#and also hell pay for a nicer apartment with better security

[pastelchad]

Instead of writing fic where you genderbend the ukes and make them str8 couples (😐) genderbend the entirety of sih and make the central conflict about Akihiko and fem!Ritsu's lavender marriage

[justmypartner]

Safe - 8x14 Speculation Fic

Writer’s Note: The idea for this came from the 8x14 synopsis, and while it technically still is a speculation fic, I don’t imagine the episode happening exactly like this. However, I did use what I’ve seen from bts photos and videos, as well as things Tracy has said in interviews to develop some of the scenes/details. This is probably my favorite piece that I’ve written in a while, so I hope you enjoy & thank you for reading!

Hailey rustled through her closet looking for her black wedged boots, trying her best to hurry as she knew Jay was waiting for her in the kitchen. She wasn’t much of a boot with a heel kind of girl, but she and Jay had special plans and she wanted to look nicer than usual. While they had been together for months, that night was the first time they were going on a proper date. They each decided at the beginning of their relationship that with both of their histories, they wanted to keep things simple and to themselves, which meant a lot of take-out and a lot of nights alone in their apartments. However, after Hailey mentioned something in passing about their clandestine time together starting to feel restrictive, Jay made plans at a fancy restaurant where he knew they wouldn’t run into any of their fellow team members.

“I don’t mean to rush you, but our reservation is in 45 minutes and it will take us about 30 to get there,” Jay said softly, peeking his head around the door frame.

“I know, I know. I’m trying to- finally!” she shouted upon finding the boots in the corner of her closet. She brought a knee into her chest as she pulled a boot onto her foot before switching to the other leg and doing the same.

“Okay, I just need to get my phone and wallet and then I’ll be-“ her words were cut short as she caught sight of him for the first time that evening. He was wearing a dress shirt with a light jacket, and his dark jeans curled over the top of a pair of black dress boots. It was much different from his typical, rugged workwear, but she took note of how well the look suited him.

“Wow you clean up nice, Halstead,” she told him with a dimpled smile as he blushed, extending a hand down to help her rise from the floor. Once she was standing, the small space between them closed quickly as she wrapped her arms around his neck, bringing her lips to his briefly. While the heels added extra height, she still needed to raise on her tiptoes to meet his mouth.

“Not too bad yourself, Detective,” he uttered as her lips pulled away. His hands grasped her waist, holding her steady as she remained on her toes. They stayed pressed against one another for a moment looking into each other’s eyes, and just when he was about to go in for another kiss, she fell on her heels and pressed the tips of her fingers against his chest.

“Normally, I would indulge in this further, but we’re going to miss our reservation and I’m starving,” she teased, moving past him to retrieve her phone, keys, and wallet, along with her jacket slung over the back of the couch.

When they arrived at the restaurant, Hailey was charmed by how nice it was. It was far different from the usual dive bars and pubs they went to after work, and part of her even felt like it was too nice for them to be at.

“Halstead, party of 2,” he told the hostess, holding up 2 fingers with the hand that wasn’t intertwined with Hailey’s.

A stifled smile came across her face and she nodded her head towards the floor as they waited for someone to guide them to their table. It seemed surreal to be standing in the middle of a fancy restaurant with him, holding his hand and waiting to be seated for a romantic dinner. She couldn’t tell if it was because of how long she secretly pined over him or if it was because being with Jay felt like her first real love story, but there were many moments when being with him felt like some fantasy, and that moment was one of them. At one point in time, being with him was something she only dreamt about. It was a thought that crossed her mind when his gaze lingered a little longer than it should or when an accidental touch sent her heart racing. Before they took that leap, she worried being with him would mean giving up being his partner. It was that fear that made her keep her feelings bottled up for so long, but as they proved time and time again, as partners, as lovers, and as both - they were good together. She turned her head and placed a light kiss on his shoulder. It was a tangible reminder that he was hers to kiss, but it also grounded her in that moment that felt like just another dream.

The dinner itself was incredible. Hailey officially added the restaurant to her list of favorite food spots in Chicago, and they spent the entire meal giggling and sharing stories they had never shared before. By the end of it, Jay was stuffed, but Hailey insisted they order a dessert, her sweet tooth getting the best of her. Jay teased her for ordering the lava cake, the most indulgent option on the menu, but she was able to tease him right back when he asked the waiter for a second spoon when it was brought to the table.

Just as Jay was about to pay the check, his phone began to ring, Voight’s name popping up across the screen as he pulled out his wallet.

“Uh oh,” Hailey said as he picked it up to answer. Jay spoke with their boss briefly, mainly nodding his head and muttering brief affirmations every few seconds.

“I think she’s out tonight, but I can call her and swing by to pick her up wherever she is,” Jay said, shooting Hailey a wide-eyed look as he quickly came up with an excuse as to why they’d be riding in together all dressed up.

“Alright hot stuff, as much as I’d like to keep this night going, it seems we caught a case,” he told her, as he stood from his chair. He took out his wallet, counting out enough money to cover the check and tip before resting the bills under his glass on the table.

“At least we made it through dessert,” she said, sending him a childlike smile.

“Oh, that was dessert? I had something else in mind for that,” he replied smugly, Hailey’s face turning bright red at his suggestive words.

“Oh really?” She questioned, taking a step towards him to close the gap between them. “You’d better clean up that mind before we get to the scene,” she whispered with a chuckle, twirling around swiftly and making her way towards the door as he shook his head at her tease. His hand found the small of her back as they made their way out the door, and he placed a kiss against her temple, knowing it would probably be the last display of affection he could show before they had to enter partner mode.

When they arrived at the house, Kevin and Voight were outside talking to a few patrol officers. Hailey’s mood had changed drastically upon arriving at the scene. She couldn’t explain why, but she felt uneasy as she jumped out of the truck and secured her badge and gun to her hip.

As they approached, Kevin pursed his lips together and let out a two-tone whistle as he caught sight of Hailey.

“Damn girl, sorry to pull you away from whatever had you all cleaned up,” he told her, cocking his head to the side as she shook her head at him with a smirk. Her eyes caught sight of Voight’s as they darted between her and Jay and she became nervous, imagining that he was putting two and two together. She decided to change the subject quickly before any further comments could ensue.

“Oh, shut up,” she told him. “What do we got?” She asked, spinning her head around the scene and taking in the myriad of patrol cars.

“I think it’s something you have to unfortunately see for yourself. I do have to say, you might want to brace yourself for this one,” he said, turning to lead them inside. Jay and Hailey met eyes, sharing a look of concern before turning and following Kevin and Voight inside.

Walking through the front door, they collectively grimaced at the overwhelming smell of blood that tinged their noses. They hesitantly made their way deeper into the house and Hailey’s heart dropped when she caught sight of a family of four, a couple and their two kids, all tied up and shot dead on the living room floor. That uneasy feeling from before suddenly made sense. She clenched her jaw, groaning at the sight as she looked away, recognizing the same unsettled look in the face of each of her fellow officers.

“What the hell happened here?” Jay asked, looking over at Kevin for the answer.

“This is the second home invasion robbery in this neighborhood this week. Robbery-homicide has been working these guys since the first one, but so far they’ve come up with no leads. Whoever these guys are, they’re professionals. It’s a two-man crew, they come in through the back, dressed head to toe in dark attire, get what they need, kill the family, and get out. They’re in and out in less than 10 minutes and they’ve got a getaway driver who knows how to avoid traffic cameras. Robbery-homicide tells me these guys killed a family of three earlier this week, and that the dad had bruises on his body in addition to the gunshot wound that killed him. Now, what’s interesting is in this case, the mom is the one with these bruises. These families were definitely targeted, we’re just not sure how or why,” he explained causing them each to frown.

While Kevin explained the case, Hailey fell silent as the details brought her back to a string of cases she had worked during her time in robbery-homicide. She spent weeks chasing after a crew targeting families who had shopped at a high-end jewelry store, only that connection was missed for the first half of the investigation. By the time she and her team had finally caught on to why the families were being targeted, four families had already been killed, five kids below the age of ten among the victims. Hailey beat herself up for months knowing if they had caught onto the pattern sooner, they could have saved more of the families - more of the kids. This case sounded eerily similar, and she was bound to not let history repeat itself.  

“How’d we catch this if robbery-homicide was on it?” Jay asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as his gaze intentionally avoided the gruesome scene before them.

“Miller assigned it to us. She wanted a fresh pair of eyes. She’s getting a lot of heat from the press about there being no leads, especially since this is a high-end neighborhood. Plus, these guys have already killed three tender-aged kids. I want the animals on a stick,” Voight replied straightly.

“Do we know what they’re after?” Hailey asked, her brain already working to establish a connection.  

“No, and that’s what’s given our robbery-homicide guys so much trouble. The only connection is that both families have had pretty high-tech safes somewhere in the house. Last house it was in a bedroom closet, but this one was in the basement. It seems like these guys make their way in, beat the location and combo of the safe out of one of the parents, get what they need, and off the entire family before hauling ass out,” Kevin told them.

“Well, I’ve worked cases like this one before. If we’re going to get anywhere, we need to figure out what it was they wanted and how they knew about it. We’re on a time crunch now, because it’s only a matter of time before these guys strike again,” she said, turning and leaving the house without waiting for any of their responses.

After leaving the scene, they all made their way back to the district to go over the files robbery-homicide had sent over. They browsed over the files for a couple of hours before Voight sent them home, needing them to rest up and refresh before they dove completely into the case the next day. The familiarity of the case was itching at Hailey, but as much as she wanted to see something that everyone else was missing, she came up short in every place she looked.

The next morning, she and Jay got coffee together. She had been quiet since they caught the case. Jay picked up on her shift in mood that occurred from the restaurant to the scene, but he left it alone to give her the space she seemed to need. He eventually built up the nerve to ask what was wrong. She told him about her old case and how much it meant to catch the guys and quickly. He agreed, admitting to her how much seeing those dead kids struck a nerve. He reassured her they would catch them one way or another. As they walked out of the coffee shop, a call came over the radio:

Units over the city-wide, we got calls of a home invasion. 1433 N State Street

“Gold Coast, that’s the same neighborhood as the other home invasions, you think that’s our guys?” Jay asked looking over at Hailey as he held the radio up.

“Could be, let’s roll on it,” she told him, rushing towards his truck as he followed, telling dispatch they were taking the call.

They rolled up to the scene, carefully clearing the house together, but they arrived too late, and the offenders were gone. They found the couple who lived there in the same position as the last two families, only they still had a pulse. Hailey tried asking them what the offenders were after, but all she got were incoherent mutterings from each victim. They both died before ambulances could arrive, but just the same as the other cases, only the husband had signs of bruising in addition to the gunshot wound, and a safe was found in the back of a linen closet. While crime techs combed the house, Hailey made her way out to the back garden, finding a hose to rinse the victim’s blood from her hands. Her hands were shaking so much, she couldn’t quite scrub enough to get them clean. Jay caught sight of her through the window and wade his way out to her, grabbing her hands in his to steady them. She looked up at him as he nodded his head, taking the hose and helping her scrub her hands clean. Once they were clear, he held her hands in his for a minute longer, quickly releasing them when someone cleared their throat behind them. When they turned around Voight was standing there, his hands deep in his pockets, eyeing the two of them as they took a step back from one another. If he didn’t know about them before, he definitely did then.

“You get anything new on these guys?” He asked, a knowing look plastered across his face.

“No, Sarge. They were gone by the time we pulled up,” Jay told him, dropping the hose to the ground.

“Well, get back to it. We’ve wasted enough time as it is, we’ve got to catch these guys,” he said bluntly, turning and making his way back into the house. The two of them stayed there frozen, shaking their heads at how careless they had been to let him walk up on them like that.

Back at the district, they scrubbed the lives of all of the victims, still coming up with no connection between any of them. Nighttime arrived once again with no leads and no suspects, so they decided to call it and head home. That night, Hailey laid awake, tossing and turning for hours. She tried every method she knew to fight off the insomnia that had kept her restless, but nothing was able to lull her into a slumber. It was the case that was keeping her up, and her eyes stared blankly at the ceiling while a million theories circulated through her mind. Something about it just didn’t make sense, and she couldn’t shake the idea that they had been missing an obvious connection. The faces of the couple she tried to save earlier that day remained at the forefront of her mind, and after a while of fighting off the urge to get out of bed and chase that gut feeling, she finally slipped out from the grasp of Jay’s limp arm, carefully retreating from the bed as to not wake him. She made her way over to her closet, pulling on a pair of jeans and slipping a sweatshirt over her head before grabbing her badge and gun from the nightstand and sliding her phone into her back pocket. She made her way to her office, retrieving a sticky note and pen to write Jay a message letting him know where she was going.

Couldn’t sleep. Gone back to the district, needed to go over the case again. ♡

She tiptoed back into the bedroom and placed the note on her pillow where she knew he’d see if he happened to wake up. She grabbed her coat and opened the front door, slowly guiding it closed on her way out, still trying her best to be as quiet as possible. She wasn’t sure what she would be looking for when she arrived at the district, but she had hoped that studying it alone and in the quietness of the empty bullpen would provide her with a new perspective. She made herself a cup of coffee before walking over to her desk and opening up every file they had on the case. She paced the floor of the empty space, flipping through files and studying photos until she was sure there was nothing to see. Finally, she hoisted herself onto the top of her desk, pulling her knees into her chest and eyeing the board for something they may have been missing. Suddenly, she heard the beeping of the keypad and the clanging of the door opening and closing downstairs. She checked her phone to see the time. It was 4 am, and she couldn’t imagine who else would be up that early. She did a double-take as Jay made his way around the corner, a look of exhaustion on his face as he sent her a lazy smile.

“What are you doing here?” She asked him, unclasping her hands from around her knees and pulling herself to the edge of the desk.

“Funny, I was about to ask you the same thing,” he said with a smirk, pulling his jacket from his shoulders and resting it on the back of her desk chair.

“I couldn’t sleep. Something about this case was keeping me up, so I figured instead of lying in bed and staring at the ceiling for hours I would try and make myself useful. You didn’t have to come check on me. I’m fine,” she told him, the corners of her lips curling up into a reassuring smile as he came to stand over her.

“I couldn’t go back to sleep once I realized you were gone,” he told her softly with a slight pout before turning to lean on the desk beside her. “So, what have you figured out?” He asked, his attention turning to the board before them. She sighed, crossing her arms and staring at the crime scene photos as he waited for her response.

“I don’t know. I mean these families have no connections. The kids all go to different schools, they all work at completely different places, they don’t even shop at the same stores, I can’t seem to figure out where their lives intersect, so I just don’t understand why they’re being targeted,” she ran down, looking over at Jay whose eyes surveyed the information on the board.

“Maybe it’s about more than just the robbery. I mean they’re taking time to kill every member of the family, including the kids. Unless these guys are just straight-up psychopaths, it sounds like whatever is going on could be personal,” Jay suggested, looking over at his partner whose eyes were transfixed on one particular photo on the case board. His words sparked something in her, and she caught sight of the words Resurgence Tech written in bold font on a magnet on the refrigerator from the second crime scene. She knew the name was familiar, but she couldn’t remember how.

She pulled out the files from each of the cases and found what she was looking for. An email address registered in the husband’s name from the first robbery ending in resurgencetech.co. Looking at the other files, she was able to establish a connection between all of them leading back to a company previously known as Resurgence Tech. As she and Jay investigated through the night, they were able to figure out what was being stolen and why it was worth killing over. Resurgence Tech was a company co-founded by four individuals, Ryan Ethers, victim of the first robbery, Scarlett Jameson, victim of the second, Max Lin, victim from the third, and Lianne Meadows, who lived in a house in the Gold Coast District close to the previous victims. Five years prior, Resurgence Tech created a breakthrough idea for a high-tech medical device that had the potential to significantly change the practice of medicine. However, after hours of gathering information and records, the two detectives found out that the design was actually stolen from two brothers who had developed the original idea for a project they were working on in college. Resurgence used their power and influence to discredit the claims of the brothers, blacklisting them from the entire industry, and eventually pulling the design before it could ever meet the market. Not long after, Resurgence shut down for good, liquidating its assets and washing its hands of its shady actions for good. Digging deeper into the four co-founders of Resurgence and knowing more about where to look, Hailey and Jay were able to find email exchanges between them all discussing what to do with the patent plans for the stolen design in case there ever came a time to reintroduce the tech to the market. The strategy was to split the plans between the four of them, each keeping a piece locked up on a thumb drive hidden in a safe.

As soon as the sun rose that morning, Hailey called Voight and the rest of the team to come in. She explained the connection and identified the brothers as suspects, describing how the robberies must have been to obtain the thumb drives and get vengeance for the way Resurgence screwed them over. The situation had a significant impact on the brothers’ lives, leading them to turn to a life of crime, describing how they got connected with an armed robbery crew, and began pulling jobs across the city before getting caught only a year after Resurgence blacklisted them from the tech industry. They were released early due to overcrowding and good behavior, so they got out, hacked into the emails of the individuals that ruined their lives, and found out the design was out there, still viable to be profited from. Running on anger and revenge and using the skills they developed in their time with the robbery crew, they sought to take back what was theirs. They were operating under the theory that the two brothers were committing the crimes, and a guy that used to run with them in their old robbery crew was taking on the role as the getaway driver.

“Well, let’s go scoop ‘em up,” Voight said upon hearing the rundown of the case.

“Sarge, as much as I want to bring these guys in, we don’t have any evidence on them. There’s been no DNA, no prints, no witnesses tying these guys to these cases. There’s no way they’re going to talk, and if we bring them in, they’re just going to get released even if we keep them for the full 48 hours. By then they’ll have already made plans to run,” Jay said.

“These guys have killed nine people, three of those people being little kids. If we don’t act now, they’re going to strike again and that’s going to be blood on our hands. We bring them in, and we make them talk. I don’t care if we have to threaten them, or if we get ‘em to flip on each other. Either way, we’re not just going to sit around and wait for something to happen on this one. Not when we’ve got a pile of bodies growing the longer we sit here with our thumbs up our asses. So, Hailey, Jay, I want you two going to pick these guys up,” Voight bit back, a distinct annoyance in his voice. He had been on edge throughout the entirety of the case, but his temper seemed to have only increased after walking up on Jay and Hailey at the scene a day prior.

As much as Hailey wanted to side with Voight, she knew Jay was right. Bringing them in with no evidence and no witnesses placing them at any of the scenes would only guarantee them getting to walk, something she was determined to not let happen.

“Sarge, we can’t,” she muttered, swallowing what felt like a rock in her throat as his face fell with bitter surprise.

“What?” He challenged, his head dropping down as he cut his eyes at her.

“Jay is right. We can’t just jump on these guys with no evidence or else we risk losing them for good. I know you want to get these guys quick, but there’s got to be a better play,” she replied, taking note of the uncomfortable looks expressed by the other Intelligence members who quietly observed the interaction from the other side of the room. She watched as he pulled the inside of his cheek between his teeth.

“Remind me, who’s the sergeant of this unit?” The question carried a great deal of weight, and everyone in the room fell silent as his eyes travelled between each of the five intelligence members. “You don’t have to agree with what I say, but there’s a chain of command here and I expect you to listen to me. Now, unless there’s another sergeant in this unit I’m unaware of, I’m in charge. So, I’m only going to say this one last time. Jay, Hailey, go pick these guys up. I have to go update Miller on what’s going on. Those guys better be sitting in interrogation when I get back. End of,” he roared, making his way past the officers who remained frozen in place.

While Adam, Kevin, and Kim went back to work, Hailey grabbed her jacket, heading down the hallway out to the parking lot to follow the sergeant’s orders.

“Hailey, wait,” Jay called after her, grabbing her arm and pulling her into the observation room where he knew the others wouldn’t be able to hear them.

“What?” She questioned, a look of concern on her face as he silently thought through his words.

“I think I have another play,” he told her.

“Jay, he seemed- “she began before he cut her off.

“No, I know, but you know I’m right. We bring these guys in now and these families will never get the justice they deserve. We know there’s only one family left on their list, Lianne Meadows. The only move we have left is to catch these guys in the act. I say we sit on her house and wait for the robbery to go down, snatch them up, and then we have the guns tying them to the other cases and we have leverage to get them to flip if we need to,” Jay told her, the look in his eyes pleading with her to agree.

She knew Jay was right, but she also knew what going against Voight’s orders would mean. By that point, it was safe to assume he knew about their relationship. She knew that alone would be cause for him to assign them to different partners or even to different units. Teaming up and going against him would only increase the chances of him pulling the trigger on that. From the start of the case, she knew she wanted to catch the guys no matter what, but she never imagined it would involve making a decision that could possibly jeopardize her partnership with Jay. Every part of her knew his way was the only option that gave them a chance of making things right, yet she knew there would be a cost to them both going against Voight’s orders.

“You’re right… but let me do it alone,” she told him, causing him to frown at her words.

“What? No, I can’t let you go after these guys by yourself,” he argued, a combination of concern and annoyance in his voice.

“Jay, if we do this together it’s only going to give him reason to split us up. I have a feeling we’re already on his hit list after everything that has happened these past few days, and if he sees that we’re siding with each other… going rogue against his orders? He could reassign us partners, or worse, ship one of us off again. You, this partnership, our relationship, it all means too much to me to risk. If I go alone, only I take the fall, and he doesn’t have reason to use our relationship against us,” Hailey told him, moving a hand to his chest as she spoke.

Pushing him away and crossing that line by herself was the only way she knew how to protect both their relationship and their partnership. With her history of crossing lines, she had hoped it would just seem like another questionable decision she made all on her own, and he wouldn’t have reason to punish both of them by splitting them up.

“Hailey, I’m not just letting you go there without backup,” he finally said, his jaw set tightly as he peered into her eyes.

“I’ll have Trudy assign some patrol guys for backup. That way you and the others don’t take fall back from Voight, but I won’t be going in alone,” she replied, moving the hand from his chest to cup his face. “I’ll be fine,” she told him.

He nodded hesitantly before sliding his fingers down her arm and wrapping his hand around hers.

“Be careful,” he insisted, squeezing her hand lightly.

“Of course,” she nodded back before opening the door and disappearing down the hall.

She sat out front of the house, the patrol officers waiting a street over for her signal. It had been about an hour and she had already dodged two calls from Voight. Her patience was running thin with every minute that passed without a sign of the crew. Then, she spotted a dark van creeping down the street and she slumped down in her seat, trying to avoid being seen. As the van approached the house, two men rolled out of the back door as the van maintained a low speed before stopping down at the end of the street. The second the men made it around the back of the house, Hailey radioed the patrol guys, climbing out of her car and drawing her weapon as she followed the offenders around the back. When the patrol guys caught up, she nodded to one of them, signaling them to open the back door and enter the home. The second they made it through the doorway, they were catching fire. Hailey took cover behind a door frame, keying her radio attached to her vest.

“10-1, 10-1, shots fired at the police, 1327 N Dearborn Street. Be advised patrol and plainclothes officers on scene,” she yelled into the radio, securing her free hand back on her gun before motioning the officers to press forward. They made their way into the house, carefully clearing each room as they passed through. When they made it to the front of the house, she caught sight of one of the guys escaping out the front door.

“5021 Henry I’m in foot pursuit of a suspect in an alleyway going west across the street from the original location,” she called out into the radio as she pumped her legs with each step, trying to control her breath as she chased after the suspect. He rounded a corner and she slowed down, holding her gun out to peer around the corner before continuing the pursuit. The next thing she knew, her gun was being kicked out of her hands and she was being thrown against the wall, hitting the side of her head against brick and feeling blood trickle down her face. She brought a knee up into her attacker’s groin, giving her a brief opening to connect an elbow with the side of his head. Falling to the ground, the man grabbed at her ankle, bringing her down with him before grabbing hold of her vest and laying a fist into her jaw. The blow sent her backward, shooting pain into the side of her face. She caught sight of her gun on the ground a few feet away and went to crawl for it, but he grabbed at her leg, drawing her backward toward him as she stretched her fingertips towards the handle. He was stronger than her, and he managed to pull her back enough to regain hold of her vest, winding up to lay another fist into her face. Before he could, she wrapped a leg around his, twirling him over so she was hovering over him. She began laying fist after fist into his masked face until she suddenly felt a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, sending her elbow backwards towards the person. It was grabbed instantly, and she wiggled in the grasp before turning around and taking in the familiar green eyes of her partner.

“Hailey, we got him,” he said, holstering his gun and grabbing her by each arm to pull her up from the ground. Kim came from behind him, removing the mask from the offender and rolling him over to place him in cuffs. Meanwhile, Jay wrapped Hailey in his arms, bringing his chin down to her head as they swayed together in an embrace. Her breath was heavy and shaky, and she felt tears pool at the corners of her eyes. She was overwhelmed by everything that had just happened, but his arms wound tightly around her helped steady her breathing.

“It’s okay Hailey, you’re safe. I’ve got you,” he reassured her through a whisper. She took comfort in his words, and despite the pain surging through her head, she buried it deeper into his chest.

Luckily, they had reached the target and her family in time before the offenders could do any harm. Hailey went to Med to get her head checked out. A few stitches and several scans later, she was cleared, making her way back to the district to take whatever repercussions Voight had in store for her. The second she made it up the stairs, everyone’s eyes fell on her and she just flashed them a gentle smile and nod, signaling to them she was okay. Voight came to the doorway of his office, and she didn’t miss a beat heading straight towards him. However, just before she reached the door, his attention shifted over towards Jay at his desk.

“You too, Jay,” was all the sergeant said before turning and moving back into his office. Jay stood, making his way over and closing the door behind him before coming to stand beside Hailey across from the Voight’s desk. He looked over at them silently for a moment, Hailey setting her jaw tightly as she braced for whatever was to come.

“Are we just making a habit out of disobeying me and questioning my orders? Is that what we’re doing now?” He asked them. They remained silent. “Because if that’s what we’re doing and you’ve got a problem with how I run things, there’s the door. You can get out right now,” he told them sternly.

“Sarge, we needed to get those guys. Catching them in the act was the only way. I did what I had to do to make sure those families got justice,” Hailey said, her eyes remaining fixed with his.

“I told you to pick them up, bring them in, and instead you went your own way, putting that family, yourself, and a couple of patrol officers at risk. I could suspend you over this,” he argued, a distinct tension building in his voice.

“Sarge, it was my idea. If anyone deserves punishment, it’s me,” Jay admitted, causing Hailey’s head to swivel his direction, a cross look on her face as the words left his mouth.

“No, that’s not… Look, I went there on my own. I’m the only one to blame here,” Hailey argued causing him to shake his head before them.

“Okay, look. I know there’s something going on between you two, I have known for a while,” the second the words left his mouth, their eyes met briefly, and they both swallowed hard before turning back to him. “I decided to turn a blind eye because you two were able to keep it strictly professional here at work as far as I was concerned. But what happened today, what’s happening right now… this lying to me and covering for each other is not welcome in my unit. This is your warning and it’s the only one you’re going to get. As long as I’m in charge of this unit, you listen to me. You don’t go off-book, you don’t go behind my back because you disagree with what I say, and you certainly don’t let whatever is going on between you two change the way you make decisions. I know you guys are going to have each other’s backs… as partners and as whatever else, but the second that trumps having my back and the team's back, the way it did today, it undermines my authority and puts all of us at risk. If anything happens again like what happened today, you’re both done, and I’ll make sure you never work in the same unit again. Is that clear?” He asked them.

“Understood,” Jay replied.

“Yes, Sarge,” Hailey uttered, her heart rate dropping significantly with relief.

They drove home that night in silence, partly from exhaustion and partly from trying to process everything that had happened in the past 72 hours. Three days ago, they were on their first official date, celebrating their relationship for what felt like the first time, and now they were coming down from what could have easily been the end of their job and their partnership. Even though she hated the way it had to go down, she stood by having Jay’s back and trying to protect their relationship, even if it meant muddying the waters between them and Voight. From the start of the case, she was determined to catch the guys, chasing a small sense of redemption she felt she needed for that case she worked so many years prior. She wasn’t happy about everything that happened, particularly everything that went wrong, but she was able to save a family and get some form of justice for the others, and she stood by that firmly. It wasn’t the first time she had challenged Voight or crossed lines, but it was the first time she was genuinely fearful of the consequences. She was just glad her fears didn’t come to fruition. She looked over at Jay in the driver’s seat, and she remembered the way he told her she was safe after pulling her from the attacker only hours prior. Safe wasn’t something she had felt often in her life, but she certainly felt it when she was with him. She smiled to herself in the dark, satisfied to know that at least for that day, despite everything that happened, their relationship and their partnership were two things she could still consider safe.

[dontbesoweirdkira]

Can you do a list of Mic being pure w/ his favorite student, (y/n) (like, he’s not afraid to show it), but she’s living with her friend and their family since she’s alone in Japan, and trying to keep it a secret. But when he finds out he’s just “ASDFGHJKLWHAT”, and he’s trying to help her with so many things, which soon evolves to “custody of child—”.

https://dontbesoweirdkira.tumblr.com/post/189518600672/hey-its-me-again-i-hope-you-are-still-open-for

A/N: I first would like to say I ALSO HAVE EATEN A NUCLEAR REACTOR...it tasted like radiation and strawberries yummy!  Here’s your soft present mic X student. I hope you enjoy.  

(I kind of made it where you aren’t fully living with your friend. Just bouncing from the streets to her house every so often if that makes sense??)Requests open

-So at first Mic didn’t notice anything was up...well no he did but he kind of brushed it off since he didn’t want to cross any boundaries.

-Like when he asked for your parents signature but they were always somehow “out of town” or “working overtime” 

-Or when he was going to offer you a ride home since it was pretty late but you just insisted to walk by yourself. And how you didn’t bother to call them and let them know you were going to be home a bit later than usual. 

-He was always curious but like i said he didn’t want to cross a boundary and make you feel uncomfortable about something so personal. Besides how would he bring it up?

-”Hey Y/N, Why do you always conveniently “forget” to fill out your home address on forms?” 

-Yeah see his dilemma?^ And like what if it was nothing and it really was just a convenience.  It seemed better to leave it alone and not worry. You’d tell him if something was going on, right?

-Maybe one day you’re talking to your friend and He’s just around the corner so he overhears the conversation.

-”Hey Y/N, my family is going out of town for a few weeks. I- i would ask if you could come with so you’ll have some place to stay but we are going out of the county and you know how that is..”

-”Oh..um..Don’t worry, I'll figure something out.”

-”Are you sure? I- i can always leave the house key so you can have somewhere safe to go? But uhm, My cousin might come over every so often to watch a game or to check the house so be alert and make sure he doesn’t see you.” 

-”N-No it’s okay, seriously. I’ll find somewhere to go, thank you though. ”

-”Well, I'll leave the key under the doormat if you change your mind, we’re leaving in the afternoon tomorrow so after then the place will be yours for a bit.I’ll text you later, ‘kay?”

-He’s shocked?? Like he thought maybe your at home life wasn’t good or maybe you were embarrassed about living in a low income place, but you were homeless?? And you’ve been staying with your friends every so often?? Why didn’t you tell him? Did you not feel comfortable? He’s in this weird state of shock and acknowledgement.

-For the rest of the school day hE Is cOnTemPlaTiNg oN WhaT tO Do. He’s not sure how he should bring it up or even if he should bring it up. 

- *is casually being torn apart internally as he’s trying to teach english*

-*dEeP sPaCe STarE while he is standing at the board pointing to the sentence structures*

-”Sensei, are you oka-”

-”IMTHINKINGASHARDASICANTOFIGUREOUTASOLUTIONDONTPRESSUREMEoKaY.”

-lolol but once classes are over he taps you on the shoulder and asks if he could walk with you home for a bit. You visibly nervous, you reject and say “Umm It’s all right Mr.Hizashi, you’re busy and I don't want you to take up any of your time plus it’s late and I'm tired and i have to go and-”

-”Y/n...You don’t have to make up excuses, I know you don’t have anywhere to stay.”

-stopping in your tracks, your eyes went wide and you faced him 

-”I heard you talking to that friend this morning.”

-M-mr.Hizashi I can explain-”

-cutting you off once again he begins “Hey, you don’t have to do any of that. It’s your business. But I don’t want you to just roaming around or staying anywhere alone anymore, okay? If you would like, I have an extra bedroom at my house, you can stay there until we get everything sorted.”

-”No..Mr.Hizashi...It’s okay..I’ll be okay, I’ve always have. Plus you have been such a great teacher and already went out of your way more than what I could have asked...staying with you would be too much.”

-”Y/n, it’s okay to ask for help. I seriously don’t mind. At least stay for the night so you can eat and have a roof over your head, then in the morning we’ll figure something out.”

-You hesitantly accepted but you told him that you’d be out of his hair as soon as the next morning hit.

-That night going to his house was...nice to say the least. The guest bedroom that he had was bigger than your friend’s kitchen and nicer than any place that you’ve stayed at. It really was heaven. So warm and cosy. There was a nice sense of nostalgia and security, something you’ve haven’t felt in years. His home was somewhere anyone would want to live in their whole lives. 

