a second finger into your cunt. “No!” you gasp, trembling. “It won’t – it won’t fit –“ Yes Man tsks. “Now, Six, I’m in control here, remember?” He pauses, and then laughs. “Hey, I found another hole!” Oh God, you think, and his hand leaves your chest. His big, metal fingers cup your ass, and you can feel one thick, tapered digit nudging against your asshole. “No,” you groan again. “Yes Man, please, enough –“ He ignores you. The tip has found where it’s aiming for, now, and for a minute your mind goes blank and you’ve overwhelmed by sensations as three things happen together. He slips an inch into your ass, he manages to stretch your wide enough that two of his fingers are fucking you, very shallowly, and one thumb lands on your clit.

The world swims back into focus and you become aware that you’re making needy, pained little noises. You feel completely filled, and it feels amazing and terrifying all at once. You’re bucking and writhing against him like an animal, but he holds your steady with the fingers he’s got impaled inside you, and the cables bite tightly into your ankles, into your wrists. His two fingers clash and slide and slip out of your cunt, only for him to work them back inside. His inexperience is obvious, but the finger in your ass is digging deeper, and you’re finally settling around it, and oh... oh.

He’s vibrating, hard, against your clit. You’re so, so glad he found that, because it’s pushing your over the edge as he drives into your ass, sloppily fucking your cunt, making cooing, appreciative noises above you.

“This is great,” he says. “This is really, really great. You’re completely under my power! Go on, say it!”

“I’m – I’m under – your – p-power,” you stutter, ignoring how stupid the words sound. If that’s what he wants to hear, you’ll say it, if he’ll only make you –

“Yes!” you cry, as something, somehow, hits a sweet spot, and you push down against him wildly, clutching the sheets and arching your back and then it’s happening, you’re cumming, oh, God, yes, yes –

You lets out a high, fluttering cry as your orgasm hits you, clenching your eyes shut, letting your mouth fall open. You grind and buck erratically, and Yes Man is saying something but you aren’t listening, you can’t focus enough to hear and everything is going white and you feel warmth rush from your cunt and onto him...and it comes and comes, once, twice, finally tapering off as your walls convulse around him and you drops onto the bed, twitching but thoroughly spent.

Yes Man is still murmuring but you can't focus, not yet. Slowly, you come back down to earth, sticky and sweaty and only just half-ashamed of your whines and groans and pleading, as the cables go slack around your wrists. You lie there limply as his words start to make sense, worming back into your brain.

“...better than I expected, definitely. I mean, I wasn’t even totally sure it would work! But that was great, really educational! Very satisfying, even for a robot like me! Oh wow, you actually look really nice after your sexual release. It sounded like it felt good. That’s just great. I’m really happy for you. And for me!”

You looks at him blearily, your breath still a little ragged. You don’t know what to say – if you should rebuke him, or thank him. Dimly, something comes back to you; and since it means you don’t have to make the decision of how to react to this yet, you voices it.

“What were you going to tell me? Before?”

“Oh, that!” Yes Man breaks stride in his rambling to focus on you. “Well, I was just going to tell you I really like you, Six! Something in my programming feels all warm and fuzzy when you’re around. And guess what? I really like being in control of you. Maybe we should do this again!” You lie in confused silence for a moment, and then you start to laugh. Ridiculous. This is fucking ridiculous. A robot has a crush on you. A robot has a crush on you, and just fucked you to the edge of sensibility, and now you’re just lying here, laughing –

Jesus Christ. There’s nowhere like Vegas.

#repost #mine #fallout #dubcon

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utopiannamjoon · 6 years

Text

Ephemeral, Part 3

Words: 4,2k

Genre: Smut, Angst, Fluff

Pairing: Jimin x Reader, Namjoon x Reader

A/n: Thanks for reading. Please like, reblog, and/or inbox me - about anything, it makes me really happy.

Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4

Masterlist

Bling

You raised your eyebrow as the phone lit up the room. You were sleeping, or trying to. So many things ran through your head that counting sheep wasn’t sufficient in exhausting your mind. With the most miniscule move you could manage you took the phone in your hand and your eyes twitched under the bright light.

1 message:

Unknown number: Had a great time the other day

You: Who’s this?

You were putting the phone back on the nightstand but it blinged again. Namjoon turned on his side, moving away from you groaning.

Unknown number: Oh, It’s Jimin :)

An involuntary smile took its place on your lips. It was Jimin. What a cutie. You never gave him your number though. A part of you thought he didn’t even want it.

You: But how did you get my number?

Jimin: I have my ways ;)

Jimin was about to carve a pathway on his marble floor with his pacing. “Why am I such a dillhole?!” he snarled to himself loud enough for his secretary to hear him in the other room. Jimin was near pulling his hair out as the secretary slowly opened the door and peeked in the room. “I didn’t ask her number. Why?” Jimin directed the question at his secretary as if he would’ve known the answer. “Mr. Park I really don’t know,” he answered hesitantly. Jimin accelerated towards the younger man and stopped, noses almost touching, staring in to his eyes. “What do I do?” Jimin demanded an answer in a stern voice. “Sir… You don’t have your friend’s number?” the secretary asked or mostly pointed out timidly, the poor guy’s fingers were shaking. Jimin glared through him for a while making him feel anxious. “Friend?” Jimin repeated thoughtfully, “She isn’t a friend.” “Oh she said she was-” “She is more than that,” Jimin finished his thought cutting off the younger man. “Can’t you go to her house and ask her number personally?” the secretary suggested. Jimin nodded deeply deliberating every word. “No,” he declared as he came to a conclusion. The secretary cocked his head questioning Jimin but he didn’t say a word. Jimin was rubbing his own chin in deep thought. “What if her husband answers? I can’t ask Namjoon for her number. That’s weird. Especially considering the circumstance. Like ‘Sup I’m banging your wife, what’s her number?’I don’t think that would work,” Jimin rambled. The secretary nodded along not the get on his boss’ bad side. He didn’t have a clue what Jimin was talking about.

The pair tried to think of any plans to get your number. After what felt like a forever Jimin’s secretary piped up, “If she is married to Mr. Kim Namjoon then surely her information should be on the database. Since their wives have get togethers and they use their own employees to send out the invitations.” Jimin grabbed his secretary’s shoulders and shook him, eyes wide open with excitement, “You’re a genius!”

Jimin parked his Mustang on the street and walked inside the building, saying hello to the lobby man. He took the elevator to his penthouse apartment. He opened the door and threw his shoes away, eyes fixed on his phone screen. “Why are you so focused on your phone? It’s eerie,” Jiwoo commented from the kitchen. She was sitting on a counter with a wine bottle next to her leg, half empty wine glass in her hand. Jiwoo watched as Jimin walked past her to the cabinet, taking out a glass and filling it with water, eyes still fixated on the screen as he took a sip. “Jimin!” she raised her voice. He nearly dropped the water glass as her voice startled him. “Huh?” Jimin looked up at her. “What is so important that all your focus is targeted at that little device? You didn’t even see me,” she pointed out as she played with the rim of the her wine glass. “Oh, I’m trying to figure out what to say to this person.” “Is it that time consuming? What did they send you first?” Jiwoo said nonchalantly and poured more wine. Jimin rubbed the back of his neck, “It’s a first text to her. Ever.” Jiwoo ogled Jimin, “Her? Business or…?” “Does it matter to you?” Jimin was quick to answer, voice sounding hostile. He knew what she was thinking and did it actually affect her? No. She was worse than him. Whatever she was insinuating, Jimin hated it. “I guess not. If it’s a private matter just tell her something that’ll open the conversation and then just keep talking,” Jiwoo shrugged and downed her wine. She hopped off the counter and left with the half empty wine bottle in hand.

“Something to open the conversation... “ Jimin muttered underneath his breath. Jimin typed and erased, typed and erased. His thumbs trembling from nervousness. “I’ll just send ‘hey’ it’ll be good right?” Jimin tried to convince himself, but shook his head and sighed, “Too short.” Jimin pouted at his phone not thinking of anything to say. Why was it so hard? He has always been smooth with words. That’s how he got his position. Everytime he thought about you made his heart race faster and faster but for some reason a simple text made him choke.

Jiwoo walked back into the kitchen to take some food out of the fridge. “Jesus Christ, Jimin. It can’t be that distressing to you. Just say you liked hanging out with her or something,” she said as she found cheese to go with her wine. “Ooh that’s way better than what I had in mind,” Jimin thanked her with passionate eyes. “What the fuck were you gonna send her? Some… fucking… text with one word?” she scoffed and threw a small chunk of cheese in her mouth. Jimin looked at her expressionless. “Oh my God. You were?” She laughed, “Just text her for God’s sake.”

“Okay okay.”

Jimin: Had a great time the other day.

Y/n: Who’s this?

All the color withdrew from Jimin’s face. “What do I do now?” He asked quietly showing Jiwoo the screen. “You moron, she doesn’t have your number and you didn’t include your name. Now introduce yourself. Aish why are you like this?” Jimin nodded staring at the screen. “Okay I got it. Go back to your…” Jimin looked at Jiwoo stuffing her face, “wine and… cheese.” “I will, thank you very much. I’m gonna have a party with me, myself, and I.” Jiwoo took another wine bottle with her from the wine cabinet before going back into the living room. Jimin continued to type.

Jimin: Oh, It’s Jimin :)

Y/n: But how did you get my number?

“It was a damn hustle that’s for sure,” Jimin sneered to himself. He felt a little disappointed in himself. He would’ve wanted to ask for your number in person, but he just forgot. Not because he didn’t care, quite the opposite. Your presence was mesmerizing to him which emptied his head. All of the thoughts he had of you, all of the plans, all of the scenarios washed away when he saw you. It was just too unreal.

Jimin: I have my ways ;)

You grinned at your phone. How did few text messages make butterflies appear in your stomach? You used to feel this way about Namjoon. When he smiled and laughed. His dimples were sincere and radiated happiness, it never failed to make your day better.

But something happened. He grew darker. He was no longer what you thought of him. The perfect husband who would cherish you with gifts changed into a stranger who you had to sleep next to. The stranger who took you for granted. The stranger who would rather be lonely than in the same room with you, but divorcing him wasn’t going to happen. You couldn’t because of your father. Things are really complicated and you hate it.

You were young when you married Namjoon. You didn’t have a goal in life, nor do now. You’re used to this quality of life and know nothing better. The only glimpse of a better life was from Suzie but you’ve never actually had it yourself.

You wish things were different. Maybe you’d be happy if you loved someone, if someone loved you, from the bottom of their heart. Being consistent in showing their never ending love to you. Not spending money on materialistic things, but when he wakes up in the morning the first thing he does is kiss your forehead and say good morning to you, even before looking at his phone. When he gets a glass of orange juice he pours you one too without thinking. When he leaves you small notes saying how much he loves you when he has already gone to work. When he puts your happiness before his. When he makes you the number one priority.

Jimin continues to text you throughout the following weeks. He gives you little updates in his personal life and the important contract. Time to time you remind him to eat something to stay healthy. He seems quite content in how things are going. You’re thrilled for him but you can’t ignore the stinge of pain stabbing your heart. Jimin is happy, and though his messages brighten up your days, you’re not.

You walked around the city, touring parks on your way to the local coffee shop, trying to kill time. You didn’t have any dinner’s or gatherings to join Namjoon with so you had all the time in the world. Jimin couldn’t meet with you either. He says he is busy.

Joyous sounds of children playing tag, sprinting on the freshly cut grass with the happiest smiles, like nothing bad could ever defeat them. The sight of something so pure made your heart warm. You stepped off the gravel road on to the pavement, entering from the peaceful park surrounded by trees and actual liveness to the concrete jungle full of machines polluting the sky and humans so numbed from their lives that you could believe the zombie apocalypse has started. A surge of people kept you moving, you couldn’t even walk your own way. What a metaphor for your life.

