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#and there was quite a bit of unnecessary murder

shinygemstone · 2 years

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"Radical leftists have never accomplished anything because they're inconsistent snowflakes"

Bitch what do you think the American revolution was??? Nobody thought you could do government without a monarchy, the idea of the people picking who ruled was wild!!! The sons of liberty were literally left wing terrorists. And just btw we spent several years trying to talk king George the dumbass into keeping life liveable in the colonies (mainly Boston) but he just kept making things more and more extreme. So we played dirty. Guerilla warfare. We stole everything that wasn't nailed down and grabbed some hammers and stole some of the stuff that was.

So don't pull the "haha weak leftists will never come together to do anything patriotism strong we love America and the founding fathers" shit like they wouldn't be rolling in their graves at the current political climate.

#not to say they were good people #slaveowners are objectively bad people #and there was quite a bit of unnecessary murder #also that thing where people tried to scapegoat native americans for the boston tea party #but jfc britain was worse #like uhhh 3rd amendment exists for a reason #america #liberal #the revolution #that's slightly misleading #the revolutionary war #founding fathers

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keypaa · 2 months

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Astrology Observations No.5 🧛🏻‍♀️💋🖤👻

(+ a bit creepy stuff)

I use the whole sign system

Uranus opposition Ascendant & strangers talking to you all of a sudden in unexpected ways and places

Mars in 8th house get attacked by spirits often (sleep paralysis, seeing shadows, feeling presences) in many places you go to

!Sensitive topic¡

Astroid Medusa (149) in strong aspects (usually squares) with the north node/southnode + pluto indicate r*pe. I saw it in two of my friends chart. The north node can be seen as destiny. Even if you don't have this aspect and still went through this i love you you are never alone ❣︎

Scorpio ascendants attract a whole bunch of creeps trust your gut and keep it safe people always pay attention to what you are doing you just need to look closer

Lilith in the 10th house and females being annoyed of their presence in the work place. Usually also attract a whole bunch of jealousy in school, uni or at work. Michele Avil that was murdered by her best friend because of jealousy had this placement

Moon in Scorpio hate not having control they know how to (atleast try) to get someone to do something. Positive note good investigators who would make great psychologists, detectives and so on

So well if you have a bunch of 1st house, 8th house or 12th house placements in planets like venus, mars, moon or lilith you are more prone to attract stalkers atleast once in your life KEEP IT SAFE and I mean it¡! And by stalkers I also mean people who do a whole bunch of research on you and your life or keep following you obsessively on social media.

Don't leak unnecessary information about you and try to not go to quite places alone where no one could find you if something would happen.

Lilith in leo are feared by females loved by men

Venus in 10th house don't tell anyone about your love life trust me even tho people always find things to say and spread rumors about. You will publicly be known for what is happening in your love life.

Moon in aries need to be feared, if introverted it takes long to see their anger but most aries moons show ther anger explosively nevertheless they cool down rather quickly, loyal to their loved ones tho

Don't fuxk with leo venus friends they take care of them like a lion mother, dedicated

Venus in capricorn always have enemys

Masculines with libra placements always fall for people who don't love them the same way/or for absolutely toxic & crazzzy people

Lilith in the 22nd degree are necrophilists. Just look at Richard Ramirez chart, he loved s*x with the dead.

According to Ian Altosaar the 22nd degree is about murder and I combined this information with liliths nature, hidden desire. 👻Ps: Most necrophilists are men not always but almost all the time https://ijop.net/index.php/mlu/article/download/734/688/1339 or on Wikipedia (not so reliable source but says that about 92% are men)

Virgo placements get underratedly sexualised a whole lot. The biggest p*rn star right now has virgo placements. Also virgo liliths can be se*ualised

Pisces moons had a time of their life where they cried a lot or still are very emotional (nothing bad). Other than that they can be dangerously manipulative if they want to and feel every slight difference in someones behavior

Aquarius ascendants and loving colorful clothing

Juno (3) in aries and rooting for ambitious people that behave masculine in a loving manner (romantically)

Juno (3) in aquarius want a partner that sticks out from the masses

Mercury in sagittarius have a special voice

Pholus (astroid) shows you what transformed you the most in your life:

1st hous/Aries: You yourself/sports caused a transformation in your life

2st house/Taurus: Your financial situation changed you

3rd house/Gemini: The area where you live in (hood) affected you, or off topic your car/drivers license

4rd house/Cancer: Your home life, emotions or femininity

5th house/Leo: Creative skills of yours or recognition transformed you

6th house/Virgo: Routine or your health/hygiene plays/played a crucial role in your life

7th house/Libra: Your love life/ or glow up affected your life view

8th house/Scorpio: Deaths, paranormal stuff, operations, accidents and your sexuality transformed your way of dealing with life

9th house/ Saggitarius: Other cultures, traveling and your ancestors trigger something in you

10th house/Capricorn: Your work, work environment and accomplishments changed you

11th house/Aquarius: Humanitarian topics, technology and friends started your transformation journey

12th house/Pisces: Religion, spirituality & plastic surgerys may have affected your journey of developing your sense of self

Luvvv muah

3:18 PM

555

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wasawattpadkid · 1 year

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Housewife

Part - 5

Summery: Billy and Stu have been planning these murders for quite some time. Everything is going to plan until you show up. What happens when they meet someone who is just as mentally deluded as they are?

Pairing: poly!ghostface x fem!reader

Warnings for this series: murder, blood, smut (will be more in depth on smut chapters), power dynamics, a dash of sexism, knives, stalking, perverse behavior, cheating,

Part 1

"You know you boys look amazing in an apron." You wolf whistled at them both. Billy acted annoyed but he secretly loved the attention. Stu shook his ass at you making you laugh. Stu offered to do the dishes but for some odd reason they both fought over who would do them. Now there they stood aprons covering thier clothes. You and Stu practically had to hold down Billy as you tied the strings around him.

"I'll fix the popcorn!" You cheered hearing a groan from both men. "We just ate please..." Stu whined holding his stomach. "You two are party poopers. Well, while you do the dishes I'm going to change into my pajamas." Both their heads snapped towards you. "And I'm locking my door." You shouted down the hall.

You weren't really sure what to wear. You didn't want to draw unnecessary attention to yourself but in a way you did. They had girlfriends you knew that. The way they looked at you however was addicting. You weren't going to sleep with them so what's the harm in looking good? A voice in your head screamed male validation but you ignored that. You pulled the silky nightgown from your closet debating on wearing it. "Too obvious." You muttered putting it back in the closet.

Leaning your head out of your room you shouted. "How cold is it supposed to get tonight?" Within seconds you hear them both answer. "Very cold, extremely cold, even freezing, it might snow." You know damn well in the air of California it wasn't going to snow. You grabbed a pair of silky shorts and pulled out the matching top. That would have to do. Once you were changed you went back to the kitchen seeing the dishes were all done. "Thank you guys."

"Thank you for dinner." Billy said honestly. "Yeah what he said." Stu was laid out on the carpet as Billy glared at him. "Anytime boys." Stu looked at your new outfit trying to figure out how you looked so hot in pajamas. "Why didn't you wear what Bil- what we got you?" He corrected himself. You plopped down on the couch next to Billy. "Because I knew if I did, you two wouldn't want to watch a movie." Stu nodded as he shrugged knowing you were right. "Who said I wanted to watch a movie now?" Billy said dangerously close to your ear. You jumped up going towards the TV. "Alright! What are we watching first?"

Christine was pretty good, not as good as Stu made it out to be though. "The coolest car ever!" Stu shouted which you quickly shushed him. "I don't live out in the country like some people, keep your voice down." Stu covered his mouth in regret. "Yeah Stu keep your voice down." Billy repeated and you slapped his chest. "Ow!" He laughed. "My turn, put on Ferris Bueller's day off." Stu groaned sliding off the couch and over to the VCR.

"You'll love it. If you liked Dazed and Confused you'll like this." Billy cocked his head. "You never told me you liked that movie?" Stu ignored his friend's eyes focusing on the tape. "I saw it once." He played it off which confused you. "Once? You said you went to see it at the movies 4 times." Stu silently begged for you to shut up. "You never told me that." Billy said once again a calmness to his voice. "I'm sorry. I didn't think you'd care." Stu bit back. "What else are you not telling me?" You realized very quickly this could get worse somehow. "God you two fight like a married couple. Just put the movie in and get up here I'm freezing."

The arguing stopped immediately. Once the movie started Stu sat at the end on the sofa leaving you in the middle. Carefully you wiggled down laying your head on Billy's lap. "This doesn't bother you does it?" His eyes glanced down and back up again just as fast. "No you're good." Stu grabbed your legs laying them on his lap. Ever so often he'd drag his hands up and down your legs mindlessly. After a while he genuinely started to like the movie. "Those two are so banging."

"That's what I was thinking." Billy responded to Stu. "You think Ferris and Cameron are a couple?" Stu made a noise shaking his head. "Did you see the way they look at each other or how no matter what bullshit Ferris drags him into he goes along with it?" The room grew silent with a unanimous acknowledgment of the current similarity. The movie continued and so did Stu's commentary. "Oh no, all three of them are fucking." You laughed and Billy took notice. "What's so funny about that?"

"Oh nothing it's just I can see it." The movie continued with Stu laughing his ass off at some parts. Billy's hand found it's way into your hair playing with what he could grab. Slowly your eyes fell shut. "She reminds me of you almost." Stu said turning to look at you. "Man she's asleep." Stu loudly announced, annoyed you both didn't finish the movie. Billy looked down watching your chest slowly go in and out. "Then why are you yelling?" Billy snapped. "Sorry." The boy mumbled. "Cut all this off while I take her upstairs."

"Why do you get to put her to bed she barley even trusts you awake?" This Billy found particularly funny. "That's rich coming from the guy that's done nothing but hit on her since you met her." Stu moved your legs standing up off the couch. "I do that with everyone it's charming." He laughed until he saw the way Billy was looking down at you. "Why do I get the feeling I'm being replaced?" Stu paced on the shag carpet. Billy sighed not wanting this shit right now. "We'll talk about this later."

"No I think we'll talk about it now. A year ago you came to me in need and I did everything I could to help. It was month after month of "I was drunk" or "I don't even remember it." I put up with it hoping once this was all said and done with, we'd run away and have our sequel. That was the plan wasn't it Billy?" You wavered in and out of consciousness barley piecing together what was being said. "She's different Stu and you know that. You feel it too. I need time to think to plan around this." He looked down at you noticing your eyes twitch. "We'll talk about this later."

Stu knew that was the end of the conversation. "Y/n..." He gingerly whispered trying to wake you up. "Mhm?" You stirred swearing they were fighting. "What's wrong?" You asked trying to look around. "Nothing's wrong we were trying to figure out if we should pause the movie or not. I'm going to take you to bed and me and Stu will head there shortly." You just rolled over burying your head against his stomach. Billy slowly moved off the couch, picking you up bridal style. Stu followed making sure Billy followed your rules.

Billy placed you softly in bed hoping to just look at you for a bit. "If it's too cold on the floor you can climb in here." You mumbled. You weren't in your right mind Billy knew that and so did Stu. That wasn't stopping them however. "Go cut the lights and everything off then bring your bag up here." Stu like the good little soldier he was, he did as told.

"Here." He handed Billy his sweat pants. "We're sleeping in our shirts." Billy said as he unbuckled his belt. "What why? We never sleep with our shirts on." Billy folded his pants sitting them on the chair in the corner. "Because if she wakes up and sees us half naked beside her she's liable to freak thinking we did something. So please, just do as as I say for once." Stu had to give Billy this one. He was the smartest piece of shit in town.

Stu was the first one in bed with you. Making you roll over and wrap your arm around him. "Billy look!" He whispered like you were a cat in a cute position. You tossed your leg over him next making it impossible for him to move. "Billy help! Her feet are fucking freezing!" He whispered once more earing a laugh from Billy. "She looks so peaceful doesn't she?" He taunted as Stu struggled against your restraints. Before getting into bed Billy cut off the light making the house seem earily dark.

Billy climbed in, his back towards you and Stu. Without warning you rolled over putting Billy in the same position Stu was. "She makes a good big spoon don't you think?" He taunted back but deep down Billy had never felt more comfortable. "Shut the fuck up." He mumbled holding your hand that rested over his waist. His thumb traced little circles on you hand. Stu scooted behind you. He snuggled up knowing damn well all three of you would wake up in a cold sweat from just being around each other all night. "Goodnight boys." Your voice was dangerously clear. Stu was already half asleep but Billy however heard you. He wasn't sure how much you knew but he'd have to quickly figure it out.

(If your name has a line through it Tumblr wouldn't let me tag you.)

Part 6

Taglist: @katie-tibo @danodoll21 @agustdeeyaa @bowlofceral @gonnapermashift @tati-the-fangirl @kozumewhore @tatijoestar @illyanam1011 @c4rved-pumpk1n @msghostface @gojosbucket @sammanna @lokigirlszendaya @reneki @fetusharryluvr @kadu-5607

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harrysonlylover · 9 months

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Checkmate ( Part 1)

Summary: Two rival assassins are sent out to complete a mission during which they bump into each other. Questions will be asked, and history will make an appearance.

So dear reader,grab your mask and summon your sharp wit.

Trope: Assassin! H / LHH

Warnings: mentions of knives, guns, violence, blood, physical fight.

Wc: 10.5k

A/n: why not…? I love Darkrry, so enjoy. @keepdrivingkisses sent me a video of Mr & Mrs Smith and then i got to work hehe!!!

Main Masterlist

Author’s POV

The truth is you’re going to die.

It doesn’t matter if your life flashed before your eyes, if the sky was dark and cloudy, or if it was predictable because you spilled your coffee that morning.

Death could happen in the most bizarre ways, on the train home, while you’re asleep, or even sitting peacefully at home. It is inevitable and once it is decided there is no going back.

Although it arrives suddenly, without warning or a chance to bid your loved ones goodbye, it can also be planned, calculated and you very much would be aware.

In this case, you would be someone known and a threat to someone else with a reputation. Usually, bodyguards will flood your houses, follow your every step, and hire security teams.

Once your head has a price, you will be found.

The how’s and why’s are irrelevant, what is asked for will be done discreetly and without catching attention from the wrong people. This job is not for the FBI or even some counterintelligence agency. In fact, they’re the ones who are not supposed to ask questions.

Assassins have been feared since monarchy days, the number of kings or descendants that died at the hands of an assassin is countless. It remains to this day, the most efficient way to eliminate someone that harms your good.

Thankfully, not everyone can order assassins around or even have their contact, but don’t forget that they are normal people, with normal lives and you could sit down for a coffee with one of them while they clean the blood off their hands at night.

This isn’t about who’s the target, because they will die anyways. This is the story of two assassins, that you better watch your back from, and maybe lock your doors really well.

Never mind, I wasted your time. They will find you.

3rd Person POV:

The rain poured down heavily, hitting the pavement with loud thuds enough to make both the living, and the dead uncomfortable. The weather has been holding some tension for a few days now, so the wrath of Zeus is hardly a surprise.

It will remain this way for a while; the children will run home ready to hide in the safety of their warm nests, drink the hot chocolate their parents prepared, and hug their plushies at night, not forgetting to shudder slightly with every thunder.

The adults will let out a sigh of relief and use it as an excuse to call in sick from their miserable job, perhaps surrender to a movie night with a cheap bottle of wine.

Rain is an accomplice in murder. Once it appears, normal human beings will cocoon themselves in the safety of their homes. As for others, well they do anything but stay at home.

In a hotel room, in the heart of Paris, a girl is pacing around and quietly unpacking her suitcase, which is oddly lightweight. There are only a few people who pack light.

The white duvet is untouched, with no hints of any wrinkle. She had just arrived, and she knows better than to rest or even lay her head. Rest is for the weak.

The first thing she spotted when she unlocked the room is the crimson red object, perhaps not with her eyes but you could call it a sixth sense. She didn’t give it much attention nor grab the tightly sealed card next to it. Instead, she let out her towel from the suitcase and headed toward the bathroom.

The water must always be lukewarm. A hint of warmness to relieve her muscles, and a bit of coldness for the sting and maybe to increase her blood flow.

She doesn’t stare at the mirror for long, they are quite useless. Glass is unnecessary and merely a distraction method. She knows quite well that she is magnificent, and the validation will always be provided by her, not a man nor a patriarchal object.

The nature of her job rendered her to remain fit and lean, working out is the only routine that could never be altered from her schedule. Though, this isn’t the reason she adores her body. It’d be the same for her whether she was curvy or slim. She simply doesn’t give a fuck.

Fortunately, a loser of a man once crossed her path in a bar and was on a date with a plus-size woman. She happened to sit near them and they seemed to be hitting it off until the (might she add gorgeous) woman took a bathroom break, in which he found the opportunity to call his best mate and tell him how ‘ugly she is’ and that he ‘doesn’t date these types.

She was feeling good that night, so she decided to be kind and was satisfied by pouring a very small amount of potassium monoxide into his drink. She didn’t stay enough to know what happened, neither did she care. However, she did make sure to set up a nice date for the girl.

She smirked proudly at the memory as she walked nude toward the bed and began applying her rose lotion. Having to constantly travel and move locations did not stop her from indulging in self-care or pampering herself with luxurious products. After all, the money she gets already bought her a house and a car, so why not splurge?

After a quick stretch, applying hair oil, and styling it she finally shifts her attention to the item hung on a closet that she won’t use, along with the white envelope lying next to it, and the message she received on her burner phone which she heard its chime even whilst being under the water.

The hanger held a long silk dress, burning crimson red and showcasing the collarbone area with an unnoticeable slit near the thigh. It was obvious that it was made of real silk paired with matching crimson satin heels, and both items originating from Prada. Although it is a silk dress, it does not hug her body, nor fits a party. Instead, it is quite baggy and for a formal occasion. Just next to the discarded envelope, a red mask with feathers is placed.

She reached for the envelope and revealed the letter designated for her.

The blood will trail crimson red

Unbeknownst to my guests

In spring, poppies will spread

So come here and catch heads

She couldn’t help but allow the corners of her mouth to twitch. Her boss has always been extra, but she’s tolerated him for years. She burns the letter and then checks the content of the text he left.

1st Arrondissement, Place Vendôme

8:00 PM. Will send the location in an hour.

You know your target.

She sat down and ate her Salmon with Brussels quietly watching the clock tick loudly as it strikes 6:00 PM. The rain is tainting the windows and the echo of the thunder lingers even with the glass being shut.

Her eyes focus on the rain droplets sliding down the window and she wonders if it will persist for two more hours.

If it does, it’d be better to stay home and not wander around in the streets. Poppies are deadly.

Paris, 7:30 PM

After her quick dinner, she had enough time to kill, literally.

She unpacked her special bag and followed through with her routine that must always be done before every job. Her collection of knives was staring at her, their shiny metal mirroring her face.

She was still standing in her corset and panties. She abandoned bralettes ages ago and opted for corsets to form some sort of protection on her chest area, they also don’t bother her like bralettes did.

As for her underwear, it was a gift from one of her old female bosses.

‘Men are predictable and always aim for your panties, so do let them touch’

The fabric was made to specifically hold a heavy object but without grazing her skin. She has to admit how smart of a move it is to create such clothing. Her stiletto knife always accompanied her right in her lace underwear.

But one is never enough for her, a garter belt on her thigh will have to do, she can’t risk placing it on the side where the slit in the dress could reveal it. So she opts for her right thigh and tightly secures two push daggers in it.

She wore her custom dress quite quickly, along with the satin heels but her bag was still staring at her. Maybe a gun wouldn’t hurt? For fun?

Thankfully, she always lubricates and cleans her guns after the mission, so she doesn’t have to waste time before one just to clean it up. She placed a cartridge at the top then pushed it down and back and inserted the top of the magazine into the magazine well at the bottom of the frame with the bullets facing forward, then pushed upward until the magazine is fully seated.

A click sound was heard, and it was more satisfying than the screams of her targets. She put the safety on and then stuffed the gun in her corset, making sure it was in an easy-access position.

Her hair was already styled right after her shower, but she decided to go for a smoky eye look with dark red lipgloss. She didn’t have to look in the mirror to know how pretty she is.

If only looks could kill.

She locked the lower layer of her case that carries her equipment with the code panel that is barely noticeable and covered it with the top layer having luxurious makeup (with maybe some of it being equipment disguised as beauty products). She locked the bag overall and placed it in a cupboard that hotel workers probably don’t even know of, but these are the perks of being trained to observe.

She checked the burner phone for the location and cursed the dress code that is stopping her from going there using a motorcycle. She took the feather mask and placed the burner phone in the pocket of the dress before leaving her room and locking it well.

Place Vendôme , 8:15 PM.

As soon as her heels set foot in the spacious vintage venue, she deleted the location text from her burner phone and wrapped the ribbons of the feather mask around her head. She arrived at exactly 8 PM, her professionalism allows nothing less.

However, her impatience does have something to say about the delay of her mission. According to the file she studied before her arrival in Paris, her target is a businessman called Arthur Lorray. She closed her eyes allowing her visual memory to take over, to recall her target’s info. Her mind focuses sharply on the document she memorized back in Amsterdam.

Arthur Lorray, 58 years old, Male, American, blue eyes, scar on his left cheek, 5’9 feet tall, 90 kgs, can be found around a group of women.

Mission: lure the target to a safe quiet place and eliminate him then use the window to escape.

Murder witnesses if found and leave no trace behind.

Payment: 2 million $

Her boss left her this information in a sealed file while staying at a hotel in Amsterdam, Henry is also a businessman and she never asked why he is demanding the death of these people. She assumes it’s some men’s shit about power and authority.

Now, where does the issue lie?

Her target Arthur is nowhere to be found. The ball hasn’t even started yet, and now that she takes a good look around her it’s quite the event. She feels as if she stepped back in time to an 1800s-themed ball, all the women are dressed in fancy lace and feather gowns, with masks covering their faces. The men are wearing old suits with ruffles and weird-looking boots.

The chandelier is probably worth around 3 million $ alone, it’s decorated with shiny crystals that are reflecting on the marble tiles. The hall is spacious with high ceilings, and some of the walls hold a lantern with fire in it to convince the guests that they actually traveled in time.

The walls are adorned with luxurious gold leaves, and Renaissance paintings in the center of the ceiling with high columns as if built by the Romans. All these details provided the illusion of an imperial event unbeknownst to the guests that are mingling and grabbing one glass of champagne after the other.

In the middle of the hall, a man is sitting on a leather bench slowly killing her ears by playing the piano as his friend plays the violin, if not for the violin player she’s pretty sure the first guy would’ve brought back the great depression era.

It is obvious that the guests are just starting to arrive, trying to find the people they know then giggle and complain about the masks. It is her job after all, and she must wait if it requires, but men tend to sit on her nerves.

She fetched a glass of Dom Pérignon, to appear as if she’s blending but she doesn’t drink on the job, nor does she like it in the first place.

It won’t be hard to detect her target, it is quite easy to spot a herd of businessmen and differentiate them from the normal middle class or at least non businessmen.

They would be gathered around each other like a stock of sheep, making misogynistic jokes with their hands wrapped around their newest arm candy. If Arthur already has a woman with him, it will make it harder for her but never impossible.

She could feel that a man is about to approach her for flirting, so she quickly walks the other way and roams the entire hall both in search of her target and to escape the company of a boring male.

She keeps her eyes on the guests and takes note of her boss that is standing near other businessmen. Now, of course, she will not approach him nor should she. In missions like these, her goal is to eliminate whom he asks for, it is a rarity that he requests protection.

He has bodyguards but she’d protect him if she must, however maintaining a distance and no contact is the preferred method.

The cold glass in her hand is starting to leak melting ice on her palm from how long she’s been holding on to it. She pretends to take a sip from it and discards it on a nearby table.

The hall is now beyond full and echoing with laughter and chatter, if Arthur did arrive it’ll take her more time to find him, and that she doesn’t have. She spots a staircase leading to a 2nd-floor balcony with the hall she’s in being the view.

She discreetly and innocently climbs up the stairs, paying attention to the two knives and one gun placed in sensitive areas. Once she finds a good location, her eyes behind the mask begin roaming the guests.

Albeit the loud chatter and obnoxious laughter, she was still able to pour her focus into the crowd. Her irises spotted a man with a physique the same as indicated in Arthur’s file, he shifted his face at just the right angle for her to catch the scar that the mask is barely able to hide.

Gotcha, she muttered under her breath.

She slowly and carefully went down the stairs and headed gracefully toward the eastern corner of the hall. Though there was some sort of feeling or even instinct that settled in her stomach. Her target was so close, but she felt as if something wasn’t right.

She stopped in her tracks and instead decreased her pace. There was something that she can’t pick up but at the same time, she can’t risk delaying her mission when she’s already got a hold of her person.

Assassins could never trust their instincts, but she never admitted to anyone the number of times her instincts had saved her.

‘Rule number fucking one: never do instinct bullshit. Assassins use their brain and skills unless you don’t plan on living for long.’

In situations like these, she’s reminded of her mentor’s words during her training as an amateur. She stops in her tracks once she catches a whiff of a dangerously familiar scent.

Tom Ford, tobacco vanille.

It could be the scent of any man here but combine it with her hunch and she’ll have a problem on her hands. She takes a deep breath and shifts her eyes to check that her target is still in place, and to see if there are any signs of trouble.

“Hey watch out!” Despite her quick reflexes, she barely turned around before a bulky man bumped into her, making her shift her body and stand in shock as the smell of the perfume intensified.

The man continued to walk without a care in the world, and if she doesn’t make him turn around, she’ll never have her peace of mind.

“Fucking dick! Do you have eyes?!” He stops in his tracks at her tone and quietly turns around tilting his head in annoyance.

His hair was long and shoulder length, his golden mask didn’t help in hiding his forest-green irises. He offered a hint of a smirk, and his eyes immediately drop to her forearm, right below her elbow, and fixate on her poppy tattoo.

Harry fucking Styles.

Her rival assassin, commonly known as Azrael; angel of death.

“I believe you were in my way, flower.” His voice was low but deep, enough to confirm her suspicions and make her body go on alert mode.

A red fucking code.

She begins walking backward, feeling uncomfortable with the situation. He started following her just as she turned around and walked the other way.

It is never a good sign to have another assassin present during a job, whether they’re sent for your target or another. But he isn’t just any assassin, the names Poppy and Azrael go way back.