-”Once you’ve settled down, you can come to the dining room. I ordered some take out, I figured you’d be hungry.”

-For a moment you sat on the fluffy bed and just took in everything. God was so good to you right now and honestly you thanked him. Although it frustrates you to think that this would only last for a second and you’d be back on the streets, roaming around. Yeah yeah, Hizashi wants to help you but you knew soon he’d get tired of your presence in his house…..they all did. 

-Taking a deep breath, you went to go meet hizashi in the dining room.

-He welcomed you then motioned you to sit down at any of the seats at the table. “Oh hey, there’s miss america. You may sit anywhere you’d like. And help yourself to the food here.”

-You sat down across from him, only not to look at him just to have your eyes on the empty plate in front of you. You didn’t really touch any of the food actually or even make a sound. You weren’t trying to be rude or anything, you just..there was a lot on your mind and facing hizashi seemed difficult.

-”Are you okay Y/N? I hope sushi is okay. I- i meant to um ask what you would like to eat first. I’m sorry.”

-”No I’m sorry for-,”  twiddling your thumbs for a moment you then looked towards the blonde fellow “Mr.Hizashi..My parents left when I was around three but they left me with my aunt. She was a very good person and took good care of me but she got very ill...and um you know. At first I was living in her apartment but i couldn’t pay for it when it was time for rent so..I stayed with my friend for a couple of months. But her parents kind of got tired of me staying there and it was this thing, so I lied and told them I found a family member to stay with. And um up until now I've been staying on the streets. Sometimes having a sleepover once every so often.”

-”Y/n…”

-”I didn’t tell you because I was so scared… I didn't know what to do and I really really don’t want to go in foster care or anything so I just thought I was better off keeping it from you. But I guess it backfired anyways because you still found out haha….I’m sorry Hizashi. I hope you don’t think of me any less. I- it was a tough situation and all and you know how that is...”

-He immeadately stood up, walked over to you and hugged you. It was with So mUcH compassion and genuine love. You really was his favorite student no scratch that HIS FAVORITE HUMAN i swear he would end the world for you. 

-He gave you a little cheek kiss and was like “I’m not letting anyone put you in foster care and I'm sure as hell am not kicking you out even if i have to take custody of you.”

-”w-wait what? wAiT wHaT???”

-”KID IM fucking keeping you here safe with me even if i’m in court all year. We are going to make this work somehow, you aren’t doing this alone anymore. Do you understand?”

-YeAh hEs cRyInG iM cRyinG yOuRe CryInG wE aLl CryinG 

-BRO YOU ARE UGLY CRYING NOT NO SOFT CUTE CRY LIKE HAHA YOU SOUND LIKE A WALRUS TRYING TO SAY ‘t-tH-Th-HaNKy-yyy-YoUUU-UOi  mR hIzZaShIiIi”

-He whipes the tears of your cheeks and ruffles your hair 

-”it’ll be okay Y/N, I promise.”

-I swear he’s like rushing to the computer and trying to figure out how to adopt you.

-”HoW tO aDoPt a ChILD wHen You aRe a hEro.”

-There's an actual wiki-how about it???????

-No but he’s really doing his research and is visiting lawyers trying to find the right one. He has them immediately looking into everything and making sure that his chances of getting you is as high as possible. 

-He’s up late at night on the phone, emailing,  and writing

-He has pounds and pounds of evidence that he is the most fit person to take care of you. He is not playing whatsoever

-He already let’s you decorate and he even gives you an office so you can do work or whatever. He most definitely brought you clothes and stuff for your room.

-When the courts and everything finally approves it after a long year of fighting, he picked you up and spun you around.

-”What did I tell you?!? I was not going to lose you and i made sure of that. And starting today and the rest of  forever you’ll never have to be alone.”

-BonUs

-100% takes you out somewhere super fun and nice. 

-”Wait we must take a selfie, The first day we are legally Father-daughter!”

-The most chaotic duo now, Everyone at school knows he adopted you and like he won't let anyone forget it.

-MISSSSSS AMERICAAAAAAA, is now, MISSSSSSS HIZAAAAASSSHHHHHIIIIIIII.

-”WHEEEEERRREEEE ISSS MYYYY LITTLE MUSHROOM???”

-”YYYYYY/NNNNN YOU LEFT YOUR BAG IN MY MINIVAN.”

-He has a minivan now. It also has a ‘Yeah I’m a soccer dad and i’m proud’ sticker on it.

-He joined the PTA 

-HE IS SOOO BIASED I SWEAR NO ONE IS ABOVE YOU IN HIS CLASS AND NO ONE BETTER SAY ANYTHING ABOUT IT

-Always hugging you and giving you little cheek kisses when he sees you in the halls

-Made a titled track called “Now a dad”

-he most definitely wears ‘Best Dad’ shirts now. He also is in a ‘Single dad’s in Japan’ group now

-”I think we look just alike, Don’t we Y/N?” you both smiled and posed at the same time

[diyunho]

The Joker x Reader - “Incubus”

Incubus is a special type of metahuman that can enter people’s mind and the only one known to possess such abilities is Y/N. Captured by an underground agency and forced to obey orders, she has a new task today: to get inside The Joker’s head and find out where he stashed half a billion dollars after he pulled what everybody calls “the heist of the century”.

“Regression will begin shortly,” one of the doctors announces on the intercom. “Prepare for countdown.”

You lay on the cold metal table next to the Joker’s body: he’s medicated into a dreamless sleep, ready to have you purge his mind for the answer to the burning question: where did he stash half a billion dollars?

After being arrested two weeks ago, The King of Gotham refused to speak and disclose any information to the authorities; they tried everything: drugs, blackmail, best intimidation tactics and psychologists without success.

J didn’t crack.

Fed up with the puzzling mystery, CIA decided to use the top secret research facility operating under the grid where the infamous Incubus is held prisoner.

“A few reminders,” the flat voice echoes in the sealed laboratory. “Do not attempt to elude us, we have your little girl! If you aim to play us we’ll revoke visiting time.”

You blankly stare at the ceiling, upset they repeat the same rules when you’re forced to use your powers; the 15 minutes you’re allowed to spend with Mia on Saturdays is all you live for since they incarcerated both of you six months ago.

How you wish you could kill them but they found a solution to prevent you from rebelling.

“Please note that in case you plan to get inside our brains and compel us to stop breathing, your daughter will die. Confirm acknowledgement.”

“Confirm,” you bitterly reply because it hurts to have your child endangered; you could end them right this moment if it wasn’t for her.

Unfortunately, they found a way to subdue your terrific ability: the crew assigned to project Incubus carries portable heart monitoring devices 24/7; they resemble wrist watches and if just one individual’s pulse deactivates, it will set of the explosive in Mia’s collar. The 5 years old has no clue that what she believes to be a cute necklace is actually a device meant to eradicate her.

“Countdown to regression,” the clinician reports and the speakers carry his words around the room. “Five, four, three, two, one. Initiate!”

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

You walk in the darkness, surprised you didn’t bump into memories yet: usually that’s the first thing you stumble upon when invading a person’s subconscious. He’s been under your spell for 10 minutes now and the void proves his twisted mind is probably worse than anyone thinks: The Clown is lost in the maze of his own insanity.

A couple more steps and you finally distinguish four doors ahead which means you’ll be able to analyze The Joker’s recollections.  

First Door

The little boy cries in the middle of the room and you slowly approach, wondering if you should interfere or just observe. But tears fall from those innocent blue eyes and the fact that he’s maybe your daughter’s age makes you decide.

“Why are you crying?” you kneel by the young Joker and he wipes his face with the sleeves of his raggedy shirt:

“My mommy died.”

“Did she? I’m sorry… Do you miss her?” you manipulate the conversation since warping his thoughts might lead to your quest: discovering where the money is.

“U-hum,” he nods and asks. “I don’t like it at the orphanage, I want to go home…”

“Perhaps I can help,” you pull him in your arms and he whispers:

“Who are you?”

“Your worst nightmare,” Y/N sadly concludes because it doesn’t bring her joy to distort an already broken mind, nevertheless she‘s here bearing a clear purpose. “It’s ok,” you hold the child and soothe him. “I’m sorry this happened to you.”

The little boy whimpers, clinging to the stranger showing him kindness then vanishes in thin air: you got rid of a painful memory and replaced it with a nicer one.

Now The Joker will remember that someone comforted him when in reality it never happened.

Second Door

The young man is standing in front of the burning cottage while the firefighters are struggling to put out the blaze. He’s covered in ashes and his lips are barely moving; you can hardly discern what he keeps on repeating:

“They’re still inside… they’re still inside…”

The 24 years old Joker is numb and all you can conclude he seemed so different back in the day.

“Who’s inside?” you inquire and he glimpses your way without realizes he’s in shock.

“My wife and son. I couldn’t save them… I didn’t make it to the second level, the flames were too strong…”

You bend over and grab the blanket resting at his feet, placing it around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry they’re gone, you did everything you could.”

He glares at the Incubus for a split moment before disappearing: you just lift the burden of a horrifying experience and now The Joker will remember that someone offered consolation when in reality it never happened.

Third Door

The man is sitting on the floor with his back against the padded wall, tightly confined inside his straight jacket. He keeps screaming, then maniacally laughing and sobbing in the same time while straining to escape the garment.

“Calm down,” you slide near him. “You’ll hurt yourself if you continue.”

The 27 years old tries to articulate a couple of coherent sounds before reprising his yelling.

“Stop squirming,” you cup his face and make him pay attention. “Look at me. Relax,” you caress his cheeks. “Deep breaths, ok?” you plead with the madman. “Sssttt, it’s fine…” Y/N stares in his eyes and the shouting gradually dies out. “There you go,” you brush your forehead on J’s prior to him fading away: you switched a terrible incident into better conclusion by mimicking sympathy when in reality it never happened.  

Fourth Door

You’re surprised to notice The Joker talking to shadows: a woman and a little girl judging by their silhouettes; he resembles the most wanted criminal lying 10 inches apart from you in the secured establishment pushing you to accomplish their instructions.

A recent memory? Does it mean he has another family?...

You want to come closer and the sight of the contours disappearing is intriguing; The Clown rubs his temples and you can tell he’s distressed.

“What’s going on?” you dig in his brain for responses.

“They took my Queen and my Princess!” he grinds his teeth with resentment.

“Do you know where they are?”

“Yes,” J grumbles and evaporates saying a baffling phrase: ”I have to find the perfect plan in order to reclaim what’s mine!”

So weird the memory dispersed before you misled the truth in your favor … What the heck is going on?!...

The Cell

No rooms left and you stroll in the murkiness again, angry your scheme didn’t lead towards a better result: oddly enough The King of Gotham failed to unveil extra hints that could have aid you in discovering where the fortune he snatched is.

“Hello sugar,” the raspy intonation halts you in your tracks.

Y/N detects the heavy bars forming this square shaped cell containing what she suspects to be a version of The Joker; it’s difficult to restrain her astonishment since she’s witnessing a rare phenomenon: nothing less than a mind prison.

Jackpot! If he buried something deep inside and locked it even from himself it could mean you reached your destination.

“It’s nice to have visitors,” the eerie apparition chuckles. “It gets lonely.”

“I bet,” you pout. “Why don’t you break free?”

He kicks the bars, enraged he has to explain:

“I’m sure a superior creature such as the lady joining me knows a mind prison can only be opened from the outside!”

He’s self-aware! This is absolutely unbelievable: humans are never conscious within the deepest layers of their psyche.

“You are correct: you can only open it from the outside,” you agree. “What’s your name?”

“Joker. What’s yours?”

“Y/N.”

“Duh, I know,” he snickers and lets his tattooed arms hang loose outside the bars. “You have a kid, right?”

He sees your doubt and his gratification builds up to new highs.

“Yes.”

“What’s her name?”

“How do you know it’s a she?!” you counterattack with a quiz.

Damn, this whole charade is getting more and more fascinating by the second!

“I know soooooo many things,” the entity yawns. “For example I’m sure you wonder how I ended up in here.”

No sign you would deny his rambling thus he enlightens the riddle:

“Some are born with certain “gifts”, some develop them after a traumatic experience. I’m the lucky recipient of the latest, although I was locked in here from day one. If I had someone shatter the seal and by someone I mean you,” he points his finger at the smirking Y/N, “I could help you run from the place you hate. Tell me I’m wrong, but aren’t you trapped also?”

“You’re sneaky, I’ll give you that,” you laugh at his attempts to influence your actions.

“And you’re too powerful not to realize what’s going on! Snap out of it!!!” he hisses. “Are you single sugar?” the anger building up makes Y/N frown.

“None of your business!”

“Humor me, I beg,” he emphasizes the words.

“Yes,” you scoff and his demeanor doesn’t lower your guard.

“Are you 100% certain you’re not married?”

“What’s this nonsense?!” you sneer at the stupid conversation.

“Maybe you don’t remember because you created your own mind prison where you chained crucial data in order to protect the ones you love after you were captured. What’s your daughter’s name?” he sulks and you grumble.

“Mia.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am; do you think I don’t know my child’s name?”

“And you think I don’t recognize my own wife standing in front of me??!!!!” he snaps at your hesitation. “Set me free! Set me free and I’ll show you! I can get inside your mind and unlock your cage: you’ll remember everything!”

“Who do you think you’re talking to?!” you growl at the absurd sentences: like his devious tactic would work on you!

“I’m talking to the Incubus, am I not?”

Your mouth opens in amazement since there is no way in hell he could know that.

“Do I have your attention now?” the beast reprimands. “Good! Here’s what you deliberately forgot: nobody knows that we’re married, it’s better that way; yet a woman with your capabilities is bound to attract unwanted attention anyway. When we got together, we had a deal: you’ll never get inside my head and you consented. No? Doesn’t ring a bell?...” he cracks his joints. “After they took you and Emma from me…”

“Who’s Emma?” you interrupt, more and more convinced there’s something fishy happening inside The Joker’s subconscious.

“Our daughter, her name is not Mia, you just replaced it after you were both kidnapped in order to sever all connections with the past. Can’t blame you: it’s a great strategy given the circumstances: create a mind prison, hide everything connected to protect me and her. Last thing you needed was for them to find out we are actually acquainted in the most intimate way. That would have been a disaster! Do you know why I stole half a billion dollars and let them catch me? I knew that if I do that they’ll use everything possible under the sun to make me spill the beans. When all fails, won’t they flaunt the last ace in their sleeve? That’s how I got here sugar, it was the ultimate goal. I can’t function without my girls so I came to get them!”

“Listen here,” your menacing attitude takes over. “Who do you take me for?! Your fictional tale is starting to piss me off so I advise you to quit before I make your neurons crumble to pieces!”

“I’ll pretend I didn’t hear it,” the feral beast sniffs the air. “You always kept your end of the bargain and never got in here before to poke the past. I respect that, sugar. Now I had no choice besides letting you in.”

“Stop it! Stop your lies!! You’re nothing more than a projection of The Joker’s mind!”

“Ahhhh,” the evil grin flourishes behind the silver teeth. “I am so much more than that. Do you want to get out of this facility? I suggest you set me free and I will prove I’m telling the truth!”

“Bullshit! What can you do anyway?! I can kill everyone and run, but my daughter will die!”

“Not if I help: you can make them stop breathing and I could keep the hearts beating until we get the key that unlocks Emma’s collar! It’s a dual team mission.”

“Her name is Mia! How do you know about the collar?!” the dumbfounded Y/N mumbles.

“Weren’t you listening? I know a lot of things!”

“Even if we assume you aren’t lying, how will you keep their hearts beating?!”

“Set me free and I’ll show you! SET. ME. FREE!!!!!! Or we are fucking doomed! Set me free!” he punches the bars. “Set me free and I’ll open your mind prison! You’ll realize each word I uttered is genuine! You’ll remember all of it! SET! ME! FREE!!! What do you have to lose, huh? Nothing! Do it!! Do it!!!!”

“How could you get inside my mind?! I’m a metahuman!”

“Goddamnit! SET ME FREE AND I’ll SHOW YOU!!!!! Do you want your daughter to perish in this place?! Do you???!!!”

You definitely are beyond skeptical; still… at least he’s correct about this: you have nothing to lose; you approach with caution and part the bars enough for the trapped entity to squeeze outside.

“Thank you honey,” he clumsily bows and before you can react he snatches in his arms and kisses you.

Y/N feels this electrifying sensation taking over, stupefied to understand what it means: she just unleashed another Incubus. And she always thought she was the only one!

You gasp for air and open your eyes, processing all the recovered memories rushing through your brain: your own mind prison was opened as promised.

You tilt your head to look at The Clown and he grabs your hand, panting:

“Are you ready sugar?”

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

People keep falling to the ground, each step bringing you closer to your freedom. Emma’s face is buried in your neck as you jump over corpses on the way out of the underground laboratory:

“No peeking!” The Joker scolds and her little hands hold you tighter while obeying.

“Ok daddy.”

“Don’t be scared,” you kiss her cheek and continue the rampage towards the exit.

Screams intensify around the three detainees escaping their faith: the adults can’t afford any weakness or grant mercy to the ones that showed them none.

In the end, what is more terrifying than one Incubus that could plunge the world into complete darkness?

The answer is simple: two of them.

 Also read: MASTERLIST

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

[harveywritings92]

Modern AU:40yr old! Jacob x Accidental Wife! Reader PT. 1

Jacob is the founder and CEO to Rook security Inc. He finds out his fiancee has cheated on him and ran off with the guy, while Y/n's just been ditched at the alter by her fiancee who ran off with her best friend. She ends up at the same bar wallowing in their sorrow, they noticed each other sitting alone and started talking and drinking lots and lots of drinking till they blackout! the next morning the two wake up in a hotel room still clothed thankfully but married?! apparently in their drunken stupor they somehow found their way to a five minute wedding chapel, and thought what the hell? she's already in a dress and got rings! let's go for it! instead of annulling the marriage the two decided to give it a chance and get to know each other.

Also note: Jacob is about 38 at the beginning of the story and reader is 26. so like a 12 year age difference between them.

--------------------------------

24 hrs After being ditched by their receptive partners

Y/n had already moved in with Jacob mainly because the day after their... unorthodox union, Jacob went to drop her off at her home only to find, her ex-fiancee had Ex-BF move in and changed the locks and thrown her stuff on the curb, the y/hc woman didn't know what to do! she knows her parents were out of the question, they'd just mock and belittle Y/n for being a failure and not "perfect" like her older siblings...and her siblings were also out! they had their kids and wouldn't be able to put her up for couple weeks until she found an apartment!..

So, Y/n was lost! maybe her boss can let her sleep in the office? Next thing she knew Jacob was picking through her stuff, Asking her what was hers and what was a gift from her ex and former friend and tossing them, he helped load them on to his truck, and telling her to get in after a silent car ride. 

He brought her to a very expensive apartment complex brought her to his apartment he showed her around the place of course she was still in daze about everything she was hardly listening, He showed her where her room was his ex's yoga studio...of course she was using it for more then just yoga, as he found out! He told her they can go find her a bed and furniture tomorrow, so for now just use his room or sleep on the couch he's not using either right now...

"Now if you'll excuse me dear, I've got to go make a few calls." and with that her new husband was already gone before she could even ask him important shit...like if she wants to go out, how's she supposed to get back in?! instead she just opted to get change out of this damn dress! luckily the little clasp at the back broke and Y/n managed to unzip it half-way wiggled out of it. 

She checked through her things, luckily they didn't do anything to her clothes... the sound of the door opening caused Y/n to freeze as Jacob's voice filled her ears.

"Oh, I forgot the code for the...door..." His words died off when he saw Y/n in nothing but black panties the two awkwardly stared at each other before the y/hc woman hugged a t-shirt to her chest and snapped at him to get out! the British man's face turned red and he stuttered out an apology before slamming the door. a few seconds later as Y/n was pulling pajama pants on she saw a piece of paper slide under the door she picked it up.

[front door guest code:8464, Apt. door guest code: 10634, temporary until you get a key. -J.F.] Y/n bit her lip and cautiously peeked outside to see if it was safe? and sighed Mr. Frye was gone, barely two minutes in and he's already seen her naked... How embarrassing. the y/wt woman surveyed the apartment and was appalled at the mess laying around! clothes, rancid take-out, dirty dishes, shopping bags! just left laying on the floor collecting god knows what for how long?!   

Y/n got to work looking around the apartment for cleaning supplies, She was stunned find them brand new and never opened, "Jesus.." she said in disbelief then looked up a photo of Jacob with a model looking bottle blond, smiling like she'd won the lottery. "tsk, ever heard of a mop, or cleaning service..." She hissed at the woman's face while resisting the urge to print out the 'Damn bitch u live like this? ' meme, and tape it to Jacob's door of course he was an older guy... so, there's a possibility that he wouldn't know what it meant and would take it as an insult...Then a thought occurred to the y/nat as she stopped sweeping her head slowly turned towards Jacob's bedroom with morbid curiosity she thought *...if this is what his living room is like, then what does the bedroom?* 

She leaned the broom against the kitchen isle and nervously made her way to Mr. Frye's door she swallowed and opened the door and peeked inside the color drained from her face as she slammed it shut. "Good lord! It's like The Day After in there!" she wheezed in horror not understanding how the hell Jacob could sleep in that filth, let alone his ex! she had to have said something about it! 

Unless... She was the one who made the apartment like this? that honestly wouldn't surprise the y/wt woman her grandmother used to say 'Sometimes pretty faces hide messy habits.' guess she really hit on the nail on that one... Now that Y/n had some time to herself she recalled how filthy [ExBF]'s apartment always was, it got to the point were her landlord threatened eviction if she didn't clean it! 

Y/n sighed recalling the fit [ExBF] threw while calling asking her to help her...By Help she meant ""Y/n do it for me while I sit on my ass a text my four boyfriends all fricken day and not say thank you!"" The y/ht blew some hair out of her face as she finished packing garbage bags. "Why the hell was I ever friends with that bitch?" She pondered out loud then thought back to when they were kids. 

[ExBF] always got what she wanted! if she got new dress she'd show off and brag, if someone got a dress nicer then hers? she'd throw a tantrum and call that person out for ""stealing her spotlight!"", one of their other friends liked a boy? Nope, not anymore he was [ExBF]'s now, Oh, wait he's not rich or spineless? better drop his ass... It made Y/n feel sick at how she used to make excuses for that girl's behavior!

She also should've seen the way [ExBF]'s face soured when she announced her marriage and introduced her ex-Fiancee to her. Y/n should have seen it coming, but she was so infatuated with [Ex/n] that she was blind to the signs that he was a just a scummy as ExBF, Y/n wanted to lived in a small apartment and save up Y'know? Nope he demanded a house! 

Then he get's laid off at work and says he's looking for a job, meanwhile Y/n is working three jobs to pay the bills and all she ask is for him take out the trash or maybe order some dinner for when she gets home? Nope, he sits on his ass playing video-games all day, then whines to her that the house stinks and he's hungry! She noticed ExBF had been coming around a lot during that time but Y/n just figured her friend was looking for her or something. 

Y/n stomach churned in vexation she hoped they were both miserable together, they deserve each other... she snorted as she straightened out some mail that was tossed under an end table, onto the counter in a neat stack, then check around for a trash chute a fancy place has to have a trash chute, She saw the instruction on the back of the apartment door...

The end off the hall, She grabbed the bags and was about to leave when she remember the door codes and found them sitting on the floor in her room she tucked it in the waist band of her pj's and took the trash out she found the chutes tossed the bags in and headed back to Jacobs apartment and was about to punch the code when she heard someone clear their throat behind her.

Y/n looked over her shoulder to see a security guard standing behind her. "Urm... Yes?" the y/ht woman squeaked unsure if she was in trouble. "Ma'am would you come with me a moment?" she winced Yes... she was definitely in trouble! and there she was sitting in security office.

"Look I already told you, he let me in I didn't steal anything, I was just cleaning!?" Y/n huffed as the guard rolled his eyes at her obviously not believing her. Before repeating what was really in those bags what had she stolen from Mr. Frye? causing Y/n to growl in frustration "I don't don't know how much will moldy take-out and empty beer cans fetch me?" she snarked this upset the guard who threatened to call the cops, but a British voice cut him off.

"That won't be necessary..." The guard jumped from his seat to see Jacob Frye standing there none to pleased to see his new roommate in handcuffs. "Oh, Mr. Frye! Sir we got a call of a disturbance, I caught her breaking in." the guard said sounding almost proud of himself as the hazel eyed man glared at him. "She's not a thief, she's my wife." Jacob stated the guard looked at him bemused. "W-what? but-" it was obvious he'd seen Jacob's ex before and Y/n looked nothing like her.

"But nothing, uncuff her now..." the guard swallowed nervous the intimidating man's tone and complied Y/n sighed flexing her arms trying to get some feeling back in them as she got up and joined, Jacob who scrutinized her arms and frowned seeing the red marks on her wrists, he shot the guard a sharp look before escorting Y/n to the elevator. "What were you doing out of my apartment this late?" the British man ask keeping his eyes on the elevator doors.

"Erm, taking out the trash?" the y/nat woman squeaked unsure if he was going to be mad that she cleaned his home without permission, Jacob cocked a brow at her inquisitively as the y/ht rambled that she didn't really have much to do, so she figured why not? as they approached his door Jacob's hazel eyes widen to see how nice a neat apartment was, he could see the floors again... 

He’d forgotten they were a dark cherry hardwood the green Persian rug his brother in law had sent him was also was also vacuumed, he looked on the counter and saw stack of mail and carefully sift through it, all credit-card bills and invoices, all passed due! he let out an annoyed sighed as Y/n shifted unnerved and awkwardly spoke up.

"I wasn't sure if I should toss those, sorry."

"No, it's fine..these pretty much tell me what Karin was up to while I was working..."

"Um, if you want I could...the photos."

"Get rid of them? Go right ahead, It seems fair I did same for you." 

"Right..." Y/n said getting to it while Jacob looked through every letter before finding something that interested him, he disappeared in his room for the next hour as Y/n finished cleaning the rest of his apartment, she heard Jacob's barely audible voice coming from behind the door. 

Most likely on his phone if Y/n had to guess 'Karin' may have opened a secret nest egg account using Mr. Frye's name he must've just found it, That's probably what he's been doing all day calling banks and credit card companies to cancel cards and accounts she may have opened in his name without his knowledge...

Y/n pause as she picked up laundry and and scrutinized the labels; Fuck these things cost more then her house's rent! She almost felt like fainting as she tossed it in a hamper, and thought about what was going on with her surprise husband's situation. If her brief stint in law school was worth its salt, Then Jacob's ex could face some federal charges and prison time for that! It's basically ID fraud and embezzling.

She saw the light go off in his room he must gone to sleep? or just wanted to be alone with his thoughts lips formed a thin line as she looked over a the grand father clock at the other end of the living room, Was it seriously 3 A.M.?! the y/nat was surprised so much time had passed she felt like she just got here! 

After some thought she decided it was time for her to turn in as well, She'll just have to figure out what to do with herself in the morning... 

She found her sleeping bag in one of the trash bags and laid it out on the couch and settled down for bed, strange when Y/n was closing her eyes she thought she saw a hooded figure disappear behind the clock...

[the Building Jacob lives in was built by the Assassins so there are a lot of secret exits and entrances scattered all around the premises.] 

[zankivich]

The Arrangement: CEO’s Son/Dom!Shawn x Black Sub Reader Chapter 3

a/n: hi. I don’t know where this chapter came from. I just really don’t. But she’s kind of cute and I like her. I’m busy so I don’t have time to bore you all at the moment, but just know it only goes up from here lol. 

WARNINGS: BDSM tones (ropes), sex without a condom, aftercare, squirting.

*y/n’s point of view*

There’s a website that most of the companies in the industry use for all messaging. It’s a way to easily house all your members and employees on one central hub. Everyone can search each other by name, do direct messages, group chats, you name it. It’s an easy way to keep all information going and easily viewable without digging through millions of emails. The fact that most companies used the same one wasn’t usually a problem because they each had their own centralized locations. In the normal world, a person at Atlantic couldn’t just easily message a person at Sony, because they weren’t on the same hub. Silly of you to think that that would matter.

You’re in the middle of a meeting to discuss the roll out plan for Khalid’s new album. You’re busy. There’s a lot going on. Tiana has your phone at her desk, because no one should be trying to reach you at this moment. The only thing that you do have is your laptop, and this messaging app. So, when your VP of Sales and Marketing is trying to lay out the strategic vision for the album, and your laptop starts dinging you actually catch said messages.

Shawn: why is it harder to get in touch with you than the fucking president?

You peered at the screen of your computer and rolled your eyes. This man was nothing but a nuisance. A hot...large....thick nuisance.

y/n: Because the president has an ego bigger than his racism and I’m a busy ass woman? Why didn’t you just text me.

Shawn: I did! Tiana told me you keep your phone out of your office during meetings? Who the hell does that?

Y/n: Competent managers who want to engage and take care of their clients. How the hell did you find me on here?

Shawn: I had one of the interns hack the website. It’s not that hard apparently.

Sometimes you liked to pause and take a moment to think about how wild it was that this was your life now. Sneaking around with a man six years younger than you with an ego just about the size of his massive body, but with a tongue that could move mountains. It was truly a difficult reality but thus here you were.

y/n: What is it Shawn?

Shawn: I bought something new, and it came in today. Want to try it with you.

Damn.

“Y/n do you want to see the projected numbers?”

“Huh?”

You peered up from your laptop where your team was all staring at you practically drooling. Pull it together woman.

“Oh. Yes!” you cleared your throat. “Yea. Let’s go over projected numbers, and then we can talk through promo. I want to make sure Khalid feels good with the workload.”

y/n: I am at work.

You did everything in your power to pay attention to whatever your associates were talking about. Everything except for closing the damn laptop.

Shawn: I’m aware. Me too. I wanna try ropes though. I even bought those candles you wanted.

You’d gone over to Shawn’s place and discovered that he thought scentless candles would set some type of mood and get your panties wet. Instead you had asked him what the point of a candle with no smell. He said light. You said that’s what the fucking lamps were for and that this wasn’t the little house on the prairie. And then he bent you over his couch and fucked you until you came two times in a row. It had seemed like a really worthy conversation at the time, with a lovely end as well. But, this was much better in your estimation.

Y/n: the eucalyptus ones?!?!?!

Shawn: I’m glad you’re more excited for candles than my dick, but yes.

Y/n: Of course I am. I barely know your ass. Candles are forever.

Shawn: I’ve actually licked my cum out of your vagina before. Strangers is simply not what we are.

Y/n: Yo when the Russians hack us all to end civilization as we know it? I hope they deliver that quote personally to tmz.

Shawn: if civilization is ending let the record show I was secure enough in my manhood. No regrets!

You found yourself laughing behind your computer screen on account of your hookup being an actual idiot. It was kind of nice to not hate the person you were having casual sex with. It was even nicer to keep him on his toes and constantly take the piss out of him when everything about his world seemed rooted in telling him he could do no wrong. One look at the people in your office, and your client who was looking at you like you were crazy, told you that they did not share your sentiment. Time to close the laptop.

***

His apartment oozes peppermint and eucalyptus. It’s endlessly warm and inviting, makes your bones feel a little softer already. Turns out you were right, as you tended to be at least ninety-three percent of the time. And the playful roll of his eyes when he opens the door and sees you grinning is all the confirmation that you need.

“Come to the bedroom.” He sighed tugging on your hand.

You pass by the couch and feel a familiar stirring in your belly again as he leads you towards his room.

“No couch this time?”

“No. Want you to be more comfortable when I tie you up.”

There’s a complex array of emotions that overcomes you when he says stuff like that. The relationship that you had was different than anything you’d ever done before. Shawn was dominant of course, and he led you through just about every step of the process. And every time you went over to his place, or he came over to yours, somewhere throughout the night a softness would descend upon you. It wasn’t just that you didn’t need to take the lead. It was that he was telling you what to do, but he was also taking care of you. There’s a nurturing component to it that you weren’t used to even now. So you just let it flutter in your stomach and you don’t call it for it is.

In his bedroom there are more candles and mood lighting. The ropes have their own set up on the bed amongst a towel, lube, and a few toys. But he doesn’t lead you immediately to the bed. Instead he stops you with his hands on your hips. His palms squeezed tenderly there before sliding around to grab firmly at your ass. A sigh pasts your lips and he smiles.

“You can kiss me.” He instructed.

His lips are warm and firm. You liked the way that he tasted, like the languidness of his tongue between your lips. It never failed to get you going, and he knew that. So his fingers reach for the zipper at the top of your dress and the second it comes undone the garment falls to the floor. It leaves you in your bra and panties, a rich, warm brown color that did lovely things against your skin. Thank you Rihana.

He hummed. “You’re beautiful.”

His fingers map your body out like he knows it, like he’s tasted every inch of you. And maybe he has. Goosebumps spring up along your arms and legs as he touches you in exploration.