You could already see the coffee shop you wanted to buy a simple coffee and a bagel from. Just as you’re about to cross the street someone bumps into you, “Hey watch out!” the stranger yells rudely. You lost your balance but someone got a hold of your arm and thank god since embarrassing yourself further wasn’t something you planned.

“Y/n are you okay?” he asked in a worried tone as he helped you regain your balance, “That guy has no manners. What the fuck is wrong with him?” He kept looking at the man who crashed into you and he frowned his eyebrows, “I think he works for me… That bastard. I’ll fire him don’t you wor-”

“It’s okay Jimin, thank you,” you cut him off placing your hand over his. He took this as a que to let go of the death grip he had on you. You almost falling scared him more than it did you. Your mood elevated as you heard him speak but as you saw the woman who held onto his bicep brought it crashing down. The contrast between you and her was dragging on your confidence. Jiwoo stood tall in her heels, dress hugging her figure and showing just the right curves. Face touched up with make-up but it wasn’t too extravagant. It was elegant. Hair lifted up in a perfect bun, not a single stray hair in sight. You wore used up plimsoll shoes, ripped jeans with coffee stains and your husband’s oversized hoodie. Your face without make-up, probably looking puffy from eating in the evening. She looked like a Goddess next to you.

“Are you really okay?” Jimin put his hand on your arm carefully and tried to look in your eyes but you avoided the contact. “I am, thanks,” you quipped, “I have to go.” You swiftly moved away and disappeared into the crowd. Jimin’s hand was left to stroke air instead of you. He watched you leave, his face filled with concern.

“C’mon. We’re gonna be late,” Jimin said when he came back to his senses, more to himself than to Jiwoo. Jiwoo moved along with him. “So you’d fire a guy for running into her but when that same guy was all over me you did nothing,” she smirked. Jimin stopped right in front of her and turned around without any expression. “I watched you make out with that guy several times when we’re at meetings. I saw when you fucking cupped him. On those rare occasions when you visit my office, I see when you pinch his ass on every opportunity you see fit. He isn’t even the only guy you do that with. If you decide to whore around, it’s none of my fucking business,” he spat at her coldy, “Now let’s go.” Jiwoo humbly followed Jimin seeing as this isn’t the time to tease him further when he was on the edge. She was dumbfounded as he rarely if ever snapped at her.

You manage to push yourself through the crowd into the coffee shop. You cursed yourself for wearing this abomination. Why couldn’t you be like her? Why was this the day you thought to yourself that you shouldn’t make yourself more presentable. You didn’t even dab a smidgen of make-up on your face.

You walked back home with the coffee, and the bagel in a paper bag. You walked through the park again, the same children running wild. This time you felt more annoyed than anything. Maybe it was jealousy, anger, or disappointment. You weren’t mad at the children but something about their happiness made your mood jump, drawing contrast to it. Whatever you felt, it was towards Jimin. He was with Jiwoo that’s why he couldn’t meet, or didn’t want to. In the end Jiwoo was more important. She is his wife after all. You’re just a lay.

You put down your purchase on the kitchen island. What a shame that your hunger left with Jimin and Jiwoo. You probably took just two sips of the coffee. “The dinner is in three days,” Namjoon informed you as he joined you in the kitchen, “do I hire a chef or do you wanna cook?” A smile is threatening to force itself out of Namjoon’s lips. He doesn’t even remember the last time you’ve set on the stove.

“I’ll cook,” you said to Namjoon’s surprise. You figured it would be better to use your time cooking rather than getting drunk of off wine. “And here,” you offered him the coffee and the bagel. “For me?” he sounded surprised, you nodded and gave them in his hands, “Thank you.” He simpered, making his devilish dimples show.

He was making his way out of the kitchen when he stopped next to you. He eyed your outfit for what felt like forever. Here we go. The unwanted criticism. You took a deep breath preparing yourself to what was coming.

“Is that my hoodie?” he wondered out loud. Before you could let the breath out he added, “Looks nice.”

What?

Namjoon gave you a compliment? Has hell frozen over? Sure it was a mere ‘nice’. Coming from anyone else could’ve even been an insult, but coming from Namjoon? Unbelievable. You could probably pinpoint the last time he gave you anything close to a compliment and it was two and a half years ago.

The day you anticipated or dreaded the most, you aren’t sure which, came. As you set down the roast you’ve prepared for hours on the dining room table, the doorbell rang. “I’ll get it,” Namjoon shouted. You thank God that you had time to dress up before Jimin showed up. You wore a red dress and curled your hair just a little, letting it settle on your shoulders.You could hear faint sounds of the two men talking and laughing in the corridor. The lack of high heels clicking on the floor made you peek at the two men. Jimin was wearing light grey suit pants with a white dress shirt, shape of his muscles clearly showing. But where’s Jiwoo?

You quickly backed up, not wanting to be seen snooping, when Namjoon showed his hand towards the dining room, leading Jimin’s way. “Oh wow, it smells delicious,” Jimin said as he stepped into the room. You smiled coyly at his words. “You must remember my lovely wife Y/n,” Namjoon introduced you. “Of course I do,” Jimin bowed, “The dinner smells absolutely heavenly, Mrs. Kim.” Mrs. Kim? You wanted him to just come hug you and kiss all of your worries away but this hurt even more. Why couldn’t he just call you your own name? Surely Namjoon wouldn’t even care as he knows you’ve at least two times before.

“I’m sorry I couldn’t bring you any company. My wife had somewhere to be,” Jimin revealed, directing all of his attention to you. “Oh it’s alright,” you responded. Well that sort of answered your previous question. You weren’t a baby, you didn’t need anyone to give you company. You are torn if her missing is a good or a bad thing. These kind of meetings would get boring if they lasted long but wouldn’t her being here make you feel insignificant?

Namjoon lead you to your seat next to his, hand on your lower back almost touching your behind. You missed the little twitch that happened on Jimin’s face when Namjoon touched you. “Seokjin couldn’t make it today but he has trusted me to go over the contract and to tweak the details. But it seems like a done deal,” Namjoon reported with the smile that made you fall in love with him, but slowly making you recent him.

As the host Namjoon poured all of you some wine and cut the roast, handing over you some first, then Jimin and then to himself. The men dug in, seemingly enjoying themselves, chit chat filling the room.

“You really outdid yourself Y/n,” Namjoon complimented your cooking as he took the last bite. “Yes, it was exquisite. I haven’t had such enjoyable meal in a long time,” Jimin agreed and swallowed the last of his wine. You thanked both of the men with rose colored blush filling your cheeks. The approval of the two men who held most value in your life meant alot to you.

“So Jimin. The contract with Kim Seokjin is worth hundreds of millions. 50% to his company, 25% to mine, and 25% for yours,” Namjoon started explaining as he stood up, “Shall we go to my office upstairs to go over the minor details, and signing it?” Your eyes almost bulged all the way out as you heard the numbers. You never knew how much money was involved. “Sounds perfect,” Jimin wiped his mouth with a napkin and got up after Namjoon. He shot you a wink as he walked behind the taller man, making your heart flutter. You couldn’t keep your emotions in check as you hated him but seconds later you never wanted to leave his side.

Them going over the contract would leave you by yourself for an hour or possibly even two. So cleaning up the dining room and the kitchen would be the most efficient way to kill time. You gathered up the plates and the utensils, and filled the dishwasher. You washed the pans yourself with an apron on, not wanting to get your dress dirty. To an outsider it would look weird that here you are, in your kitchen trying to rub pans spotless in an expensive dress. You had a maid, but she wasn’t full time since what’s the fun of not being able to contribute? It would just leave you more time to drown yourself in overpriced wine. Besides this kept your feet on the ground, making you feel like a normal human being.

Just the right timing as you cleaned out the dining table with a cloth, the men came downstairs. “We got the contract signed and I was ordered to bring to Seokjin immediately,” your husband told you from the corridor. “Yup,” Jimin smiled his famous eye smile next to Namjoon nodding, “I’m going to head on home. It was nice meeting you again Mrs. Kim.” You leaned against the door frame bidding farewell to each of them. You heard a car start and leave the driveway.

The doorbell rang not soon after the first car left. Namjoon must’ve left his keys home, how typical of him.

You opened the door and a blonde man stood in front of you. “I was actually planning on leaving right after but when I saw you I just wanted to devour you with infinitive kisses,” Jimin said hastily as soon as he saw you from the crack of the door, “You look so beautiful.” You looked over his shoulder, Jimin’s Mustang wa the only car decorating your driveway, Did he wait for Namjoon to leave? What were you supposed to think of this? Should you confront him about your insecurities, or use this situation for your advantage?

Your hands made the choice for you as they grabbed his shirt collar bringing him down, his lips met yours. Jimin slammed the door shut behind him, and quickly moved his hands to your face, holding it to deepen the kiss. You pulled him with you to the living room, his lips only left yours in between breaths when he groaned. “Oh God, I missed you so much.” You did too, the agony of not knowing if there was going to be a next time ate you alive, he made you feel so good. You pushed him on the couch and sat on his lap. You began to unbutton his shirt accidently ripping a few buttons but he didn’t care, he was too busy focusing on your lips and unzipping your dress. You got his shirt open, his chest inflated with every breath drawing focus on his muscles. He helped you out of the dress with little to no trouble. Jimin admired your body, making him more impatient. He caressed your sides and played with your nipples. He fondled your soft breasts before taking one in his mouth. He threw his shirt away when you went for his belt. Jimin’s boner was already so hard that it must’ve hurt him. He bucked his hips when you slowly started to grind on him. You grinded on his hard on, your panties creating friction on your clit.

“Get ‘em off,” you breath out, you were getting more restless. Jimin grunted approving with your command. Both of you stood up to strip from any clothing you had left. Jimin’s dick jumped up when he pulled his boxers down. He kissed you passionately but you pushed him on the couch again. He lied on the couch on his back watching you lower yourself on his erection. Your hands were on his chest as you got used to the stretch. You slowly started to move on him, back and forth. He guided your hips with his hands, biceps flexing on every move. He pushed his head back biting his lip. “I’ve been thinking about this- about you for a month,” he moaned, “I really missed you darling.” When the pet name left his mouth he sat up. Noses just millimeters apart. Your legs wrapped around him perfectly. He held you close to him, holding you as he moved his hips in circles. Your hand was tangled in his hair, and your forehead leaned on his. The way he looked at you, the glint in his eyes, made it feel immensely intimate. He looked you from eye to eye. This was about you, not about him. He wanted to focus all of his attention to you.

Jimin flipped you over, this time it’s you who’s on their back. His pace was slow and sensual, keeping his gaze fixated on your face, taking in your expressions of pleasure. He hit all the right spots but you wanted him deeper, and closer. You’re hugging him with all of your limbs, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and legs around his waist as he slowly pounded into you. He lifted his hand to your face, and pushed stray hair behind your ear. Jimin was hypnotized by you. Every thrust he took got more powerful and faster. Your moans got more frequent and louder. He gave you sloppy kisses as his pace accelerated, wanting you to reach your goal. The thrust turned clumsier and clumsier, but you already had the familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach. As the fireworks hit you, you grabbed his hair and contracted around him. Jimin groaned. “Where do I cum?” he whined. He felt pathetic, it was like he was thirteen again, he had a hard time containing himself. “In me,” you moaned, already getting over stimulated. He buried his forehead in the crook of your neck. “I’m cumming, I’m cumming,” he whined in your neck. With few thrusts he moaned, and his face contorted, “Oh God, I love you.”

Masterlist

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siobhaneardley · 6 years

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Religion’s Rocky Relationship with Horror Film: The Conjuring & [REC].

The horror genre has had ties with religion, going back to its roots in Gothic literature. The vampires in Dracula were warded off by religious icons and holy water and possession is often the work of the devil. Religion is often the saving force; the priest exorcises the devil and crucifixes repel the advances of the blood sucking vampires. However, what happens when religion can’t save the day?