Poppy started crafting a plan in her head and tried to come up with answers as she diverted him from her and lost him in the crowd. The only obstacle is that she’s one of the very few dressed in red. Mainly, the colors blue, gold, yellow, and dark green are the most prominent. Besides, this isn’t the first time she’s played hide and seek with him which motivates her to hide her tracks.

In situations like these, her boss becomes a priority. For all she knows, Azrael could be sent here to harm him. She fishes out her burner phone and quickly types a text message to Henry’s phone number.

Another is here, call your security team.

She watched as his facial expression changes once he read it, and she doesn’t linger long enough to check on her target. It could all be discussed later on, but the fact that an assassin is in the same room as her is a red fucking code, let alone being the most ruthless assassin with a reputation that precedes him.

Although it is not a smart move, she waited until Henry was escorted out of the building by two teams of security, not batting a lash at the murmurs of the crowd that only persisted for a few minutes before they got back to partying.

Her job here is done.

Arthur Lorray is still breathing, and she can’t help but feel her blood boil.

The thing about Assassins is that they’re solo ravens. They may have partners, but never anything other than an assassin. Knowing her nemesis she’d assume he’s alone. Now that her boss is no longer near him, she has nothing else to do.

But she can feel him, and her body is betraying her. She can sense his perfume, his smirk behind the mask, his curls brushing on his face, and she can certainly feel his presence behind her back.

“Checkmate Poppy.” He whispered in her ear causing a shiver to run down her spine. His hot breath was so close to her neck, prompting goosebumps to spread all over her skin.

She didn’t turn around, nor move an inch. His face was settling near her neck, with his mouth close to her earlobe. She remembered the instructions in her file and how she was supposed to escape through a window which makes her believe that it was an easy route. She eyed the staircase while turning her head backward gently to give him her death stare.

“Oh, how I’ve missed running after you.” He chuckled as he allowed his eyes to roam her angelic face.

Meanwhile, she had her eyes set on the waiter coming towards them with a tray of expensive champagne. She discreetly stepped on his long ridiculous coat making him fall forward and drop the tray on the ground, splashing Harry and some guests in the process.

It was her cue to escape, but he doesn’t want to let her go.

Just as her heels set forward, his hands followed by grabbing her arms and pulling her backward to his chest. “Sorry folks! My wife is a bit clumsy.” He sent them his charming smile making the women swoon and the men mutter under their breaths. With his hand tightly wrapped around her torso, he fished out a heavy stack of bills reaching up to thousands of dollars and gave it to the waiter before patting him on the back.

Poopy was fuming. She could escape if she wants to, and they both know that. Not by some silly distraction method or out of the window. For fucks sake she is one of the most requested assassins. Well, she and Harry are.

She’s not in danger, he wants to play his sick game of a cat chase just like he always did. She could aim at his weakest spots that she memorized, or even use her one of her push daggers to the side of his larynx and sever the carotid artery and jugular vein.

But she has to admit. She missed having someone to push her buttons and challenge her.

The crowd slowly dissipated and forgot all about the commotion the deadly pair caused. One thing about his grip is that it’ll leave marks, he was even covering her entire torso by just wrapping his arm around it. He’s trying not to think about how despite his physique, she can still beat his ass if she wants to.

So why resist Poppy Princess?

None of them had time to make any move. It’s a bit ironic to see the two most dangerous assassins get pushed to the middle of the hall because Mr. I can barely play the piano decided to announce a dance.

She should’ve killed him when she first entered, she thought.

“Oh darling reminds me of our honeymoon.” He mocked with a sick smile planted on his face. His sarcastic comments have begun and she’s not sure for how long she can handle him before shooting him in the leg, or even better his crotch.

It is quite a shock to see him after so long, there was always unfinished business between them. A grudge, a scar, or even something more. How would the guests act if they knew that they are in the presence of good old dangerous foes?

They were forced to put on a mask, different than the one they have on. Fleeing to an isolated place was not a choice, not when almost the entire hall gathered to dance with almost no space to leave. He was definitely not going to allow her to dance with someone else.

“Long time no see Azrael.” She finally spoke as they stood in position for the dance. They both bowed down to each other, not forgetting to raise their eyes and offer a sharp stare.

Their eye contact competition has started.

The annoying musicians began performing Waltz No.2 by Dmitri Shostakovich and it was everyone’s cue to commence waltzing. Poppy and Azrael held hands before standing next to each other as they extended their opposite legs, his left arm behind his back while she spread hers.

They then straightened their postures as she placed her left arm on his right one that is touching her shoulder blade while joining the opposite sides of their hands before beginning to sway to the right.

“I was indeed beginning to wonder where you’ve gone. I thought someone else earned the pleasure of killing you.” He replied to her previous comment as his eyes burned into hers from behind the mask.

“No, I can’t possibly die when I still didn’t kick you in your crotch.” He made her spin around with his hand before getting back to their position.

She can feel his touch burning deep into her skin and settling in, let alone the music that is intensifying, or his eyes that are not parting from her or looking out for bumping into the others.

“Oh please just say you want to take a look.” His voice didn’t have to be so raspy when he was basically in her face and attached to her.

They began swaying to the left, their feet in sync with each other as they danced in circles around the room while the symphony kept playing. It was legendary, only if some knew. A Dance with the two masters of death, as if they’re tiptoeing and having fun with others’ lives. A deadly rhythm indeed.

Their chemistry and deadly stares grins behind the mask, and body language would be enough to pull at the strings of the violin tearing it apart to shreds as they watch everything around them get destroyed except for them.

“How’s that scar I gave you?” She mused aiming to humor his sarcasm.

“Amazing. I look at it every day wondering when I can give you a similar one.” He tried not to chuckle recalling the scar on his rib that he maybe likes a bit too much.

“How about never?” She violated the rules of the waltz by getting dangerously close to his face just for her to whisper in his ear.

They changed their position as she extended her arm to the side of his neck and him to her waist before they danced around in a circle. They switched to the right and joined palms not tearing their eyes from each other.

“Why are you here Harry and how did you know where to find me?” She decided against digging her nails into his skin as they got back to the previous dancing posture.

“I can find you when I want to.” He replied providing her with both a truth and a lie. He really can find her if he wishes to and so can she. He fought the urge to do so many times just to see her pissed off. However, he had no idea that she’ll be here. He just came here for his mission.

He makes her spin one more time before claiming his tight grip on her. He can see the confusion and anger in her eyes, how she was trying to pull information out of him but if anything he knew since the moment he laid his eyes on the deadly flower that trouble is in this very room.

“Oh, so you want to play this game, Harry? Like old times?” She sneered making him let out a chuckle at her fierceness that he always admired.

The music piece was now nearing the end and it’s such a shame they didn’t get to properly indulge in the dance, except that if they did some tables might get wrecked and they’d leave with bruises just like always.

“What was the score? Refresh my memory petal.”

“Who’s counting? We did a number on each other, it’s time for another game.” She didn’t elaborate any further and instead bowed down one last time like all the dancers in the room before leaving the hall and bumping into his shoulder.

He glanced behind him and saw her taking the stairs as she turned around to give him her deadly stare that he knows even if she has a mask on. She was not running away from him nor hiding.

It was an invitation.

With a proud grin on his face, his legs instantly followed her persisting fragrance immune to the women attempting to ask him for a dance or a chat . His eyes were set forward, not blinking nor angling his head an inch.

The second floor was empty and discarded as if it was left especially for the two of them. He strolled nonchalantly eyeing the closed doors for a tiny gap, her perfume became stuck to his clothes and hair as if it were aiming to distract him from her.

“Come out wherever you are Poppy, let’s have some fun.” His voice echoed in the empty corridor as he continued to look for evidence of her presence.

Even the deadliest assassins leave trails, it depends on whether it was intentional or not.

His eyes landed on a red feather delicately resting on the marble tiles near a slightly open door. Was it an invitation or a clumsiness on her part?

His hand itches as it slowly pushes the door eliciting a loud squeak due to the age of the wood. The light is dim inside the room, but it is enough to display the magnificent interior. The walls are similar to the ones downstairs but with more gold, and the room is free of furniture except for the occasional flower vase or antique sword.

He barely takes one more step before his body is pushed against the nearest wall with a knife positioned at his throat. Her perfume is making him dizzy in a new way, and he should know better than to fall into her mouse trap that easily.

But in these moments, he wasn’t Azrael the ruthless assassin. He was just Harry.

“Really Poppy? From behind the door?” He let out a deep chuckle that she felt go through her body as the only thing separating them now is her sharp stiletto knife.

“I want my answers and I’m going to get them.” There was no hint of sarcasm in her tone nor humor.

The sharp edge of the knife is digging into his neck, one tiny shift and she’ll draw blood and he smirks at the thought. Little minx.

Her mask is now gone and he’s not sure if that’s good or bad, but what he can do is stare at her eyes as if she has some sort of magic like a siren. The surprising news is that he’s doing the same. His irises are just so different when the light is dim as if they need to shine more or grow darker.

One of them needs to make a move, and it’s Harry’s turn to move the chess piece.

It happens so quickly that it manages to shock them both. He blocks the knife with his palm allowing it to barely penetrate his skin and draw a small amount of blood then throws it to the ground as it lets out a loud thud.

He turns her body around locking a tight arm around her waist and searches for any other weapons she might carry. He pats her instead of letting his hand wander around her skin until he’s met with something on her thigh.

“You brought knives to a gunfight?” He tsked breaking his tough façade, switching to his cocky personality.

“I like it messy. Now what are you doing here?” She gritted through her teeth as she was visibly angry. Harry was more interested in the way her chest is rising and falling, it was so intriguing to watch especially when he usually does it before stopping the rising. But her. He could get paid to watch it.

“We could stay like this all night. Never minded some fun with knives.” His threat is verbal and reassures her that he will not let down his guard.

The tension here does not lie just between two assassins who are curious as to why they’re found in the same room, but also in their history of banter, chasing, and the sexual tension that lingered as their shadow.

Poppy’s chess piece moves.

She uses her heels to press on his crotch earning a pained wince from his lips, it was almost like a moan going right into her ear. His grip gets loose around her waist as she pushes his body away and heads towards her beloved knife that is discarded in the center of the room.

She can feel him about to approach her as she picks up her knife so she reaches for one of the push daggers from her garter and aims it in his direction without looking. She had to check on her knife after all. Priorities?

When she finally raises her head and takes a look, her eyes fall on his figure pinned to the wall due to her push dagger that penetrated his suit and cut off a piece of fabric and some of his chocolate hair.

He’s smirking as if she didn’t just risk his life, he finds it quite amusing. The hair strands and fabric fall to the ground as he twists the push dagger between his fingers while strolling toward her.

“You like it messy Poppy, don’t you? I’ll give you messy.” His tone was dark and threatening but it’s nothing she can’t handle.

He hides the dagger in his pocket and takes off his ripped jacket discarding it to the ground. They stand facing each other like two chess pieces. The Rook and the Queen.

“I’m not leaving here until I get my answers.” She warned as they both moved around in a circle eyeing the other’s body language.

“And my hair took time to grow flower.” His forest eyes dug deep into her soul.

He attacks first aiming at her collarbone but she ducks down and twists his arm before punching him in the face. It is not enough to cause deformations to his pretty face but his anger is so worth it.

He saw her smile for the first time tonight, and isn’t it wonderful that he gets to wipe it away? He goes after her and uses the dagger he claimed to cut through her dress right where the slit is so that her entire thigh is shown.

He has to admit that the sight of the garter on her thigh and her bare legs could kill him without any weapons but he needs to stay focused.

“Oh you little fucker” She moves a hair strand from her face and goes for her next move before he can blink.

She takes out her gun from her corset, turning off the safety blindly before shooting in his direction but not at him. He has no time to react as the vase that he didn’t notice behind him takes the bullet and blows up into pieces, one of them slashing slightly through his cheek.

Everyone’s too engrossed with the festivities and dancing that they did not hear the gunshot, not that it was loud anyways since it has a silencer.

Harry brings his hand to his cheek and realizes that her aim was more than perfect or else.. she could’ve made him get plastic surgery.

“It’s a shame, that was a nice vase.” He pouted pretending to be sad and hurt.

“And so was my dress idiot.”

“Do you remember that one time in Vienna when you called the FBI on me?” He asked with his hands behind his back, he was aiming to strike and she’s going to let him.

“My favorite memory.” She laughs as if he reminded her of a pleasant vacation.

“Oh Fuck you, Poppy.” He reveals a gun from behind his hand that aims at the ground between her feet.

“The old man at my hotel can aim better.” She riles him on knowing damn well why he aimed there and that he can shoot a gun with a blindfold around his eyes.

“Just tell me why you’re here Harry and we’ll both be on our way.” She would never admit being defeated but their little game has become tiring.

The rook and the queen are in the center again observing the damage they inflicted. They upgrade their game by going in blind and standing in front of each other with guns pointed at the others’ hearts.

The metal of the gun is pressing into his skin despite being clothed, he had discarded his mask earlier on and he shared the same move by digging his gun into her chest.

It wasn’t about breaking the skin barrier or transmitting electric touches. What their eyes are sharing is far more intimate, it comes off as a threat, a prayer, a plea, and an announcement.

Checkmate.

“Yield petal.”

“Never.” There goes that stubbornness, like a moth to his flame.

Then, the rook moves.

Harry smashes his forehead into hers, enough to make her dizzy but never not a concussion. She stumbles backwards pressing her hand to her head as her anger takes over her again. He launches forward and slightly lowers his level to wrap his arms around her torso and throw her over his shoulders.

“I have questions too Poppy.” He breathes out shutting his eyes momentarily, and for the first time ever he disliked his job.

He barely managed to walk a few meters forward before he felt her tight grip on his neck despite her body dangling off his shoulder. She used the grip on his veins to push her weight upwards and make him stop in his tracks.

Harry is quite heavy, with biceps that need a custom suit and legs that can lift a whole body single-handedly. Unfortunately, his stamina and strength are immune to Poppy, she is smaller and possesses less physical strength but what she just did is beyond cleverness.

After balancing herself she flips his body forward with one of her favorites: a punch. She exploits gravity as an ally and pushes his body to the ground as he falls with a thud.

She strolls over to him dramatically, her heels clicking on the marble ground as he balances himself using his elbows. As soon as she’s near his body she raises her leg and presses her heel into his chest to stop him from getting up. He simply lifts his gaze feeling too enchanted by her, not caring about the pain that he feels due to the sharpness of her heel.

She expects him to flip her leg or use one of his moves that’ll give you a good time in the ER, but instead, he locks eyes with her and slowly inches his face forward before leaving a lingering kiss to her ankle accompanied by his devil grin, more like an angel of death.

“The last move is always mine Harry.” She panted in an attempt to stay balanced after barely escaping his grip from dizziness.

The grin widened as it spread across his face but even then, his lips didn’t leave her ankle. The moment he placed his mouth on her skin she felt electricity going through her body starting from her leg up to her brain.

With one fallen chess piece, the queen detaches herself from the rook giving him one last glance before walking away. You must never turn your back on your enemy but in the case of Poppy and Azrael, they know each other too well that trust managed to bloom between them on the walls of rivalry.

And at this moment the trust whispers loudly in the room: game over.

Harry’s eyes are shut and his nostrils are flaring, his mind is too lazy to get up from the ground, but he can. He can go after her and play round after round but he knows better than to have hope because they will not utter a word to the other.

Then it happens.

She stops in her tracks, her breaths shallow and wary as she angles her head slowly to the right casting a look from her peripheral vision. He shares the same look on his face as he reluctantly stands up.

A chime went off in the room, or perhaps two chimes?

There is unspoken knowledge between them as they both take out their burner phone and check the source of the chime. It indeed was two chimes, their interest in the content of the message exposed them.

Now, the one thing that follows in terms of danger after two assassins are in the same room is two assassins receiving a text at the same instant in the same room.

“Forgot to pick up your new flowerpot?”

“Do you have a hairdresser appointment?”

The sarcasm cannot last for long, the signs are all there. Something is off about this entire evening and while this sense of trepidation usually belongs to their targets, they find themselves on its other side.

“Your target is Arthur Lorray isn’t it?” He takes the risk and waits for any indication in her facial expression.

“And yours is Henry Davis.” She replies tilting her head as her mind tries to uncover this twisted puzzle.

If not for a certain thought in his mind, for his blind trust, her odour, or even a small reckless part of him he wouldn’t have acted the way he did. He wouldn’t have approached her and revealed the contents of his message.

Something flashed in her eyes, though he could never read them. But it could only mean two things: death or paradise.

“I got the same message.” Different bosses sending the same message?

Poppy, be present in a room at the end of the corridor on the second floor in 5 minutes.

He got an identical message but addressed to ‘Azrael’.

This is wrong in so many ways, she observed as her boss was accompanied by two security teams with her own eyes and now he’s asking her to meet him in a room in the presence of the target he had asked her to eliminate.

This has never happened before and nor were they trained for it.

It could be a setup for all they know.

“Stay behind me, Poppy. I don’t like this” Harry warned as they exited the room they were in.

“Don’t tell me what to do.” She scoffed even though she knew how valid his warning was.

“Can you not be feisty for once?” He sneered in her face as some of his curls fell on his injured cheek.

“You’re bleeding.” She ripped a tiny piece from her dress that he had already ruined earlier and pressed it to his place of injury.

“Careful or I might think you’re falling in love.”

“Maybe if you let me punch you again.”

Their banter stopped right as they spotted a door at the end of the corridor, they could see how the guests are still very much clueless while On the hills of Manchuria played in the background.

They look like an absolute mess as if they just survived a hurricane. Her dress is barely covering her body as her left leg is completely exposed reaching up to her hip and the loose threads can give you a hint of what happened.

His blazer is nowhere to be seen, his white down button is wrinkled and he has a piece of her dress pressed to his face. If they descend and mingle in the hall, not only will they cause a fuss but also terror.

He doesn’t get to tell her anything before she turns the doorknob and pushes the door. They’re met with a well-decorated room filled with antiques and vintage furniture of gold and white. A chimney is lit for the ambiance and it wasn’t hard to spot the only two figures in the room pouring expensive Bourbon.

“Ah, there you are!” Henry is standing in the middle of the room while Arthur relaxes on the sofa with his arms spread.

The looks on their faces are priceless. There is no one else in the room that might attack them. However, Harry is making sure to check the room for anything that could be out of sorts like a camera or so.

“What the fuck is this mockery?” Harry’s body tenses and his fists are clenching as he stares back at the two men.

“Please Harry take a seat we just want to discuss business, no funny stuff.” Arthur spoke nonchalantly as if he wasn’t supposed to be dead.

“We’re very much comfortable like this.” Poison dripped from her mouth as she tried to figure out what all of this could be.

“Oh Poppy don’t be cross. You’ve known me for years! Don’t you trust me?” Henry says as he hands Arthur his glass of Bourbon.

“Trust is a dangerous thing.” She began walking towards them despite Harry’s disapproval.

Poppy is very witty. She never accepts a client before researching them from the moment they’re born till the present and it isn’t your typical Google search. She stalks them, plants bugs, spies... whatever she finds suitable for her peace of mind.

Henry was like any other businessman and he never caused her any trouble. Except for today.

“Are you aware that we can kill you in two minutes if you don’t explain right this instant?” Harry threatened with his eyes and placed his hands in his pockets.

“Exactly! The use of ‘We’” Arthur chuckled as he put down his glass on the antique table in front of him and stood up.

Harry can feel that Poppy is about to whip out her gun any second now so he gives Arthur his famous glare as one last warning.

“Me and Arthur are not competing against each other. You weren’t supposed to kill us and well our plan went sideways. You really should take a seat.”

Poppy despises all this unnecessary speech; she prefers getting to the point. She felt Harry’s arm below her waist beckoning her to rest on the sofa, which she did reluctantly.

“We wanted to offer you a business deal, yet we both knew that you’d refuse to discuss business at an event like this so we sent you here for a job that went wrong.” Although not everything was clicking, Harry and Poppy relaxed as this cannot be a setup.

“We didn’t expect you to bump into each other, we were intending on getting you here before one of you strikes but we forgot how professional you are.” Henry explained as he enjoyed his drink.

“I was shocked by your loyalty Poppy; your warning caught me off guard. I had to fake fleeing away and I can tell you and Azrael had some fun.” Henry and Arthur held back a chuckle, but were they to blame?

Poppy and Harry were a sight, the damage reaching their clothes and body or even face and hair in Harry’s case. They needed a fresh shower, a first aid kit, and a change of clothes.

“What kind of business did you want to suggest?” Harry’s deep voice echoed in the room and nothing could be heard except for the burning of the wood, the occasional gulps, and the faint music from the ball.

“As I mentioned before me and Arthur are not rivals but we have some tough competition, which you were handling individually at first but then shit went down like security systems crashing down, assassination attempts, you name it.”

They can feel it. They know what the deal is but they’re pushing it to the back of their head.

“ The point is… we want you to work as partners and kill whoever we consider a threat to us.”

And here it goes.

“Fuck no!”

“Absolutely not”

They both shouted at the same instant, their bodies tensed and Harry’s jaw was clenching. This suggestion is their worst nightmare, it is known that Assassins work alone, besides the history these two share does not help.

“Listen! Assassins will soon be after you not just us. We are aware that you work alone but this will catch everyone off guard. You’re the best of the best, imagine the power you’d have if you teamed up.” Arthur stood up and the desperation in his tone cannot be masked.

“Send an army my way, I dare you. None of the shit you said fazes me.” Harry might’ve gotten a boner right there and then at her words.

“You might say that but it’ll get so much harder, if you team up it will be in your favor and ours. Plus you’ll get paid double.” Harry and Poppy gave each other a side look before glancing at Arthur and Henry who desperately want them to become partners.

“Why should I put up with him?” Harry did not say one word, he simply offered his charming grin, with his body leaning forward and hands joined together over his knees. There was almost no gap between him and Poppy, and her scent was making him dizzy again.

“You’ll get paid double, easier missions, less time more efficiency…”

She might not be very keen on the idea but she isn’t entirely opposed. It is evident through her face and he knows that if she truly didn’t want it, she would’ve walked out the moment they proposed the idea.

Arthur and Henry are dying for her approval. Harry isn’t picky with his jobs and he can’t say that he’s not intrigued by the idea of working with her. He can already imagine a few scenarios…

“Fine. I’ll be the lead in this, I want two copies of each file, a team of security and spies along with a ride in every mission for precautions. New identities and passports, you know the drill, Henry.” She stood up as soon as she finished talking not batting an eye to her new partner whose opinion she did not ask for.

Arthur lifted his body up and clasped his hands together as a thank you to Poppy while Henry was already pouring another drink in celebration. For a moment they all noticed how Harry has been mute since he sat on the sofa.

“You’re in Az ,right?” Arthur raised his eyebrow in doubt.

“Whatever the lady says.” He shrugged and got up, swiping a hand through his long hair. His cheek is slightly bleeding and the tension between him and Poppy just got worse.

“No handshake?” Arthur smiled at Poppy and extended his hand to her which she eyed with doubt.

“I don’t shake hands with businessmen. One line out of the way and I’ll have your head hung in your office.” And with that, she walked towards the door.

“Take him with you to break the ice,” Henry suggested making her stand still sending a glare towards them.

“There are hundreds of hotels -“

“But you’re partners now!! Go on order anything too my treat.”

“I have enough money to buy the hotel asshole” She didn’t wait for any further comment before leaving the room and listening to Harry’s footsteps that followed.

Don’t ask her how they arrived at her hotel room, how the eyes of strangers judged them for their looks, or how she’s thinking about stabbing him because he’s already relaxed on her bed.

An exit was waiting for them at the end of the corridor, it was another one of her good luck incidents, or else she would’ve terrorized all the guests. Their ride was a motorcycle. Yes, you read that correctly.

The same vehicle she craved to use to get to the event, was waiting for them outside. It belonged to Harry and naturally, he did not allow her to drive it. He gave her his helmet and jumped on the vehicle without one and instructed her to wrap her arms around his torso which she did right after mocking him and throwing curse words.

Upon their arrival at the hotel reception, he asked the employee for a ‘honeymoon suite’ before Poppy dragged him by his arm to the elevator with an irritated expression.

He did not hesitate to immediately relax on her king-size bed. Harry knows a thing or two about her, and if anything gets her more infuriated than losing a physical fight it would be banter and mockery.

They share a fueled history that goes back to their teenage years, as baby assassins. They grew up in the same institute that recruited orphans and trained them to be professional assassins for the government. Poppy and Harry were one of the very few that managed to escape and work solo.

They were inseparable, a pair of crows who only stuck together. That is until the years of innocence fled and the years of rivalry arrived. There would be only one place for who’s worthy, a place that they fought for yet ended up fleeing from.

Even then, they would always be connected. Bumping into each other whether on a job or in public, hearing the other’s name at an event, or the usual interaction which is fighting every time they come across each other.

She can’t help but think about the past in the light of the twisted turn of events. When was the last time she sat down with him like this so peacefully?

“When you were fourteen and pretended to be asleep at night only to sneak to the rooftop together and stargaze.” Her mind spoke to her.

She let out a huff and looked down at the men’s clothing the hotel sent before grabbing them and throwing them at his face.

“Get up and shower, I want to use the bathroom too.” He stretched his limbs to taunt her and walked really slowly to the bathroom before yelling ‘Don’t miss me’ and locking the door behind him.

The sound of the shower became distant as her mind traveled to memories she buried long ago. She took a deep breath ,retrieved her bag and began cleaning her tools. A groan left her lips when she realized that one of her push daggers is still with Harry who is taking his sweet time in the shower.

The now clean gun fell from her hand as her guard went down and the memories invaded her brain. His scent was suffocating her, not his tom ford perfume despite it being addictive. She can’t even explain it without looking mad but Harry has a scent of his own, his skin releases an odor that only she can catch.

She took off her ruined dress and discarded it in the corner, then stood in her corset and panties in front of the mirror. Mirrors are her enemy yet she needs their help in this moment. She twists her arm as the glass reveals the Poppy tattoo.

He gave her that name. Told her that she can be delicate yet a symbol of death at the same time. In institutes you didn’t earn a name, you earned a number but this name was her little secret with Harry and she couldn’t resist having it inked to her skin years after their fallout.

“Poppy?” The name immediately caught her attention opting her to turn around and forget all her worries at the sight of him.