“Thank you.” You whispered.

“You’re welcome. You’re gonna be tied up for the rest of the night. If you need to be let out, or you don’t want it anymore just use your safeword okay?”

You nodded gently. “Yes, sir.”

He kissed the side of your mouth and let his hands come down over your arms and down your hips.

“Get naked and get on the bed. On your knees facing away from the door..”

His sheets are soft and cool against your skin the way they always are. The bedroom is now a place of familiarity. There’s no fear here anymore. Only trust and need and want. You placed your cheek  against the bedspread eyes peering over at his dresser as you waited for further instruction. He makes his way over to the dresser and reaches for a remote that’s all too familiar to you now. Shawn was a fan of playlists. Different ones for different moods. In all the time that you’d spent together thus far you didn’t think you’d ever heard the same one twice. Needless to say you were a little surprised when his taste in music was more similar to yours than you expected. But, it added another layer of comfort for you and for him.

You hear the sounds of his sweatpants dropping to the floor and your heart rate increases. You never knew what you would get. Sometimes he made you wait so long you would drip onto the bed. Those were the times where he spanked you for not being good, but always soothed you endlessly before the night was over. Sometimes, like tonight, his body finds yours quickly, fingers tracing your skin in concentration. You love this just as much.

He climbed on top of you, knees bracketing your ass and you can already feel his semi against your skin.

“I’m gonna tie your arms behind your back.” He explained. “I’ll be gentle and slow while we get you into it. And I’m gonna ask you a lot if you’re okay. I need you to be honest with me. If at any point you don’t like it you gotta stop me okay?”

“Okay.” you nodded.

“Green?”

“Green.”

He lifts your body up until you’re leaning on your knees, his own directly behind you. He reaches for a few feet of nylon rope. It’s a pretty bright purple color, and you have a feeling he picked it out with the contrast against your skin in mind. You know you would’ve.

It starts with two hoops that slide over your arms and onto your back. The rope is soft and it doesn’t hurt or agitate your skin. His fingers slip beneath the rope to make sure it isn't too tight before he ever starts on the next knot.

“Is this too tight?” He asked.

“No.”

After your back it’s your shoulders. And slowly down your arms. Between every new touch of rope around your body, his lips are at your ear asking you to make sure it’s okay, that you feel good. When it gets to your wrists, he ties a final knot that allows him to control the tightness of the entire structure from the end of the rope with his hands. He tugs it gently and it sends you sprawling until you’re bent in front of him. That’s when it clicks for you. Your wrists and arms bound, and your body completely at his mercy. It’s the most vulnerable you could ever be. And it turns you on beyond fucking belief.

“Color?” He asked.

“Green.” You whimpered.

“Do you like it?”

Your thighs twitch a little bit and you feel your back arch at the hunger in his voice.

“Y--Yea. I do. I really do.” You panted.

“Fuck. Wish you could see how good you look like this. I’m gonna flip you over, so I can see you.”

It’s much gentler than you expected. He eases you on to your back and the stretch in your arms is noticeable but not painful. He settles your body onto the towel and pulls your thighs apart so he can touch you with warm hands.

“I wanna try something else new tonight.” He smiled fingers sliding along your slit.

“Yea?”

“Have you ever squirted before?”

You shook your head softly. “I don’t think I can.”

He slid his finger inside already working on getting you stretched open. Your hips loosen and you  spread your legs a little further for him to slide another finger inside.

“We’ll see about that. Roll back over for me.”

You kneeled on your knees arms still secured behind your neck. He set a pillow for your head to rest on and reached for the bottle of lube.

“Do you want a toy or my cock?” He hummed fingers squeezing at your backside.

“You. Want you.”

“Yea? Ask me nicely.”

He guided himself to your entrance, head nestling playfully between your lips. You moaned into your pillow.

“Please, sir? Please will you fuck me? I wanna be good for you.”

“Mmm...you gonna squirt for me?”

“I--I’ll try.”

“You will.”

When he presses against you the lube is still cool against your skin and you intertwine your fingers behind your back as the stretch of him filling you descends. It’s in some ways your favorite part. Just him pushing in for the first time. Your body never holds on to the exact feeling of his length stretching your walls, so it feels new every time. It feels new but it also feels right and it feels like your body is evolving. Like you’re nothing without his touch.

Before you’ve even gotten the chance to familiarize yourself with him, he’s already pulling out until just the head rests inside of you. And his palm rests right in the small of your back above your ass and he makes a sound that might as well be praise, might as well tell you you’re perfect. It’s light and airy and somehow fills you even more than his dick ever could. You preen under it.

“You feel so good.” He sighed. “Always so fucking good for me.”

You tilt your head over your shoulder to make eye contact with him. His cheeks are rosy but his eyes are hard and dark, this constant balancing act between something that reeked of sweetness and something that reeked of the opposite.

“I wanna be good for you. Put it in me please? Let me make you feel good.”

His eyes meet yours and his lips part at your words sucking an inhale of breath that tells you you’ve done good. The words that you share with each other are half of the whole thing.

“Such a good girl.” He murmured angling himself back inside of you. “How should I take you tonight? Hard and fast? Or slow and deep?”

Your fingers twitched from your restraints.

“W--Whatever makes you feel the best.”

“God you’re perfect.” He sighed starting a slow rhythm with his hips. “You always cum for me regardless. Just wanna make you cum.”

His hands reach for yours, fingers intertwining even through the rope. He digs his knees into the bed and starts to move in that way that drives your body mad. You feel so full, so endlessly and completely full. It’s too much. And he knows it because you’re definitely not hiding it. You cry out into your pillow and gasp desperately every time his hips touch yours. When you’re not loud enough for him he tugs you by your shoulder so that your moans enter the stagnant air of his apartment. There’s no faking this. He’s taking you for all that you are and he’s not letting up, wouldn’t dream of it.

His fingers grab at the very edges of your ass, slightly digging into the meat of your thighs as he moves to a slower deeper rhythm. He was right. It didn’t really seem to matter how he moved, it was always gonna feel so good you couldn’t stand it.

There’s a wet squelching as he focuses on getting deeper and deeper within you. Your back arches as he touches something that lights your nerves on fire, makes your back arch, and your moans skyrocket.

“S--Shawn! Oh my god. Oh my god right there.”

“Right there?” He grunted hips tilting to the most amazing place he could occupy.

“Yes! Yes! Holy shit!”

“You’re fucking voice, Jesus.”

His wrist came down hard, hand slapping against your skin and making you cry out further. He tightened the ropes slightly his hips pistoning in and out until an overload of sensations was hitting you. The pain of the slap. The stretch of your muscles being pulled behind you. And the searing hot pleasure every time he rubbed against whatever it was that was driving you up the wall. You’d never made sounds like the ones he was having you make. It was beyond anything you’d ever felt before. And the sobs pouring out from your throat only added to the feeling. Every gasp of breath that you took was a heightening of pleasure, of utter ecstasy.

“I can feel your pussy tightening for me. You’re so close for me, aren’t you?”

His hands are burning into your skin. You can’t breathe. It’s too much. It all feels like too much.

“I--I can’t. I don’t even--Fuck!” You cried. “I think I’m gonna--”

It starts as a tremble in your thighs. And your stomach tightens. And your fingers clench. And then it moves down your legs and into your toes. The sounds that you make get higher, breathier. Perhaps because you’ve got nothing left to give. He’s taking it all from you. It’s different. Different than anything ever.

You feel it when he pulls out of you. Feel the gush between your thighs and the throbbing in your clit. It’s intense. And the fact that you can’t touch anything. Can’t even struggle for a grip on what’s happening makes it all the more overwhelming. You feel the tears sting your eyes and for last of a better word you scream.

“Holy shit. You look so fucking good.” He hummed fingers rubbing against you as you shake and pulse. “Let it all out for me.”

He slides his fingers inside you and rubs at your clit sending you collapsing against the sheets in a sticky heap.

“Please. Please. I can’t.” You whimpered.

“Such a good girl for me.” He sighed climbing back on top of your thighs, his dick twitching anxiously at your entrance.

You’d never heard his voice sound like that before. It was so raw and blissful. Like you’d given him everything and then some. It makes you feel so good. Better even than the orgasm. You just want him to feel good.

“I’m gonna cum,” He huffed. “Good god I’m gonna fucking cum.”

His thrusts are sloppy, all sense of rhythm and precision gone. But it doesn’t matter. You’re still riding the wave. And when he presses his body against yours, his teeth biting down on your neck, it’s everything. In that moment, he’s everything. When he cums it’s like completion for you both. You find the will to tighten your muscles against him, milking him for all he’s worth even in your state of exhausting.

“Fuckin aye, y/n.” He whined. “You’re perfect.”

He pulls out of you and collapses beside you, each of you gasping for breath. Holy shit.

“That was good. Shit, that was our best yet.”

You nodded shakily still unable to form words. He peered over at you, eyes taking in every part of you. After everything it still makes you flutter inside.

“Okay,” He breathed cupping your jaw. “Time to take care of you.”

He rolled over again, straddling your thighs and you can feel your thighs twitch even then.

“I--I don’t think I can go again.” You whispered.

He chuckled behind you. “Not gonna make you go again. I’m just gonna undo these knots and get you into some aftercare.”

“Aftercare?”

He worked quickly to undo the knots, his fingers gentle but perfect.

“Let me explain afterwards okay? It’s important that we do this now.”

“O--Okay.”

Your arms collapse against the bed when the rope is removed. His fingers are immediately there, rubbing deep and firm into your skin.

“Sit up for me.” He murmured.

He’s there with a glass of water held directly to your lips. “Drink.”

You don’t realize how parched you are until the liquid runs over your throat. You reached for the glass out of his hand and finished the entire thing in one go. He smiled at you fingers till massaging your arms.

“Look I...I want to get you into the shower. It’ll help with the soreness and any fluids. I don’t have to be in there with you if you don’t want, but I think that I should. If that’s okay with you?”

You flexed your fingers against his hold, still trying to find your way back down from the clouds.

“Yea. Uh, you can come. Please?”

The water is warm, a little more on the hot side and it really does feel good on your muscles. But the feeling of the body wash on your back is even better. It’s not inherently sexual, but it feels intimate. The way his hands mapped over your hips and down your thighs. His fingers danced over your neck and between your shoulder blades. He didn’t kiss you or talk dirty or anything, but your legs--which already felt like jelly--were intertwined with his own where you stood. It was another thing that you weren’t exactly sharing with anyone else in your life. And so it wasn’t insignificant. What it meant, you weren’t sure, but it meant something.

“Do you feel okay?” He asked wrapping you in a towel post shower.

It was so different than the norm for the two of you. Shawn was an attentive lover for sure, but that still usually ended the second he wiped the cum and lube between your legs. This was a different experience entirely, although the sex had been different too. You leaned into him a little more, biting your lip when his arms wrapped around you.

“I feel a little foggy.” You admitted. “But good. I feel really good.”

A giggle passed through your lips at how good you actually felt. You had to still your fingers on his arms to stop you from stumbling. He pulled you against his chest and laughed at your state of jelliness.

“I’ve got some lotion for your arms and back. Just in case. Do you need me to carry you?”

You rolled your eyes. “Your dick ain’t that special. I can still walk.”

“Whatever you say, sweetheart. Just try to keep yourself upright.” He smirked.

Rude.

There’s another intimate moment where you’re sat on the edge of his bed, towel and lube long forgotten as he rubs the lotion into your back. You let your head tilt forward bonelessly and you’re at a loss for how good he’s managed to make you feel tonight. It’s a lot to absorb.

“You never explained.” You whispered, fingers digging into the softness of the sheets.

“Explained what?”

“The aftercare. W--What is it?”

“Oh. It’s just what I’m doing to you right now. I knew I wanted to do the ropes, but I’ve never actually done it before, so I had to read up a little bit.”

“Wait,” You stopped him peering over your shoulder. “You’ve never done this before?”

He shook his head. “No. It’s just something I wanted to try with you cause I...like trust you, or whatever. But, then I started looking into it and read about this thing called subdrop? It’s like...like your body gets so many endorphins and adrenaline during what we were doing, that sometimes people get a little overwhelmed or sad afterwards. Aftercare is the way of making sure you’re safe and taken care of after the fact. Do your arms hurt at all?”

You hummed at his fingers moved to massaging your hands with the lotion.

“No I--I feel amazing actually. Just tired is all.”

“Good. You can uh sleep here. Or at least rest for a few hours before you go home.”

“Yea?” You asked.

The way his cheeks went a little red did not go unnoticed to you by any means.

“Yea. You know, if you want.”

“Okay.” You nodded. “Thank you.”

You end up in one of his t-shirts, your panties back on your hips and his hand on your ass. It’s a wonderful combination. The fact that each of you falls asleep almost immediately? Another great combination.

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[let-it-raines]

Catch Me If You Can (9/?)

298 days. That’s how long Killian Jones was away from a baseball field. It’s less than a year, only part of a season for him, but it might as well have lasted a decade as he alternated between physical therapy and spending an excessive amount of time sitting on his couch.

But then he came back and won the World Series.

It’s something no one saw coming, and it’s certainly not something anyone who knows about his arm would predict. Now it’s a new season with new possibilities, and anything could happen. On-field reporter Emma Swan will be there to cover it all even if she is not his biggest fan right now.

Asking her out live on-air will do that.

Rating: Mature

A/N: Thank you to @resident-of-storybrooke for being my beta. I’m still leaving you on that cliffhanger for a little while, though 😉

You guys were really excited about the last chapter, and I think you’ll like this one too!

Found on AO3: Beginning | Current

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-/-

How long can she stand outside of an apartment building before it become creepy?

Right now, Emma is verging on fifteen minutes, and she feels like that’s fine. However, once she starts creeping up into the twenty and thirty minute categories, that’s when it gets weird and she feels kind of stalker-ish even though she was explicitly told to come over.

Maybe she should go hang out in the Duane Reade that Killian has across the street from his apartment building. She needs chapstick, right? Everyone needs chapstick at all times. Lips get dry and kind of flaky, and no one likes that, especially if they’re currently in some kind of arrangement where making out with another human being occasionally occurs.

She’s in one of those.

Kind of.

She’s not sure, and she’s very obviously freaking out and going to lose her mind on east ninety-first street. Maybe she can buy something at Duane Reade to knock her out, and she’ll never have to remember any of this. That would probably be ideal.

Wow. She is outstanding at relationships. Or quasi relationships with a man who she has worked with for several years, rejected on national television, and then made out with at three different stadiums across the United States.

But secretly made out with.

Oh shit. They’re going to get caught if they keep doing that, and the only reason she agreed to this was under the promise of no one knowing.

(And because he makes her stomach swoop in a painful, yet good, way.)

She cannot handle anyone knowing. Her career cannot handle anyone knowing. No one can know.

Creepily standing outside of his apartment building holding the Vanderbilt sweatshirt she still hasn’t given back (it’s only been a week, okay?) is probably not the best way for that to happen.

Taking a deep breath, she looks to each side of the street before crossing the road and entering his apartment building. It’s already approximately one thousand times nicer than hers, which is to be expected, and she dodges the front desk guy and turns the corner to the elevators to punch in the code Killian gave her to get in, and then walks inside the doors to wait to go up to his apartment.

This isn’t weird, right?

Did she feel this way when she started dating Neal? Or Walsh?

Nope. No. Nope. She’s not going to start thinking of them right now when she’s already freaking out enough over everything.

Why in the world is she doing this?

Because you like him, you dumbass.

The little voice in her head sounds a lot like Ruby, and Emma’s not sure whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing.

It takes two raps of her knuckles on Killian’s door for him to swing it open, and then all of the sudden he’s standing on the other side with a bright white smile on his face, his beard clearly not having been trimmed in a few days, and a bit of fringe hanging over his forehead. Her eyes scan over him, clearly trying to buy herself some time for how her heart is like a freaking drumline beating against her ribs, and she notices that he has on a loose-fitting t-shirt, some jeans, and he’s not wearing any shoes.

Why is she so charmed by the fact that he’s not wearing any shoes? He’s in his own apartment. Why would he be wearing shoes? Do people wear shoes in their own homes?

“Hello, love,” he greets, his own eyes flickering over hers. “Nice to see that you finally made it inside the building.”

Her mouth gapes open, but she doesn’t even get the chance to form a rebuttal before Killian is dipping his head down and pressing his lips against hers with his palm coming to rest behind her back, tugging her forward and into his apartment so that the door closes behind him and she’s left with wood solidly against her back. Killian really likes kissing her against solid walls. That’s a thing she’s noticed. He’s also got this thing with his teeth and his tongue that makes her see stars in broad daylight. She’s noticed that too. Gooseflesh is rising on her skin, and she’s grabbing onto the soft material of his t-shirt over his biceps and about to open her mouth to him when he pulls back, leaving her gasping for air even though she now has access to it.

“Hi,” he whispers, greeting her again while she leans her head back to rest it against the doorframe.

“Hi. How’d you know I was waiting outside?”

“Darling, my windows open up right out to the street.”

She presses up on her toes to look over Killian’s shoulder, and he’s right. His windows do look out over the street.

Holy shit does she love his apartment.

His walls are covered in floor-to-ceiling windows, which is so much more than she can say for her place, and everything is so…simple. And it’s not simple in a bad way. It’s just that she has a lot of junk with her throw pillows and blankets and miscellaneous plants everywhere. Killian’s apartment is all warm colors and clean lines, and his couch looks like the most comfortable thing in the world. And she’d probably cook if she had a kitchen that was more than five feet of space in the corner.

Is it too late for her to play some kind of professional sport so that she can live somewhere like this? Ruby and Graham would love it.

Wait, no. Ruby and Graham would not be moving in with her if she could afford to live on her own. She loves them, but no.

“You stare at me too much,” she finally says in response, her eyes looking back to Killian so that she’s overwhelmed by the blue. Seriously. That kind of blue should not be possible. “You’ve got to let a girl freak out on the sidewalk in peace.”

He raises a brow. “Why were you freaking out? I don’t bite. Unless otherwise asked.”

That doesn’t do anything to her. Nope. Not at all. Especially not because his voice got super deep when he asked that. She is so in over her head that it’s not even funny. Why in the world does anyone date when it causes this much anxiety?

“I’m not very good at dating,” she admits, kind of wishing she could melt through the door. “I don’t have a good history with it.”

“If you did, I very much doubt I’d get to kiss you hello like that.”

“That’s a good point.”

“I tend to make those.”

“Apparently because you’re super smart, Professor Jones.”

“Eh,” he protests, backing up to give her some space as he scratches behind his ear. Is he nervous too? “I’m not too sure about that. You want something to drink?”

“It’s ten in the morning. I think it’s too early.”

“Believe it or not, I do have things like water to offer you.”

“Oh. Yeah, water would be good.”

Killian nods his head up and down before leaning in and pressing his mouth to her cheek, breath hot against her skin. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Yeah?”

“Most definitely.” He pulls back then and walks the few feet to his kitchen, opening his fridge and pulling out two bottles of water, placing them on the counter. “So, I know that technically speaking you’re the one who asked me out on this date.”

“Only because you demanded it.”

“Semantics.” She watches as he twists open his bottle and takes a sip, practically swallowing the whole bottle at once all the while she barely touches hers. “But this is my apartment, and I feel like I should show you around. I already have lunch secured, so you don’t have to worry about that.”

“I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to pay. You’re stealing my date, twenty-nine.”

He smiles at that. It seems the man who is always calling her by every nickname in the book likes having a nickname of his own that’s not from Will Scarlet. Huh.

“I’m not stealing anything. I owe you half of a pizza.”

“Are you serious?”

“As a sailing accident.”

Her heart may actually lurch at that, and when she looks at Killian, he’s glancing away, obviously as uncomfortable with talking about his accident as she is even if he’s the one who brought it up. But he jokes sometimes when he’s nervous or uncomfortable, and honestly, knowing that Killian may be just as nervous as she is for this whole thing makes her feel a hell of a lot better.

It’s the blind leading the blind with absolutely no expertise in the area.

“So pizza?” she questions, tapping her knuckles against his countertops. “What’s your poison while at home?”

Killian smiles, one side of his lips stretching into the others, and it makes her feel like she just consumed gallon after gallon of carbonated soda. “The oven-cooked margarita at Nick’s. Like I said, I’m a simple man and like simple things. You’re going to love it.”

“How do you know?”

“You said you trusted me, didn’t you?”

“Well, pizza is a bit more serious than us seeing each other.”

He winks. “Obviously.”

-/-

“I mean, arguably, NBC makes some of the best comedies.”

“Fox had a few good ones.”

“Fox dropped Brooklyn 99.”

“Okay, valid,” Killian laughs, leaning over to the coffee table in front of his couch to pick up another slice of pizza. It has to be his fifth by this point, and the food got here an hour ago. She hasn’t quite figured out his diet yet. Sometimes he eats like an athlete should and other times he eats like an athlete can. “That was a dumb decision on their part.”

“The dumbest. But then again, NBC picked it up, so that furthers my point.”

“I should have known you were a serious comedy fan when you knew I was quoting The Office.”

She watches as he takes a large bite of his pizza, not at all caring how messy he looks, and she tucks her feet further underneath her thighs. For as nervous as she was to show up here, to come inside, it’s oddly comfortable right now. Of course, they’ve had pizza (even if it’s not noon yet) and reruns of Superstore playing on the TV to distract them, but it’s comfortable.

Killian Jones makes her comfortable.

That should be terrifying, is kind of terrifying, but she’s having too nice of a morning to think too much about that. And this pizza is actually really good, and she doesn’t want to have to walk away from that.

This is for the pizza. It doesn’t have to be about anything else even though it most definitely is.

“I mean, I’m all about the dramas. I can watch a cop show any day of the week, but Graham always complains about how inaccurate it is and makes me change the channel.”

Killian’s jaw clenches. “Graham?”

“Ruby’s boyfriend. He’s why I had to come over here for our little secret rendezvous. Ruby is at the offices, but Graham is home this morning. He’s got the night shift tonight.”

“Ah,” he sighs, taking another bite of his pizza. Was he just…jealous? No, that would be weird and kind of primal, but they’re…seeing each other so maybe also kind of normal. It’s like she’s sixteen again or something. How the hell do sixteen-year-olds handle this when she, a twenty-seven-year-old woman, cannot? “Sorry. I forgot his name for a moment, but I remember now. He’s the detective, right?”

“Yep.”

“That would explain why he hates any crime drama. Liam hates any and all medical shows and will turn the television off if anyone is watching it when he’s around. Elsa freaking loves those things, though. She’s got the ability to look past the things that are wrong.”

“I think it may just be a stubborn man thing.”

“Says literally the most stubborn person I’ve ever met.”

Emma sticks her tongue out, like every mature woman would do, only for Killian’s warm, rough hands to wrap around her calves and pull her forward on the couch (which is the most comfortable thing in the world, as she expected), making her head land against the cushions and the breath she was holding escape her.

“I am not stubborn.”

“You’re stubborn about being stubborn,” he sighs, pulling her forward a little more so that he can lean forward over her, his knees on either side of her thighs and his hands next to her head as he hovers over her, the chain that’s always hanging around his neck falling out of his shirt so that it rests over her breasts, a shiny silver ring in the middle. What the hell is that? Is she allowed to ask? “I kind of like that you’re stubborn.”

“Really? I had no idea.”

“Mmmm, that’s not true,” he hums, dipping his head down and brushing his lips across her jaw, a shiver immediately running down her spine. God, she likes the way that his scruff feels on her skin. He should keep doing that and definitely never shave the stubble. “You’re an observant one. You know these things.”

He nips at her skin, and she arches up into him, reaching her arms up to trail her fingers across the muscles in his arms. The talking may be hard, but she can handle this. This is good. “You don’t exactly hide your affections for me.”

“I most definitely do.”

“You asked me out on TV.”

“You looked beautiful that day.”

“You looked sweaty.”

He laughs into her neck, rubbing his cheek into her skin, before moving back up her face and hovering over her mouth so that she can see the few freckles on his face and the blue of his eyes. She is never going to get over that blue.

His breath kind of smells like pizza.

He probably tastes like it too. She does really like that pizza.

“Now, Swan,” he sighs, visibly put out as he leans down and presses his mouth to hers in a quick, dirty kiss before pulling back, making her cant her hips up into his and tighten her grip on his arms, “I do believe that you asked me out the second time. I don’t think my rejected proposal counts anymore.”

“No, you’re never living that down. If I can’t, neither can you.”

“I feel like it’s worked out pretty well for me.” He waggles his brows across his forehead, and she slaps his arm, rolling her eyes even as she presses up to try to kiss him again. They’re good at that. She’d like to keep doing it. “Or maybe you’re just here for my pizza.”

“It is good pizza.”

“The best.”

“Jones, are we going to talk about pizza all day, or are you going to kiss me?”

“Why not both?”

“Shut up,” she gasps as he lowers his entire body down to her, the warmth overcoming her, and rests his elbows on the sides of her head as his lips cover hers, slowly but surely sliding over hers over and over again until she cannot think of anything else but the noise Killian makes when she pulls at his bottom lip.

She’d like another order of this pizza and Killian making that sound. That would be the perfect morning.

He licks into her mouth without any hesitancy, his fingers curling into her hair as his tongue curls around hers in a slick, wet slide of heat and desire and all of those little things that make the hairs all over her body stand at attention. It’s overwhelming and not enough all at once, and when Killian pushes her body further into the couch, the cushions gaining an Emma-shaped dent, she knows that she never wants to move away from the way Killian is hungrily devouring her and settling between her thighs, hips rolling against hips and desire continuously building as the air is very thoroughly kissed out of her.

Who needs air? She certainly doesn’t.

Arousal curls between her thighs, a warm and thick heat that spreads up her stomach and to her chest, tightening around her heart, and she scratches her nails down Killian’s back in response, wondering if she can leave marks even through his t-shirt.

“Oh fuck,” she mutters, both to Killian and herself, as he slides his lips against her jaw until he’s biting down on the lobe of her ear at the same time that she’s pushing her hips up against his groin to grind against him, little burst of pleasure exploding just under her skin.

“You taste like pizza,” he mumbles in a dark growl, one that’s definitely not how any normal person should sound when talking about pizza.

“You did say you liked that.”

“I believe that was you.”

“Semantics,” she gasps out when his tongue flicks behind her ear while her hands grapple for his ass and her legs snake around his hips to push him closer into her space. Killian’s hands are moving from her hair to between them, his stomach lifting up so his hands can fit between them, and then she feels the warm, calloused fingers against her stomach and nearly melts right then and there, officially becoming part of this couch.

How the hell has she ended up in this situation?

Why didn’t she end up here sooner?

Lips find hers again as fingers inch up her skin, Killian’s thumb brushing under the swell of breasts. She can feel the tingle of her skin as his fingers push up the cup of her bra, and she knows that she’s on the precipice of having Killian rile her up more when her phone rings, the loud buzz causing it to move across his coffee table.

Talk about a buzzkill.

“Ignore it,” she huffs, tugging on Killian’s bottom lip.

“Exactly my thoughts.”

Her mouth continues to explore his, his hands moving over her body, and they’re on that precipice again when her phone buzzes once more.

“Fucking hell,” Killian grumbles, falling on top of her before inching back up to give her some space. His chest is heaving, his hair completely and totally disheveled, and she’s so distracted by his hooded eyes that she can’t even bother to look to see who it is that’s calling her. “You want to get that, Swan?”

She jerks in her spot, a different kind of shiver running down her spine, and leans over to grab her phone only for the call to end. Luckily, or not so depending on how she looks at it, Ruby calls right back.

“Shit.” “Well that is certainly a way to answer the phone,” Ruby huffs, the audible sound of music playing behind her. She must be in the editing room. “Why didn’t you answer your phone the first two times that I called?”

“I was showering,” she lies, guilt piling up in the pit of her stomach.

“Oh, did you go to the gym?”

“No, just hadn’t showered yet. Lazy day and all that.”

“Do you want to go to the gym with me after I get off of work?”

“Sure. What’s got you in such a hurry to be calling me three times?”

Killian raises a brow, a little bit of blue coming back to his eyes, and he pulls her legs forward to settle them between his thighs as she listens to Ruby talk. “Oh, I’m bored on my lunch break, and I couldn’t get Graham to pick up his phone. He’s still sleeping I think.”

Oh shit. She forgot about Graham. How did she forget about Graham? She was just talking about how he’s at home, but she didn’t think about what happens if he tells Ruby she’s not home when she’s telling Ruby that she is. She is going to get caught in her lies so damn easily, and it’s been a week.

A week.

She really hopes Graham is actually still asleep and she can get away with this one. Maybe he’ll think she’s locked herself away in her room to nap when he wakes up. This is something she definitely has to get better at.

Getting better at lying seems like an awful skill.

“Probably. I haven’t seen him today.”

Killian traces his nail across her ankle, all of his attention focused on a little freckle that’s there. It’s distracting, but it mostly just feels good. This has been a much better morning than she thought it would be…not that she thought it would be bad. Not at all. Her nerves simply got the best of her.

“I’ll try him again soon. Can you get to work early tomorrow? I want to go over some stuff for when you travel for the Rays series. I’m so mad at David for taking me off of a lot of our travel dates. He let me go to Texas but not California or Florida. Why does he hate me?”

“I’m pretty sure he just doesn’t want to pay for your plane ticket.”

“Oh,” Ruby gasps at the same time that Killian tugs Emma forward a bit more, making her emit a tiny yelp as her head falls against the couch, “I forgot to tell you, but David told me to tell you that when the team charters a plane, you have gotten permission to fly with them. No more weird ass times for flights so that money can be saved.”

“Are you serious?” Killian raises a brow again, obviously far too interested in her phone conversation. She doesn’t blame him. This is the conversation that interrupted their very thorough make out session. “That’s freaking incredible. I’m kind of sad I’m going to lose my miles, though.”

“You have a million saved up. You could fly to Europe and back for free. Multiple times.”

“This is true.”

“I bet Jones tries to sit next to you on the plane.”

If she were drinking water, she’d spit it out. Right now, she might as well be choking on her own saliva. “I’m sorry…what?”

“Your lover boy. He’ll probably try to sit next to you on the plane. Or any of the other guys who have crushes on you. You live the life.”

“Believe it or not, I don’t do my job for the men it surrounds me with.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Killian whisper-shouts, and she has to lean across the couch to cover his mouth with her hand.

“What was that?” Ruby asks.

“The TV.” God, she’s an awful human being for doing this. “Rubes, can I call you back later? My phone keeps going off with emails.”

More lies. If this thing works out, the first person she is telling is Ruby, and she will give her whatever she wants to make it up to her for lying to her.

“It’s probably David. He speaks in emails.”

“It’s definitely David. See you at home before we go to the gym?”

“See you at home.”

She ends the call and moves her hand off of Killian’s mouth after he lightly chomps down on her fingers. The weirdo.

“So what is this about the men who surround you at your job?”

Emma rolls her eyes and rises from the couch, adjusting her top and her hair, trying to make herself a little more put together. The heat is still simmering, but it’s deep below the surface now so that she can think of other things.

“I get to fly on the chartered plane with you guys now, and Ruby was making fun of you and your very public crush on me by saying that you’re most definitely going to try to sit next to me.”

Killian hums in response, stretching his arms behind his head and rest his head there as he lazily smiles up at her, the smugness practically radiating off of him. “Little does she know, I managed to do that already.” “Overachiever.”

“Always.” He tilts his head toward the television. “You want to delve into some more comedies or do you need to get going?”

“Comedies sound perfect.”

They lapse into easy conversation, and she realizes with every minute that passes, she becomes more and more comfortable sitting on Killian’s couch and simply spending time with him outside of work. He’s visibly relaxed, his arm slung over her shoulders and his hands playing with the tips of her hair. She doesn’t think he even really realizes it.

She could probably rattle off all of his best games, worst games, and all of those in between, hundreds of stat sheets piled up in her brain, but she realizes that she knows so little about Killian outside of baseball. Why would she? They’ve only ever had a working relationship, but little by little, she’s piecing together more and more information as he probably does the same to her.

The womanizing man splattered across tabloids and on the internet is actually a kind of nerdy man who bakes and keeps pictures of his nieces everywhere and laughs these big belly laughs at Jim Halpert and Dwight Schrute pranking each other. The womanizing thing tugs at her a little bit, curiosity and worries festering, but if she’s not willing to open up about her past right now, she can’t expect Killian to either. This is all so new, so fresh, and there’s no need to get into the heaviness of her past so that Killian gets scared away right now.

She feels good, and she wants that to last for a little bit longer while she figures things out. This whole thing is terrifying and exhilarating and makes her lose her mind a little bit all at once.

Ending up here is the last thing she ever expected.

“That was a good date,” she tells Killian when the hours have passed, and she has to leave so that she’s home before Ruby gets home.

“You want to go on another one?” he teases as he leads her from the couch to his front door, the spring sun shining through his windows.

“Why, Mr. Jones, who the hell said you could ask me out now?”