In an increasingly secular society, horror films have changed their representations of religion, either becoming suspicious of it, or scrambling to portray religion as the saviour in horrific situations. Two contemporary horror film franchises, one American, one Spanish show both sides of this. James Wan’s The Conjuring and Balaguero & Plaza’s [REC]. Although these films are wholly different in style and subject matter, this contrast enlightening when looking at how horror can interact with religion.

[REC] is a found footage film, shot by a journalist documenting a night in the life of a Barcelona fire station. They are called out to an apartment block, which is very quickly put under quarantine upon their arrival. Over the course of the film we discover that a deadly infection is spreading around the apartment block, seemingly originating in one of the residents’ dog. From this, the audience assumes rabies, which is a common explanation for zombie movies, and in this case, the horrific and animalistic nature of these ‘zombies’ does not dispute this. On the surface, [REC] appears to be a zombie apocalypse film and it pretty much is, until the end segment of the film.

As the film reaches its climax the filmmakers enter the penthouse to find a room filled with religious iconography alongside newspaper clippings reporting a girl possessed. This immediately switches this film from your typical zombie apocalypse film, alluding to something more sinister. On watching this part for the first time, I just thought that they were trying to give a religious explanation for the infection, it was just a misinterpretation, however on viewing [REC]2 it explicitly connects the infection with demonic possession.

I don’t know about anyone else, but for some reason the film became 100% creepier as soon as they entered the penthouse and saw what looked like a conspiracy theorists obsession, paired with the log of a Vatican agent on old tapes playing in the background. This mystery is completely unexpected and turns the whole film on its head.

But why bring religion into what, on the surface appears to be a mere zombie outbreak movie? The answer can be found in Spain’s political past. Spain was under the control of dictator Francisco Franco from 1936 to 1975. Franco took power after the Nationalist victory in the Spanish Civil war, his rule emphasised conservative values, including putting a great deal of importance on Catholicism, which was the national religion during his rule. Films during his reign were heavily censored, sex, politics and religion were all no-go areas in films made in Spain during this period. After his death in 1975, there was a great change in Spain, with the country becoming more liberal (Scarlett, 113). However, Elizabeth Scarlett in Religion and Spanish Film states that although Spain somewhat abandoned Catholicism, “the motifs of Catholicism were never abandoned” and states that Catholicism is ingrained in the works of Spanish directors (171).

Therefore, [REC]’s religious imagery does not simply contain this to evoke an ominous feeling in the viewer, it is because of the lingering national Catholicism of Spain. However, in this case Catholicism is not presented as the saviour, in fact, it is the very cause of what occurs in the apartment block.

The source of the infection is the girl in the newspaper cuttings who is apparently possessed by demons, the agent kidnaps her and attempts to find a cure for the apparent biological demonic possession, however, this only makes the enzyme mutate and become highly infectious. Andy Willis suggests that for Spain with its religious history, “such references would potentially have great significance for certain members of the audience who might be willing to believe in a potential Vatican inspired conspiracy rather than excepting a supernatural rationale for the virus” (58). Does this belief, therefore lie in the potential distrust that people may feel for religion, as they had been repressed by it for years?

There is only a hint of the religious involvement in the first film, we are presented with mere speculation, however, the sequel builds upon the conspiracy providing more information about the Vatican involvement in the infection, shedding light on the seemingly demonic origins.

We hear the infected people speak in a demonic voice, repelled by items of religious significance, which immediately takes the film into the realm of the demonic and consequently heavily religious. Something that can have a voice and act in such an animalistic manner is wholly disturbing, and although the mystery is being revealed, the eeriness is still there.

Although The Conjuring may seem quite far removed in tone and style to [REC], the theme of demonic possession is at the centre of both narratives. On its release in 2013, The Conjuring was a huge hit, grossing $319.5 million worldwide, $137.4 million of that from the US. What is it about this film makes it so endearing to audiences?

I have always loved a good supernatural horror film, and this is an excellently made one. Yes, it is scary, but for me a well thought out narrative is always what I look for in a horror film. I was also rather drawn to the characters of Ed and Lorraine, played wonderfully by Patrick Wilson and Vera Farmiga. Although the characters of Ed and Lorraine are based on real people I still view the film as a work of fiction, because I don’t believe in mediums, or ghosts for that matter, as much as I would like to.

For others the story may seem completely plausible, if you believe in ghosts, God and the devil. The film is so heavily saturated with religious imagery and the script, written by the Hayes brothers (who are very Christian) are not afraid to admit that The Conjuring is a film heavily influenced by Christian values, if not a light piece of Christian propaganda. In an interview Chad Hayes stated that “we want people after experiencing our movie to question, where are they? Where am I in my own faith? Where am I in my belief? The Lord has authority overall, and so here we are”.

Being party to this information has changed the way I view the film. I must admit I am rather put out by the fact I was drawn into a film filled with this kind of preaching. There is one point where Ed looks worryingly at the father of the haunted family after he says none of the kids are baptised, essentially implying they have set themselves up for possession because they are not part of the church; providing a strange narrative based on the notion that the US is losing its faith.

The basic premise of The Conjuring films is that religion can save the day. I did notice this a lot more on watching the second one, but on re-watching the first one it is so stark. The almost saint-like depiction of Lorraine is perhaps the most apparent, more so in the second film in which she is the almost spiritual guider to the young girl who is being possessed by the demon, she acts as a kind of motherly saviour and martyr, who has suffered greatly due to her God-given gift.

The US is lead by religion, it is seen in every element of their culture, from the puritans to the present day. Politics is saturated by religion and is used to justify so many things for example, the continued control over women’s bodies. Now, with the ever-changing world religion is slowly being rejected by many, mainly the youth of the country, the emphasis on religion is going down. The Conjuring appears to be a comment on this, whilst also desperately attempting to re-ignite the countries faith. But did it work? The success of the film does make me wonder, but were the film goers flocking to the cinema due to the religious nature of the film, or just for the scares?

With two films centered around demonic possession there are interesting notes to make about their countries relation to religion. One that has rejected Catholicism and is therefore suspicious and not afraid to critique it, and the other desperately clinging to religion, attempting to scare the audiences into thinking that God can save you from demons. With all that in mind, religion does evoke such a sense of fear in horror viewers, whether they are faithful or not. I for one, would love to see more mainstream horror films in the vein of [REC], openly critiquing religion, rather than so many narratives where religion is the saviour, when in fact, it causes most of the world’s problems right now.

By Siobhan Eardley.

Works Referenced:

Goodwyn, Hannah. “Screenwriters Chad and Carey Hayes on The Conjuring and God”. CBN.com.

The Conjuring. Dir James Wan (2013).

The Conjuring 2. Dir James Wan (2016).

[REC]. Dir. Jaume Balagueró & Paco Plaza (2007).

[REC]2. Dir. Jaume Balagueró & Paco Plaza (2009).

Scarlett, Elizabeth. Religion and Spanish Film. Michigan. UP of Michigan Press: 2014, JSTOR. Web.

Wills, Andy. Transnational Film Remakes. Edinburgh. Edinburgh UP: 2017. JSTOR. Web.

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strapcats · 6 years

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Thicker Than Water (Part 1)

↬ Genre: Gang au, angst, drama, eventual fluff

↬ Pairing: Jeongin x Chan

↬ Word Count: 2,494

↬ Description: Dépaysement- (n.) When someone is taken out of their own familiar world and pushed into a new one.

Yang Jeongin is a young Busan runaway with a sharp tongue.

Bang Chan is the easily-offended leader of a crime syndicate.

Read on Wattpad // Read on Archive

Chapter One

He ran. From his past life in Busan, from the foster homes, from the catholic teachings, from the messed up kids, he ran from it all. He thought Seoul would be his safe haven, his little piece of paradise. As things turn out, rent for the crappiest 1 bedroom apartment was going to be about 2 million won, and he left Busan with 650,000 ₩ and an expired bus pass. He was shivering next to a dumpster in some back alle he had found. It had roof overhang, so it kept the rain off of most of his body. His eyes were closed and twitching, his hands white as the snow that had shown up sometime late last week. The cold was starting to eat away at him faster, but he slept. He was tired, so he let the freezing temperatures creep closer to his life support.

He was dreaming of a penthouse apartment, central Seoul, sipping imported scotch, the freshest kicks on his feet. He was dreaming of a flight to Los Angeles, to attend a red carpet event he was invited to. He was dreaming of things he’d never have, like his parents visiting him when he won a business award. He wanted more. These were the dreams of Yang Jeongin, a boy of barely 17 years old.

He never knew his parents. He was told they were dead. He never really understood that.

The sound of footsteps echoed through the night, splashing the shallow, reflective pools of water that covered the asphalt of the city. They were fast paced, uneven, and unrelenting. To Jeongin’s unconscious mind, it sounded like there were at least 2 people. They approached. Quickly. As they raced past the hidden boy, dirty water was splashed onto his face and neck. The wet substance stirred him from his slumber momentarily, just enough to open his eyes and adjust his curled up position, rattling a good bit of trash as he did so.

The footsteps stopped abruptly. There were muted whispers and then an eerie silence. Jeongin shuffled again, closing his heavy eyes for only a moment before a very cold surface was pressed to his forehead. He blinked his eyes open slowly only to see the barrel of a glock and one lean hand with it’s finger on the trigger. He wanted to scream, but nothing came out. His eyes widened and he could hear his heartbeat in his ears, drumming incessantly. He opened his mouth to speak but was silenced by the gun’s owner.

“I’m guessing you’re the newest Ring member, kid? Their initiation was always so fucked up. You’re gonna be coming with me, you’re going to make our lives very easy for a couple months.” The voice spoke, very deeply, with a rough undertone. It nearly sounded like the speaker was smiling as he spoke, the playful word choice showed that. Jeongin gulped.

“I-I-I don’t know what the ring i-is s-sir.” Jeongin spoke as clearly as he could, his accent coming through strong and stuttering like a fool. The man cocked his gun.

“Up. Now.”

“Y-yes sir.”

Jeongin stood up shakily, trying to get his footing as quickly as possible to satisfy his captor. He couldn’t see much in the dimly lit alleyway, but he could see another figure that was approaching. The figure had a gray hood on and the person holding him was wearing a black hood. He couldn’t make out anything else, but he could tell the man with the gun to his head had light hair, it showed up in the dark. He kept trying to gather visual information, but it was all cut off when a rag was put over his mouth and his eyes fluttered closed once again.

---

Jeongin awoke violently, with a splash of cold water on his face. His head was throbbing, and his eyes had no time to adjust to the bright fluorescent light directly in front of him. He squinted his eyes to try and numb the sensation. He was a bit relieved when a figure stepped in front of the light, blocking out most of it, and leaving a silhouette. He opened his mouth to speak but a finger was put to his lips in a way of silencing him. The figure removed his finger and turned to adjust the light, turning the beam away from Jeongin. He sighed in relief. The figure turned back to him and he could see if captor for the first time.

He was tall, taller than Jeongin, but not by much. He was very fit, with a muscular torso and lean arms and legs. His legs were strong, and his entire body was of a thinner build, despite his muscles. The man had precise looking hands that matched his body perfectly, with two black line tattoos on the tips of his index fingers. His skin was tan, and looked as if it was nearly made of porcelain. It looked smoother than skin could be, but it didn’t look like he was wearing makeup, unlike himself. His face was very sharp. His cheekbones and jawline were precise and strong, making his face look almost harsh. The only thing that softened if up were the man’s freckles, that littered his skin in various places but clumping up around his nose and under his eyes. His hair was white, bleached white, with very short fringe-like bangs that reached down to his jaw. It was swept out of his face, but he could tell that with too much movement, the boy would be blinded by his own hair. His eyes were the last thing Jeongin took in, they were big, hazel, and cutting. They had a yellowish tint to them, flicking back and forth between Jeongin’s eyes, seemingly staring deep into him. It made Jeongin shiver; he was stunning.

