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ghost-proofbaby · 2 months ago

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twenty four hours (modern!eddie munson x fem!reader)

"HALLOWEEN PARTIES"

EXTRA CONTENT- "BEYOND THE HOURS"

→ pairings: modern!college!eddie x college!fem!reader → warnings: strong language, mentions of breeding kink, mentions of possible future pregnancy, lots of suggestive conversation and making out. not edited. upside down does not exist, minors dni → wc: 9.9k+ → a/n: @take-everything-you-can plagued me with thoughts of what our idiots would get up to on halloween, and i just couldn't help myself. it definitely spiraled out of control though. my bad. ALSO, QUICK DISCLAIMER: please if you get a snake don't do what reader and eddie did. snakes a homebodies. we are just going to pretend it's okay in this context for the name of fiction, alright? obligatory snake owner ramble over. let's GO.

enjoy the main story's masterlist here

The thumping of the bass was audible before you’d even exited the elevator fully.

Any other day of the year, you’d assume your group of friends would be earning an instant noise complaint for the volume of the music coming from behind Steve and Robin’s apartment front door. But it wasn’t just any other day – it was Halloween, and somewhere amongst the rhythm of what surely had to be Steve blasting Abba, you could make out fellow neighbors playing music just as loudly.

If anything, the overly quiet apartments were more concerning than the noisy ones.

“Do you think Lestat is going to do okay with the music?” Eddie suddenly frets, one hand reaching to tug on what little fabric there was of his costume. It almost made you smile, a reminder of what exactly your usually ‘scary’ boyfriend was donning.

Britney Spears, circa 2001. One of her most iconic VMA performances.

He’d decided it the moment you two had come home several months ago with the most important accessory that was draped around his neck – a juvenile ball python named Lestat, who looked surprisingly content as he hung onto Eddie’s shoulders.

“I don’t know,” you hum, looking over at Eddie, a little bit concerned now that he’d brought it up, “Maybe it’s a bad idea-”

“I’m texting Nance to turn the music down.”

“What if it freaks him out?”

“It’ll be fine.”

“What if he gets stressed and bites you, Eddie?”

To any onlooker, the sight of you might have been a bit funny. Furrowed brows, arms crossed, sticky blood spread out across your stomach and sternum.

The theme tonight for the two of you had been iconic performances. Eddie insisted, and part of you knew he was just afraid to dress up so extravagantly all alone when it came to this small get-together, but you hadn’t hesitated to pull together your own version of Lady Gaga’s iconic VMA performance from 2009. If you two were going to commit to a theme this year, you were committing.

Eddie balances his phone in one hand, typing with a single thumb. Impressive, given his history of ardently avoiding owning a smart phone. His other hand trails up to his collarbone, sneaking a careful finger below Lestat’s head, holding him up and pouting his lip a little, “This little guy? Biting me? He would never.”

The sight was cute. Obnoxiously, overly, endearingly cute.

“He’s still a snake,” you try to argue, stopping right outside of apartment 34C. The music was more clear now as it switched from whatever Abba tune had been playing to Maneater by Nelly Furtado, “If he gets scared enough, he might.”

“I’d hardly call him a snake,” Eddie snorts, shoving his phone back into his pocket, smiling as he tilts his chin to awkwardly stare at the snake now carefully slithering over his knuckles, “Dude misses the mice on his first strike every time we feed him. And if there was ever a time he was going to bite me, it would have been when I was taking that moss out of his mouth as he was eating.”

That earns a huff of a laugh from you as well. The image of Eddie on Monday night, absolutely losing his mind as he’d noticed that Lestat had gotten his mouse entangled in some of the moss decorating his enclosure, not even hesitating to open the tank once more and throw his hand in right along with the tongs to prevent your new ‘son’ from ingesting it, crosses your mind. It hadn’t mattered how much you reassured him that it was probably normal in the wild, that Lestat’s body could certainly handle it. Eddie had been insistent and blinded by what could only be described by paternal instinct.

If you’d asked yourself last Halloween if that had been where you see your life heading in a year’s time, you would have rolled your eyes.

“You do realize how dumb that was of you, right?” you insist, remembering your fear and the way your breath had caught in the moment. It was funny now, but you’d never gripped onto Eddie’s shoulder tighter than when he’d recklessly done so. You loved the snake, you really did, but you’d realized in that moment you might still love Eddie just a little bit more.

The conversation is cut short as it’s clear that Nancy had received Eddie’s text, the music behind the door quieting a bit along with a change of song.

Your jaw nearly drops, “You did not make Nancy do that.”

The opening notes of I’m a Slave 4 U were impossible to miss.

“I did.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“Are you gonna insult me the entire night, or let me make my iconic entrance?”

You don’t get a chance to answer, Eddie carefully passing by you, Lestat’s head bouncing a little as it passes a bit closer to your face than you would have been comfortable with a few months ago.

The snake, funnily enough, had even been your idea to begin with. Your want, your desperate argument you’d wasted countless breaths upon while getting ready for bed with Eddie.

It’ll be fun, you’d whined to Eddie as you’d both crawled into bed, we even have the space in the living room.

Sweetheart, you’re fucking terrified of snakes, Eddie had easily rebuttalled. He wasn’t wrong, but it didn’t stop you from huffing like a petulant child.

That’s an exaggeration, you argued right back.

Your hands had still shook ferociously that first day of bringing home the snake when you’d been the one to move him from the small container the store had placed him and into the full fifty gallon tank now occupying a fairly large chunk of the apartment’s living room.

You’re still lost in your head as the door swings open for Eddie right as the first chorus of the song begins. He’s dramatic, fully committed, a glimmer of who he must have been in high school shining right through as he struts confidently into your friends’ apartment.

A version of Eddie you somehow missed despite never having met. You almost wonder if you would have still ended up here if you’d met then; you almost wonder if you would have still ended up at each other’s throats inevitably, even in those days.

You probably would have. You secretly hope that it all would have still happened exactly as it has.

“No fucking way!”

Robin is the first voice you can hear excitedly shriek out a reaction to Eddie, followed by a sharp hush from Nancy. They’re deeper in the apartment, out of your line of sight. You can hear Jonathan’s muttered response lost in the music, and you can smell Argyle’s presence rather than hear or see it.

Weed had been expected, but Steve and Robin were strict in their rule of only partaking on the balcony.

“Yes fucking way,” Eddie responds, clearly giddy. You finally trail in behind him, not necessarily shy but certainly not nearly as extravagant as he had been. You hang back a bit, biting back a grin, just admiring your boy.

All warmth, rosey cheeks spread wide in his boyish grin, eyes bright as he wiggles his brows as Robin.

“I didn’t think you’d actually do it,” Robin whispers as she rushes forward, glancing over her shoulder, clearly looking for Steve before she leans it a tad bit closer towards Lestat.

“Mama didn’t raise a bitch,” Eddie snarkily replies, moving to slowly remove the snake from his neck.

“Language,” you jokingly scold him, reaching out to take the snake from his hands as he brings it to his chest, giving Robin a closer look at the nearly-glimmering pale scales of your pet. Almost instinctively, he starts to pull the animal away, but once he sees the look on your face, he’s quick to hand him over. “No cursing around our son.”

Nancy finally walks up, still no sign of Steve as she joins your side and Lestat wraps his body slowly around your wrist, “Oh my God, don’t tell me you also refer to this thing as your child.”

“This thing?” Eddie huffs, more offended than you, “Nance, he has a name.”

Robin has gravitated towards you now, entirely captivated by the ball python, eyes shimmering as she lets out the smallest gasps and squeals under her breath, “What’s his name?”

“Lestat,” you whisper, watching Nancy and Eddie grow closer and clearly get more immersed in their own private conversation, “But Eddie wanted to name him Frodo.”

“Frodo,” Robin chuckles a little, looking at you questioningly as she holds out a timid finger. You give her a nod, moving a thicker part of the snake’s body to face her rather than the head, “Sounds like Eddie.”

It did indeed. Once the bickering of whether or not you two would even get the snake to begin with had faded, the entire argument of what its name would be had started up. Eddie wanted the snake to be named after his favorite books – you wanted to name the snake after your most recent reads.

You’d clearly won. At the sacrifice of promising the inevitable first of many cats you and Eddie would eventually have be named Frodo instead. But you’d still won.

Robin’s eyes finally leave the snake long enough to take in your own outfit, and you hadn’t realized it was possible for the girl’s grin to widen, “Wait - are you dressed as Lady Gaga from her Paparazzi performance?”

“Oh, my dear Birdie,” you coo out the endearment, shivering slightly as the cool body of the snake continues to slither up near your elbow, “This night is just getting started.”

—

You were right. The night had just begun.

The first few hours pass fairly chaotically. A languid and rapid mixing of everyone excitedly catching up on each other’s lives, various drinks beginning to be concocted. Some delicious, and some spurring gags from others simply from the description of the hard liquor that had gone into them.