A brow rises, his lips curling into a half smile while her stomach swoops. “I figured I’d earned that right back.”

“Maybe. I think I might still take a bit more convincing.”

Killian leans into her, his lips brushing over the shell of her ear while his hands find purchase on her hips, tugging her closer. “Which method of mine would you like me to use to convince you?”

She tilts her head back, raising her brow in response to his own. “What are my options?”

“Well,” he drawls, breath hot on her ear, “I can do this.” He follows the words with a slow caress of her mouth that has her toes curling in her shoes. “Or I can feed you again.”

Emma chuckles, unable to help herself, and wraps her hands around the back of his neck, curling her fingers into his hair. It’s so soft. He probably uses some kind of fancy shampoo and conditioner. Is it weird that she’s kind of tempted to go look in his shower to see? That seems like a weird thing to do.

“Tell me more about that food thing.”

Killian pulls his head back, this vibrant smile on his face that is completely different under the warm lights of his apartment than under the bright lights in stadiums or the dimmed lights of the locker room. It’s nice. It’s more than nice.

“Well, we have pizza. We could also go the healthier option of some grilled chicken and rice.”

“Pass.”

“I’ve seen you eat both of those things.”

“Yeah, but they don’t entice me to want to go on another home date with you.”

Killian’s eyes flutter closed as his head leans forward so that she can feel his kiss against her forehead before he pulls back. “I can bake you something.”

“Now that,” she laughs, moving her hands down to press them against his chest, her fingers grazing a bit of chest hair and his chain, “is a brilliant idea. I like chocolate.”

“I don’t most of the time.”

“We’ll compromise. I also really like grilled cheese sandwiches”

“You eat like a small child. How the hell are you so in shape?”

“I’m pretty much a Gilmore Girl.”

“I’m not sure that you talk enough for that.”

A man who gets her pop culture references even if she’s pretty sure he’s never seen the show. She likes that. How many times can she think that in one day? Is that some kind of metaphorical sign or something?

“I can work on that.” Emma presses up on her toes and quickly slides her lips over Killian’s, knowing that if she lingers too long, she won’t be able to pull away and will end up staying far too long. She can’t do that. She’s not quite ready for it yet. And she has to get back to her apartment before Ruby gets home. Lying to Graham is kind of easy. Lying to her best friend, not so much. “You be thinking about what you’re going to bake for me, and I’ll consider coming back. I’ve got to go work off that pizza with Ruby.”

“Are you going running or to Pilates?”

“Why do you ask?”

“Just trying to figure out what kind of outfit you’re going to be wearing.”

“Okay,” she laughs, pulling back from him and ducking around him to open his apartment door, “I’m leaving now.”

“Bye, love. See you at the stadium tomorrow?”

“I’ll be there.” Killian nods his head, his hand propped up against the doorframe so that she can see the slightest bit of his stomach as she walks away to the elevator with her lips curved upward. “And yoga pants, twenty-nine.”

[katymacsupernatural]

Legendary

Dean Winchester x Reader

1400 Words

Written For: @heavenandhellbingo , @spndarkbingo , @spnkinkbingo​

Square Filled: First Blade(Heaven) Ancient Relic (Dark), Rough Sex(Kink)

Summary: Raised in the Hunter life, Y/N has turned to collecting ancient and unique items. When she gets wind of the First Blade, she knows she will do anything to get her hands on it. 

A/N: This story will be pretty dark. Each Chapter will have the appropriate warnings. After all, it is Mark of Cain Dean. 

Your house was filled to the brim with the most unique collection of items. Pieces that had only been whispered about. Most of them you sold, some for even millions of dollars. Others, you kept, decorating your home with talisman’s that brought you luck, or good fortune. A select few you kept close to you, giving you comfort that if things came after you, you were safe.

But there was one item that you had never been able to get your hand on. It had been nothing more than a myth, stories passed down for centuries. Of a wicked looking blade that killed any sort of mythical being, including Knights of Hell. It had never been seen, not since it had been in the hand of Cain himself, and it was the one item that you had always wanted to find. Who knew how much someone would pay for that if you could force yourself to part with it. If you could ever get your hands on the ancient relic.

You had almost given up hope until a couple of weeks ago. After almost getting trapped in a cave for an ancient Celtic protection charm, you had been ready to head to the Bahama’s for some rest and relaxation. You had made quite a bit of money off of that last find. Enough that you could spend the next couple of months doing whatever you wanted.

And at first, nothing had sounded better than sun, beaches and pina coladas. But once you had heard of the first blade making its first appearance in centuries, it was all you could think about. You wanted it. No needed it for your collection. You already had the perfect spot for it, secure enough that no one would ever be able to lay a hand on it.

It was frustrating. Knowing it was out there, but not knowing exactly where it was. You had to stay patient, researching. You dreamed about it, seeing it in the hands of this man. His grip was tight, his shoulders strong as he easily sliced and killed with the powerful blade. His eyes were a brilliant green, his features strong and handsome. He was almost as mesmerizing as the blade in his hand, and you wanted to know more about this mystery man. Who he was, how he was capable of wielding the most powerful weapon in the world.

With little else to go on, you began searching through newspaper articles for bloody, horrific deaths. You knew the blade controlled those wielding it, making them do horrific things. It didn’t take long before you began to find a pattern of bloody deaths in the midwest. Never a mention of your mystery man. But you had it narrowed down to a small part of the country, mainly around Kansas.

Packing up your suitcase with wigs, weapons, and spells, you slid behind the wheel of your sleek, cherry red Porsche, pointing it west, settling in for a long car ride.

As the night sky blurred above you, your phone dinged, another notification of the first blade’s destruction, you realized you were only an hour away from the bloodbath. With the speed of your Porsche, you could probably make it in half an hour and maybe even find the guy from your dreams. If he existed. You hoped he did because you couldn't wait to meet the man who could wield such power. And the collector part of you wished that maybe he could become part of your collection as well.

While you wanted to head to the crime scene right away, you had to keep your priorities straight. Stopping at the only five-star restaurant in the small city, you booked the suite. Touching up your makeup, you changed your jeans for a black pencil skirt. A white blouse and black blazer completed the look, along with your fake FBI badge. Hunters weren’t the only ones who dabbled with false ID’s.

The crime scene was mostly clear. A cop car was leaving just as you pulled up, but another car was still parked in front. A long, black classic muscle car. Running your manicured fingers along the gleaming paint, your heels clicked as you walked up the sidewalk.

Without knocking, you stepped into the shabby apartment, immediately getting taken back by the mess in front of you. Sure, you weren’t a hunter, but you had been raised by one. You had seen many things in your life, but this might be the bloodiest. Bodies lay everywhere, covered blood and things you didn’t even want to try to name. Dark red blood covered everything. The walls, the floor, the windows. There was five, no six bodies in the main room, carved up by a wicked blade. A blade you had dreamt about for so long. Your hands just itched to wrap around it. You were so close, you could feel it. The power of it.

“Can we help you?” A deep, rumbling voice called out, pulling you out of your daydreaming. “This is closed scene.”

You pulled your badge out of your pocket, flashing it in annoyance. “I’m Agent Larsen. I’ve been called to this case.”

“Hmm, so have we,” the voice growled low in his throat, and you finally glanced up. Freezing as the vibrant green eyes from your dreams stared down at you.

“You’re…,” you stuttered. It was rare that you were speechless, but you had never expected this man to be real. He was even more handsome than you had dreamed. You were rarely caught speechless, but this man had done it with only a glance.

“Do I know you?” He asked, his voice as strong as steel, a cold glint to his eyes. A normal person would have taken a step back, instantly cowering under the hint of violence in his tone. But you stayed in place, tilting your head back to stare up at him. “No, you don’t. I was just mistaken for a moment. It looks like you’re done here. How about we meet sometime tonight and go over your notes?”

“Not going to check it out for yourself?” He sneered, but you could sense a hint of despair in his voice. It didn’t surprise you. Sure, he had been strong enough to wield the blade, but it had to be eating him from the inside out. All of that power didn’t come without consequences.

“Oh, I will,” you assured him. “But I also want to hear what you two other agents have to say as well.”

By this time he had been joined by another man. Taller and lankier, your instincts told you these men were brothers or had worked together for quite some time. Definitely hunters.

“Dean, it wouldn’t hurt,” the new man suggested, giving you a name to go with the face.

Dean shook his head, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. “We don’t need any help. This case is cut and dried. You can just head back to your little office job and leave the field work to us.”

With your hands on your hips, it was your turn to narrow your eyes up at him. “Excuse me?”

Dean took a step closer to you, his hands curled into fists at his sides. “You heard me. You are not needed here, so why didn’t you get your designer suit out of here.”

You wanted to slap him, but you forced yourself to control your temper. You needed him, needed to get close enough to him to find the First Blade. No matter how much you wanted to slap that smug smile from his face. “You don’t know who you’re messing with,” he muttered before turning on his heel and heading outside.

“Is he always like that?” You asked the other man, hoping he was a little nicer than his partner.

He shrugged, his shaggy hair flopping in the movement. “He’s been a little on edge lately. But don’t take it to heart. I’m Sam by the way.”

“Y/N. Listen, I didn’t mean to cross any boundaries, but…,”

“Are you really an Agent?” He blurted out. “Because anyone can make fake ID’s anymore.”

“You mean like hunters?”

His hazel eyes widened, his lips opening up to answer you when Dean called out from the car, his voice even grumpier.

“Listen, I’ve got to go before he…,” Sam started. “But we’ll be at the local bar, probably around eight tonight. Meet us there and we can talk.”

Read Part 2

Dean/Jensen Tags: @acortez82 @acreativelydifferentlove @adoptdontshoppets @a-girl-who-loves-disney @akshi8278  @bebravekeeponfighting  @brindz30 @colette2537   @deansgirl215   @its-not-a-tulpa @jerkbitchidjitassbutt @just-another-winchester @karouwinchester @keikoraventeller  @krys198478 @librarygeekery @misspygmypie @mlovesstories @mrsambroserollinsacklesmgk   @ria132love @ruprecht0420     @sortaathief @superseejay721517 @squirrelnotsam @thing-you-do-with-that-thing @torn-and-frayed @tricksterdean @wonderfulworldofwinchester @woodworthti666 

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[jacktherph]

jack, my friend!! i hope all is okay. i'm wondering about your experience as a barista?? are there things about its portrayal in the rpc that are inaccurate or annoying to you?? being a barista is probably the most popular job characters have on here!! what impact does being trans, ace, queer have on your workplace environment if you don't mind talking about it?

oh man olivia, oh man. you’re gonna have me GO aren’t you?? i’m doing better ilusm bb

okay so disclaimer that i’ve only been a barista at sun-dollars (think of synonyms) for a year now. i’ve never done it at some fancy, privately owned shop, and my experience isn’t that of everyone else!! i’m also pretty damn low on my totem poll, too, so keep that in mind

so when i was hired, i worked at a small cafe store for a few months; small outside patio, small parking spaces, located in a tiny strip mall off a main road, maybe a max crew of 20 or less?? but now we all relocated to one of the busiest drive thru stores in our district; large outside patio, giant inside seating, one of the only stores with a conference room in the CITY, a drive thru that pretty much… never stops, and a stand-alone building on the same main road. and wow what a difference there is

this thing ended up being super long so it’s under a cut

note:: this is really for people looking to portray accurate, non-dramatized versions of barista life, and the whole thing is largely fueled by personal experience. hope it helps??

on THE JOB ITSELF :

if you think its an easy job, please get out of my face. if you think it’s super complicated and hard, there’s a bit for you to learn here. and most importantly–if you think fucking with a barista is fun, go to hell

firstly–there is a lot to remember. there’s the drink standard; how the drink is supposed to be made without any customization. then there’s whatever people add and change about it. then there’s “i asked for five mocha pumps but this tastes like you didn’t put five in, remake it.” and then there’s “i think i know how a drink is made, but i don’t, but i’ll still tell you how to do your job.”

there is a specific routine for making drinks called SEQUENCING that we’re supposed to learn as soon as possible. it ensures that, if you’re on bar, you are always making part of a drink and finishing another. steam milk, queue shots, turn and start blending a frappuccino, while that’s in the blender turn back and finish the hot drink, hand it out, steam another milk, queue more shots, turn and pour frappuccino, hand it out, etc etc etc

personally, i’m not the best on bar. i know people who are stunningly gorgeous at it – who can sequence without fail. but it requires a LOT of mental work. not a lot of room for talking unless there’s only one drink or two to make. any character who is “skilled” at being a barista probably doesn’t spend their shift talking, but working in hasty silence when it is busy

being on register is my personal skill. i always work drive thru orders. yes, we have specific buttons for everything, but with as many combinations as sun-dollars has, there’s still an infinite number of ways to mess it up if you don’t know what you’re doing. and if the order comes out wrong, it gets made wrong, and then the barista on bar gets the brunt of the abuse from the customer and has to mess up their sequence by remaking it

on TIPPING YOUR BARISTA :

at sun-dollars, we’re paid just slightly above minimum wage and a huge chunk of our money is tips, which at a store of our size are still under a dollar earned an hour, then divided by how many hours you worked, and how many people worked that week and their hours too. tips don’t always add up to much, because people never think about tipping us

but here’s the thing. we make everything by hand just like someone would at a restaurant. sometimes more than once if one little thing is wrong. we burn our hands on hot coffee and water, we slip and fall, we haul heavy things around. even if you don’t see it, we do it. so please… tip your barista because we make everything and serve it to you just like at any other food business

on MONEY EARNED :

a part-time barista position, maybe working 25-30 hours a week with included tips, is NOT ENOUGH TO HAVE AN APARTMENT ON. not anywhere outside of fantasy land anyway

take that example. if i get 10.55/hour, and work 25 hours one week and 16 the next (which is a GOOD week for me, holy shit), and my tips are… $15 for both weeks, then I’ve made around… $475~ after taxes are taken out. no. so many of my fellow partners have second, third jobs. or their spouse earns the majority of the money. or they still live at home–like myself. it simply isn’t a job you can live on independently

i.e. this is a callout to the “barista who somehow lives without a roommate and doesn’t constantly complain about how hungry they are” trope

on WRITING ON CUPS :

yes, sun-dollars used to write on cups. but now we have a sticker system that is ten times more efficient. yes, we still write on the cups if our machine goes down, or if we have a messed up drink, any number of things. but it isn’t common for a busy store to write on cups daily anymore

that being said, let’s talk about our big fave trope: muse a writes their number on the cup for muse b because they flirted at the handoff plane. YOU CAN GET FIRED FOR THIS. it is immediately a fireable offense, no questions asked. i know it ruins the CUTESY moment but it’s a thing. best to keep your ship intact and employed by having them ask when the barista is on a break. 

yes, we misspell names. it happens. whether your fingers slip up on the touch screen or you just didn’t hear it right. but no barista i know would risk their job and security by purposefully writing a malicious name on a cup. end of

on CUSTOMER CONNECTION :

the cafe store had been around for years in a community where snowbirds (old people who come to the warmth of arizona for the winter) are the largest customer base. that, plus the small crew, meant that the partners (baristas) had a long-established rapport with many of the customers. i remember on my first official day working, so many people kept telling me “my usual” and my partners had to keep reminding the customers to order properly, since i was new and didn’t know them yet

but once i got to know the regulars–and it definitely took a lot of time–it showed me the incredible connection people have with their baristas. we joke that as baristas, we’re unpaid therapists with a coffee in hand. people tell their barista SO MUCH. but it’s fascinating, really; sometimes it’s just plain oversharing, but sometimes you just get to be connected to a person you see every day, even if it’s only for a minute or two

now, at my drive thru store, i have my personally labelled “night regs” who i see pretty much every time i work. i know their names, their orders by heart, and sometimes stuff about their family or lives. and for those who are grateful, you’d be surprised the brightening affect on someone’s day it can be when you remember their order and ask them about something they mentioned last week

recently, a family who comes through my drive almost every day suffered a loss in their family. i could tell something was different because they weren’t joking around with me. they ended up sharing and it brought us really close. they even came to visit me when i worked on christmas day. recently, they had a family bbq and actually drove all the way to the store to bring me a plate of leftovers because of an inside joke we all have. i don’t give them discounts–big no no–or free drinks. they pay like everyone else. but we’ve grown really close and they make my work day nicer because i know i’m making people happy

so often when i see people writing baristas, the character is a certain archetype: the aloof one, the bubbly one, the romantic one, for examples. but i think the connection between a barista (even an introverted one like myself) and a regular is really undervalued!! the fact that we have worked so hard to maintain that customer personal connection with our regulars even though we have thousands more people a week has really shown me a lot about how people interact with one another

on RUDE CUSTOMERS :

it takes a LOT to kick someone out of a store. like a LOT. we’ve only ended up kicking out one person because they were repeatedly stealing from our food display, and then we could only do it once we got proof. so no, being rude to the barista once isn’t an offense that can get them removed. somehow

people are rude. collectively. some are nice, but people are rude. whether it’s the cranky person who insists they ordered their drink iced but the sticker says hot, the person who repeatedly asks “is my drink ready?” even though the sticker line is as long as i am tall, the person who demands their drink be remade for any reason valid or otherwise with a big attitude, or the drive thru car who has an attitude because they expected to be in and out but their wait time is 15 minutes because the car ahead of them ordered for their entire church. people will find a way to be rude, even if they don’t know it

what do we do? we smile, apologize and take blame, and do it over. especially at sun-dollars; the customer IS ALWAYS RIGHT. welcome to the service industry

on ACCEPTANCE :

i’m very lucky when i can say sun-dollars is a very accepting environment. being a trans and queer partner, i had my identity accepted right away by my coworkers. i also make it a point to let them know that if they have any questions about my identity, they can ask it to my face within reason. this has led to some really heartfelt interactions with my fellow partners, because it was how they learned some things about identities other than theirs

customers… well it’s touch-and-go. i live in a primarily… single-minded area. but i know i’m not the only one who knows this – being trans in a workplace is a touch-and-go thing. i’ve had people who only hear my voice call me “miss” at the speaker and correct themselves to “sir” at the window when they see my beard. i’ve had stubborn old people refuse to say my name. you still have to serve them, and personally, i avoid correcting people to avoid any sort of confrontation

my specific workplace is very personal; we know a lot about one another’s personal lives. what else is there to talk about when cleaning? some partners have been insensitive, but we talk it out and it’s done and fixed. sometimes we snark at one another using personal jabs, but that’s something we all participate in. and we know where the line is and not to cross it. but i’m sure many workplaces are like that

on ETC :

you will get messy. i end a time on bar with my fingers sticking together, my arms covered in fake-tan from chai or frappuccino roast pumps, and one partner told me once she went home to find mocha in her belly button of all places

you clean the bathrooms too. in all their shitty mess. and people treat public bathrooms terribly. but doing bathrooms is also a good release from the business of the bar

that drive thru headset? paid-for walkie talkies. yes, we gossip, we laugh, we trade jokes. we rag on customers out of earshot. let us have fun

WE DID NOT INVENT OR TAKE PART IN THE SECRET MENU. we cannot make your drink unless you tell us how it’s made. we’re not gonna google your weird invention when we have other things to do. you either come prepared, or you get something else

if you’re going to pay separately for a large order, TELL US FIRST

there will always be that one partner you hate working with. it happens in every job. there will always be that crew you love working with. you don’t always get to choose when that happens. c’est la vie

if it’s closing time, customers need to LEAVE. this is an issue of safety for when we work with money. even your best friend, your spouse, or your elderly mother cannot be inside the store during closing

at sun-dollars we have a weekly thing called the “clean play,” where people come in after the closers and do a deep-clean of the store. we rock out to music, enjoy there being no customers, and have fun. good setting for fellow workers!!

don’t give us pity on holidays. you’re the reason we’re there

i once had a woman come in half an hour before closing, and she was so mad we didn’t have the food box she wanted that she called corporate to complain. we now have more waste at the end of the night because we have to order so many boxes so we never run out

sometimes you’ll have to run out before or during a shift to pick up product from other stores

people take it personally when you finish a seasonal beverage. really personally when you’re out of anything, really

seeing regulars outside of the workplace will always be awkward. some even ask if you remember their drink. you might

people will complain about things out of your control. smile and nod and say you’ll let your manager know

when in doubt, give it to your shift supervisor

ADDITION :: my wonderful friend @morbidrpa​ wrote about her experience as a barista/manager in a smaller, single-location coffee shop. go check it out for varied experiences!!

[sw4tch]

///vent stuff

*deep sigh* you know why that hit me so hard?

i’m scared of being genuinely mediocre. the kind of mediocre person that’s easy to forget about, easy to replace, easy to abandon.

I’m scared of being justifiably abandoned and forgotten.

I keep living my life thinking “if i become real good at this, if i put all my effort, if i cant be the best but definitely the most dependable one, then i can secure my value in the world. I can be a valuable person that people won’t be in a hurry to replace”. 

Make yourself indispensable and you’ll never be alone in your entire life.

so i do my best, i try to do better, i try to... I try to be good. 

so hearing this man just. tearing me apart, saying i have no talent for it, that i surely didn’t put enough effort, then It. 

It scares me. Because maybe he’s right and I’m a talentless hack that another 7281329 artists around the world can REPLACE (they can and they WILL).

Maybe i’m not a real digital artist. Maybe i just draw good sometimes.

Maybe my passion isn’t enough and i’ll never make it in this capitalist world.

and listen.

I’d love to be Mediocre.

I’d love to just be able to draw good sometimes and. Call it a day. get a job in accounting or another very stable office job. Live without a worry that i’ll starve to death if i’m not good enough. I’d just have to be GOOD. not excellent, not amazing, just. Good. Enough.

I wish what i did now was ENOUGH. But it’s not, not if i want to be a digital artist.

I need to be excellent, competitive, INDISPENSABLE, to ensure that I won’t starve to death.

and it’s just. It’s a lot of pressure, knowing that if you’re not good enough, then you’re done for. 

There’s millions of ~mediocre artists~

There’s only a few people with real talent that GET to inspire others, that GET the dream of working in what they love, that GET to not work a single day in their life because of it.

ufdhhd. ugh, AND YOU KNOW WHAT? Being mediocre shouldn’t be bad. mediocre is such.

okay. mediocre, what is mediocre? something not good enough? okay, good.

But like. being mediocre at art shouldn’t devalue yourself as a person. shouldn’t make people think less of you. Being mediocre shouldn’t be such a capital sin that makes people look DOWN on you.

We don’t start being AMAZING at everything, we learn and get better everyday, either in being an artist or any other thing. and before we get truly good?? WE ARE MEDIOCRE. and that shouldn’t... that shouldn’t make you want to kill yourself. you’re at the half point of the journey. and even if you stay there, at the half point, well.

You’re still important as a person.

You’re still worthy of love.

and.

oh god.

I’m so depressed. I am absolutely depressed over this. I keep thinking “well, if a professional in the industry, a man that animated for SPIDERVERSE, THAT MOVIE YOU LOVE SO MUCH, tells you are a lame excuse for an animator?? then maybe he’s RIGHT and you’ll never be anything else”

oh god i’ll never make it out of here

i’ll always be stuck at this home, stuck taking care of my mother, begging my father to give us rent money so that we have a roof on our heads, stuck in Mexico forever, never to see the world STUCK IN THE HELL HOLE STUCK IN THE HELL HOLE STUCK GINT JWHEMH EHELL HOLE

EVERYONE ELSE IS SO TALENTED, EVERYONE ELSE IS BEAUTIFUL, EVERYONE ELSE HAS EVERYTHING

AND I AM NOTHING

I HAVE NOTHING

I AM NOTHING TO NO ONE AND THE WORLD WOULDN’T MISS ME AT ALL BECAUSE ANYONE CAN REPLACE ME

jdsj

fjdfjkdjkfdjkfdjkfjkfdjk 

god.

when i write down the louder thoughts. they. they hurt a lot more but also. i can. reread them. and reread them, and think. and think.

i’m so scared of being poor forever, of always living paycheck to paycheck. 

I don’t want to stay here in Mexico, i want to leave, i want to start a new life out there, somewhere BETTER, somewhere SAFER. 

i want to find my real family, a family made of friends that love me, a family i can actually love.

I don’t want to be stuck in a low paying job that i hate just to have a roof on my head. I’m scared, i’m so scared.

I’d rather be dead than stuck here forever oghgod

im panicking

okay

wwmd

what would mob do? he would... persevere. but. that fictional kid already has a family that loves him, an entire circle of friends that adore him. and also it’s so unlikely he’d be piss poor even at his low point because of japan’s superior economical status andnjsadsa oH GDO not even mob is poor and i will always live here in this hell hole

i hate myseklf i hate myself i hate myself i hate myself i ehsdh myself

...I’m too soft... too weak... for this hyper competitive world.

I wish i could just... My dream is to work at a bakery. Everyday, prepare for the grind of the day, go to sleep late, get up really early, but at the same time. Just doing bakery stuff. for a living. for the rest of my life. just providing food, not going bankrupt because of bigger competitors. Just, making bread. living in a close community. spreading good vibes. Baking for the rest of my life.

At least then... I would have a stable life. Heck, even if it was lonely... it would be peaceful. 

I wish I could be at peace.

But apparently animators and vfx artists get exploited, and that’s not the exception it’s the rule. if you’re a digital artist then get ready to have your work devalued, cheapened. and you’re just going to have to take it because there’s no unions.

hell hole #2

I’m so depressed. I keep worrying about not being able to save money for my retirement. 

i don’t want to suffer for the rest of my life, oh god im so scared.

That’s it, i keep writing nonsense because im so scared, im panicking at the moment.

i’m scared, i’m scared, i’m scared. And i can’t calm down. I thought writing would make it better as it does always, but right now i’m just. Scaring myself more.

I’m going to stop now. I’m going to play videogames for a while. or something. I NEED TO DISTRACT MYSELF.

okay. okay.

what would you say to your future self?

Hey? I love you. You’re enough. I need you to know that. I love you. I’ll get us out of here. I love you. Be nicer to yourself, please. I love you.

[rose-red-ink]

Cross-over work!

So I wrote a short story of sorts with my own avatar and some of @casualtalkers wonderful characters! He’s a very talented character designer, and this was a lot of fun to write. Hope you enjoy! :D 

I really need to be careful what I wish for.

Because only the other day, I was complaining to my roommate on how exciting her life was compared to mine. I mean, living with a superhero meant I was bound to get some sort of inferiority complex. But I didn’t necessarily want to  dress up in sparkly spandex and fight crime. I just wanted to have something interesting. Working as a freelance repairwoman wasn’t exactly interesting, even if I genuinely enjoyed doing it.

My day got marginally more interesting when I walked into my apartment to find my roommate sprawled out in the kitchen, trying to stop the bleeding from her shoulder with our old dish towels. Oh, did I say exciting? I meant simultaneously terrifying and infuriating.

“Daystar, what the hell?!” I whisper-shouted. Stupid thin apartment walls meant I couldn’t yell at her to the extent she deserved.

I grabbed the first aid kit from under the sink and forced her to sit on the counter. “How many times do I have to tell you not to bleed all over our stuff?” I hissed.

She gave me a sheepish grin. “Sorry, Annalise. Just trying to keep the blood inside my body.”

I started cleaning the wound, dressing it and wrapping it up with bandages. I had gotten pretty good at it over the last eight months, since Daystar didn’t know how to keep herself out of harm’s way.

“Why isn’t you healing factor kicking in?” I asked, wrapping the gauze tighter. The bleeding should have slowed by now.

Daystar winced. “Um, yeah….I might have gotten hit with a weapon that takes away my powers.”

I stared at her. “You’re kidding.”

She shrugged. “They’ll come back in a few hours. I gotta just make sure I don’t bleed out until then.”

“You mean I have to make sure you don’t.” I grumbled under my breath.

She gave me an apologetic smile. “You know you’re the best roommate ever, right?”

I helped her down from the counter. “Flattery won’t make that heal faster. Go get some sleep, I’ll check on you in an hour.”

She nodded her thanks, heading off to one of our tiny bedrooms. I started cleaning up, realizing I hadn’t changed out of my work clothes or even taken off my toolbelt. Sighing, I went to unbuckle it.

The front door slammed open.

Cursing under my breath, I ran into the living room, where a huge shadowy figure crouched in the doorway. He squeezed his way inside, in a way that would have been almost comical in any other situation.

A supervillain? Not again...

He squinted at me, sizing up my small figure. “Is this where Daystar lives?” he asked. As he talked, I felt a shiver run up my spine at the sight of his pointed teeth.

“She’s not home right now!” I managed to say. “I’m her roommate.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see down the hallway. Daystar met my eyes, giving me a panicked look. She slipped into our supply closet.

He looked down at me. “When will she be back?”

I shrugged, trying to back up inconspicuously. “Not until late tonight, she’s on patrol.” If I could get to my phone…

The villain pushed past me, searching the small apartment. He opened the closet, but closed it again quickly, muttering under her breath.

Our annual hide-and-seek championships were paying off.

The villain sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You know what...you’ll be good enough.”

And before I knew it, a shadowy arm was wrapped around my torso, dragging me out the door.

And while I’m not proud to say it, being dragged out the door by a huge shadow man with no warning made me pass out like the stereotypical hostage I was.

I woke up with my face buried in carpet. Groaning, I shoved myself up, glancing around. I was sitting in what looked like the living room of a ordinary house. A battered couch was shoved in the corner, and a few doorways led into other rooms.

The only thing out of the ordinary was the fact that all the doorways seemed to be battered around the top. In some places, there were even entire chunks of drywall missing.

But the best part was that the front door was only about seven feet away. Mr. Shadowy Villain Dude didn’t have the best security, eh?

I wasn’t tied up at all, and my toolbelt was still fastened around my waist. Would it seriously be this easy?

“Oh! You’re awake!”

A voice made me turn. A young man stood in a doorway a few feet away, smiling nervously. “We were a bit concerned, you passed out rather suddenly. And we do need you alive if this is going to work.”

I got to my feet, brushing off my jeans. My watch told me it had been about and hour and a half since my apartment had been broken into. Which meant a couple more hours until Daystar had her powers back. Then another hour if she was smart and let her wounds heal before she came after me…

Yeah, I was gonna be here awhile. Or maybe not.

I glanced at the young man. He was only a couple inches taller than me, but looked quite a bit stronger. His eyes were pure white, which was a bit unnerving. I had mace hidden in my toolbelt, but since this guy was working with the villain, I doubted that would work too well. Better to wait for an opportunity to run.

I glanced around the house. “So...I’m guessing this is the typical “capture the loved one and kill the hero when they come knocking” trick?”

The man shook his head. “Not quite...Mr. Villain Mastermind doesn’t like killing the heroes. He got Daystar with a temporary depowering ray earlier, now he wants her to come here so he can finish the job.”

I nodded. “Okay, fair.” Hell, better than her getting killed. She’d be pissed, but she also knew multiple mad scientist doctors that could probably restore her powers.

“To honest, this is much nicer than the other kidnapping I’ve dealt with.” I noted. “You seem to be decent, at least.”

The man blinked. “How many times have you been kidnapped?” he asked, curiosity creeping into his voice.

I shrugged. “I think this is the eighth time? Maybe ninth? I’ve lost track. But most of the time I have a gun to my head, or I’m dangling above a pit of sharks, or something equally ridiculous. So thanks for not being that extra.”

His smile seemed to ease a bit. “What’s your name?”

“Annalise. You?”

“Mason. No last name, I’m sure you understand.”

“Of course. It’s a pleasure.”

I started wandering around a bit, looking closer at the door frame. Mason watched me, but didn’t say or do anything. Still, I had the suspicion he could knock me out if I tried to go for the door.

Finally, curiosity got the best of me. “What happened to the wall here?” I asked, trying to reach up to touch the edges where it was crumbled.

Mason winced. “Um, Mr. Villain Mastermind….hits his head…”

I whistled. “Thick-skulled then, isn’t he? Have you thought of getting someone to repair it?”

Mason shrugged. “That would kind of get rid of the whole “secret” part of our secret base, wouldn’t it?”

I raised an eyebrow. “Isn’t my being here doing that too?”

“Touche.”

“I could repair this if I had some drywall, compound and sandpaper…” I muttered, half to myself.

“You can fix this?” Mason asked, joining me in looking up at the door frame.

I nodded. “Sure, I’d just need supplies. I’ve got tools with me, I just need materials. Got any masking tape and joint compound?”

Mason paused. “Maybe...I’ll take a look. Come on.”

“I can stay here to examine the doorway…” I hedged.

Mason’s smile wasn’t unsympathetic. “Sorry, not supposed to let you escape.”

“Worth a shot.”

Somehow, they had the materials I needed lying about, presumably since someone had tried to fix it on their own.

We brought everything into the living room. Mason leaned against the wall next to the front door, watching me.

Cracking my knuckles, I grabbed a ruler and a sheet of drywall. Time to get to work.