A white towel was wrapped around his hips, but it was tiny. She can spot the steam from the hot water on his skin that is glistening and has become a tattoo shop. The towel is sitting so low on his hips where a fern tattoo lays. His hair is wet and if she didn’t know him, she’d think he’s a prince.

Don’t stare at his biceps Poppy!

Oh god, his V line. He had a small waist that morphed into a toned V line holding a small part of the fern tattoo and revealing a trail of trimmed hair.

His knuckles were beginning to bruise and the cut on his cheek needs some medical attention but he didn’t seem to care as his eyes tried to decode Poppy’s shaken expression.

“If we’re out of hot water I’m going to stab you.” She walked past him right into the bathroom and even though he had some good comebacks up his sleeves, he was too entranced with her strolling in just a corset and tiny panties. And her skin… so flawless even after an eventful night. He had to close his eyes before images of the bruises he would leave on her body came running to him.

He never imagined that he’d be in a room again with her, acting so civil and being okay with her presence, he also can’t imagine how this would be the reality for a while.

They are partners now. Harry knew that history would repeat itself.

Even though he pushed the previous thoughts about giving her bruises away, his mind trailed again to her body. His ears were too interested in the sound of water and he wondered how her skin would be after a shower.

Was he acting a bit primal? Perhaps, but spare him a minute to comprehend the shift in his life.

He spotted her bag on the bed left unguarded for him to check. Funnily enough, he knows it and is aware of the layers it has because he may or may not have broken into her apartment throughout the years on her birthday and left her a Poppy flower in this bag.

Still, she never changed the code number for the bag which is the number of the room they shared in the institute.

He still has her dagger tucked in the edges of the towel, if he had left it in the bathroom, she would’ve taken it. He can see how she cleaned her gun and he decided to do the same to his. He then placed it on the bedside table and changed into the shorts the hotel provided. Poppy is still taking her sweet time in the shower so why not annoy her a bit?

He unfolded the lower layer of the case, revealing all of her beauty products, and began searching for something he might use. He picked out an expensive hair serum and poured a generous amount of drops on his wet hair before placing it back in her bag.

Poppy came into the room a few minutes later eyeing him up and down with a robe hugging her body. He’s not even sure how that is considered a robe. It’s too fucking short.

The tension is through the goddamn roof.

She pulled out a body lotion from her bag and let out a small sigh once her eyes fell on his face. She turned around towards the bathroom before coming out with a first aid kit.

“Come here, your cheek needs cleaning.” It isn’t a deep wound; the human face has a large number of veins so if her skills weren’t perfect, he’d be in the ER.

“Look at you Poppy getting so delicate.” She responded by pressing a cotton full of hydrogen peroxide to his place of injury and yet he didn’t flinch once.

She raised her leg placing it between his thighs to get in a comfortable position and focus on cleaning him. But her smell is too much for him and her soft skin is right in front of him.

He inched his face just enough to press his mouth to her knees feeling her shudder. Poppy didn’t jerk herself away or move, she continued to clean his wound with her hand delicately holding the side of his neck.

The silence between them was comfortable unlike being around other people. When they didn’t have a knife to each other’s throats, it would be just like this. Except that this is their first time in a decade.

She placed a small bandage on his cheek, smoothing her fingers over it even though she was done there. There’s something in her eyes that tells him she’s feeling nostalgic and his thumb rubbing on her leg isn’t helping.

She allowed herself to stare at his emerald irises with her hand still situated on the side of his neck. He gave her a soft look as if he was saying, ‘It’s me, Poppy’.

Would it be so bad to fold?

“You can order food service if you’re hungry.” She stepped away from him pretending to busy herself with packing her case when she needs the products.

“Don’t avoid me. We’re partners.” She can feel him walking towards her slowly.

Being around him and talking so normally made her heart ache and think back to when they were kids. He was her first love. He broke her heart many times after that but perhaps not enough as the yearning keeps tugging at it.

“I missed this…” Her back was so close to his chest and his breath is sending shivers throughout her body.

She didn’t offer him any response as she turned around to face him, raising her siren eyes to look for a hint of deception. Instead, she found the eyes of a sixteen-year-old Harry who was eager to give her his first kiss.

“You were fighting with me less than an hour ago. Do you expect me to believe this emotional show of yours?”

She might as well twist a knife in his heart.

“It was my job and it never stopped me from missing you.” The words flowed smoothly out of his lips, it’s not that he had them memorized but his heart was faster than his brain.

“And your job ten years ago? What was it!” Her fists were clenched and she wished his eyes didn’t make her so weak. She’s not sure if she could hold the eye contact any longer.

“To protect and care for you.” His strawberry lips offered her a confession that was so effortless to say.

She wasn’t particularly upset or even furious about their relationship. Growing up with him was irreplaceable. Even when they parted ways and slowly became foes, they never inflicted serious damage upon each other. It was a simple game for them, to bicker and fight, maybe leave some scars as a memoir but they never got sentimental again. To hear him telling her about his yearning all these years made her knees and heart weak.

Her lips morphed into a pout, her siren eyes gave him a look of regret and he can feel the tears that are threatening to fall. She was never one to communicate and some things stay the same.

Like his infatuation.

“I’ve been waiting years for this Poppy.” He brought himself closer to her so that his forehead rested against hers with their eyes piercing into each other.

“To be my partner? For me to order you around?” The corners of her mouth twitched in amusement.

There she was. His little devil.

“No. This.” His voice grew deeper as his skin lit up on fire upon coming in contact with hers. He buried his face in her neck taking a long deep breath while his fingers travelled along her waist.

Their bodies forming a sort of intimate contact while breathing in each other’s scent was more dangerous than any natural disaster.

Even their pheromones can no longer be tamed.

Rain is an accomplice in murder, and on this night the target isn’t a human. It’s an emotion.

Hatred.

Taglist: @prettythingsworld @slut4marvelmenn @fullofstyles @cherrycokeslay @wandas-lawyer @tbsloneely @walkingintheheartbreaksatellite @missmielyhoran @harryssideboob @harrysficreblog @itslottiehere @hsonlyangelxo @gem1712 @adachhi @tpwkkkkk @grapejuicebluesrry @summertime-pills @lhhrryismyhome @marzhshaim @harrystylessslut @keepdrivingkisses @rideeonstyles @swiftmendeshoran @matildasatellite @a-strange-familiar @greivingfortheliving @babyyangel111 @soblavk @straightnogayhs @awesomenavy @infinatetatie @be-with-me-so-happily @harrysrockstarsgf

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randoimago · 11 months

Note

Aah, can I also request some letters for RK800 and RK900? M, S and Y, please!

Alphabet Headcanons

Fandom: Detroit: Become Human

Character(s): RK800 (Connor), RK900 (Nines)

Type of Request: Alphabet Headcanons

Note(s): Calling RK900 Nines just because I like that better than his model number!

M - Memory (what is their favourite memory with you?)

Connor

A favorite memory he thinks fondly of from time-to-time is when he went on a walk in the park with you. It's simple and the moment was on the casual side rather than romantic, but he noticed how relaxed and happy you looked.

The smile on your face and seeing you stress-free is kept in his memory banks. Sometimes, he finds himself smiling at the memory popping up out of nowhere.

Nines

It was after a chase with finding a deviant android, one that murdered for the sake of enjoying it than defense. Nines saw you retreat to the roof of the building and he followed you, curious as to what your intentions were. You ended up just talking, mentioning similar cases with humans. Nines added to your comments with logic and how faulty programming caused this.

Nothing romantic happened at all, but hours were spent just talking under the night sky and Nines ends up going back to that moment quite a bit, it was the first moment that he really felt that he got to see you.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

Connor

I feel like Connor would be very protective over you once he's reached deviancy. He realizes his feelings and doesn't like the idea of you being hurt in any way, but he also has to stop himself from rushing to your side every time because he knows that level of protectiveness could upset you too.

Connor would prefer to not resort to violence so he tries to be charming and sly as he gets you out of any uncomfortable situations. That doesn't mean he won't punch someone for you, but he is better with his words. And as such, he's very good with giving you compliments and cheering you up in those situations too.

He usually views other's well-being over his own so having his S/O take care of him makes him happy. He does remind you that it's unnecessary to comfort him, but the smile on his face shows that he very much enjoys it.

Nines

He doesn't realize his protectiveness to his S/O. Nines sees you in danger and he ignores his programming giving him a percentage of your safety as he goes to immediately help you without a thought.

He knows he's strong and physically capable to keep you safe, but then he sees you in emotion turmoil. Nines convinces himself that he's calming you so your performance doesn't jeopardize his, but he is fast to find information and read your tells to make sure you are okay.

Nines would never ask that you protect him. He's a machine and can't feel pain. But if you defend him in conversation or even just stay by his side when he needs you (not that he'd say he needs you) then that causes some system errors that he doesn't quite know how to handle.

Y - Yearning (how do they cope when they are missing you? are they alright with being without you for an extended period of time or would they prefer to be with you every day of their life without exception?)

Connor

Definitely is a bit of a puppy when it comes to his S/O being away. He tries to not let it affect his performance, but Hank is quick to call him out on it. He ends up getting his coin out more often or trying to find ways to occupy his mind as a small timer is going on in the back of his programming for when you'll be back.

Very much would prefer you to be around him all the time, but he also knows that would be unreasonable and illogical to ask for, so he just awaits for your return.

Nines

Nothing seems to change for Nines when his S/O is gone for a while. He still performs highly and functions just fine. Nothing really seems wrong except for the fact that he acts more like a machine while you're away.

He does miss you, but he can't let it get in the way of his work. Would request that you not leave so often or not be gone for too long as he wants to make sure you're by his side and not in danger of being hurt.

#kats alphabet headcanons #detroit become human x reader #dbh x reader #dbh connor x reader #dbh nines x reader #rk800 x reader #rk900 x reader #connor x reader #nines x reader

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doggoboigaugau · 1 year

Text

Stray dog (Part 4)

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 5

Pairings: Ghost x Soap x Male reader

Finally this piece of shit (me) is back yall :D Sorry for the long wait lmao. And finally I can come up with a suitable name for this fic :))

Summary: What happens after the peaceful night watching Ghost's favorite documentaries with the team. And male reader's worst fears are slowly being revealed.

Word count: 1984

Warning: Nothing. But it's not fluff this time either though.

Ghost was the first one to wake up. He slowly sat up and moved his muscles which were unsurprisingly cramped due to last night’s weird sleeping position. What was surprising to him though, was the fact that he could sleep so well after so long. No nightmares, not a single time waking up panicked and in heavy sweats. He hadn’t been blessed with sound sleeps like this for what felt like a lifetime; even when the things between him and Soap were getting far beyond a relationship among teammates and they started to share a bed with each other, the devil grip of bloody nightmares brought about by his past was one that he could never escape. Until now.

Instinctively, his eyes drifted around, scanning the surrounding for anything suspicious. Although seemed unnecessary since this is their base after all, the safest place with his dearest family, it was one of the habits that he was unable to get rid of and didn’t even feel the need to do so. It was not because he did not trust the team, instead, he trusted you all with all his life and heart; it was just because of a certain incident in the past, in which his own biological family was killed, that he would never allow himself to let his guard down. He didn’t want to lose anyone again, not when the little frame of hope inside him had long been extinguished but now once again reignited thanks to your presence breathing new life into the barren, grief-stricken land of his heart.

Everyone else was still sleeping. Price on his favorite couch, Gaz and Roach on the floor, now lying a whole room apart from each other (Ghost couldn’t quite grasp how they could move that much in their sleep), and you and Soap still on the sofa with him. He eyed the two of you, remembering how every bit of his skin warmed up from the warmth of your bodies as you three unknowingly hugged and touched each other in your sleep, how the pleasant and strangely familiar scents of you and Soap flooded his nose, lingering even in the dreams from last night that he couldn’t recall any other details about. This was the first time Ghost could get this close to you for this long–a whole night; therefore, unlike Soap’s, apparently your scent would be something he was not used to yet, but still it provoked a certain feeling, a peculiar but welcomed one, like a tiny humanoid figure dancing inside the deepest corner of his soul, that he was quite sure to embrace.

“Dumbfounded by his beauty, ey’ LT?”

Ghost jumped a little, looking up a bit to find Soap had also woken up. The masked man didn’t respond, he just felt a bit bolder than before as his hand reached out and caressed your rosy cheek. He could still remember when you were transferred to their team, when he first laid his eyes on you and immediately doubted Price and Laswell’s decision. You were just too pretty to be here, in this hellhole where every day and night men were sent out either to murder people or to their own death. Little handsome face with big puppy sparkling eyes, easily flushed cheeks, fluffy messy hair that seemed to be taken good care of with expensive shampoo, slender athletic body that was not muscular enough to look intimidating, and that waist. Gosh, he swore he would only need one of his arms to fully wrap around that tiny waist of yours.

“Where do ya think ya’re touching my babyboy, LT?” Soap raised one of his eyebrows, amusedly observed how Ghost fell head over heels for you while the man himself didn’t even realize it.

Soap’s smirking voice pulled Ghost out of his own mind, as he found his own hand now placed on your lower back, under the olive green t-shirt, slightly pressing down into your soft and warm flesh.

“When has he become yours, huh Sergeant?” Ghost bit back this time.

“Soon he will, LT.” Soap couldn’t hide the amused look apparent on his face.

“Then that means he’s not yours yet.”

“Are you two seriously fighting over my Private? At this hour in the fuckin’ mornin’ ?” The two men were stopped in their tracks by Price’s stern but mirth-filled voice.

“Getting overprotective over ya favorite child again, ain’t ya Cap?” Soap joshed.

“Of course I am protective of him! He’s my youngest son! Especially against you two animals always with those hungry eyes!”

“What?? We’re not your son then huh Cap? Hella offended.”

Price: “......”

Gaz was quick to jump in, “If you’re also Price’s sons then doesn’t that mean you and Ghost and Y/n are brothers? Are you fuckin’ your own brothers?” Roach stood right beside Gaz, nodding very enthusiastically.

Price: “......I think we should stop here.”

Soap argued, “Fuck you, me and Ghost’ve been fuckin’ for years!”

Price: “......”

Gaz: “......”

Roach: “......”

“I mean we all know it but do you have to be that loud about it?” Gaz said, almost trembling, while Roach was comforting him by rubbing his back, and Price just massaged the bridge of his nose, obviously getting too worn out because of this ridiculously common occurrence among his men.

Ghost finally stepped in, placing his large hand on one of Soap’s shoulders as a nonverbal way to tell him to calm down, “We should stop here before he’s sent straight to hell after his death.” Unsurprisingly, the three other men all agreed.

Soap casually shrugged his shoulders as if he hadn’t said the most unholy thing ever just a minute ago, before turning his back to the men to look at your peaceful sleeping face. You literally slept like a baby, not bet an eye when Soap gingerly held your arms and pushed you aside a bit to let himself stand up, and not even flinch after their joking conversation that accelerated very quickly into some horrendous (although he was the reason why it become that way). You were now lying on your back, making it easier for Ghost and Soap to see how your chest and belly slightly moved up and down as you breathed steadily.

“I know it’s a nice sight to see, the boy being this cute and cozy, but we will have a pretty tough mission in two days and you will have to wake him up for the training.” Price left a final reminder before putting the signature hat on his head and exiting the room to enjoy his morning smoking session.

Price was right. This was the military after all. The sweet and tranquil moments were the ones that passed by the fastest, leaving the men with a desperate craving to have another taste of it. Guess it’s one of the driving forces behind their desire to survive through the deadliest battles, to be able to see you again, not covered in blood and sweat and dust from the field, but in your most adorable state–freshly bathed and safe in their very cherished home. They loved the sight of you dropping that stern face and serious, piercing eyes in battles, as you run around the base with Roach, hunting for the next victim of your stupid little pranks.

What would be their reaction then when they heard your confession? About how you were the opposite of them, never cared for your own life during battles, how you were always like a stray dog that was once treasured by a human so much that when you lost them, you just barely managed to stumble through every obstacle in your way, biting everyone who dared to get near, and loitering around aimlessly not quite sure what you’re supposed to do with your life. You and they seemed to be so close, yet you were actually oceans apart. To them, your heart was unattainable, and to you, they were too good and admirable for you to even think of being with them. You didn’t deserve to be with such great men. You didn’t deserve to be with anyone to begin with.

“Wake up, pretty boy. It’s time for the training~” Soap gently stirred you.

You slowly opened your eyes. You were actually awake when Soap and Ghost had that fighting over you, and you even felt Ghost’s gloved hand on your sensitive skin. An eerie feeling filled your heart ever since, knowing that those two great men nurtured such sacred emotions towards someone ugly and unloveable like you. It was a mixed feeling of pure happiness and sheer anguish, owing to your deepest fears. You feared that if you opened up and requited their love, they would find out who you really were: a stray dog that no one ever liked, a deeply wounded animal that would burden anyone who had to take responsibility for caring for it, a creature not fitted to be called a human being with the utmost ugliness deep inside its soul, unable to free itself from the eternal curses put upon it by the unfair universe.

Being in love also entailed confiding intimate secrets in your partners, well not necessarily every secret, but still, some needed to be told, and this scared you to death–the ordeal of being known. Confiding in others true feelings would just push them far away. No one wanted to deal with a mess of a person. No one wanted to bear the uncomfortable atmosphere of not knowing what to say when the utterances that escaped your lips intertwined and became something that they could not comprehend or relate to. Not to mention how alone you had been all this time, having no one close to you to spend time with, to prioritize your needs over the others they knew, to come to you whenever you felt lost and hurt and disoriented… and to make you feel that you were not replaceable. You believed that Ghost and Soap had such a person, Ghost was that person to Soap, and Soap was that person to Ghost. If you did anything wrong to either of them, they would look at you with those eyes, those familiar eyes that the people in the past used to look at you with whenever you entered the room, the ones that were filled with passive hatred and disgust, the ones that forever haunted you in your sleep. If Ghost and Soap lost you, they could always seek the presence of each other. If you lost them, you’d be left alone again. Because, sadly but frankly, you’re always replaceable.

Lucky for you, they didn’t know you had heard everything, how they fought over you and how Soap openly expressed their interest in you in front of the team. It was easier this way, pretending you weren’t aware of their love so that you wouldn’t have to face those intense feelings of theirs and the possible consequences that could break your already tormented soul into even smaller pieces. Running away from your problems had always been the easiest option. It wasn’t the best coping mechanism, but it worked best for you.

“Pretty boy, ya listening?”

“Ah… y-yes, sir.” Your eyes refocused on the two men before you.

Soap chuckled, “Ya haven’t really woken up yet, ain’t ya? Go wash your face. The training will begin in 30 minutes. Get ready.”

“Yes, sir.” You hurriedly stood up, almost lost your balance because of the sudden movement and the cramped muscles from last night’s weird sleeping position. As you run out of the room, you could hear chuckles from Soap and maybe Ghost too. You smiled a bit, thinking that it was better like this, you kept pretending, leaving them with that love until they found out themselves how ridiculous it was to fall for someone like you, and then secretly withdraw to save genuine affection for someone that actually worthed it.

to be continued (because i need more pain)

@b0g-b0y here is the new part as u ask.

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arthurtaylorlester · 2 months

Text

malevolent season 4 was... something, that's for sure

i want to preface this by saying i LOVE malevolent as a show and this is no means an attack on the creator or anything like that, i don't think i'll ever stop listening halfway, no matter how i feel about it. i'm not saying season 4 is all bad either.

it is a deviation for malevolent, though i found it VERY well written up until part 31 (and part 31 is my favourite malevolent episode ever)

s4 started off really strong for me, part 29 set the tone really well, much lighter after s3's emotional lows. the butcher was an interesting enough new villain to put yarson aside for now. part 30 had some charming moments, but the real star of the early season was part 31, a truly incredibly written and directed look into arthur's psychology. it truly gave us everything, from lore to highly comedic moments (to me)(no because why was arthur dreaming of waking up next to a shirtless man who tried to kill him)

parts 32 through 34 i'm not sure about, but i can write them off as awkward mid season points. part 34 was an interesting shift in perspective, but here is where my doubt's about the season's villains started rising

but the oscar & scratch arcs.... guys i'm gonna be honest, i might be oscar's #1 hater

scratch and oscar in this season were functionally useless filler. it's not unusual for arthur and john get sidetracked during their missions, but it usually ends up leading them right where they need to be by the season finale. this felt like a parenthesis that killed any tension created by the butcher.

this season had, quite unnecessarily, 3 antagonists. now this wouldn't be a terrible idea, had they been established before. but no. for some reason it was chosen to leave the only villain we could genuinely be afraid of alone, in favour of introducing not one but two antagonists yet to be established. neither because of this have the adequate fear factor (the butcher is better about this) and both get the most abysmal ends i could've imagines. what do you mean scratch is just gone like that after causing some emotional conflict with his deal. what do you mean the butcher was KOed by the fucking priest with a bedpan? what? that's it? you expect me to be scared or even care about the butcher now?

speaking of the priest. i want to like oscar i really do but. he's a terribly written character. we get to know him while arthur is teaching john intimidation tactics so out of gate our initial impression of him is as someone meek. and then in part 36 after "sorting out" the butcher, oscar just dumps out his trauma point blank to someone he's spoken to a handful of times in the past 3? 4? days.

malevolent in general has a bit of an exposition problem, but it usually works out if it's john expositing because. that's literally all he can do. but when a character with more agency do it, it makes them flat. oscar didn't have to tell us all that, he didn't have a reason. arthur confessing to 7 murders isn't a prompt to make himself vulnerable like that. i did not start caring for him, just because he had a tragic backstory. that's... not how you get someone to care about a character. oscar could be defined as a static character, and while it's not too unusual for a static character to be the focal point of an arc, i don't think it works the way most authors think it does.

also the worms in the farm only happened because of him messing with the stove so like. that's not helping his case.

the completely unnecessary farm arc concluded, we return oscar to the hospital, with arthur caving very quickly to john's demands if he truly cared about oscar so much. and so, a single episode before the finale, we get properly acquainted our main ally for the showdown. a choice definitely, but i feel like this one worked out pretty well considering noel had time to simmer before we got know of his past + he had interesting conflict with john and arthur.

and then there's the big one, the thing that appalls me entirely. leaving larson and yellow, the main villains of the finale COMPLETELY alone until the very end. why? why would you choose to not use them earlier? we spent so much time away from larson, so we weren't really as scared of him as we were at the end of part 28 (i literally was listening to the last 15 minutes of this ep on my toes because i thought he might do something) and we had had no CHANCE to even fear yellow, since we knew nothing of his power?

and what, the butcher is on our side now because noel granted his release? just like that? i know he's a contract killer but arthur insulted him to his face, he can believe they understand each other but did he feel no anger?

the finale did well, considering the context it was given to work with, though i did not understand the point of the memory thing... that didn't go anywhere? because not arthur nor noel actually lost anything. we don't know what the box was for, we only know some guy wrote "the birth of my son" on slip of paper and put it in. arthur assumed it was a memory, when it just as well could've been a literal offering, arthur assumed it would involve losing said memory, and they assumed it was related. initially i thought it would only go through if the ritual took place, which, it didn't. but reading back here is no further clarification on it. hold your angst horses, blindfaith enjoyers

i feel like john physically manifesting, if now an established power of his, was very cheap. unless it was a one-off, or some sort of power up, it just literally took away the main premise of the show. an all-powerful god rendered powerless by being stuck in some guy's mind and being forced to confront the troubles of someone infinitesimal to him. if you let him astral project and save people, then what's the point?

but i do actually think it was a one-off, so we'll see how it goes

simply put, john saving arthur when he jumped in s3 had more impact than this because he did it with a single, human, hand. no magic.

it was pleasant to have kayne and his expected chaos back, jarring as always. john's deal was exactly what we all thought it was going to be, maybe more about himself than arthur, but i don't think anyone can fault him for that.

one things though, and this questions may just be me not remembering, is arthur supposed to know that yellow is a separate entity from john when they realise larson has him in his head? because i remember arthur just assuming that 'yellow' just had all of his memories returned in part 23, and therefore not knowing that he's a separate guy from john.

just in general, i feel like s4 had a LOT of good ideas that weren't given enough room to breathe and therefore weren't written very well that really weighed down my enjoyment of the season. that's not to say there weren't things i liked. the emotional moments hit just as hard, like reconciling with daniel, the comedy was on point (genuinely this season was so funny) and even the most out of pocket thing arthur has ever said, calling john a child, no matter how much discourse it caused, was actually sort of in character for him? i mean arthur is an asshole so like i get why his immediate reaction to his severely emotionally unintelligent friend being possessive is babying him. they're awful people. they deserve each other. it made somewhat sense in retrospect.

all this to say, while i didn't hate s4, i think it had a lot of writing issues, especially when comparing it to the other 3, and it could've been done WAYY better but hey we all have our moments.

i await anxiously intermezzo's public release and the rest of season 5 👀

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neewtmas · 4 months

Text

ᴛʜᴇ ʜᴀᴜɴᴛɪɴɢ ᴏꜰ ᴀʙʙᴇʏ ʜᴏᴜꜱᴇ // ᴘᴀʀᴛ ɪɪɪ

pairing: george karim x fem!reader

wordcount: 2.7k

summary: a case that takes longer than expected, an unrequited crush, and the hardest decision you ever had to make

masterlist part I part II

taglist: @maraschinomerry @sstrawberriel @poisonquinzell @holymotherfxrkingshirtballs @the-high-lady-of-3am-crackposts @shampoocovers99 (if you wanna be added or removed, just tell me) also @oblivious-idiot

You had barely turned the corner onto Portland Row when you already started searching your pockets for the house key. When you found it, you gripped the metal tightly, glad to have something to hold onto. Though slightly out of breath now, you were still keeping up a pace that had you a few steps in front of George at all times. No words had been exchanged throughout the walk, and you were equal parts sad and glad that he hadn't even attempted a conversation. The gate creaked horribly as you pushed it open, and you wouldn't have even noticed how much force you applied if it hadn't been for George right behind you. You spun around at his surprised gasp just in time to see the gate that had swung back hit him. He grimaced. "That was unnecessary."

Your face flushed in embarrassment. "It wasn't on purpose", you mumbled and abruptly turned around to open the front door, desperate to escape the situation. Stepping into the hallway, you noticed the key had left little red indents in the palm of your hands. Looking at it, a clear visualisation of your incapability to control your feelings, you felt pathetic.