Argyle had managed to lure many of the group out onto the patio at various intervals to partake in the devil’s lettuce, as he had proudly proclaimed it. Nancy and Jonathan had figured out a way to set up a makeshift karaoke party in the living room, lyrics for songs being displayed on the main TV. And Steve, for all his attentive hospitality as the one of the co-hosts of the night, had remained painfully oblivious.

Eddie had gone behind his back when it came to bringing Lestat. Steve had made it clear when the two of you had purchased the puppy in reptile form that he wanted nothing to do with the python, while the rest of the group had been easily intrigued – especially Robin. And so once Eddie had decided upon his Britney outfit, the next logical step had been securing Lestat’s attendance at the party. He hadn’t texted Steve - or Nancy, as a matter of fact - but rather Robin.

The girl hadn’t even taken a minute to respond, overly enthusiastic to meet the snake.

Everyone had slowly become a part of a more silent bet as the night dragged on, and for once, you and Eddie were on the betting side of it all. The drinks were poured, the weed was smoked, the music was sung along to painfully off-key, and Steve never once noticed the snake that was frequently wrapped around various parts of yours and Eddie’s body.

The quick exchanges probably didn’t help. When Steve needed your help in the kitchen at one point, you’d smoothly handed Lestat over to Eddie in passing. When Eddie had agreed to join Jonathan and Argyle on the balcony at one point, he’d easily and carefully draped the snake across the nape of your neck from behind the couch. Hell, you’d even spent a good five minutes engrossed in a conversation with Steve, all the while Lestat had been comfortably coiled around your bicep opposite the man.

As the hours passed by, you found yourself wanting to be caught.

Your phone pings suddenly as you bury yourself deeper into the leather couch, giggling over Steve’s current rendition of What’s New Scooby Doo?.

You shuffle carefully to pull it from where you’d wedged it against your hip, trapped weakly by your white bottoms speckled with glittery blood.

WORLD’S HOTTEST BOYFRIEND: I want a cigarette :-(

You do a double take of the contact name, blinking rapidly before you finally connect the dots.

YOU: when the hell did you change your contact name in my phone?

WORLD’S HOTTEST BOYFRIEND: Unimportant.

WORLD’S HOTTEST BOYFRIEND: Do you think if I hand Lestat off to you right now that Steve would notice?

Your eyes flick up as the song ends, Robin having jumped up to finish off the performance with Steve, the two of them a mess of flailing limbs clinging to each other and joyful laughter bubbling out of them for unknown reasons.

Well, partially unknown reasons. One of them was surely the strange concoction the two of them had chugged at some point in the night that had included both watermelon flavored vodka and green apple whiskey. That had been one you’d cringed and stuck your tongue out at.

YOU: 50/50 chance. And NOT unimportant btw, what’s my name in YOUR phone?

Just as Eddie exits the bathroom, Steve perks up at the sound of the door and distant flush, removing himself entirely from Robin’s embrace, “Fuckin’ finally! I have to piss.”

Everyone holds their breath as he rushes past Eddie, but he still remains completely unaware of the snake that Eddie is carrying.

The slam of the door times perfectly with Eddie’s collapse onto the couch next to you, a shy and guilty grin already gracing his face before you even begin bursting at the seams with continuing the text conversation face-to-face.

“Seriously,” you waste no time, turning to him quickly and your knee easily overlapping his thigh as you shuffle into a more comfortable position, “When did you change your name in my phone, asshole?”

He takes his time answering, pulling on the ridiculously small jean shorts he wears as his shoulders quiver with the effort of holding in his laughter, “Words hurt, baby.”

You hate the way nicknames as simple as baby can send still shivers down your spine.

“You couldn’t have at least been a little more creative? Like, world’s hottest boyfriend? C’mon, you can be more clever than that, surely.”

It’s easy to do this, to egg him on and prod at his ego in the softest of ways. It’s also always been a dead giveaway to him that he’s gotten under your skin.

“My name with a pretty black heart next to it just wasn’t cutting it anymore,” he pouts exaggeratedly, leaning into your space a bit, holding the snake a careful distance away as he looks into your eyes and a suspiciously jubilant look crosses his face, “What would you have preferred?”

“Something shorter,” you breathe out, feeling some of the alcohol coursing through your veins now, making your headswim as you suck in the scent of his cologne heavy in the space between you, “It’s a bit of a mouthful, if I’m being honest.”

“It is,” he nods, and his lips spread salaciously, pupils growing just a tad bit wider before he delivers a devastating blow, “But we both know you can take it, can’t you, baby?”

Damn him. Fuck him. Send him all the way down to the depths of Hell, for all you care.

He’s caught on to a clear game he can play now that you’re tipsy, one that he certainly has the upper hand in, and you can’t tell if the night ending in him winning it would actually spell your loss. You swear, you can already feel his hands on your hips, tearing off the costume you’d spent several weeks carefully sewing sequins into, his lips getting sticky with all the fake blood across your torso, his-

Huh. Never had you realized yourself to be such a horny drunk.

“Now I need a cigarette,” you grumble, leaning away from him, trying to break whatever spell he was casting. None of your friends’ have even noticed the interaction happening on the couch, saving you from eternal embarrassment.

If you’d had less pinot noir and shots of Fireball whiskey in your veins, you’d probably still find the decency in you to be self-conscious at toying with these things in public. Maybe scold him, maybe douse out whatever flames he was attempting to ignite.

Eddie leans back as well, clearly satisfied with himself as he lifts Lestat up to preoccupy himself by pretending to study the lightened coloring of the snake. Mostly white, with splatterings of a traditional morph at random across the body. The woman who had sold the snake to the two of you had referred to it as a piebald. If you had been shopping with an actual breeder rather than a reputable rescue, he would have cost an arm and a leg.

Luck had been on your side the day you’d stumbled upon the snake. You wish luck was still on your side tonight.

Eddie sticks out the tip of his tongue to mimic the snake a few times before he focuses on you again, “You know, we could always see if Robin wants to watch him while we both go grab one.”

You have no clue how the girl had heard him from across the living room, but she suddenly appears at his side, just as eager in appearance as her original text giving the blessing to bring Lestat had been.

“Did someone say I could hold the snake?” she bounces a bit on the balls of her feet, looking down with utter fascination, “Please tell me you guys just said I could hold the little guy. When you first got him, I did a ton of research so I’d know proper handling tips, and also how to know if he gets too stressed. Also I may or may not have been nervous about how often they bite, but I found out that-”

“They don’t bite,” Eddie interrupts with reassurance, offering a small smile as he looks up to her, “At least, not very often. You usually have to aggravate them pretty badly, or catch them on a really shit day for them to strike.”

It had been a huge selling point in convincing him. Ball pythons were docile in nature, and they’d be quicker to match up to their namesake by balling up than actually strike out at someone.

Of course, the day you had been informing of this, you had no idea he was already aware of it. He knew they didn’t bite, he knew the specifics of what a habitat for them needed, he knew their dietary needs – he’d already had an Amazon shopping cart filled with supplies after the first time you brought the snake up to him, unbeknownst to you.

“Yeah,” Robin nods ferociously, hands reaching out carefully, already more than prepared to take the snake, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. Now hand over the baby and go do whatever debauchery you two are clearly wanting to get up to.”

“We aren’t getting up to debauchery!” you try to defend the two of you, watching Eddie carefully uncurl Lestat from his arm to pass him into Robin’s waiting hands, “Eddie just wants a cigarette and-”

“And you want to join him and probably get in some hot and steamy makeout sessions, right?” Robin finishes your sentence for you, quirking an eyebrow for a second before letting out a whisper of a squeal when Lestat takes to her quickly. His tail wraps around the length of her wrist and you’re shocked as you watch him stay just as curious as he had been while held by you and Eddie. A tad bit more reserved, but no sign of balling up any time soon.

Eddie stands from the couch, patting his largest back pocket to ensure his pack of cigarettes and lighter are still safely tucked into it, and you know it’s useless to keep arguing with Robin. She’s entirely entrapped by the snake in her hands now, whispering in a high-pitched tone that surprisingly doesn’t seem to bother Lestat. All her coos nearly resemble baby-talk. It’s cute – sort of. A direct mirror of how you and Eddie have been acting at home when you handle the ball python.

You stand slower than Eddie had, hawk eyes still glued to your friend, “Just- Just be careful, okay? Avoid touching his head, and don’t wave your hands around too much while talking, because it can scare him. He also might try and crawl up to your hair because Eddie lets him hide in his at home, and sometimes he’ll pull on it because it sticks to him, so just-”

“Sweetheart,” Eddie stresses, throwing an arm around your shoulders, giving your bicep opposite from him a quick squeeze, “She’ll be fine.”

Robin nods, clearly only half listening to the debate as she watches Lestat wander up her arm in clear wonder.