“Mason, I couldn’t find Daystar anywhere--”

The villain burst through the door, making Mason jump slightly. A few hours had passed, Daystar would be here soon to bust me out, and I had done a pretty great job.

I finished smoothing out the compound, dusting my hands off. “Hello.”

The villain stopped dead in his tracks. “What did you do to my wall?”

I jumped down from the step stool I had borrowed. “What does it look like, chuckles? I repaired it.”

He glared down at me. “Did you hide a tracker in there? What’s your motive?”

I shrugged. “Boredom. You know, you could just make your doorways higher instead of bashing your head on them every time.”

He hesitated. “How would you do that?”

“Correctly. Since I’m a freelance repairwoman and have been trained for this kind of thing.”

He scowled down at me, but he seemed to be considering something. “What do your services cost hourly?”

I met Daystar on the way from the villain’s house. She was all powered up, gold light spilling from her eyes and hands. Light that abruptly faded as she saw me strolling from down the street towards our apartment.

“How did you escape?!” she gasped.

“I fixed his drywall and got a contract to repair the rest of his house.”

She blinked. “You’re kidding.”

“Fortunately not. And he said his de-powering ray is a prototype, so he’s gonna wait on using it on you, but you better watch your back, all that normal villain stuff. Technically, I’m “a message to intimidate you.” Do you feel intimidated?”

She shook her head slowly. “Okay...but you’re not taking the job, are you?”

I shrugged. “Work’s work. And job offers have been slow lately.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “I...okay. Okay, there’s literally no way I can talk you out of this. Just...be careful.”

I nodded. “Of course. Besides, if he tries anything, I’ve got a pretty awesome hero on speed dial.”

[khiphopsh-it-blog]

Red Soul (M) I // Simon Dominic

Masterlist

This will be a series/on-going story so please enjoy and share!

Rating:Angst (for this chapter)

This story will contain graphic words, smut, violence, and etc. Basically bad things that you shouldn’t do in life!

Once again, Enjoy!

“___, please just come party with us tonight!” Your bestfriend Jada whined.

Tonight was girls night out and your friends really wanted you to come. But unfortunately, you have to work to pay off your college fees.

“No, Jada! I don’t want to get drunk tonight and plus I have work. So that’s a double no,”

She sighed in defeat, “Please just come and party with us. Yes you have to work but you’re also not a slave,”

Glaring at her, you opened your mouth to speak but got cut off. “You know what, alright! Fine! Don’t come party with us. Just be a complete old lady with cats for the rest of your life.”

“Haha” You laughed sarcastically, “If me being a waitress doesn’t work then I’ll become a sugar baby. Trust me.”

“Ew. You’re gonna be with old men.” Jada made a throwing up gesture, “Sick.”

“Not all of them are that old. Now get out of my house.”

“Okay, Y/N. I’ll call you tomorrow and tell you about our fun night because I know you’d wanna know. Love you.” Jada laughed while walking out of your small apartment.

“Ugh.” You sighed while getting up to shower.

Working and going to school was so hard. Your schedule wasn’t filled but you always have to study and work. Coming from a non wealthy family was hard. Your mom supported you 100% and had gotten you into a program that helped you pay for college but not fully. You didn’t want to take out a loan because well it’ll mess up your credit if you didn’t pay it back and you didn’t want that to happen. Getting a sugar daddy is literally next on the list for you.

You cut on the shower water and waited for it to get warm enough for you to get in. Stripping out of your sweats, tank top, and underwear to hop into the shower.

Allowing the water to hit your tense body, you sighed deeply. All of the tension that was in you was slowly leaving one by one. You didn’t want to get too relaxed because you’d probably end up falling asleep and then missing work.. Then bam, you’re fired the next day.

Fifteen minutes passed and you decided to hop out of the shower. Sense you’re in your own home, you can walk around the house naked whenever you please.

You walked to your bedroom and dried off with a clean towel and looked for some underwear and a bra. After you found your underwear and things, you threw on your work outfit and walked to your vanity to fix your hair and do some slight makeup.

After doing finishing up your hair, and applying falsies, you headed to your living room to put on your shoes and walked out the house.

You were greeted to the setting sun and fresh spring air. Even though the weather was nice, you wasn’t feeling good. Yes, you liked your job. No, you didn’t like how they had you working. The location of the restaurant was great but your pay of course isn’t. Walking down the complex steps, you made your way to work. If you was feeling very lazy then you would’ve caught the bus but it isn’t that far away from your home so you just decided to walk.

“Hey, ___ are you ready for tonight?” Your manager asks you.

“I’m always ready. Nothing’s new.” You shrugged. He always ask you stupid questions like that. It’s really nothing special about the job.

“I was just making sure, y’know. Don’t wanna send you out there too stressed for tonight. See ya!” He said while walking out of the restaurant kitchen.

You glared at him until his presence was gone. you hate it when your manager says stupid things like that, it messes with you.

You threw on you waist apron and grabbed your mini notebook and pin and walked out the kitchen into the main area. The restaurant was getting full since it was the evening and Friday. It’s always packed around this time.

Glancing around you catch eyes with a man. A handsome one at that. He calls you over so you can take his order and you’ve never walked so fast in your life.

“Hello welcome to Canil’s, shall I start you off with a drink or are you ready to order?” You asked professionally despite your post attitude

He just smiled, “I guess that’s a no?” You added.

“Oh no, you can start me off with a drink. My friends isn’t here yet.” His voice is gorgeous,

”you can bring me a ice water and also some red pepper hummus with pita crackers.” You wrote down every word he said and smiled at him, “I’ll be back shortly.”

Hurrying back to give his order to the chef, he began to prepare fresh red pepper hummus. You grabbed a glass cup and went over to the refreshments to give him ice and some a good amount of fresh water.

You walked out of the kitchen to take him his drink only to be greeted to a girl. She looked mad but for all we know it could be her natural look. “Excuse me, here’s the ice water he asked for.”

She stared at you awaiting for you to put it down, “The hummus will be done in fifteen minutes or less.” You smiled and then walked away.

“Was that his girlfriend” you thought to yourself. You were planning on getting to know him much more but probably not anymore.

40 minutes passed and the restaurant was filled to the rim. You was very very busy tonight. The guy you met had a group of friends come in. They all were wearing black so you automatically thought they were meeting for business, which they wasn’t.

Getting called to different tables was nerve wracking and a pain in the ass, you couldn’t wait until your shift was over. “Y/N!”your manager called you from around the corner. While rolling your eyes, you turned around and began to make your way towards him.

“Yes?”

He smiled at you, “How’s your night going?”

“Better than ever I guess.” You sighed, tonight was the most exhausting night.

“If you want to go home early just tell me. You’re working yourself up.”

This is the first time you liked him as your manager. He never suggested for you to go home early. “Alright, boss. Thanks.” And then you walked away.

Going to the kitchen counter to grab table 012 orders and to take it to them. After you took them their plates and telling them to enjoy, you started looking around only to be greeted by the empty that the guy and his friends were sitting in. A wave of sadness washed over you. You don’t even know why you’re sad, you don’t even know the guy.

“Hey boss.” You called out, walking towards him, “I’m clocking out. Stomach’s hurting really bad.”

He just nodded his head and told you to feel better. After clocking out and putting your work items up, you headed for the exit. The cool night breeze felt so refreshing to the point to where you decided to walk home from work and not catch the bus.

You were only two minutes into walking home and you’ve already got cat called three times by thirsty perverts. They asked if you wanted a ride or if you wanted to have some fun tonight but you kindly declined.

“It’s fucking cold out here.” You thought to yourself. Yes you just said the weather was refreshing but that was when you exited from a hot predicament to a cool one.

Stopping at a stop walk, you spotted a group of people, a big one at that, standing across the street hanging out by a big brick wall that blocks a convenient spot. Oh how you hated walking pass groups of people.

The walking sign finally turned into a green walking logo and you started to walk across the street “You got this, Y/N. You got this.” you said to yourself.

When the group of people saw you crossing the street, they all stared at you. Of course you had to be the one to stare back at all of them.

“What is she staring at?” You heard a girl say to another,

“I don’t know but she better chill and watch it.” Another replied.

“Excuse me?” You asked in a quite harsh way

“Calm your tone.” One said

“Isn’t this the girl that served us?” The other joined in

“Yeah, the one that was practically drooling over Simon.” One lastly said

“Me? No I think you guys have me mixed up with someone else. Now please move out of my way. I really have to get home.”

“There’s a nicer way to say it.” One of the girls harshly said,

“Oh yeah, there is. Okay um, get the fuck out of my way so I can get home. Thanks.” You were fed up with their bullshit. What the hell are they even messing with you for?

Walking away besides them, they watched you disappear into the darkness before starting back their conversation. “Wonjae, I want you to follow her home. Keep us updated on her.” Hoody stated, “I have something in mind.”

Waking up to a bright sun beaming through your window and the cool AC blasting, you kicked your legs to the side of the bed and sat up. Glancing at the clock, it read ‘1:50 PM’ you really wasn’t a morning person.

Standing up, you made your way to the main area, only to be greeted to a complete mess. Your kitchen cabinets were all open, family pictures knocked down, glass everywhere, and your TV was knocked down as well.

“What the hell?” You said to yourself. How could you not hear any of this when you were sleeping? Staring around more, you realized that your door was slightly open and your security alarm was off.

Rushing to your phone, you dialed your emergency services number. No one stole anything but you felt as if this wasn’t right nor safe.

“You don’t remember anything?” The investigator asked. Currently, your house was being checked and you were being questioned,

You sighed, “No. I can’t remember anything because I was asleep.”

“Was there anyone that you engaged with before this incident happened?” She asked, writing into her notebook,

“Um.” You had to think, who did you run into last night again? Shit, you don’t remember. “No one. I didn’t engage with anyone last night.”

“Well that’s all I have to ask you for today. We’ll keep you updated on the information we find. As of now, the investigation is still in progress.”

“You guys didn’t find any fingerprints?” You questioned

“No ma’am. We didn’t find anything.”

“Are you serious? You guys didn’t find not one bit of evidence? I’m not safe!”

“I’m sorry that we didn’t find anything but the people that did break into your house are most likely professionals. If anything else happens, call the police. It was nice chatting with you.” And with that being said, she walked away.

You sat there dumbfounded. How could you not hear any of this when it occurred? But also, who did it? You didn’t cause any problems with anyone.

[mx-fawkes]

I’m not going to get this finished tonight so, take this.

Written for Roadrat monster week. Day 2 - Scarecrows curse.

This is the first half, I’ll either finish it alongside the other pieces I want to do for the week or leave it until afterwards.

Sometimes, Mako really regretted buying the farm. 

Thinking back, it had been kind of a romantic, if naive idea. Move far away from home, buy a smallholding, grow his own food and keep some animals. Sure the cottage he fell in love with was a bit run-down, but he'd have it back into shape with a few months of hard work. Ha.

The cottage was perhaps a little small for him, but it fit his solitary lifestyle. It had one large room that worked as both living room and kitchen, a narrow flight of stone stairs that led up to the bedroom, and the bathroom was a small brick building unattached to the main house.

His land also included a hill he wasn't allowed to farm or build on. He wasn't entirely sure why, and the nervous government workers he'd spoken to didn't seem sure either, only knowing what their records said. One of them had suggested it might be an old burial mound, which didn't make him any happier about it being on his land.

He'd been at the cottage for a couple of months now, working on the house alongside getting the fields into a reasonable state. Luckily he was well versed in fixing up housing, he'd spent nearly twenty years working in construction. He'd had other jobs, security and warehouse work mostly. Anything that required someone who looked intimidating or was used to heavy lifting. He'd been able to actually work on farms a few times, usually helping with the autumn harvest.

He hadn't managed to do much in the way of actual farming, but he'd set up a small plot he was using to grow potatoes. He had a few pots of herbs growing on his windowsill, and he'd even been able to fish in a nearby canal, getting a decent amount of carp and roach.

It hadn't been enough, and his savings were getting as drained from his food bills as they were from all the things he was having to buy for the cottage. If he were a superstitious man he'd think the place was cursed. So much had been broken when he'd first moved in, and it seemed that in the time it took for him to get one thing fixed three more would break. 

When he wasn't working he'd usually spend time in the local town. It was a small place, filled with enough interesting bits of history to bring in a steady flow of tourists. It didn't have much in the way of supermarkets, and he had to drive further out of town to get to a hardware store. It was filled with good places to eat though, the streets lined with restaurants and cafes.

He'd visited one of them today, popping in after his shopping run to treat himself to a cup of bubble tea. It sat on the dashboard of his van as he made his way home. The sun was setting as he drove down the winding lane to his cottage, and as he stepped out he took a moment to look over his land. The dim orange light made things seem nicer than they usually did in the harsh light of day. Tall oaks cast long shadows across his fields, and the canal in the distance sparkled in the light. Roads crisscrossing the landscape made him wish he had more time to take his bike out, to spend hours exploring their twists and turns.

He let out a long sigh that felt like it been lurking in his lungs for days. This work, this life was what he'd always wanted. Even if he had to pick up another job to make ends meet in the meantime he'd finally have his dream.

When the light fully faded and the air began to chill Mako continued inside, heavy boots stomping on the stone floors as he dumped his drink and shopping bag onto the kitchen table. It was the only piece of furniture that had come with the house, and he suspected it was because the previous owners hadn't figured out how to take it out. Carved from a huge slab of black oak it dominated the room, clearly built for a large family to sit around. Maybe it had even been built inside, there was no way it would have fit through the doors. Mako hit his head off the frames often enough to know how small they were.

He was starting to put things away when a loud peppy song filled the air. Grumbling, he pulled his phone from his pocket and answered the call. "Hey."   "Mako? Hi." He recognized the voice, it belonged to one of the other farmers in the area. Why they had his phone number was beyond him. "One of our pigs has been injured, we need to get her to the vets but our car isn't big enough, can you come with your van? We'll pay for petrol- "

Ah, Claire.  Lived with her wife and a group of the cutest ginger Tamworth pigs Mako had ever seen. "Yeah, I'll be right over."

Shopping abandoned, he ran out to the van. He liked Claire, she kept the pigs as pets and didn't see them as food. Plus, he wouldn't be able to live with himself if he didn't help and the pig died.

Night had fully settled in by the time he returned home. The pig was fine, a nasty injury to the leg had been stitched up and it was staying the night at the vets. Claire and Alka had insisted he stay for dinner after he'd driven them home, and it had been fun. They were good company, and the food had been delicious. Home-grown, perfectly cooked and not a piece of pork in sight.

The mood throughout the meal had been light, but on the drive back he began to sink. Maybe he was just tired, but seeing them together made him wonder why he'd never had that kind of relationship.

Maybe he'd just missed his chance. He'd been too nervous as a teenager to ask anyone out, spent his twenties figuring out himself and starting hormones. He'd had a few fleeting dates, but hadn't been in an actual relationship until he was in his thirties. Even then they didn't last long, any initial spark of romance fading out fast. It was probably just him, he wasn't the best partner.

The guys he picked up always seemed so excited to date a strong silent guy who owned a motorbike, but after a few weeks they began to find the silence annoying, started to insist he talk to them more.

One guy, Quinn, had been so insistent that Mako was what he needed in his life. An exciting dangerous biker who would get into fights whenever he asked. He'd been put off when Mako had to do boring things like "going to work" and "not getting arrested". Things had come to a messy end when he asked Mako to meet his parents, the ones who were paying for Quinn's very nice apartment and who owned the company Mako was working for at the time. Mako had been quietly asked to quit by his boss a week after the break-up, with the unspoken implication that it was better than being fired.

It might be too late for him to start a new relationship. Who was he going to meet out in the middle of nowhere?

The door creaked loudly as he pushed it open, and he mentally added oiling the hinges to the long list of things that needed doing. He fumbled for the light switch, freezing in shock when the lights flickered on.

With all the repair work he'd been doing he hadn't bothered much with keeping the place tidy. The kitchen had quickly devolved into piles of unwashed dishes and bags of rubbish he hadn't gotten rid of. It was always on his list, but never enough of a priority that it got done.

Disbelieving eyes took in a kitchen that was now cleaner than Mako had ever seen it. The room had been scrubbed clean, his dishes sat in a neat pile on the countertop and the bags of rubbish had vanished off somewhere.   Only one item in the room seemed out of place. The cup of bubble tea was right where he left it in the middle of the table. Except it now had a straw sticking out of it, and was completely empty.

He wasn't sure how long he stood there, staring at the empty plastic cup. Had somebody broken into his house? Possible, he never really bothered locking the doors. But why clean his kitchen? Why drink his tea?

He moved further into the house, searching for any other surprises. Everything else seemed the same, his laptop was still in the living room where he'd left it.

"What the fuck."  

The next few days saw him on edge, making sure the house was fully locked up when he left and keeping an ear out for any strange noises when he was there. A loud knock at his door made him jump, heart racing as he fumbled the latch. It was only Alka, with news of the pig's recovery and a small basket of food. He just shrugged her off when she asked if he was okay, mumbled something about being tired. He didn't mention the strange event, and he was starting to doubt it had actually happened.

Drifting off to sleep the next night he was jolted awake by a loud crash from below. He practically leapt out of bed, grabbing a plank of wood before rushing downstairs. He quickly saw the cause, his pile of dishes scattered across the stone floor as if they'd been swept off the counter.

The back door hung open, and he rushed into the cold night air, expecting to hear an engine or at least footsteps. There was nothing. Just the rustle of the wind and the occasional chirp of an insect. He pulled on the boots he kept by the door, wandering outside with a tight grip on the plank.

There was nothing. His house was far enough away from anywhere else that someone wouldn't have just walked, but there weren't any cars or bikes further down the lane. He was shivering after a few minutes, wishing he'd gone to bed in more than a t-shirt and boxers. Going back inside might give whoever did this time to run, and he desperately wanted answers for why they were doing this.

He trudged towards the hill, hoping the height would give him some new perspective. Maybe it had just been the wind? The door latch had slipped loose, the door swung open, but it would take a pretty strong wind to knock the dishes off.

There! A person lay still in the long grass of the hill. Mako hefted the plank, storming over. "Who the hell-" He growled when he realized it was just a scarecrow, lying there as if dropped.

He picked it up, confused. He didn't own a scarecrow, and he'd never seen this one around before. Maybe whoever was bothering him had been messing with other farms too. He took one last long look around. If anyone was out here he wouldn't find them in the dark.

Holding the scarecrow in one hand he made his way back to the house. He'd ask around when he next went into town, see if anyone else was being fucked with.

He dumped the scarecrow on the sofa once he was back inside, making sure the door was locked. It was probably the most unsettling scarecrow he'd ever seen. A disturbingly human-like body stitched together with two wooden limbs and a burlap face. Maybe it had been a Halloween decoration once?  It was left there as Mako went back upstairs, exhausted and ready to return to bed.

--

If he had been able to muster the energy to move the next morning, the alarm clock would have been out of the window within seconds of it going off. As it was, he lay there overwhelmed with the desire to just fall back asleep, irritating beeping or not.

He didn't want to get up and feel his body protest his lack of sleep. Didn't want to go downstairs and sweep up the broken crockery. Didn't want to drive into town and buy replacements.  Definitely didn't want to find out what else had broken in the few hours he'd been asleep.

Thankfully, the desire to write the day off as a complete loss was defeated by his need to get up and piss. He flicked the alarm off and dragged himself out of bed. Joints ached in protest as he starred down the stairs, glaring at the scarecrow on his sofa. He didn't want to deal with that either, its eyes seeming to follow him around the room as he swept up the shards of broken plates.

Scarecrows couldn't stare. They couldn't see and this one didn't even have proper eyes. Even so, Mako took hold of the things straw ponytail and turned its face away, leaving him to have breakfast in peace.

He spent the day removing window frames, the old wood rotted and splintering apart. The glass was intact, but each square of wood only held a single pane. He'd have to think about upgrading to double glazing at some point. The place would be hell to heat in the winter otherwise. It did come with a fireplace, taking up a wall of the living room. He'd need a specialist to clean it out though, another expense he didn't want to deal with.

By the time he'd replaced the windows his stomach was beginning to growl loudly. A friend of his once joked it sounded like the Wild Hog Power tattoo on his stomach was complaining it hadn't been fed enough.

He rifled through the basket of food Alka had bought him, pulling out a pie and some vegetables. Oh, and a small bottle of mead. He pulled it out, examining the label. He recognized the farm it came from, they sold honey at the local market.

Pouring himself a glass he immediately realised he almost certainly shouldn't be drinking. It was difficult enough dealing with his life sober at the moment, and he didn't want to face off with an intruder while drunk. He allowed himself a small sip, the sweet taste almost tempting him to finish the glass. It was left on the table as his finished his meal, heading off to bed.

The scarecrows gaze followed him up the stairs, its stitched on smile seeming wider than before.

[the-colony-roleplay]

Siddhartha ‘Sid’ Jha | Twenty Four;  Survivor

House: Brink Security Class: 2 Status: Infected - Telekinesis

History

Las Vegas—an oasis of cheap thrills within a sprawl of glittering lights and minor sins. Sid’s parents were the ultimate Vegas Strip cliché on the surface: a cocktail waitress and a chronic gambler who fell for each other at the roulette wheel. After a whirlwind courtship they were married, and later became the parents of two boys. His mother eventually moved into a back office job at a casino. Sid’s father continued to bargain for a better life with the family budget at professional poker tournaments around town.

The early years were exceptionally lean. His parents did not shield Sid and his older brother Vrisan from the extent of their financial despair. In turn, the guilt in asking for the smallest necessities ingrained the need in Sid to aim high. One day, when Sid was eleven, his father returned from a weekend tournament.

He’d won. He’d won big.

Lady Luck had finally taken Mr. Jha by the hand, and each successive win emboldened his father. Food became plentiful if not more nourishing. The boys had new clothes and items once considered luxuries. Most importantly, a permanent home replaced living in weekly rated motels or the family car. Sid’s father flaunted his sudden success and increasing status on the professional poker circuit. He also passed on a philosophy to an impressionable Sid. Turning dreams into reality didn’t require hard work. It required smart work. And a lot of luck too.

Sid believed it all until the Feds arrived to arrest Mr. and Mrs. Jha on fraud and money laundering charges. They were two players caught in a larger scheme that had been run out of the very casino they met in. While their roles had been small, the penalties for both parents would be paid for in years behind bars.

With their mother and father in prison the boys, then teenagers, were sent to live with their paternal grandparents in Texas. For a time Sid hated his father. The man had become one of the top 25 poker players in Vegas—why the hell would he ever get involved with a scam on a casino? But living with grandparents he barely knew with all promises of the future gone forced him to viscerally feel the hunger in his father for a better life, and the poor choice of a shortcut to do so.

Being older, Vrisan made a quick escape in following a girlfriend to Boston. Determined to join his brother Sid decided to place his own bet on university. Through a complicated web of scholarships, grants, part-time jobs, and assistance from his brother, Sid finally arrived in Boston to attend a small music conservatory. Meanwhile, Vrisan had begun to gamble in the local casinos. At best he was an average player, and most of his winnings went to Sid’s university bills.  

Leaving Texas was a substantial accomplishment and only made Sid want what his father’s mistakes had robbed from him. He’d also recently met a student attending Harvard. Besides immediately bonding over Star Wars and French roast espresso, Teilo drew the curtain back on a world of opulence and wealth that Sid ached to be a part of. Teilo’s determination to create his own life by his own rules also struck a chord. When Teilo offered Sid cheap rent in the spare room of his campus apartment, it was a no-brainer that Sid move in.

He decided to join Vrisan and take a chance on what had once been the family’s salvation: cards. He studied past videos of his father in high-stakes tournaments online and practiced poker with his brother. It soon became apparent that Sid had a mind for numbers and patterns. Not just memorizing suits and face cards, but being able to read other player’s tells with increasing accuracy. Aside from the potential to make fast money, he couldn’t quite ignore the compulsive itch of the game. No matter how down in dollars he found himself, there was always the next hand to win it back. Or the next. And it made his mouth water to even think about.

Sid abandoned online gambling sites trading in cyptocurrencies and moved on to illegal underground games. The buy ins were high, but the payouts could be massive, and still being too young to play in the local casinos the network of backroom games became his addiction. Sid began to run his own games too, utilizing Teilo’s well-heeled fellow students at Harvard with trust funds to burn.  

He adorned himself in nicer clothes, and could buy expensive things. He put together a plan for transferring to Harvard. Finally he’d be part of the Ivy League orbit, as dazzling as any neon sign back home. Smart work and luck. It was about to pay off.

With the swift, striking chaos of a cosmic joke, it was all over.

At first Harvard was but one of several gathering hubs for survivors until it eventually became designated as an early colony, and home to Teilo and Sid. The Harvard elite and those who sought shelter there found themselves hurled back to the Stone Age, but in a well-preserved cave. There was hope that perhaps the world would be pieced together again and their dreams were on a temporary hold.

Sid Today

Sid had no need to be concerned about the infections, or even the rumours of a new group called the NWRF. Initially, the Reformers were meant to bring stability and order to the colonies. The sprawling Harvard campus had grown organically into a refuge but the majority were the students who had no choice but to stay. The Infected, on the other hand, consisted of older individuals feeding into the former school immediately after D-Day.

Just as the day his parents’ arrest changed life as he knew it, so did the Second Falling. At first Sid did his best to ignore the symptoms, chalking them up to an extended flu. Stress. Anything. After all, new reported infections had been rare in the last few years. It wasn’t until he was crossing a stately courtyard on campus that the infection violently manifested. A survivor set about relieving Sid of his brother’s jacket, and in turn a statue left the sturdy base it stood on to pin the man to the ground, pulverizing bone and tenderizing fascia.

Word of the incident spread and fear began to simmer. In the aftershock of his mounting uncontrollable outbursts Sid could feel the scrutiny of the NWRF. They tended to settle like mold on every surface and were rumoured to be collecting details on the Infected. The brutality of his infection and the inability to control it brought Sid to one conclusion.

A conclusion that didn’t come easily, and one he spent several nights discussing with Teilo. Vrisan attempted to talk both boys out of leaving but at the end of the day, Sid was more like his father than he imagined. He wasn’t running away. He was placing a bet on a better life once more.

Sid and Teilo fled Harvard in the dead of night fed on adrenaline and hope. In a way the trip became an inadvertent adventure. They crossed an ocean and entered the U.K. Wastes with Teilo somehow bringing half of Harvard with him. Sid had parted ways with his six string acoustic, the only real thing of value he had. But if his friend was leaving everything he knew behind, the least Sid could do was carry those sacred sentimental objects that held magic for Teilo. He didn’t complain. Well, only a little.

Today, Sid loathes his infection—or rather his lack of control over it. The confident and free spirited boy who could make friends easily is slowly being erased with every telekinesis outburst. Guilt in leaving behind Vrisan and taking Harvard away from Teilo is etched in fresh highways of red lines on his arms, which he hides beneath a weathered leather jacket.

With his old self harder to find under the infection, he is a flux of vapor in a vacuum. Sid hasn’t contacted his brother since arriving at Colony 22, unable to process how to explain his current failure. He worries Teilo’s unwavering sense of justice will be skewed by dragging him into a nest of vipers far worse than what they imagined. Or worse, that his infection might inadvertently harm the one person he relies on.

RELATED BIO: Teilo Embry Aisling

CLOSED

[iv-kplpt]

build our own luck [the agency au part two]

i was feeling like crap, thanks to my least favorite day of the year - so i decided to write something as self indulgent as it gets. in this one, there is actually no plot or drama; i just wanted to write about charlie and oswald living their lives. and nothing bad happens to them. it’s TREAT YO SELF: the fic, basically. writing it made me feel warm and fuzzy. it’s a nice feeling.

19k words rated m

During the months that followed, Charlie often felt uneasy; she was smart enough to know leaving the Agency wasn’t as simple as using primitive blackmail. What she did was desperate and blunt and could easily be used against her; but she willingly put herself under the sword of Damocles, feeling this is the path she was meant to follow. Perhaps she was blinded; but she didn’t mind. What was born between her and one of Gotham’s many masked criminals definitely felt real - and maybe it was foolish, diving headfirst into the unknown, sinking in his eyes and melting under his touch. Perhaps it was rash and unwise, forfeiting months of training and embracing her moral numbness - but it just felt so damn good.

Oswald’s next big plan was to finally have his revenge for a tragedy that befell his family when he was a child; his father was pushed to a suicide and his mother was unrightfully locked up in Arkham Asylum and people responsible for it took everything from him, every last penny, every last shred of faith in people’s good nature - and he was so, so very close to getting definitive, damning proof of that. It wouldn’t bring his family back - but it sure as hell is nicer to weep in luxury, than in poverty.

“Don’t get me wrong, I will spill some blood.” he told her one day. “A lot of it, actually - but it’s time for the name Cobblepot to return to the top. Don’t you think?”

“You know I’m on board with everything.” she muttered in response, trying to catch last minutes of sleep. “You incubus.”

He laughed and kissed the skin between her shoulder blades and she smiled blissfully.

Her role in his plans wasn’t complicated, but it definitely was significant; someone had to scrub his criminal records clean and to re-introduce him to Gotham as a shining example of virtue; he wanted to take back what’s his not by force - but by making people want to give it back to him. She was supposed to handle his good PR - while he’d take care of the behind-the-scenes, more dirty aspects.

“I’ve already arranged everything. I got in touch with the best damn burglar money can buy.”

“Why don’t you steal it yourself?”

“Because I’m too lazy.” he replied with a shrug and she laughed. “And Catwoman? She has a well-earned reputation of being reliable. Why risk fucking it up if I can pay someone to… Not fuck it up?”

“Smart.” she said; she was sitting on the couch in her hotel apartment - or rather their hotel apartment. Oswald had planned his official return in detail; since he was going to resurface soon, Charlie threw the first pebble of the upcoming avalanche and allowed him to temporarily move in with her. They had a whole story, ready for anyone curious enough to ask questions. A very pretty, completely fake story; one of those fairytales that only seem to happen to the rich and the beautiful.

“Of course it’s smart, I’m brilliant.”

“Uh-uh.” she muttered, glancing at the screen of her laptop. “Alright, the British should really work on their security… And training their detectives. They never got half the stuff you’ve done.”

“That’s because they kept underestimating me and overlooking obvious clues. But I don’t mind. It’s their loss.”

It was a late afternoon, and Charlie was putting some of her skills to use by reworking Oswald’s records from his time in the UK; she was no master hacker - if she was she’d probably be working for the Agency’s IT or intel department - but she was trained well. Oswald never let himself be known as a high-profile criminal, and he never gave the police enough evidence to link him with the Penguin; his files were barely protected and it only took her half an hour to wipe out the bad parts and rework the semi-decent ones into something heart crushingly good.

“This is almost too easy.” she complained jokingly, saving the photographs from a gambling bust onto her hard drive. “Or maybe I’m simply overqualified.”

“The latter, definitely.” he said; his phone dinged. “Would you look at that! The physical copies of my files had gone missing. What a shame.”

“Yes, what a terrible, terrible loss.” she said, retracing her footsteps and covering her tracks, just to make sure no one will discover what happened. “So, you’re now officially clean. The Agency files still remain, but the Agency has files on everyone, not only their targets… Meaning you’re now a model citizen. How does it feel?”

“Boring as fuck.”

“Yeah, socially acceptable behaviors tend to be boring. Honestly I’m almost sad, you just lost your bad boy charm. No gambling, no illegal boxing matches, the dishonorable discharge wasn’t really spectacular… It’s a good thing I’ve seen how awful you are.” she finished with a smile, turning her laptop off.

“It’s also a good thing I’m a handsome devil. Good looks can make anyone interesting.” he said with a wink, and she giggled; they had this conversation a few times before, between reuniting and making his grand plans reality. He was talking about Bruce Wayne, his childhood friend who grew up with almost everything Oswald had lost, partially thanks to Bruce’s father - and a man Charlie encountered a few times during her stay in Gotham. He was pleasant, not her type and rubbed her the wrong way; but she was as nice to him as possible, knowing this influential playboy has a bone to pick with Louise, who used to also work for the Agency. At first it was all just a front, a way of not making her fellow agent’s life more complicated; but then it became reality. Charlie and Louise had both left the Agency - and the further Bruce Wayne was from Charlie’s personal life and her involvement with Oswald’s revenge the better.

“Now what?”

“Now… We wait.” Oswald said with a shrug. “Kyle should be done with her job on the night of Dent’s fundraiser, which is when, in a week?”

“A week and a half. Louise got me an invite.”

“How nice of her. I keep forgetting she’s working with that guy.”

“If he becomes the mayor, she’ll probably take over as the new DA. Can he even appoint her as his successor?”

“Don’t ask me, american law is an enigma to me. This country is so needlessly complicated, almost as if government's sole mission was to fuck its people over as much as possible. Do you think that’s what Washington planned?” he asked suddenly. “Do you think he dreamed of creating a free country that’d coincidentally be the most complicated place on Earth?”

