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harrysonlylover · 4 months

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Checkmate (Part 2)

Summary: The tension between Poppy and Harry gets cut. What really happened a few years back and do assassins have hearts?

Trope: Assassin H/ LHH

WC: 11k

Warnings: Assassins’ stuff…? Murder, injections, angst.

A/n: This is NOT a Standalone Oneshot. Part 1 must be read first.

Part 1

In all her years, Poppy never made a mistake or went out of line for something less than perfection. She is both beauty and brains. Everyone she ever came across envied her starting from the girls at the institute during her childhood, to random passers in the street who got struck by her charming aura.

Her moves are well calculated to aid her in any mission or even plans concerning her personal life.

Gaining a reputation in the Assassination field was barely an obstacle for her. It is not the clients that ask for her, it’s quite the opposite. She knows how to catch someone’s attention and when to do that…

It wasn’t long before she got one phone call after the other, postcards, and letters begging her to take their offer.

But this. This is nothing close to sanity or well thought plans. This is madness, the forbidden apple, her heart’s dominance.

It is her Harry.

Harry whose lips touched hers at the ripe age of sixteen, taught her how to throw a deadly punch and gave her the name she goes by.

Out of all the assassinations she’s done, she was never taught to look at someone who had a piece of her with him and pretend to be fine.

She held an ache in her heart for years and years, never even dared to scratch at it—but the mere idea of being Harry’s crime partner has her vessels bursting.

Poppy; strong, resilient, poisonous, turned into an ordinary soft tulip in the presence of her angel.

The angel of death.

The name accredited to him was not a coincidence nor a fun passive nickname made by friends (not that they had any).

He earned it with both the sweat on his forehead, and the blood of a stranger that painted his hands, more often than it should’ve.

In the same year, he lost his soul and took another. First, when he pressed his lips to Poppy’s, she snatched it out of his body and rumor has it that she would keep a hold of it until eternity. Then, his first mission came. With a confident posture, increased heartbeat, and a lucky charm, he took away a life for the first time.

The angel of death is invincible, untouchable even—yet his soul does not belong to him. It is hers.

After that, not only did their circumstances change but their fates as well. Harry grew hungry for power. The praise he received from everyone at the institution deemed him a successful young assassin who was highly requested.

They had him training day and night, sent him to missions with more experienced assassins, and strengthened his stamina in unimaginable ways—but the cruelest lesson of them all was separating him from Poppy. The keeper of his soul.

The mentors were intellectual and observant. They knew beforehand that Harry would have a successful path, but they also knew that his attachment to Poppy would render him weak.

The loneliness that haunted assassins was nothing but a protective shield, as ironic as it may sound. Love someone and prepare to experience loss. It even stretched as far as not having partners to avoid emotional ties. This is why they were considered solo ravens.

In the present day, Poopy and Harry do not belong to any organization or institution. Therefore, no one can stop them from being partners.

But in the past, their separation was orchestrated by older mentors who believed that it was for Harry’s benefit. And the twisted truth? They made him take the blame for it.

10 years ago, somewhere in London.

Poppy was told that she wouldn’t know anything at a young age. She agreed—to some extent. She knew her life path and who she was destined to be, she knew that there was something out there waiting for her in between baths of blood. But to word it correctly, she’d say waiting for the both of them.

She wouldn’t consider herself gullible, Harry also included her in everything as they confessed fantasies and dreams.

Except that it felt like a lifetime ago since he used the word “we”.

She liked to think of him as her guardian angel, of course, this thought came from an incident back when they were barely ten years old. She was new at the institution after her parents died in a car accident.

It was cold, bitter and dull. No one warned her of what was to come, no one asked her if she wanted to hold on to a photo or a toy. She was resting at the hospital and the next thing she remembers was being picked up and dropped into a huge institution.

She didn’t know where she was, no one responded even when she kicked them and hit the door repeatedly. But during one night, she saw the shadow of an angel outside of her locked room. A kid wouldn’t realize that the light bulb had a role in making him appear as an angel—and even though she put two and two together throughout the years, it didn’t make him less of an angel. Especially when he opened his mouth.

“I’m Harry. Do you want to be my friend?”

The next eight years were ones for history. But looking back, she should’ve known that sneaking out of rooms isn’t easy. She should’ve anticipated a lot of things. That some traits stick with someone till adolescence. So maybe, she isn’t so knowledgeable.

It wasn’t long before Harry took her under his wing and explained everything to her. It felt like a lie at first, but that lie soon turned into reality.

The board of mentors relied heavily on the children’s education and physical strength. However, all the cruel acts and brainwashing did not start until they turned 14. Despite that, she liked to remember that age as the time when she sneaked away with Harry to the rooftop to gaze at the stars. After all, he was good at escaping.

“Look up—do you see it?” Harry whispered in her ear, making her heart beat faster.

“No!” Frustration began to fuel her body. They’d been looking at the sky for a while now and she still couldn’t see the stupid constellation he was pointing at.

His fingertips found her jaw that he held so delicately as if one of the stars above them would explode at the action. He slowly moved it toward the constellation despite his body begging him to direct it towards his mouth.

“There, that’s Cassiopeia. Isn’t it pretty?” He asked while looking at her.

Their stolen moments under the stars were precious, she would learn to hold on to them like a dove clings to its tree in winter. Yet, no matter how hard she tried, the storm would inevitably arrive.

Harry’s wish came true two years later. It had its price of course, but for her, he’d pay anything including his freedom.

During one of their star-gazing nights, he sealed their lips under the protective eyes of Cassiopeia right as he surrendered his soul to Poppy. Maybe that’s why he’s so cold-blooded towards others—because his soul is with her and for her.

As soon as the news of Harry’s first mission spread, Poppy knew nothing would be the same anymore. She felt an innate desire to keep him safe, they were both just kids.

Resources were scarce at the institution, they couldn’t obtain whatever they wanted, but Harry made sure to at least try and steal something for her every time he sneaked out. He was unbelievably valuable to the mentors—so instead of killing him or throwing him away on the streets, cruel punishments did the job.

Still, the scars on his back and the growling of his stomach after being forbidden from food were nothing compared to seeing her smile. He’d promised to give her a Poppy flower and he did.

Realistically, she was no witch. She could never guarantee his safety out there but a good luck charm wasn’t a bad idea. She spent weeks collecting spare pieces of fabric, threads and stole a scissor to make it work. A small dried petal—left from the flower he gave her tied to a thick thread that would be wrapped around his wrist.

Harry grew a habit of kissing it before every mission—from his first one to all of the upcoming ones.

They were young and unaware of the evil that was awaiting them, even when they were subjected to torturous training and brainwashing, it was nothing compared to what they would endure over the years.

Poppy chose to be softer around him but she was unbelievably resilient and powerful. She had a visual memory that was perfect for missions, physical strength that outpowered all her female colleagues, and a high IQ. By all means, Harry and Poppy were it for each other. No one really knew that they were in love, not even them—but a small observation done by a mentor had the board acting quickly to stop something dangerous before it developed.

“15, you’re wanted in the main room.” One of the gym trainers announced loudly, making everyone’s attention shift to Harry. That was his number. They didn’t have names.

He dropped the equipment from his hand as he tried to regulate his breathing and process the order given to him at the same time. No one was requested to the main room unless something was on. He wasn’t even sent there when they told him about his first mission.

He moved with unwavering confidence as everybody’s eyes zeroed in on him till he was out of the room. The same trainer who gave him the order accompanied him to the main room, where he was left to knock on the door before being told to enter.

The room would forever be engraved in his mind—he walked in like a lamb to the slaughter as he was met with the board of the institution, waiting for him in high chairs. There were four men and one woman.

“15, you have been a great trainee. Quick-witted, amazing stamina with a thirst for blood. Perfect characteristics for an assassin.” One of the men spoke to him while others stared. Harry stood with a fixed posture, looking straight ahead as a sign of respect.

“You are one of our best trainees and we wish to keep it that way. Of course, you are aware that whatever we ask of you is for your own good.” This time it was the woman speaking.

“Your new order is to stay away from trainee number 20. Under no circumstance are you allowed to approach her, speak with her, or think about her.” Harry flinched from the invisible slap that went across his face. His jaw clenched and his nostrils flared in response.

They want him to stay away from his Poppy?

“I do not understand—“

“In here you do not understand, you obey!” Her voice echoed in the room.

“You may leave now. Continue your training.” One of the other men spoke, noting Harry’s pale face and clenched fists. He wanted to use the skills they liked to praise him about and rip their skin off their bones for this stupid order. But instead, he turned around with shaky knees and headed towards the door.

“Oh and by the way…” He stopped in his tracks and tilted his head to the side.

“Dare to disobey this order, and she’ll be dead.”

That moment tipped his entire world upside down. The clock forgot to tick, he forgot to breathe and his soul would forever be away.

He would learn what it actually meant to be an assassin the hard way. Over the years, he’ll look back and wish he had been braver—his courage only stretched as far as punches and shots.

He willingly twisted a knife inside his heart by letting a certain series of events unfold. In some way—he played a role in shaping Poppy’s personality as an adult.

The coldness that he projected on her warm heart fired back at him every single time. He almost lost it when he saw her tear up for the first time. The second would be ten years later, as they reopen the wound.

“You’ve been ignoring me lately.” She leaned her body against the door with her arms crossed. He could see from his peripheral vision that she had a few loose hair strands, a look that he adored on her.

He couldn’t even look at her.

A part of him would remind him of what he had done and the other—would urge him to burn the world for her.

She stood as calm as a dove, pleading him with her eyes to say or do something. The response on his end was the same as his previous ones, cold, bitter, and dark.

“Harry! Why are you doing this?” He allowed himself to catch a glimpse of her this time, only because his heart cracked like her voice.

“Stay away from me. I don’t want anything to do with you.” He uttered with a thousand needles prickling his skin.

“Why!” She couldn’t find any reason as to why he despised being around her.

“Because I said so! You’re weak— and stopping me from going forward.” That moment could’ve been an audition for some movie that would grab him fame—but due to a series of unfortunate events, no one said “cut”. And if not for the burning flames of his heart, one would believe that he meant his words.

The look in her eyes was embedded in his brain like a tattoo inked on skin but with an immeasurable amount of pain.

“Maybe I really didn’t know you—” A single tear fell from her eye, slid down her rosy cheeks that he loved to kiss, and onto the floor where it left an echo that only he heard.

She left him standing alone with darkness closing in on him, as he felt the meaning of loss for the first time in his life.

A trainer had observed his interaction with Poppy which he immediately reported to the board. Harry obeyed his order.

Poppy would be safe but at a huge cost.