It sort of does feel like Lestat is your actual human child, as though you’re leaving your toddler with a babysitter for the first time.

Eddie tugs you deeper into his side, musky cinnamon and boyish charm filling your nose as he leans down and murmurs, “C’mon.”

A Ghost song starts to thump over the speakers as you allow Eddie to guide you over to the sliding door beside the kitchen, the layout different and even a tad bit nicer than your own apartment. It’s odd, the view of the kitchen being clearer than the living room, the exact opposite of how your home is.

Home. Even in your tipsy state, even after so much time having living with Eddie and even going as far as to now own a pet with him, the notion fills you with warmth.

Maybe you’re actually a sentimental drunk.

As the two of you pass by Argyle, he briefly lifts his head, cherry-shaded eyes peering up excitedly until Eddie quickly shakes his head, making the poor man sink back against the loveseat that he occupies with Jonathan and Nancy. You almost feel bad, but it’s clear Argyle is too far gone to even feel disappointment right now.

“After you, m’lady,” Eddie chivalrously slides the door open for you, half-bowing and putting on a half-assed British accent as he sweeps his arm for you to exit onto the balcony first.

“It’s Lady Gaga to you,” you snark as you slip out into the crisp Autumn air, cheeks cooling instantly.

“Oh,” the door slides shut with a soft thud behind Eddie as he joins you, face immediately covered by the shadows of the evening, “My apologies.”

It’s nice out. Far nicer than any October has been in the city in what feels like years. The air is refreshing, dare you even say sobering, and the city lights below wink at you as you hear all the distant noises of life. Car horns, children’s laughter, music from other parties. It sounds as though one of the neighbors below is blasting heavy rap, and you swear you can hear the trill of a radio pop song from your left.

Beer, cider, pumpkin spice – it all fills the air. It’s Halloween, and it’s nice.

The breeze is electric with all the livelihood, sending goosebumps up your arms as you approach the railing, looking out across a night sky painted some sort of faded cross between navy and grey rather than a stark black of midnight.

It all turns to static the moment Eddie wraps his arms around your waist from behind you, heavy pack of cigarettes in his palm as his lips find solace in one of the few bare patches of skin on your shoulder.

“God, I love Halloween,” he murmurs against you, his breath hot as it catches across your costume.

God, I love you.

You can’t help the cheesy thought as a hand comes up to grip Eddie’s forearm, giving three short squeezes, pulling him just a tad bit closer. But it’s true – Halloween was wonderful, you’d always enjoyed any excuse to get together with your friends and family, but it had never felt quite like this.

Planning cliche dates during the season, movie marathons spent cuddling up with your other half rather than sitting across on a couch from friends. Kisses in the pumpkin patch. Cider on his lips. Putting up decorations and ending up chasing each other around the apartment, landing in a pile of limbs that slot against one another perfectly. Arguing about which decorations should go on the balcony, which garland to line your front door with.

It wasn’t a replacement for spending time with your friends. And there were still crude jokes, still bickering over timing of plans and locations to visit. It still felt like spending the holiday with friends – it was spending it with your best friend.

Eddie Munson. Your best friend. Your boyfriend. The sentiment is unexpected to past you, but so entirely welcome by the you currently enveloped in his embrace.

“I used to insist on spending Halloween alone, you know,” you mumble as his chin digs in the point where your shoulder connects to your neck, vision blurring as you continue to stare out at the tiny busy streets, “Just, like, lay around in my dorm. Watch shitty horror movies on my laptop until I got too scared and had to find some dumb comedy to help me sleep. It was the only day of the year where my roommate sort of acknowledged my existence. She was the one who’d go out, and she’d get all this candy and share it with me.”

You don’t know the point of your rambling, but Eddie is listening intently anyways.

You turn carefully in his arms, now mesmerized by how his face looks in the warm glow of the seasonal lights Robin and Steve had put up. Shades of orange flickering across his amber eyes, shadows making all his sharpness in his features more prominent.

“Talking about it now sounds kind of boring,” you muse, laughing a bit dryly, “The most festive thing I would do was going to the Halloween store with Robin and Steve once they opened.”

“Yeah?” he asks softly, arms still tangled around you, grinning gently, “I don’t think that’s too boring.”

“It was,” you insist, pressing just a little closer to him, “God, it was so boring. Not going to the store with those idiots – I mean, that was pretty fun. But it was nothing compared to setting up a snake habitat, or carving pumpkins with you. Now I can watch whatever slasher you want before bed, and I still sleep just fine, cause I’ve got you to protect me.”

His smile matches your own – radiant, proud, happy.

“Oh, definitely,” he nods once, twice. So sure, ego inflated for the bit, “Any scary men with a chainsaw dare to break into our apartment, and I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

Our apartment. The perfect ring to it.

“Didn’t you scream about that spider in our apartment yesterday? Like, full on squeal, hopping up onto the couch, begging me to save you-”

He cuts off all your teasing, even though it was true, with a kiss. Simple, strong, sure. Fingers dancing under your chin to pull you up to him, meeting you halfway and not even hiding his smile at your antics as he effectively shuts you up.

“We agreed to not talk about that,” he mumbles against your lips, tasting like the last shot of whiskey he took with Nancy.

“You agreed to not talk about it,” you pester back, trying to pull away from his kiss. But his other hand comes up, trapping your face between both his palms, and it’s a useless effort, “I just promised to not immediately share the photo of you up on the couch with everyone.”

Half the words are hardly articulate as his lips continue to nip at yours, struggling from your wide smile and the way your entire body is shaking from your giggles. You can feel the cold metal of the railing brushing your exposed lower back, a breeze picking up that can be blamed for the goosebumps racing down your spine rather than Eddie’s wandering hand. It’s not devourment, it’s not desperation, it’s not Earth-shattering.

It’s something like mending. Something like a promise.

Living together, celebrating the holidays together, owning a pet together – they were all baby steps leading to something even brighter in the future. An unspoken truth between the both of you. An inevitable crescendo to all that had been built.

Eddie whines a bit when you pull away again, but this time, your forehead stays pressed to his. A joint effort between the way you tilt your head and the way his hands press you against him.

“Do you remember the last time we were on a balcony together?” you ask in a low whisper, trying to mimic the same suggestive tone that he’s always been able to put on at the drop of a hat.

You’re not quite as talented as him. You’re actually just a giggly drunk.

His brows furrow, “What? This morning?”

“No.”

“Two nights ago, when you insisted Lestat needed to see the moon?”

“No.”

“Are you talking about the afternoon we had a redo of our pumpkin carving contest? Because I still won again, fair and square, ba-”

“I’m talking about the bet, you idiot.”

His fingertips press a bit deeper into your flesh, his lips forming a wobbly ‘o’ as he stares down at you, “How was I supposed to know you were referring to that? That was definitely not the last time we were on a balcony together-”

You shut him up with the same courtesy as he had done to you, adding in a roll of your eyes before your hands wrap around his neck to pull him into you. This time, you make it hot and heavy. Lips and teeth and tongues, grabby hands from the both of you making their way across all the exposed skin and scraps of costumes you two wear. It takes Eddie aback at first, clearly not expecting the sudden passion, but he recovers quickly.

He remembers exactly what you’re referring to quickly.

Your back collides a bit harsher with the railing as he rolls his body up against yours, not a breath of space between the two of you as he wedges his knee between your thighs. You have no idea where his pack of cigarettes has vanished to, but you don’t care. All you really care about is the way he’s holding you, the way he’s suffocating you, the way he’s watering you.

It’s hard to believe the garden within that he’s nurtured at your side for the last year was ever something broken. That there was once a time it was nothing more than dried vines and pathetic blossoms begging to see the light of day. Now, the warmth of a thousand suns was gifted to you every morning you awoke to his smile. Every joke, every small caring act, every kiss stolen just because one of you felt like it. You two may have accidentally killed that first plant you bought the week you moved in properly with him, but this?

You can’t imagine a day where the two of you ever might let this die off.

His lips break from yours, predictably painting a path along your jaw as he murmurs, “I think I do remember. But, just in case – wanna remind me?”

And for a second, you almost do.

All your coils are tight across your body, burning in your abdomen and shaking in your knees, but all it takes is the faintest movement of a shadow to remember all your friends inside the apartment still.

“We can’t,” you whisper, as if they might hear you in the glass, trying to pry yourself away from him just as his teeth start to graze your neck, “Seriously - we can’t.”

Eddie chuckles lowly against your neck, and you know exactly why.

You’d started this without even considering the consequences.

“Started something you can’t finish, didn’t ya, baby?”

Oh, damn him. That stupid low and teasing tone. That dimple you can feel brush against your skin as he moves his mouth to the other side of your neck. All the heat in your body travels south, pooling between your hips, aching for him to go against your wishes to avoid embarrassment and just finish this.