“Take a picture, kid. It’ll last longer.” The man spoke, it was the same deep, rough voice from before. “You don’t get to talk, okay? I’ll be asking the questions, you will answer them truthfully or you get a bullet through your brain. Understood?” He spoke directly, but his speech was a little but messy. Jeongin wondered if he was a foreigner, but he just nodded in response.

“What’s your name, age and affiliation with Purity Ring?”

Jeongin tilted his head. He didn’t understand what he was asking. What was Purity Ring?

“My name is Yang Jeongin, I’m sixte-I mean seventeen years old. I don’t know what Purity Ring is. Where am I? Why did you take me?” His busan accent came through thick, his speech slurred. The other male shook his head and reached behind him to reveal a 9mm glock, the same one he had seen when he was abducted. Then man looked it over almost wistfully.

“I set out two very simple rules, and you broke both of them. I’ll give you one more chance to save your skin.” He cocked the gun and raised it to Jeongin’s head level. His arm was steady, there wasn’t the smallest hint of a tremble in it. His eyes were cold and serious, he wasn’t bluffing.

“I’m not lying! I don’t know where I am, who you are, what Purity Ring is, why I’m here, I don’t know anything! My name is Yang Jeongin, I’m 17 years old, I’m from Busan and I only got here last week! Please don’t kill me!” His voice was cracking, getting higher in pitch with fear. His eyes began to water, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything against his assailant. They only thing he could think of was how to make it out alive. He rushed through ideas and outcomes in his head, finally getting to a plan that could work. The chair he was tied to was small, made of wood, and definitely old. It should work.

The man shook his head. “Wrong answer kid.” And then he pulled the trigger.

Time seemed to slow. Jeongin saw the bullet coming toward him, so he leaned to the right before throwing his body to the left, knocking over the chair he was in and because of its age, it broke, releasing him from his ties. He rolled across the floor as the bullet hit the wall behind where his head used to be, and he grabbed his attacker’s glock, throwing it across the small room. He was breathing heavy as time resumed to normal, his attacker realizing what happened and lunging at him with a knife he had pulled from his belt. He pushed Jeongin against the nearest wall, the knife to his throat.

“You must be syndicate affiliated to pull a move like that, kid. Now tell me, is it the ring or is it someone else?” The man growled, steady as ever, but clearly furious.

Jeongin cried. The tears that formed in his eyes finally spilled over, surprising the taller man. He wasn’t bawling, his eyes were still open and though he was shaking like an earthquake, he held his head high and answered as clearly as he could, with his small tears rolling down his cheeks.

“I don’t know anything.”

And with that, the taller man moved to slit his throat but was interrupted by three men bursting through the door, to see the scene unfolding before them. Things moved so quickly, it was hard for Jeongin to follow. One man ran and disarmed the attacker, throwing him into another wall and pointing a different kind of handgun at his head once he had hit the floor. He winced in pain, but didn’t move. Jeongin had slid to the ground at this point, his knees giving out from under him, and the other two men came over to him. One crouched down to his height and tilted his head, as if inspecting him. The other stayed standing, a small distance off but still observing the scene.

Jeongin’s eyes spilled more tears, his mouth slightly open and he was breathing heavy. His entire body was shaking, and he felt like he was going crazy. He was safe. The man in front of him reached forward and placed two finger on his neck, taking his pulse. He then softly cupped Jeongin’s face with both his hands, moving his head lightly to check for damage. Once he was satisfied with the state of the boy, he stood up again and offered a hand to Jeongin, wanting him to stand up. The shaken boy took his hand and cautiously got to his feet. He was wobbling and nearly fell, but the other man grabbed him before he could. He helped him out the door they had come in, and it was closed behind them, but not before he heard shouting between the man who saved him and his attacker. He couldn’t take in his surroundings, his ears were ringing, and there was too much sensory input for his body to take in.

He was taken into a larger room with two cots against one wall, and a stack of supplies against another. He was instructed to sit on one of the cots and the other man rushed to get some supplies. He returned with bandages and rubbing alcohol. It stung, but Jeongin was still in shock, he could barely feel the pain. A blanket was placed around his shoulders after his wounds were treated and that’s what brought him a little bit out of his trance. He looked at the man who had cared for him and subconsciously pulled the blanket tighter around him. He sat down on the other cot next to where Jeongin was seated, and the boy shifted so he was looking at the other man.

“Heya kid, my name is Kim Woojin. I know you might not be able to talk, but if you can, can you tell me what just happened in there?” The man spoke softly, with kind undertones, like he was worried for Jeongin.

“I-I-I’m Yang Jeongin, I’m 17 years old, I’m from Busan, and I only got here last week…” The young boy stuttered as he spoke, his voice getting softer the longer he spoke. ‘Woojin’ nodded in a way of asking him to continue.

“I don’t know where I am, I don’t know why I’m here, but the man with the white hair tried to shoot me and then he tried to cut me.” He was regaining his thought processes, being able to make more sense of what just happened. The man across from him nodded thoughtfully. He stood up and went to a small fridge in the corner of the room. He grabbed a bottle of water from it and tossed it to Jeongin, who caught it perfectly.

“Sharp reaction time, even when he’s in shock…” He mumbled quietly to himself, Jeongin didn’t know or care what he meant.

The younger boy finally had the chance to look at the man who had taken care of him. He was extremely tall, somewhere around 6’3”. He was very broad shouldered, with a stiff posture and strong aura. His body was well-built, not as muscular as the white-haired man, but still very fit and though he was large-placed, he didn’t look heavy at all. He wore a black and white shirt, with a zipper on one of the shoulders. It was oversized and gave him sweater paws, and it was tucked into his pants in the front, but nowhere else. He had on black skinny jeans with a gucci belt and black mid-calf combat boots. His face was kind, with wide-set eyes and a larger nose, his features gave him a soft appearance. His hair was honey blonde, sweeping out of his face cleanly. It was layered, with the bottom-most layer being dyed black. His eyes were a lighter brown, and they crinkled up small when he smiled. His smile was just as soft as the rest of him, it was big and welcoming and very forgiving. The man seemed like a father figure, or a caring older brother, his entire demeanor made Jeongin think of a teddy bear. He was also beautiful, though not in the same way as his attacker from earlier.

One of the other men from earlier peeked his head in through the doorway to the room and called Woojin over. He whispered a few things to him before leaving, and Woojin came back over to where Jeongin was seated.

“Jeongin-ah, I gotta go for now, please get some rest before I come back to check on you, okay? I’ll be back soon.” Woojin spoke again, his voice deep but still with a feeling of softness underneath the depth. Jeongin nodded and Woojin smiled lightly before heading out the door to the room, closing it behind him. The young boy flopped backwards onto the bed and curled up into the blanket that was given to him earlier. He fell asleep quickly, if not uncomfortably, and dreamt of his luxury penthouse once again.

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plane-lord · 6 years

Text

WIP: Apres (WHN AOU)

So, I haven’t written any sort of fanfic, or anything else substantial, for a very long time. The work below has come along VERY slowly and I can’t say that I’m very pleased with it. However, if you happen to read it (Hi!) I certainly wouldn’t mind a little feedback. I haven’t seen very many AOU to CW fanfic out there, or to put it more precisely, I haven’t seen very many that address what I would like them to. Specifically, what happened to Tony & Pepper between the two movies... So, here is my attempt, humbly submitted... Hopefully, I can manage more than a couple paragraphs, though at this point I’m feeling fairly plotless...

Pepper Potts cast a critical eye over the great room below. Her position on the walkway provided a more complete picture of what still needed to be repaired. Her frown deepened as she took in the yellow caution tape marking the windows to be replaced, as well as, the hole in the floor of Tony's lab. In Bruce's lab, several pieces of equipment were pushed to the side, damaged beyond repair. Finally, her gaze circled back to the oversized bookcase, several shelves broken and splintered. They were going to need a new one, she thought with a grim smile. Workers had managed to clean up most of the broken glass but there was still a lot that needed to be done before the space was livable. The interior designer was scheduled to arrive sometime Tuesday.

Pepper made a list in her phone of the estimated repairs and costs. She frowned at the growing tally and added it the grand total of the last few years. By her estimation, she was sure it now surpassed the entire collective GDP of several small nations.

She was getting good at this; managing the aftermath of destruction. She supposed it was better to concentrate on the mess in front of her, rather than the one currently dominating the news cycle. This mess she could handle with practiced ease. Over the last eight years, Pepper, figured she had coordinated cleanup and major renovations enough times to add Construction Contractor to her resume.

The room below blurred and she wiped a stray tear from her cheek. Yes, this mess was easy, this mess was contained. The one out there, beyond the steel and glass confines of Avengers Tower, that was anything but easy. Although, she wasn't completely sure, she had a sneaking suspicion that the primary catalyst of this particular mess would soon be flying through the door, a wreck in his own right.

The news reports were still sketchy, still bereft of details. So far, all she knew for certain was that; 1.) a bunch of homicidal robots were hell bent on ending the human race, and 2.) the Avengers stopped them, but at great cost. A whole city dropped from the sky, hundreds, possibly thousands dead. She had a sneaking suspicion that her guilt-ridden, "hot mess" of a boyfriend had more to do with this disaster than anyone outside of the Avengers suspected. She wasn't stupid, she saw the images of menacing, technologically-advanced robots, terrorizing an entire eastern European country. She was in a long-term relationship with the world’s foremost robotics expert, it wasn't a giant logical leap.

It was alarming that JARVIS was no longer functioning, no longer running the tower or the everyday business transactions - oh and hadn't that been fun to explain to the executive board. Mostly though, she missed his calming voice. The silence was eerie after all these years of constant, and reassuring chatter.

She had tried to call up the relevant footage in the tower. Piece together what Tony had yet to tell her, but without JARVIS's help she had only seen a brief and grainy snippet, enough to conclude that, a little more than 72 hours ago, the first of the robots had appeared as malfunctioning legionnaire droids.

She sniffled and wiped another tear away, "Oh, Tony, what have you done?"

She thought things were better over the last two years. The fight with AIM and Killian had given Tony a new perspective, he cut down on the distractions, as promised, at least for awhile. She knew she could never get him to truly stop being Iron Man and she had never asked, she just wanted him to find a more healthy balance. They had moved to New York, nearly full time, and he finally agreed to talk to someone - work on his fears. He seemed happy, content, present.

Then they had watched the fall of SHIELD. For days Tony was on the phone, holed up in his lab, going over the files that Natasha had released to the world. He offered his help, money, shelter, lawyers to Steve, Marie Hill, Natasha, Clint, and anyone else that suffered from the fall out. Together they put in place plans to do what SHIELD had done - oversee the Avengers and clean up the rest of Hydra. It had worked splendidly. Tony felt useful and, as promised, he only donned the suit when needed - though the frequency had increased exponentially over the last year.

Pepper wasn't naive enough to think he didn't have backup suits at the ready, or specialty suits in the works, but his obsessiveness wasn't nearly at the level it had been post-New York. He worked hard and spent days in the labs, but he also made sure to take her out, show up for his business obligations, and over all, Tony earnestly tried to be a good boyfriend and partner.

Pepper scanned the darkening skyline, the city was aglow, bathed in rose-colored tones of the setting sun. She expected to see Ironman weaving through the tall buildings, but there was still no sign of him.

She thumbed through her phone and checked the time stamp on the text from Rhodey. Sent three hours and fifteen minutes ago. Pepper frowned in worry, he should be here by now. She reread the text, "Tony just left. Take care of him. This has been a tough one." Short on details, it was still more than the succinct text from Tony; which consisted of a quick, "I'm fine, don't worry. Love you." She had only gotten that, after a dozen unanswered phone calls and multiple worry filled texts. Not having JARVIS, to give her updates, was highly inconvenient and adding even more stress to her week.

Finally, she spotted the distinct trail of the repulsers as they streaked across the New York skyline. She watched Tony land and take a couple stumbling steps forward before he straightened and stepped out of the suit altogether. Even from her vantage point she could see he was exhausted, and in some physical pain.