Harry’s actions did not make sense to her. She felt like something was off, he wouldn’t turn into someone else in between nights. She tried to reason with him but he only fired back.

It was something that would happen sooner or later, a trainee would get a taste of power and act almighty. It wasn’t a dilemma because no one was close with anyone, they were encouraged to hate each other. It would benefit them to be emotionless in the field.

No matter how cruel her upbringing was, Poppy couldn’t bury her emotions, leave a flower then walk away. Harry was her everything, she never expected him to turn into someone hideous.

The gap he left in her heart would remain open for years, yet she rose like a phoenix in just a few days becoming Harry’s number one competitor.

She offered him the same coldness and did not forget to make it sting.

They became competitive in everything—martial arts, shooting & aiming skills, critical thinking skills, physical stamina skills, programming & hacking skills, and archery.

She threw snarky comments at him, gave him bruises if they were instructed to fight, and showed him that she was better off without him.

But behind all this facade, they fooled everyone except themselves—Harry bit back with a rough exterior, turned into a cold-blooded man, and almost stabbed one of the trainees once. But in their world that was nothing—just another training, just another day.

He slowly accepted his new life, her hatred for him, and the mask he’ll be obliged to put on forever. All of that—just to protect her and she was completely clueless. He couldn’t blame her for how she changed, but he was proud of her improvement and he would always admire her for anything she did—but in secret, when no one was watching or listening, not even himself.

Assassins were considered to be ready at eighteen, some needed an extra push until nineteen or twenty, but Harry & Poppy were more than ready.

At this age, they’re sent out for missions. Harry was the only exception who had his first mission before eighteen.

They are allowed a little more independence, to roam the streets but never interact with people. They are aware of how different their lives are—have been taught sociology and psychology but an assassin is always a solo raven.

Above all, they would remain tied to the organization. Something that had Harry overthinking.

His little trips outside of the organization always had consequences, but they also knew that he would go out and they had let him.

Was it the known assurance that he would return? Or the “independence” they liked to boast about just because he was one of their top trainees?

And then there’s Poppy. Within less than five minutes and an order, they forced him to give up eight years of attachment. The hold they had on him was concerning. The same hold they have on every single assassin. If they ordered him now, they will not hesitate to do so for years to come.

He never asked for this life, but he’s too tangled in it to leave. It’s not the killings that he despised, not at all actually. It’s rather the control the mentors had on him that knew no boundaries.

He may not be able to get the assassin out of him, but he surely can leave everything behind. Even Poppy would stand tall with a million emotions going through her body, having found out about his disappearance. She felt like Cassiopeia was laughing at her foolishness from above, but what can she say or do? He had always been good at escaping. She continued her training normally like a good assassin, unaware of the letter he left behind for her that she would never find or read.

Present day, Vienna.

Poppy hasn’t felt this restless in a very long time.

She’s been everywhere and adores travelling even if there’s a dark purpose behind it. But she is unable to immerse herself in the delight and comfort of it.

It’s been a few weeks since that fateful night in Paris. One that brought an unexpected alliance, painful memories, and a twisted fate.

If it had been her first time seeing Harry in a decade, then she wouldn’t have said yes or handled the situation perfectly. But she encountered him more than she would have liked across the years, intentional or not.

Their first encounter was accidental, yet it confirmed two facts: Poppy had fled the institution and is now his competitor in the assassination field.

They both changed personality-wise, which explains the bickering and narcissistic behavior. She became a charming young woman, even more intellectual if possible and he, a rigid irresistible man.

They sometimes sabotaged each others’ operations for fun, chased one another, or crossed paths in missions just like their last one.

The “hatred” lessened, slowly merging into a playful form of poking into each others’ lives instead of saying what was on their mind.

Harry was drawn to her feisty attitude, he loved entertaining it, especially when she talked back at him or gave him a mark or two. He’d tattoo them if he could.

And while they refused to admit it, under the rough shells of their protected hearts, the yearning was pressing on their blood vessels, warning them of its upcoming explosion.

His yearning was less patient than hers. The proof would be the night of their supposed “mission” weeks ago. He tried to seal their lips—needed to. But she backed away before he could. She left him standing alone in the hotel room as she gathered her stuff and fled the country.

Ignorance is a bliss that she can’t have. As much as she would like to stay away from him and pretend that everything is under control—she can’t.

Their mission is due tonight which gives them enough time to discuss and plan since she actually decided to show up early.

They sat in a café, pretending to be a normal couple. They played their roles so elegantly that no one would suspect they kill people for a living. Even the adoration in his eyes was way too good for “pretending”.

She acted like nothing had happened and swiftly sat in her designated chair, tugging down her classy YSL dress, before crossing her bare legs and fishing out a file for him.

“Obviously you already have a copy, but this is a file about the plan.” She explained, not allowing him to understand her facial expressions or eyes that she hid behind Prada sunglasses.

Surprisingly, he wasn’t as chatty and playful. She figured that she hit a nerve that night, but ideally, she had every right to do so.

Their encounters over the years and recent partnership do not erase his actions in the past. She may not hold a grudge for long but she remembers everything.

“Sounds good to me.” He returned the file to her and fixed his posture. He straightened his back and flexed his broad shoulders that could barely fit his tailored suit. The motherfucker was a piece of candy.

His calmness took her by surprise—was it because she pulled away from the kiss? He can’t be that petty, right?

He suddenly stood and fixed his blazer, signaling that he would be on his way. He lowered his body so that their faces were at the same level. His cologne drifted in the air, invading her nostrils and playing with her pheromones. She’s thankful that she had sunglasses on, or else he’d know how much she enjoyed his scent.

“See you tomorrow Poppy darling.” He whispered in a low tone, offering his smug grin before pressing his lips to her cheek—planting barely a peck.

By the time she processed what he had done, the table was empty with only cologne in his wake and a single Poppy flower in front of her.

The day after, 8:30 PM

This was her first mission since Paris and somehow it feels so similar. She’s getting ready in a hotel room again, a red dress hugging her frame—cherry red to be specific since it’s her color.

Something feels amiss, like a piece of a puzzle that isn’t fitting well. Maybe it’s the fact that this is her first non solo mission. She won’t be snatching a soul alone—the angel of death will be present in flesh and blood.

The same angel happens to be someone that she can’t pinpoint her feelings toward. And who’s also knocking on her door.

They bought burner phones to contact each other, along with other supplies she secured during her travels.

The seconds it took to open the door were few, could be counted in milliseconds—but the moment their eyes met lasted for a whole lifetime.

This time was different, away from sudden meetings and glares, Poppy willingly opened the door as they took in each other’s attire shamelessly.

He couldn’t even say hello nor hide his bulging eyes or how they were undressing her. Cherry red looked so fucking good for her—actually, he believed that it was made for her. Everything was, including him.

Her hair, a simple 90s blowout secured with a Poppy flower brooch, cascaded down her back.

Her chest area was covered with white fur to meet the occasion—but he wanted nothing more than seeing her beautiful collarbone, and neck.

She couldn’t be any more beautiful.

How could he focus on being her partner? Do his job that entails killing others when she already killed him with her beauty?

His clothes were simple but radiated power. A tailored black suit that screamed rich and the same cologne that had Poppy’s knees buckling. And while she may not admit it—the way he looked at her like she was his dinner had her heart pumping.

Author’s note: While the staring can last a lifetime, we must move on because we have someone to kill.

“Do you need an invitation to come in?” Poppy raised her eyebrow at him.

“Begging is more of my preference.” He strolled inside with a confident posture.

“Yeah… right.” She rolled her eyes at him, making him smirk and observe her.

As a woman, she was ready but as an assassin—she needed a few touch-ups. She quickly gathered a few items to place in her purse. purse. Two lipsticks, one of them authentic while the other was actually a burning laser, a mini perfume bottle that holds a sedative, an undetectable gun hidden behind the inner fabric of the purse, mini golden binoculars, and most importantly—the weapon she’ll be using for the night.

“Are you gonna keep staring at me?”

“I can’t help but feel like you’re forgetting your knife—isn’t it your favorite?” He was relaxing on the bed, elbows holding his body up as he stared.

“Yes, but if I bring it I won’t be able to resist stabbing you.”

“Don’t threaten me with a good time love.” His voice was laced with a flirtatious undertone and a promise—but knowing him, he definitely was not joking.

“Do you have your role memorized perfectly?” She ignored whatever was going on in his dirty mind.

Nothing more than a hum was elicited from his lips. Why bother and focus on replying verbally when he could stare at her bare legs, and the way the cherry red dress fits her perfectly?

“Will you stop ogling my body?” She wasn’t even a bit uncomfortable, in fact, he might be the only man she felt safe around—even if he put a knife to her throat.

But she needed to act uninterested, Harry was like a moth to a flame and hell would set loose if she gave in.

After a loud sigh, he moved away as she finished getting ready. He wanted to push further, maybe play it sweet for a while before reopening the sensitive subject.

He almost had her—was so close to earning his Poppy back but she resisted and rightfully so.

“So, shall we hit the road partner?” Her question had his ears perking, mainly for the last word she used.

Partner.

He could get used to it.

Vienna State Opera, 8:45 PM

Poppy booked the nearest hotel to the Opera house to avoid any kind of delay. She liked being practical and straightforward—besides she doesn’t want to handle being on Harry’s motorcycle again.

It was barely a five minute walk, the cobbled streets of Vienna and the evening breeze brought back memories, the same way every detail of nature does. Vienna was her escape whenever she felt suffocated—if she wished to recall it, this city knew her better than anyone.

“Do you remember that one time you called the FBI on me when I was here?” Harry broke the silence not even one minute into their walk.

“Don’t give me ideas that I can reuse.” She rolled her eyes, preferring to focus on the click of her heels against the pavement instead of his perfume floating in the air.

“Oh c’mon, you said it yourself. We’re partners now.”

He remembers that day quite vividly. It was another twist of fate—he had a mission here and she was spending her time. They crossed paths at the same café they chatted in earlier, where he got on her nerves and teased her.

Next thing he knows, the FBI was outside his hotel—realistically, they can’t catch him. He doesn’t really have a record, everyone at the institution is unidentified. The only record that would show up is the fake name he has on his passport, which is in fact, a John Doe.

He didn’t hate her for what she did, he considered it to be an upgrade of their game. After all, she’s always been so smart.

“Would you ever rescue me if the FBI catches me or something?” He messed with her, no one can get a hold of him. No one.

But the night is long and he can’t help teasing her.

“No. Good riddance.” She scoffed and crossed the street leading to the Opera house. Her walk was so elegant yet powerful. He followed her with slow footsteps to ogle her as she walked no matter what, despite the increasing honking of cars.