“I don’t think he planned that far ahead. I think his plans only went as far as kicking the Brits out, then he started to make shit up as he went… And look at America now. Totally not worth it.”

“Bold statement coming from an ex federal agent.” he said and she laughed; all was good between them ever since she abandoned the Agency for his sake. Many people would say he pulled her to the dark side, that he dragged her down; but she didn’t care. Some people are not meant for greatness or goodness; perhaps she was one of those souls meant to be cautionary tales. All that mattered was the fact she was in love - it didn’t matter how bloody and dark his plans were. She could take it.

Eventually the night of the fundraiser came; Oswald was supposed to face Bruce for the first time in years. Charlie - who officially didn’t know anything about Oswald’s history with the Wayne family and was simply playing the role of a bubbly, young socialite making new connections - was bringing him with her as her plus one, marking the beginning of Oswald’s slow return to the top. She’s been in Gotham for a while now, and was slowly becoming recognizable; it was good time for them to start their show.

“Nervous?” she asked him as they were getting ready to leave; but he shook his head.

“Excited.” he replied simply, buttoning his shirt. “I’ve been waiting for this moment to come.”

“Mmm.” she muttered, sitting down to take care of her hair and face and he glanced at her reflection, tying his tie.

“Oh, good choice.” he said, seeing her reach for the benitoite earrings he gave her. “Those fit you.”

“It’s my favorite pair, you know.” she said playfully, picking up a string of pearls. “How do I look?”

“Distractingly gorgeous, as usual.” he said as she got up, smoothing down the fabric of her dress - a simple, cocktail pencil piece with bateau neckline in a deep blue color few shades darker than her eyes. It was one of her favorites; it went with almost everything.

(She favored pencil dresses and skirts; they were simple, elegant, graceful and looked nothing like more voluminous clothes she wore as Penguin’s masked accomplice. Her civilian clothes were all about simple elegance and subtlety with occasional flashes of tasteful ostentation; what she wore when robbing banks was all about the drama.)

“You look great as well.” she sighed as he was fixing his tie in place with a pin. “You look good in suits, you know?”

“I look good in everything.” he replied and she rolled her eyes, unable to contain her smile. She meant what she said - he looked damn good in formal wear.

“Narcissus.” she said, picking up her purse. “Come on. We’ll be fashionably late.”

“Planning a dramatic entrance?” he asked as they were walking down the hallway, towards the elevators.

“Let’s save dramatic entrances for another occasion.” she said, alluding to their alter egos. “Do you think he’ll be happy to see you?”

“Who, Bruce? Doesn’t matter.” Oswald said with a shrug, following her into the elevator. “Do you like him?”

“He seems pleasant. Kind of boring, but definitely pleasant. I can see myself developing a crush on him, if I was a different person.” she said, glancing at him. “But luckily I have a more refined taste.”

“Luckily indeed.” he said, wrapping his arm around her waist as the elevator reached the ground level and they walked out, a picture-perfect couple like many others.

They were fashionably late; and on their way to the Wayne Manor Oswald got a message from Catwoman, a thief he hired to steal a crucial piece of evidence for him; she succeeded and was ready to meet him to make an exchange whenever he was ready.

“Well that went remarkably smooth.” he said after Charlie read the content of the text to him; he was driving and she - sitting in the passenger seat - insisted on him acting reasonably. “That will put Falcone in my pocket for the time being.”

“Catwoman.” Charlie said thoughtfully. “I remember her files. No one ever got anything that could lead to uncovering her identity.”

“She’s good. Sinks her hard-earned money in state of the art toys, steals blueprints, prototypes… It’s a good thing she didn’t fuck up. I’d hate to have to get rid of her.”

“What, you’d send your men to bring you her head on a silver platter?”

“Silver? No, I wouldn’t settle for silver. I’d go with gold.” he said nonchalantly and she laughed.

They weren’t the only ones running late - Bruce Wayne himself was late as well and had yet to make an appearance as they showed up.

“God, I forgot just how posh this place is.” Oswald muttered, looking around the hall. “See this closet right there? Used to be my favorite hiding spot back when I was a kid.”

“Oh, you’ll have to show me around.” she said quietly, glancing at him. “Lots of memories?”

“Tons of them, actually. I think I broke Alfred’s favorite vase… Right here.” he said, stopping near an elegant, empty table. “Bruce took the blame. He was a good friend.”

“Maybe he still is a good friend.” Charlie suggested softly, standing next to him; he pulled her closer without a word.

“If it isn’t Gotham’s most disgusting couple!” they suddenly heard a familiar voice coming from behind them; when they turned around - Louise was there, holding a glass of wine. “Fashionably late. How delightful.”

“Entrance is everything.” Charlie said with a smile, brushing Louise’s cheek with her red lips.

“Now that’s a weird thing.” Louise said, looking at Oswald. “I’ll never get used to seeing you out and about. Feels wrong.”

“Hidden in plain sight.” he replied, nodding slightly. “Where’s Wayne?”

“Has yet to show up, so… Be patient. Be patient for Harvey.” she giggled, glancing in the direction of her - visibly stressed out - superior. “He’s losing his mind. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”

“I’ll see you later.” Oswald said quietly, brushing Charlie’s temple with his lips. “I have some spying to do.”

“Take care.” Charlie replied quietly and walked away with Louise.

“Harvey!” she called out to Dent, who looked in their direction.

“My god.” he said tiredly. “You haven’t seen Bruce anywhere, have you?”

“It might be a good time to issue a search party.” Louise suggested. “But in the meantime… This is your potential voter, try to squeeze money out of her. Charlie, this is Harvey Dent, the better of two candidates. And better remember that.”

“Pleased to finally meet you in person.” Charlie said with a smile as Dent was shaking her hand. “Your posters are in the hall of my hotel. Staff makes sure no one vandalizes them.”

“It means my campaign is working! Good.” he said with a smile of relief. “I take you’re the school friend Louise mentioned once or twice..?”

“If you mean the girl everyone called Heinz behind her back, then yes, that’d be me.” she said, bringing up one of many details of her - completely fake - backstory.

Dent was a pleasant, honest man who wanted to make a difference; he had strong opinions about crime and corruption and Charlie gladly decided to financially back his cause, for some good citizen brownie points.

The evening was going smoothly, especially since Bruce Wayne decided to finally show up; considering how calm he appeared Oswald probably didn’t confront him.

(She spotted Oswald drinking wine straight out of the bottle and shot him a disapproving look from across the room; he winked at her in response. Later she saw him talking quietly with Alfred, Bruce’s butler; she wondered how did the old man react to the sight of his master’s childhood friend, all grown up.)

And then, Carmine Falcone showed up, unexpected and uninvited; Charlie and Louise were in the corner of the room as he walked in and Oswald quickly walked up to them, looking angry.

“That wasn’t part of the plan.” he stated, glancing in mafioso’s direction; head of the mob seemingly didn’t notice him, too busy offending the interior of Wayne Manor.

“You should go.” Charlie said hastily, handing him the car keys. “Before things turn ugly.”

“Oh, they will turn ugly once I get to Falcone.” Oswald promised her with a dark smile. “But you’re right, tonight’s not the time.”

“Keep your murderous schemes to yourself, thank you very much.” Louise hissed at him. “Go! I’ll take her home.”

“So better put that wine down, miss lawyer.” he said mockingly and slipped away, one last time glancing in the direction of Falcone, who was trying to get Bruce Wayne to shake his hand.

“Christ.” Louise muttered, finishing her wine. “So, how are you two doing?” she asked finally. “Do you want to kill him, or do you still claim you’re in love with him?”

“I love him.” Charlie said firmly. “We made up. Did the Agency reach out to you?”

“No, they just took my letter and fucked off, which is… Concerning. I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop.” Louise sighed. “Even though I think they really took him off the hook… We should probably make sure he doesn’t make it back to the list.”

“He’s reasonable.” Charlie said, deciding to act on her belief partners should support each other. “But you’re right.”

They both turned around when Falcone looked in their direction, in order to avoid him spotting them; he probably remembered them from his auctions, especially Charlie and her joy after getting her hands on Cobblepot family memorabilia.

“What is Falcone doing here?” Charlie asked quietly and Louise shook her head.

“Beats me, but this can’t be good. My gut tells me some shit’s about to go down. You better watch Oswald, he might do something stupid.”

“I’m not his babysitter.” Charlie protested faintly and Louise snickered.

“No, but he desperately needs a voice of reason. And this is when you come in… Because there is no point in suggesting you to become his conscience.” she added. “God, you really love him. This is unbelievable.”

“What?”

“Your face. That’s the face normal people make when they see Chris Evans. You… Make that face when you’re talking about Oswald. What do you see in him?”

“That’s not how love works. It’s just… Him.” Charlie said with a shrug. “As a whole. But I guess what I see when I look at him is… A promise. And a sense of belonging, not in terms of ownership and property, but placement.”

“That’s poetic and I can hardly argue with that.” Louise sighed nostalgically. “But that ownership thing… I thought he’d be more territorial. More of a jealous asshole, considering his general attitude towards… Well, everything.”

“Maybe he simply trusts me. Maybe he sees a difference between objects and people.” Charlie said lightly. “Also there’s a matter of me repeatedly telling him he stole my heart. I think he got my subtle hints.”

“Ah, but you never know. Remember: he’s a man. They’re simply not conditioned to get subtle hints.”

Louise drove Charlie back to the Peak that night, since Oswald took her car; the apartment was dark and empty, as Charlie noticed with a sigh.

She took a shower and went to bed; and few hours later she was woken up with a phone call.

“Yes?” she muttered, still half asleep, barely holding the receiver. “What is it?”

An anxious night-shift receptionist was calling to ask if she can go downstairs; an angry man was demanding access to her apartment. Charlie groaned, got up, put up a bathrobe and shuffled out, wondering how exactly is she going to murder the person responsible for waking her up.

“Charlie!” she heard Oswald’s voice. “This young man right here wanted to call the cops on me, can you believe it?!”

“Hardly.” she muttered, glancing at him and sighing at the sight of a blood staining his clothes and face.

She turned her attention to the panicked young man behind the counter; he was probably new, considering she had never seen him before. More seasoned staff members quickly learned to pay no attention to chatty man living with Schiller-Aberdeen in 362.

“He’s checked in with me.” she yawned, sleepily taking Oswald’s hand and stroking it with her fingertips. “Can you keep this whole thing to yourself… Liam?”

“Naturally!” the young man assured her ardently. “I am so terribly sorry for the problem.”

“It’s nothing.” she muttered, pulling Oswald towards the elevator, desperate to get back to bed.

“Don’t you want to know what happened?” Oswald asked as the elevator doors closed and Charlie sighed deeply.

(She didn’t mind seeing him covered in blood; but not at three AM when she was half asleep.)

“Alright. What happened?”

“I think I killed a guy.” Oswald said with satisfaction. “Two of ‘em tried to jump me and Bruce… So I showed them what happens to people who cross Oswald Cobblepot.”

“Oooh.” she said with a faint smile; she liked watching him fight. He was quick and deadly and relentless and it created a beautiful contrast with the memories of his kisses and tender touches. “And how did the meeting go? Exchanged any gossip?”

“Well, one thing I know for sure is that Bruce Wayne grew up to be a prick.” Oswald said, rolling his eyes. “The apple didn’t fall far from the tree it seems… But that will only make my revenge feel even better.”

“Uh-uh.” she yawned. “Did you ask him about Falcone?”

“Well, Bruce claims Falcone showed up uninvited, but… I don’t believe him.” Oswald finished in a low tone. “I don’t believe a single word he says.”

“Sucks to be him.” she yawned; the elevator stopped at their floor.

She simply wanted to go back to sleep; but Oswald wasn’t done talking.

“My god, Oswald.” she said finally, her eyes closed. “Look. I love and support you, but I’m going to kill you if you don’t let me sleep.”

In response he only laughed, finally shutting up; few minutes later she felt his warm body next to her and smiled as he wrapped his arms around her.

***

He put his plans in motion soon after. Bruce Wayne’s good name had been dragged through mud and Falcone had been arrested, after GCPD anonymously received a complete documentation of his criminal empire - stored on a drive Oswald hired the elusive Catwoman to steal.

“Oh, this is beautiful!” he said as they were watching the news, a live relation of police’s attack on Skyline club. “Something tells me a lot of land will soon be up for grabs. Should I invest in real estate?”

“Yes, but don’t count on me visiting you there. I… Don’t like heights.” she confessed and he laughed. “One thing the Agency never made me unlearn: fear of heights.”

“Then it’s a good thing penguins are flightless birds.”

Carmine Falcone died few days after being arrested - he was killed, and the killer left no trace, disappearing like a ghost; but somehow - looking at Oswald and listening to his melodious humming - Charlie knew who’s directly responsible.

“Did you kill Falcone?” she asked him one evening; it took him a while to answer.

“Yes.” he finally said, lazily running his fingers through her hair, wrapping the red strands around his fingers, pulling gently. “He deserved it.”

“Mmm, I’m not questioning it.” she purred, thinking back to the massive file the Agency had on him and his entire family. “I just want to know just how much blood exactly do you have on your hands.”

“Mmm. And why’s that?” he asked, sliding his hand down her back. “Do you want me covered in blood, Charlie?”

“Maybe.” she responded, closing her eyes. “Maybe I do. A girl can dream.”

(His bloodied hands, leaving smudges on her skin; his bloodied lips, leaving a metallic aftertaste in her mouth. A girl can dream - and her dreams were of violence.)

“This girl in particular.” he agreed, gently lifting her chin with his other hand and leaning in to steal a kiss from her, like he did many times before. He was so violent, so merciless; but his kisses felt like peace.

He took her with him next time he claimed a life in revenge; his plan was to dispose of cowardly Hill and to put a final nail in the coffin of Bruce Wayne’s good reputation by exposing what Thomas did to his mother.

From what Charlie saw and heard, Oswald missed his mother dearly; she was a gentle soul who always strived to see beauty and hope in the world. What happened to her, what happened to the entire family - was ugly and dark and so, so unfair. Sins of the father are not sins of the child, and Bruce shouldn’t be paying the price for his father’s crimes - but for Charlie Bruce was just one step above a regular stranger. What Oswald was going to do to him wasn’t just; but she didn’t mind. Maybe she was blinded, maybe she was corrupted - or maybe she simply wasn’t a good person.

“This is going to be a masterpiece.” Oswald mused as they were gearing up in one of Penguin’s hideouts. “Most memorable night in Gotham’s history.”

“More memorable than the night when the Waynes died?” Charlie asked, ruffling her hair; the Pinniped - as opposed to elegant, reserved Schiller-Aberdeen - always had her hair in a state of mess, an uncontrollable mass of locks and curls. It was a good disguise; so far no one seemed to connect the dots.

“Way more memorable.” Oswald assured her, tying his tie. “Archie! The serum.”

“Here.” Tennyson said, throwing Oswald two identical syringes, filled with translucent liquid. “That’s all we’ve got.”

“It’ll do.”

“What’s that?” Charlie asked as Oswald put the syringes in his pocket; in response he snickered.

“Very concentrated truth serum my most skilled accomplice cooked up for me in her spare time, between getting into Wayne’s good graces and writing very passionate articles.” he said with a smirk; he was talking about Vicki Vale - a journalist who originally reached out to him with her findings regarding the true nature of the Cobblepot family tragedy. She was cunning and calculating and very, very good at chemistry. “It exposes the most primal, basic instincts, one’s truest nature and most repressed desires. And in bigger doses… It just makes people really aggressive.”

“Oh.” she said with a nervous chuckle, thinking back to that one time when the Joker drugged her. “Just don’t use it on me.”

“There’s no need. It’s been… Thoroughly tested. Besides - it’s reserved for people I’d rather see dead.” he said with a shrug and a reassuring pat at her back.

Finally, the grand moment came; they crashed the debate between two candidates - and Gotham wasn’t too pleased to see Penguin. For the last few weeks, people thought he disappeared off the face of the Earth; perhaps he got hit with a stray bullet. Perhaps a blade found its way between his ribs. Perhaps he got bored. But no - there he was, in the spotlight, making his grand speech about debts and crimes and punishment.

(Looking at him from behind her mask Charlie wondered if he really did think it through; the pot calling the kettle black.)

All eyes were on him and he reveled in this attention; he had a penchant for theatrics. Vicki Vale played her role well, her hands and voice shaking in a very convincing way; though when no one was looking she rolled her eyes and Charlie nudged her with her bat, muffling her own laughter. Oswald seemed to love listening to the sound of his voice - personally she found it charming. It seemed like Vicki found it obnoxious.

They carried their plan out smoothly; Hill’s true nature was exposed, and so was the fate of Esther Cobblepot.

When Oswald turned his attention to panicked Dent - it was Charlie’s moment to shine. She jumped between two men, as if shielding Dent with her own body.

“Not him, no!” she said, letting Gotham believe there were first cracks among Penguin’s associates.

They let Gotham watch as he pushed her aside and cocked his gun, ready to take Dent’s life; they let Gotham watch as she threw herself at him and as he gripped her wrist so tightly she was sure there will be bruises. They let everyone see this staged lover’s quarrel, this game of lies. They threw their bait, letting Gotham believe Penguin’s scorned accomplice might come to their aid.

“You have quite a grip.” she said later that night, examining her bruises in front of a mirror. “You threw me like a ragdoll.”

“It had to be convincing. Was it convincing?”

“Well, if it wasn’t for me being used to your grips and throws…” she said with a playful smile, rubbing some lotion into her skin; it was a healing concoction, one that would render her bruises practically invisible in no time. “What now?”

“Now we wait.” he said with a yawn. “In a few days Wayne Enterprises board should decide it might be best for Brucie to step down. And that’s where I come in… A tragic hero with spotless record, brought back to Gotham by his beloved, unaware of his tragic history.” he said with a theatrical sigh. “Et voila.”

“This is the most elaborate heist I’ve ever seen, I’ve got to admit.” she said, leaving the bathroom. “I’m impressed.”

“I’ve been planning it for months.” he said lazily. “Vale helped, obviously, even though she pushed for more… Extreme measures. She wanted to take over the city. Me? I just want a front for a criminal empire.” he yawned. “God, I’m so tired. Killing people is exhausting.”

“I can imagine.”

*** Oswald got what he wanted so badly - Bruce Wayne was forced to step down as CEO and Oswald was picked to replace him. All his plans lead to that point, to that decision; the beginning of a new chapter in Cobblepot family history.

“There was no other option.” Charlie claimed with a smile as Oswald was getting ready to confront Bruce. “How shall we celebrate… Mister Cobblepot?”

“I was thinking champagne.” Oswald said, reaching for his cufflinks. “But first I want to look Bruce in the eye. I want to see his face when he realizes he lost.”

“A sight to remember.” Charlie agreed lazily. “I’ll drop by the Wayne Tower later. What exactly did you tell the board?”

“A sob story, naturally.” he replied, rolling his eyes. “And as a result I now got a whole new life handed to me, including a platinum credit card and a penthouse. My puppy eyes are a weapon of mass extortion.”

“Oooh, does it mean shopping for furnitures?”

“Yes. And I will gladly let you drag me from store to store. Everything for good PR and a well earned reputation of a charming gent. How do I look?”

“Like a handsome devil. Go, charm Regina Zellerbach out of her pants.”

Few hours later she paid him a visit in his new office. It was a weird feeling, visiting the Wayne Tower to talk to Penguin - but it worked.

She came in at just the right moment - as she shuffled into the room that would soon belong to Oswald Bruce Wayne landed a punch on Oswald’s face. A shattered remains of a glass box between two men told her everything she needed to know; she gasped audibly as Bruce gave Oswald a black eye.

“Bruce!” she and Regina Zellerbach called out simultaneously.

“He lost his bloody mind!” Oswald claimed, sparks of amusement dancing in his eyes. “Did you see that, love?!”

“You know him?!” Bruce asked angrily, turning around and facing her. “Him?!”

“I didn’t know!” she lied, opening her eyes as wide as possible in a display of innocent ignorance. “I didn’t know you two have history together!”

“What do you mean you didn’t know?!” Wayne exploded, as Regina hurried outside to get security. “What game are you playing?”

“I’m not playing games.” she said coldly, walking up to Oswald and taking a look at his eye. “I’m a newcomer and don’t know every detail of Gotham’s history. All I know… Is that you just punched my partner. Please don’t involve me in your dick measuring contest.”

“Mine’s bigger anyway.” Oswald muttered and she scoffed, even though she knew he knows she’s actually amused.

“Go to hell, Oswald. Go to hell.” Bruce said angrily, to which Oswald only shot him a cold smile, not quite matching his majestic black eye.

“I’ll say hi to your parents once I get there.” Oswald said politely and Bruce Wayne left his office, leaving Oswald behind as the new lord of the land - triumphant and content, even despite a black eye.

“I think that’s it for my friendship with Bruce Wayne.” Charlie said, glancing in the direction of the massive door. “I don’t think there will be more tea invites. Not after you called me love. Did you do it just to piss him off?”

“That is a remarkably dumb question, love.” Oswald replied and she laughed, shaking her head.

He touched the skin under his eye and hissed quietly.

“Christ, I didn’t know this wimp can throw a punch like that!”

“Another piece of your martyrdom.” she said, sitting on the surface of the massive, wooden desk. “The news story is practically writing itself.”

“Yes, and it will be one hell of an article.” he muttered in response, critically looking at a nearby bookshelf. “I think I’ll throw this one out and replace it with a giant fish tank. What do you think?”

“I think you should take some interior design classes.” she said, lightly tapping the surface of the desk with her fingertips. “Come here, you martyr.”

Zellerbach came back in a perfect moment - just to see Charlie placing butterfly light kisses on Oswald’s latest bruise. They moved away from each other as the chairwoman cleared her throat.

“Well, that was an unpleasant accident.” Oswald stated, fixing his tie and innocently looking at Regina. “What had gotten into him?!”

“No idea.” the chairwoman replied coldly, as Charlie slowly got up. “I take it… This is the partner you mentioned?”

“That’d be her, yes.” Oswald said, briefly glancing at Charlie. “My partner in crime.”

“Oswald!” Charlie scoffed, hiding her smile. “Be serious.”

“This is very interesting, mister Cobblepot. How comes nobody heard about this affair, if you don’t mind me asking?” Regina asked, turning her attention to Charlie.

“When I first visited Gotham we were still a work in progress. A long distance work in progress.” Charlie lied smoothly. “I wasn’t aware of all the details and no one ever asked about my relationship status, so… It never came up.”

“It’s mostly on me.” Oswald added lazily. “I insisted on keeping it like this, lest it would wreck her good reputation and I’d be seen as a parasite.”

“Well, in a few days you’re going to become a very public person.” Regina warned him. “We scheduled the official announcement for Saturday. Brace yourself, mister Cobblepot. Your every step will be watched… Same goes for people you surround yourself with.”

“Oh, I’ll be on my best behavior.” Oswald assured her politely. “I’ve got everything to lose. No rash decisions, no outbursts… I won’t make the board regret this decision.”

(Something in Regina’s eyes told Charlie at least one member of the board probably already regrets it.)

“I’ll be going now.” Charlie said, smoothing her dress out. “Catch me later, so we can get down to furnishing.”

“Someone already arranged a meeting with a designer.” Regina said with a sour face. “Already had been taken care of. The company really wants to keep its good name.”

“Wonderful! Charlie, love… See you later.”

“I’ll get that champagne.” she said before leaving and he nodded vigorously.

He looked like he was in his element - an important position, lots of people following his orders, lots of money, not a whole lot of responsibility.

Bruce Wayne called her when she was buying a bottle of champagne in one of Gotham’s most expensive stores.

“Hello, Bruce.” she said cautiously, putting a bottle in her basket and briefly glancing towards wines.

“Did you know about this?” Bruce asked, skipping the greetings. “His family history, my family history… It’s oddly convenient that he decided to come back just as my corporation needed a new figurehead.”

“Of course I didn’t know!” she assured Bruce, rolling her eyes. “Though to be fair… He does have every right to be angry.”

“You’re on his side?!”

“Of course I’m on his side, we’re in a relationship! Also we live in the same hotel apartment. I think I’d notice if he was involved in some shady business.”

(Like killing the mayor, drugging the candidate and exposing the true nature of Thomas Wayne.)

“Somehow I know you’re not telling me the truth.”

“Oh, come on, Bruce.” she sighed. “Get some rest, collect your thoughts. You’re paranoid. You’re lucky I even picked up, after your little show at the tower.”

“He’s not worth it, Charlie. This affection, this concern, you, you… He’s not worth it.”

“Oh, but he absolutely is worth it.” she said firmly. “If anyone in this situation doesn’t deserve me - it’s you, since clearly you can’t tell the difference between me and Oswald. See you at the press conference, Bruce. I hope you’ll come to your senses.”

She hung up and the cashier - young woman, named Betty - gave her an understanding smile.

“Men.” she said, shaking her head.

“Men.” Charlie sighed theatrically, swiping her card. “And they say us girls are petty.”

(Lying to Bruce Wayne was as easy as breathing, and she felt no remorse for leading him astray; he meant nothing to her. Their friendship was never meant to be; all it was was just another part of Oswald’s plan, another detail of Wayne’s ruined reputation. His father took everything from Oswald - so now Oswald was taking everything Thomas worked for, piece by piece. His son’s happiness was very high on that list.)

Oswald came home soon after her; he wasn’t needed, as all he had to do was to stick around for the IT guys to get him into the system. He seemed very pleased with himself as he opened the door.

“New era is beginning!” he announced. “Penniless, no-good crook Cobblepot is gone. I’m now the richest no-good crook in all of Gotham! God, I sure am glad I killed Hill and Falcone. I’d hate to be number three.”

“And I’m the best liar in Gotham. What an unstoppable force we are!” she giggled from the couch. “How’s your eye?”

“Hurts like shit, but reminds me of good ol’ times. You could always kiss it better, you know. I’m not going to mind. In fact - I demand it. I demand all the kisses I so rightfully deserve.”

“What, did success go to your head so quickly?” she asked playfully as he walked up to her. “You’re bossy. But it’s alright. I like it when you’re bossy.”

“What a funny coincidence! I also like being bossy.”

Next few days were relatively peaceful - Oswald achieved his main goal, so all that was left to do was for him to officially move into his new apartment and begin his new life as Gotham’s brightest, most tragic and most noble star. Officially, he and Charlie came as a joint package; she brought him back to Gotham, after all. It was only fair she remained in his new life - especially considering being in love would be the best PR move of them all. Nobody knew anything about Wayne’s private life - and Oswald made it his mission to be everything Bruce never was.

So nobody as much as batted an eye when they went shopping for furniture together, after planning out the interior design of Oswald’s brand new nest, located - naturally - in best part of Gotham. Oswald insisted on a bed frame with columns, claiming they are absolutely imperative to his wellbeing.

“But why?” Charlie asked, insisting on something way more simplistic.

“This is not a conversation we should be having in front of other people.” Oswald said with a wolfish grin. “But let’s just say… I think you’ll like it.”

“Alright.” she said, giving up. “Have it your way… But I’m picking the couch. And chairs. I need something with comfortable arm rests.”

“Oh, absolutely.”

“...can’t you be decent for thirty seconds?”

“I am perfectly decent.” he said innocently. “I’ve got no idea what are you talking about.”

She nudged him with her elbow and they carried on, taking care of one room at a time; Oswald seemed overjoyed at the perspective of furnishing and decorating a luxurious flat.

(Of course he insisted on a bathtub with colorful lights.)

Eventually all that was left was a trip to the tailor, to get him some better quality clothes; and he turned out to be extremely picky.

“Those two jackets are identical, Oswald. Identical.” Charlie groaned after third hour in the tiny, posh shop.

“Don’t you see the difference in shades?!”

“Obviously I do not. You look good in both, by the way.”

“Mmmm.” he muttered, critically looking at his own reflection, same way he did for the past three hours. “No, something’s off…”

“Jesus Christ.” she muttered and he snickered.

“Hey, everything about this new me has to be impeccable. Beautiful flat? Check. Tragically beautiful backstory? Check. Irresistible charm? Check. You? Check. My clothes should represent everything I stand for.”

“So buy this one.” she said, throwing a blood-colored tie at him.

He did end up buying the red tie, and a wide collection of other things; he left his measurements and address and - when he wasn’t looking, too busy admiring his own reflection, like a very bloodthirsty peacock - she sneakily bought him a pair of ruby cufflinks and a matching sapphire tie pin; they were pretty and in her colors - a gift sappy enough for a young couple and showy enough for social elite.

(The cashier seemed tormented by their presence in the shop and she couldn’t blame him - Oswald was unbearable. It was endearing - but also insufferable.)

“Maybe we should wear matching outfits.” Charlie suggested jokingly on their way home; they finally checked out of the Peak and moved their stuff to his new place. They still had a lot of unpacking to do, because they kept getting distracted - mostly by each other. New furniture needed testing, after all. “Wait. Should I even be there, if I’m not affiliated with Wayne Enterprises?”

“Of course you should be there, I have an image to maintain and people to dazzle.”

“...and that’s the only reason?”

“Of course not, and you know it. Or do you want me to spell it out for you?”

“Mmmm. Yes.” she said, not looking at him. “Why do you want me there?”

“Because…” he said, wrapping his arm around her as they were walking down the street. “Because I love you and am so, so thankful for the part you played in this thing. Also because I want to see Brucie squirm. But mostly because you played a role in this thing as well… And I love having your eyes on me. Good enough answer?”

“Yes.” she said as they entered the building. “Good enough… But I think I didn’t quite hear the first part. Care to repeat?”

“The one about me being grateful?” he asked playfully as they were waiting for the elevator.

She pouted and he laughed; but later that night he gave up and told her what she wanted to hear. He told her multiple times, as he peppered her skin with kisses and as she ruffled his hair, trying to pull him closer.

*** The morning of the press announcement came and Charlie wasn’t nervous; why would she? Everything seemed to be working perfectly for them. Oswald - despite Louise’s claims of being a terrible actor - was playing his part well; he was polite, eloquent, charming. He hid his apparent thirst for blood and other darker urges deep underneath; and watching him get dressed up in the morning Charlie almost forgot about the blood he spilled and things he stole.

(She almost forgot about their circumstances.)

“Wear these.” she said, handing him the gift she bought him yesterday. “It’s… A present.”

“Marking your territory?” he asked with a smirk and she scoffed. “I’ll wear them with pride.”

“You better.” she said, disappearing in the bathroom; she had a lovemark on her neck to cover up.

She left the bathroom dressed up and proper; Oswald watched her as she was putting her shoes on, elegant ankle strap pumps.

“You know, I quite like it when you’re all prim and proper and elegant.”

“Why so?”

“Because it creates a beautiful contrast with the way you are when we are alone. Not quite so proper, not quite so elegant… And definitely not quite so articulate.” he said with a smirk. “People look at you and see a graceful, reserved young woman. I look at you and see… More restrained person.” he said, laughing at his own innuendo; a reference to when they were testing out their new bed and he finally revealed why he insisted on the columns. It was a long night for her, as he refused to give her what she so desperately wanted - not until she admitted his idea was good. And it took a lot of convincing to make her crack, a lot of gentle persuasion - but in the end his silver tongue prevailed and she called his name out tearfully, barely able to arch her back due to her restraints.

It was a fun night - even if it left her with new bruises she had to hide. Other people didn’t need to know the details of their intimacy; even if she sometimes entertained the thought of going out with her bruises exposed - he now had a reputation to maintain. No point in spicing it up with easily misinterpreted bruises.

“Same goes for you, actually.” she said as they were leaving the building. “You come off as charming and polite, but I know you’re actually an insufferable prick.”

“Ah, but also a very handsome one!”

“Infuriatingly handsome.” she admitted, thinking back to that one time he pulled her undies down with his teeth and winked at her, making her blush furiously; he then insisted on having her eyes on him, as a motivation to keep being nice.

She thought about it a lot.

“Do you remember about tonight?” he asked as they were driving towards the Wayne Tower.

“Yes. You’re taking me out for dinner, right?”

“Yes, now that I can actually get a reservation at Lafontaine’s, instead of threatening the owner.” he said and she laughed, thinking back to their first date. “New chapter is beginning. Excited?”

“For a glamorous life as Wayne Enterprise’s CEO’s armcandy? Very. Months of the Agency training are finally paying back.”

He winked at her and she blew him a kiss.

When they arrived, he helped her get out of the car and she brushed his cheek with her lips, giving the reporters what they wanted - a tiny window into Oswald’s private life, shrouded in mystery. Gotham’s prodigal son seemed to be a loner of sorts, only seen in the company of his dazzling paramour or her friends; Penguin had a deal with his men, keeping them as far away from Oswald Cobblepot as possible. It fit Oswald’s image quite well - his story was sad, so it was obvious he was a tragically lonely person, rarely trusting anyone. It was a good facade, a perfect fake surface - and Charlie and Oswald maintained it flawlessly, in their expensive coordinated outfits, pleasant smiles, lovestruck gazes and the way he wrapped his arm around her waist and the way she looked at him when he talked with Bruce.