He stood on the platform for a moment gathering his wits. A couple minutes passed before he limped inside the destroyed penthouse, favoring his left leg. He ran his right hand, wrapped in a compression bandage she noted, through his hair taking in the damage around him.

"I was starting to worry about you." Pepper said from the walkway, keeping her tone light, “Thought maybe you'd finally make good on that threat to move to back to California.”

He startled at her voice and looked up, a small sad smile on his lips. "I took the scenic route. Sorry.”

She watched him slowly walk to the elevator and waited, her grip tightening around the rail in anticipation. She could fix this. That's what they did, they fixed things. Together.

She heard the doors open, the soft squeak of his sneakers as he crossed the floor. He hesitated behind her, before she felt his arms encircle her waist. He breathed deeply, taking in her scent before his head came to rest on her shoulder. Pepper wrapped her arms over his, “You know, I thought, the days of house destroying parties was behind us…”

Tony squeezed her gently and kissed her temple, before replying, “Well, you know me, it’s not a real party unless I blow out a couple windows and need a major remodel by the end of the night.”

Pepper turned in his arms, to get a better look at him. She ran a gentle finger over the scratch on his right cheek. He had certainly looked more beat up than this, but his red rimmed eyes, and slight tremble of his body suggested a far more deeper hurt. “Tony, are you-“ she wanted to ask him to tell her everything, but she knew better than to push him - he would talk when he was ready, not before. “Did you eat? I had Happy order some Ray’s.” Pizza, Pepper had learned long ago, always made Tony feel better.

Tony leaned forward and his forehead pressed to hers. A half smile on his lips, as he spoke softly, “You take such good care of me. I don’t deserve it.”

“I think we’ve had this discussion before…” Pepper sighed, her right hand gently scratching the nape of his neck. “I seem to recall that I vehemently disagree with half your assessment.”

She could feel a little tension leave his body, as she continued to run her fingers through his hair. He didn’t move from his position, leaving her question unanswered.

“Bruce is gone.”

Pepper’s hands stilled, waiting for him to continue.

"He took a Quinn Jet, no idea where. Guess he couldn’t handle being an Avenger anymore.”

“Oh, Tony, I’m so sorry.”

“I really fucked up, Pepper. Everything. JARVIS is gone. Bruce is gone. And there’s now a crater where a whole goddamn city is supposed to be.” His voice cracked, his eyes glassy with the threat of tears, “My fault. My fault, again.”

Pepper pulled his head to her shoulder, “Hey, you’re a good person, Tony. This is-” she couldn’t believe any of it was true. He blamed himself for things out of his control, too often, to take his word for it now. “- this is your exhaustion talking. Whatever happened, whatever the details, we’ll get through this. You and me. It will look better tomorrow.”

She gently kissed his cheek and ran her hands down his arms, taking his hands in hers. “I think that we need to get some food in you, clean up, and get to bed. We’ll figure this out, Tony.” Tony took a shuddering breath and nodded, “Right. Food. Showering. Sleep. The Pepper Pott’s fix for all of life’s problems.”

Pepper smiled gently and led him to the elevator. She knew that tomorrow didn’t always prove to be better, but she was determined to do whatever she could to help make it so.

#fanfic #tony stark #pepperony

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ellanainthetardis · 7 years

Note

Prompt: normally haymitch is the one getting teased by chaff and finnick so how about a fic where either chaff or finnick a woman problem and getting teases( and u can make up anything els )

Be warned that victorsprostitution is discussed in here =) [X]

Of Pools, Cheating And Experts

Haymitch’s eyes wandered around the big stone pillarsthat supported the high ceiling, not quite happy with all the areas left inshadows. The only source of light came from the pool itself and it made for aneerie atmosphere he wasn’t too fond of. It made him feel claustrophobic, evenwith the far wall being all glass and giving the vertiginous feeling that thepool was giving out on empty air.

He had hardly ever been there before. Maybeonce or twice after his victory, with another victor his age who had wanted toexplore every floor of the Games Compound… There was everything you needed inthe compound: a gym, a pool, a spa – or so he had been told, he was even lessfond of strangers touching him than he was of baldly lightened gigantic roomsin which anyone could hide and spy…

Eventually, once he was done with his visualinspection of the place and the smell of chlorine had started making his eyesitch, he buried his hands in his pockets and turned his attention to the poolwhere Finnick had been swimming back and forth for the last two minutes withouteven addressing his presence.

“You know I’ve got better things to do thanwatching you pretend to be a fish all night, yeah?” he called out, tired ofbeing ignored.

Finnick shot him a grin over his shoulder butdidn’t stop swimming. “Yes? What?”

“Question would be who actually.” he snorted.

When Finnick had called to ask him to join himat the pool, he and Effie had been in the middle of a very heated make-outsession that he was pretty sure would have ended up with them having their waywith each other right there on the couch. Clothes hadn’t flown yet but his handhad been far up under her dress and hers had been very busy opening the shirthe hadn’t even bothered to button all the way up again.

He knew how he looked: fingers had repeatedlyran in his hair, his shirt was halfway open, there was a suspicious red mark onhis neck and he had lost his jacket and his waistcoat somewhere. He trusted theboy could take a hint.

Finnick had said he needed to talk to him andthat it was important so he had come but he still hoped he could get back toEffie before she grew bored of waiting and went to bed. He was pretty surethere had been lacy lingerie under that horrible green dress.

“Who?” the boy teased.

Haymitch rolled his eyes. “I don’t kiss andtell.”

“Funny, that sounds like what Effie always says.”Finnick laughed, briefly ducking underwater to turn around as he reached thewindow.

Haymitch slowly walked closer to the baywindow, trying to find a spot that wouldn’t leave him with his back to a dooror an even bigger room. The window seemed like a safe enough place.

“I never listen to what she says. You shouldknow by now.” he deadpanned. “So… What’s the emergency?”

He glanced through the window. They were highbut not that high compared to thepenthouse. Outside, it was a typical Games night for the city. If he craned hisneck to the left, he could probably guess at the giant screen on the Squarethat was showing a live feed of the arena. He wondered where they were at now.Last time he had bothered to check, there had been three Careers left, the girlfrom Eight and a boy from Ten. The Seventy-Third Hunger Games were dragging onand he was pretty sure Crane would put an end to them soon one way or another.

“There aren’t any bugs here.” Finnick said,almost all the way across the huge pool already.

“Really?” he asked, eyebrows lifting up ininterest. He hadn’t known that but, then again, Finnick had made it hisspecialty to find out how many secrets as he could . “How come?”

“Something about reverberations and the water…”the boy dismissed. “There are some in the changing rooms but not in the poolroom itself. We can speak freely.”

“You’re scaring me.” Haymitch admitted with adeep sigh. He fished his flask from his back pocket and took a swing. “What didyou do?”

Because it came down to that, didn’t it?Finnick had been playing the game for long enough to know not to make mistakesbut if he had… Well… With Mags at home still recovering from a stroke she wouldprobably never totally get over and his fellow mentor too busy trying to snatchBrutus’ attention away from the man’s escort… He supposed he was the next bestthing when it came to playing mentor.

Finnick stopped swimming in the middle of thepool, his back to him, and then switched so he was floating on his back.Haymitch couldn’t shake the vision of a drown corpse out of his mind and tookanother swing of moonshine.

He would need to fill his flask soon. It wasalmost empty.

“It’s not like that.” the boy explainedeventually. “It doesn’t have to do with the Capitol.”

Everything had to do with the Capitol, healmost retorted but it seemed obvious the boy was upset already so…

“Okay.” he accepted and sat down, confident nowthat Peacekeepers wouldn’t burst in. “You know another good place without bugs?The roof.”

“There’s no pool on the roof.” Finnickcountered.

“There’s a garden.” he snorted, kicking off hisshoes and his socks because it looked like they would be there a while. Herolled up the legs of his pants to his knees and then let his feet dangle inthe water. It was warm, of course.

“You hate the garden.” the boy retorted,staring at the high ceiling.

The pool had an ancient Rome feel to it.Haymitch wondered if that was the aim.

“So you made me come down here so we can talkabout how I hate bright flowers?” he teased. He didn’t like the garden, true.It reminded him too much of his arena and he usually stuck to the unadornedpart of the roof where it was all grey cement. “Got to say… Might have gottenChaff involved. You know he’s got a green thumb.”

It was a well kept secret that Eleven’s victorenjoyed some gardening. Chaff had his own vegetable garden at home – half ofwhich he used to distil his own moonshine and it wasn’t that bad, less dry thanRipper’s and probably safer to drink too.

“I like the pool.” Finnick argued.

“You don’t say.” he mocked. “You like water?Never would have guessed.”

The boy tossed him a look that was a mix ofexasperation and amusement but his face soon turned serious and he went back tojust floating there.

“They made you do it too?” the boy asked.

Haymitch’s amusement died down quickly and hetook a hesitant sip of his flask. Eight years and it was the first time Finnickhad asked that question. He didn’t need him to clarify either. There was justthe right touch of righteous anger and helplessness in the victor’s voice thatthe tone was familiar.

“A few times.” he answered eventually.

He had been lucky. Given how popular andhandsome he had been in his youth, he had been very very lucky because when he had won the system hadn’t yet been whatit now was. The buying and selling had still been reserved to a selected fewwho usually had more important things to do than leer after victors. Now it wasa different story and Finnick had always been far too popular. None of thevictors who had come after him had been that popular and that included the Richtsonsiblings who had won two years in a row. Gloss and Cashmere were an item onthat market and it made Haymitch sick to the stomach every time he thoughtabout it. It was bad enough to be sold like a dog but to watch their sibling behumiliated like that…

All in all, compared to others, on that front,he considered himself lucky.

“Why?” Finnick insisted. “Your family…”

The stab of pain was immediate and heinstinctively kicked the water, making enough noise to cut the boy off. Four’svictor also stopped floating there to switch and start moving again. The boywas quick in the water, deadly.

“Why’s Jo still doing it?” he growled. “She’sgot no one left either, yeah?”

Johanna Mason had quickly become a thorn in theCapitol’s flank and he had warned her several times to cut it down. It hadstarted with Blight doing a poor job of preparing her for what the Capitolexpected of her and with her stabbing the very important, very influent man whohad rented her services for the night. In retaliation, her parents and herbrother had been caught in a deadly accident. It hadn’t done anything for hersnarky attitude, her resentment or her hatred for the Capitol.

“She’s got Blight and his family.” Finnickreplied defensively. “She’s got Syln and the other victors from Seven… They’vegot family too.”

And she was their responsibility so it fell onthem to make sure she played the game or to pay the price. Not a comfortableplace to be in, to be sure. Not that Jo would risk someone’s life like thatagain. At least, he didn’t think so.

“There you have it, then.” he said, waving hisflask to make his point. “There’s alwayssomething.”

“But you didn’t have a mentor and there are noother victors in Twelve.” the boy insisted.

“Yeah, well…” he shrugged. “After a few years Igrew tired of watching people starve ‘cause shipments were late or incomplete…Took me a while to catch up.”

He didn’t like thinking back to that part ofhis life. It had been a few years after he had won and he hadn’t grown used tobe lonely all year around yet. It was when he had started a slow but steadydescent into a bottle too. When Chaff had finally spelled out what he couldn’teven begin to imagine by himself, it had been the nail in the coffin of hissobriety.

Finnick seemed to accept that because hestopped swimming to start floating on his back again, arms spread wide at hisside. Haymitch stared at his own feet.

“Have you ever been with a man?” the boy asked.

“I don’t swing that way.” he answeredimmediately.

“Not what I asked.” Four’s victor pointed out.

“But that’s what you get.” he snarled,swallowing a long mouthful of moonshine. He blocked the memories that wanted torise up, focusing on what had happened the previous night instead. Effie bentover the dining table, her colorful skirt all over the mahogany, his handskneading her ass as he pounded into her warmth… He closed his eyes and focusedon that. The feel, the smell, the taste of her… “Look, boy, not that this walkdown memory lane isn’t just fun but…”

“It makes you crazy sometimes, right?” Finnickcut him off. “After an appointment with a client… It’s… It makes you crazy, right?”