He was ready to hand himself in just to know what she’d do. But for now, they have a mission.

As soon as they were inside, their new personalities got to work. Mr & Mrs. Styles had their arms linked together as they walked along with all the prestigious and rich socialites attending the night’s Opera performance.

Good assassins fool others by fooling themselves first. The way Poppy’s body leaned against Harry with a smile on her face—the same one trophy wives display, along with everybody’s eyes on them was a sign that their mission had started and was going well.

It was impossible to not be astonished by the Opera house’s interior, but it’s also funny how Poppy and Harry are always found in artistic historical locations.

Poppy’s eyes darted over every single detail; from the stairs to the high columns and golden chandeliers. The ceiling was another wonderland, spacious enough to hold a universe and decorated with art all over.

The statues stared at them as they walked—as if they knew their secret and what they came here for.

Harry wasn’t exactly impressed, he was here for a purpose and while he does admit that the interior is unique—he’d rather stare at her.

She was more deserving of his attention than any form of art.

The guests moved like a herd of sheep, women with their polite giggles and men with their egos. The stairs welcomed them as Harry tightened his grip on Poppy out of caution.

“Can’t we just skip to the mission ?” He rolled his eyes in disapproval. If things went his way, then he wouldn’t have bothered to orchestrate this whole thing. A simple shot to the head from a roof would have been just fine.

Poppy has always been extra and more precise.

“No. This is the plan and you will stick to it.” She sneered, looking around to take mental notes.

“What will you do if I don’t?” He pressed further, aiming to piss her off at a very wrong time.

“I’ll cut you to pieces and feed it to the stray dogs.” She replied with a stern expression, as she continued her observation.

“So romantic!” He chuckled, admiring her.

She wasn’t being paranoid or overly cautious. The reason behind them becoming partners was to join their power to take down other assassins. The assassination they’re here for can be done by only one of them.

The other will have to observe like a hawk, lurk around, and detect suspicious activity. Assassins can identify each other as if they are a wolf pack.

Arthur and Henry—also known as their bosses, who somewhat persuaded them into becoming partners sent them to get this mission done.

It should be a quick in and out—right?

“We should go from here.” She pointed at the right flight of stairs.

These stairs were narrower than the main ones, while socialites supposedly have class, they didn’t mind squeezing each other or pushing lightly and hiding it with a gracious smile.

Harry’s eyes darkened when a middle aged man bumped into Poppy’s elbow. She wasn’t hurt at all, if anything she was disgusted but it wasn’t that big of a deal.

It certainly was for Harry who was about to launch forward at the man.

“Behave.” She glared at him, sending daggers with her eyes. He unclenched his jaw and took control of his facial expression. His breaths were ragged, and he avoided eye contact with her.

This wasn’t a good sign—this is why assassins don’t have partners. Emotions must never interfere, let alone two of the most dangerous assassins with a past. Just like fire and water.

But that also meant that he cared for her, that it went as little as not wanting someone to touch her. All the little actions and remarks were suffocating, and they ought to explode soon enough.

Poppy let out a quick sigh once they reached the 1st floor, Harry’s arm was still linked with hers, tightening at certain moments.

“This is our room.” She reached out her hand to open the door leading to the balcony she reserved for them. It held the perfect view of their target. She hacked into the Opera’s system to figure out where he sat.

“Oh, you reserved a room for us. I knew you wanted me.” He teased in a sarcastic tone, clearly enjoying this more than he should.

“Can you be an adult for a bit? I don’t know you’re a ‘skilled’ assassin.” She quoted with her fingers before scoffing and taking off the fur and hanging it.

“I can definitely give you examples darling. On both, being an adult and assassin.” His voice was laced with mockery and hunger—hunger for something that she couldn’t quite figure out yet.

It is during times like these that she wondered if agreeing to be his partner was a sane idea if they could actually agree.

The anger is visible through her face, and yet he’s still smirking. She dreamed about wiping his smug grins and smirks off his face—but they suited him.

She sat on the chair in the first row, there were five chairs. Three in the first row, two in the middle, and one at the back. She reserved them all for only the both of them.

The balcony was perfect for observation. It had a clear view of the stage and the first five rows. But most importantly, where their target was placed.

Everyone was getting seated as she watched them like a hawk. Harry sat next to her with a sealed mouth and a lingering cologne. Since she took the fur off, her collarbone and chest were uncovered. Her skin was glowing, complimented by the blood red dress that pushed her cleavage.

Harry wasn’t a creep by all means—but his childhood love was sitting next to him looking as beautiful as a blooming flower. Fuck the mission, he thinks.

“Half of the seats are full now.” She glanced at the expensive watch on her left hand. “They’ll begin in five minutes.”

Harry may be playful with her but he’s serious about his job. They don’t have to do much now—in fact, they can enjoy the show. Poppy just has to glance at the target now and then, to notice his movements, his plus one, and how he’s acting.

The real work begins at the afterparty. Parties like these do not happen often, and when they do—only the elite are invited. Mainly it contains champagne expensive enough to end world hunger, and bratty rich people. The fake identities Harry made were easily placed on the invitation list.

Et Voilà.

Despite everything she planned, she didn’t anticipate the uncomfortable silence between her and Harry. It was so loud that even he didn’t throw a snarky remark.

They only pretended to be normal about it, with glances from their peripheral vision now and then. Poppy felt like a weight was moved off her chest when the orchestra came on stage.

They were going to play Mozart—which she learned is their target’s personal favorite. As soon as they started, she took out the mini golden binoculars from her purse and pointed them in a way that seemed to be directed at the stage but was pointed at the target. Their seating was indeed perfect.

As expected, there wasn’t much to take in. The target seemed to enjoy the musical pieces with his wife by his side. He ought to though, he’ll be dead soon.

Poppy’s sharp focus never wavered, she decided to continue watching his every act, and pattern of breathing. Until—something burned at her skin.

It made her flinch, rose goosebumps all over her body, and parted her lips in abrupt shock. The burning sensation traveled through her arteries and formed a clot inside her heart—making her choke silently.

She looked down willingly and spotted Harry’s left hand intertwined with her right one.

She swallowed down her throat and fixed her sight on the audience as if her eyes weren’t threatening to glance at their conjoined hands like it was some sort of instinct.

She couldn’t pull her hand away—even if she wanted to. They were role-playing as a couple, so holding hands should be the bare minimum.

Yet, there was something else stopping her that she dismissed. She only credited the excuse of being a “couple”. Digging memories she buried ages ago was of no use, even if the grief still lingered by.

Call it an exaggeration but the life line on his palm was digging into hers, funnily enough, she knew how it looked better than her own.

As for the heart line, his was straight with the tiniest curve to it, and hers branched out like a blooming flower—as if it was reaching for his.

How long has it been since they held hands like this?

Again, it didn’t change anything. No matter how perfectly molded their hands were—even the greatest sculptures were destined to crack.

The clapping and standing ovation of the crowd pulled her back to the present. The burning sensation was gone and emptiness took its place. A void bigger than the black hole.

Harry was clapping as well, with his stupid smile and perfect curls. She looked down at her hand and saw the lines of his palm imprinted into hers.

“He’s on the move, let’s go.” He was so casual and nonchalant about it. It made her sick. How his attitude never changed after doing something out of hand.

She picked up her stuff and walked ahead of him, body flaming with rage and unanswered questions.

The afterparty was set in a ballroom, not far away from where they sat. She didn’t care if Harry followed behind or not, although his footsteps left an echo.

She heard him call out her name many times, but she continued walking unbothered.

He blocked her path with his body, stopping her from going forward.

“We’re fucking partners, Poppy, whether you like me or not.” He spat with furrowed eyebrows and a hint of fury.

“Do you remember your part—“

“I’m not some child in a play, I’ve been toying with lives long enough to know what to do.” He rolled his eyes, reminding her of his skills.

“Well, let’s go then.” She gestured to the ballroom that everyone was heading to.

Whatever she was feeling at the moment must be shoved away. She didn’t even want to think about how furious this situation made her.

She had no choice but to be professional, like she always was.

Their target—Charles Walton was old money. He invested in stocks and was involved in business matters that threatened their bosses.

This time, Henry and Alex’s request was different. Poppy will kill and Harry will observe. Their roles were equally important, as they suspected that Charles hired an assassin. Poppy was also asked to get Charles’ phone as it may contain things relevant to her boss.

A well dressed man was waiting at the entrance. He collected the invitations from all the guests, and checked their names according to a list in his hand. The invitation cards were white and engraved with gold, sealed with a red stamp.

Harry handed their invitations over and waited till they got the usual nod and smile. The door was opened for them by an another man, who welcomed them inside.

They linked their arms together again and entered the ballroom. It was just as fancy as the entire building, which is no surprise given its history. More expensive chandeliers, renaissance paintings, and low classical music playing in the background.

Harry’s body was tense for some reason, he was looking around and observing all the socialites like he was instructed.

They were mingling already with champagne in their hands. The odor of filthy richness reeked off them as they stepped closer. Charles was standing with his wife and other businessmen that she researched beforehand.

She didn’t have to remind him that they must act all lovey dovey, or how he should act. He made it clear that everything was under control, and for some reason, she believed him.

Their legs directed them as they grabbed two glasses of champagne from a waiter passing by. They pretended to be turning around before stopping near Charles and his little group.

“Excuse me, aren’t you Mr. Walton?” Poppy beamed with surprise and happiness(Fake ones obviously).

She became the center of attention in mere seconds because no one could resist her beauty or voice—especially not men.

“Darling, I’m certain these gentlemen are busy—“ Harry faked his politeness which was even more astonishing given his real personality.

“Not at all, Mrs..?” Charles was enamored with her which seemed to irritate his wife.

“Mr & Mrs Styles,” Harry replied on behalf of her. Poppy was still offering pretty smiles to everyone, making them feel as if she was honored to be in their presence.

“Please then, join us.” Charles gestured with his hand, welcoming Poppy and Harry.

“I admire the way you work.” Poppy focused her attention on Charles who forgot that his wife existed.

Harry didn’t like this one bit—in fact, this may be his most challenging mission by far. Getting shot is way easier.

In some sense, he acted like a “clueless husband”. If it was up to him, he wouldn’t let a man look at Poppy.

“My husband and I are doctors for the Royal Family of Spain, but recently we’ve been trying to go into business.” Her demeanour was enough to intrigue all the men standing including their beloved target.

There was nothing better than a woman asking a man about business and finance matters.

Charles’ wife scurried away to mingle with other socialites, including her boy toy. One of the fun parts of being an assassin is learning everyone’s dirty little secrets.

Harry busied the other two men with a discussion about geopolitical issues while Poppy was bewitching Charles.