And it wasn’t a pleasant conversation, even though Oswald made Bruce say pretty please. She nudged Oswald with her elbow when she heard the change in his tone; it was something she was very familiar with. Even without looking at him she knew exactly what face is he making.

“My god, Oswald!” she whispered.

“Shhh, darling, restrain yourself.” he whispered back.

“I’ve got a better idea: you do it.” she said, causing him to slightly tighten his grip around her, in a promisingly threatening way. She felt a shiver run down her spine.

Wayne’s last speech didn’t go as planned and she could see Vicki Vale in the front row, furiously taking notes; she looked at Bruce with disapproval. Deep inside, she really hoped he’ll come to his senses and just accept what happened - but no.

(His wild theory about Oswald being involved in some shady stuff wasn’t even that far off - but Charlie knew that cold glimmer in Oswald’s eyes and the coldness of his voice. She was the one who dreamed of his bloodied fingers, leaving smudges on her skin; people of Gotham only knew his charming smile and eagerness. Nobody believed in a single word Bruce was saying.)

Finally, Oswald - as politely as he could, watched attentively by Zellerbach - got Bruce off the stage and took his place. She followed him with her eyes, tilting her head slightly; she wondered if he can feel her gaze, same way she so often felt his on her skin.

Wayne didn’t look great - in fact he looked sick, pale, his eyes fixated on Oswald’s face. He seemed shaky, unstable; concerned - mostly about Oswald - Charlie quietly approached him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“Bruce?” she said quietly, and Vicki Vale watched out of the corner of her eye. “Is everything alright? Bruce?”

She put her hand on his shoulder, he slowly turned his head and looked at her, and his eyes were hazy - and then he pushed her aside. He was surprisingly strong and caught her off guard; she lost her balance and would fall down, if it wasn’t for a nearby reporter catching her.

The commotion got people’s attention; before she knew it - Wayne was holding Oswald by the fabric of his shirt. Oswald was shockingly calm, and taunted Bruce; but lost his patience very quickly.

Charlie walked up to them and once again tried to talk some sense into Wayne. Once again she put her hand on his shoulder - to which he let go of Oswald, turned around and caught her by her neck, tightly wrapping his fingers around her throat, choking her. His grip was strong, and she knew she’s going to black out in a moment; but then Wayne suddenly let go of her.

It wasn’t a pretty fight, and Oswald ended up with his knuckles bloodied and new bruises on his face; she was left with a bruised neck. Bruce was left with his reputation completely tarnished; and the press conference was over, with Oswald assuring the journalists he’ll gladly take their questions any other day.

Shaken Charlie was escorted to Oswald’s office, which was in the process of being redecorated; the fish tank was already in place - but it lacked fish.

Oswald joined her few minutes later, putting an ice bag to his latest bruise.

“What was that?!” she asked him as soon as he walked in. “Was that planned?”

“Not by me, that’s for sure. Usually my plans don’t include me getting pummeled into the ground.” he scoffed. “Neither they include you being choked by Bruce Wayne. Are you alright?”

“Yeah.” she sighed, rubbing her neck. “I guess it looks worse than it feels… Though I do prefer when it’s you choking me. You know. “

“You’re still yourself, that’s good.” he said with relief. “I think I know what happened… And if I’m right - I’m going to kill Vicki Vale. I’m going to slit her throat-”

“As much as I appreciate the perspective of you covered in blood… Maybe don’t do that.” she interrupted him hastily. “Come on, Oswald. No harm done, Bruce’s reputation destroyed… Bruises will heal.”

“Maybe you’re right.” Oswald sighed heavily. “Though I do not appreciate the pain. Should I cancel the tonight’s reservation?”

“Are you kidding me? No, of course not! We now have to wear those bruises with pride… Also I really want to try that crème brûlée with raspberry sorbet.” she added and he laughed. “Every time we were at Lafontaine’s we had to stop before getting to the dessert. Maybe those bruises will bring us good luck?”

“Third time’s a charm, so you’re probably right.” he agreed, gently brushing her neck with his fingertips. “Do you think you can fake a breakdown?”

“Aw, trying to get away from work? Bored already, Oswald?”

“I have to be careful.” he said with a shrug. “Gain their trust so they go with changes I’m about to suggest… And going home to take care of someone in hysterics will probably earn me some of those good guy points.”

“Alright, I can be a delicate flower.” she agreed. “Watch out, mister, from now on you have a dainty and fragile lass to take care of.”

Her fake breakdown was a masterpiece, even though she nearly broke the character as Oswald was walking her to the elevator.

“You sure as hell look dainty and fragile when we’re alone and you’re begging, you know.” he whispered into her ear and she quickly turned her laughter into sobs. No one questioned her tears and shivers and how tightly she was gripping the fabric of Oswald’s clothes; Bruce Wayne was allegedly her friend. Of course she was in shock.

“Oh, that was bloody brilliant.” Oswald stated as they got into the car. “You almost convinced me.”

“I almost convinced myself.” she said, glancing at her reflection in the mirror; her eyeliner and mascara were very effectively smudged and the skin around her eyes and lips was rosy. “Come on. Let’s go home, I want to take a nice, long bath before dinner.”

On their way home, Oswald tried to reach out to Vicki - but to no avail. She wasn’t picking up her phone; and Louise claimed she has no idea where is she, stating they broke up a while ago.

“Then maybe I should pay her a visit.” Oswald mused. “Maybe I should gather my boys and pay miss Vale a visit. And then… We’ll talk.”

“Or you could not do that and lure her out instead.” Charlie suggested. “She’s not your enemy, Oswald. Remember, she helped a lot. This probably is just a misunderstanding.”

“You know, I wouldn’t have anything using her serum on Bruce.... If only she told me beforehand. So I could be prepared. You know. I’d come up with a speech, maybe a sharp, witty quip… But this? This ruined a perfect day.”

“Oh, come on. Stop being overdramatic and don’t let something like this ruin a moment of triumph. I’m alive, you were seen as a noble knight, Bruce Wayne was seen as highly dangerous… When you think about it, it’s actually a perfect scenario!” she continued, until - eventually - he smiled.

“You know what? You’re right. You’re right. This is my day. I got a chance to punch Bruce and rack up some social approval points. I’m going to just take a deep breath… And proceed with what I had planned out.”

“...well that sounds surprisingly ominous.” she said jokingly. “Should I be scared?”

“Very.” he said with a cocky smile as he was parking the car. “What, didn’t I tell you? Dinner’s not the only thing I had planned in terms of… Celebration. We’re on top, Charlie. This should be a night to remember.”

“Alright, surprise me then.” she said, getting out of the car. “Just let me take a bath first. And maybe make me some french toast. I’m hungry, but I don’t want to stuff myself before dinner.”

“Ah, you’re such a demanding mistress.” he said jokingly. “Can your humble servant at least get a kiss?”

He got a kiss from her in the elevator, just the way she liked it; with his hand on her back and his finger under her chin. It always made her feel vulnerable, but she didn’t mind being vulnerable around him, despite all odds. Her vulnerability wasn’t a tactical disadvantage - but a source of satisfaction.

Also he looked disturbingly hot with dried up blood splattered on the collar of his shirt, a proof of what happened earlier that day.

“Now make me that toast.” she muttered after stepping into the apartment. “And I’m going to take a bath. God, I can still feel his fingers on my neck.”

“He’ll pay. But as for now… Just relax.”

She took a long, relaxing bath, only interrupted by Oswald bringing her her toast - and his french toast was the stuff dreams are made of. Not sickly sweet, with just the right amounts of brown sugar and cinnamon, with just a hint of nutmeg, crunchy… She had no idea who taught him that and why, but it sure as hell was a useful skill. Completely useless in robberies and arms dealing - but perfect for making her feel at peace. Oswald Cobblepot truly was a man of many talents.

He cornered her some time later. She was trying to figure out the expiration date on a jug of apple juice when he walked in; and she could feel his eyes on her bare legs. He often said he loves the way she looked at him - but the truth was, she also loved the way he looked at her; he always looked at her as if he was planning something positively unspeakable. It was very flattering - and very effective.

“You’re staring.” she said, without turning around. “What is it?”

“You’re wearing my shirt.” he shot back; and he was right, she was wearing one of his better dress shirts, with pearl buttons. “I want it back.”

Something in the tone of his voice told her the correct answer, and she smirked; they played this game many times before, this game of cat and mouse where she’d rather get caught than run away.

“Come and get it then.” she said, putting the jug back in the fridge.

She dove under his arm and bolted out of the kitchen and he followed; it didn’t took him long to catch up to her. It never did, because she never actually tried to put up a fight. Why would she? She liked what came next.

“Nooo!” she wailed as he threw her over his shoulder. “This is not fair!”

“Life’s unfair.” he stated. ��Stop squirming, you’re not getting away.”

He got his shirt back, and she got something better; she got his touch and his kisses and his teeth on her neck. His fingers crept between her thighs and she sighed and smiled as he peppered her skin with kisses; on her neck, on her breasts, on her stomach, lower, lower, lower.

He had a wicked tongue, and he often used it to bend people to his will; most often he used honeyed words or sharp threats to do so. In her case, however, it was all about the direct approach - and all about pleasure and shivers and making her arch her back as he teased and taunted her and she moaned and gripped the bedsheets.

He got her to the edge - and then he stopped.

“What?” she muttered feverishly, her face flushed and her thoughts and eyes hazy. “Oh, come on.”

“I’m just trying to make our dinner interesting, that’s all.” he said innocently, sliding out from between her legs and resting his chin on her abdomen. “Speaking of which… We should leave soon.”

“You are the worst.” she stated, running her fingers through his hair. “The absolute worst. You’re cruel and insufferable and generally a prick.”

“All part of my charm, love.”

She laughed and pushed him off and got up to get dressed, knowing it will take a lot of time for the warm tension that built up in her body to go away.

Naturally, he wasn’t going to make anything easy for her. As she left the bathroom - wearing her trademark black lace underwear they both seemed to love - and opened the closet to decide on which dress to wear he cleared his throat.

“Mmmm?” she asked, not turning around. “What is it?”

“I want to see you squirm.” he said and she turned around. “Interested?”

“Oh, very.” she said at the sight of red rope in his hands; they’ve done it before, except that’d be the first time she was among the people with rope under the fabric of her clothes. It was an exciting thought - something hidden in plain sight, a knot pressing against her and the growing sense of desperation.

“Do your magic.” she said. “Just don’t make it too tight.”

“Don’t give me ideas.” he said, already wrapping the rope around her waist.

After he was finished and she tested it out - not too tight, not too slippery, just perfect to make focusing on anything else difficult - he smiled with satisfaction.

“Maybe I should get us last minute opera tickets.” he said and she shot him a terrified look. “Oh, don’t worry, I’m just joking. I hate opera.”

“So that’s the only problem here? How comforting.”

She put her dress on - simple and black, with a classic leg cut and Queen Anne neckline, directing the attention to her neck and dark bruises on it. She didn’t wear any necklace that time; only what drugged Wayne did to her. A simple, dramatic statement; for a brief moment she considered poking herself in the eye to make it red, but she gave up on the idea.

“I’m good to go.” she said eventually, putting her hairbrush down and picking her clutch up. “Also hungry.”

“Same on both fronts.” he said, putting on his midnight blue jacket; with a sting of satisfaction she noticed he’s wearing the cufflinks and tie pin she gave him. “So let’s go. Just… Don’t speak French to Moreau if we bump into him. He might figure you out.”

“Oh, I doubt it. He was scared shitless every time he saw me, I don’t think he’s going to connect the dots. But alright, no French tonight… Outside of kissing.” she added and he laughed, making her feel as if she had a bunch of butterflies in her stomach.

It’s been a couple of months since she returned to Gotham after putting everything on one card and leaving the Agency; quite some time had passed since they made up and she earned his trust again - and it still felt like the honeymoon phase of a relationship. She didn’t mind, not at all.

Lafontaine’s main room was well lit, spacious and filled with warm colors and Charlie smiled lightly, thinking back to her secret meetings with Oswald in the vip room located at the back. This time was going to be different; this time everyone knew and all eyes were on them, even though everyone was pretending they’re not staring at Oswald Cobblepot and his paramour and dark bruises on her neck. He seemed confident and polite, keeping his head high and she smiled as he pulled out a chair for her.

(Her breath got shaky for a moment as she was sitting down, the knot pressing against her. So much for the perfect gentleman Cobblepot.)

“I feel like a caged animal in the zoo.” he muttered quietly, so quietly only she could hear him. “Everyone’s staring.”

“I thought you like attention?”

“I do, but I also value my privacy. Also I look out of place.” he pointed out, brushing his jaw with his fingertips; and he was right, in a way. His suit was impeccable; but his face was rough. He was very nice to look at - but his bruises and scar did stand out quite a bit. She could only imagine it’s even more visible when observed right next to her own - rather delicate - features.

“Maybe a bit, but I wouldn’t have you any other way. I like your face.” she said, picking up a menu. “Oh! They changed the selection a bit.”

“Maybe I should skip hors d'oeuvres.” he muttered, winking at her; she quietly laughed, covering her mouth. “And dessert.”

“Somewhere in the afterlife our ancestors are very scandalized.” she said, not looking up from her own menu. “I’m not though, I’m… Intrigued.”

“Patience, darling, patience.”

It was a pleasant evening, even if she could feel other people’s eyes on her skin; strangers looked at their every gesture and tried to eavesdrop on every word, every quiet laugh. She wondered what do those other people see when they glance at them, unaware of blood on his hands and a piece of rope under her dress, what do they see when they look at the way he pours wine for her.

Naturally, he made her squirm a bit; by making her laugh and by lying to her about her lipstick being smudged, which caused her to get up and go to bathroom - and this short walk left her feeling very tense.

“How about a walk before heading home?” he asked playfully after regulating the bill. “The weather’s perfect…”

“You prick.” she whispered back as they were walking towards the exit. “You ass.”

In response he only laughed, pulled her closer and planted a light kiss on her cheek.

“You’re digging your own grave.” he whispered into her ear. “We’re now going… To the opera.”

And he wasn’t joking - he forced her to endure a long spectacle, as they sat in the darkness and his warm hand rested on her thigh and he planted a light, almost mocking kiss on her neck. The much desired release seemed to be very far away.

“Can we please go home now?” she asked eventually, as they were slowly walking down the street.

“Oh, maybe. Why do you want to get home so badly?” he asked casually; she looked around, glancing at other people, who definitely were close enough to hear her if she spoke normally.

“Because I don’t want to be arrested for public indecency.” she said nonchalantly; an elderly couple nearby shot her a scandalized look. “And I’m afraid it’s about to happen.”

“You raise a fair point. Fine, we’re going home… Away from the prying eyes. Just you, me… And all the things I’m going to do to you.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

She found out soon enough, and it was a long night for her; she ended up with more bruises and bitemarks and his relentless, merciless teasing turned her into a feverish, bumbling mess under his touch, taunted with fake promises. He wasn’t feeling gentle, and she didn’t mind, not when he pulled her hair, not when he dragged his nails across the sensitive skin of her thigh. It was a long night, and when she finally wrapped her legs around him he laughed in her face and claimed she’s going to break his ribs. He kept laughing as she bit his arm and scratched his back and pulled his hair and only stopped laughing as she kissed him, her breath hot and shaky.

It was a long night and her body was sore, but it was a good kind of sore; one that can be soothed by falling asleep in someone’s warm embrace.

*** He woke her up by dropping a newspaper on her back.

“What?” she muttered without moving, still on her stomach, her cheek pressed to the pillow and her eyes closed. “Can’t it wait?”

“It can, but I want to see your reaction. Come on, Charlie. Rise and shine.”

“Make me.” she muttered, to which he grabbed her ankles and pulled. It worked; fully awake Charlie crawled back into bed and rolled onto her back, rubbing her eyes.

“Oh, cripes.” Oswald said, seeing the mark his teeth left on her right breast. “Why didn’t you say something?”

“Because I like it when you bite me.” she muttered, reaching for the newspaper. “Oh hey, it’s an article about you fighting Bruce in my defense. That’s a damn good photo.”

“Turn to page six.”

“...what?” she said after rereading the header for a few times. “This is bullshit, I didn’t have an affair with him!”

“I know you didn’t, but I still wanted to see your reaction.” he said, visibly satisfied. “Since officially we go way back… Congratulations, Charlie, you cheated on me with Bruce Wayne. You bewitched him completely.”

“Stop it!” she pleaded as he laughed. “This is giving me the creeps, I’d never see him like this!”

“Oh, this is beautiful. And this alleged quote? Him saying If I can’t have you, no one can? This is absolutely hilarious.”

“Who the hell gave them that quote? Oh, it’s from an anonymous source. Of course. It’s been less than twenty four hours and we’re already in the center of a scandal.” she sighed. “Does it mean I’ll have to cry on live television, saying I’d never cheat on you and am absolutely heartbroken from those allegations?”

“Most likely.” he said with amusement. “It probably also means we’ll have to tell our beautiful, completely fake story. Everyone’s curious about me. All the eyes are on me.”

“Let’s stage a breakup.” she muttered. “Or not. Let’s keep the lie going. Paint you with the whitest paint in existence.”

“I’d like to remind you about a tiny, insignificant detail: we’re together for real. Me being a good person is a lie, us being head over heels for each other… Not so much. Let’s not make it any more complicated, it’s nothing that can’t be fixed.” he said very seriously. “I’ve got a corporation to take over. With time I’m going to make people forget about Bruce Wayne. I’m going to be so, so much more lovable than he ever was. Let’s not stage a breakup. You’re a terrific actress, Charlie. I’m sure you can squeeze out some more fake tears.”

“I can squeeze out oceans of tears.” she yawned. “Chill out, Oswald, I’m not bailing out. I’m having too much fun. You seem stressed though.”

“I do? I’m not stressed, I’m excited. I finally got my hands on what I wanted. The possibilities… Are endless.”

“Try to not forget about Penguin though. People might get suspicious if he just disappears.”

“Ah, but don’t you worry about a thing, I’ve got it all figured out.” he assured her. “I can lead a double life.”

“We can lead a double life.” she corrected him. “Last time I disappeared people started to suspect Penguin killed the Pinniped and dumped her corpse into Gotham River. And now they’ve seen me disobey you. I can’t just go away, someone might add domestic abuse to your list of charges.”

“Which… Wouldn’t actually be that bad of a move, strategic wise.” he suggested. “It’s all in the behavior. The more different Penguin and Pinniped are from Oswald and Charlie… The better. As far as I’m concerned, we appear to be a picture perfect young couple of polite, charming individuals. Anyone suggesting we might have anything to do with those violent, overly dramatic and theatrical criminals will be seen as crazy.”

“Wow, you really have it figured out. Alright, it’s your plan, I’m just an accomplice.” she said with a shrug. “For now let’s go with the flow. Planning far ahead… For some reason never works out for me. Case in point: you. That wasn’t planned, and look at me now.”

“Oh, I’m looking.” he said with a smirk. “And it’s as pleasant on the eyes, as Cobblepot is easy on the tongue.”

“You must be really proud of that one liner.” she groaned. “It’s terrible. Terrible. Also I’m hungry. Since you’re not letting me sleep… At least compensate me with food.”

“Only if you’ll agree to accompany me today.”

“...well that sounds ominous. What do you have in mind?”

“I want to visit the cemetery where my parents are buried.” he said flatly. “I...Never got a chance to do it, because at first I was on the other side of the pond, and then I didn’t want Gotham to know Oswald’s back. So that’d be the first time… In a long, long while.”

“That’s one way of starting breakfast.” she replied after a pause. “See, now I’m going to feel weird with asking you for bacon pancakes, now that you dropped this grave revelation on me. Of course I’ll come with you, just… Next time maybe pick a better moment to ask. For a seasoned charmer and a diplomat… You have ridiculously bad timing.”

“No one’s perfect, even though I’m pretty close to it.” he said, and he sounded like he was trying to hide his relief behind a facade of cockiness. Being cocky suited him, same way his meticulously tailored suits and old scars suited him; being a sentimental sap suited him as well - but she could imagine he’s not yet ready to embrace that part of himself.

They decided to put fixing the affair with Bruce mess off for later; naturally they had to do it eventually, as Oswald was the second most watched person in Gotham, newly elected mayor Dent being the number one. The anonymous allegation of Charlie secretly putting penniless Oswald - and the then-developing thing between them, according to the fake story they created for the sake of everyone from outside their inner circle - aside for the sake of charming, monumentally rich Bruce… Wasn’t good publicity.

“Did you know there’s an entire hashtag on twitter devoted only to the Waynes thing?” she said as they were driving in a car and she was on her phone. “Waynegate. It’s booming. Also you should get a twitter. We could be disgusting online.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Aaand I just made a mistake.” she declared, liking a tweet. “My account got verified and I just liked a clip of you decking Bruce with mmm whatcha say in the background. God, people are really head over heels with you.”

“Of course they are, I’m charming, tragic and genuine. What’s not to love?”

She snorted quietly. His narcissism was very blatant - he was semi-decent at hiding it, but he also loved to give in to his penchant for theatrics, showmanship and attention. All parts of his charm; sure, it was a very specific charm, but… She liked it.

“Someone just called you Oswald CobbleHOT.” she announced eventually and he laughed. “Their friends are shaming them for it, but they’re adamant. I retweeted it. For now I’m pretending I haven’t read the news and don’t know anything about any affair.”

“It’s Sunday. Let’s have a day off from public relations and maintaining a good image.”

“But you’ve only been a public person for a day! Tired already?”

“I’m never tired.” he said, noticing a good parking spot. “And if I’m tired, I’m tired of other people, not of accomplishing my goals. Also… It’s Sunday and we’re alone. Let’s be ourselves for a day.”

“Oh, right, I forgot your charming and polite persona is just a disguise.” she teased. “No, no, don’t say anything, I know what you mean. I’m just being an ass, since you want me to be myself.”

“Ah, but that’s the entire point, isn’t it? Me being charming isn’t entirely fake. Same applies to you being sweet and gentle. Because let’s face it - you are a very sweet person. Even when you’re being an ass. Especially when you’re being an ass.”

“Oh my gosh.” she said, feeling a lump in her throat. “Stop it, you disgustingly charming sap. Don’t use your charm against me.”

At that time of day - early afternoon - the cemetery was almost completely empty; it wasn’t a good time for visiting dead loved ones. Maybe for the better; crowded cemeteries felt weird, unnatural. There was no privacy, and the ever present sounds of living felt like the disturbance to otherwise firm sleep.

It was a warm, slightly breezy day; and the grave of Oswald’s parents was located in the older, more elite part of the cemetery. Their last luxury - being buried among the elite, right next to the Waynes, as he bitterly pointed out.

“Ironic, isn’t it?” he said as they were slowly walking towards the grave. “Even in death they can’t get away.”

For a forgotten grave, it was surprisingly well-kept - almost as if someone was taking care of it during Oswald’s absence.

“I don’t think it was Bruce.” Oswald stated, looking at the names of his parents inscribed on the tombstone and his eyes eyes looked very shiny. “Since apparently he only just found out about everything.”

“I could check if this mysterious someone left any fingerprints.” Charlie suggested hesitantly, feeling lost. The list of potential candidates wasn’t very long; she remembered Carmine Falcone had a daughter who had a strained relationship with her family, but Sofia lived away from Gotham and Charlie doubted she was aware of exact details of her father’s criminal activities. There also was the daughter of Hamilton Hill, there was Alfred - and that would be it. Even if Cobblepots had any close friends they were unlikely suspects, considering none of them took any interest in Oswald’s wellbeing over the years. Bruce’s good natured butler and the daughters of Falcone and Hill - possibly ridden with guilt over sins of their fathers - were all she could come up with.

“Leave it, it’s not worth it.” Oswald said, not taking his eyes off the black tombstone. “Would you mind if I talked to them a bit?”

“Talking to a grave won’t be the strangest thing you’ve done in my presence, so… Go ahead. Do you want some privacy?”

“No, no.” he replied hastily. “That’s not needed. I’m not going to tell them anything you don’t already know. Dead men tell no secrets… But they also don’t hear any.”

She nodded and gently squeezed his hand; he squeezed hers in return, and for a brief moment he looked more like a scared and lonely kid he once was, than a remorseless criminal he became.

“That’s not how it should have been.” Oswald said finally and she remained silent. “It’s Sunday. I shouldn’t be talking to your grave, I should be talking to you over tea. Both of you should be alive. But you’re not, and there’s no bringing you back - all I can bring back are small pieces of what had been stolen from us. I can use those as a foundation for something new, something bigger… Even if cement between bricks will be laced with blood. I’ve done some truly, deeply reprehensible things, things that go against everything you tried to teach me. But look at where your principles got you, and where mine got me. I can’t say I’m proud of who I am, but I’m getting there. I’m bringing back the good name of our family. I’m starting a new chapter - without the Waynes, without Hill, without Falcone. I cleared the board and now I’m the king.”

He paused for a moment.

“I’m very selective in who I surround myself with.” he said, almost hesitantly. “Scumbags like me, broken like me, angry like me. People I can relate to, people who understand. You wouldn’t like them, but beggars can’t be choosers. Even though I think you’d like her. She’s as horrible as I am, except she’s better at hiding it. Her name is Charlie and she’s standing right next to me. She’s… Helping me. And you know what? Now I understand. Now I understand.”

He fell silent again; after a while he turned his head and looked at her.

“Tell me about your parents.” he said quietly.

“They’re buried in New York.” she replied softly. “I think they’d get along with yours. My mom was a surgeon, and my dad was a politician, with… Ties to the Agency. They were good people.”

“A politician, huh?” he said, his eyes regaining their usual, mischievous spark. “So either that or a good person. Don’t speak in oxymorons.”

“Oh, piss off.”

She smiled and he sighed, putting his hands in his pockets, returning his attention to the tombstone.

“Thank you for coming with me.” he said eventually, not looking at her. “It means… A lot. We could visit yours next week if you want to. I think I can squeeze a trip to New York into my oh-so-busy schedule.”

“Yeah. I’d like that.” she said, thinking back to the funeral. “Hey, Oswald?”

“Mmm?”

“I love you. A lot.”

“And I love you.” he replied quietly. “Also I’m going to need your help in doing something incredibly petty.”

“I’m all ears.”

“There’s a photographer stalking us.” he said calmly. “I’ve seen their reflection in the stone, it’s so well-polished. So when we’ll be walking away I’m going to need you to stretch, so I can spit on the grave of Thomas Wayne.”

“Alright, you overgrown toddler, I’m game. He deserves that. Aaaand… Let’s go.”

As they were walking past the grave of the Waynes she stretched, taking as much space as she could; and Oswald slightly turned his head and spat, snickering with satisfaction.

“Happy?” she asked as they were walking towards the gate.

“More or less.”

*** She had to put on quite a show due to the rumors of her having an affair with Bruce - she was very, very curious who came up with that fake quote, who was so desperate to try and wreck Oswald’s spotless reputation by insinuating his partner is unfaithful.

“Maybe it was Vicki?”

“No, I already asked.” he muttered, reading something. “That’s not even her article. She admits to drugging Wayne, but says she has nothing to do with the affair thing. And honestly? I believe her.”

“Wait, hold on. You found her?”

“Yeah, she was hiding from me at the Waterfront. Now that Falcone’s dead it’s much safer. Fish ratted her out. We had a nice chat.”

She raised her eyebrows and he looked up and smiled.

“No, I didn’t break her fingers, if that’s what you’re wondering.” he said politely, answering a question she never asked. “I only yelled at her and threatened to expose her involvement in everything. That convinced her to admitting to drugging Wayne during the conference. She says it’s because she was pissed I refused to go with her impossible revolution. Delusions of grandeur, and so on.”

“Jesus fucking Christ.” Charlie muttered. “Don’t say anything more, I don’t even want to know. Just… As long as you’re sure she’s not the one responsible.”

“Oh, I’m certain of it. Don’t worry. We’ll get that bastard, and then… We’ll figure something out. You can always go full Gone Girl and fake a diary.”

“Oh my god, you’ve watched Gone Girl? Did you like it?”

“I did, actually. Amy was a terrific - and terrifying - character. Very inspiring.”

“Yeah, that’s an opinion I can get behind with. Alright, I can go Amy Dunne on the press. It can be arranged.”

But first, it was time for tears - a very heartfelt, tearful interview with Cobblepot’s lovely, dainty partner, the girl who brought him back and was absolutely heartbroken at the allegations. Of course she would never cheat on him, she never as much as considered it; she loved him with her whole heart, it was love at first sight, almost like a fairytale.

“He’s a gentleman.” she stated, her skin bruised by handcuffs and marked by his teeth safely hidden under the fabric of her elegant clothes. “A good man, with heart in the right place, even despite everything he’s been through.”

(He laughs as he talks about burning Gotham down; she wonders if someone from the Agency is watching, listening.)

“And how did you two meet?”

“In the middle of a night, in a dark alley… I had a knife to my neck and stranger’s hand up my skirt and that’s when Oswald showed up. He didn’t quite look like a knight in shining armor, in that ridiculous coat of his, but… In that moment I understood how Guinevere felt when Lancelot swept in.”

She gave a serene smile, thinking back to their true first meeting; abandoned warehouse, sense of urgency in the air.

“He’s gentle and kind and I would never hurt him like this. I love him too much. Sure, we had to spend some time apart, but… This idea never occurred to me. I missed him dearly - but there’s no good substitute for Oswald. There’s no substitute, period.”

And so the interview went, filled with half-truths and not-quite-lies and sweet declarations of love. They asked her about their sex life, to which she nervously smiled and stated she’d rather not get into detail, but in general it’s very normal, nothing out of the ordinary.

(His fingers wrapped around her neck feel like the gentlest of kisses, and the constant denial feels like the most generous of gifts.)

She painted their relationship in the most dreamy, fluffy colors possible - and not everything was a lie. She’d never cheat on him, there was mutual trust, they had something special, something she wouldn’t have with anyone else. And Louise - her alleged long lost school friend - confirmed her lies without as much as batting an eye; yes, Charlie already was infatuated with Oswald when they reunited in Gotham. Yes, she wouldn’t shut up about him. Yes, it was unbearable. No, she doesn’t know if she’s the new district attorney, what is this interview even about?

Oswald - who watched the entire thing live on his phone - was overjoyed; he claimed she was terrific and very, very convincing. She wasn’t so sure about that last part.

“Aww, someone on twitter is already over analyzing everything.”

“Anything good?”

“Yeah. lmao “vanilla sex” this is a face of a liar”

“Yeah, to be honest… That was the least convincing part.”

“I wasn’t expecting a question about sex! You know, I had a - very brief - moment of being very close to saying the truth… But there were no good words for it. Also I’m not sure Gotham general population would appreciate me suddenly going he likes to tie me up and make me beg, and he’s good at it, also our safe word is WAYNE and you wouldn’t BELIEVE what he sometimes does before we go out!”

“I can imagine that would be one hell of a scandal, your chivalrous knight actually being a deviant.”

“Deviant in a shining armor and on a white horse.” she corrected him and he laughed and pulled her closer.

*** They were absolutely disgusting together, as stated by Louise and other people unfortunate enough to spend time with them. It was mostly friends she made in Gotham; he was surprisingly antisocial and heavily relied on her in terms of networking. She was good at picking the right people to befriend - smart, capable, influential in some way. Oswald seemed to get along with pretty much everyone; he was simply terrible at making the first step. How he managed to gather a group of loyal people was beyond her; but he found a way.

Her new friends - people she met through Louise, who spent so much time in Gotham she was basically rooted there - seemed to accept him with no problem, occasionally joking about moving up in the social ranks, considering they’re suddenly hanging out with the CEO of Wayne Enterprises. The only downside was the fact she had to keep her dainty act up around them; but she was starting to sort of like this role. It was kind of nice, being able to - for a while - forget her training and just be a well mannered, bubbly girl from a good home, a gentle soul, so unlike the wild Pinniped, who seemed to defy her Penguin more and more often, planting seeds of discord among his men. Naturally, it was all an act; all was good between them and his men were simply following orders. Oswald had his eyes set on a particular plot of land; and he was willing to go to great lengths to acquire it. Simply buying it was out of question; so he had to think strategically.

And he wasn’t half bad, Charlie decided; in fact - he was doing good as CEO, slowly gaining more and more trust and respect. He wasn’t able to resist the temptation of spending enormous amounts of money - but it was alright. No one actually expected him to not buy a yacht, or a painting, or something equally useless. Officially and publicly they lived in a way everyone expected them to - they were often seen together, hand in hand, smiling, in love. Eating brunch, attending a fundraiser or a vernissage or a spectacle, shopping. People were enthralled with them as a couple, the way he’d wrap his arm around her waist, the way she’d rest her cheek against his arm, the way they’d lightly kiss before parting ways, the way they’d call each other honey, darling, love.