He doesn’t, though. You’re starting to believe he’s less drunk than you are, a clearer mind than your own with far more sensibility than he seems capable of most of the time. His lips leave your neck, his hands finding the polite placement of hovering over your hips. The fog is starting to clear, if only just the slightest bit, and-

You were wrong. So, so wrong.

He’s not sensible. That wicked hand placement was nowhere near polite. In an instant, he’s latched onto you tightly and spun you around, quickly bending you over against the railing so your chest presses into the metal and the cold sends shockwaves across your entire body. Your ass is pressed to his crotch and one hand holds you securely, tight enough that he can be sure you won’t fall, as the other crawls up your back at impeccable speed to press you further down.

Immediately, you’re squealing, “Eddie!”

His laughter is just as loud as all your protests as you come face-to-face with the true height of a three-story balcony, knuckles paling from gripping onto the bars.

You’d hate him for it, but you feel the security of his palm and knuckles around your waist, and you know he’s not letting you go anywhere over that railing. He’s hardly even allowing your head to hang over it.

The moment you start to lean back up against his hand on your back, he’s allowing it immediately. There’s no friction or fight as you stand up straight once more, back against his chest and your hands already prepared to swing back to smack him before both of his arms come up around your shoulders and cross your chest.

“You asshole,” you gasp out, flailing hands deciding to grip strongly onto his forearms as he cradles you up in the tight embrace from behind, still chucking in your ear as you both take several steps back. Your heart pounds, and you’re pretty sure your nails are biting into his skin.

Maybe they’ll leave a mark – you hope they sort of hurt.

“Just had to make sure you really do remember that night,” he jokes, trying to lean his head far enough over your shoulder to get a good look at your face, “I think the bars would have been a bit more exposing, though, yeah?”

Your nails dig in deeper, and his grin widens.

Bastard.

“What if I had fallen?” you snap, finding it hard to be mad at him. Those damned strong arms around you, the thump of his own heart right against the space between your shoulder blades, that fucking dimple.

“I wouldn’t have let you.”

If the two of you had children some day, would they have his dimples?

“We’re both drunk-”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“-And I’m pretty sure this balcony isn’t up to OSHA standards-”

“Oh, it definitely isn’t.”

“-And you almost left our poor son motherless,” you finish off with a forced scowl, shaking off his embrace to face him properly, “Are you prepared for that? Were you prepared to be a single father?”

God, you hate his fucking smile. God, you hope if you have real kids someday, they have that same shit-eating grin.

With a pout of his lips, he steps back up to you, looking down tauntingly, “You’re right, baby. I didn’t even think about poor Lestat.”

You hum, standing your ground, but your defenses are quickly crumbling. Your mind is running with too many thoughts, exhausting itself over everything except the residing anger you should feel at your absolute nuisance of a boyfriend.

The feeling of being held down by him in that position once more. How the heat of his body had warmed you, and you’d only noticed now that the cool air was attacking your exposed back. Swimming in the visions of what color eyes your children might have, pigtail curls of a little girl with Eddie’s defiance or a little boy who wears his shit-eating grin as he exhibits your same unbreakable curiosity.

You definitely shouldn’t have drank so much tonight. It doesn’t matter what kind of drunk you are – it was a bad idea regardless.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?” Eddie’s voice takes you out of your thoughts as he slides his arms around your waist, always needing to be touching you, clingy to a ridiculous degree.

You weren’t complaining, though. How could you? If given the option, you’d make a home out of his bones in a fraction of a heartbeat as well.

“Nothin’,” you lie through a sigh, head tilted dramatically, much preferring to focus on the ginger contours of Eddie’s cheeks than whatever future Jack Daniels had been painting in your mind.

“Bullshit,” he doesn’t hesitate to call you out on it. And it’s not the alcohol fueling his boldness – it’s just how he is. He knows you better than the back of his hand, the roof of his mouth, his favorite songs on guitar. He knows you. “You got this dreamy look in your eyes, and you’re staring so hard over my shoulder, I’m almost scared I’ll turn around to see a ghost in the window-”

Jack Daniels will be your arch nemesis after tonight, the culprit behind the way the words suddenly tumble out of your mouth, “Do you think we’ll have kids someday?”

You wait for the air to leave the space between the two of you with the same urgency it’s left your lungs. You wait for a crack in the air, a chasm to suddenly appear. It’s heavy – God, it’s a heavy question to suddenly ask your boyfriend of one year at a Halloween party. You’re both drunk on your friends’ balcony, and you were having a perfectly sweet moment, and you’d just gone and ruined it. And to top it all off, Eddie was still just smiling, and-

Wait.

Eddie was smiling.

The air was still there, filling his lungs with calm breaths. No sign of fear within his twinkling eyes. No chasm squeezing between the stitches holding you two together.

He’s just smiling.

“Is that really what you were thinking about?” he quietly asks.

You almost don’t want to answer. You almost want to force out cackles of fake laughter, to double over and face the ground rather than his humored expression.

“Yeah.”

Maybe he doesn’t believe you yet, maybe he has to double check before he breaks out into his own laughter. Maybe the alcohol in both your veins is just delaying the inevitable that you’d been originally expecting.

Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Maybe not.

Instead of laughter, instead of mocking you, he keeps a cheery expression as he shrugs softly, “I mean, maybe? I sort of hope so. And, don’t get me wrong, I know a kid is a pretty far leap from a snake, but I’d say we make a pretty good team at keeping living things…. Well, living, y’know? Besides, I solemnly swear I won’t try to name our kids after Tolkien. I’ll reserve those names for the pets.”

All the air leaves your lungs again, but this time, it’s a little less painful, “What?”

“Annie’s a cute name,” he continues on, completely unphased. It’s nearly impossible to remember that you were the one who had started such a serious conversation about the future, “I also like the name Parker. I remember you mentioned that one once, right? Something about being able to nickname the kid Pac-Man, I’m pretty sure. I think that’d be pretty sick.”

And oh, was he right. You had mentioned the name Parker once. Just not to him. Not directly, at least.

The entire ridiculous make-believe scenario had come to you during a girls’ night, after one too many glasses of wine and Nancy bringing up the topic. You, her, and Robin had all spent a good hour coming up with names for children and the best nicknames to suit them. Some had been genuine, and some had been for nothing more than shits and giggles.

Parker, and the nickname Pac-Man, had been serious for you. Parker Anthony. You hadn’t figured out a second middle name to complete the initial acronym of Pac that night, the rosé eventually getting to you, but you had been serious.

“You were listening that night?” you breathe out, only feeling slightly betrayed, “What the Hell? I thought you said you were going to put your headphones on and listen to some Metallica to unwind after work.”

“I lied,” he cheeses, hot palms against your barren lower back, “I’m nosey. Sue me.”

“You could have just joined us, Eddie.”

“And miss the chance to hear you plot out the middle names of our future children?” Eddie snorts, “Not a chance, sweetheart.”

He says it so casually, you wonder if it’s possible for a heart to burst from optimism.

“So,” you pause, take a deep breath, feeling the embarrassment creep back up your throat, “Is that, uh…. Is that a yes? That you do think so?”

Why was it so hard to repeat yourself, to just say the words already spoken?

Eddie had made it clear you had nothing to lose. You two were on the same page. He hadn’t scoffed in your face, he hadn’t even pulled away at the mere mention of the idea. Instead, he had leaned fully into it, head-first as he slid right into the imaginary future with you. He’d given a name to the little girl with his hair and his spunk, to the little boy with his dimples and his mischief.

Was it still a little too soon, too fast? Was that where the hesitation was born from?

It just all felt a bit too easy. After the rocky start you two had endured, this entire last year had just felt too simple.

Of course, even if the hesitation was sitting there in the pit of your stomach alongside all of your anxieties, all of your waiting for the other shoe to drop, Eddie easily soothes it all over as he gives a slow nod and responds, “Yeah. I do – I really do.”

And you clearly wear your heart on your sleeve, emotions painted across your eyes and cheeks for him to read clear as day, because he notices that catch in your breath.

“Not right now,” he rushes to add on, “I mean, listen, we’re still adjusting to Lestat. I think I’d like to be a cat dad too, before I even think about being a girl dad.”

“You’re gonna be a girl dad?” you laugh out without thinking, starting to thaw into a conversation that Jack Daniels had begun but you know you can surely finish with Eddie at your side, “That’s… unexpected.”

His face scrunches for the first time during the entire conversation, “What? You don’t think I’d be a good girl dad? I already deal with my rat’s nest of hair, so I know I’d be at least decent at braiding. And can you imagine getting to take a mini-you to shows, or buying her some cute unicorn helmet once she’s old enough to ride ol’ Nightfury? God, I think I might die from cuteness overload…”

Your cheeks are aching, ears ringing with his words. But all you can do is latch onto one little phrase: mini-you.