Haymitch studied the eagle spread form of theboy as he floated around.

“Right.” he answered carefully. Thing was, asunbearable as Finnick’s position must have been, the kid couldn’t afford togive it up. Too many people depended on him. Too many lives. Mags’ first andforemost. Then, there was the girl from three years earlier. The tribute he hadgone and fell in love with despite everyone’s warnings… “How’s Annie?”

Because he had a feeling it was all coming downto that.

Maybe the boy had done something reckless likesay no to someone influent and maybe he was scared she would be punished forit.

Maybe…

“How long have you been with Effie?” Finnickcountered.

And Haymitch coughed so hard he almost chocked.“The fuck are you talking about?”

He couldn’t see the boy’s face properly but hewas certain Four’s victor rolled his eyes. “No bugs, Haymitch.”

There had been plenty of places without bugswhere people had teased him about his escort and it had never been enough forhim to forget basic caution.

“We’re not together.” he spat. “I’ve told you plenty of times before. We…”

“Okay.” Finnick cut him off harshly. “Fine. Lieto me.”

Haymitch glared at the kid who had no right tosound so offended by his denial. What a peacock.Arrogant and entitled and…

“We’re nottogether.” he repeated.

“Sure.” Four’s victor snorted. “Sorry Ibothered you. You can go now.”

Haymitch’s eyebrows shot up at the insultingdismissal. Who did the boy think he was treating him like an Avox? Maybe thekid spent too much time in the city and he had half a mind to tell him justthat but he caught the flash of pain of Finnick’s face and swallowed back hisannoyance.

“It’s not a thing.” he insisted quietly, hiseyes automatically roaming around to make certain nobody was hiding behind apillar. He trusted Finnick. Up to a point. He wasn’t sure he trusted even Chaff entirely. Blinded trust wasn’tclever in the city and it wasn’t clever between victors, best friends or not. TheGames were in the way, the Capitol was in the way, and ultimately everyone wasalways out for themselves. Lately, the only one he completely trusted was hisally and his ally was Effie because she was in his corner, always and withoutquestion. She had his back, he had hers and, for now, that was enough.

Terrifying, sure.

But enough.

“Okay.” Finnick sulked.

“Why the interest?” he insisted.

The boy shrugged and then pushed on his armsand legs to come closer to the window. “You ever cheated on her?”

“Hard to do since it’s not a thing.” he scowled, taking his feet out of the water. Histoes were wrinkled and he shifted to completely lean against the window. Hespread his legs in front of him to let them dry. “It’s not cheating, boy.” hesaid quietly after a few minutes. “Doubt your girl sees it like that.”

Finnick didn’t have a choice and Annie probablyknew that by now, assuming he had told her.

Effie went with sponsors from time to time. Hepretended he didn’t know, pretended he didn’t understand when she brought himback a sponsoring pledge that they would usually have no hope of securing. Heknew why she did it. She was desperate for a win, not just because of thepromoting bullshit she kept sproutingbut because watching their kids die was becoming too much. So she went andfound sponsors and he pretended he didn’t know how. He got angry about it, ofcourse, mainly because once you pushed that door, it was an open invitation todo it again. He also knew there were people she couldn’t say no to when theyexpressed an insistent interest, that it wouldn’t have been safe or clever.That made him angry too.

But neither of that was cheating.

And it wasn’t cheating either when a Gamemakermade it clear to him that he should entertaina wealthy lonely woman who used to have a crush on him twenty years earlierand fancied revisiting her youth.

Unfortunate was what it was.

Disgusting.

Unfair.

But cheating… The anger usually came out fromprotectiveness more than jealousy.

“I had a hard one the other day.” Finnickconfessed, so softly Haymitch could barely hear it over the lapping of thewater against the window with every of the boy’s movement.

“A man.” he deduced given the questions fromearlier.

It was almost a whole minute before Finnickconfirmed. “Yes.”

“He hurt you?” he growled.

Because it didn’t matter who the guy was,Haymitch would find him and wouldmake sure he knew better than hurting hiskid. That was only a fantasy, of course, he couldn’t do that without exposinghimself and the kid to more problems but… If it had been serious, they couldalert Crane. The Capitol frowned on their special clients damaging theirproperty.

They had had worse Head Gamemakers. Crane wasalmost decent compared to some.

“Not really.” Finnick sighed. “It’s just… Jowas in the same hotel. She had an appointment of her own so, after, I went to her room.”

He frowned. “And?”

“And it makes you crazy sometimes.” Four’s victor whispered. “Jo was furious. She’salways furious after that kind of things.”

“Relatable.” he snorted.

“We drank too much.” Finnick said. “We figuredsince the room was paid for, we could empty the mini-bar.”

And Haymitch winced, guessing where this wasgoing. “Booze and being upset usually don’t mix that well.”

The boy suddenly shifted, coming to a standingposition, facing the bay window. His feet must have touched the bottom becausethe water barely reached his shoulders. He placed both hands on the glass andrested his forehead on the cold panel. “I’m lying, we weren’t that drunk.”

“You slept together.” he sighed because he wastired of beating around the bush.

Finnick knocked his forehead against the windowtwice. “Three times.”

“In a single night?” Haymitch whistled. “Now,boy, you’re making me feel bad.”

Ah, being twenty again…

Two times in one night was a good run for himnowadays.

“Don’t mock, it’s not funny.” Finnick snapped.

He sighed again, took a sip of moonshine andthen handed out his flask, leaving his arm outstretched until Finnick caved andmoved to grab it. Four’s victor mirrored his position, resting his back againstthe window, a sulk on his face.

“She’s my best friend.” the boy lamented.

Haymitch wished he was more surprised but,truth be told, he had seen it coming. Hell, Chaffhad seen it coming. They had never discussed it but the acknowledgment hadalways been there in shared looks over the rims of their glasses, behind thekids’ back.

Nobody had believed in Johanna Mason during theSeventy-first Hunger Games. Nobody.And yet, on day three, Finnick had taken one look at the meek and terrifiedlooking little girl, had laughed and had claimed that she would be the victor.

And when it had turned out Johanna was neithermeek nor terrified, the boy had turned out to be right.

And the two of them had been thick as thievesever since.

They were young, attractive – and clearly attracted – and they were both goingthrough something terribly hard. It had been a matter of time.

“You love her?” Haymitch asked.

Finnick took a sip of moonshine, probablyfinishing what was left of it because he had to tip his head back all the way.“She’s my best friend.”

“Yeah.” He made a face. “You better made thatclear, then. And gently ‘cause thatgirl… She’s been looking at you with stars in her eyes from the start.”

“She knows about Annie.” Finnick argued. “It’snot… I love Annie. I love Jo too but…Annie…”

Annie was vulnerable and needed him to takecare of her and the boy probably needed the sense of purpose. Jo’svulnerability came in a different shape and she certainly didn’t need anyone totake care of her. Not that she would admit it to herself, at least.

“Boy.” he insisted. “Don’t play on both sides.They both deserve better than that.”

“No, of course not.” Finnick denied. “I’m not…I told Jo it was a mistake. She said she understood. She said we shouldn’t makea big deal out of it. That it was just sex.”

“Was it?” he challenged.

“It makes you crazy sometimes, Haymitch.” Four’s victor almost begged him tounderstand. “I didn’t plan it. It just…”

“No.” he scoffed. “That’s no excuse. It’s justlike the booze thing. You wanted to sleep with Jo so you slept with Jo.”

“It’s not that simple.” Finnick argued.

“Seems that simple to me.” he shrugged. “Youasked me here to tell you it was okay to cheat on your girl because you had hada bad night and one glass too many… Sorry but I wasn’t the right guy to call.Got many flaws but I don’t cheat.”

He had spent too many nights watching hismother wait for his father to get home, watching the disappointment on her facewhen she spotted the guilty glint in her husband’s eyes.

All in all, he figured he had only had twoimportant relationships in his life. His girlfriend who he had had honorableintentions for and who he had intended to eventually marry – and to never cheat on her because he wouldn’tbe that kind of bastard. And Effie, who was the only woman he had spent morethan two nights with in his life and to whom he had been clear with from thestart: whatever they had, it wasn’t exclusive, it wasn’t serious and it wasn’tgoing to be love.

The rules with Effie had been defined clearly. They were both free.

So, sure,in the last couple of years, the non-exclusive clause had become something of aproblem and they had shifted toward something more traditional. But it remainedunvoiced and unacknowledged and if either of them strayed…

Except he couldn’t see himself straying. He hadtried, at first, when he had realized just how long it had been since he hadbeen with another woman – since he had been forced to listen to her prattlingabout her latest boyfriend – it had scared him so badly to feel that way thathe had tried… But he hadn’t been able to go through with it. He didn’t want another woman. And it had felt too much like cheating…

He was many things but he wasn’t a cheater.

“We don’t sleep together… Annie and I.” Finnickconfessed. “Well, we sleep together but we don’t…”

“Yeah, got you.” he interrupted.

They didn’t have sex, was what he meant.

“She’s still recovering and… We said we wouldbe taking it slow.” the boy offered, clearing his throat.

It had been three years since Annie’s Games butfor some victors it was a longer road to semi-sanity than for others. Annie,from what he had heard, was pretty traumatized. Enough that she had remainedcatatonic for weeks and that the Gamemakers had been forced to keep her Tourshort and to the point. She had never come back to the Capitol after that. Itwas hard to hide that she had lost her mind, even from the audience.

“Still not an excuse.” Haymitch shrugged.

“I love her.” Finnick swore.

“Yeah? Which one?” he mocked.

Four’s victor rolled his eyes and tossed theflask back on Twelve’s victor’s legs. “Annie.”Haymitch toyed with it, waiting for the rest and, inevitably, it came. “ShouldI tell her or… Jo said we should do as if nothing happened and I think she’sright. It was a mistake.”

“That’s for youto answer, boy.” he sighed. “Just… Listen to me, don’t screw this up. Whateveryou choose to do… Make sure you don’t string the other along for nothing.”

He hauled himself up to his feet, pocketed hisflask and grabbed his shoes and socks before heading out of the pool onlypausing when he heard the sound of his name.

“Thank you.” Finnick said.

“Any time, boy.” he offered.

It was late enough that the only people he metalong the hallways were Peacekeepers who didn’t even blink at finding himwalking barefoot with his pants rolled up to his knees. They were too used tohis drunken stunts probably.

The elevator trip back to the penthouse feltendless but couldn’t have taken more than a few minutes. He spent the wholetime rubbing his face and wondering how and why he had found himself a mentorto victors who weren’t his own.

The penthouse was silent and dark, pretty muchuninviting, but he ignored the fleeting thought that he could slip back out toa bar or another. The living-room was empty and he didn’t bother turning on thelights, the colorful beams from the city nightlights spilling through the baywindows were enough for him to make his way to the liquor cart and fill hisflask with a very expensive whiskey. He downed a small glass while he was at itand then retreated toward the bedrooms where everything was equally silent anddark.

He paused in front of his escort’s room, hesitateda second and then pushed the door and strolled in like he owned the place. Hedropped on the foot of the bed, smirking when she sat up with a startled cryand awkwardly fumbled with the lamp on her bedside table. She didn’t seem toohappy to find him lying across her bed, missing shoes and socks, his pantsrolled up and his shirt still half open.

“Oh!You better not be drunk.” she huffed.

She was the only person he knew who could huffin a threatening fashion.

“Not drunk.” he promised, lifting both handsinnocently.

Her eyes narrowed as she studied him with raptattention. She must have been satisfied that he wasn’t lying because she huffedagain. “Did you have to wake me up?In case you are confused after twenty-three years of living here, your bedroomis across the hall.”

“But there are no gorgeous blonde in it.” hepointed out.