There wasn't much time to think about it though, because George pushed closely past you, pizza cartons held up high to not hit your head. Your heartbeat quickened at his sudden closeness. He yelled out for Lockwood and Lucy as he stomped into the kitchen, still in boots and his jacket. You knelt to untie your shoes, taking the few moments it took as a last opportunity to pull yourself together enough to survive the dinner without giving a hint about your emotional state.

"Well George, enlighten us. What did you guys find out?" Lockwood opened up the conversation after the four of you had demolished about half of every pizza within mere minutes. George put down the piece of pizza he was currently munching on, and cleared his throat. "Abbey House is the main residence of the Blackwood family. It's similar to Combe Carey Hall insofar as it's a manor outside of London, but up until now, there have never been any disturbances. The history of the house is fascinatingly non-violent, actually."

"Really? No death? No murder? Not even a little bit?" Lockwood seemed almost disappointed by George's revelations. "Oh, there has been death. Plenty of it, if that makes you happy. But none of it is connected to the house itself." George fished a pencil out of his pocket that was so small already that it looked almost impossible to write with. He pushed one of the pizza cartons aside and quickly sketched the outline of a family tree.

Lucy, who sat next to you at the long side of the table, leaned over to get a closer look, forcing you to move closer to George as well. Your legs were touching now under the table. He looked at you and gave you the quickest of smiles before he turned back to the thinking cloth. "We've got Lord Blackwood at the top." He drew a somewhat funky-looking stick figure. "He's the current head of the family, and he owns Abbey House." He drew another stick figure next to the one already on the cloth and added something that, with a little fantasy, resembled a dress. He connected them with two intertwined rings. "His wife died a few years ago. Natural causes, no comeback as a ghost." He drew a big x over the stick figure. "They have two kids-" Another two stick figures. "The daughter is quite a few years older than her brother. She resides at Abbey House, and her brother is off to some fancy private school. Lastly, Lord Blackwood also has an older sister. Couldn't find too much about her."

Lockwood inspected the sketch with great interest. "Anything about staff? Any accidents, or something of the sort?" George leaned back, crossing his arms. He did not move his leg away from yours. "Nothing out of the ordinary. We spent the entire day combing through dusty family tree records and old newspaper clippings. His wife seemed to have lived quite a scandalous life before she got married to him. His daughter is famously picky with the men she surrounds herself with, which of course requires a regular article about how there is 'no heir in sight!' in just about every gossip magazine. Lord Blackwood has another sister, but she broke it off with her family and moved up to Scotland with her five kids. Lots of information, almost all of it irrelevant."

Lockwood took another piece of pizza and looked at it contemplatively. "On the phone, it sounded like a proper nightmare. There is a ghost there, and it's very angry."

"Don't know if I like the fact that there seems to be nothing that points towards a ghost", Lucy said.

"That's not that uncommon. And if I'm honest, now I'm even more intrigued." Lockwood had finished his piece of pizza in record time. "Of course you are", Lucy mumbled under her breath.

Lockwood ignored her. "We'll take the train tomorrow, early afternoon. I had our rapiers checked yesterday, so that's all in the clear. (name), Lucy, you go and lay out all of the equipment, and see if we need to fill up on something. We should be fully stocked, but you never know."

Lockwood seemed to brim with excited energy as he got up from the table. That's what the prospect of a challenging case tended to do to him. "I'll be in the library." He snatched the last piece of pizza from one of the cartons. "Doing some research of my own."

"Reading gossip magazines you mean?" George called after him, but Lockwood was already out of the room. George chuckled, looking at you. "Maybe I should have taken Lockwood with me today", he joked, and you gave your best to force a natural-looking smile. "Yeah, maybe", you quietly said and got up. "Lucy, let's get this over with." You didn't wait for her as you made your way down the staircase into the basement. You missed the way George turned and looked after you, with confusion and hurt at the way you were acting towards him.

In the basement, you started with pulling chains off the rack, simply dropping them in the middle of the room, the clatter of the metal against the concrete reverberating through the air. You couldn't wait to be done and get back to the solace of your room. By the time Lucy entered the room, you had moved on to sorting through the salt bombs. She joined you, and you worked in silence. There was no need to talk, it was a methodical procedure you both had gone through time and time again.

When you were done, you did a quick check of everything to make sure you didn't miss anything. Lucy stood leaning against the doorframe, watching you with her arms crossed over her chest. "I think we're good to go", you finally said and she smiled at you. You waited for her to turn around and lead the way back upstairs, but she didn't.

"Did something happen between you?"

You swallowed thickly. "No. Why?"

She shrugged. "You seem on edge. And he seems hurt."

You almost laughed. "Hurt?"

"You should have seen the way he looked after you after dinner."

You shook your head. "Lucy, you don't need to invent imaginary scenarios to make me feel better. I appreciate the sentiment, but it's really not helping."

She raised her eyebrows. "Tell me what happened then."

You huffed. "Nothing. Except me asking him to get dinner with me, and him turning it into getting pizza for everyone. Can't make it much clearer than that, now can you?"

Lucy just looked at you and the pity in her eyes made you want to rip your hair out. You flexed your hand, where the marks of the key were long gone, but you still felt pathetic.

"I don't think that was his intention", she finally said softly and turned around. You didn't move even after you heard her footsteps on the stairs and finally the door closing behind her. The room was now only dimly lit from the last bit of daylight that made its way through the narrow windows. Your eyes wandered over the four piles of equipment you had made on the floor, one for each member of the agency. From there, over to the shelves in which many folders filled to the brim with old bills, case records and miscellaneous papers piled up with no discernable system. Lastly, to the desks that stood in the corner, George's desk specifically. It was overflowing with books, notes, pictures, diagrams, loose paper, and pens, chaos only he could find any system in. On top of a stack of books stood a mug, looking lonely and out of place.

Without thinking about it, you slowly walked over and picked it up. It was your favourite mug, gifted to you by Lockwood after your first successful case with the agency as a sign that you were now a proper member. You softly brushed over the small spot on the handle that was chipped from the one time Lucy had tried to carry more than her hands could handle. You thought about how you had brought this cup down here a few days ago to give it to George who had been sitting over his notes for hours that evening. He had smiled at you, full of surprise and gratitude and fondness, before he had pulled over a chair for you to explain excitedly what he had been working on.

You blinked away the tears that had formed in your eyes. You weren't sure if you could go through with this. Leaving Lockwood & Co. would be like leaving family. But on the other hand, how long could you endure keeping things like they were? You had no idea how long you stood in the dark basement, staring at the mug that somehow had become the embodiment of the connections you had formed in this house - connections of varying kinds, but all connections of love. Connections that felt almost impossible to leave behind.

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

This night's sleep had been horrible. You stumbled through the preparations that filled the entire first half of the day and looked forward to the train ride out into the country that would give you a chance to catch up on some of the sleep that you missed last night through all the tossing and turning.

The station was bustling with people, each one seemingly knowing exactly where to go and what to do. The four of you moved slowly through it all, your bags bulky and awkward to walk with, the rapiers dangling from your sides earning you a few glances from the people that passed you. Luckily, the train was already waiting at the platform. Your shoulder was aching from the unrelenting pressure of the bag's strap. After you ascended the three steps up into the train, you let it slip off your shoulder with a sigh, glad to be able to set it down for a second. The train was almost empty, it seemed like Stoneford - the village closest to Abbey House - wasn't a very popular destination. Your three colleagues had already started moving forward through the narrow hallway slowly, disregarding the empty seats they passed. Lockwood had booked you a private compartment, to allow you to discuss further details regarding the case if it was necessary, without anyone listening in on your conversation.

You looked down at the bag lying by your feet with dread. This was one of the many downsides of taking on cases with minimal information - the need to bring an extensive selection of gear to be equipped for everything that might come your way. You let out a long drawn-out sigh before bending down and snatching the straps that were on the floor. You started to make your way through the hallway, kicking and dragging the bag more than carrying it. You didn't come very far before the bag came to an abrupt halt, causing you to stumble forward and almost trip over your own feet. You cursed under your breath, which earned you a disapproving look from an older lady reading a newspaper two seats down from where you stood. You ignored her as you tried to get the strap out that had wedged itself in between the seat and the armrest.

You could feel your frustration building when you suddenly felt a hand coming to rest on the small of your back. You turned around to find George standing behind you. "Let me handle that", he said, and gently pushed you towards where Lucy and Lockwood had already disappeared into the compartment. You hesitated for a second, and looked back and forth between him and the bag, acutely aware of the placement of his hand. He raised his eyebrows, a silent prompt to follow what he had said.

"Thank you", you quietly said and left him to take care of it. The compartment door slid to the side easily, and you found Lucy and Lockwood on one of the benches, Lucy on her back with her head on Lockwood's lap. They had piled the luggage on the other bench, leaving barely enough room for two people to sit.

"Do you have to lie down, Lucy?", you asked. "Maybe we could put one of the bags on your bench." Lucy raised her head so that she could look at you over the edge of the table where Lockwood was looking through some papers, ignoring your conversation. "I'm really tired, unfortunately", she said. "I'm sure you understand." You rolled your eyes at her attempt to fake a convincing yawn. It was crystal clear to you what she was trying to do.

There was no time to argue with her because just then George appeared in the door frame. He wrestled the bag into the space under Lucy's and Lockwood's bench so that you could still move around in the compartment. When he was done, he turned to you. "Do you wanna sit by the window?" He was a little out of breath, a stray curl falling into his forehead. You shrugged. "I don't have a preference." He smiled at you. "Me neither. Then you get the window seat."

You squeezed yourself past the bags and sat down as close to the wall as possible, silently praying that the space was bigger than it looked. George placed his jacket on top of the bags before he too squeezed past the bags and plopped down next to you. He stretched out his legs with a sigh and took off his glasses to polish them on his shirt. He seemed entirely unfazed by the fact that your entire side was pressed up against him, all while it made your heartbeat stumble. You clasped your hands together in your lap to make yourself as small as possible.

"Lucy?" George asked. You bit your lip as you looked out of the window. Surely he was about to ask her to switch places so that he wouldn't have to be so close to you for the next several hours - you knew how he felt about excessive physical contact.

"Would you mind giving me the folder with the yellow marker?"

You looked over to Lucy, who pulled the folder out of the backpack you brought. George took it from her and opened it, immediately immersing himself in whatever he had in there.

In the meantime, the train had left the station. You hadn't moved at all, too afraid to accidentally alert George to the fact that you were almost sitting on top of him. Instead, you stared out of the window at the houses that flew by, slowly but surely getting replaced by trees and other greenery. There was a comfortable silence in the compartment, and that coupled with the rhythmic sound of the train had your eyes droop quickly. You rested your head against the wall and allowed them to close, quickly drifting off into sleep.

thank you for reading! feedback is appreciated :)

part IV

#george karim x reader #george karim #lockwood and co #lockwood & co #lockwood and co x reader #lockwood & co x reader #george karim x you

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11queensupreme11 · 3 months

Note

I started writing the Loki is Sally Jackson AU and would like some thought because I feel like I am having trouble pinning Loki down as a PJO fan first and a ROR one second.

"Loki Pov (6 months post-banishment):

He would be the first to admit that he perhaps did not take it as seriously as he should have. How could he when this world seemed to operate on farcical principles? Gods relied on humans who were not even permitted to know of them. Others who weren’t even truly immortal had to rely on fruit, some of whom even bore his own kin’s names. What a jest!

So, perhaps, he had been a little lacking in his preparations. And, as the mortal “nurse” attempted to coach him through “the options available to a young woman in your situation”, he could feel the cold tendrils of unease starting to wrap around his ribs as he considered what it would mean to bear the child of such a being. Not that he regretted this dalliance by any means. He did not consider himself someone who should know the meaning of the word regret, after all, was he not a trickster god? And Poseidon, the Poseidon of this world that is, was hilarious. An absolutely delightful distraction from the boredom that set in after he invented Sally and overcame his initial disgust with this world. The god had produced more bastards than Zeus while wearing Birkenstocks. Truly a god lacking self-awareness and shame. Exactly what Loki needed (and honestly falling for him was well within Sally's established character …He was just so charming while she was a young and “inexperienced” woman, who could blame her. and Loki? Loki needed an in to start gathering information on the gods of this world and their convoluted system). At least he was going to get a good laugh the next time he looked at Poseidon standing in Valhalla’s halls from these memories.

But…buuuut (now he was getting annoyed, how long could this go for, was she going to start praying for his chastity? Oh what he would give for the ability to kill these filthy mortals without consequences, alas the American healthcare system had managed to come up with tortures that would surpass Beelzebub at his most creative) there were politics. Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon had a deal going from what he could grasp, children too powerful, needing to protect mortal lives, Zeus murdering his brothers' spawn and lovers for sport, and a lot of other drivel he had ignored (they also seemed to be pretending the other Pantheons did not exist, he should poke at that some more, not using Sally though, too risky). See! He did understand actions and consequences, uncle’s stupid punishment was completely unnecessary, and nothing he was learning here was of value (wait what was an epidural? He gave birth to a horse; how bad could a human pregnancy possibly be? Stupid oath. Stupid Styx )

His biggest concern was the baby, the little alien-looking shrimp thing keeping him locked into Sally’s form. Poseidon had apparently sired gods before (He married a daughter of Nereus! A woman no better than a slave as his queen if he remembered correctly. Had the old fish managed to cling to power somehow? How funny, Poseidon the Emperor would sooner castrate himself than let a rival live like that) but most of his children were half-bloods, children seemingly cursed with more drawbacks and difficulties in exchange for their divine blood. Loki was starting to suspect he was missing quite a bit more important information than what this useless woman was babbling about… (What was Medicaid and SNAP? Now this insect was just making up words).

Ah, he was getting out of character. Sally was, of course, delighted to have her child and would love them regardless of the difficulties they would face. She, of course, wanted to know more about the assistance programs the city was offering to single mothers. Please go on. (And Loki, Loki was mortal and lacking most of the powers. Loki was starting to feel unease.)"

Thought? I like world building so I was planning to use Loki to explore the differences between RORs world and PJOs. I feel like he is very critical but I also wanted to capture how silver tongued and tricky he can be. I also feel like he is a caring parent which is another layer of complication to his character. So I have been really struggling with his voice (Odin's internal monologue is even worst the man has so little dialogue and I'm pretty sure Thor's head plays Wii music when he's not fighting, at least the Greeks have personality)

THIS IS THE BEST THING I'VE EVER READ DUDE

NO SERIOUSLY UR WRITING IS MASTERCLASS

I LOVE THE AMOUNT OF HUMOR YOU WERE ABLE TO PUT IN THIS TOO

"The god had produced more bastards than Zeus while wearing Birkenstocks. Truly a god lacking self-awareness and shame"

"alas the American healthcare system had managed to come up with tortures that would surpass Beelzebub at his most creative"

"What was Medicaid and SNAP? Now this insect was just making up words"

this is so fucking perfect dude, YOU ARE SO GOOD LMAO I LOVE THIS

also, i 1000% agree that he is a caring parent! he's a silly little guy but he loves his babies (he's just super embarrassing about it). he's definitely the type to grant his kids a lot of freedom too. but i feel like, sine percy is half-human, he'd be more paranoid and worried about her especially since her universe is pretty harsh towards demigods. so i think he'd be struggling a lot about the fact that:

he's supposed to entrust his baby to a camp full of psycho kids (thats how he sees them lmao) that could kill her???

she's gonna be sent on QUESTS

a bunch of gods and monsters want her dead???

THEY'RE SENDING HER TO WAR????

and "where's my child support????"

the rules and restrictions the pjo gods face are also very baffling to him too

rip loki, good luck raising percy 😔

ALSO, i got a recent ask from an anon that i haven't replied to yet, but they wanted to know what ur ao3 account is!! i wanna know too cuz i really really REALLY wanna read your works once you're finished (you're the one who asked to make an ao3 fandom tag for arsenic blues right?? if not, pls ignore this oops)

#👸🏻| asks #👸🏻| arsenic blues

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xitsensunmoon · 4 months

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You know, it has come to my attention that I should ask this question for my sake.

On a scale of Coraline (a 1 which is thrilling and not too scary) to Alien (a 10 which is too much scary) how scary is your Biting the Hand that Feeds AU?

I don't interact with much horror elements and I'm just wondering what I should gauge my tolerance to because I like your work a lot but also I may not... be able to handle it in the future depending one what you do as a creator.

Also as a disclaimer, I'm not telling you to change your story or your art or anything, this is me trying to be responsible for myself.

It's hard for me to tell you on a scale from Coraline to Alien because I consider both of them scary but in a different way. I'm not sure if I can compare movies to comic series either, there are no jumpscares and scary sounds, no tense music, just purely your imagination and visuals.

I don't think I will go further in graphic visuals than what you saw today. Some gooey, fleshy bits and blood, nothing specific or detailed.

I'm keeping up with a lot of Fnaf type of scary. Murders, gore, disturbing imagery and as disturbing plot. There will be scary faces(but you have seen those from me quite often I would guess), scary situations, violence, gore and a lot of angst. Some of the things that I have planned are simply gut wrenching because of how unfair and unnecessary cruel they are, how realistically hopeless, not because of gore or blood. I don't like being overly explicit when it's not needed and I'm not going to be but some things need to be shown, not told.

I know I started this au purely with fluff but I was always saying about how the actual lore is pretty dark.

#ask xitsen #bhtf au ask #sorry about not following your scale i physically can't place bhtf on it because of different type of media and the differences in genres</3 #my friend who knows the lore said like around 8 maybe

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pixelmensupremacy · 1 year

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If you feel like it , can I request an angsty fluff request. (Connor and Nines or Nines ) X female reader . Where Gavin berates Reader like he did with Connor in the game .. and it bothers them (LED flicks yellow red ) ...

A/N: This turned out to be a bit more of Connor x reader though I hope you enjoy it nonetheless!

Summary: The request

Word count: 1.2k

Warnings: Gavin being a dick, Connor and Nines post deviancy, fem!reader

Blending in with her new coworkers at the DPD proved to be more difficult than (Y/N) had originally anticipated.

For the few months she had worked as a detective at the Detroit police department, she had come to learn the hard way that some of her colleagues abruptly refused to have any relation with her whatsoever. Despite befriending quite a few colleagues, it still pained her she couldn’t freely chat with all of her coworkers. Yet she accepted the fact she couldn’t be friends with everyone, but what she couldn’t wrap her mind around was the rudeness detective Gavin Reed had towards her. His unreasonable discourtesy often got out of hand to the point where (Y/N) actively avoided him.

Whether it was irony or some twisted test the universe forced her to endure, she got paired with no other than detective Reed himself to investigate murders that seemed to be connected. To say (Y/N) was excited for this assignment would’ve been a lie. Well at first, she was glad to work on such intriguing and complex case up until Fowler announced Reed as her partner. Even though she tried her best to negotiate with her supervisor it was no use- she had no other option, but to withdraw and accept her fate.

Despite getting upset with the news, she tried her best to not let Gavin’s immature antics get in the way of her work. Even though (Y/N) tried to keep her composure -and even succeed for the most part- there was a drastic change in her otherwise warm demeanor didn’t go unnoticed by her android friends, who immediately picked up something different about her no one else could. Throughout the time the two androids knew (Y/N), they have learned a lot -if not everything- about her; her facial expressions and body language gave away everything about her both Connor and Nines needed to know.

Simultaneously checking her vitals and using her body language as an indicator for her mood had become a habit the two androids had developed; it was form of an indirect checkup to make sure (Y/N) was well and healthy, so they instantly noticed the worry in her features and in the way she behaved. At first, wanting to avoid further upsetting her, the two detectives didn’t question her. Yet they discussed their observations silently via data transmission even in times when she was present.

“It appears she is still troubled. Her dopamine levels are lower than usual.” Connor’s LED flashed in a glowing amber.

“I am positive she is indeed upset, but the cause still remains unidentified.” Nines’ head tilted slightly.

“For the most advanced prototype ever created, you do seem to not live up to the assets you should possess.” The tiniest of smiles curled the corners of his lips.

“Enough.” Nines’ harsh voice took (Y/N) by surprise; she stopped talking as quick as she had begun and took a closer look at the boys. Were they communicating via telepathy?

“Am I interrupting something?” She raised her brow at them; the two looked back at her.

“No, no.” Nines began explaining “Connor was simply overloading my system with unnecessary data.” He went on, striking his predecessor with a stern look, who now looked at his feet in embarrassment.

“Okay, sure.” She rolled her eyes, buying none of it though she didn’t question them further. “Now if you don’t mind I gotta go. Duty calls.” She winked as she headed towards Gavin’s desk. She let out a deep sigh as if to collect any willpower she had left to put up with him for yet another day.

“Your ass finally decided to show up!” Gavin snickered through his shit-eating grin.

“Yeah, I’m glad to see you too, Reed!” She rolled her eyes as she sat across him, immediately busying herself with reports.

“You know it would’ve been nice if you smile for once. Hate to see your pretty face so grumpy.” He commented in his typical mocking tone.

“I don’t know about that, but maybe I will look happier if you shut up for once.” She gave him the fakest of smiles, fighting the growing urge to punch him in the face.

“Now let’s stop bitching and get back to work. These reports won’t write themselves.”

“What the hell is your problem?” (Y/N) raised her voice, catching the attention of the two androids that happened to have witnessed the whole situation.

“Unlike you, I just want to get my job done.” Gavin stated as he typed away at his keyboard, not even glancing her way. She scoffed in response.

“You’re un- fucking -believable!” She stormed into the breakroom; tears formed in the corners of her eyes- she couldn’t bear it.

“Go after (Y/N)“ Nines’ LED flooded with multiple colors as he transferred the message to his predecessor, who already thought the same thing. "I’ll take care of detective Reed.” Connor shot him a brief look of puzzlement only to notice the bright red of his LED, but decided against stopping him- whatever was coming Gavin’s way was most definitely deserved.

Entering the break room, Connor was met with the sight of (Y/N) silently sitting on a table, the soft sounds of sobs being the only noise that echoed in the empty space.

“Detective” His hand gently landed on her shoulder; carefully, he rubbed her skin through the fabric of her clothes in a soothing manner, in hopes of calming her down. “May I help?”

“How?” Her head rose from the palms of her hands that have guarded her vulnerability, being her pained look, only to reveal the hopelessness woven in the (E/C) of her eyes. “There’s nothing we could do. No matter how many times I tried to be nice and understanding nothing seems to do it. He just hates my guts.” Another set of tears rolled down her cheeks, followed by a hiccup.

Connor had never seen her like this and he soon grew to resent it; the feelings of anger and disappointment grew within him. How could he have not noticed the root of the problem earlier? He quickly pushed these thoughts aside, for he had a far more urgent task- to take care of his friend.

“Humans tend to do many unreasonable and irrational things, one of them being their communication with others.” He began explaining all the while he filled a glass of water to give to (Y/N). “I came to learn that from my very first interaction with a human. Believe it or not, I had difficulties with detective Reed myself.”

“Really?” Curiosity flashed in her puffy eyes. “But you two hardly ever communicate. What’s your secret?” She sipped at the water; her gaze fixed on him in anticipation.

“That’s a long story.” He gave her a reassuring smile.

“Aw don’t leave me hanging.” She playfully hit his arm.

“Okay I’ll tell you… one day. Are you feeling better?” His soft brown eyes searched hers.

“Yeah. Thank you, Connor.” She pulled him in for a hug; speechless, leaving him speechless. Cautiously, he wrapped his arms around her form. He sighed in delight- the mission was a success. Right then sudden yells caught their attention. Looking at the direction the commotion came from, the two noticed Nines, holding Gavin by his collar.

“I have a feeling Gavin might want to avoid the three of us all together.”

#dbh x reader #dbh fanfic #dbh imagine #rk800 x reader #rk900 x reader #connor x you #connor x reader #nines x reader #request

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agent-cupcake · 2 years

Text

Trouble Man

This marks my third completed commissioned fic! I may have gone a little far in places, added some unnecessary flourishes... Either way, thank you to the person who commissioned this (and all of you) for being so patient with me!

Pairing: Arkhamverse Jason Todd x f!reader

Synopsis: After a chance meeting late one night while Jason—the Arkham Knight—is playing civilian, he develops a bit of a crush. Months later, after the events of the base game, your unfortunate involvement in a crime requires a visit from Red Hood to coax out some honest answers.

Warnings: explicit smut, dubcon, murder ment., stalking, angst, gun kink, rough sex, possessive behavior

Notes: I must give a big girthy thanks to my sweet muse and local DC expert for her help on this, it wouldn't exist without her help. It's also important to recommend you all watch clips from Arkham Knight - Red Hood because the delivery of his oneliners are absolute gold. Jason Todd has definitely risen to the upper echelon of tragic men in my life, he's worth your attention.

Word Count: 17k

Dry leaves crackled like paper through the breeze, tumbling over brown grass and grinding beneath your feet as you walked through the park, hands shoved deep into your pockets and head down. Their colors had changed as the trees shed, creating a sea of red and orange and yellow paste over the sidewalk.

You thought walking home instead of taking the subway would help. Walking was what people did to think, to contemplate their life and their future, to pace out the excess energy that came with stress. But the autumn sun was bright and cold. A storm threatened the horizon in smeared shades of mean dark gray. The air stank of rotting foliage and filth. With each breath, you suffocated on it, choking on smog and the sour scent of Gotham’s streets, choking on the rising tide of existential dread, choking on this looming fear of something you knew existed yet couldn’t quite see.

The question of what you were going to do echoed in the back of your mind, even if the answer was decided. Because it was unfair, because you were scared. All you could think about were the shiny reporters on the television gleefully claiming that crime rates had fallen, that Batman had cleaned up the city, that everyone was saved. It was funny to think that you got this job with the idea that you could turn your life around, a small step towards salvaging your life. Who would have thought anything would be wrong with a place called something as dumb as the Palace of Pies?

What a fine mess it all was. Your head ached, your throat swollen with angry tears and a frustrating, primal need to excise the tempest of emotions you crushed down. Idly, you wondered what would happen if you were to stop in your tracks and begin screaming. Would anyone look? Would anyone stop and ask what was the matter? You didn’t think so. People would step around you, avoiding eye contact. That’s what you would do. Everything in the city, if not trying to actively harm you, was passively hostile. Looking beyond yourself was how you got hurt. Being surrounded by people only made you more aware of how alone you were, how aggressive isolation en masse could be.