Here you were, picturing duplicates of Eddie bounding around the two of you, and you hadn’t considered what he might be seeing.

Not a child with his spunk. No, he’s seeing a little girl with your wit. A little boy with your stubbornness. Those eyes of his, nearly resembling heart-shapes at this point, weren’t wanting to see carbon copies of his whiskey irises. He wanted yours to be looking back up at him.

Hearts clearly can’t burst from an overload of optimism, of happiness. Yours beats wildly as proof, still intact behind your ribs that bloom with rosebuds for the boy pressed to your front.

“Mini-me?” you murmur, making him trail off, focused entirely on you so sincerely you could choke up. You shake your head, letting out a soft huff of air, smiling down at the ground, “No, I- I think you’ll be an amazing dad, Eddie. I just didn’t…. I just forgot…”

“That I’m with you all the way?” he finishes your sentence for you, one eyebrow arched as he gives a squeeze to one of your hips, “You could decide tomorrow you don’t even want to talk about having a kid ever again, that you’d rather get ten more snakes and live as some sort of cryptic couple somewhere in the Midwest the rest of our lives, and I’d be just as excited. I don’t really care where we end up, sweetheart – I just care that it’s with you,” You can no longer tell if it’s his words or the remnants of alcohol in your system that has you tearing up. All you know is that you are, and it’s ridiculous, but it’s fine, because all you see are dark brown eyes and entire realms of possibility in front of you, “Girl dad, snake dad, cat dad – whatever you need from me, I’m your guy.”

When the first tear falls, you're quick to shoot one hand up to your cheek in order to swipe it away as the other reaches out blindly to smack Eddie softly, “Shut up. Stop being cheesy. I’m too drunk for this.”

“You’re right,” he nods ferociously, taking over the duty of wiping away your tears without so much as mentioning it, “Wanna make out again instead?”

You let out a snort, and it eggs him on.

“Or, hey,” his eyes light up, some of the seriousness of the moment fading naturally, “Maybe we ditch this party and start practicing. You know, in case we still want kids someday.”

His pupils widen a bit, and you know surely that it’s only half a joke. You don’t miss the way his breathing picks up at the thought.

“Careful, big boy,” you tease, leaning into his feathery touch on your cheek, relishing the way the nickname draws him under your spell even when you aren’t saying it with an ounce of gravity, “It’d be awfully dangerous to get yourself worked up in such short shorts.”

Saying it outloud almost makes you want to see it, genuinely.

“Worked up?” he scoffs, backing up a little, caught off-guard, “Who says I’m getting worked up? I’m not getting worked up.”

It doesn’t matter how many steps back he takes from you, you still follow, your palm still lands dead center on his chest as you roll your eyes, “Right. Because I’m totally meant to believe that the guy who used to jack off to Playboy magazines with girls who looked like me isn’t going to pop a boner at the thought of fucking a baby into me-”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Nearly more resembling a bite, his canines digging right into your bottom lip as he pulls you forward and collapses back against the glass door behind him.

No words are spoken, no subtle interruptions for this kiss. Toying a dangerous line, dancing along a narrow cliff, and he’s the one who’s decided to drag the two of you off of it.

You don’t mind. You’d follow him to the ends of the world if he asked you to.

When one of his hands reaches up to your scalp, tugging at the roots of your hair for no other reason than he can, your mouth opens up into a silent laugh. An invitation, a jeer, a challenge. A quiet whisper of go ahead, do it. Consume me already.

He’s already everything to you. He’s already a definition of home thinly veiled with skin and bones, a future with a heartbeat.

His tongue down your throat doesn’t change the matter. Just reclaims it.

A whine is lost in translation somewhere from the back of your throat and right into his cheeks. His right hand wraps around some of the skin of one of your thighs, encouraging it to lift up to his hip, and you can still feel the memory of his usual rings imprinting into your skin. A permanent tattoo, a ghost of a feeling that’ll haunt you for all time – you love it. You want to live there forever, right here in this haunted house, collecting memories and dust of all that he is.

Haunted houses are only lonely when you’re left to wander these halls all by yourself, and you think he’d truly cross over into the actual afterlife rather than leave you like that.

The kiss is almost enough to forget where you are and who’s waiting on you inside the apartment. It’s almost enough to have you recreating that fateful night from over a year ago, to let him bend you back over this balcony railing again, and this time, any squeals you let out won’t be of fear. You’d face that fall head on.

His hot hands on your waist, his tongue in your cheek, his knee once again pressed between your inner thighs. Him, him, him-

A sharp rap sounds on the sliding door behind Eddie, and you’ve never jumped apart faster.

It’s Robin and Nancy at the door, Lestat happily wrapped around Robin’s forearm as she waves and points eagerly to him and Nancy simply crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow as though she might have been a disappointed mother rather than a friend at the moment.

You done? Robin mouths, exaggerating her silent enunciation.

As you nod, Eddie only deeply sighs, throwing his head back against the glass with a soft thump. Nancy is quick to throw out a palm against the glass and tap back at him, mimicking swatting him for his theatrics.

Eddie pays no mind to Nancy’s retaliation, or maybe he just doesn’t see it, as he whines out, “I didn’t even get my cigarette.”

“Oh, cut it out, drama queen,” you snicker, trying to hide all your breathlessness as you fully pull away, “We’ve left our son alone long enough. You can chainsmoke to your heart’s desire once we get back home.”

You’re already walking towards the door, Nancy and Robin having retreated further into the kitchen, when he catches your wrist to tug you back close to him. He leans down, deliberate and careful to make sure his lips catch against the lobe of your ear, whispering soft as night, “Can’t chainsmoke if I’m too busy fucking a baby into you, sweetheart.”

It feels like someone’s poured literal fire across your body. As if flames have been dumped over the crown of your head, and are licking their pathway down your spine.

“Eddie.”

If you don’t get inside within the next ten seconds, you’re definitely going to make a decision you regret.

He’s chuckling the entire time he steps around you, opening the door and waving for you to slip inside in front of him. Your entire body is still burning so violently, you barely register the way his fingers hang at his side and make a point to brush the back of your thigh when you pass him.

Bastard, you want to snipe, but instead you just smile.

—

The next morning, you’re awoken by the incessant pinging of your phone.

You try to ignore it at first, burying your head deeper beneath the covers as a headache pulses at the edges of your mind, but after the fifth ping, it becomes impossible.

“Who the fuck is texting us this early?” Eddie’s muffled voice complains into his pillow, facedown with one arm thrown across you securely.

You can even feel him kick his bare legs in a show of defiance next to yours at the edge of the bed. If it wasn’t for the late night prior catching up to you, it’d be something sweet to laugh at.

“What time is it?” you croak, scooching further up the bed, making Eddie’s arm around you only tighten. As if he can stop you from getting out of bed, or delay the inevitable by resisting you checking the phone, “Is it even early?”

His free arm that had been tucked below his pillow flings out to the bedside table quickly, grabbing blindly for at least one of your phones. It doesn’t really matter if it’s yours or his; he’s got the password to both.

“It’s eight in the fucking morning,” he curses, seeming more awake as he notices that he was right in it being early. “How in the fuck is anyone up right now? We didn’t leave until nearly three.”

His arm is finally loose enough for you to sit up properly, tugging the comforter with you to keep your bare chest covered, “Lemme see it.”

“If it’s Harrington, can you post my bail for murder?”

“You’re not killing Steve,” you nonchalantly reply as you snatch the phone right out of his hand. It had been yours, unsurprisingly. You don’t even know if Eddie remembered to put his own phone on the charger before the two of you had promptly passed out. You hardly even remember how you managed to do so, “But – yeah, it’s Steve.”

“Fucking Harringt-”

“And Robin. And Jonathan.”

“Have I mentioned I hate our friends?”

The fog of sleep has officially lifted for you, and despite the wave of fatigue and aching joints you’d argue you’re far too young to be experiencing right now, you smile at your grumpy boyfriend. He exchanges his pillow for your stomach, shoving his entire cheek tightly to you as his arms wrap around you slowly. Clinging to you like a child, squinting against what little light pours in through the curtains.

“You don’t hate them,” you murmur, holding the phone in one hand to get a better look at the phone as the other cards through his curls, “You hate mornings.”

He hmphs in agreement, relaxing against your makeshift scalp massage.

DINGUS: WHY THE FUCK IS THERE A PHOTO OF ME WITH A SNAKE IN THIS CHAT?

BIRDIE: it is too early to be yelling

DINGUS: oh my bad

DINGUS: WHY THE FUCK DID YOU, ROBIN, SEND A PHOTO OF A SNAKE IN THIS FUCKING CHAT? WHO’S FUCKING SNAKE IS THAT?

You can’t help the gasp that leaves your mouth as you begin to see what the entire commotion was, and Eddie is lifting his head immediately.

“What?” he questions, moving to lift himself up and peer over the top of the phone, nosier than ever, “Why did you gasp? Is someone dead?”