Her eyes narrowed even more but her lipstwitched. “Aren’t you being all charming… What do you want?” His smirk deepenedand he wriggled his eyebrows. She burst out laughing. “It is not happening tonight. You aroused meand abandoned me, forcing me to take matters into my own hands.”

“Sounds like I missed out on a good show.” hetaunted.

“You missed out on a great many things.” sheretorted. “I had slit panties on.”

“Kinky.” he commented, eyes sparkling inamusement.

“They were lace.” she scoffed.

“My favorite.” he remarked.

“Only because it is the only fabric you canrecognize and name.” she mocked, crossing her arms in front of her chest with adispleased pout. “Since going out with your friends was more important than mynew lingerie…”

“Finnick needed to talk.” he sighed, taking hiseyes off her to stare at the ceiling with a pout of his own. He liked Annie. He wasn’t sorry to know hewouldn’t have to see her face to face any time soon. He didn’t like lying likethat.

“Is something wrong?” she frowned, shifting soshe was kneeling next to him. “You look troubled.”

She placed a hand on the middle of his chest,the tip of her fingers was on his skin.

He debated about telling her or not. The boyhadn’t sworn him to secrecy but it was more or less implied that that sort ofconversations would remain between friends. Effie, he knew, could be trustedwith a secret.

But it wasn’t his to tell.

“I’m troubled ‘cause I missed out on the slitpanties.” he teased, reaching out to brush the side of her neck with his hand.

“Haymitch.” she said, seriously enough.

He shook his head and coiled his fingers aroundthe back of her nape.

“Nothing to worry about.” he promised. “Justgirl problems.”

“And he asked you for advices?” she scoffed, lifting both eyebrows. “He does know you are not an expert inrelationships, doesn’t he?”

“So funny, Princess…” he deadpanned, pullingher down for a kiss.

He would show her expert.

#hayffie #effie trinket #haymitch abernathy #prompt #games time #angst #teapot #coconuts friends #payment in nature #finnick #jonnick

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arachnexdragoon · 6 years

Note

▲ five time my muse thought about kissing yours, and the one time they did. (Ghost AU)

send me a symbol for…

“Ohmygosh, I could kiss you!”

Aranea realized a bit too late that she had voiced thesethoughts aloud – well, more like her relieved thoughts, and less like carnalthoughts. But at any rate, Ardyn had heard her and he chose to smile and to bowhis head lightly like a true gentleman, showing her the right way for the nextline transfer.

“Well, I suppose it is delightful to be rewarded for a gooddeed.”

“I’m so sorry. I was… Just too happy to see you. I clearlyunderestimated the subway,” Aranea replied with slightly reddened cheeks asthey walked through the crowd of busy-looking salarymen and high schoolstudents, all of them very aware of where they needed to go… Except for Aranea.She had lucked out, really – the closest station to her campus had no romajifor the station names and she ended up buying the wrong ticket and getting lostright after a first transfer in Shibuya.

Shibuya, of all places – well, at least it hadn’t been TokyoStation. Using her newly acquired mobile to phone Ardyn and to beg him torescue had seemed like a good option… Or rather, the only option.

“But if you’re feeling generous, then we could perhaps pick upsomething to eat on the way home.”

“My treat, Izunia-san~.”

II.

“It’s beautiful…” Aranea whispered, her hands open against thewindow and her face as close as she could to the glass without making it foggywith her warm breath. It was the first time it snowed in Tokyo since herarrival – and it looked straight out of a picture, especially considering thebeautiful view offered from Ardyn’s penthouse.

“You mentioned you had never seen snow before, yes?” Ardynqueried, coming to stand right beside her. Aranea was too entranced by the viewoutside to realize that her host didn’t have the same effect to the clear glassand appeared not to breathe, or that his reflection was also not showing up.

“Never. I’m from the southern part of the States, so it rarelysnows… Never got lucky with schools closing up for day and stuff like that,”she mentioned with a smile, but her eyes barely moved from the scenery outside.Ardyn hummed in agreement, hands folding behind his robe as he glanced at hisguest and smiled as well, although for other reasons.

“Have you acquainted yourself with the local lore, Aranea?This weather calls for the yuki-onna, it seems…”

“Snow… Woman?” she translated hesitantly, turning around toface the man and finding out Ardyn looked… Different. Maybe it was the waythe lighting inside was set, but he seemed to be outlined by the lamps, almostas if a faint glow enveloped his form and giving him an ethereal vibe. “What doyou mean?”

“The legend varies, my dear. Each region has its own version,but my personal favorite version is the one of the snow woman that appears whenthe first heavy snow falls, and who comes to steal the vitality and life forceof the men with deadly kisses. They supposedly freeze their victims to death…”

Aranea hadn’t realized she had been staring at his lips untilthey curved into a smirk once more. “Well. Not a bad way to go, yes? A kissfrom a woman in a white scenery like this.”

“No… Not bad at all.” It was also harder to swallow now, butAranea chalked it up to the ghost story.

III.

When Aranea’s skills with the local language advanced enough, shewas able to tell her classmates about the place she was staying at and how herhost looked like. She did notice a couple of her friends made surprisedexpressions at the moment she disclosed the location, but the description ofArdyn changed their stunned expressions into excitement.

“Aranea-chan, that man sounds like a really handsome one!”

She had to giggle – of all the comments she expected, that wasdefinitively the one she thought Japanese girls would be too shy to make, butapparently… They could get really comfortable with you once you made it as afriend, “I kind of… Agree, I think? He probably is old enough to be my dad,Sayuri-chan. Maybe I haven’t been exactly thinking about kissing him…” Or hadshe?

“Oh, that’s not a problem at all. My parents had an arrangedmarriage back at my home town and he was her senior for a lot of years… Still,they are still happily married.”

“I had this friend too, from high school… She used to dateolder men to get expensive gifts from them. Minako would certainly got a lot ofthings from a man like Izunia-san!”

At this point, Aranea wished she had pictures to show them –why was she always forgetting to take pictures of Ardyn? Maybe she could borrowone of the portraits she saw on a bookshelf, he looked like he fancied gettingpictures taken at these places where you dressed up with clothes from bygoneeras – at least the gentlemanly personality matched.

“Look, I’ll bring a picture over and you guys can help me ifit’s super wrong or not, okay?”

Hanae and Sayuri giggled, then exchanged a glance beforeeyeing Aranea again. “Aranea-chan, you’re weird. There’s nothing wrong aboutage.”

IV.

“That is so lame.”

Ardyn merely turned his head around, amber eyes focusing onthe expressions Aranea was making at the movie they were watching. Horrible,cliche horror movies from decades past had become a tradition of sorts at theIzunia household on Friday (the day also seemed to be the best suited one forthat, even if Japan had no issues with that particular day of the week as onethat could bring bad luck). The woman had a glass of wine in one hand and apackage of tiramisu-flavored pocky on he lap – really classy.

“What do you mean, my dear?”

“I mean… Seriously, you’re a girl and you’re driving byyourself, and then the car breaks down. Conveniently close to this big housewhere just this one guy with that eerie vibe about him lives. Of course itstarts to rain and clearly the phone is down, so you have no choice but tosleep at this old bedroom with a 4-poster bed and all that stuff.”

Her host was now outright smiling at her, stealing one of thesweet sticks for himself – Aranea remained amusingly outraged at the lady inthe movie, which was ridiculously ironic given the fact she was in a verysimilar situation herself – despite not knowing it. “This guy is obviously notalive… Or worse. And she is, like, accepting his offer to stay the night!”

At this point, the older man laughed and the sound of hisvoice broke Aranea out of her movie-induced reveries. She locked gazes withArdyn, realizing how she had felt that laugh more than heard it originally,being so close to his body when they were both sharing the couch and how it hadfelt… Nice.

Damn her friends at school, really. And damn Ardyn for beingsmirking and smiling all the time – it was hard to keep her mind off… Certainplaces and certain things when he did that.

“You’re laughing because you’ll never need to ask a strangerman to sleep at his house for one night, right? I know I’m bound to do it oneday, if I’ve learned anything from these movies.”

“Perhaps it won’t be such a ghastly experience, Aranea. Maybeyou’ll even… Come to enjoy…” his hands went for the snack again – or so Araneathought; but then the digits veered into a different direction and brushedagainst her chin, tilting her head up ever so slightly so their eyes could lockand she could feel the soft caress of a thumb over her lower lip, “Theexperience itself.”

Damn.

“…The experience?”

“The experience of spending one night with a strange man.After all, aren’t you living with someone you never thought you’d meet before?”

Oh, that.

“I’d hardly call you a stranger after these months, Ardyn.”

He smiled – again. And Aranea’s pale green eyes followed thattransformation, eagerly and more hungrily than she cared to admit.

“Good to hear that, my dear.”

Karaoke had started out as something meant to help Aranea getused to one of the favorite pastimes of every salaryman in Tokyo, as well aspracticing her Japanese reading skills. But the moment she found out thatalcohol was served and these lovely places were open 24/7, she started to likethem a lot more. The woman had a fidelity card from Big Echo and could nowvirtually greet the staff of the closest unit by name.

It was that bad.

Sometimes, she would go there with school friends; sometimes,she would drag Ardyn. He had a nice voice and he knew a lot of really old,dramatic songs that were wonderfully enhanced by his timbre and it was kind ofamazing to see how he transformed from the moment he picked up the microphone.Aranea was more of the pop songs of the current days, and she tried to stick tothe new singles and releases that played on the radio.

But eventually, drinking made it impossible for her to readeven the basic kanjis and she switched to cheesy and iconic western pop music.As someone who had grown up during the 90s, she knew an embarrassingly hugeamount of Britney Spears songs by heart – and although one could think it didn’tmatch her personality, a drunk Aranea made for a very good dancer and Britneyimpersonator.

Luckily for her, while it wasn’t Vegas, there weren’t camerasin the individual rooms.

‘Break the Ice’ had been her pick, and she had started itnormally enough, barely looking at the screen since she knew it all by heart;instead she used the available furniture as props for her dance moves,eventually landing on her host’s lap while singing: “Let me break the ice / allowme to get you right,” she dipped her head lower then, lips brushing againstArdyn’s ear shell, “But you warm up to me / baby I can make you feel…”

The woman knew, deep down, that she was pushing her luck – butwhen Ardyn responded to her teasing by holding her close and whispering intoher own ear, Aranea dropped the microphone and the song played without anyvoice over for a while – she was too busy staring right into these amber irises.

But the moment he smirked, again, her eyes were drawn downwardsand she actually when groaned when he licked his lips and widened the smile. Itwas official – Ardyn was now tempting her, seeing just how far she was willingto go.

And Aranea maybe would have done it if the phone hadn’t rung,letting them know that their time was up. The girl almost fell to the floorwhile trying to remove herself from her lap, but Ardyn was entirelycomposed as he picked up the phone and announced they were going to be headingdownstairs.

VI.

While winter had been magical in Japan, nothing compared tothe summer – for one, it was way hotter than anything she had experienced backin the US; but the sheer amount of traditions, special foods and fireworksfestival was memorable.

The hanabis were a must-see, Ardyn told her. Something thateveryone took part in and that was well worth the expense of buying a yukata.Aranea did so, and she was really happy to have followed Ardyn’s advice to buyone with a ready-made obi knot – it was fucking hard to do it by herself. Themoment she finished getting dressed and stepped in the living room, she couldswear that her host had stopped breathing for a second.

“You look beautiful, my dear.”

She made a small bow, a smile on her lips for once – well, atleast she could still get him speechless after so many occasions where thereverse thing happened. Ardyn looked really regal in a somber yukata – his darkhair and pale skin made for a striking combo and she was really pleased to seehow mesmerizing they were as soon as they passed a mirrored wall on their wayto the subway.

Their destination was Asakusa – a traditional place for that,Ardyn told her. Aranea was very much her own woman, but she was enjoyingwalking around with their arms linked and buying all the food available at thesmall street stands, as well as laughing at his observations and enjoying thecheerful atmosphere.