With the weather turning so quickly, few people lingered in the park, merely passing through on their way to or from something. Always going, moving, acting with purpose and a destination, paying no mind to the changing season. When you were younger, you loved the fall. Back when costumes were saved for Halloween and horror was strictly contained to the scary movies you watched without your parent’s permission. Who needed a creepy corn maze or haunted house when you had the privilege of living in Gotham City?

You breathed out, trying to exhale those thoughts. Trying to think. Clearly, for once, although it was hard when you never got enough sleep, when you never had any space to seek clarity. Gotham was a place without peace. You could never find solace away from the people and the noise and the claustrophobic streets and decaying walls that seemed to close in the longer you stayed. It was inescapable, no matter where you were. The breeze churned up all manner of unsavory smells, carrying the sound of people talking and dogs barking and cars honking, cluttering your senses. It was never quiet, never clean, never calm, never safe. Just last week, a woman had been brutally stabbed to death only a half mile away from the path you were on. Her dog too. Part of you feared stories like that, knowing it could just as easily happen to you. Part of you didn’t care, really. So what if it did.

And yet, the plastic newswoman cried with religious fervor, crime was down. Thank God for that.

When you got down, you knew quite surely that you would die here. The city that once held the sparkling allure of hopes and dreams and promise, a life grander than you could have in a small town upstate, turned out to be nothing more than a slaughterhouse.

These days, these terrible, sentimental days, you could imagine it. Dialing the numbers—you knew they wouldn’t have changed, even after all this time, nothing ever changed there—and holding the phone up to your ear with a clammy hand, hearing her voice for the first time in years.

“Hey mom.” You would sound sheepish, your voice up a few halftones to mimic the girlish sound you had before you left. “It’s me. It’s been a while. I know, I’m sorry. I know. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m—”

You wouldn’t. You couldn’t. Maybe it was guilt. Maybe it was mercy. Mostly it was just pride. Anger. This was the bed you made and you could hate yourself and you could hate the man who sold you pretty lies and you could hate the wretched city and you could hate your dead end job working for an obvious criminal but you could hate them too, if nothing else then just to try and cope with it all.

You shoved your hands deeper into your pockets and lowered your head to brace against the wind. A storm was going to hit soon.

II.

The rattling thunder was what snapped you alert, the metal shelves lined with plastic bottles and boxes of toilet paper trembling with the force of it. You’d meant to take a short break, but somehow you had managed to doze off sitting on an upturned bucket in the back room, leaning against the wall amidst cleaning supplies with your eyes closed and mind wandering far away, lulled by the sound of rain on the roof. Thinking of home, of the wind knocking the pale limbs of aspen trees against your window as gentler storms passed through the town, watching lightning from your bed and hiding beneath the covers at the thunder.

Annoyed with yourself, you stood up, grabbed the napkins, and returned to the front of the house to do your table rounds before you got in trouble.

Nobody really seemed to care either way. The few customers that had trudged into the inauthentically kitschy restaurant at such a late hour were soaked and cold and cranky and addled by some substance or another. Despite the attempts to cheer the place up with warm lighting and friendly decor, the whole restaurant had a dour atmosphere. Dark, miserable, heavy with the kind of mundane tragedy that carried the careers of famous poets. It seemed as if, no matter how bright the lights shined, they couldn’t fight off the creeping shadows of Gotham.

In other words, it was a normal night for you. Too many hours on your feet, too much caffeine, too few full nights of rest. Nobody else wanted the late shift waiting tables in city like this and it wasn’t like you blamed them—God only knew that you didn’t want to be here either—but you were too strapped for cash to be picky. In a way, you imagined your brain was attempting to help you by conjuring fantasies of better times. But happy memories only got more and more sour with age, the highs casting the lows in thicker shadow.

Better not to think of it. Your shift was almost done. Just get the night over with, and then the day would be over. You didn’t think of what came after that, didn’t dare to consider tomorrow. Short term goals were easier to handle, easier to stomach. Nothing else was worth thinking about.

It was almost fate, if you were the type to believe in such things. You were looking for a distraction from your thoughts and he showed up as the clock’s little hand neared twelve and you knew immediately that he was different. Despite the downpour, he had no umbrella. What he did have was a black hoodie with the hood pulled up, the fabric soaked through and clinging to his torso, and an aura of disquiet, obviously unlike the hungry stoners and the late workers and the otherwise normal folks who came in. A chill and trail of rainwater chased him inside to where he sat at the counter, empty red vinyl barstools surrounding him on both sides. Different wasn’t good or bad, necessarily. If he was the type to make trouble, the cook, a guy you knew only as Ace, would scare him off with his 32. Different was, at the very least, distracting. You put on a smile and rounded the counter.

“How are you doing tonight?” you asked in a serviceably friendly voice as you took the pot of coffee from the warmer and poured him a cup.

His eyes were lucid enough, at least enough that you didn’t think he was on drugs. The two of you sized each other up for a moment before he gave you an ironic half smile that clearly asked ‘how do you think I’m doing?’ Which was fair. Close up, you could see that he had a developing bruise right on his cheekbone, although the more striking feature was the mark on the opposite cheek. It looked like the letter J had been carved into the skin. An old wound, the skin pale and puckered with scar tissue. Best guess, it was a gang thing. That was part and parcel for Gotham, and especially for the Palace.

But, bruise and scars and all, that sarcastic little grin was attractive. He wasn’t exactly tall, dark, and handsome, but whatever the more menacing equivalent was.

“Wet,” was all he said after a long moment, his tone ironically dry.

You reached under the counter to grab a clean towel, sliding it over to him. He eyed it suspiciously. “Might help a little,” you explained. He didn’t look convinced, but there was no way he wasn’t cold. You felt cold just looking at him. “Come on, you’re dripping everywhere as is,” you told him with a huff, gesturing to the water he’d tracked in. It was too late to fix now, but watching him literally drip rain water was just a touch too melodramatically sad even for you.

Hesitating, he looked down and behind himself at the puddles that had followed him inside. While he didn’t have the grace to so much as pretend to be apologetic, he did accept your offer and began toweling off his hair. It was dark and cut short, save for the bangs that were a stark white. Was that a gang thing too? It worked, oddly. Or, he was odd and it worked.

“Anyway,” you said, reverting to your patented professional tone to cover the fact that you had been staring. “Can I get you started with something to drink?”

“Just coffee’s fine,” he told you, tossing the towel back onto the counter and running a hand through his semi-dried hair to keep it pushed back. Despite your best attempts at professionalism, your eyes tracked the motion. He was wearing gloves. Probably to hide a set of bruised knuckles, a person didn’t catch a shiner like that playing nice.

"Do you have any questions about the menu?” you asked. “Tonight's special is-"

"Yeah, I’ll have that.”

Considering he hadn’t so much as glanced at the menu or let you finish the pitch, his eyes scanning the restaurant with a restlessly critical look, you doubted he even knew what he was ordering. Maybe he didn’t care.

“Alright,” you said. “Anything else?”

“Nope,” he said, finally looking back at you. His eyes were pretty, even bloodshot and shadowed with exhaustion. Blue, lined with thick black lashes that still sparkled with rain whenever he blinked.

“If you need anything else,” you told him, “just let me know.”

“Will do.”

Quickly scribbling the order onto your pad, you slid it across the window to Ace in exchange for finished meals and did your rounds. Table seven got their hash browns, over easy eggs, and chicken tenders. Table five got their big pieces of banana pie. All the while, you couldn't help but feel that the man at the counter was watching you. He probably wasn’t. Or maybe he was. Not that you actually, really cared that much either way. You didn’t want to check though, just in case.

When you returned to the window between the kitchen to drop off the dishes, you saw the Ace was gone. Probably for another cigarette break. Of course. The man’s addiction to nicotine was astounding. But he wouldn’t be punished for it, even if you complained. The quality of his work was unimportant, he was a part of it. Whatever Mr. Anthony’s real business was, Ace was his guy.

You grabbed the chicken fried steak meal—the day's special—and delivered it to the mysterious customer at the counter. He eyed the food hungrily, barely responding to your offer of “If you need anything else…” before digging in.

The clock said you had forty five or so minutes before closing, which meant an hour or more left. You could do another hour. Another two hours, if you were being realistic. But you rounded down, it was easier to handle that way. Refilling drinks, cleaning up tables, sweeping the floors, you did these things on autopilot. Table five, a pair of young junkies you were decently familiar with by now, finished their meal and paid. You checked them out with a smile all of you knew was fake, taking their lack of tip with a brave face.

The door opened with a little burst of rain washing over the threshold as they left, the sound of it pounding against the blacktop abrasively loud. Even if you knew it wasn’t actually a fact, you didn’t think it ever stopped raining in Gotham, as if God himself was trying to wash the city away in some form of biblical vengeance.

“I was surprised to see a place like this open this time of night,” the man at the counter said. You jumped a little at the sound of his voice, turning away from the register with the uncomfortable realization that he had most definitely been staring, at least just now. He didn’t try to hide it either, his elbows propped up on the counter and head tilted at a slight angle. His plate was almost empty, which made sense considering the ferocity with which he’d been eating.

“Yep, we’re open till one,” you said, trying not to seem flustered.

“Don’t you think it's a little dangerous to be working so late?” he asked. It was difficult to read his tone. Not quite a warning, but not a joke either. “Gotham’s not a very nice place.”

You shrugged. “This area isn’t that dangerous.”

“And after you leave?”

Once again, you couldn’t place his tone. You didn’t want to automatically think the worst of the man, but you weren’t naive enough to miss the possible threat. “You know, it’d be pretty easy to take a question like that the wrong way,” you told him bluntly, taking a somewhat playful tone to hide your discomfort and diffuse the question. “I wouldn’t. But someone else might.”

“They might,” he agreed easily.

“Not that I think you meant anything by it.”

“I never said I was the one you needed to worry about.”

He had to be messing with you. Either that or he was deranged. The slightly ironic upturn of his mouth made you think—or hope—that it was the former. “Either way, it is what it is,” you said, waving your hand dismissively. “Que sera and all that.”

He hesitated, eyebrows knitting slightly. “Kay… What?”

“You know, like the song,” you said. “What will be, will be. Was it Rosemary Clooney? Or… Doris Day, I think.” He stared at you, obviously lost. You waved it off again, shaking your head. “Anyway, the point is that I’m fine."

He grunted noncommittally, clearly not buying it. "Bet whoever's waiting for you at home hates it that you’re gone so late.”

You snorted. “If I had someone waiting for me, do you really think I’d be here?” It occurred to you a second too late that he might have been flirting, surreptitiously asking if you were single. Or maybe he wanted to know if a potential mark had anyone to worry about her getting home. The fact that you couldn’t really tell was probably a bad sign. “And anyway, I hate to be rude,” you continued blithely, brute forcing a change of topic, “but I’m not sure you’re the one who should be giving out safety tips.” Your eyes lingered pointedly on the bruise swelling up his cheek. You’d had bruises like that in the past and, no matter what you told anybody, they didn’t come from being clumsy.

“Oh, this?” His hand raised, fingertips coming into contact with the swollen injury like he’d forgotten it was there. “You should see the other guy.”

Red flag? Innocuous boast?

“Hopefully he’s in handcuffs by now,” you said, picking the route of deflection. “I mean, hitting a handsome face like yours must be breaking some law.”

“Well, he wouldn’t be the first,” he said, something dark and ironic marring his otherwise confident demeanor. That reaction gave you pause, your eyes catching on the letter carved into his cheek. There were more scars too, old ones.

“Ah, sorry,” you said, nerves catching up to your attempt at a cool demeanor. “I have a tendency to make jokes out of things that… aren’t funny.”

“I’m not very big on comedy.”

“Well, you’re in luck because I’m not funny,” you told him. “I only pretend like I am.”

“So all of this,” he said, gesturing vaguely, “was a joke?” Unlike his previous statement, the question sounded more lighthearted. It made you doubt yourself all over again, worried you had overcorrected with the apology.

“Not… everything,” you replied. “I-”

“Got an order of mozzarella sticks,” Ace called, cutting you off.

While the cook’s voice merely surprised you, the man at the counter tensed up immediately, his body going taut in preparation to jump up. You blinked, kicking yourself for getting carried away, unnerved by the man’s reaction. It was the quick trigger response to stress you knew fairly well. He relaxed immediately, or at least untensed slightly. The shift was so fast, it was as if it hadn’t happened.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta,” you motioned behind yourself, feeling apologetic for some reason.

“Do your job?” he asked dryly.

“Yeah, that. Let me know if-”

“Will do.”

You nodded and turned away, tending to the other tables and cleaning up so you could get off at a semi-reasonable time. It was impossible to not feel overly aware of the man at the counter. You wondered if he was actually interested or if he was just playing along. You wondered what you looked like to him. You wondered why he’d gotten hit in the face. You wondered a lot of things, had so many questions you knew you’d never get an answer to. The scars, the haunted look in his eyes. He was dangerous, you were pretty confident of that. He was something else too. You thought. Then again, it was just as likely that you wanted to think the best of this handsome stranger. It wouldn’t be the first time you made a dumb mistake like that.

A few minutes later, after the banana pie couple paid and left, you returned to the man at the counter, clearing his clean plate. “Can I get you anything else?” you asked.

“Yeah,” he said. “I’ll take the check.”

“No pie?”

“It’s late,” was all he said, rolling his shoulders slowly. There was a hunch to them, something you hadn’t noticed before. It contrasted with his otherwise poised form.

“That’s completely missing the whole point of eating here,” you told him sternly. “What do you like? Cherry? Pumpkin?”

He snorted. “I’ll pass.”

“It’s on me,” you told him. When he opened his mouth to argue, you added, “—and in a to-go box. I know for a fact that it’ll make your night better. Think of it as thanks."

"Thanks for what?"

"For reminding me that there are people having a worse night than me,” you said with a smile. “Now, what’s your favorite?"

He stared at you for a long moment and you wondered if you had finally crossed that oh-so thin line of propriety. Then he smiled, shrugged. “Dealer’s choice.”

In the end, he left with a cardboard box of vanilla cream pie and an expressive combination of amused bemusement on his face. You helped Ace close up, going over your interaction over and over in your head, eventually coming to the conclusion that you had made a fool of yourself. You always liked to seem so clever, as if anyone would be impressed, as if anyone would think of you outside the liminal space of the stupid little resturaunt, as if you could even exist outside of what service you could offer. You didn’t even know his name.

It was still raining when you left.

III.

Sometimes, you had a tough time being positive.

Most of the time, really.

Gotham did that to people.

But you did try, it was just difficult when you got off late and held your bag close as you traversed the creepy empty subway and the filth that lined the underground, your head down to avoid the hungry eyes of stray beggars. More and more, you were getting off late, closing time getting pushed back to account for the shipments coming in the back. You played dumb, but you weren’t entirely stupid to what was going on. Drugs? Weapons? You didn’t know the details of what was happening. You didn’t want to know the details, you didn’t want to admit that you saw anything you weren’t supposed to. You were selfish, all you knew for sure was that something was going on and you were afraid and alone.

It was like being a ghost, like being trapped in some hellish nightmare where each day repeated itself without end.

When you boarded the subway, you huddled in a corner seat, giving the train a cursory glance before ducking your head again. Time and time again, you thought you noticed the same hooded person on your way home. Never close enough to see a face, just the shadow of a figure in another car or across a crowd. And you didn’t think you would be so sensitive, so hyper aware of it, if you didn’t get the awful impression that somebody had been into your apartment sometimes when you got home. There was no proof. A mess where you thought you had tidied, old things you had shoved into drawers to be forgotten sitting on top of your dresser.

But, you reasoned, if you were being followed, if Mr. Anthony’s crimes were significant to warrant that sort of thing, you would have known, surely. You would be able to come up with evidence, with something solid. Unraveling sanity wasn’t fact. You were just tired, overworked, and stressed. You were a fool girl all alone in a city whose natural process was to chew up innocence and spit it out into the trash that littered the streets. The ultimate fact was that you weren’t interesting enough to be followed. There were a dozen girls just like you in the city. More, probably, and most of them were more interesting too.

In the worst way, in the darkest parts of your mind, you thought it would almost be flattering to have a stalker. To matter to someone. And that was just…

You couldn’t follow that thought to its natural conclusion. It was better to stare at the filthy floor beneath your feet and listen to the city’s abrasive symphony.

IV.

The restaurant was relatively busy when the news came. On Halloween, people wanted a place to eat before or after the night’s entertainment. And entertainment was what they got, footage of people infected with Scarecrow’s fear toxic, their brains twisted and driven insane. It was a massacre.

“Gotham, this is your only warning.”

Scarecrow’s announcement broadcasted through the city after that terrifying footage played. Evacuation instructions were issued shortly after, but the damage was done, the panic had begun. Through radios, televisions, loudspeakers, megaphones, everywhere was the same message. Get out. Escape.

But it was mayhem. Footage of the Scarecrow’s face, of the savagery in the diner, was projected just as prolifically as information on how to evacuate. Watching customers leave the Palace of Pies was like watching a concert crush, bodies congealing at the door as they desperately tried to get out.

And you, not knowing what to do, joined them. All around were screaming children in their costumes, people fighting and shouting at each other, others trying to direct foot traffic in some attempt to play hero. Everywhere was chaos and you couldn’t ground yourself in reality, it didn’t feel real. It couldn’t possibly be real.

You passed a woman shouting for her child, begging passersby to help her. You passed someone looking around with wild eyes, asking nobody in particular what he was supposed to do. Nobody answered, nobody stopped, nobody helped.

The police had checkpoints set up, alarms blaring past the relentless, all consuming noise. People rammed into one another in a block of bodies, stinking of rain water and sweat and city filth all stirred up by too many feet. Another bus peeled away from the curb, you could only see the glistening top of it and hear the shouting, people begging to be let on. You didn’t like your chances of getting on one of those buses. They filled up nearly as fast as they hit the curb, it didn’t matter how many came, the crowd only got bigger, swelling to an unmanageable size despite the domineering corralling of the police officers.

Someone elbowed you hard in the stomach and you stumbled. The noise and panic was too intense for your cry to rise above the roar of voices, of babies screaming and wheels squealing and rain pounding. Like a violent, churning ocean, the crowd gathered and heaved and you were pushed from the tumultuous tide, forced into the back of the hoard. All you could imagine was yourself all alone, abandoned on the streets of Gotham, driven mad like the people in the video.

What terror would you see? What waking nightmare would your mind torment you with? You had a few guesses.

A crack in the sidewalk caught your toe, upsetting your balance entirely. Falling onto the concrete tore up the skin of your knee in an ugly way, the shredded skin immediately welling bright red blood. Nobody stopped for you, someone’s boot came dangerously close to smashing your fingers before you flinched away.

A gloved hand entered your vision, and you realized it was meant for you. His grip was steady and firm as he helped you to your feet. Your rescuer, a tall, imposing man, was saying your name. Your name. You didn’t recognize him, not even slightly, and you couldn’t comprehend it, too panicked, too confused, your ears ringing something fierce.

“Do I know you?” you asked him, trying to escape his grip without any success, distrust freezing your fear.

“Stay close to me, you’re getting on this bus,” he told you, diving back into the crowd without any further explanation. You barely registered his words, too busy stumbling along. His grip on your hand was firm, unyielding even as you tried to pull back, trying to make yourself heard over the crowd as you demanded you know who he was or what was happening.

Unlike you, he had no problem parting the tumultuous waves of people. They swore and lashed out like wild animals, but after a suffocating march, you broke out into the front. The bus was loaded, the final few people attempting to fight their way onto the bus swarming like angry wasps. You held fast onto the man as he knifed his way to the officer guiding the crush. Everybody was shouting, wailing. Violent elbows thrown and bodies jostling and it was too much. You were confused and scared and suspicious, but you weren’t stupid either. All you could do was cling to the man dragging you along and hunch your shoulders as if you were weathering a storm.

The officer tried to stop the man leading you, holding up his baton threateningly, but your guide didn’t back down. Whatever he said to the officer made him frown, the cop looking you up and down with a hard look. You were prepared for rejection, to be physically thrown away from the door like the other people who tried to board without permission.

“Go,” your guide shouted, releasing you. The immediate urge was to reject him, but you were given a hard push and tripped upward on the steps, your palms scraping the gritty traction mats. People were cursing and spitting and screaming at you from behind, but the officer didn’t stop you. No matter what the circumstances, you didn’t really have a choice but to obey.

Inside, the bus stank of sweat and rainwater and filth and you were met with various degrees of hostility, anxiety, and glassy indifference. People packed into the faded and torn seats like canned fish, clutching their bags close and curled in on themselves out of distrust for their fellow man. Hands pounded at the windows, faces pressed to the glass. You took a look back, but the man who’d escorted you was gone. The door unfolded and shut with a painful squeal.

After being snapped at by the driver, you claimed one of the last available spots next to a mother and her weeping child. A pumpkin was painted on the kid’s round, ruddy cheek, streaked with tears. The mom looked at you with narrowed eyes and you looked away, focusing on the blood welling up and crusting over your skinned knee.

Almost laughably, one of the few thoughts you could scrape together was that you didn’t have a toothbrush.

Palace of Pies, just like so many palaces before it, survived the siege. Your apartment complex fared slightly worse, but the damage was mostly superficial. The hot water was out for a week and you had to pass a city full of wreckage just to get a box of cereal. All the same, you were lucky. You returned from the emergency shelter to a life pretty much intact. Gotham was a different story. Batman unmasked, billionaire dead, a city secured and returned to its people. Mostly.

It was advertised as a good conclusion to a terrible situation, but that seldom held true. That was how it always went for those who lived beyond the tall buildings and glittering lights. Gotham had reached an equilibrium of sorts before the attack, somewhat, but now it was all busted. Criminals, the petty ones, the ones that had nothing to do with super villains or masked vigilantes, scurried around like rats. The fallout rattled even the most minor of them into a panic. And then there were stories about something worse than Batman. Successors or ghosts or whatever. These days, the Palace of Pies felt more like the den of a cornered animal.

And you hadn’t meant to see anything, only wanting to leave a note that recommended a repairman be sent for the old coffee maker that was broken again, but another order sheet was on the very top of Mr. Anthony’s desk. Some of it was written in code or with strange nicknames, but you knew enough to decipher what was being ordered. Chemicals for drugs and parts you assumed were used in weapons manufacturing. All signed off by a man named Hector on behalf of his employer. While you had no idea who Hector might have been, you definitely recognized the name of his boss.

Christ.

Seeing it all written down, for some reason, was the thing to send you over. It wasn’t as if you hadn’t known that shady things were happening before, and it was stupid to buy into the dream that crime would simply go away, that criminals would change their ways. It was one thing for Mr. Anthony to be affiliated with local gangs, but he’d taken it a step further. A big, terrible step further. Your eyes scanned the sheet with increasing fear and discomfort, reality like a vice around your heart.

“The fuck do you think you’re doing?” Ace asked from the doorway, startling you. The sound of his voice nearly caused you to jump out of your skin. But you didn’t give into your fear, turning and facing him like nothing was wrong. His face was red, twisted with a form of rage you were all too familiar with.

“The coffee maker’s broken,” you told him.

“You’re not allowed in here,” he said, his hand poised like he was going for his gun.

“The door was unlocked,” you pointed out, refusing to feed into his anger by showing your fear. It was an old trick, the kind that always made things worse, but it was satisfying nonetheless. It was his own fault, his own carelessness, it wasn’t like you wanted to know that your boss was working for an insane cultist.

“Get out of here,” Ace told you, his voice low and eyes all but slits. “Now.”

The urge to get in the last word, to be clever, to be stupidly defiant, almost made you say something that would really set him off. Almost. It was the look in his narrowed eyes, the way his hand was settled on his gun, that made you reconsider.

Ace smelled foul, like stale cigarette smoke and grease, as you passed him in the doorway. You held your breath all the way into the bathroom where you promptly threw up three cups of coffee and a stomach full of sour bile, eventually falling back onto the dirty tile with your eyes closed.

VI.

Mr. Anthony had just finished a meeting with a group of unfamiliar men in the back room when he ordered his customary piece of cherry pie. Mostly unfamiliar men. Some faces came around often enough for you to recognize and now that you knew what you were looking for, figuring out who “Hector” was wasn’t difficult. Both he and his employer had a particular style. Cults were like that.

Just thinking of it made your stomach twist with nausea. Nobody knew what happened to many of the criminals after the incident in Arkham Asylum, and that was obscured further by the reform that had taken place recently. Speculation floated around Gotham, but that was all it ever was. Speculation. And you could hope that it was just a copycat criminal, you could hope that someone had stolen the moniker, but if it was him, if that was who Mr. Anthony had teamed up with, sticking around was borderline suicidal.

But when you thought about that, you were reminded with a cold sort of brutality that you had nowhere to go.

All you could do was serve Mr. Anthony the cherry pie he ordered with a polite demeanor and hope. Hope for salvation, for some sort of divine intervention. You thought about your rescuer from Halloween night, wondered who it was, why he had helped you, how he had known you. You wondered if he would come back, if he would save you again. But those were the thoughts of an idealistic child, you knew that. Real life was never so kind.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” you asked.

Mr. Anthony looked sicklier by the day. He was putting on more weight, his face puffy and pale like pastry dough, his big forehead shiny with sweat. He was drinking heavily from a gold plated flask, his movements jittery and eyes shifting nervously around the restaurant even after his associates were gone.

“Yeah, why don’t you sit down. Take a little break,” Mr. Anthony offered in a would-be casual voice, gesturing to the empty chair with his fork. “I wanna have a chat.”

Your heart sunk into your stomach like a rock. Did he know? Had he guessed your thoughts? Had Ace told him what you had accidentally seen? Fighting your creeping dread, you did as he indicated. It wasn’t like anybody was coming in, the place was dead. These days, it was almost always dead.

“Yes?” you asked, feigning innocence despite the way your voice shook.

“I bet you’ve noticed that things have changed around here,” Mr. Anthony said. Although he was drinking, his dark eyes were lucid when they focused on you. A man as paranoid as him wouldn’t get drunk in public, it was just to ease the edge. You knew all about that.

“I guess. But everything has changed since the incident,” you responded carefully. “I think the Palace has recovered well though.” He wasn’t stupid, the both of you knew that wasn’t what he asked. But there was a time for cheek and a time for honesty and you were too scared for either, your nerves rubbed raw.

"Do you like working here?" he asked rather than push you on that, abruptly shifting the conversation.

"I do," you told him, pouring as much sincerity into the words as you could manage.

"You feel like you're being treated fairly?"