You scroll up, finding the photo being referred to.

“Not yet.”

Steve, clearly partaking in another round of karaoke. Eyes glazed over, mid stumble based on the blur.

“What do you mean not yet?”

Most impressively, most notably, is the snake around his neck.

Lestat, without a care in the world, his upper body being cradled by Steve’s palm as your drunk friend appears to be serenading the snake.

You bite back your smile, eyebrows high as you glance down at Eddie, “You remember when we let Steve sing Taylor Swift while holding Lestat? About… two and a half drinks after he finally noticed we had him, and he didn’t flip out courtesy to all that Absolute vodka?”

“Oh, fuck me.”

Eddie flings himself back to the edge of the bed in search of his phone just as another notification pings.

JOHNNY: I’ll do you one better. I have a video.

You don’t know if you’ve ever watched Eddie excitedly type on his phone faster than he does once he’s read that message, already giggling like a fool long before you can see what he’s sent in the chat.

LOVER BOY: Johnny, my boy, you can’t just say that and NOT send it.

JOHNNY: Unlike you, I don’t have a death wish.

DINGUS: WHO’S FUCKING SNAKE WAS IT? IS IT EDDIE’S?

YOU: i will not stand for this erasure of me as lestat’s mother.

Eddie snorts and looks up at you with glee as he reads your response, “He’s going to kill us, isn’t he?”

“Can we be buried next to each other?” you respond with a question instead, looking at him lazily, “We could have matching headstones.”

“Oh, hell yeah,” his grin is worth whatever Hell there may come to pay with Steve and the Lestat debacle last night, “Should we look up designs or-”

He’s cut off by the trill ringing of his own phone, watching several messages roll into the groupchat in quick succession.

DINGUS: who the fuck is lestat?

BIRDIE: the snake, dingus.

NANCE: As someone who has seen the video… I think Jonathan should send it.

DINGUS: DON’T YOU DARE

You’re a mess of hoarse giggles, hardly able to look at Eddie for the fear of both of you descending right into a madness of laughter. Like two children staying up too late at a sleepover, the room rings out with all your little noises, Eddie propping up his chin to watch you with the widest of smiles.

Except you’re not children – you’re just two idiots, in your shared apartment, with your shared snake in the living room and your shared friends blowing up both your phones.

Mornings have never felt quite as sweet as this kind.

“We’re gonna hear an earful next time he sees us, aren’t we?” Eddie finally sighs wistfully, rolling over flat on his back, head propped up slightly in your lap.

“Oh, definitely,” you nod, taking to twirling his frizzed curls around your knuckles this time rather than scratching mindlessly at his scalp, “But who cares? You saw how in love with the snake he was after a few drinks. He’ll come around, sober this time.”

Eddie doesn’t reply, eyes fluttering shut.

You let the two of you sit in the quiet a bit longer, phones still buzzing with new messages, but the chaos can wait. For now, you just want to drink it in. Rays of vivid sunlight, the silence from the lack of the buzzing AC unit, the birds chirping annoyingly outside the window. You have one foot in relaxation, and one foot in the hangover you know you’ll have to battle once you choose to leave this bed.

“You know what sounds good?” you question, nearly under your breath. You’re really thinking outloud more than anything, but Eddie still entertains you with a hum in his tired state, “Betty’s.”

He’s the equivalent of a puppy dog who’s heard the word walk. One second, Eddie Munson is seemingly dead to the world, and the next, he’s perked up entirely. If it wasn’t for his nude state, he’d probably already be out the door with his keys in hand, dragging you right along with him.

His eyes shimmer despite heavy lids as he asks, “Almond croissants?”

A small nod, an ever present smile. You recall the conversation from the night before as you look into those deep russet eyes, and you see an entire future of late nights and almond croissants reflected back.

“Almond croissants.”

#ghost's stories #twenty four hours #eddie munson #stranger things #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #beyond the hours #this can sort of be read as a stand alone but there's several references to the main story haha #ive missed them. sigh.#you can tell given the nearly 10k words that almost no one asked for

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munson-blurbs · 10 months ago

Text

The Boy is Mine (Bug's Version)

Part of @carolmunson's writing challenge! Thank you for spreading some love and joy in this community, and I hope this fic makes you smile.

Summary: A cozy night in with your sweet boyfriend who is a nuisance in the best way.

Warnings: allusions to smut, allusion to spitting, lewd jokes, basically just fluffy fluffness

WC: 1k

Poke.

Poke poke.

Poke poke poke.

Poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke poke–

“If you don’t stop,” you hiss without looking up from your chemistry notes, “we’re gonna have a problem.”

Eddie pulls his forefinger back from where it’s pressed against your earlobe, his shit-eating grin morphing into a pitiful pout.

“But it’s date night,” he whines, resting his chin on your shoulder. “You promised me we could curl up and watch Monty Python after an hour, and it’s been…” he glances at the digital watch wrapped around his wrist, “...one hour and three minutes.”

“I’m still trying memorize–”

He snaps the small notebook shut and pulls you closer to him, effectively cutting you off. “And you will–after the movie.” Leaning back against the couch, he lines up his finger to once again prod at you. “C’mon, Sweetheart; we never get the place to ourselves on Friday nights.”

He’s right; his uncle has off on Friday nights and usually prefers to spend his free time relaxing at home, but he’s on a fishing trip this weekend with some of his old army buddies.

“Okay, okay.” Truthfully, you are in dire need of a break; the formulas and lists of molecular compounds have all become meaningless squiggles right before your eyes. Your back hurts from being hunched over the snack table you’re using in lieu of a desk. Whatever ‘studying’ you do now will likely be unproductive, so you might as well snuggle up next to your boyfriend and enjoy a movie. “But only if I can study after. Some of us would prefer not to spend an entire decade in high school.”

Eddie throws his head back and laughs. You’re the only person who’s allowed to crack jokes about him being held back–twice–and you milk it for all it’s worth. “Aw, don’t be like that. That’s not even true. It’s only been six years. And I’m gonna graduate this time. So, ha.” He sticks out his tongue, making you giggle in turn. “But, fine. You can go back to your smart person mumbo-jumbo once we finish the movie and have sex.”

The last item on his agenda snags your attention as you swing your legs onto the cushion, its stuffing poking out from beneath its worn fabric. “Excuse me?” You cock a brow in disbelief.

“As compensation for the three minutes you spent neglecting me,” he explains with a shrug. “‘S only fair.”

“Sure. You usually only need three minutes anyway.” You lift your foot to dig it into his side, but he grabs it before you can tickle him, playfully bringing it towards his open mouth as though threatening to bite it.

To be honest, you wouldn’t put it past him.

“Best three minutes of your goddamn life.” His smirk makes a triumphant reappearance as he stands up and pads over to the kitchen. The refrigerator light illuminates him in a bright glow, a juxtaposing halo on the man wearing a shirt with a cartoon devil plastered on the front. “Wayne took all of the beer with him, but we have Mountain Dew, some orange juice that I think is still good…oh, here it is!” He rummages through the top shelf and pulls out the last can of Diet Coke, the one he’d shoved towards the back so no one drank it before you could.

You shoot him a grateful smile that he returns easily. He plucks two mugs off of the wall, both of them gag gifts he’d given to his uncle, pouring Mountain Dew in one with Ask Me About My Nuts spelled out in bolts and screws and your soda in one with a three-dimensional pair of breasts jutting out from the body.

“I ran out of, like, nice cups,” he says sheepishly, likely referring to any container that didn’t allude to body parts. “Is this okay?”

“Perfect.”

Eddie sets the drinks down on the snack table, careful not to spill on your notebook. “Okay, pretty girl. C’mere.” He places a throw pillow on his lap and pats it, signaling that it’s time for you to assume the prime cuddling position.

As soon as you rest your head, his hand finds its home on your upper arm. His thumb, calloused but gentle, makes gentle strokes that have both of your hearts beating slowly and in sync.

“Babe?”

“Hmm?”

You roll over so you can see the stubble that’s starting to prickle along his cheeks, jawline, and under his chin. “You forgot about the movie. And the snacks.”

He groans, using his free palm to rub his nose in frustration. It’s one of the cutest habits he has, and part of you always wonders if he does it just to make you smile.

“‘M too comfy to move,” he grumbles, peering down at you with a guilty expression.

“Me, too,” you agree. “But…snacks.”

Eddie chuckles, stretching to grab something from his side of the sofa. “We’ve got this,” he says as he procures a half-eaten can of vanilla frosting. “I swear I just opened it last night. And we can just talk until we fall asleep, like we did when we first started dating.”

The memory floods your body with warmth. Even before the two of you became a couple, when you and Eddie were only friends, you would often stay up on the phone until your consciousness gave way. No conversation topic was off-limits; on one night when he’d been more than a bit tipsy, he’d divulged some of his more…private preferences.