For his birthday, she reached out to Sofia Falcone, who inherited all of Carmine’s belongings; there still was quite a number of Cobblepot family memorabilia in his collection and she gladly took it off Sofia’s hands. She never talked about it publicly - but somehow the press just knew. He was moved - and that night he was tender and gentle. He didn’t give her any new bruises to hide under clothes; he touched her softly, and she didn’t mind, she didn’t mind at all.

It was a good life. They mostly only had evenings and nights and weekends for each other, so they were making the most out of it; during the day he was busy being professional and competent, and she was busy helping out at one of local dog shelters. She always liked dogs - they were loyal and kind and wonderfully silly and she could spend an eternity surrounded by them.

It also led to Oswald seeing her in pants for the first time - it just… Didn’t happen before. During their months together, he’d only seen her in dresses or skirts - that’s just how the life was.

“What.” he said after bumping into her, as she was wearing a sweatshirt and a pair of jeans. “WHAT.”

“...what?” she asked, looking at him. “What?”

“Those are pants. Until now I didn’t even know you have those.”

“...of course I have pants. Jeans, dress pants, yoga pants… You didn’t think I practice yoga naked, right?”

“I… Never thought about it. Shit, I just lost a bet to Louise. I claimed there’s no way you own pants. She said there’s no way you don’t.”

“Do you want to be even more shocked?”

“Oh, I’m not sure if my heart can take it.”

“I also have shoes that have flat soles.” she said, pointing at her feet; he dramatically clutched his heart.

(He later told her she looked beautiful; no matter how many times she heard it from him - it always left her with a flock of butterflies in her stomach.)

***

They reached peak gross at a Halloween party in Virago, shortly after his birthday.

It took them quite some time to decide on their costumes - he insisted on something matching, which narrowed the selection. They toyed with many ideas - vampire and his thrall. The witch and her servant. The most classical duo of them all - angel and devil. They tested out a lot of ideas, mostly through bed - they were like that. They liked to sometimes spice things up with a little roleplay. For his birthday they decided on a very fake, very pleasant kidnapping; it was fun, especially the things he did with a knife.

(She still had shivers thinking about the cold tip of the knife slowly sliding across her skin, sharp edge cutting through her clothes. She wouldn’t mind a reprise.)

The final idea came to them by accident; she was bored and alone at home and he was at a business meeting, charming the pants off potential investors. She wasn’t making anything easy for him; she just bought herself a new, pastel-pink lingerie set and was in the process of demonstrating it to him through photos, when someone on twitter made a dumb joke.

and persephone is back to getting dicked down by hades in the underworld

That was almost like a revelation - the most obvious choice, and probably also the best one. She was so excited she accidentally almost posted one of her - thankfully more coy - photos online; and Oswald agreed that this indeed does sound like the best idea.

So - night of the party had come and they were both ready, clad in their costumes. His himation was dark, and he wielded a sceptre and wore a cypress crown on his head; her chiton was light pink - even though they weren’t sure if ancient Greeks even had this color of fabric - and decorated with flowers. She also wore a crown of flowers in her hair - and also carried a plush Cerberus around under her arm, because Oswald insisted on it, claiming it was too adorable to be left at home.

Under the fabric, an intricate web of rope was wrapped around her body; Oswald outdid himself this time, not limiting himself to a simple knotted piece between her legs. He managed to tie everything in a way that rendered it invisible to someone who didn’t know it’s there; there were no stray pieces, no unnecessary loops peeking from underneath the fabric.

“Oh my god, you look adorable.” he said after seeing her in full costume. “I’m not going to be decent tonight. This shade of pink? Your color. Literally. It’s the color of your-”

“-sensitive parts, yes.” she said, her cheeks red. “Alright, be indecent. I guess no one can expect decency from a god of death.”

“Maybe I should kill someone and cover myself in blood. What do you think?”

“I think I wouldn’t mind, even though it’d ruin our good bedsheets.”

“There’s always a kitchen table, or your favorite chair, or a wall, or-”

“Oswald!”

“Fine! I’ll be good now.” he promised. “Even though I will live up to my costume. I think I know exactly what did Hades do to keep Persephone at his side… Except for the pomegranate thing, that is.”

“Well, color me intrigued.” she giggled, picking up her plush dog. “Come on. We’ll be fashionably late… Again.”

Rumi Mori - their gracious host and owner of the Virago - was dressed up as Dionysus, as Charlie pointed out, nudging Oswald with her elbow; their friends rolled their eyes as they noticed their costumes. Apparently dressing up as Hades and Persephone was obnoxious - even though she could clearly see other, much worse, costumes. Vicki and Louise came as a cat and mouse, for god’s sake.

“Do you think it’ll work?” Oswald asked quietly, watching very chatty Mori. “Remind me, how did your visit go?”

Few weeks earlier Charlie - disguised as the Pinniped - paid Mori a late night visit. This short and round foreigner was a man of many faces; not only he was the owner of a place Oswald badly wanted to purchase, he was also one of Gotham’s leading arms dealers - and Penguin’s main business rival. He was cunning and deceptive, stealing lucrative deals right from under Penguin’s beak; and this was a good occasion to kill two birds with one stone.

So one night Charlie snuck in, alone; it was a dangerous mission, but Oswald had faith in her abilities. She cornered Mori in his office, where he was enjoying a late night glass of scotch.

“Mori, Mori, Mori.” she said, slowly approaching him. “We need to talk.”

Before the plump businessman reacted, she pacified him; he wasn’t an action oriented person, so it was as easy as taking candy from a baby. She sat on the surface of his desk, looking at his mortified face from behind her mask.

“Do you know who am I, Mori?” she asked, crossing her legs; he nodded.

“You’re the Penguin’s woman.” he said shakily; she scoffed and shook her head.

“Wrong answer, Mori. Try again.”

“Y-you’re the Pinniped?”

“Correct. I am the Pinniped. I belong to no one.” she said, glancing at her nails.

(That was a bold lie. She wasn’t Oswald’s property, and he wasn’t hers - but they belonged together, as partners in crime.)

“Naturally, I used to think otherwise.” she continued in a casual, friendly tone that scared Mori shitless. “I used to think I belong at his side, I used to think I belong in his heart, I used to think I’m lesser than him. I used to think so many foolish things.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” he said shakily.

“Don’t interrupt me, Mori. Anyway. The Penguin… This stupid, beaked bastard… Wronged me one time too many. And you know how the old saying goes - hell hath no fury like a woman scorned. He underestimated me. He thinks I belong with him. He thinks… He belongs in my heart.”

This time Mori didn’t say anything; he was listening attentively.

“He thinks I’m so, so blindly loyal, you see. He thinks I’m mindless and inert and docile, until he wants me to be aggressive. He thinks wrong. In fact, he does a lot of things wrong. He’s a lousy, self-centered lover… And an egomaniac, in love with the sound of his own voice.”

Those things were almost painful to say.

“He said some things he should have kept to himself - but no, he shared them with me… And now I’m willing to share them with you, to teach him a valuable lesson. Interested?”

“Yes.” Mori said in his most business-like voice. “Please. Continue.”

“The deal is simple: I know when and how Penguin wants to take you out.” she stated. “He hired the best of the best, someone you can’t afford… But luckily, I know someone who can offer more. The only problem is… You have something this person really, really wants.”

“Well?” Mori asked tensely, slightly leaning towards her. “What is it? My treasured jadeite? Secrets of the Waynes? My lucky dice?”

“Virago.” she replied lazily. “I am, naturally, talking about Oswald Cobblepot. He’s a man with many, many connections… And can buy your grim reaper out. Except… He doesn’t have a reason to want to do so. Show him some good will, Mori. Or not - and wait for the inevitable.”

She left Mori that night with something to think about; she played on his fear of death, she planted the seed of fear in his mind - and now the night of truth had came.

“I think it’ll work.” Charlie whispered back to Oswald. “Look at him. This is not a face of a happy man. This is a face of a man drinking his anxiety away. Sorry for calling you a lousy lover, by the way. You’re not lousy.”

“Yes, I think the sounds you make when we’re busy speak more than actual words. Did you ever hear yourself moaning? I should record it some day.”

“Record it all you want, but if you’ll play it to anyone… I’ll stab you.”

“That’s kind of hot. Care to dance?”

“Yes.” she said, before remembering about her rope. “Wait, no!”

But in response he only snickered.

“No taksies backsies.” he hummed, already leading her onto the floor. “Come on, my wife born of spring. Be strong.”

“You ass.” she muttered quietly as they danced and the warm tension started to build up in her body as a result of this maddening friction. “Why are you like that?”

“Several reasons.” he said nonchalantly. “One: I like when people actually ask for things they want from me. Two: being flustered suits you and I enjoy seeing you like this. Three: I’m an asshole, plain and simple.”

“Well, at least you’re self aware.” she breathed out, hiding her face in his arm. “Heads up. Mori’s walking towards us.”

“Mm. Will you be good when I leave you to make the deal?” he asked, gently raising her chin with his fingers; people were watching, as he leaned in and kissed her lightly, just before Mori tapped him on his shoulder and he turned around with a polite smile.

They disappeared for an hour or so; Charlie spent this time chatting about everything and nothing with Vicki and Louise. They didn’t as much as mention the conference incident; there was no need for it. Vale and her ambitions were an enigma of sorts for Charlie - but she decided some mysteries are better off unsolved. She didn’t need to know everything; she was alright with being just a piece of the puzzle, rather than the puzzlemaster.

Finally Mori and Oswald returned; Mori looked serene, while Oswald looked like a very satisfied, fat cat, barely containing his grin.

“Don’t worry about a thing, mister Mori.” Oswald assured him, wrapping his arm around Charlie’s waist. “Your problem’s as good as gone. Now, have you met my fair lady?”

“Didn’t have the pleasure.” Mori said, briefly glancing at Charlie, nodding slightly and returning his attention to Oswald. “You’re a good negotiator. You inherited your father’s blood.”

He bowed and left and Oswald followed him with his eyes, his polite, amused smile getting fainter and fainter and his eyes getting darker and darker. Charlie felt a shiver run down her spine; unimpressed Louise sipped her wine.

“I can’t say I’m going to miss him.” she said finally. “He did just sign his own death warrant, didn’t he?”

“He signed it many years ago, when he sided with Thomas Wayne.” Oswald corrected her calmly. “For a casino owner, Mori is ridiculously bad at foresight. Now, if you’ll excuse us…”

He didn’t say anything to Vicki, who also remained silent; they only looked at each other, as if simply being seen talking would be enough for Gotham to figure them out. It was nonsense; but Charlie decided to let Oswald have his oddities and little paranoias.

“Where are you taking me? Or rather us.” she corrected herself, raising her plush dog. “Not that I mind.”

“Oh, I thought we could use some alone time.” he said carelessly. “You know. Celebrate. And take advantage of how good you look, agapiméni mou.”

“Did you learn some Greek just to flirt with me while staying in character?” she asked, laughing quietly; he smiled with satisfaction.

“Yes, but unfortunately, ancient Greek was out of my reach… So don’t expect elaborate hymns.”

“So how did it go with Mori?”

“As for next week, I own this place. Meaning… Mori’s obsolete. I’ll take care of him eventually. Let him believe he’s under my protection.”

They found an empty side room, and before she knew it - his hands were under the fabric of her clothes and he was kissing her and his lips tasted like honeyed wine and she smiled, wondering if this is how Persephone felt after bidding farewell to Kore.

His hands were ice cold, and when he cupped her breasts she knew he’s doing it on purpose; cold was very effective against her and she writhed and mewled as he teased her, one of his hands pushing aside the rope and her underwear, his lips on her neck. The room was dangerously close to the main event, and the walls seemed paper thin; she had to cover her mouth with her hand as he was doing his magic with her body. The line between what she wanted from him and what he was going to give to her was but a gossamer thread; and he somehow always knew what to do to keep her from crossing.

“What are you going to do to Mori?” she whispered. “Tell me.”

“I’ll just make him disappear.” he whispered back, his fingers between her thighs. “And no one will ever know, and the only trace left will be blood on my hands… Maybe I’ll write my name with his blood on your skin. Maybe I’ll write a love poem. Roses are red, blood is red too, I’m bad at poetry, but I truly love you.”

Her laughter mixed with moans as she quickly covered her mouth again, her body shaking slightly. She was still laughing when they left the room, her body even more tense than before, her cheeks red and her eyes hazy; she could feel someone’s disapproving look on her, but she didn’t care enough to look around. Who was to stand between Hades and his queen? Even other gods weren’t brave enough to intervene.

They went home eventually, and she finally got what she wanted; she always did. He claimed he simply can’t say no to her, not when she looked at him like that and her voice sounded more like a breathy whimper; for some reason she never got tired of his theatrics and intricate plans, not when his touch made her feel like this. She loved him, plain and simple; and she told him that, over and over, as Gotham city was falling asleep and under his fingers her skin felt like fire and he sang her body electric.

*** Even though very few people knew the details of what was between them, everyone knew it’s as clear as day that Oswald Cobblepot and young woman living with him love each other; very few people knew just how bloody it was and how many dark parts his soul had and how much she loved every single one of them - but everyone saw the way they look at each other and get lost in each other’s eyes. Apparently it was heartwarming; Oswald was very determined to make Gotham ten times as much as it ever loved Bruce and his parents - and being seen as one part of a committed relationship, completely smitten with his partner certainly helped. Bruce Wayne had a reputation of a playboy, and a capricious and rather shallow one; Oswald Cobblepot was a charming gentleman - who only ever looked at one person in that special, soft way. He wasn’t above kissing a lady’s hand - but only in her case he’d look up and look her in the eye and smile.

And everyone ate that up. In fact - their very public, very fairytale-like relationship turned out to be so in sync with what the general public wanted it soon stopped being enough. People wanted more, expected more; and Oswald seemed to be very committed to the role he was playing.

(It wasn’t all entirely fake, naturally; he was charming and charismatic and intelligent. He simply didn’t want what’s best for the company - he wanted what’s best for himself.)

He dropped the bomb on her one evening, when they were alone; that day he seemed uncharacteristically anxious and she couldn’t figure out why. Everything seemed to be going fine - no one was even close to figuring out the Penguin, and Rumi Mori investigation hit a dead end.

(He did just what he planned, and Mori disappeared without a trace, leaving Oswald as the sole owner of the VIrago and Penguin as Gotham’s most reliable arms dealer.)

“Something’s eating you.” she said finally as they were in the kitchen; he was attempting to make churros and she watched. She liked watching him in the kitchen; he was a much better cook than her and watching him doing something as mundane as cooking was very entertaining, considering what kind of person he was.

“I guess you could say that, yes.” he muttered in response and she sighed.

“Oswald.” she said softly. “I’m fine with you keeping secrets from me, considering the way we first met, but it’s clear you have a problem. And I need you to remember - you’re not alone anymore. Talk to me.”

“There’s no need for grand speeches, really.” he said, not turning around. “And I trust you. I know you have my back, and I know you really left the Agency.”

(He checked, as he admitted some time ago; he had a highly skilled friend who found a backdoor access to the Agency database. Charlie was on the list of retired agents, with an annotation of being highly unreliable, unfit for the Agency and a potential person of interest; her database and requisition office access were revoked, and so were her license, ID and government-issued seal of immunity, protecting agents from getting in trouble with local law enforcements when on undercover missions. That was an undeniable proof of her really leaving this behind.)

“So, how do you want me to put it?” he asked, finally turning around. “Flowery prose? A statement plain and simple?”

“Don’t overdo it. Just tell me what’s up. I can take it, at this point I think I’m used to you and your revelations.”

“Have you noticed how my public persona is doing much, much better than Bruce ever did? I’m likeable, charming, popular… Everyone loves me, and the board is no exception. The board loves me… Of course, except for Regina.” he corrected himself, rolling his eyes. “She doesn’t trust me, but it’s alright, it’s mutual. Anyway. There had been some very subtle suggestions that I should make a certain PR move Bruce never did.”

“...go on.” she said carefully, trying to figure out what is he going to say next. “Though the list of things he never did is… Short. What are you expected to do, resurrect Martin Luther King? End world hunger? Travel back in time and stop Hitler?”

“Nothing of that magnitude, though I wouldn’t be so fast about getting number two off the table. No, the board suggested I should probably present myself as… Being more like my father, and less like Bruce.”

“...but are you talking about appearance, or-”

“No, Charlie, I’m talking about being engaged. The board wants me to get engaged.” he finally blurted out. “As a PR move, nothing more. You know. To present me as truly bringing back the good name of the Cobblepots.”

“Oh.” she said after a long moment, filled with heavy, tense silence. “Oh.”

“Oh.” he agreed. “Not quite what I expected when I was planning this thing.”

“Not quite what I expected when I was taking that assignment.”  she agreed. “Christ, I was supposed to bring you in, not help you take over Gotham and get engaged to you in the process. Somewhere in the afterlife… My father is very, very disappointed.”

“Wait. Does it mean… You’re on board?”

“Well, yeah.” she said with a shrug. “Believe it or not, but I’ve been engaged once. It didn’t end well, as you probably figured out from the fact I was single like a Pringle when we’ve met, but it already happened once. I can get engaged to you. Just as long as you don’t come home next month and announce it’s time for a wedding. I’m not… Big on actual marriage.”

Her nonchalance and this sudden verbal outburst were merely a facade, behind which her actual surprise was hidden; she wasn’t expecting that, not in a million years. Not even once she considered transforming their relationship along these lines - she was fine with its status quo. Engagement and marriage were merely legal formalities, unnecessary deadwood; she made her choice and she was making it every day, after waking up and before falling asleep. But she made her promise, of helping him any way she could; she couldn’t bail out now. Not only it’d ruin his plans - it’d probably also break his heart, which was much more fragile than he wanted the world to believe. His life wasn’t gentle with him; and she saw no reason to further add to his list of poorly repressed issues. Also, she loved him - she could bear some formalities, as long as it was for him. She could think of much worse people to get engaged to.

“Really?”

“Yes, Oswald, really. It’s a strong, definite yes from me. Plus it’s not even the weirdest thing you’d have me do for the sake of your plan. Remember, we’re staging a falling out between the Penguin and the Pinniped. I think I can bear walking around with a ring on my finger, as compared to going around and talking shit about you.”

“See, this is something I’m not getting. Why are you like that, Charlie? I know why I am like that - but you have no reason to be so on board with everything I do. So… Why?”

“Maybe I’m just as awful as you are.” she said with a shrug. “Maybe I don’t feel like coming up with elaborate plans on my own, so I’m fine with just following someone more decisive around. Maybe I just love you. Maybe it’s all of the above.”

“I’m fine with those options.” he said, sounding relieved. “So. Let’s get to planning.”

“Wait. Planning?”

“I’m Gotham’s precious crown jewel. We should do it the old fashioned way.”

“Just admit you want attention.”

“Love, everything I do is for attention. I’m a showman at heart.”

They did it the old fashioned way, and in style. He struck a deal with Gotham’s constantly stressed out mayor; Wayne Enterprises covered all expenses of renovating the Cobblepot Park, and in exchange Oswald for one afternoon got exclusive access to it. Only he and people from the super secret guest list were to be let inside; Charlie insisted on not doing it too publicly, lest it would attract the Agency’s attention. She was sure she has nothing to worry about - Penguin hadn’t been up to anything from outside his usual list of activities, meaning he was a nuisance at best and a moderate, local threat at worst - but it’s better to be safe than sorry.

She wondered if her Agency pals followed the Gotham news; she wondered what does Amanda Waller think when she turns on the TV and sees Oswald Cobblepot prospering and succeeding.

Officially Charlie had no input in planning the entire thing - unofficially she made the majority of decisions. She decided she wants it to be a casual brunch, with mimosas and pink wine and sweets from the bakery near the Peak.

It was a weird feeling - getting engaged to a criminal. Not something she expected to happen at any point in her life, but then again - neither she did with the deaths of her parents, joining the Agency, becoming a criminal herself. She kept telling herself it’s just a facade, an act, just a mere formality; she was ready to go to great lengths to help Oswald.

But still - it felt and sounded weird. Really, really weird.

And then the day had come and she played her part perfectly, the role of someone unsuspecting and oblivious. She acted like she believed it’s just a private reopening of the Cobblepot Park; infused with Oswald’s money, the park looked breathtaking and her amazement wasn’t fake.

And then the weirdest moment came; that thing she never planned, that thing she never thought would ever happen. He made a short speech - a love letter of sorts, a long and fake list of metaphors for everything they’ve done together. He told all those allegories and metaphors and half lies, talking about how she inspired him to be a better person and completely omitting her acceptance for everything dark and bloody about him.

He kneeled in front of her, because of course he did, after all they were doing it the old fashioned way. He pulled out the box, containing Esther’s engagement ring, slightly modified to fit her finger better.

He asked the question, looking her in the eye with that dark, mischiaevous spark she knew and loved so much, that glimmer that drew her in all those months ago.

“Will you marry me?”

That was definitely the weirdest moment of Charlie’s life - a wanted criminal she was an accomplice of, asking her to marry him in a PR stunt. And the weirdest part was - it didn’t feel wrong. It didn’t feel entirely fake. She loved him for real and he loved her back - so she didn’t feel like a liar when she answered.

“Yes.”

Engagement was just a formality, just a PR stunt; she realized it suddenly and with full force as he was putting the ring on her finger. They didn’t need it. What they had was real, with or without the presence of a marriage officiant.

Her life took a weird turn; but she didn’t mind, she didn’t mind at all.

*** The sword of Damocles never fell; and somehow they kept on living. Gotham loved Oswald and Charlie and feared the Penguin and the Pinniped; the latter seemed to be on a warpath, after a dramatic fallout. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, and hell hath no resentment like a man fooled - and those caught in the crossfire of their lover’s quarrel were very eager for a way out. And thus Oswald built his small empire, hidden in plain sight, right under everyone’s noses; and he was a skilled architect, and a very patient one. He also turned out to be a very good actor, despite Louise’s constant claims; only once he got even remotely close to getting in trouble - when someone accused him of secretly supporting the Penguin, who for some reason targeted those who wronged the Cobblepot family. Oswald came out clean - and in return sued the poor sod for libel. That’s just the kind of person he was.

Somehow Charlie knew this is the best possible world for them; the realization came to her one night, in her dreams. She opened her eyes and she was in his arms and his breath was on her skin and she remembered a voice, telling her - that this is as good as it gets for them.

They were on top of the world in that one. Life was good, even if they didn’t deserve it, even if their happiness was paid for with blood, even if they shouldn’t be what they became in the first place. Life was good.

Gotham never learned what hit it.

[forestwater87]

Campbell's crew was legendary. And she'd heard stories of his closest associates.

The strange old man who'd had a million-dollar bounty on his head for the last 21 years, who with a bad eye and a missing hand was somehow unkillable.

The little boy who always seemed to be in the right place at the right time and for not a second longer. He'd never been identified successfully, so everyone called him Ghost.

The bodyguard who stayed plastered to Campbell's side, who never seemed to speak. Gwen had laughed when she'd first heard he was known as the Platypus, but no one else had.

And David Ethan Greenwood. Davey to his friends.

Gwen Santos had been following him for three days, and she still didn't know why anyone would bother paying to kill him.

She'd been following him for three days, and she still didn't know why anyone would bother paying to kill him.

Hell, he'd almost done her job for her at least twice. First he'd tripped over his feet and nearly catapulted himself down a set of stairs, only managing to catch himself by clinging to the railing and scrabbling against the wall with his feet like an overturned bug. Barely ten minutes later he'd rushed into traffic to rescue a pigeon that didn't seem able to fly; he'd then sat down on the sidewalk and fed it scraps of his lunch for almost half an hour until it hopped away.

Gwen pushed up her sunglasses, leaning against the side of a bus stop and flipping through her notes. Possible informant, she'd been told. Strong connections to Campbell. Regularly seen with high-level CC associates. Function unknown.

She didn't make it a habit to familiarize herself with the gangs in Lilac; mercenaries who played favorites didn't stick around long, and in general the less she knew the better. But it was hard to avoid Cameron Campbell's crew, they were everywhere; they'd all but locked down the drug and weapons markets for the entire city — and according to rumors, most of the eastern seaboard. (Fuck, the gun in her jacket pocket had come from Campbell's people.)

And she'd heard stories about his closest associates.

The strange old man who'd had a million-dollar bounty on his head for the last twenty-one years, who with a bad eye and a missing hand was somehow unkillable. (Gwen herself had taken a shot at the bounty when she'd first moved to the city, young(er) and cocky and fresh off a heist that had left her armed to the teeth. She'd escaped with a broken wrist, some cracked ribs, and a scar that sliced through her left nostril and twisted her lips into a permanent snarl.) Hook was Campbell's right-hand man, had been since the explosive birth of the crew.

The little boy who always seemed to be in the right place at the right time and not for a second longer; if there was a heist or shootout, inevitably it would come out that someone had noticed a child wandering around just a few hours earlier. No one could ever say what he'd done, exactly, but he was always there and then gone just as fast: a flash of golden hair, a bright neon jacket and light-up shoes. And yet he'd never been identified successfully, in pictures or lineups or security cameras (the eye was drawn immediately to those clothes), so everyone called him Ghost.

The bodyguard who stayed plastered to Campbell's side, who never seemed to speak — no one knew if he even could — and whose eyes were always hidden by locks of mangy brown hair, except for a beak-like nose that overwhelmed the rest of his face. Gwen had laughed when she'd first heard he was known as the Platypus, but no one else had; stone-faced, she'd been told that he hid poisoned spikes on him at all times, and that a kick from him would leave her writhing in agony and fevered delirium for days after — if she was lucky.

And Davey.

David Ethan Greenwood, the only member of Campbell's crew that was a complete mystery. And yet everyone knew his name, his face, the daycare he worked at . . .

He was so vulnerable, exposed, yet the other gangs didn't seem to touch him. Gwen had asked around when she got the assignment, and none of her contacts had ever had a hit on the kid. As far as anyone knew, he'd never been marked for kidnapping or as a hostage, not even a mugging. For all anyone knew he had nothing to do with the crew. No police record (not even as an eyewitness), nothing except for the fact that he was just sometimes there, chatting with Hook or playing cards with Platypus in one of the CC-owned bars. More than anything he seemed like Campbell's dog, bounding along at his side with stars in his eyes, feeding the man's ego with unconditional adoration.

No one knew what information Greenwood had about the crew. No one knew why they had anything to do with him, or he with them. And when she'd pressed them, no one knew what caused that invisible halo around him that kept him untouched, why such an obvious victim had never been victimized.

Gwen didn't know, and she didn't particularly care. She just knew that his head was worth $10,000, and she could do a hell of a lot with that money.

She glanced at her watch. It was just after 6 p.m., and Greenwood was predictable as the sun: said goodbye to the children at 4:30, locked up the daycare at 5, and took a long, meandering path along the trash-strewn shore of Lake Lilac, watching the sunset before hopping on the bus home, taking the stop about twenty feet away from where she stood.

And there he was. He waved at the bus driver like he did every day, then hurried into the corner store across the street to pick up ingredients for dinner.

It was convenient, his routine. And astoundingly stupid. It was like he wanted to be killed.

Once he was in the store, she abandoned her position and strolled into the small courtyard between his apartment building and the townhouse next door. Pretending to admire the flowers — which she'd watched David lovingly tend each morning before work — she waited until the street was clear, then vaulted over the chain-link fence and slipped in through the never-locked back window.

Campbell treated his pets well, Gwen had to admit as she picked the lock to apartment 2A. This certainly wasn't the swankiest part of Lilac, but it was far nicer than a glorified babysitter should be able to afford. Especially this glorified babysitter, who she'd once seen give money to 8 different hobos on his walk home. And then when he was out of change, he handed the 9th his sweatshirt!

Must be nice, she thought, stepping inside and closing the door behind her. His apartment was clean and relatively bare, knitted afghans and embroidered pillows splashing color on the ultra-modern furniture. Resisting the temptation to snoop through the rest of the apartment — Greenwood would be home in 5 minutes and 20 seconds — she settled against the wall next to the door, pulling out her gun and inspecting it thoughtfully.

She was a fan of guns, as a general rule. They didn't require much athleticism, and there was something elegant about being able to pinpoint a spot on someone's body and with a flick of her finger watch it bloom into gore. But they were also loud and messy, and at close quarters more of a hindrance than a help. With a disappointed sigh, she put it away and drew a knife from her sleeve. The gun had been more of a security blanket than anything, a comfort to make up for the fact that she'd had to leave her sniper at home. Without it she felt strangely naked.

Naked and way, way too close to the target.

Gwen preferred to kill people from a safe distance. It was cleaner that way. But this apartment had no good stakeout points near any of the windows — she guessed Campbell had picked it for that very reason — and she tried to avoid taking targets out in public, partly because she wasn't the best sprinter and partly because concealing a gun as long as her arm was a lot harder when everyone in the vicinity was panicking and calling the police — or worse, allied gangs.

Her body tensed as she heard the sound of footsteps, humming, the jingling of keys in the lock.

There he was. Right on time.

The door swung open and she followed it, staying in the darkness until he was fully inside. The second the door closed, she threw herself forward, slamming him in the throat with her forearm and driving him against the wall with a dull thud. With her other hand she stuck the tip of her knife into his ribs, ignoring his weak, pained whimper. "Okay," she growled. "Someone wants you dead. Why?"

She should've just slit his throat. But she was curious.

Besides, no one had ever accused her of being good at her job.

Greenwood was breathing in short, desperate pants. For a second she thought he was trying to shake her off, but quickly realized he was just . . . shaking. "I — I don't — um —" He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing, and she let up on his neck enough so he could talk more easily. "I didn't say thank you to a waiter last week. Maybe I made them mad?"

She was used to targets insulting her, screaming, begging, crying. Rarely did they go for humor. "You think this is fucking cute, you piece of shit? You get that I was paid to kill you, right?"

"N-no ma'am! This is a very un-cute situation!" He swallowed, a movement she could feel against her arm. "And while I know that you need to do your job, I-I hope maybe you could . . . m-maybe reconsider . . . I don't have much money, but, well . . ."

Once again she couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. She had to admit, it threw her off. "Christ, hold on," she muttered, ducking her head and shaking it to remember how she'd gotten into this situation and what she was supposed to do about it. It didn't help that he was staring at her with these wide green eyes and lightly flushed cheeks, his mouth falling open slightly as he struggled for breath. "I, you — fuck . . ."

This was why guns were better than knives.

"Ssssomeone wants to hurt me, right? And you want to know what I could've done to deserve it?"

She glanced up at him, incredulous. "Are you trying to help me assassinate you?"

"I don't know!" he whined, flinching at the bite in her voice. "It's just, I, ah, know how annoying it is to lose your train of thought, and — and you seem like a nice lady, so . . ."

"Nice?"

"Given the circumstances," he clarified. "C-could I just —" Before she could stab him in the wrist, he reached over and flicked a switch, flooding the room with buttery light. "That's better!" he chirped with a smile, one that fell immediately when she hissed at the glare. "Oh, I'm sorry, ma'am, I should've warned you —" He drew his arm back, his watch catching on her arm with a pinch hard enough to draw blood; she winced but didn't pull back to inspect it. She'd looked like enough of an idiot so far, and the last thing she needed was for her target to think she was weak enough to be distracted by a little pinprick.

He stood patiently while her eyes adjusted. "Did you just annoy Pikeman into wanting to kill you?" she muttered, more to herself than to him.

"Edward Pikeman? That's who asked you to . . . ?" He frowned. "I thought we were on good terms."

Gwen was uncomfortably aware of how much better she could see Greenwood now that the light was on. With a groan she pulled away, so suddenly he slumped back against the wall, and slipped her knife back into her sleeve (keeping her other hand on the gun, just in case). "How do you even know Campbell, anyway?"

He had his hands on his knees, taking relieved gulps of air. "He took me in when I was 9!" His expression turned hopeful. "Is . . . is that all you needed? Because I don't have a lot of information, but I'm sure he'd be happy to speak with you . . . Would you like some tea, ma'am?"

Yeah, this wasn't one of her finest performances. "No, no." She ran her free hand through her hair with a sigh, feeling like she was trying to capture her scattered thoughts with a butterfly net. "I'm gonna kill you, I'm gonna take my money, and I'm gonna get the fuck out of this fucking piece of shit fuck town."

It was a good plan. A smart plan.

She just had to . . . well, do it.

"Move and I shoot you," she muttered dully. God, she had a headache, one that pounded through her skull and crowded at the corners of her eyes with each thudding heartbeat. In fact, it'd started to creep into her vision, a soft decaying blackness that . . .

She pulled her arm up, noticing that it moved with dreamlike slowness and left colorful trails in the air, and finally took a closer look at where he'd gotten her with his watch. A bead of blood wiped away to reveal a small round hole that looked remarkably like a bee sting.

Oh, for fuck's sake.

The son of a bitch had poisoned her.

The next (and last) things she was aware of were hands hauling her into a sitting position and Greenwood's voice: "I'm sorry, sorry! I didn't want to have to do that, but I promise you'll feel better when you wake up . . ."