"Yes, sir.”

“I like to make sure my employees are happy,” he stressed. “You know what I mean, happy?”

“Yes, I think I do.”

“Running a business is like being the captain of a ship. If anybody steps out of line, we all sink together. I’ve gotta keep a tight ship,” he emphasized the point by making a fist, a fast movement that made you flinch. “That’s the only way we can stay afloat.”

“I understand,” you emphatically agreed. Then you hesitated, thinking. He needed more. He needed reassurance. Wiping your sweaty hands on your apron, you cleared your throat. “You’ve always treated me with respect, I wouldn’t do something to betray that. It’s tough to find respect in this city.”

"Yeah, that’s true. You're a smart girl,” Mr. Anthony said, nodding, taking another big drink from his flask. “Got a good head on your shoulders." He chuckled. Prickling discomfort ran down the entire length of your spine. "You’re not gonna do anything stupid. No, no, you’re a smart girl. You know what’s good for you.” A vague sort of mania shone in his dark eyes and you knew what he meant. If you turned on him or his associates in any way, you were as good as dead. It wouldn’t matter even a bit if you wound up in a ditch outside of town, nobody would care. But if you were smart, you would keep your mouth shut and continue doing what you were told. You would ignore the things you saw and continue to serve his cherry pie with a smile.

“Thank you, sir,” you said.

Mr. Anthony didn’t say anything, but he didn’t dismiss you either. He just shoved forkful after forkful of pie into his mouth, pausing every few bites for a drink. A catchy top ten pop song played distantly over the radio.

“Do you have a family?” Mr. Anthony finally asked, his eyes a little glazed over as he considered the last few bites of pie. He wasn’t quite drunk, but his words were slurred.

“I moved away from home a while back,” you said cautiously, unsure of why he’d ask.

“What about a boyfriend?”

You almost replied with something acerbic and deflective, defiant that he’d ask something so personal. But you didn’t, swallowing down the disgust and discomfort. “No, sir.”

“Well, you’re still young,” he said. “I got married younger than you are now, you know.”

“Yes, sir,” you told him. “I’ve met your wife.”

“My wife…” He grimaced. “Not anymore. We’re separated now. She abandoned ship, didn’t agree with my decisions…” His statement trailed off, his expression solemn, grave. “That’s how it goes in Gotham. We’re all alone. No matter what you do, how hard you try…” Mr. Anthony shook his head, taking another drink from his flask only to realize it was empty. He scowled at that too. “I can’t stand disloyalty. Can’t stomach it. You know what I mean?”

“I do.”

“Respect, that’s all I ask for. Respect and loyalty.”

“And pie?” you ventured, forcing a smile in a desperate attempt to lighten the mood.

Mr. Anthony hesitated before returning your smile. The way he laughed sent shivers down your back, that same manic sound from before. “Yeah, you’re a smart girl. I can count on you, can’t I?”

“Yes, sir.”

In the end, you walked away from the encounter with a stomach full of sickening dread and a dollar raise and you knew, in your heart of hearts, that if you left now or anytime soon, you were as good as dead. Maybe you were dead anyway. Rescue wouldn’t come. Not for you, not again.

VII.

Hearing a gunshot in such close proximity wasn’t like in the movies. The sound tore through the air violently. It blasted your ears, leaving them ringing, making the ensuing commotion sound like it was happening under water. You weren’t supposed to be here, but you’d left your coat and had keys to the back door so you thought it would be okay. If you had just grabbed your coat and left, it would have been fine. But you heard the shouting and-

The sound of a gun cleared some things up, at least.

You weren’t sure what came over you, what could have possibly compelled you to investigate. It was as if your body wasn’t your own, as if you were merely operating something mechanical as you peered into the front of the restaurant from the dark kitchen. The lights were on, the warm lights that fought to be inviting against Gotham’s gloom. The place was clean and empty. Everything was where it should have been.

Almost everything.

Blood splattered the white tile floor in a gruesome spray, dripping from the red vinyl seats and beading up on the plastic tabletop. Mr. Anthony slumped in his chair, his body limp and doughy chin bulging out over his shirt collar. A half eaten piece of pie sat in front of him. There was nothing dramatic about it, really. It wasn’t like you could see his soul exit through his eyes or anything. They just stared.

Hector, a familiar face by now, was the one holding a gun. Several other men were in the room. As soon as you were noticed, all of them had their guns trained on you.

“I’m sorry, I…” the words sounded distant, even if you were the one to speak them. For the first time since you moved to Gotham, all you heard was silence. It was the most dreadful sound you had ever heard.

“You’re the waitress,” Hector finally said. He was the only one not pointing his gun at you. Instead, he raised a hand, beckoning you closer. “Come here.”

That wasn’t the sort of order someone refused, not when you had three guns pointed directly at your chest. You didn’t think you would be capable of running anyway. On heavy, trembling legs, you slowly trudged forward, trying to avoid eye contact with your dead boss. His blood was forming a big stain on the front of his suit, pooling on the floor. “There’s no need to be frightened.” Hector waved his hand, motioning for the men to put their guns down.

“I’m sorry,” you said again, your voice somewhat more clear because the magnitude of the situation was setting in and, although surreal, pragmatism had to kick in like it always had, self preservation lending you some steel.

“Your boss spoke very highly of you,” Hector said, placing a heavy hand on your shoulder. Everything within you demanded you slap his hand off of you, that you lash out against the unwanted touch. But you didn’t, you couldn’t. “He said you’re smart, that he could trust you.”

“I…” Your eyes returned to Mr. Anthony. He wasn’t moving, just slumped to the side, eyes wide open.

“No, don’t look at him,” Hector scolded, shaking your shoulder a little. When your eyes met his in fear of the slight violence, he released you. “I feel bad for you, I really do. This is an unfortunate situation.” He sighed, rubbing a hand across his face. “But I think I can make it work.”

“I won’t tell anyone,” you told him. “I won’t, I’ll-”

“No, no,” Hector said. “There’s no need for that. I want you to tell everyone about this. You’re going to call the police and tell them exactly what happened.” He looked past you, at one of his men. “Is the place clean?”

“Yeah, they won’t find anything.”

“Good, good.” Hector met your eyes. “Now, you’re going to call the police. You tell the opperator that you witnessed a murder, okay? They’ll come with their police cars and paramedics and all that, and they’re going to take you to the station to get your statement.”

“I-”

“Don’t talk, just listen,” Hector told you. “Here’s what you’re going to tell them-”

“I didn’t see them when I came in, but I could hear them through the window between the front and back,” you told the officer, your voice wobbling, fresh tears tracking through the caked salt on your cheeks. People described shock as a numbing agent, as escapism, but you didn’t think you had ever been so aware of yourself than in that moment. Aware of sweat dripping down your neck, aware of the sour taste on the back of your tongue, aware of the unsteadiness of your breathing, the racing of your heart. “I forgot my coat and so I came back to get it, I didn’t think anything of it.”

“What happened after that?” she asked, taking down your statement in a little notebook. The interview was being held in an office and they’d given you a can of soda from the vending machine. You were a witness. A victim.

“They didn’t notice me,” you said. “They-”

“They?” she prompted, cutting you off.

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat no matter how hard you fought it. “Mr. Anthony a-and Ace. The cook. I-I think his name is Payton… I don’t know, we only ever called him Ace.”

“How do you know it was them?” she asked.

“Their voices. I work with Ace almost every day, and see Mr. Anthony at least three times a week, I could recognize them anywhere.”

“Did you hear anyone else?”

“No.”

“And what were they doing?”

“Arguing,” you said. “I knew I walked in something I shouldn’t see so I tried to be quick. I wasn’t looking and then I-I heard the gun go off.”

“What were they arguing about?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It wasn’t my business.” You couldn’t keep the anger out of your tone at that. It wasn’t your business, so why were you involved? It wasn’t fair, and there was nothing you could do. Tell the police the truth and face the wrath of a famously sadistic criminal. Lie to the police and risk legal persecution. And that wasn’t even mentioning the fact that you were out of a job.

“You don’t remember anything they said?” the officer asked. The doubt in her tone made your stomach twist. Hector’s demands were clear. You either convinced the police of the fake story, pinning all of the blame on Ace, or else. Given his employer, you could only guess what ‘or else’ would mean. Your chest seized, your breathing becoming faster.

“I don’t know,” you said, your voice trembling. “Ace has always been… He’s not a very nice guy, and he’s been acting strange lately. I knew he kept a gun on him. You know, for safety. We stay open pretty late. I knew that, but I never thought he’d actually… I mean, who does that sort of thing? Who could possibly…”

The officer nodded consolingly. Did that mean she believed you? “You’re okay, hon. We’re almost done. After the gun went off, what did you do?”

“I hid,” you told her. That’s what you should have done. You could almost imagine the scene in your head. The two of them arguing, the gunshot, ducking beneath the counter to hide with sweat soaking your clothes and terror squeezing your heart. “I heard him going through Mr. Anthony’s office, and then he came into the kitchen to leave through the back.”

“He didn’t see you?”

“No, I was hiding under the counter and it was… it was dark.”

“When he left, did you get a good look at him?”

“No, it was dark,” you repeated. “But when he opened the door, there was enough light from outside that I could see his coat. It’s really big, kinda tan. He’s the only guy I know who wears something like that.” Pressed against your thighs, your hands trembled violently. “Mr. Anthony was always nice to me,” you said. You didn’t mean to, it just bubbled out. “His wife left him recently, I think they’ve got kids too.”

She nodded again, giving you a sympathetic look. “Okay, honey. You’re okay. Is there anything else you can think of?” You shook your head, wiping your face with the tissues she’d pushed towards you. “I’ll give you my personal phone number, just in case you remember something.”

You accepted her card with the work phone number and hastily scribbled personal number. “Thank you,” you said with a pathetic sniffle, disgust for your lies and terror twisting your insides, fear that they would figure out the lie striking hotter than guilt. Just like that, with one conversation, you ensured that one man’s murderer would go free and another man’s life was ruined.

VIII.

Everything was wet. Negotiating an armful of groceries alongside an umbrella had been impossible, so you entered your apartment dripping and miserable and scared. Even going to the store for an hour or so had your anxiety spiking, you spent the entire time looking behind yourself, terrified that you would be arrested or attacked at any minute.

Feet squelching with every step, you set the bags on the kitchen counter. Just the essentials. And a bottle of vodka. Nasty stuff, but effective. With any hope, enough of it would force you to pass out. After being awake for nearly two days without sleep, you would have thought your body would simply give out, but your brain wouldn’t let you. You ignored the rest of the groceries and opened up the bottle, uncaring of the puddle forming beneath your feet, and took a swig. Foul, but it lit a somewhat pleasant fire in your belly. You took another drink. It sloshed into your stomach like poison and dizzied your head. Drinking on an empty stomach was never a good idea, but you ran out of good ideas years ago.

You didn’t notice anything amiss. Your guard was well and truly down as you stumbled into your room, shucking the boots and tossing your soaked clothes into the hamper. It would have been better to shower the filthy scent of Gotham rain out of your hair, but instead you just covered your wet skin with a pair of pajamas and called it good, ready to self medicate.

No, you didn’t notice anything amiss. Every sound was covered by the groan of the ancient radiator and broken down refrigerator, by the cars outside and voices down the hall. You didn’t even feel the discomfort you occasionally had that someone had been in your apartment.

Somebody grabbed you from behind.

It happened just like that, no time to think or to process or to understand what was happening.

“Considering the trouble you’re in, you really oughta lock your door,” he said, his voice slightly muffled. The piercing scream that left your mouth was covered by a hand. Big hand. Big man. Muscular arms crushed you against a solid, armored chest, one on your face and the other easily pinning your arms. It didn’t matter that you thrashed and screamed, he didn’t so much as budge. When you tried to bash your head against his face, the back of your skull made contact with a hard mask. “Don’t get so worked up, okay? I’m not here to hurt you.”

His words didn’t register, his voice like distant thunder in your head. Alarm bells screeched in your mind attacking the sore spot where your skull had met his mask, and the only thing you could do was struggle with all your strength, staring ahead at the comfortable familiarity of your living room and thinking that you didn’t want to die.

“C’mon, calm down a little, will you?” he said, seemingly put out with your antics. Ignoring him, you only redoubled your efforts. He let out a grunt when you kicked him, although it seemed more surprised than pained, his arms tightening around you to the point of suffocation. “Look, I didn’t want to scare you, but I can’t have you waking up the whole building.”

You couldn’t move. You couldn’t breathe. There was something very hard pressing into your thigh and you didn’t think it was because he was happy to see you. Some part of your brain, the part that attempted rationality, recognized that you weren’t going to physically escape. Liquor and bile sat heavy on the back of your tongue, you worried you would choke on it.

“There you go,” your attacker said warmly as your energy drained and you stilled, his grip loosening somewhat now that you weren’t struggling like a wild animal. “Now I’m gonna let you go, and you’re not gonna do anything stupid.”

Breathing hard through your nostrils, you grunted in assent.

“‘Cause if you try anything,” he warned, “I’ll be very upset.”

Another grunt. Now that panic wasn’t so blindingly overpowering, you were aware of what this situation was. The danger you were in. His arms tightened for a moment, although not in an aggressive way. It felt more like a fleeting embrace.

When he released you, you didn’t scream, twisting away and putting as many stumbling steps between the two of you as possible. “I didn’t tell anybody,” you told him before even thinking about the words. “I wouldn’t, I-”

Recognition panged in your head like a bell as soon as you got a decent look at your attacker. For a moment, your brain scrambled, words failing you as you tried to process what you were looking at. Well, who you were looking at. The symbol on his chest was painted in red, but it was shaped like the bat symbol. The hero of Gotham. But he had guns, he couldn’t be. Besides, Batman—Bruce Wayne—was dead.

“You’re…” you said, trailing off in a confused loop of thought. You didn’t really understand what was happening, it was like reality had caused your system to crash. “You’re not Batman.”

“What gave it away?” he asked, his muffled voice sarcastic. You had no answer to that, just the angry pulse of adrenaline and terror and confusion. “It’s good to see you,” he said after a moment, taking a step towards you. “Up close, I mean.”

“What? Who are you?” Once you could look past the red bat symbol on his chest, he was dressed casually. Tactically, you supposed, with some light body armor and weaponry, but with a red hooded jacket and equally red mask that covered his whole face.

“You don’t remember me?” he asked. “And I thought we hit it off so well.”

“I think you’ve got the wrong person,” you told him. Despite your terrible memory, you would definitely remember meeting some masked criminal dressed like a dead icon.

“Nope, you’re exactly who I wanted to see,” he said. “Now why don’t you take a seat. You look like you’re about to pass out, and I’d like to talk.”

Mind whirling with panic and uncertainty, you considered your options. It was difficult. Drinking hadn’t been a good decision, the liquor drifted like fog in your head, confusing your ability to process everything.

“You need to leave,” you finally said, the tremble in your voice giving away your nerves. “Right now, you need to-”

“Come on,” he said, cutting you off. “You know how this goes, so let’s skip the part where you antagonize the guy with a gun.”

The urge to argue further occurred to you, but the words weren’t there. You had to be reasonable about this. If you cooperated, maybe you could find an advantage. Or talk your way out. If he had been here solely to assault you, why would he have let you go? The weight of his body against your own, the strength with which he held you, lingered like phantom pains. It would have been easy for him to force you down, to hurt you. To kill you. So easy.

You sat woodenly on your couch, eying the man warily as he crossed the room into your tiny little kitchen. Well, a counter, stove, and refrigerator shoved into the corner of the main room of your small apartment.

“Smirnoff, really?” he asked, picking up the bottle and inspecting it. Although you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the playful disgust in his voice. You didn’t say anything, watching him open your fridge and emerge with a bottle of water. He tossed it over. You barely managed to snatch it from the air before it fell onto the floor. “Try and sober up a little.”

While you didn’t really want to follow his instructions, you had also become aware of an awful case of dry mouth. He leaned against the counter while you took a few small sips. Although you couldn’t see his eyes, you got the distinct impression he was staring at you. The world hadn’t fallen silent, but it was all muffled. Far away. Your neighbors talked loudly, your old appliances droned, and cars passed outside, but none of it mattered. You may as well have been in a different world.

“You were so talkative last time,” he said as the silence dragged on. “I’m starting to think you’re not happy to see me.”

“I have no idea who you are,” you told him.

“Yeah, I guess you wouldn’t,” he allowed. “I’ll show you. But it’ll have to be our little secret, okay?”

You didn’t expect him to remove the mask, let alone do so in a nonchalant way. The mask made a distinct mechanical sound as he removed it, setting the piece aside and tossing his hood back. And that face was familiar. Mostly, you just remembered that scar, a crude J engraved on his cheek. You blinked, confusion making you doubt what you were seeing. It didn’t make any sense that the mysterious customer from weeks ago could be standing in your apartment.

“The pie was delicious, by the way,” he said casually, running his fingers through his hair to keep it pushed back. “I can see why it’s your favorite.”

That’s right. You thought you were being so cute for doing that, like you were some sort of philanthropist. It was borderline incomprehensible trying to merge your memory of that single interaction with what was happening now. The customer you awkwardly flirted with was an armored, armed man with the symbol of a dead hero on his chest. You had been genuinely upset that he never came back after that night, thought about him for at least a week after, but this wasn’t what you had in mind for a second meeting.

“It’s you,” you muttered softly, too shocked to be defensive.

“Surprised? It’s been awhile, I know. I’ve been busy.”

“Why are you here?”

“Why do you think?” he asked derisively. When you didn’t respond, he lightened up a bit. “Look, I’ve shown you mine, so why don’t you show me yours? Tell me who killed Frank Anthony.”

You regretted drinking, that question alone making you think you were about to be violently ill. “You’re with the police, aren’t you.”

“Do I look like a cop?” he asked incredulously, raising an eyebrow. No, he didn’t. Hector warned you about this sort of thing. The Bat, he said, might have been dead, but there were always those willing to do the same sort of work. If you squealed, you were worse than dead.

“I already told the police what happened,” you said, your stomach tying itself in increasingly painful knots.

“Yeah, you gave them quite the story.”

“No.” You shook your head. “It’s the tru-”

“Don’t,” he said loudly, aggressively cutting you off, “lie to me.” The rapid shift in tone had you flinching away, your water bottle dropping hard to the floor as you got to your feet to put more distance between the two of you. He had a look in his blue eyes that made you think he wasn’t entirely sane, and it chased away any hope that you could talk your way out of this.

“I want you to leave,” you told him, your fists clenched and shoulders tight, fueled by fear. Fear, and anger. Helpless rage at how awful this situation was, how unfair.

“What are you going to do if I don’t?” he asked, eying you up with a decidedly unimpressed expression, that flare of temper gone. “Fight me? Call for help?”

You didn’t say anything, realizing with a fresh wave of impotent indignation how helpless you were.

“Guess you’re stuck with me then,” he said, playful again, pushing away from the counter to sit on the other side of the couch. You watched him make himself comfortable, arms spread across the seatback and legs relaxed. Even like this, standing above him, you felt weak. He gave you a look. “What? C’mon, sit down.” You didn’t, even though standing there was beginning to feel horribly uncomfortable. “Are you seriously…? You’re not going to make this easy, are you.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” you said, putting as much venom in your voice as possible.

He smiled. “I never said I was disappointed. But if you really wanna seem tough, you should relax a little.”

You set your jaw, folding your arms.

“Fine, I’ll start,” he said, maintaining that disturbingly casual voice. “I didn’t give you my name last time. I’m Jason. Might wanna remember that for later.”

“Jason… Have you got a last name too?” you asked, not thinking so much about what you were saying as you were on portraying the only form of strength you had.

Jason shot you a sideways look. “Why?”

“You know, for the police report.” It had been a stupid thing to say in the first place, you knew that, but it didn’t get the reaction you wanted either. Jason just smiled, amused with your attempted wit.

“While you’re in there, are you gonna tell them what a bad girl you’ve been?”

It took you a moment, your thoughts catching on his uncomfortable wording, but then it clicked. “Do they know something?” you asked faintly, your head spinning with sickening anxiety.

“‘Course not,” Jason said. “Why do you think we’re talking here and not at the station? I figured it was better this way. You did something stupid, but you can still make it right. I’m happy to help. All you have to do is tell me what I want to know.”

“Help me?” you asked incredulously. “You break into my home and threaten me and you think you can-”

“I haven’t threatened you,” he said loudly, stopping you. “Yet.”

“It doesn’t matter,” you told him, forcing bravado to cover for your terror. There was no way out of this. Between a rock and a hard place, anything you did would be the wrong decision and it wasn’t fair. That bubbled out, your helpless anger coming through in a sharp tone. “I can’t tell you what I don’t know.”

“I was hoping we could avoid this, but…” Jason scoffed, rolling his eyes. “You can’t say I didn’t try to be nice. You’ve never been one to go for the nice guys though, have you.” Before you could respond, he stood up and grabbed you by the front of your shirt, pulling you off balance and up. Jason kept you suspended as you squirmed, although you stopped struggling pretty quick when he drew his gun and pressed it to your neck. It wasn’t like Ace’s gun, which may as well have been a toy in comparison to the weapon Jason held at your throat. The barrel was blocky and huge, you weren’t even sure it could reasonably be counted as a handgun.

“Okay, princess, from the top. Tell me who your boss was working for.”

Survival instinct dictated you cooperate, but the stubborn need for defiance kept you from speaking. The selfsame urge that got you in trouble, that made you want to have the last word when you argued and destroyed your life as you continuously made bad choices. This was the second time you had guns drawn on you, and for what? So you just looked at him, met those pretty blue eyes with the worst type of resolve. The petty kind.

“I don’t know.”

Jason jerked you up higher, the fabric of your shirt straining painfully against your skin. “Try again,” he told you, his voice low and dangerous.

“Even if I tell you, it won’t matter,” you said, your voice jumping an octave in fear. “You’re wasting your time.”

Jason considered that for a long moment before nodding, his expression softening and grip loosening. “You’re right, this is a waste of time,” he agreed. You hoped, for a second, that he was going to put you down. Instead, he hauled you up higher, your toes barely finding purchase on the floor until you hit the wall with a heavy exhale. It was nothing for him to keep you pinned against there, a muscular thigh pressed between your legs. The straps keeping his gun holster in place dragged roughly against the yielding fabric of your pajama shorts, adding a layer of friction that made you shudder, flinching back but unable to go anywhere. The barrel of his gun nudged beneath the hem of your shirt, seeking the warm skin beneath.

“Stop,” you demanded, but your voice was without bite, without air. Jason hardly budged when you weakly pushed against him. “You have to let me go right now or-”

“Sweetheart, babe, princess,” Jason cooed, cutting you off. Agonizingly slow, the gun’s cold muzzle continued to drag up over your abdomen, over your stomach. Chills chased behind the weapon’s metal kiss, your entire body so tense you trembled. “Look at yourself. Do you really think you’ve got any say in what I can or can’t do?”

“What are you going to do then?” you asked, terrified to look up and meet his eyes and terrified to look away. Terrified of the gun skimming your ribs and terrified of your body’s conflicted reaction because the horror of the threat only registered so much in comparison to his proximity, the twisted sensuality of it all.

“I’m not sure yet,” Jason said. “But I’m telling you right now that there are only two things I wanna hear from you. You can give me what I want, the truth this time, or…”

You didn’t want to ask, but you knew he was waiting for it, waiting for you to take the bait. “Or?” you finally breathed. The gun was pressed cold and hard right beneath the band of your bra, a stark contrast to the heat of his body right against yours.

“My name,” he said. “In my line of work, we don’t usually use ‘em. But I kinda like the idea of you screaming mine.” In isolation, the words might have come off as obnoxiously cocky, but Jason didn’t sound cocky. There was a needful insistence in his voice that undermined the obvious flirtation and that’s where this situation was going anyway, gun or no, he was just pushing it over the edge.

“Jason-”

“Yeah, like that. Maybe a little louder though.” The gun was gone, but you didn’t have time to respond to the lack of threat. Jason’s gloved hand was rough on your chin, pulling your face up towards his. You pushed against him, but it was a weak struggle. Ineffective.

Jason kissed you and it was violent, biting teeth and his tongue pushing past your wet lips. He kissed you like he was trying to prove something, like he was hungry. It had been awhile since you kissed anyone, but you fell into place pretty easily. Besides, it wasn’t the type of kiss that was returned so much as it was the type that you submitted to. His mouth tasted like mint and you wondered if that was on purpose, if he had prepared for this.

You were still reeling by the time he pulled away, catching your bottom lip between his teeth before releasing it, the final touch of pain making you shiver despite yourself.

“That stuff is seriously disgusting, I have no idea how you stomach it,” he said, a smile in his voice that didn’t match the tone of the situation. “You don’t really care about quality though, do you?” His breathing was harsh and the non-question was ironic. You didn’t respond, too stunned. Hoping, maybe, that if you didn’t engage, it would cease to be real. “Well?” Jason prompted. “Which is it?”

“Stop,” you said. Unable to meet his eye, unable to move. He wanted you. Your stomach twisted and you should have been fighting like your life depended on it. But something about it all was just incomprehensible, you couldn’t parse why this was happening. That this was happening to you.

“That’s not what I asked, but that’s fine,” he said casually. “Take your time, I’ll just-”

Jason gripped you by the hips and turned the both of you around so he could lift you onto the counter. Things toppled the ground, papers and random junk you’d accumulated crashing down. The ease with which he manhandled you was vertigo inducing, making you yelp, limbs flailing in an attempt to get your balance.

He didn’t give you a chance to protest, pulling your shirt up and over your head and arms. Your bra was discarded with the same fervor. Jason didn’t take the time to look at you, his mouth seeking skin. Your neck, your collar bones, your breasts, he hungrily left wet kisses and searing bites down your skin, stopping only when he reached your nipples. Overly sensitive with stress and fear, your body tensed as if electrified, a high pitched sound leaving your mouth in surprise. His tongue was hot, but the scrape of teeth was really what had you squirming, gasping, unable to think. Your thighs clenched hard, attempting to close but obstructed by his hips.

“No, n-no,” you told him, panicked and pulling at his hair because this was too far. The line had been crossed already, you knew it was ridiculous to object now when the whole situation had spiraled so far out of your control, but you had to do something. Jason just groaned, pulling back to look at you.

“What did I say?” he asked.