A tiny slip of the fur on her shoulders allowed him to sneak his eyes into her cleavage.

Men were so easy, weak, and pathetic.

The classical music drifted in the air smoothly, they were both doing an amazing job. Charles was trusting her slowly, it doubled when she batted her eyelashes.

She may love her job—but she doesn’t have to necessarily spend her entire night putting up with rich brats. She pretended to be tipsy and swayed like a clueless woman although she never drank during the job.

One single glance at Harry was enough to give him the green light. She’s sure that if it were someone else, they wouldn’t have understood.

He stumbled towards her, mimicking her “drunk” acts, and slung his arm over her shoulders, spilling champagne on her in the process.

“Oh sorry love.” He laughed and patted her dress as if he could fix it.

“It’s fine. I’ll go to the restroom.” She spoke, making sure to glance at Charles while sharing her location with a pretty smile on her face.

The laughter died out as she made her way through the crowd. The real work begins now.

All ladies and gentlemen around her were oblivious to the crime she would be committing; laughing and chatting in their high society la la land.

She remembered to sway a bit seeing as she should be a bit zoned out. She figured that Charles would be staring at her ass, she just hoped that Harry wouldn’t react and truthfully she doesn’t know why she assumed that.

Every corner of the Opera house is inked into her brain, having memorized its map. Yet, she can’t blow her cover so instead of walking straight to the restroom, she asks a waiter for directions.

She can see Charles staring from her periphery, eyeing her like a piece of candy.

Men, right?

Once she was inside the bathroom, she checked her purse quickly before Charles followed her. She didn’t have to think twice or doubt that he wouldn’t follow her trail like a puppy.

She took out what she needed, hid it discreetly, and glanced at her watch quickly. She’d give him approximately twenty seconds before he barged inside.

She fetched a few tissues and patted her dress, pretending to be busy with what Harry caused.

10 seconds left.

She loved the moments building up to her job, how she made them walk right into her trap—willingly.

The door to the women’s restroom flung open, revealing a way too confident Charles, walking in with a smug smile on his face.

“Oh—what are you doing here?” Poppy chuckled nervously, throwing the tissues away.

“Oh C’mon sweet face, don’t tell me you didn’t want me to follow you.” His Champagne glass was still in his hand as he advanced toward Poppy.

“I—I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” She moved a strand of hair from her face.

Men loved women who acted innocent. It gave them the impression of having the upper hand, the idea that they are more intelligent. Something to feed their inflated ego.

“I saw how you were looking, darling.” He sipped from his glass, leaning against the sink.

“I’m married—“

He laughed as if she just told him a funny joke. “I bet that loser can’t pleasure you as he should.” His voice was becoming more and more irritating with every second.

Her eye nearly twitched at what he spewed. She didn’t anticipate him insulting Harry, nor her response to it. Her hand gripped the sink till her knuckles were white.

Something boiled inside her at the mention of Harry. How dare he insult him and make fun of—

She realized what her brain was doing and swallowed down her throat. What the fuck?

“Ah, speechless eh? Looks like you haven’t got a taste of pleasure in a long time.” He scoffed, daring to get closer.

“Oh well, maybe…” She turned her face away when he became a few inches apart from her.

“I can show you a good time..” He brushed his knuckles against his cheeks.

Half of her focus was poured into his insult to Harry, and how it made her feel. Offended, Furious, Protective.

“You’re married…” She objected with a pout.

“Who cares? Bet you’re sweeter than her.” He scoffed, leaning in closer to her.

She fought the urge to scrunch her nose at his smell. Harry’s cologne was way better. It made her feel warm and most importantly it was familiar.

“You’re just flattering me.” She continued with the innocent girl act.

For the first time, she felt incredibly disgusted with a man. Well, they do disgust her in general—but they never got under her skin. She’s not sure if it’s his perfume, disloyalty to his wife, or his insult to Harry.

It’s most probably the latter, which transformed into some sort of anger towards herself. There was no reason for her to be affected by a stranger making fun of Harry. So why?

A sneaky glance at her watch indicated that it had been three minutes of back-and-forth “flirtation.” Poppy and Harry didn’t wear earpieces, certainly not to missions like this. They felt like it was for beginners and despite uncommon belief—it can be easily spotted.

Instead, they plan according to time. It was something that Poppy heavily relied on because she was never late. Fifteen minutes after Charles followed her, Harry would be waiting at their designated exit. But for now, he’s scanning the area for any other assassin. Charles’ disappearance can urge the hired assassin (if they exist) to come out of his or her hiding place.

She was certainly fed up with this douchebag. It was time for her to have a little bit of fun. Besides, she has ten minutes left, and the clock is ticking.

“Well then, I guess you should lock the door?” She bit her bottom lip earning his attention and compliance. He quickly sealed it shut and strolled to her like a predator.

She balanced the item she was holding between her left hip and the sink, paying attention to not lean in a lot to avoid pressing weight. She pulled Charles in by his tie and slowly unbuttoned his white button-up till a good amount of his skin was uncovered.

“Oh easy there, don’t get so excited—“ He barely got to finish his words. She decided that her ears had suffered enough.

It was barely a few moments of snatching the injection, and swiftly emptying it in his chest. So fast that he didn’t even notice until he felt the sharp sting of the needle on his skin.

Poppy offered him a smile, but not the same as the one she put on all night. No, not at all. This smile was sadistic, vengeful, and powerful. It reflected the real Poppy.

“What—“ He stepped back, hand clutching at his chest where the poison was spreading rapidly. He leaned his body against a stall door as she admired the look of disbelief on his face.

“Cat got your tongue?” She tsked, wrapping the injection in a tissue and placing it back in her purse.

Murder by poison was her favorite. It did the job and left no trails behind—not that her fingerprints would lead the police somewhere. After all, assassins are John Does.

“Inorganic Arsenic. Beautiful isn’t it?” She chatted with Charles who was on the floor, unable to react in any way. She pulled her cherry red lipstick from her purse and applied it to her lips.

“It was used to kill royalty and emperors, and was nicknamed ‘inheritance powder’ ” She rubbed at a smudge that touched the corners of her mouth.

“And do you know who used it a lot back then?”

The arsenic was now traveling through Charles’ bloodstream, she aimed at his chest purposely. She needed a quick death. He was coughing up some vomit, and his hand was clutching at his chest, indicating the sharp pain he was supposed to be feeling along with the rapid heartbeats.

“Assassins.” She smiled at him.

He shot her a look of hate—it was the most he could do, seeing as the large dose of the fatal poison and its symptoms stopped him from fighting back.

“Oh, you’ve got a little something over there.” She glanced at him through the mirror, pointing to the vomit coming out of his mouth.

“Don’t be so dramatic— I showed you mercy and chose arsenic instead of dimethylmercury.” She rolled her eyes and finished her last touches for her lips.

She closed her purse and took one last look at her lips before turning her attention to Charles. His dead poisoned body was flung on the stall door. She liked it when men stopped talking—or breathing.

She kneeled to his level and snatched his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll be taking that, thank you.”

Since he was still leaning—she brought one of her heels to his chest and pushed his body with her leg on the floor. She secured his phone inside the purse , and checked her watch.

Ten minutes had passed and she still had five to spare. The job was perfectly done as usual.

She didn’t worry about someone seeing her—or bumping into a woman because these socialites never let their husbands get away from their prying eyes.

She advanced towards the door to meet Harry at their designated exit. Until a loud band pierced her ears—someone was pushing at the door, and attempting to break in.

Harry is growing more and more impatient by the minute.

He’s quite tempered when triggered, but he was taught to tame it and use it to his advantage. He should’ve objected since she presented the plan to him—should’ve said no to her going alone.

Don’t even get him started on how that idiot was looking at her like she was a piece of meat. Harry wasn’t the best at controlling his facial expressions—and didn’t put an effort into changing that, because he liked his missions quick and fast. Bullet in, and assassin out.

Poppy loved orchestrating her plans down to the tiniest detail. Of course, she could be just like him and finish the job in 10-20 minutes, but she preferred her style.

His urge to protect her never went away, let alone now that she became his partner.

The glass in his hand almost shattered and cut him from his extremely tight grip. He saw how close the man was to her, and how she giggled for him even if it was fake.

It made his throat run dry and stimulated his thirst for blood. At some point, his ears were ringing and he physically held himself back from launching at the man and killing him with his bare hands.

He had to continue conversing with the other two men, which he did surprisingly. As soon as Poppy glanced at him, he stumbled toward her and was quick to wrap his arm around her.

He could tell that Charles thought ill of him and frankly, the feeling was mutual. Poppy’s plan was going smoothly, but when Charles followed her to the restroom—Harry saw red.

Everyone around him pissed him off and all he could think about was her. He excused himself from the men and walked around in the ballroom.

His eyes were trying to detect any sort of unusual pattern between the guests—something that may hint at an assassin.

Physically, he was present but mentally he was with Poppy. He knew her skills and abilities—but that didn’t stop him from worrying about her.

Was the target too close to her? Bothering her? Did she need help?

His mind kept pushing questions at him and urging him to find the answers but his role—

Nothing indicated suspicion at all. His eyes sneaked to every inch of every corner and doted on all the guests. No one was convincing enough for him.

He kept tapping his foot on the ground, gritted his teeth unconsciously, and had his ‘assassin’ facial expression on.

It had barely been 9 minutes—but he stormed away from the ballroom.

“Fuck this.” He muttered under his breath, not giving one fuck to anyone. Poppy was his priority.

If there was an assassin present, he’d kill them. If Henry and Alex didn’t like what he did, he’d kill them. If that douchebag was close to Poppy, he’d give him a real taste of death. Once he reached the women’s restroom, his hand was quick to grab the handle and twist it. But it was locked from the inside—

“Fuck.” He swiped his hand through his hair, and smashed his hand against the wall.

He wasted no time and began pushing the door with his body, his mind was running with all the possibilities. God help everyone if something happened to her.

Thud after thud, the wood started to crack. He didn’t mind the jolting pain he felt nor the bruising that would follow.

Instead of knocking it down, the door was opened on the other side by the one and only.

“What the fuck, Harry?!” He has never seen her this angry before, and she couldn’t believe the sight in front of her.

“Where is he—“ He stormed through the bathroom, and found the dead body on the ground.

“Did he touch you—“

“What in fuck’s sake do you think you’re doing?” She shouted, the anger was heavily prominent in her features and a vein along her neck popped.

“Excuse you? What if he hurt you?” He wasn’t being sarcastic, not in the slightest and it made her light up.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” She shut the door to avoid unwanted situations. She knew that he would fuck up at some point but this? This was beyond stupidness and dumb mistakes.