“So she spit in your mouth?”

“Mhm.”

“And you like that?”

“Abso-fuckin-lutely, Sweetheart.”

Neither of you know where tonight will take you. Maybe you’ll become a familiar tangle of limbs, trading sloppy kisses and murmured sweet nothings. Maybe the sugar from the frosting will rejuvenate one of you enough to actually put the VHS in the player. Maybe you’ll just soak in each other’s softness, letting comfort envelop you until your eyelids become too heavy to keep up.

Wherever you go, you and Eddie will get there together.

#eddie stranger things #eddie munson #eddie x you #eddie x reader #stranger things #fanfic #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fluff

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ectologia · 1 year ago

Note

love your stuff!! would you be ok with making something about bakugo just being a bully?

HARD TIMES

KATSUKI BAKUGOU X F!READER

𝐂𝐖 ♱ DUBCON/NONCON, BULLYING, ABUSE, SWEATY ARMPITS, PISS, HUMILIATION, MISOGYNY, SIZE KINK, SIZE DIFFERENCE, CRUEL NICKNAMES, DEGRADATION, OBJECTIFICATION, PROFANITY

“Hey.”

You shuffle down the corridor quicker at the deep, rumbling snarl. Twisting the straps of your bag tighter in your clammy fists as you take long, purposeful strides, almost skipping in your steps.

“Hey, don’t ignore me.” A heavy palm lands on your shoulder, squeezing like a python once your back collides with the wall.

Your eyes follow the stocky blonde’s form all the way up his hard chest, chasing to confirm the two crimson rubies placed atop his tanned features like the gems of a crown.

Bakugou juts his chin upwards in an abrasive fashion the moment you whimper under the pressure of his fingertips.

“I didn’t see you in math today.”

You sweep his hand off, shuffling backwards beneath his stoic gaze. “I.. Uhm.. I switched classes..” You mumble, barely coherent under your meek breath.

“Why’s that.”

It’s not a question, nor does he care for an answer.

One thudding foot after another and he’s in your shadow, looming over you like the sun swallowing the moon.

Two thick biceps come to rest by your spinning head, propped against the wall at the perfect angle for the heady stench of his sweaty armpits to suffocate you in the tight space.

“I’m disappointed, I was looking forward to seeing my little cock-sock today.”

You turn, raising a defensive fore-arm. “Please, Bakugou. Not today, I—”

He curls a set of scarred fingers around the flimsy joint, stretching it upwards until he has you pinned like a butterfly, helpless and vulnerable against the wall.

“What’s my name?” He scoffs.

You squeal once the calloused digits tense, popping and rolling your delicate bones in a painful hug.

“Katsuki! Katsuki!”

His fist goes limp once again. “There we go.. stupid bitch.”

The heavy appendage drops back down to his side, as does yours. You rub at the red stripes left across your skin, encouraging the blood to pool back into your veins.

“I ain’t got much time, training’s in 20 minutes.”

“Huh?” Your head snaps up, brows knitted in pardon.

His eyes roll in their sockets. “Get your pussy out, need to fuck something.”

Panic strikes and you’re flinching away.

“Hey, stop acting like such a little victim — just spread ‘em.”

It takes him less than 3 seconds to do it himself. You’re hoisted up onto the window-sill with one large palm splayed across your ass, while the other comes down to paw at the fabric stretched across your chubby mound.

“Thought I told you to stop wearing these shitty shorts under your skirt.”

“I can’t, they’re part of the uniform policy!”

“Blah, blah, bitch.” He tugs at the black spandex. “All I’m hearing is you want your pussy lips burnt off.”

The fibres twang and snap under the crackling heat of his quirk, disconnecting until a grand burning hole is left in the garment.

“Katsuki!”

“That’s me.” He snickers with a toothy grin, pulling away to inspect the tiny slit between your legs.

“Did you get looser?” He cleaves the swollen folds apart, hooking two thumbs around the gooey rim of your pussyhole.

You tuck your chin into your chest, frowning down at his ministrations.

“Only joking babe.” He spanks your clit, chuckling at the way your legs jump. “She’s still good for another fuck or two.”

He wastes no time, pulling the stiff length of his fat dick out to slap against your puffed up pussy.

“Let’s do this quick, yeah? Don’t really wanna be seen piping a loser, no offence.”

You’re swung back and forth by the hinges of your knees with your feet left dangling in the air, clumsily knocking his back with every hop.

His hips clap against the crease of your thighs, pumping in and out of your sloppy cunny as the bulbous head of his cock pokes at your cervix.

“Oh, fuck, yeah. Bounce that fat-ass back on me, just like that.” He howls through the thin space of his pursed lips, huffing and puffing as he lifts you up and down on his prick.

“B— Katsuki!”

“Shh, shut up.”

He squeezes your face in between his fingers, smothering your mouth in an attempt to keep your cries to a minimum.

A dewy sheen bubbles along his hairline, darkening the beach blond spikes until the ends droop from the humidity. The way his large frame tips forward to knock his sweaty forehead against yours has you mewling, clawing at his shoulders for stability and some form of comfort as he uses you like his own girlie little flesh-light.

“Mmh.. Fuck on it, fuck on that cock, fuck on that big fat monster cock.”

His rapid thumping slows to a mellow pace as a ponderous expression befalls him. “All this humping’s making me need a piss.”

At this, you yelp. Thrashing around in his arms like a fish out of water.

He takes one step, two steps, towards the window until you’re squashed and squished against the glass.

“Well done piggie. You’ve just been promoted to Katsuki Bakugou’s new toilet.”

The torrid stream has you feeling almost bloated, on the brink of bursting as you’re pumped full off cock and piss, dribbling and squirting out of the tiny seam left in the space that Katsuki has yet to fill. Your toes curl and cripple from the positively sickening warmth of his urine spraying out of your cunt, sloshing around in what you can only assume is your womb.

“Oh, yeah. That’s the stuff…” His ears twitch at the sensation of releasing inside your body.

Your head lounges against your shoulder, floating in and out of consciousness until a stinging smack to your cheek has you shaking yourself awake.

“You passin’ out on me already?” He adjusts his position, bringing your pliable, fucked-out body closer towards his chest.

“I ain’t even cum yet, baby.”

#𝐊𝐀𝐓𝐒𝐔𝐊𝐈 𝐁𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐆𝐎𝐔 #bnha #mha #my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bnha smut #katsuki bakugou x female reader #bakugou smut #bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo mha #bakugou katsuki #katsuki bakugou #katsuki bakugou x reader #katsuki bakugo x reader #katsuki bakugou smut #katsuki smut #bakugou katsuki smut #bnha bakugo katsuki #bakugou katsuki x reader

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ibarrau · 10 months ago

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[Fabric] Protegé credenciales en Notebooks con Azure KeyVault

Ciertamente, cuando usamos notebooks, no todo es transformación y limpieza del contenido de nuestro lakehouse. En distintas oportunidades se nos presenta la opción de utilizarlos para integrar datos. Los Notebooks nos pueden ayudar a conectarnos a APIs en nube u otros entornos cloud directamente usando código.

Para que esta opción sea viable, necesitamos evitar exponer las credenciales o claves del origen de datos usadas en el código. Sino imaginen que cualquier persona con acceso al código (ya sea en Fabric o en el repositorio), podría obtener una key de acceso a una API. Para evitar esto, vamos a utilizar un servicio de Azure que ya existe hace tiempo, Azure KeyVaults.

¿Qué es el servicio de Azure Key Vaults?

En palabras Microsoft "Azure Key Vault es un servicio en la nube para el almacenamiento de los secretos y el acceso a estos de forma segura. Un secreto es todo aquello cuyo acceso desea controlar de forma estricta, como las claves API, las contraseñas, los certificados o las claves criptográficas."

Si bien el servicio varias operaciones, nosotros nos quedaremos con la idea que nos permite ingresar una clave o contraseña a encapsular. Solo usuarios con permiso de lectura de claves al servicio podrá utilizar el encapsulado. De ese modo garantizamos que únicamente usuarios aprobados para usarlo, lo usen.

Veamos como crear este secreto antes de usarlo en un Fabric Notebook.

La creación del servicio es bastante simple, basta seleccionar suscripción + grupo de recursos, nombre, region y plan:

Como mencioné antes, el servicio cuenta con muchas más cosas de las que usaremos nosotros. Ahora nos vamos a concentrar en "Secretos" que es lo que nos interesa.

Aqui por ejemplo ya contamos con tres secretos que usaremos para conectar a la PowerBi Rest API. Guardamos secreto para el tenantid, appid y secretvalue de nuestra app registrada en Azure.

Veamos como generar uno nuevo. Es tan simple como darle un nombre y delimitar lo que queremos encapsular. También podemos delimitarlo como algo temporal:

De ese modo podemos crear un nuevo secreto para nuestro almacén de claves. ¿Qué sigue? permitir la lectura a quien vaya a utilizarlo.