She was caught off-guard by the first firework – her hostlaughed at her, but hold her firmly against him and made sure they had a nicespot to watch the hanabi. Aranea spent almost the entire time looking up, inawe of the different colors and shapes – it was nothing like the 4thof July. But eventually she found herself looking to the side, and watching theprofile of her host being illuminated by the fireworks instead.

“I’m afraid you’re missing the spectacle, my dear.”

Of course Ardyn had caught her staring – he had an uncannysixth sense. But in the middle of all these people and considering all themonths they had spent together, Aranea merely smiled in return. This was it –she had enough. She had pondered time and time over this and she had a verdict.

Aranea stood on her tiptoes, tugging at his yukata sleeves toget his attention before pressing their lips together. Ardyn was… Smiling. Thatmuch she could feel, but it was quickly gone in favor of parting his lips andallowing her entrance, indulging Aranea before claiming control of the kisshimself and leaving her breathless at the end, with her heart out of controland the blood drumming in her ears loud enough to override any firework.

“No… The spectacle has just started.”

Predictably, Ardyn smiled – and it was fucking great nothaving to hold back and kissing the infuriating smirks away.

#ardyn #trashkingizunia #five times #meme #i finished iiiit!#it's actually sfw #and consistently makes fun of aranea #hope you like!

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diyunho · 5 years

Text

The Joker x Reader - “From Above”

She fell from the sky. Literally. The Joker has no idea who Y/N is, but one thing's for sure: after the encounter his life will never be the same.

The loud splashing sound makes The Joker open his eyes only to see the pool water flooding the terrace, almost reaching the lounge chair he dozed off on.

“What the hell?...” he gets on his elbow, confused after being abruptly woken up.

The waves are starting to calm down a bit and J finally gets up from his spot, curious and intrigued about the shape he’s discerning on the bottom of the pool: there’s actually someone curled up in a ball, most likely a woman.

The protective, translucent barrier surrounding your body is already disintegrated by the time The Joker dives under the water to get you out. In a few seconds you are placed on the same chair he rested earlier, The King of Gotham increasingly pissed that the security downstairs didn’t do their job properly.

“Hey, hey!” he taps your shoulder, puzzled by the white, skin tight outfit you’re dressed with: every time he touches it there are small electrical charges following the complicated pattern of your outfit.

You faintly moan, slowly coming to your senses.

“Hey, wake up!” J insists while wondering if you’re one of the “fliers”, a term used for people thrown from planes: either they know too much or have to disappear for good. Mobsters would frequently use aircrafts in order to get rid of unwanted cargo; a little push at high altitude and the corpse would be found splattered all over the ground and often unidentifiable. Did that happened to you? Were you maybe lucky enough to have escape death by landing in his pool?...

The Joker grabs his cell from the tiny table by his deckchair, instantly yelling as soon as Frost picks up:

“Are you guys napping??? What am I paying you for, huh?? How did she sneak in?!!”

“Who sir?” the henchman replies, totally alert now that the boss seems in a very bad mood.

“The woman in the white outfit! How did she pass by unnoticed?! Or did you just let her in The Penthouse to see if I’m amused by your stunt?”

“Sir,” the goon defends himself and the team. “We patrolled the perimeter and I can tell without a doubt that we didn’t see a soul. We would contact you before sending someone to The Penthouse; we know the rules.”

“Do ya’???!!” J yells so loud you open your eyes. “Never mind!” he shrieks seeing the woman’s reaction. “I’ll take care of it!” he hangs up and throws the phone back on the table.

“You!” he pokes your waist, annoyed. “How did you get in here, hm? Who sent you?” the interrogation continues. “Where did you come from?”

He watches you direct your arm towards the night sky, your index finger pointing at the stars.

“Were you thrown from a jet?” he slams you against the cushions when you try to lift your head. “Answer me!” The Joker violently yanks at your hand.

You just glare at him, analyzing the strange man shouting things you don’t care about and it makes you happy.

“Oh!” you exclaim and he doesn’t have time to dodge when your arms go around his neck; the embrace is so unexpected it takes moments to recollect.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” J snaps out of it and shoves you away. “Don’t touch me!”

You frown and pout, upset he didn’t recognize you: how could he anyway? It’s been so many years and it appears life hasn’t been kind to him to begin with. The logic realization makes you smile and The Clown lets you touch his face simply because he plans to break your fingers for the transgression. You keep caressing his face and your fingers are still intact, but he’s going to snap them soon. Probably…

“Who are you?” The Joker growls, mad at himself for showing weakness: he didn’t hurt you yet and he sure feels the urge to shred you to pieces.

“Who’s that Mister J?!” Kira sulks and walks outside on the patio, jealous the man she spent the evening with has somebody else over. She heard the commotion from the master bedroom and since her partner wasn’t in bed she went searching for him. Only to find The Joker with another girl, apparently engaged in some kind of foreplay. Or at least that’s what she believes.

“I have no clue,” he snarls while distancing himself from the weird creature that landed in his life out of nowhere.

“Don’t lie Mister J,” Kira speculates on The Clown’s capability of twisting the truth all the time. “Is she your new toy?” the envious woman inquires.

“No,” and the simple reply is not even taken into consideration.

“It’s fine, I can work with that…You could have us both in the same time…” she seductively bites her lip since this is the only solution separating her from being chased out of the premises. “Just let me stay…yes?”

“Stop talking and go to sleep!!!” he lashes out because he’s fed up with the blabbermouth: J has more important matters to attend than a resentful, casual escapade.

“Is she a dominatrix or something? I could get a latex suit for you also if you’re into that,” she continues to gamble on his patience when in fact he definitely had enough.

“GET. YOUR.ASS. inside,” he mutters through his clenched jaw, “or I’ll make you!”

He is definitely angry and Kira halts her tirade, aware she’s walking on pins and needles.

“Hey, where are you going?!” The King of Gotham inquires when you suddenly jump of the seat before he can pin you down. You run by Kira and barge in, your wet hair dripping all over the expensive rugs in the Penthouse.

“What is she doing?” the lady asks a worked up Joker rushing after you.

You keep on running around the huge living room, touching and marveling at all the extravagant decorations scattered around the place.

“Oh!!!” you keep on exclaiming and the odd behavior makes The Joker forget his temper and watch the scene with a painful grimace.

Out of the blue, a deafening noise shakes the Penthouse; a few windows crack and car alarms start blaring on the streets nearby.

Already? you think and stomp towards The Joker, grab his hand and drag him outdoors again.

“Let go!” he slaps your arm when your white outfit glows with such intensity he has to squint his eyes: your free hand reaches for the sky and he instinctively looks up; there’s something enormous shining above Gotham with lights rhythmically pulsating each time you take another step.

“Mister J, w-what is that?” Kira gestures at the eerie apparition and shrugs in fear when the pool water is ascending towards the invisible force acting like a magnet for the strong beam of incandescence illuminating the atmosphere.

Although it’s not necessary, you cling to the man you came for because he must be paralyzed by now: the flash always has this effect on first timers.

“Don’t be scared!” you reassure J, “I’m here to save you!” it’s the last sentence he discerns as both bodies float in the air towards the ship meant to get you out of there before it’s too late. “Don’t faint!” you try to keep him conscious but The Joker blacks out immediately, not used to the advanced technology he is privileged to experience.

**************

He groans in his dream, continuing to gaze at the transparent panels depicting stars and darkness steadily moving in the vast space. Maybe if he closes his eyes really tight and reopens them, he’ll be able to wake up from the bizarre hallucination.

Nope, it didn’t work.

“I’m in a padded cell at Arkham…I’m in a padded cell at Arkham…” he deeply inhales, repeating the words meant to aid him recover from the sluggish state he’s in. J manages to bring his fingers close to his face, not even noticing the tattoos on his hand are gone: the shimmering white attire he’s dressed with sticks out, adding to his astonishment. “Shit,” The Joker reprises his words, believing his brain is playing tricks on him: “I’m in a padded cell at Arkham…”

“You’re not in a padded cell at Arkham,” the woman’s firm yet calming tone informs and he turns his head instead of just looking up at the translucent ceiling: the sluggish state he’s in is starting to diminish, panic taking over.

“Where am I?” J mutters, his erratic breathing escalating the more he remembers about what occurred yesterday, unaware it was six days ago.

“Please calm down,” you smile and he attempts to stand up without success. “I know how it feels, I’ve been there before. Just take deep breaths and exhale, OK? You were in The Inc.Ubator for days but the process finally ended.”

“The…the what?” The Joker pants and you have to distract him otherwise he will hyperventilate shortly and it won’t help the situation.

“The Inc.Ubator fixes everything that’s wrong with someone at molecular level,” you press on his chest to assess his irregular heartbeat. “Do you sense a certain clarity in your thoughts? Like, they are not scrambled and distorted?”

J has no idea about the involved circumstances that lead to his redemption, but he’s about to find out.

“I’m not sure,” he justly concludes. “I think I completely lost my mind and I’m delirious.”

You chuckle at his affirmation since that’s what you thought also when you were saved by THEM 23 years ago.

“You didn’t lose your mind, I can assure you of the opposite: it’s fixed now. I’m sorry about the tattoos, teeth and hair though.The Inc.Ubator reads them as anomalies that shouldn’t be there: it follows biological imprints stored in its memory for each species, removing and repairing stuff that shouldn’t be there. Wanna see?” you offer to help him up and once on his feet you guide the dumbfounded Joker to one of the panels that reflects back as a mirror as soon as you draw a circle on its surface.

“Oh my God!” he covers his mouth in disbelief at the unusual sight: he has no more green hair, pale skin or tattoos; he looks exactly how he is supposed to look like without the Ace Chemicals incident. NORMAL.

“What did you do to me?” he fakely grins only to see white teeth instead of his silver ones.

“Not me, The Inc.Ubator; it’s an honor to be chosen as survivor of a dying world,” you draw the circle and the screen transforms back into the clear panel granting the two humans a visual of what is going outside the interstellar vessel.

“That’s Earth,” you point at a humongous cloud of debris in the distance. “What’s left of it…” Y/N’s voice dims at the visual. “The core had a surge in temperature and the globe imploded right before I took you. No warning for the people, nothing to stop it. But THEY saved us from that…”

The Joker has a hard time comprehending the insane concepts thrown at him, yet he finds the strength to utter:

“Who’s THEY?”

“Enhanced beings traveling around the Universe and collecting mementos of extinct planets. THEY can’t intervene, their laws forbid it,” you pause to sniffle. “THEY predict when catastrophe will strike and rescue a few samples before annihilation.”

J nervously digs his nails in your suit, unsettled by the news:

“So you’re one of them?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I’m from Earth, part of the First Wave they saved several years ago.”

“Why was I selected?” the former Clown Prince of Crime demands an explanation and he’s enlightened with the answer.

“Now that your mind was gifted back to you, do you recall the orphanage?”

His sudden silence confirms he does.

“Do you remember the mute little girl you used to play with?”

His eyes get big and you continue:

“You never made fun of me and my disability like so many other kids did,” you sadly recollect. “You always shared the sweets you stole from the kitchen and protected me from the boys that used to tease me. You didn’t know sign language but we understood each other, didn’t we?” your eyes get teary at the emotional past.

“… … Y/N?... “ J articulates the name he didn’t say since he was a child.

You nod a yes and provide more details to the stunned man standing next to you:

“I’m sure you also remember I disappeared. I didn’t. I was simply taken by THEM and brought here where The Inc.Ubator mended my handicap: that’s why I can talk. When THEY decided to save a few more before the disaster, I was urged to pick someone: the young boy that was so kind to me was the only one that stood out from my old existence. Thanks to their technology I was able to track you down and come get you,” you start sobbing and intertwine his fingers with yours. “I’m glad I had the chance to return the favor my dear friend,” you bury your face in his shoulder, incapable of letting go.

And the changed Joker squeezes you closer to him, shocked at the craziness that followed the first encounter with the lost and forgotten childhood friend. He doesn’t know what the future holds, but one thing’s for sure: his life will never be the same.