“You can’t follow me. Your job was to watch the guests for five more minutes!” She was shouting in his face, her hands were shaking from anger and his facial expression wasn’t comforting.

“Well fuck them, I was worried about you—“

“You can’t worry me about me. I’m nobody!” That was his last strike. She couldn’t handle his weird antics anymore.

But she wasn’t nobody. Not at all.

“What are you doing?” He was breathing heavily in an attempt to calm down. He watched her open her purse and tear its fabric, before fetching a gun from inside.

“Covering us you dumb fuck.” They were both angry at each other, the tension was high and Pandora’s box was wide open.

Poppy aimed her gun at the fire alarm box and pulled the trigger. In a few seconds, the alarm was off, ringing through the building followed by screaming and loud shouting.

“Let’s go.” He grabbed her hand and opened the door, leading them away from the crowd.

He knew a short exit that he memorized while looking at the maps. Despite what she thought, he took his missions seriously and did his research.

Poppy’s gun was covered with her purse, she didn’t want to put it back inside . Though she struggled to not shoot him.

She could feel herself physically heating up, he fucked up their mission and spewed nonsense. Now, they have to take a different route to avoid killing someone who’s innocent.

He wasn’t supposed to follow her. In fact, she was done five minutes early which meant that he barely did his role. What guaranteed her that an assassin wasn’t following them right this instant?

“This way.” After lots of turns and doors, he led her through an exit that took them to the back of the building. No one noticed them or glanced their way, they were busy with themselves.

Even after they fled the building, and filled their nostrils with fresh air, Poppy still felt suffocated. She didn’t wait for him and stormed away, fast paced towards the hotel. She ignored his screaming, his pleading and focused on the road ahead.

It was an unforgettable scene for people passing by them, including the hotel workers. Harry was ordering her to stop and listen to him but she was out of sight and mind.

She didn’t want to think, didn’t want to face him or listen to his words that will charm her.

He ruined her mission, which never happened. Her ego was bruised, and her brain was throwing criticism at her. She had everything calculated so well, until he came along.

“I’m talking to you!” He grabbed her to catch her attention, just as they stepped inside her hotel room.

“I don’t want to hear you.” She shot daggers at him, before freeing her arm and walking away.

“Now I’m the bad guy because I was so fucking worried about you?” This was her first proper fight with him. He didn’t give her a chance for a fight ten years ago.

“First for all, cut it off with the worrying bullshit. Second of all, you went against the plan!” She shouted back, as she emptied her purse.

“What the fuck do you mean? Is it so hard to believe that I care about you?” His fists were clenched by his side, his shoulders were tense and he felt like the blood wasn’t pumping through his body properly.

“Are you even listening to yourself?” A few hair strands fell on her face due to her rapid movement around the room. She was frantically packing her suitcase.

“I know what I’m—“

“Did you care ten years ago?” She glared at him with pain in her eyes. He parted his lips, tried to conjure something—anything to say but he couldn’t.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” She turned her attention back to packing. He didn’t understand why she wanted to leave so quickly. It’s not like they’re threatened—she did her job perfectly and the target was terminated. So what if he didn’t continue his job for a few more minutes? But it wasn’t his lack of professionalism that infuriated her, it was his emotions.

“It’s different, you don’t understand.” He shook his head, with the look of defeat painting his face.

“Of course you’d fucking say that! It seems like I never understand anything. Not at 18 and not at 28.” A sharp pain hit his chest the moment her voice wavered. Harsher than the coldness that he felt upon remembering what unfolded a decade ago.

“It was out of my hand—I couldn’t do anything.” The memory of what went down—his helplessness and escape pained him.

“What the fuck are you on about?” She rolled her eyes in irritation. Most of her clothes were wrinkled as she was quick to throw them in a suitcase.

“You didn’t believe what I wrote you, right?” He scoffed in disbelief. No matter what he did, the organization still left its print, and he would always hold the blame.

His conscience always taunted him and forced him to stay awake on countless of nights, simply rethinking the day he fled. Maybe he should’ve fought back, or even taken her with him. All he wanted was to keep her safe, and in the process he caused her to resent him.

“Are you trying to trick me or something?”

“I’m talking about the goddamn letter Poppy.” His replied in a low monotonous voice with his hands placed on his hips.

“What letter?” One of her shirts slipped from her hand and fell on the bed.

The silence in the room was bigger than the both of them. Harry felt paralyzed, unable to move but he could see the plead in her eyes begging for the closure she never got. All these years, he thought that her “hatred” stemmed from her after she read the letter, and decided how she would feel about it.

That she used the steps he left her so she could flee just like him. He waited for her to find him for years, and accepted her loathe for him once he saw her at a mission for the first time.

He learned how to love her from afar, because he knew she would never reciprocate the feelings back.

“What letter Harry.” He didn’t immediately register that she was now standing in front of him, barely a few inches apart.

She searched for something in his eyes that could give her a hint, buy all she could see was the sorrow and ache hidden behind his emerald irises. She knew that this was a complete turning point—it would either change her life for the better, or make it a living hell.

“I left you a letter that night—I explained what happened.” It took him a while to utter a full sentence. Who knew that the deadliest assassin was weak for her?

“What happened?” Despite clenching her muscles and digging crescent marks into her palm—she couldn’t help the tear that fell from her cheek.

His thumb was quick to catch it, like it was an innate reflex he had in him. His hand shivered upon contact with her skin. He never wanted to see her crying.

“They told me that if I don’t stay away from you, they’ll kill you.” He swallowed down his throat, with a thousand knives going through his body.

“I told you how to escape in that letter and where to find me.” His hand couldn’t contain the silent tears that fell. All this time, she loathed him silently and he didn’t even know.

“No—no.” She shook her head frantically, like it pained her to hear the truth.

“I’m not lying.” He laid his forehead against hers, picking up her tears with both of his hands.

“I—“ The emotions that hit her all at once tired her body. She had been living a lie for ten years now, with no one to tell her.

She always wondered how he was able to look her in the eye and act like everything was just peachy. She envied him actually—she wanted to forget just like him and act unaffected but she always remembered.

Is that why he always doted on her? Every single thing that he had done must have been out of hope while she believed that he simply wanted to piss her off.

“Please leave.” She closed her eyes as more tears fell into his palms.

“I can explain—“ He was quick to answer.

“Not now.” She shook her head in disagreement.

He pulled away reluctantly, before moving his hands away from her tear stained cheek. No one forced him to step back and leave her, she asked for it and it hurt ten times more.

He grabbed her hand and placed something in it. He closed her fist around it tightly, and spared one last glance to her pretty face. She noticed how his eyes were threatening to spill with tears. She never saw him cry before, not once.

He was out of the door in a few seconds, her legs were glued to the ground, unable to run after him and ask him everything she wanted to know. Instead, she opened her palm and glanced at what he gave her.

It was the lucky charm she made him. It was as new as the day she made it, the dried Poppy petals were untouched. Her body fell to the ground, tears staining the thin fabric of the bracelet.

Checkmate.

Feedback is really appreciated!!!

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t-tomuras · 29 days

Text

Pairing: Tenko Shimura x F! Reader

Wc: 2.4k

Warnings: Streamer au, fluff but minors still don’t interact. Initial meeting of streamer Tenko Shimura aka DecayDaddy

╰┈➤ 𝐃𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐃𝐞𝐜𝐚𝐲𝐃𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐲 𝐒𝐢𝐦𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

It’s dumb, downright silly actually when you stop long enough to think about it. Utterly comical when you find yourself grinning too wide as you open up the little app you downloaded because some of your friends ‘needed your help with a task’ but who knows how long ago that was now.

Driven by the compulsive need to complete tasks now being your reasoning to continue to venture outside of your comfort zone into more social aspects for the sake of the game.

Because at least if you were going to have your nose in your phone you should at least be getting out in nature as well. Enjoying some outings and making friends.

You never would’ve thought that redownloading Pokémon Go would have your heart racing every time you went to complete your dailies. Or when you got a notification from your favorite username: DecayDaddy.

Swiping over to the ‘Friends’ tab after you’ve successfully accomplished a Field Research for the day. Scrolling down to pointedly ignore his name at the top of your list. Clicking each name, opening the gifts they’d sent you and sending one each back as you take the time to attach the precious little stickers.

Run of the mill Pikachu stickers for the random friends you’d added ‘way back when’ from a Facebook group before deleting your comment so you wouldn’t have to deal with the unending friend requests.

A Mudkip to one of your coworkers that still plays, a Sylveon to your friend you're sure only still opens the app to help you out (bless their kind souls).

Going down the list until you’ve caught up with everyone that needed them for the day and barely making a dent in the collection you have.

Leaving him left as you swipe back up to the top. Running your palm down your face because it was ridiculous really, maybe even a little insane, to be this fond of someone that you aren’t entirely sure who they might be.

Finally clicking on his username to open his gift and see one of the newer stickers attached to the postcard, a trio of oddish smiling and leaping over one another with flowers abound.

And you aren’t an insane person, not really, you swear.. well okay, maybe just slightly. But you can assure that specific sticker pack costs ten in-game coins because you like to collect them yourself, so it has to be special right? That’s what you do with them anyway, save them to send to your friends.

But you’re prone to overthink, the inner monologue beginning to run away from you but you can’t say that it’s far from completely logical this time. It was deranged to think someone you didn’t know, added randomly through a post on social media (even if the group was locally based) was flirting with you through stickers on virtual postcards.

Shame sits heavy in your gut then, shrinking within the covers of your mattress. Flipping over onto your side while you pull the covers high as if to hide yourself away from the sunlight seeping in through the slivers of your blackout curtains created by the fan in your room.

Groaning to yourself before just selecting your least favorite sticker of all the packs; the awkward looking, poorly drawn Marill while it spews water. Locking for phone as you shove your face into your pillow to give yourself one good groan before you get ready for the day. No real plans besides tidying up around your home and maybe a few non-pressing errands when your phone vibrates and screen illuminates the dark fabric of your silk pillowcase.

Turning over and holding the device away from you, screen waking to a banner from Discord for a friend request that nearly puts your heart in your throat.

Decaydaddy has added you as a friend

Sitting up as you frantically fumble to unlock your phone because of course the facial recognition doesn’t want to work in the lowlight. Tapping in the wrong passcode twice with an annoyed scowl to pretty features before you open up directly to the notification screen of the app.

You know it’s him because you can recognize the profile picture from his personal profile on Facebook but the similar handle to his Go account helps as well.

Who uses their actual picture on discord anyway? scoffed internally. Your own icon saved for whatever anime character you favored or kinned that week personally.