You shook your head, caught between the strangest sense of embarrassment to have someone looking at you and cold dread at where this was heading. “You can’t-”

“I gave you two options. Otherwise, I don’t wanna hear it.” To make his point, he cruelly pinched your nipple, the one he’d left wet and sensitive. All you could do was groan as he leaned down to do the same to the other, knowing that you weren’t putting up enough of a fight and hating yourself for it.

There was no escapism to the confusing, vile stirrings of lust. You were painfully aware of yourself and what was happening, your legs kicking out and body writhing unconsciously at the pleasurable sensations. You wished you weren’t cognizant of what was happening, you wished you had some excuse, some reason to submit to this that wasn’t plain weakness, some messed up acceptance of what he was doing. But then he bit down, rolling your nipple between his teeth, and it hurt and you moaned loud, unable to contain the way your hips ground against him and you knew that even if you weren’t reciprocating, you were still complicit.

Jason pulled away from your nipple with a slick, dirty sound. His hand pushed between your thighs, forcing them to spread further so he could rub his hand over the pajama shorts you still wore. You squealed, the pressure of his palm grinding right between your legs bringing some form of sense back into your head. And you didn’t mean to hit him, not really. But you did, your palm meeting his cheek. The sharp sound made you flinch, your breath catching in surprise. Jason looked a little surprised too, leaning back to look at you.

“Seriously?” he asked.

“I-I’m so-”

“I warned you about antagonizing the guy with a gun.”

“No, I-I’m not-”

“I swear, it’s like you’re incapable of self preservation,” Jason said, unholstering his gun again and pressing it to your cheek.

“Stop,” you told him, but your bravado was anemic at best. Breathless, and not just just because of the gun, although you were horribly aware of the metallic scent and its coldness biting into your skin. Fear wasn’t the only thing making it difficult to think.

“Is that really what you want?” he asked, his eyes alight with humor and knowing. “Cause, I’ve gotta be honest, that’s not what it looks like. Maybe this is what you wanted all along, creeping through those back streets in the middle of the night. No wonder you weren’t scared.”

“That’s not true,” you told him.

“Oh yeah? Then tell me what I’ll find under these cute little shorts. I’ve got a feeling it’s not going to be disinterest.”

At this point, you weren’t sure you could even tell him he was wrong. Your nipples were stiff and your skin was covered with chills, you didn’t doubt that you were wet too. “I thought…” you said, scrambling for some change of subject, some distraction. “I thought you just wanted me to tell you-”

“Don’t worry, I’ll get what I want,” Jason assured you. “But there’s nothing wrong with a guy taking pleasure in his work.” He didn’t give you any more time to think or argue as he roughly pushed your shorts and panties down your hips to get them out of the way. It forced you to lean back, catching yourself on your hands so you could support your torso. Even if the gun was a hollow threat—and you thought it had to be considering his finger wasn’t on the trigger—it was effective. You whined in distress at the idea of him seeing you, seeing all of you.

“Don’t,” you muttered, a pathetic objection that did nothing to give him pause.

“Goddamn,” Jason muttered, his big hand flattening against your abdomen, dragging down. The material of his glove was rough against your skin, cool and inhuman.

“Don’t,” you whined again, trying to squeeze your thighs together, unable to meet his eyes. Not that he was looking at your face anyway.

“You know, I was fine just watching, making sure that you were okay,” Jason told you, almost earnestly. “The idea of you going out on your own in the middle of the night… the things people could do to you… I couldn’t stop thinking about it after I left. I had to make sure.”

“You’ve been… watching me?” you asked.

“And I was fine with it,” he emphasized, “but you had to go and misbehave.” He used his teeth to pull off the fingers of his glove so he could toss it aside. His skin was hot on yours when he pried your thighs apart further. When you struggled, he just pressed the muzzle of the gun even harder against you, dragged it down against your throat. By now, the metal was warm with your body heat.

“You’ve been watching me?” you asked again, your voice gaining a bit more strength.

“I’ve been protecting you,” Jason said, his voice lowering. “I hired someone to get you out of the city safely. When a couple of drunk idiots tried to follow you home, I’m the one who stopped them. And I admit, I was pretty pissed when I heard about what you did, but now… now I see the advantages.” He paused, his hand creeping up your thigh. He let out a surprised little laugh when his fingers pushed past your outer lips, skimming your entrance in a way that made your entire body lurch towards him, arms nearly giving out. “Damn, now who’s wet.”

“Jason,” you meant it to be an admonishment, but your voice raised an octave with surprise when his fingers grazed up over your clit. You tensed up, but it did nothing to stop his fingers from driving into you, to stop your inner walls from squeezing his fingers as if to pull them deeper in spite of the horror of what he was saying. It wasn’t difficult at all, you were embarrassingly wet for him and all he had to do was push you down with the muzzle of the gun to keep you from fighting.

“It feels good, doesn’t it?” he asked, curling his fingers. “Feels good to know that somebody cares about you so much.”

You shook your head, squeezing your eyes shut in a half hearted attempt to block out his words, to ignore what was happening. It didn’t work. There was nowhere to go away from him, away from this.

“I know how alone you feel. I know what you want, what you need.” He punctuated that word with a harsh thrust. You couldn’t fathom what he was saying. It didn’t make sense, your brain was on fire. He slowly pulled his fingers out, curling them against your walls to make your mouth fall open wordlessly, a little mewl leaving you before you bit your lip.

He was insane. But you already knew that. He was also right. You already knew that too. You were fairly sure you were insane as well, what other reason could there be for the way your body was responding to him?

Swearing under his breath, Jason wrapped his arm around your waist to pull you against him, his fingers setting a fast pace, your body jolting with each heavy thrust. The fabric of his clothes was rough, a reminder of how helplessly exposed you were in comparison to him. His mouth dropped to your neck, kissing and licking the sensitive skin there before biting down hard enough to make you cry out, your body writhing against his. He was wearing some sort of body armor, it made it difficult to find purchase on his back as your hands grasped at him, searching for something to hold onto. Eventually, your fingers entangled in his hair. He groaned low, adding a third finger.

The far away rational part of your mind was aware enough to recognize how embarrassing the endless stream of high pitched moans and whines leaving your mouth were, but it was as automatic as the way your pussy squeezed his fingers, sucking them deeper, begging for more no matter how rough he was. Beyond your control, just like everything else.

“Jason…” His name was a plea, a prayer, breathless and needy and pathetic.

“A little louder, princess,” Jason responded.

You whined, pressing your lips together in an attempt to stifle yourself. He laughed, cool air puffing against your wet skin.

“It’s cute that you think I can’t make you.”

Jason pulled his fingers out and released you, swiveling you around on the counter so you could fall flat on your back. More things crashed to the floor, the bottle of vodka shattering loudly after it toppled. He kept you from fighting with the gun, pressing it beneath your chin so you had no choice but to lay flat. Spread beneath him with your legs wide open like a meal.

“Fuck, you really are…” Jason muttered under his breath, eying you hungrily. He didn’t finish the thought, licking his lips. “Goddamn.”

The gun was pushed so hard against you it was certain to leave indents in your skin, but you couldn’t find it within yourself to care when he leaned down and traced his tongue over your clit. The not-enough teasing sensation pulled an entire body shudder from you, your legs twitching and hips jumping against him, thighs straining as they tried to decide whether to close or open. Your hands scrambled indecisively, reaching out and holding onto the counter’s lip with a white knuckle grip and your back arching in a taut bow.

When he pushed three fingers into you, curling and scissoring them, it was all you could do not to shout. Jason was relentless, not caring to try and build you back up slowly. Your body was all too accepting, the rough pace he’d set was pushing you over the edge fast. You whimpered when his tongue, wet and velvety, licked from the place his fingers thrust into you all the way up, and that became a long, reedy cry when his lips closed and he sucked.

Pleasure coiled so hot in your core, stoked to a terrible blaze beneath his touch, and you could have wept at how badly you wanted to get off, straining for release mindlessly, helplessly.

“Jason, I can’t-” Too loud, you knew it was too loud but you also knew that was the only way you were going to get what you needed. And it was need. Dire, catastrophic. “Jason, please. Jason-”

Right there, right on the tipping edge of release, Jason pulled back. You whined unhappily, your hips desperately trying to chase his fingers. He held you in place, pressing the flat of the gun against your abdomen to push you down as he pulled his fingers out with a slick noise. “Sweetheart,” he said, “look at me.” You thought of refusing, but complied after a moment, humiliation dulled by need. Jason’s cheeks were pink, his lips flushed red. His expression sent a shuddery jolt of desire through you, intense and hungry and focused and far more composed than you were. “Tell me his name.”

His name. It took you a moment, given that you were of a fairly singular mind. But you figured it out eventually. Panting, flushed, drenched red with lust, you shook your head.

“No, no, no, listen,” he scolded, grabbing your chin with fingers that smelled like you, that were wet because of you. In a way, the touch was more threatening than the gun. Jason’s eyes were bright, a complete contrast to the way yours felt fogged over. “Tell me, and I’ll bring you his head. That’s a promise.”

His tone should have been frightening. Maybe, in a way, it was. All steel and fire and raw honesty, you didn’t doubt that he would make good on that threat. But you weren’t afraid. You had enough will power to refuse again, you knew how easy it would be to close your eyes and turn away from him. Gun and teasing and desire and fear and all, you’d endured worse for less. But to what end? For what purpose? You were already ruined, already as good as dead.

In the worst part of yourself, you felt if you didn’t reciprocate, if you didn’t give back when he’d done something for you, that would be rude.

“He’s the one who thinks he’s a-a god. Maxie Zeus or whatever,” you said, your voice hoarse. “His guy, Hector, that’s who… Christ…” You pulled against his wrist and shook your head, trying to banish the memory. “Mr. Anthony was bringing in goods for him, but I don’t know what happened, or why he… I don’t know.”

Jason stood up. “Seriously? That freak?” he asked, an incredulous laugh in his voice. “I didn’t realize he was still kicking around... What are you doing?”

He pushed you back down to keep you from squirming away like you were attempting. “I told you,” you said, your voice faint, “so we’re…”

“We’re what? Even? Not even close.”

“But I… Let me go.” You pushed at him, tried to close your legs, although you knew your heart wasn’t in it.

“Nuh-uh, princess. You’re not getting out of this that easy.”

“But I told you!”

“Yeah, after lying about it right to my face. Did you think you were gonna get away with that?” He paused, giving you another once-over. “Besides, I can’t leave a job half done. It’s not in my nature.”

You didn’t have to ask what he meant by that, Jason pushed his fingers back into you and you had to bite off your groan, your body spasming at the touch. He wasn’t hurried at first, watching you toss your head back in frustration, resisting the urge to grind against his hand as you made a half hearted attempt to come up with the words for why you couldn’t do this, why he needed to stop.

Nothing came out, ultimately. You were too afraid that he’d listen if you told him to stop, it was better to say nothing, to cling to the pleasure as a lifeline of insanity.

“You’re real cute like this,” Jason praised you with an indulgent mixture of sarcasm and affection. You weren’t aware of the gun being gone until you realized his other hand was free to nudge against your clit. Playfully, at first. Then with more focus, rubbing against it with hard, maddening little circles. You whimpered, then whined, your cunt squeezing his fingers as they tortured your inner walls. The pace he’d set was speeding up in time with the rising swell of heat, that coil of tension within you approaching a feverish pitch. “Reminds me of one of the first things you said to me. What was it?” He paused as if to think, jolting your body with a harder thrust that you could hear. “Oh yeah, I remember,” Jason continued, paying no mind to your sharp cry. “You’re dripping everywhere.”

A despairing sort of groan came from your throat at that, but his tone sunk deep into your core and the pleasure of each wet, slick thrust was growing intolerably good, pushing you right back to the brink. Jason spoke like this was supposed to be some sort of punishment, but the way he fucked his fingers into you, the way he rubbed your clit, was anything but.

It didn’t take much from there. The hyper aroused state of awareness made your comprehension of how utterly debased it all was that much hotter, lust redefining the grotesque as helplessly attractive. You were getting close, your body straining for release desperately, your hips meeting each thrust, grinding against his fingers.

“Don’t stop,” you begged. “Please, don’t…”

“Are you gonna be good and ask me nicely?”

“Please, Jason… God, please.”

“Sure, why not,” he said. In contrast to the lackadaisical tone, his fingers curled, seeking out that spongy spot inside of you that made your legs twitch and kick, an unnaturally high mewl accomining the reaction. A few more torturous passes just like that was all it took to well and truly send you tumbling, your muscles tightening and pussy tightening, gushing around his hand as you came. Afraid he would pull away before you were finished, you grabbed his hand, keeping him against your clit as your hips ground down on his fingers. Jason let it happen, indulging you until the pleasure had run its course of heat and mindless frenzy.

Then you sagged, letting him go and staring up at the ceiling with glassy eyes, hot and breathing hard. He pulled his fingers out, another uncomfortably wet sound. There was a joke to be made in the fact that the first guy who made you come was the one who did it with a gun at your throat, but you couldn’t find the words. It wasn’t all that funny in the first place.

The sound of something unclicking pulled your eyes down to Jason. He wasn’t paying any attention to you, working on his clothes. It was completely unfair that while you were all the way bared to his eyes, he was still dressed. Not even dressed—armed.

“Worst part about this job is the outfits,” Jason muttered, clearly annoyed as he unclipped the holsters around his thighs so he could put the weapons on the counter. The hoodie went next, but there was still something bulky beneath his shirt, probably the armor you’d felt earlier.

“Least you brought protection,” you muttered.

Jason grinned, looking up at you with bright, excited eyes. “And you say you’re not funny.” The last to go was his belt and its assortment of ammo, set aside with the guns. “That’ll have to be good enough… Sorry, babe, show and tell’ll have to wait ‘til next time.”

That playful comment went right over your head as he unbuttoned his pants and pulled out his cock. He ran a hand down its length, eyes devouring your body. It was disappointing that you wouldn’t get to see all of him, but it was difficult to focus on that considering what he was showing you anyway.

“What do you want me to do?” you asked softly, frozen between the embarrassment and the shameless way your pussy squeezed down around nothing, given a pretty good idea of how deep inside of you he would go from the way he was positioned between your legs. The circumstances, the disaster, that had gotten you here didn’t matter. Jason was hard for you, looking at you with dangerously dark eyes.

“Hold on tight,” Jason said, giving no further warning as he scooped you up off the table and turned around, pushing you against the wall again. You yelped in surprise, doing exactly as you were told with your arms wrapping tightly around his shoulders, legs clamping around his waist. There was no gun pointed at your head, but the easy way he hauled you into place made it moot anyway. Jason would have just as easy of a time snapping your neck as he would pulling the trigger, the gun was just for show.

“I have a bed,” you pointed out, a bit of anxiety trickling through everything else you felt because having sex was one thing, but being fucked upright against a wall, helplessly clinging to his shoulders, was filthy. And that was before you realized that you could hear the sound of your neighbors TV vibrating in the wall at your back, a muffled laugh track mingling with the ringing in your ears. “This is… it’s a shared wall.”

“And?” Jason asked, keeping you in place as he lined himself up. The sensation of his cock pressing against your fluttering entrance was almost enough to make you give up. Almost.

“They’ll… they’ll hear, we can’t-”

“Not my problem,” he told you. Any further argument was driven from your mind as he pushed into you, your mouth dropping open dumbly, mind cleared out entirely by the weight and pressure as you sunk all the way down onto him. Jason groaned against your neck, grinding his hips against you so you could feel how deep he went, how full you were. Your inner walls fluttered around him, desperately trying to adjust to the delicious weight. Madly, you thought that if you could stay just like that forever, you would be glad for it. And then he pulled out, a little slow at first, making sure you could feel the drag and absence, before filling you all over again. You couldn’t hold back your cry, your body no longer belonged to you. And he did it again, it had to be on purpose.

“Loud,” you whined, not sounding nearly as distressed as you probably should have. “Too loud, Jason...”

He laughed breathlessly. “They’d better get used to it,” he said right into your ear. God, you couldn’t handle it. The way he said that, the way he accentuated the threat with a hard thrust, just made you whine, holding onto him even harder.

“Jason-” His name slipped from your mouth without thinking, high and pathetic, the only thing you could think. A plea for mercy, for more, for him.

“I know,” he told you, managing to sound cocky despite the breathless lust in his voice, his smile pressed against your neck before his teeth dug into the flesh there. His fingers kneaded your ass, grinding you onto his cock. Exhaustion, terror, alcohol, desire—all of it had been the perfect battering ram to get you here, your defenses shredded, your senses spirited away by mindless need.

All you could do was hold on. Moan for him, beg for him. Each hard thrust pushed you up the wall, your back scraping against the textured paint. It might have hurt, were you not too distracted with the feeling of Jason inside of you, the head of his cock dragging against where you were most sensitive, going so deep you saw stars. You wished desperately that he were undressed so you could feel his skin against yours, but the material of his shirt rubbing against your sensitive nipples wasn’t so bad either, another point of friction.

At the fever pitch point of abandon, it didn’t really matter that you were trying to muffle yourself, to choke down your cries and whimpers. The physical sound, the hard, rhythmic thump-thump-thump as he fucked you against the wall, the wet squish of each thrust, was suggestive even without you moaning like a whore over the top of it. And, fuck, it was hot.

“You wanna come again, princess?” Jason asked. It was spoken like a question, but he didn’t wait for your response for his hand to sneak between your legs, easily finding your swollen clit. You yelped unintentionally, eyes snapping open. You definitely couldn’t handle that either. Being fucked like this bordered on overstimulation, to feel pleasure there too would break you.

“Mmm, Jason…” you sounded breathless and cheap, shaking your head in an attempt to convey your burst of panic at the feeling and the drowning helplessness. There was nothing you could do to stop him, to stop yourself, regardless of what you wanted. “I can’t-”

“Yeah, you do.”

Even if the excess stimulation had you whining and gasping and writhing like a creature possessed, you did, you wanted to come on his cock, to feel the way your cunt clamp down around him like a vice as you shook to pieces.

He didn’t have to encourage you to say his name, it fell out between your helpless moans, your harsh breathing. Jason dropped wet kisses on your neck, your jaw, kissing your open mouth and biting your bottom lip until you pulled on his hair, encouraging you with all sorts of noises. None of your other partners had been vocal like this, letting you how much you affected them, how much they desired you. It was intoxicating in a way no liquor or drug ever had been, and far more addictive.

Someone hit the wall behind you, a few harsh knocks of disapproval and some choice, if muffled, words. Jason laughed breathlessly, the air hot on your neck. “Whoops,” he said.

As humiliating as the interruption was, it came too late. Jason didn’t so much as pause and your body was already shuddering apart, tipped over the edge by the sound of his amusement. At the very least, coming rendered you silent, nothing more than little gasping groans leaving your open mouth as you clung to him, your cunt spasming around his cock. That seemed to be amusing to him too, his grinding relentlessly against your clit in time with each hard thrust.

“Unbelievable,” he said as you came down from the high, far too pleased with himself. The TV on the other side of the wall was far louder now, you could hear the individual voices attempting to drown out your own.

“Jason, ss-stop” you begged, shaking your head, the words tight with your attempt to keep them quiet.

“I’m not the one on my way to waking up half of Gotham.”

You whined in distress, pushing at him.

“Alright, alright,” he relented, pulling out and letting you fall to your feet.

Before your weak legs had the chance to give out beneath you, Jason whirled you both around to bend you over the back of your couch. And then he was inside of you again, driving home in one hard thrust, and you let out a shameless moan, not even thinking to stifle it. Jason moaned low, the blunt fingernails of one hand digging into one hip and the harsh fabric of his glove scraping against the other.

The different angle had you seeing stars. Jason was able to be even more rough like this too, holding onto your hips to drag you down to meet each violent thrust. You clawed at your couch, your back arching in a borderline painful bow as you rocked back and forth onto your toes. This was worse. He rutted into you like an animal and you responded in kind, making noises you hadn’t thought yourself capable of as his cock tortured your cunt, fucking you so hard it hurt as much as it felt mind blowingly good. Ultimately, there was no difference.

“Jason…Jason-”

“Again?” he asked. “You really are a princess.” His hand dropped between your legs and you wailed, trembling and mewling and absolutely beyond the capacity to take more. It was almost impressive how quickly overstimulation played on your nerves as he rubbed your clit, bypassing pleasurable sensation to be interpreted as nothing more than raw electrical impulses telling your brain how to react.

He wanted you to come, so you did. He wanted you to scream his name, so you did. Your pussy clamped down around him as you tensed up so hard your entire body trembled with strain, accepting the torture of exess because the only thing worse than coming would be to not. You weren’t given any chance to come down either, Jason using your involuntary response to chase his own pleasure. Nothing existed except the slapping of skin and the filthy squelching and the wicked harmony of harsh breathing and moans. He said your name once, twice, a reverence in it that you’d never heard. You arched your back, begging to take him deeper, to be used for his pleasure. His hips stuttered, his grip on your waist bruising.

Jason pulled out at the last second with a helpless sound, the head of his cock bumping against your ass as he finished himself off. Thick, hot ropes of cum hit your back, his breathing harsh and erratic and half voice. Then he stilled, his fingers tracing down your side gently as he released you.

You wilted against the back of the couch, acutely aware of the aching emptiness inside of you. Not just your pussy, but all the way in your core. The neighbor’s TV was still on at full blast, but your apartment was a haven of nothing more than heavy breathing and the scent of filthy, depraved sex. You expected Jason to step away, to fix his clothes and leave you exposed, locked in a pillory of exhaustion and shame until you could force your body to move again.

“Can you stand up?” Jason asked instead.

You thought about it for a second before deciding that you probably could. The motion was mechanical, awkward. His cum was cooling on your back, mingling with the sweat and making filthy trails as it dripped down. But you managed, standing and turning around. When you stumbled, legs trembling, a pair of strong arms caught you. Jason pulled you against him. Gently, at first, pushing your head down against his chest while he wrapped his arms around you. Even with the layers between your ear and his skin, you thought you could hear the strong thumping of his heart.

“Do you need me to carry you to bed?” Jason asked, petting your sweaty hair. You couldn’t tell if he was teasing or not.

“Are you going to leave?” you asked, your voice distant. It seemed like an important question, but your brain was too foggy to really understand why.

“Wasn’t planning on it,” Jason said. Despite his casual tone, you didn’t miss the way his arms tightened around you, holding you even closer. “It’s more fun when those scumbags have time to get comfortable.”

You hummed in agreement. The wind howled outside your window, the wind and the rain. But it did not reach you, found no place in your empty head.

“I’m tired,” you mumbled.

“No kidding,” Jason said. Then he sighed, stepping back and releasing you. Only for a moment, only long enough to crouch down and sweep you up into his arms. That jolted you awake fast, but even the surprise was fleeting. At this point, you were exhausted to the point of pain, wrung out completely and utterly. “You’re lucky you’re so cute,” he told you. “Otherwise I’d say you’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“You too,” you said. And maybe you weren’t exactly as tired as you were telling yourself, maybe there was a very conscious part of you lurking in the back of your mind that understood how terrible and dangerous this situation was. But you muffled it, blinking drowsily as Jason carried you into your bedroom.

Jason chuckled. “You should be more careful, princess. Saying things like that-” He exhaled harshly, nuzzling your head gently. “I just might not wanna let you go.”

#batman arkham knight #arkhamverse #jason todd x reader #red hood x reader #jason todd #red hood #dc #my writing #not sfw #tw.dubcon

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throneofsapphics · 7 months

Note

Irene I am BEGGING you to give me some Manon & Nesta being in a poly relationship with the reader. PLEASE GIVE IT TO ME I NEED IT

Dating Manon and Nesta headcanons

Manon x Reader x Nesta

Warnings: not proofread, some suggestiveness

A/N: I’m trying this headcanon style, please bear with me, also if you want an nsfw version please let me know!

They would be SO competitive with each other, even over inconsequential things. Enough to drive you absolutely insane sometimes.You’d sit down with them and tell them to quit it …

“We’re not that bad.” Nesta protested, glancing at Manon - who was stewing, arms crossed and eyes narrowed.

“You got into a fight over who the cat likes better.”

“There is no argument,” Manon snapped. “It’s me.” Conveniently, said cat jumped right into your lap, turning around and purring before settling.

“I think you’re both wrong,” you grinned, stroking the creature’s fur. Manon’s eyes narrowed as she glared at the tabby cat, and you could’ve sworn she mouthed, “traitor,” and looked to Nesta who had an identical expression on her face.

The two would also be overprotective, to a fault sometimes. Anywhere you went, one of them would want to be with you - and if they couldn’t they’d want to know where you’re going, who you’re with, and what time you’d be back. It didn’t necessarily feel controlling to you and you could tell it came from a place of concern or care. They never stopped you from going out anywhere. If someone had the nerve to look remotely threatening to you, it would not end well for them.

You were stumbling through the city streets, cheeks flushed from the alcohol with a cheery smile on your face, leaning on one of your friends. You saw Manon and Nesta towards the end of the road, and immediately let out a slightly-embarrassing squeal. Nesta’s mouth twitched up at the corners, and to any outsider Manon’s expression would look the same, but you saw how her eyes lightened the tiniest amount. You straightened, and started taking off ahead of your friends towards them.

One yanked on your arm, drawing a yelp out of you as you stumbled back. “Wait I wanted to talk to you about -” You didn’t find out what he wanted you to talk about, because he was pinned to the wall, Iron nails digging into his throat within seconds.

“Manon,” you snapped, moving to try and pull her off. Nesta’s arm wrapped around your waist, tugging you back into her.

“Touch her again, male,” Manon snarled, “and you’ll lose your arm.”

He gave the tiniest of nods, and you tried to yell an apology, but he’d already darted off down the street, a few others following him.

“It was good to see you, y/n.” One of your friends gave you a smile, and a respectful nod towards them, before heading off after him.

“That was unnecessary.” You grumbled, and winced as you moved your shoulder. He had pulled rather hard.

“You’re hurting.” Nesta said, carefully laying her hand on your other shoulder. “You should’ve done worse.” She commented, shifting her gaze to Manon.

“No.” You snapped before the Witch could take off after him. “Take me home,” you followed, a bit more gently. She looked down the street, then at the blood on her nails, as if contemplating what it would feel like to rip out his throat, before giving a short nod. You exhaled slowly. Murder avoided, for the night.

One of your favorite things is to watch them spar with each other, the sweat glistening off their muscles, Windcleaver and Ataraxia both twisting in a whirl of steel, half-hearted snarls directed at each other. Afterwards, you thoroughly enjoyed tugging them both right into your room.