You’re thankful he does though, otherwise you would’ve denied his friend request and wouldn’t have received his subsequent message afterward.

DecayDaddy: I was right, I figured your handle would be the same as discord.

Your heart is racing, face warm with the rush of blood that roars in your ears because it should be a red flag that he found your discord from an app you can’t even communicate with one another from but it excites you.

Makes you feel stupidly giddy because maybe you weren’t completely delusional to think you were flirting back and forth based on stickers attached to postcards.

DecayDaddy: None of my friends play and you’re actually pretty close by. Do you want to meet up today to do some of the tasks for that dumb ‘a route to new friendships’ one?

Okay so maybe you were a little delusional, cheeks and chest warming with a burning shame before your phone chimes with another discord notification.

DecayDaddy: We could grab something to eat too, my treat. For helpin me.

Exhaling a breathless laugh as your rub the sides of your forehead, giving yourself whiplash but you’ll take this as a win. Hopefully you can actually flirt pretty normally without your trusted ‘cute’ stickers. Sending back a quick, ‘sure no problem! I’d love to help, just let me know where I should meet ya and when’ before resting your phone on your abdomen face down. Throwing your arm over your eyes as you collapse back into your nest of pillows to stare up at the ceiling.

Waiting a few moments before you get another message, assuming it’s from your mystery man.

DecayDaddy: No cute sticker today?

Ha. Maybe not so delusional after all.

You: Tomorrow 🤞🏽

But tomorrow is a relative term, you’re never going to get there, especially if you continue to let your anxieties get the better of you.

Truly you should consider it self preservation, what person in their right mind would feel wooed over a complete stranger finding their discord the way that he had?

Well, besides someone like you of course because you were the one flirting with him through stickers on a game about digital creatures you capture while wandering aimlessly for them.

It doesn’t stop you from messaging him frequently though, thankful he’s considerate and far from pushy. Tenko, you learn his name to be, isn’t one to spam either but the conversation continues with mutual interest; branching from just typical pleasantries or sticking solely to talking about events within the game.

Telling you about how he works from home and codes for a living as well as streaming in his free time. You even check him out, subscribe to his channel, he has a decent following for someone that doesn’t do it so seriously. He was exactly who he said he was, pictures matching the video he sometimes displays while doing ‘let’s plays’ with a few friends who stream a bit more legitimately and have a larger following.

The most notable names being Dynamight and ChargeBolt, prominent YouTubers and Twitch streamers with a subscriber count well into the millions for each of them individually.

Which makes talking to him a little daunting despite how down to earth he was. Simultaneous nervous and giddy energy flooding your system the times you do discuss getting a chance to meet up to complete a few research tasks in the game.

Somewhat noncommittal with the time, tasks that could be done at any point that would take a few days to accomplish anyway. Discussing the ways you both play the game in the mean, Tenko likes to collect strong pokemon albeit the unconventional type. Atypical to the ones most people see in local gyms like Dragonite or Gyarados, though he does have those.

But somehow he had the strongest little sandslash you’d ever seen, especially for only being a level 34. Typically doing trainer battles with it, a Milotic and a Sylveon and mostly emerging victorious.

While you typically liked to collect shinies, possessing a decent amount more than he had. Over a hundred, several being each stage of a Pokémon’s evolution as well as multiple shinies.

You: I’ll trade you one when we see each other, you can have the high cp one, I have two that are pretty close in level.

Promising a few trades so he could complete a few tasks that required taking a snapshot of a legendary that didn’t appear in raids anymore.

And it isn’t until one of the days you decide to head into the city for some of the raids, an impromptu announcement in the form of a dropdown bar earning your attention.

Rescue Mewtwo from Team GO rocket in shadow raids during Raid hour. Starting now! 💥

Groaning about taking a trip sooner than expected but you weren’t lucky enough to get a shiny mewtwo the last time he was in raids and you won’t miss it now.

Item bag packed full of premium raid passes so you can battle until you earn your prize. Glad many others covet the same one so the battle parties were full and participating in the raids wasn’t a headache.

Joining in one after the other as you walk from street to street, gyms lining the prefecture all with countdowns to the next battle and ones until they ended. Each party so full that the game would automatically divide the amounts so everyone had a chance.

You sit and wait on a bench away from the small clusters of other people, not too keen on speaking with so many people when you just wanted one thing before heading home.

Waiting and watching the timer tick down before the raid starts when a dropdown notification from Discord appears.

DecayDaddy: Are you using a remote raid pass for Mewtwo?

Glancing between the text and the timer before tabbing out to his chat.

You: No, havin to venture out into the great unknown all alone like a heathen because I have no friends to invite me 😔

Smiling at the silly tone you imbue into the text, that you hope he can hear because he’s heard your voice in a handful of short calls or voice memos. The soft expression you wear gradually spreads into a full blown grin when he texts back a short ‘look up’.

You’re quick to comply, squinting from the sun but you’d recognize those starlit locks anywhere even with the dark hood pulled over the stylishly unstyled mop.

Giving him a tentative wave but not moving from your spot as Tenko cuts through the little crowd around him and crosses the small courtyard to join you.

“Better hurry, time's almost up,” calling in a half yell the closer he gets and it’s criminal how the upward quirk of the corner of his lips makes the beat of your heart hasten. Near skip in its steady rhythm when he widens the length of his stride instead of breaking into a half jog, closing the distance between you with ease with just a few seconds to spare.

Standing directly in front of you and seemingly intentionally obscuring the glaring sun with his figure, giving himself a halo of light. The thought makes you feel silly, clearing your throat after you swallow because there’s no reason a near perfect stranger should enrapture you with such ease.

“It started,” his voice breaks the slight reverent stupor you’d fallen into, blinking up at him in confusion before scrambling for your phone with a curse. Nape of your neck feeling warm and with Tenko inadvertently providing shade you can’t blame it on the warmth of the sun's rays.

You’re just thankful he doesn’t make any comment on it, standing up as your Pokémon spawn in to battle the boss. Quick to defeat it with the oversized raiding group, giggling with a cute little cheer when the stats appear at the end and it tells you that you’d been the one to deal the final strike.

Missing how Tenko’s cool rubies rake up and down your form while finding your actions cute before paying attention to his own screen.

Eyes widening when he sees the flare of sparkles when his prize appears on screen to be caught, a little stunned because he’d never been very fortunate in catching any shinies. Tossing his ball and only tilting to look at your screen when you groan in disappointment.

“I’m gonna have to find another one to battle, it wasn’t shiny. It was strong though! Almost thirty five hundred cp!”

His brows raise, cocking his hip bit as he shifts his weight from one foot to another. Quiet for a moment as you take a moment to spin the gym, stopping you before you can pocket your phone.

“I can go with you if you want, do a few until you catch one,” offered so simply and calmly you almost declined. The beginning’s of a polite ‘you don’t have to do that’ on your tongue when he continues, “or we could just get something to eat together instead, like I offered before. Mine was shiny so I could give it to you.”

Again you think to refuse, tell him you could earn your own like he’d gotten his but as he stares at you realization starts to set in. A warmth creeping into your chest and up your throat at the notion and how maybe you’d been a bit oblivious.

“Wait, are you asking me on a date?”

“For the second time now,” he sounds so blasé about it, like he’s talking about the weather when he turns on his heel. Ready to head down the street to one of the many restaurants lining the block. Craning his neck without turning around when Tenko sees you aren’t following, “are you coming?”

“Depends,” you start cutely, rolling your lip between your teeth to fight the cheeky smile as you take a few steps forward. Pulling out your phone to shake it at him, leaning forward to tilt into his view, “are you really gonna give me your shiny?”

He chuckles at that, a breathy sound that floats on his exhale as he resumes his stride when you fall into step, “only if you trade me the strong one you got.”

#vixen drabbles #tomura shigaraki x you #tomura shigaraki x reader #tenko shimura x reader #tenko x reader #tomura x reader

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elaine19day · 25 days

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To those who are confused as to where and how to buy OldXian's new artbook and merchandise, let me try to break it down for you.

A few days ago, OldXian announced the pre-sale of their new artbook which comes in two versions.

Variant A (regular) includes: - the new artbook - a poster - 2x postcards

Variant B (deluxe edition) includes: - the new artbook - a poster - 2x postcards - 4x buttons - a shishiki board - a sticker sheet - a 24 page booklet

Furthermore there's two new acrylic standees which can be purchased separately. A tianshan and a zhanyi version.

All of these items are available for purchase in their taobao store now, under this link: https://item.taobao.com/item.htm?ft=t&id=786971367604

But if you have trouble creating a taobao account or your country isn't on the (very short) taobao shipping list [China, Taiwan, Malaysia, Singapore, Japan, USA, Canada, Australia, New Zealand] then you have several other options to get your hands on these new items.

1. You could use aliexpress, koonbooks or any other China-based shopping app/website to buy these things from a 3rd party seller.

Now, keep in mind that these sellers obviously want to make a profit, so you will pay more than in the original taobao shop. However, on the plus side, they usually offer free shipping, which is nice considering that items like artbooks are heavy and shipping costs are based on weight, so if you pay over, some of that money also goes towards covering the shipping costs, which is not bad.

The risk of ordering with such a website is obviously that the independent seller could turn out to be a scammer and keep your money and not send you the goods. I have no idea about koonbook's policies, however in the case of aliexpress you are at least protected by such practices and should you not receive what you paid for, you will be refunded and get your money back.

Also keep in mind that the artbook and merch is still in production at this point! But Old Xian said the merch will be shipped out BEFORE May 20th. That's less than 4 weeks from now.

That being said - in some cases the merch will be cheaper on aliexpress after official ship-out, because there will be more people offering it, competing for best prices.

However there's obviously also a risk that the deluxe edition will sell out before that or that these re-sellers only ship the artbook itself with none of the extras.

Here's two links where you can have a look at potential resellers, but carefully think about all the pro's and con's I gave you before you consider to buy. https://www.aliexpress.com/item/1005006893284852.html https://koonbooks.com/products/old-xian-19-days-art-collection-3-chinese?variant=46493038674166 2.

The other option you have is using a taobao shopping agent. If you google that, you'll find dozens of websites offering their services. I myself have used parcelup, 42agent and superbuy before. Here's links to all of them: https://www.superbuy.com/ https://parcelup.com/ https://www.42agent.com/ What all of these agents have in common is that you need to create an account BEFORE you can start searching and shopping. All you need for that is a valid email address. I'll show how it works with superbuy screenshots here. After you signed up, you can copy the taobao-link I gave you earlier and paste it into the search-field.

What will come up is an embedded view of the taobao listing where you can pick which variant you want and then add it to your shopping cart.

Once you have added everything you want, click on the shopping cart and simply follow all further payment instructions.

They will also ask you if you want them to keep the original packaging or if you want them to remove anything unnecessary and repack everything in order to make it weigh less so shipping will be cheaper. It's up to you. You will then be asked to pay for items, domestic shipping (so mosspaca studios can ship the goods to your agent's warehouse) and in some cases a service fee. For example, superbuy has no service fee, however they stopped offering paypal as payment method recently so you'd need a credit card or other online methods to pay for your order and everything. Parcelup, however, still offers paypal, but they also charge service fees. (They are fairly low though, if you ask me.) So after you paid for your goods, they will order the items for you and then you'll have to wait about 4-5 weeks for them to arrive, because keep in mind - like I said earlier - everything is still in production and Old Xian aims to ship everything out before the 20th of May. There's hundreds, if not thousands of parcels arriving to all agent's warehouses every day, so it will take them a few days to sort through things after your order arrives. You need to be patient!! They will get back to you with pictures of your order, trust me. When this happens you need to look at the pics and if everything is okay, you can reply to them to proceed. You will then be presented with shipping quotes. Usually they offer more than one shipping method and some are tracked, others are untracked, some will take only a week or two until they arrive at your doorstep, others will take 6 weeks or up to two months. Choose wisely which method you want and consider what is in your budget. (Obviously fast shipping with tracking is more expensive than slow shipping without it, however personally I'd always recommend a tracked service.) Just to give you an estimate on what to expect when it comes to international shipping - parcels with that amount of merch and weight, will always cost me about 50 USD or more to ship from China to the UK, where I live. (So keep that in mind before you order. International shipping is very expensive!) But once you picked a shipping method, you pay for it (that's your 2nd payment) and once they have processed that - your goodies will be on the way to you within a few days. And that's it. Sit down, eat your food and wait patiently for it to arrive. If you have further questions, just plop them into the comments and I'll try to answer them.

#19 days #old xian #tianshan #mo guan shan #he tian #zhanyi #zhan zheng xi #jian yi #merchandise #guide

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kaijumilf · 1 year

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FOB8 SLEUTHING

i need everyone to know i’m losing my mind about the fob8 ARG thing they’ve got going on right now. and i need you all to know that the date January 1st is so extremely important.

so there is a field of dreams quote popping up, a baseball movie. the only song i can think of with an explicit baseball reference is Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown.

so, if you happen to go to the youtube playlists on their channel to find the playlist for Folie, you’ll notice that one: all playlists have been updated within a week ago. but more importantly you’ll notice that two: all of the songs on the Folie playlist have had their description edited to say released on 01-01-2008

and no. there is no way this is correct. the album was recorded in the summer and as we all know, released on December 10th.

THEN, if you went on the website to sign up for the postcard thing, youll have noticed the Our Lawyer Made Us Change The Name Of This Song So We Wouldnt Get Sued reference with the lyrics “Do not open before Christmas”.

So imagine my shock at the moment i went to check the description on the From Under The Cork Tree playlist and, sure enough, its been changed in the description of all those songs as well to January 1st. Again. this is very incorrect.

I dont know what this means, i doubt anything will be released on that day. However, Something is going to happen i fucking bet on it. Theres probably more clues and references im missing and maybe someone already beat me to this but. i thought this was important to share just in case.

#newt speaks #im going nuts but i dont think im nuts enough to imagine this.#fall out boy #fob #fob8 #folie a deux #from under the cork tree #please is anyone listening to me im screaming into a void #fall out boy 8 #ALSO I PREDICTED THIS WAS GOING TO BE AN ARG FROM THE MOMENT THE TRIBUNE AD DROPPED #ask my friend jay i never posted about that but i DID sksks

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americangeophysicalunion · 2 months

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Dear AGU,

My family and I spent summer riding our bikes along the Terrapin Nature Trail, overlooking the marshlands and tidal pools of the Chesapeake Bay. This is home to several species of plants and wildlife.

The scenic Cross Island Trail is perfect for taking citizen science data with the GLOBE Observer app, using its four protocols: clouds, mosquito habitat, land cover, and tree heights.

In a few days, we will be using the Eclipse protocol to record temperature before and after the annular solar eclipse on October 14, 2023, and the total solar eclipse on April 8, 2024.

So excited that I also encourage my college students in getting involved in the solar eclipse fever!

#profile #AGU #ILookLikeAGeoscientist #science Valentines #Third Pod from the Sun #Climate Ride #postcards from the field #submission #sketch your science #science doodles #artify your abstract #Take Your Lab to the Ocean #band names #Halloween #science haiku #AGU15

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agnesconaty · 8 months

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Dear AGU,

My family and I spent a few summer weekends biking along the Terrapin Nature Trail, home of several plant and wildlife species along the marshes and tidal pools of the Chesapeake Bay. This is a perfect area to take citizen science data using the GLOBE Observer app, using its four protocols for clouds, mosquito habitat, land cover, and tree heights.

In a few days, we will be using the eclipse protocol to take temperature data during the annular solar eclipse on October 14, 2023 and the total solar eclipse on April 8, 2024.

So excited that I also encourage my college students to get involved in the eclipse fever!

- Dr. Agnes Conaty, PhD

#dear agu #postcards from the field

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lewkwoodnco · 7 months

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Hii I wanted to request Anthony Lockwood×fem!reader with the song London Boy. Where the reader is from Europe, and she just moved to London to become a better ghost hunter, but she gets rejected at Fittes and other agencies. Then she finds out about Lockwood&Co. and goes to a job interview and gets hired. Since she's from Europe, she has an accent, and like she doesn't always pronounce words right, Lockwood loves it and finds it adorable. As she lives with all of them, they start becoming closer. She and Lucy become like best friends. And from the whole start, when she met Anthony, she was crushing on him and he would often call her darling and love, because for him it's normal, but she would literally be running laps in her head. Lucy notices all of this and teases them about it. Happy ending with them confessing and kissing? As always, you can change it so it suits the song more, I really love your writing, and it never disappoints!!

Lockwood x Reader - London Boy

A/N: While I was researching possible words to mispronounce whyy did I find out that I was pronouncing one of them wrong this wholeee time AHHH also why was it so hard to find a gif where he's smiling. Netflix pls renew the series to give him more screentime where he doesn't look like he wants to dies plzzz. also this starts with a letter written by the reader to her sister a week after moving to London, 3.1k, enjoy!!

Dear Elizabeth,

I hope things are fine over there. London is...interesting. It's very cold and wet, for one. I always feel like I'm one gust of wind away from catching a cold, but a friend took me shopping a few days back, and I've got a much warmer coat now. You'd love Lucy, she's got your sense of humour and everything.

Things didn't work out so well at Fittes. Or Rotwell. Or any of the other agencies I had shortlisted. I'm at a small independent, Lockwood & Co. There's only four of us and Mr. Lockwood's only a year older than me (a misnomer if I ever saw one, I thought he'd be closer to eighty than eighteen), but they get by just fine and I'm learning loads.

Part of me still wonders if I made the right choice by leaving. I wish I was home; warm, dry and safe. I miss the fields, the bonfires, the cheap juice boxes... miss you and mum to bits. Give her all my love.

"Writing a letter?"

She slammed a hand over her postcard with an aggressiveness that shocked her as much as him. She was sitting at the kitchen table, opting for a change of scenery while she drafter her note. It was morning, and from the shuffling sounds outside, George and Lucy seemed to also be awake, but only Lockwood was in the kitchen with her. And the thing about Lockwood was - well, he made her a little skittish.

She panicked at his slightly taken aback expression, rushing to make amends. "No! I mean, yes, I am writing a letter. It's for my sister, Elizabeth."

"I'm sorry I startled you, I don't mean to pry."

"You weren't." God, did she completely forget how to hold a normal conversation? It was mind-numbingly difficult to generate coherent words or even thoughts with his buttery smooth posh accent washing over her. "I just - we keep odd hours and with the time zone difference I haven't had the time to talk to them on the phone."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

She looked down into her tea, suddenly shy. Keeping eye contact with him was difficult enough when they were all in the room, but his undivided attention was simply unbearable. There was something so intentional in his gaze that made her too nervous to think too much about it. So that just left a knot in her chest that would throb and set her ablaze any time he got too close. That, coupled with their extremely embarrassing first meeting, made her especially prone to stuttering or leaving the room whenever Lockwood was around.

Ironically, he was away handling a mild Type One case in Sidcup, for which the prestigious clientele warranted the inconvenient travel, during her interview. Which was just as well, because she was sure she wouldn't have been able to force anything out with him watching her as closely as George had. She had seen the newspaper clippings on the wall, but the dates had been cut off, so it hadn't been immediately obvious to her that he was a teenager like the rest of them. Besides, who had heard of an agency run by three teenagers and no adults?

Which was why she nearly fell out of her armchair the following morning when the front door opened to the sound of unfamiliar yet boyish laughter. The briefcase carelessly left by the entry way to the living room caught her eye first, followed by his crisp suit, his straight tie, and finally, the man himself.

She wasn’t one to believe in love at first sight, but as he grinned with his dimples mischievously winking at her, she felt that if anyone could change her mind, it just might be him. She felt the palms resting on her book grow clammy as her heart thudded dangerously, And this was all before he had even spoken or looked at her. As soon he opened his mouth, she was a goner.

"You guys have to read this: 'Lockwood & Co. - the answer to the Problem? For an independent agency with less resources yet arguably more success than the big two, could they be the key to ridding our world of visitors? Read more on pa-' Page six? So much of that trouble, all for a page six?"

"Now look what you've done, Lockwood. You've scared our newest member mute with that demented laugh of yours."

"How could I forget? Y/N L/N, the one agent with enough talent to, and I quote, 'somewhat-kind-of satisfy' George Karim. I was positively racing home to meet you. Forgive my, hmm, associates. I hope they didn’t give you too rough of a time."

"You make it sound like we're degenerates!"

"They can be quite bothersome when they want to be. I'm Anthony Lockwood, of Lockwood & Co."

He stuck out a hand, and she blinked at him. She felt a bubble of nervous laughter lodged in her throat, almost half-inclined to believe that this was all a bit; he really was that ridiculously attractive. His dazzling smile faltered, morphing into one of concern, until Lucy knocked enough sense back into her to respond. She shook his hand, embarrassed, mumbling a greeting. He walked away, loosening his tie, and she buried her nose deeper into the paper, wishing it would just swallow her whole.

They had been terribly busy the past week, and during the day she would mostly tag along with Lucy, so their paths rarely crossed. There was this one time when he had just been coming down the stairs as she and Lucy were returning from their shopping trip. She froze halfway in the motion of taking her coat off, then shrugged it back on. He looked mildly confused. She was desperately confused. She didn't appreciate Lucy's snicker.