You and Nesta would call each other pet names, (darling, my love, beautiful) and Manon would make fun of you for it, so the two of you came up with the most ridiculous ones you could think of for her.

“Baby pumpkin,” you called, wrapping your arms around Manon’s waist as she sharpened one of her daggers.

“What did you call me?” She said quietly, believing she’d misheard you at first.

“Is sweety-pie better?” You cooed.

“It’s not.” She snarled, “I’ll cut your tongue out.” She ran the blade particularly harshly over the stone.

“You like my tongue too much.” You could’ve sworn you spotted a light blue blush on her cheeks.

Nesta would read smutty or romance books out loud to you, and in the beginning Manon would pretend she wasn’t interested, but the two of you noticed how she’d start paying more attention to specific books, and made a point to read those.

The two of them fell in love with you first, and it took some time and lots of coaxing on your part for them to warm up to each other, but they slowly did.

It was your favorite thing to watch how they started falling for each other - Manon would bring home different books for Nesta, or slip in a few of her favorite flowers along with yours. Nesta would figure out what Manon’s favorite foods were and make sure they were always available.

They’re both relentless work-a-holics, and you have to convince them to take days off at least once a week. A lot of times you resort to guilt-tripping or extra motivation, but you’re able to justify it to yourself.

They SPOIL you. Like spoil you rotten, always bringing you home different things - whether it’s flowers, chocolates, a new dagger, a pretty bracelet, a kitten - anything you show the mildest interest in is going to end up with you.

I feel like you’d all live in a scenic cabin somewhere, plenty of meadows full of flowers nearby for Abraxos, some space for a garden (that would grow wild because the three of you have no idea what to do with it and probably just threw some seeds in the dirt to see what happened), and a extensive library (at least for a personal one.)

#manon x reader x nesta #throne of glass imagine #throne of glass headcanon #acotar headcanon #manon blackbeak x y/n #manon blackbeak x reader #nesta archeron x y/n #nesta archeron x reader #acotar imagine

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peachywritess · 1 year

Text

Unmei | OT7

bangtan (OT7) x fem!reader

02 - curse

☁️ unmei – 運命 (うんめい): a noun meaning 'fate’ or ‘destiny’ in Japanese.

☁️ genre: royal!AU, OT7!AU, reincarnation!AU ; smut (eventually), angst.

☁️ Unmei will deal with very delicate and quite dark themes, so please if you are a minor, DO NOT interact. I will always put a trigger warning at the start of every chapter, so if you feel unconfortable DO NOT read. ☁️

☁️ author’s note: hello lovelies, author here! i'm so sorry for the delay, and i know i've already said i had a rough week,, but still forgive me ! <(qwq<) it's quite a short chapter and we're still introducing all the situation, but next chapter will be veery interesting >:3

☁️ chapter’s TW: mentions of death, blood, anxiety (guilt),

☁️ word count: 2,3k

☁️ taglist @shabbamadapot @jnghs @iriaachan;

! disclaimer - This story is a work of fiction. I do not own BTS and the description of them in this story does not want to reflect nor portray them in real life.

"Do you think we will ever be able to fly?"

Taehyung looked away, turning his head to his right, focusing on you. It was a beautiful day, a few clouds coating the sky and the sun warming the skin: spring was just around the corner. You were both lying down on the grass covered in morning dew, heedless of your slightly damp clothes. Your parents had no knowledge of your whereabouts since you should have been at the castle while they were on a business trip.

His dark eyes seemed to reflect the sunlight - if not emit it.

His face relaxed, and one hand was open to mask the sun to be able to look at you entirely; he gazed at you as one does with sunsets. Every time you spoke, a smile came to light on his lips, something that you hardly noticed since you were constantly lost in your thoughts, in your endless speeches that he - in fact - adored. He would listen to you talk for hours.

"We have conquered the seas, the oceans... Do you think we will never conquer the skies?"

You contemplated for a few moments, gazing at the blue vastness above you; your smallness was considerable compared to everything up there, but you still couldn't look away although frightening it was, feeling so insignificant.

"I really envy birds. They can do whatever they want. If they need to escape, they can..."

"You shouldn't." The man at your side breathed softly, still intent on analysing every detail of your face. "If you lock them in a cage, they become powerless and can do nothing. Whereas you, Y/N, you can change your fate."

Your gaze abruptly saddened, and you bit the inside of your cheek as if to mask that sign of weakness. Unlike Taehyung, you were certain that your fate would never change, and that you would forever be shackled by your status.

"Maybe you're right." You lied, knowing that - in his heart - Taehyung felt the same way.

Things happen for a reason. Or, that's what you're supposed to think when life kicks you in the stomach - luckily, you were never an hopeless optimistic, you always decided to face life, and strike harder.

A few weeks had already passed since your father's assassination and, although the King's guards had searched for the culprit, every attempt of finding them had been unsuccessful. To keep people quiet, and to avoid unnecessary riots, they had decided to hang an innocent for his death.

You had been forced to watch the hanging - being the only heir to the throne - and it was you who had given the verdict to the victim.

Yes, you considered that man a victim, since he had done nothing wrong and was tortured to confess a crime he hadn't committed. Nevertheless, you were used to the tapestry of lies woven by the royalty to prevent any type of repercussions.

He had begged you to let him live, but you could not stop reading the sentence imposed to him. It was your duty afterall, wasn't it? You had to fulfil it, no matter the consequences.

Call their bluff. Say something now, spare his life.

"I therefore sentence you to death by hanging for the conspiracy and murder of the King."

You affirmed desperately attempting to sound convinced of the words pouring out of your mouth. You never even managed to look at him in the eye as you falsely accused him, letting his fate come to such an abrupt end.

"Please, I beg you, Princess. Your soul is still pure, do not dirt your hands with blood."

Although his hands were chained, the man threw himself at your feet, bowing until his nose touched the ground.

"Stop this injustice, in the name of His Highness, your Father."

You swallowed the knot that formed in your throat, frowning and shifting your gaze, unable to look at him.

"Please, no! No, don't do this to me, Princess!"

Two guards had grabbed him by the forearms, beginning to drag him towards what would be his end. You had decided to look away.

"This decision of yours will have consequences, Y/N. May you be cursed in this life and the next, for everyone you love will abandon you."

A sense of uneasiness held you rigid, as a heavy weight had placed down on you. You felt crawls all over your body, prickling at your skin.

He's just a man, he said those things out of fear. You tried to reassure yourself as you beginned to walk away, steps getting faster by the second.

The moment you turned away, letting the man be taken by the guards, you met Taehyung's gaze; his jaw was clenched, and you realized he was restraining himself from unsheathing the sword and save that man. However, he could never do so without endangering you. He - as a royal guard - could not have questioned the Queen's decisions, for that he would have cast doubt on your reputation too.

He made sure you didn't notice his eyes locked on you. He didn't want you to carry another burden on your shoulders - not at that moment. He perfectly knew that you felt like you had failed him.

You walked up the steps to the balcony on which were placed the ceremonial seats used by the royal family for centuries to attend celebrations or, in this case, executions. They faced exactly the wide earthen courtyard, on which the scaffold had been placed: you almost collapsed in your chair so much your legs were shaking.

You sat next to your mother, who kept her gaze straight at the patibulum without ever looking at you. She had said that - seeing your face - reminded her of her husband and that your presence made her nauseous.

"I'm surprised you managed not to stutter."

Her tone was harsh, just as it had always been. You had no fond memories of your mother, all you reminisced was the way she belittled everything you did.

The only time you had seen her differently, was when she had learned about your father's death. You always thought that you and her were as different as you were incompatible. You believed you had greater sensitivity… But of the two, you were the one who hadn't shed a single tear.

Your mind was as if barricaded in the illusion that nothing had truly happened. You couldn't know it yet, but that apparent good fortune would reveal itself as a double-edged sword sooner than you thought.

Your mother hadn't apologised to you for what she had said - you couldn't even understand what she was feeling. The man she had married, the man she loved more than her own life, was gone forever without even saying goodbye.

Now, she was doing the same thing to that innocent's man life. Ironic, wasn't it?

"That man is innocent." You replied monotonously with your eyes locked on the marble floor. You didn't dare raise your head, fearing to see that man getting murdered in front of you, fearing to see those eyes again.

You heard the crowd cheering and clapping, and you immediately knew.

"Was." She corrected you like she was speaking to a child, "No one cares, as long as our interest is satisfied. You too should think this way, to be at least an ounce of what your Father has been."

One thing you loved was to hide in the greenhouse, located only a few steps away from the main garden. The structure had existed for several years, and was now completely abandoned. Ivy had now completely covered the large windows, allowing light to enter only through the ceiling.

The warm rays of sunlight shyly caressed the plants. Nevertheless, the most distinctive thing about that place was the presence of a nest of doves. By now, the greenhouse had become their home, and you were nothing a frequent guest.

You were crouched down so that your knees were touching your chest, and you were pouring water into the soil - a small sprout was starting to grow. You were looking at its light yellow shades, that made you wonder if it would ever change colour - it was so delicate, making you feel desperate to protect it.

As you carefully caressed the leaves, you watched your hands. You blinked multiple times rubbing your eyes, feeling like something had gotten in one of them; as your sight recovered, and the blurriness disappeared, you watched your hands again - now, you froze.

Your hands were trembling, palms right in front of you, as you saw blood covering them. You started breathing unsteadily until a hand rested on your shoulder.

You were about to shriek, yet when you turned around your heart seemed to relax and beat normally again.

Taehyung slightly bent his head to the side, watching you with a questioning look on his face, frowning. You, on the other hand, brought a hand to your chest, letting out a relieved sigh.

"Please don't do that again. I didn't hear you coming."

"Actually, I called out to you several times." He now began to shout your name as if to show what he had done to get your attention, so you shoved him slightly.

"Oh, stop it." You giggled, and his smile grew.

The dark-haired man looked around several times, eyes scanning every detail of the place to make sure there was no one there. As soon as he made sure you were completely alone, he quickly placed a soft kiss on your lips.

"How are you feeling, love?"

Being in his company always made you nervous, because it wasn't often that you were alone and - above all - Taehyung was the most unpredictable person you knew.

The longer he kept his gaze on you, the more you felt yourself consumed like wax exposed to the heat of a match.

You knew very well that, at this point, he wanted you to be honest with him: he still didn't know about Jimin and what you had been told about the wedding, let alone mentioned what the man accused of your father's murder had told you a few days earlier.

You lied to Taehyung, and it wasn't because you didn't trust him, but the reason was very simple: you didn't want to make his life more complicated than it already was. Knowing you, you thought, was the greatest of all his problems.

"I am fine, the flowers are blooming."

It was a half-truth - or a half-lie, but you were really enthusiastic for Spring to arrive. When the flowers blossomed, you finally perceived the colours of the world.

The man before you, however, did not seem entirely satisfied with the answer, as his mouth twisted slightly.

"You know that's not what I'm referring to, Y/N."

His voice was calm, but his expression was stern.

"I really don't know what you are trying to tell me, Tae. I am fine, I am recovering."

"Y/N, your father was murdered and a few days ago you witnessed the death of a man, you are not recovering."

He had a point, anyone in the same situation as you would have thrown themselves to the ground, pulled out their hair, and cried endlessly. But despite experiencing pain and an incredible sense of guilt, somehow you were incapable of externalizing it.

Every time you closed your eyes, you saw that man's face, all you did was dream about him at night. He repeated the same sentence, while his eyes seemed to pop out of their sockets.

May you be cursed in this life and the next, for everyone you love will abandon you.

"It's all my fault, I could have saved him, I-"

"What could you have done, Y/N? Turn against your mother and the Kingdom? He was only a man, nothing more."

"He wasn't just a man!" You replied, raising your tone as if to defend the man you too had failed. "He was an innocent man, he had a family, Taehyung!"

"Y/N, I understand."

"No, you don't! I let my father's death and the wedding cloud my judgement…"

You realised it almost as quickly as he did. Your eyes widened in sheer panic and before you could even think about it, one of your hands went to cover your mouth - but it was too late.

"What are you talking about? What wedding?"

You remained silent as Taehyung began to run a hand over his face, stroking his skin until it almost reddened.

"Answer me, which marriage are you talking about, Y/N."

Betrayal can stab you in the back any time; it can take your breath away.

But you were witnessing it in the eyes of the one you loved, and you only had yourself to blame.

"Tae, I am so sorry, I…" You stuttered unable to form a proper sentence.

"Allow me to interfere."

All at once, both you and Taehyung turned towards the voice breaking in seemingly out of nowhere.

"What this sweet princess is trying to explain to you is that she will be marrying me."

Taehyung glared at the newly-introduced figure with hostility, pure, undiluted anger stirred within him.

"And who the fuck are you?" He hissed between gritted teeth.

The stranger took a few steps forward, and it was then that a few streams of light lit up his face. He looked much younger, but his figure was well formed and muscular. As soon as his chocolate-brown eyes rested on you, he smiled, showing bunny-like teeth.

"Jeon Jungkook, delighted to make your acquaintance."

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yanderes-galore · 2 months

Note

I'd like to request Hiccup HTTYD yandere romantic alphabet

I can try, sure! Hope you enjoy and I'm sorry about the wait :(

Yandere Alphabet - Hiccup Haddock

Pairing: Romantic

Possible Trigger Warnings: Gender-Neutral Darling, Obsession, Manipulation, Threatening/Blackmailing, Some violence, Deception, Kidnapping mention, Controlling behavior mentioned, Marriage mention once, Possessive behavior, Overprotective behavior, Isolation, Restraints mention, Forced relationship.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

I feel Hiccup is mostly a subtle yandere when I write him. He can hide his obsessive behavior from those around him for the most part. I also imagine he's actually quite affectionate towards his obsession.

He is very attentive to your needs and can be both physically and verbally affectionate. Hiccup feels easy to trust. He doesn't seem like a very intense yandere.

But maybe he's just hiding it.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

Hiccup doesn't like using unnecessary violence. He isn't a yandere prone to anything bloody. The most he'd get to is maybe a fist fight?

Hiccup is a yandere more prone to manipulation since he's so easy to trust. To get rid of others he'd be more likely to threaten or blackmail them away from you rather than murder. He doesn't intend to use Toothless for mindless violence.

He mostly uses your trust against you instead.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

If he did end up abducting you, he tries to treat you as though you two are together. He doesn't like this method of "courting" though, preferring to string you along before keeping you to himself through more traditional means. Regardless, he promises to respect you and your needs.

Hiccup doesn't mock you. He feels that's cruel and he loves you too much for that. That is unless you get on his nerves... then he may do it a little bit.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

Hiccup tries not to, he doesn't seem like a very malicious yandere compared to most.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

I'd say Hiccup can be vulnerable with his darling. He has his emotional moments and does try to show you mean a lot to him. Safe to say you know what Hiccup is thinking most of the time.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

Disappointed and probably a bit saddened. He doesn't want you to be so distrustful of him, let alone fight him. Hiccup feels guilt at this so he tries his best to fix things.

But his desires still gnaw at him from the inside.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

No and he doesn't enjoy it.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

What comes to mind first is anything with Toothless trying to enable Hiccup. But now as I think about it, finding out Hiccup's true colors seems scarier.

When you find out Hiccup is much darker than you thought, that's the worst experience.

All because by the time you find this out...

It's already too late.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

Hiccup wants to have you as his spouse. He wants to get married to you and possibly have a family with you if he can.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

Hiccup does get jealous but tries to look for ways to cope. He won't lash out physically usually... but he might do it verbally.

He just wants to keep you as his and his alone... but he must be patient.

Affectionate, Caring, Easy to trust, Manipulative, Protective, Possessive, Clingy, Shy, and Friendly.

It's hard to tell he's a yandere at times.

But you'll find out soon enough.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

Hiccup takes his time with it. He'll be subtle with his attempt to make you his. You'll start as friends, all while he's pulling strings to encourage that bond into something more.

It's almost... methodical.

By the time he's proposing you may not notice anything too wrong.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

This changes when I write him at times, but I'll say yes.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

Hiccup isn't a big one for punishment. I'd probably say isolation or restraints. He doesn't like hurting you.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

Hopefully not many... if all goes well.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

Hiccup can be very patient.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

He probably wouldn't or have a very hard time with it. He loves you a lot, if you were gone... he isn't sure what he'd do.

May even have a mental break.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

Yes and maybe.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

Curiosity, maybe childhood. He's been through a lot but hard to say what causes his behavior.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

Upset, as a result, he tries to comfort you even if you hate it. If you want him gone... he'll leave you be for a bit before coming back to check on you.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

SKIPPED.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

Reciprocating his feelings, or at least pretending to.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

Not intentionally.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

Not quite a worship yandere but there are times he just wants to show you he cares. He probably borders on worship yandere behavior at times. He would do anything to make you happy and by his side

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

I want to say maybe years? Yeah... he can wait a while to make sure everything falls into place.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

No/Hopefully not.

#yandere how to train your dragon #yandere httyd #yandere hiccup horrendous haddock #yandere hiccup haddock

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starcrossed591 · 4 months

Text

KDrama Year in Review 2023

While I watched more KDramas this year than CDramas, none of them consumed my heart and soul quite like this year's crop of CDramas did (CDrama review post here). And I dropped KDramas more readily than I have in years past, in part because there were so many more things to watch than I had time for (also I had to finish my dissertation and graduate, etc etc). Still, there were definitely some that I really, really enjoyed, so here's this year's KDrama round up:

16. My Lovely Liar: Started strong, got boring real quick. Dropped for homophobic murder plot. Still, glad to see that Hwang Min Hyn can actually act (although full disclosure, I did still enjoy him in Alchemy of Souls, wooden as that performance may be). Hoping Kim So Hyun can catch a break and get a role in a drama more worthy of her in the near future.

15. Crash Course in Romance: Excellent performances and chemistry by the ML and FL. Romance between two middle aged people instead of youths is also a treat. Dropped around ep 12 because of the unnecessary, homophobic murder plot. Pass.

14. A Good Day to Be a Dog: Surprisingly stronger than the goofy premise suggests, largely on the basis of Park Gyu-Young's performance as the FL who turns into a dog upon being kissed. Pacing problems in the third act around the origins of the whole dog curse thing. Can't say I recommend unless you're really in the mood for some shenanigans, but largely inoffensive if a little silly. (Also it turns out Cha Eun Woo *really* leveled up his kiss game for this one!)

13. Love to Hate You: Perfectly serviceable rom com. Nothing too special, but a nice weekend binge if you're in the mood for that. Also a good way to see Kim Ji-Hoon's v handsome face and that *hair* without having to deal with everything involved with his rather murderous run in Flower of Evil.

12. Joseon Attorney: A Morality: Perfectly serviceable law procedural/Joseon historical. If you don't like either of those genres your mileage may vary, but I had missed having Bona on my screen, so it worked well enough for me.

11. Welcome to Samdal-ri: I seem to like this one more than literally everyone else I know, and I fully admit that my enjoyment of this drama is more vibes-based than plot-based. I guess I have a soft spot for Shin Hye Sun yelling at people at Ji Chang Wook going a bit unhinged over a woman who ran away from him (see also: Lovestruck in the City).

10. My Demon: Very much enjoying Song Kang as a cranky demon falling in love with a human. Very tropey in the best way, and feels like a return to form for the supernatural romance genre. Remains to be seen if they'll land the ending as of this writing, but enjoying as it goes.

9. Doctor Cha: A contribution to the slate of divorce comedies I watched this year (see also: Strangers Again (KDrama) and Let's Get Divorced (JDrama)), a surprisingly touching story about growing older when you've devoted your life to someone who has not done the same for you.

8. Alchemy of Souls: Light and Shadow (Part 2): While Ko Joon-Yung never quite managed to replace Jung So-Min as the FL for me, I definitely still enjoyed the closer to this fun fantasy series. Special shout out to Shin Seung-Ho as Prince Go Won and his pet turtle

7. Strangers Again: I didn't see a ton about this one on tumblr as it was airing, but I found this rom com? melodrama? divorce procedural? makjang? story about relationships and why they end unexpectedly profound. I tuned in expecting mindless makjang hot mess, and instead got a thoughtful meditation on divorce. Left me feeling unexpectedly melancholy at the end, but glad I watched it.

6. The Secret Romantic Guesthouse: Very fun sageuk! Probably won't knock your socks off, but it does what it does very well. Bonus points for a B couple as compelling as the A couple. I've also been a big Kang Hoon fan since Little Women, and there are a couple of other actors in here that I'm always glad to see working.

5. Perfect Marriage Revenge: Tour de force makjang. Came out of nowhere and blew me away. Hits all the right beats, and unexpectedly fun (and was a nice break from the heaviness of My Dearest for me). This was a good year for jaded and slightly unhinged transmigrated FL's back for their #revenge (see also: Story of Kunning Palace in CDrama land), and I was here for it. Also features one of the spiciest make-out scenes of the year, 10/10 recommend

4. See You in My 19th Life: Absolutely loved this haunting, melancholy, and sometimes unexpectedly goofy reincarnation drama. I loved the webtoon and had high expectations, and this drama largely met them! The continuing relationship between sisters Ji-Eum (Shin Hye Sun) and Cho-Won (Ha Yoon Kyung) was a special highlight for me, and while Shin Hye Sun is already a never-miss for me, I'm especially looking forward to whatever Ha Yoon Kyung does next. I prefer the ending of the Webtoon to the KDrama, but I'm still delighted this drama exists and am glad I watched it.

3. The Interest of Love: Look, I loved this drama. Even though it seemed on the surface like nothing but *mess* in the interpersonal lives of these characters working at a bank on the border between a rich and poor neighborhood in Seoul, it nonetheless had some of the most searing class commentary of the year for me. I also love an FL who will (spoiler) pack up her things and disappear at the drop of a hat, even if no one else will understand her decision to do so, because she just cannot deal anymore (see also: the FL in Lovestruck in the City, whom I also love but everyone else hated). This drama kept me gleefully coming back every week in a year where not a lot of others did.

2. Call It Love: A revenge slice of life melodrama that I found unexpectedly touching in its deep melancholy. Loved not only the main couple, but the relationship between the siblings and their pharmacist bestie. A lovely character study. (Also I somehow ended up watching this at the same time as Till the End of the Moon and Li Susu as Ye Xiwu's hidden identity/revenge plot, which was unexpectedly stressful! Had a very "it's the same picture" moment despite two dramas in two genres that could not be further apart.) If you missed this one (and since it aired on Disney+, you might have--Disney+'s effects on the KDrama streaming ecosystem will be the death of me), it's worth seeking out!

1. My Dearest (Parts 1 and 2): Kind of feels like everyone has said everything there is to say about sageuk of truly epic proportions, but it blew me away as well. Epic romance? Check. Twisty political machinations? Check. Heartwarming friendships between women? Check. Strong ensemble cast? And my top FL of the year, Lady Gil-Chae, played to perfection by Ahn Eun-Jin. I've adored her since Hospital Playlist, and am delighted that she's getting the attention and the roles she deserves. Namkoong Min also a top contender for ML of the year as Lee Jang-Hyun. Part 2 dragged for me a bit in places after a nearly perfect Part 1, but such a great drama overall.

Favorite Drama of the Year: My Dearest. See above.

Favorite Female Character: I mean, it's gotta be Gil Chae from My Dearest, right? She starts out as such a spiteful, spoiled noblewoman, and then turns out to have a core of pure steel. Turns out all her conniving and strategizing, which went towards causing mischief in the village, really just needed a proper outlet. While I would never want to be in the circumstances in which she found herself, if I did, she's exactly who I would want on my side.

Favorite Male Character: Everything's coming up My Dearest this year, because this one is Lee Jang-Hyun in My Dearest as well. Checks the box for my competence kink, and has a knack for showing up just when Gil-Chae needs him, even at great personal cost. Also a smart-ass, which I probably like a bit too much in a man.

Favorite Secondary Female Character: Cho-Won from See You in My 19th Life. Her relationship with her reincarnated older sister was almost more compelling to me than the main romance sometimes, and really helped develop how the ties that bind us are not just romantic ones. Also she was just super cute

Favorite Secondary Male Character: Could have picked anyone from Team Himbo in Alchemy of Souls, but gonna have to give this one to Go Won, himbo prince of my heart

Favorite Ship: Again, it's gotta be Gil-Chae and Lee Jang-Hyun in My Dearest. Sometimes, there are drama couples that nearly cause me pain when they are apart, and these two quickly became one of them. Though their relationships is hardly functional for much of it, through all that push and pull, they ultimately learn how to show up for each other. Also, their *chemistry* is insane!

Favorite Secondary Ship: I loved Hye-Seong and Sung Joon, the B couple in Call it Love. Seeing the SFL grow more comfortable with herself after a truly shitty ending to her previous relationship was a nice respite from the hidden identity stress of the A couple in this one. I'm also a sucker for a good romance where you start to see someone you've long taken for granted differently. (Close Runner Up: Cho Won and Do-Yun in See You in My 19th Life)

Favorite Platonic Relationship: Gil-Chae, Eun-Ae, and their maids, Jong Jong and Bong Doo, in My Dearest. I loved loved loved the relationship between these women in this drama, and part of the reason the second half of the drama suffered a bit for me is because of how far it moved away from this core relationship. They were ride or die for each other more than the majority of the men in their lives, and I loved that for them.

Trope that Needs to Die: While I find murder plots in rom coms tedious at the best of times, homophobic murder plots are really not it. Quit it, y'all. It's not cute.

Dramas I Missed: Moon in the Day, The Story of Park's Marriage Contract, and Tell Me That You Love Me (grrr Disney+ on this one) are on the list for next year. I'm probably missing others.

Non-2023 Drama Spotlight: Finally went back and watched Do You Like Brahms? for a hit of Park Eun-Bin. A lovely, if also melancholy, slice of life romance that's just as much about what to do when a (career related) dream that you've worked really, really hard for just isn't going to come through as it is about the main romance. Also made me fall in love with Kim Min-Jae and his lovely deep voice, enough so that I also then went back and finally watched Dali and the Cocky Prince, which was also a treat. Recommend both.

Most Looking Forward To: I continue to yearn for a Yumi's Cells 3, and who's to say if that one will ever come through, but I'm putting it out into the universe anyway. More realistically, I'm looking forward to the surprisingly stacked line-up of sageuks coming up, including Captivating the King and Love Song for Illusion.

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