"New coat."

"Yeah. It's real warm."

"I can see that." Her coat looked not all that much bulkier than Lucy's, but she could still hear the smile in his voice as she pulled her gloves off. Somehow, she managed to coordinate her limbs enough to take the coat off and hang it like a normal person, before briskly walking up to the attic, the side of her face burning from when she passed Lockwood.

"It's real warm." Lucy wasted no time teasing her as soon as they were in the attic. She groaned.

"What else was I supposed to say?"

"You were really excited about the pockets at the shop."

"They're-"

"Faux fur-lined, yes, you've told me a thousand times." She gave a knowing half-smile. "Couldn't manage telling him once?"

"He'd think they were stupid. He'd think I was stupid." Even more stupid that he already thinks, she wanted to say. But who could blame him? For all he knew, she didn't have enough brain cells to string three coherent words together.

Their cases were tiring, but the routine was still so new that more often than not, she would be too wired to peacefully knock out in the attic with Lucy after their cases. She'd open the door to the attic just a crack, and listen to the soothing sounds of paperwork rustling in the library, watching the barely visible soft shadows of Lockwood moving about. She could glean that they were a little burdened by the absence of a pair of hands, and she had tried to offer her help, but all she got was distracted pats on the forehead as her words went in one ear and out the other. She couldn't blame them; they really did look stretched thin, which made her especially thankful for Lucy's company even at their busiest.

Still, that didn't stop her from carrying her blankets down to the door to the attic in the dead of the night, leaning her head against the banister. If she were lucky, she'd catch a faint strain of Lockwood humming. As cheery and disarming as he was, picturing him humming felt too intimate. The little that she could hear reverberated through her skull, the notes knocking into her other drifting thoughts about him, his British smile and his stormy London eyes. But the Lockwood she curiously dreamt of at night never reconciled with the Lockwood she saw walking and talking during the day, and so their relationship had come to a sort of standstill, where he would smile at her and she would take the first socially-acceptable chance to flee the room. Only, it was a bit harder to escape early in the morning when they were the only ones in the kitchen.

Fortunately, the others soon came, and the tension eased. Lucy came in, sleepily trying to scrounge up some tea while George went off on Lockwood about his sleep schedule, or lack thereof, while Lockwood tried to stuff his face and busy himself in gathering his documents to keep from answering. She took advantage of the bustle to discreetly sift through the drawers. Lucy had mentioned that they had a postage drawer somewhere, but she didn't want to be too much of a burden by asking again.

"George, lay off me, I've got to get to DEPRAC. Luce and I will meet you at the Archives and - oh, darling, we keep the stamps here." Lockwood paused his hunt for some brown, non-descript envelope to pull open a drawer between the two of them. She could feel her face starting to warm, but only because of the embarrassment, not the nickname. "Mailman should be coming around soon, so you might want to hurry. Luce, yesterday's client should be coming around near 5 and you promised Holly you'd do the invoices while she was away. Oh, what now George?" She ducked her head, muttering some thanks that went unheard as George tried to force out how many hours Lockwood had slept, practically chasing him out of the house. Lucy raised her eyebrows suggestively, which she pointedly ignored.

That day was the most dull one yet, where she rolled around the house like a lost penny, trying to occupy herself. A letter arrived some time in the late morning, and she took the liberty of starting its case report file. Lockwood was the first one free, arriving home a little after lunch. She told him as soon as she saw him, while he was still taking his coat off, forcing the words out before she lost her nerve.

"We got a new case while you were gone. I started its file."

"Wonderful. Thanks, love." He rolled up his sleeves, putting on the kettle, while she surreptitiously leaned against the wall for support, trying not to think about how effortlessly pet names dripped off his tongue, like honey, before she got too shaky in the knees. She pressed on.

"It was from a Lew-tenant Smith."

"Who?"

"Lew-tenant Smi..." her voice trailed off. No, that didn't sound right. She couldn't imagine any of them saying it like that. Lockwood briefly leaned over her shoulder, a faint smell of soap lingering around him, before his eyebrows unfurrowed and he returned to his tea.

"Oh, I see. We pronounce it as 'left-tenant.' Now, where's he staying?"

Oh dear. She wasn't entirely sure. "Erm, Ald-wykh?"

"Ald-wich, we call it."

"Ah." Some part of her wanted to apologise, but he was looking at her with a strange twist to his lips and a certain fondness was shining in her eyes that, once again, she was rendered speechless. A silence followed, and for once, she willed herself to bear it.

"You haven't been stuck at home all day, have you? Have you been outside during the day any time this week?"

"I, er-"

"Luce, what kind of a friend are you?" Lockwood spun around to accost Lucy, who had wandered into the living room to see the commotion, bleary-eyed from whatever lair she had retired to to iron out the paperwork. "Y/N must be feeling cooped up. We should make a day trip of it. We'll get a break one of these days, and we'll take you around London, do all of it: high tea, the West End, go to a pub, watch some rugby- how are you with heights? Interested in the London Eye?"

Lucy groaned, stealing Lockwood's tea. "I don't know how Holly does it."

"Well, for one, I don't think she lets it pile up like you do."

Lucy shot Lockwood a dirty look, taking his biscuit too before turning back apologetically. "I'm sorry, Y/N, but how about next week?"

She laughed, pulling a weak smile from Lucy. "Don't sweat it. Hopefully, I'll still be around then." Lucy waved goodbye, retiring to her mountains of paperwork.

"Well, there goes my tea. Would you like some...?"

"Tea? Oh, um, sure."

"Brilliant. See you outside in five minutes." With that, he left the kitchen. Once she had caught up to what had just happened, she slipped her coat on, joining him outside just as he hailed a cab.

Surprisingly, he hadn't been exaggerating: Lockwood was fully prepared to take her to each and every one of those attractions, no matter how long it took. In the end, they narrowed it down to a rainy cab ride to a play at the West End, with high tea afterwards, though they did get around to the rest in the coming weeks. Oddly enough, they never planned it beforehand. The occasional lull in cases would sneak up on them, Lockwood would wander into the living room where she would be fused to an armchair, and suddenly it would be time for yet another trip around London.

But now they were at high tea, tucking in to the fading sunlight and excitedly discussing the play. A wind blew through one of the open windows, and she shivered.

"Everything okay, love?"

"I'm fine. It's just a little draughty, don't you think?"

"A little what?"

"Dra - erm, like, it's windy?"

"Drafty."

"Oh, come now, that sounds nothing like how it's spelt. How was I supposed to know that?" He chuckled, shaking his head slightly, as he polished off his food. But she was feeling bold enough to not let it drop this time.

"You keep doing that! You smile and turn away or you laugh and it makes me feel like I've put my foot in something - "

"No, no, dear god, no." There he was, laughing again. She hoped he would choke; but not too hard, just enough to shock some sense into him. "You don't - it's not your fault; believe me, I'm just an awful person. It's just...you really try your very best at...everything, really." His eyes fixed on hers and she found herself wanting to never look away. "It's...endearing."

"I’m sorry. I know my accent isn’t the clearest-"

“No, it’s fine. I like it. It’s very unique, and…beautiful. I’d pick your voice out of a crowd.” She felt this warmth wash over, and then chills run down her spine. He made her all nervous and giggly on the inside in a way that made her want to lounge around London, indulging herself in useless thoughts of ridiculous London boys with addictive smiles and silver tongues.

But like all good things, their excursion came to an end. She found herself dragging her feet to the front door with a boy with whom she was too scared to be alone with just 12 hours ago.

"I hope you had fun today. Not feeling too homesick, are you?"

She thought back to the green meadows and lightning bugs that she had dreamed about in the early hours of that morning. That life still seemed so precious, so sacred, but now it was oddly distant, no longer something she yearned for.

"I don't think so. You know what they say, 'home is where the heart is,'" she looked up at him, unable to resist the smile tugging at her lips, her voice dropping to a whisper. "But I think the English aren't half-bad either."

"Not half-bad?" They were so close now, she could feel his breath tickling her forehead. Her heart stuttered. "I took you out to the West End, and you call it 'not half-bad.'"

"Well, there are certain exceptions."

"Like what?"

Her stomach threatened to explode with giddiness. She was having a hard time regulating her breathing and looking at him at the same time. God, she was never beating the 'stupid' allegations. "I don't know," she fibbed in a flimsy attempt to seem cool. "Like...like you."

In the end, it was his eyes that pulled her in, pulled her under, because one moment she was teetering on the precipice of something new and terrifying, and the next there was soft skin brushing her frozen face, warm lips on her chapped ones. He tasted like summer in this cold, dead winter, breathing life and wonder back into her. It was dizzying, exhilarating, heart-palpitations-inducing...it was Lockwood, surrounding and consuming all her senses.

He pulled away, and all she stared at him blankly, as if he had stolen the words at the tip of her tongue. He gave a half-smile, and she grinned at him. He opened the door for her, murmuring in her ear in a way that filled her brain with pleasant static. "After you, darling." She rolled her eyes reflexively as a defense mechanism, but still her heart fluttered. They walked in to find George sorting the mail, mildly peeved, mildly concerned.

"Ah, so you two finally decide to show up. You could've been dead in a ditch for all we know. Your dinner's gone cold, you know."

Lucy had skipped down the stairs once the front door opened, a little too immediately for her liking and now her eyes narrowed teasingly. All of a sudden, she had the embarrassing realisation how visible the front porch was from the attic. There was colour in Lucy's cheeks, which probably meant that she had somehow managed to work through all that paperwork. Drat. "I dunno. I think Mr. and Mrs. 'Darling' are- "

"Luce! Have I...told you about my coat pockets?"

Lucy rolled her eyes, heading back to the attic, while George shook his head and handed her a postcard. Lockwood's fingers lingered briefly on her wrist as he walked away, leaving her and her mind all topsy-turvy. With a start, she pulled herself away from delicious thoughts of Lockwood to the postcard in her hand. She scanned it eagerly, lips twitching as she reached the end of it. Her sister could be just as ridiculous and delusional as her sometimes, and she wasn't even in the same country.

Y/N -

Can't say much, haven't got the time. All's well here and we miss you dearly too. The house is just too quiet, but mum seems to be adjusting. We saw a picture of your boss in the paper the other day.

London boys truly are a different breed, aren't they?

Love, Lizzie.

#fanfiction #anthony lockwood imagine #anthony lockwood x reader #anthony lockwood x you #fanfic #lockwood & co #lockwood and co #lockwood and co netflix #lockwood x y/n #taylor swift #london boy #lover

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