Los recursos de azure se manejan con permisos RBAC (role-based access control). Éstos los encontramos en el "Access Control (IAM)". Podemos abrir nuestro menú de permisos y agregar el que lleva el nombre de "Key Vault Secrets User". La cuenta de EntraID con ese permiso, podrá llamar por código a nuestro secreto almacenado aquí.

Este proceso es muy importante. Imaginen que con esto podríamos dar permisos a un desarrollador para construir un proceso sin saber nunca las credenciales de origen.

¿Cómo llamarlo desde Fabric?

Para utilizar este servicio desde Fabric Notebook usando python, vamos a nutrirnos de la librería de Microsoft que tiene muchas facilidades de interacción. Pueden leer más detalles aqui: https://learn.microsoft.com/en-us/fabric/data-engineering/microsoft-spark-utilities

Dentro de nuestro notebook vamos a comenzar importando SimplePBI para conectarme a la Power Bi Rest API. Luego importaremos las librerías necesarias. El foco está en nuestra tercera celda. Aqui podremos apreciar como llamar el secreto almacenado recientemente:

Utilizamos el método getSecret que necesita dos parámetros. El primero es "Vault URI" que podemos encontrarlo en el Overview de nuestro recurso en el portal de Azure. El segundo es el nombre que le dimos a nuestro secreto.

mssparkutils.credentials.getSecret('https://casa.vault.azure.net/','TenantId')

De ese modo almacenamos en variables nuestro resultado y podemos continuar la autenticación de la API en las siguientes filas que crea un token y pide ver el top 5 de workspaces. Recordemos que aquí buscamos seguridad, no solo de exposición de contraseña en código sino de visualización del contenido del secreto. Si el desarrollador intenta leer la variable se encontrará con una limitante:

NOTA: ésta tercera celda pidiendo el secreto solo puede ser ejecutada por una cuenta logueada en Fabric con permisos "Key Vault Secrets User" en nuestro Key Vault. Sino fallará por prohibición de acceso al secreto.

Espero que esto les sea de utilidad para poner automatizar flujos de manera más segura usando Fabric Notebooks.

#Azure #Azure keyvaults #Fabric #Microsoft fabric #Fabric argentina #fabric cordoba #Fabric jujuy #Fabric tutorial #fabric training #Fabric tips #SimplePBI #Fabric python #Fabric notebooks

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sinn-bee · 1 month ago

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[Excerpts from the studies of the Beast Taming peak]

The Gilded Mane Corpse Wolf

A demonic beast from the wastes of the demon realms, they are solitary creatures who seldom form packs. They begin life as scavengers, the pups setting off on their own and surviving off of scraps as they seek out the strongest demonic beast they can find. They learn to hunt and stalk, waiting for the powerful beast they have chosen to meet an untimely end and on the rare occasion delivering the final blow to carry it to death’s door. The Gilded Mane Corpse Wolf will then make its territory around its chosen one’s resting place, guarding the decomposing monster, feasting on it, and waiting for its bones to be picked clean by vermin as it grows to a size comparable to the dead beast.

When the bones are clean and free, the Gilded Mane Corpse Wolf will arrange the bones and roll in them- tangling them into its long golden fur until they are secure. With a surge of demonic energy the fur hardens into a metallic material, permanently affixing the bones as armor.

It is less of a scavenger at this point, depending on the kind of beast skeleton the Wolf has grown to don, it can range from a sleek and quick deadly predator equipped with sharp spurs of bone to a nigh impenetrable foe with thick armor. It then stalks its territory, expanding its borders and driving away strong beasts, inflicting them with deep wounds.

The pups are often sought out by demonic courts as trophies. Plucked from their pilgrimage for their clean and untangled fur that has many uses from a brilliant conduit for demonic energy to being used for beautiful embroidery to hardening into its metallic form for weapons. Less commonly, they are captured to be trained as war hounds. They are difficult to tame and raise, the confinement making it difficult for them to grow and become suitable for the handpicked bones its captors try to make it don. But on the rare occasion that its owners are successful they make formidable beasts on the battlefield regardless of their unpredictable temper.

It is not recommended to approach this demonic beast alone, given as each one is unique outfitted it is impossible to plan ahead to fight. They are best fought with a team of cultivators that possess a wide range of fighting styles and experiences. The bones of the Gilded Mane Corpse Wolf are potent with Demonic energy but if harvested and cleansed can be used for crafted powerful spiritual objects with a strength for detecting evil. The ivory crafted this way always carries a lovely golden sheen. The fur can also be used as a potent material for weaving spells and talismans into fabric. It is unknown if humans are capable of taming these creatures as the pups reside very far in the demon realm and are experts at evasion. On the few noted experiences of cultivators finding escaped trained Wolves, they do not seem keen on taking human instruction.

[end of excerpt]

Did I write a whole journal entry on the Pidw creature I made up for a fic? Yes. Yes I did <3 Fun fact, I sketched this on paper first and then colored it digitally! The specific wolf here is wearing bones based off of a rhinoceros skeleton a dark moon python rhinoceros maybe…

#This creature is coming up in my Liubing fic Don’t Feed Me :3c #Can anyone tell that I like soulsborne from this creechur?? if yes then I’m flattered #sinn bee art #pidw creatures #svsss

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literallyjusttoa · 1 year ago

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A redraw of the timeline of Apollo's life I made half a year ago! Sadly for some reason CSP decided to completely delete poor Post-First Punishment Apollo (the fifth one), but luckily I took a picture of it before hand so y'all can see it, even if it's lower quality ;-;. If you want the story behind these designs I dumped like 2000 words about it in my og post, which you can see here!

Some quick addendums I forgot to put in last time + fun design details:

Apollo replaces Helios as the god of the sun after the Trojan War, around 900 B.C.E-ish.

Baby Apollo has horns now! This is a trait he inherited from his titan side and then quickly lost during his battle with Python. It's a nod to his first domain being shepherding as well.

Just to clarify, post-first punishment Apollo goes before post-Daphne Apollo, it's just I couldn't place them in the right order bc csp sucks

The symbol I used on Main Apollo's fabric is called a delphic epsilon! It was used as a symbol for Apollo's temple at Delphi in Ancient Greece and represented a worshiper's initiation into light.

The blue-ish silver ribbon Fall of Greece Apollo has belonged to Artemis. As I stated in my first post, Apollo spends a large amount of time away from Olympus between the fall of greece and his time in Rome, so he kept the ribbon to have something of his sister's in the meantime.

Also for Fall of Greece Apollo, his cloak is fading for two reasons. One, he's spending a lot more time performing his duties as the god of burials, making his role as one of the first bridges between the living and dead much more prominent. The underworld is pulling at him just as much as it is pulling at the casulties of Greece. Two, Apollo is not spending time on Olympus, nor is he actively speaking with any of his worshipers. This is causing belief in him to diminish, so this is the closest he has ever gotten to fading. I swear I will write a whole thing about the period at some point I have so many ideas.

The sheep 2nd punishment Apollo has is a Chios sheep! They are actually native to Greece, and also adorable I love them.

I think that's all for now, I hope you guys like the art!!!

#trials of apollo #toa apollo #lester papadopoulos #sunny speaks #long post #apollart #timeline #this is why you guys can't let me talk about this stuff I can not shut up /j #i'm ngl you can see me get messier with each piece but it's fiiiiiine everything's fiiiiiiinnne

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rel124c41 · 4 months ago

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NARC. floyd leech

It’s a chance to prove yourself again … and to ignore this godforsaken craving for a burger.

tags: mafia au, blood and injury, mild sexual content, organized crime, emotionally repressed, food issues, nonconsensual kissing, & post-betrayal

word count: 9436

You pluck a glass of red wine from a tray. Shoulders gliding past a humanoid Cthulhu, you pour the blood-hued liquid down your snorkel and sample the taste of dry wine. It is a Pinot. Gratefully for this, you take care to pour a bit more in your snorkel. Though, just as you duck under the wayward stretch of a shark’s gesturing, cigar-holding hand, – smoke from a White Russian cigar furling out of his rubber lips like crisp, morning fog that a ship must part through – Jesus asks, scandalized, in your ears, “Are you drinking on the job?”

The wine halts its descent down your throat. Holding (almost choking on) the liquid in your mouth, your eyes momentarily widen in surprise. You throw your head back and down what is left in your snorkel, because it is necessary to communicate with an empty mouth. “I thought you said you didn’t have any eyes in here.”

No one can really blame you for how your own eyes start to flutter around the room, like tracking an energetic butterfly.

“I took the precaution of sending Rook to plant S.T.Y.X. cameras in the ballroom. I, however, did not know I would have to take any precaution against one of my spudlings being inebriated,” Jesus chastises.

Caught red-handed, you feel heat crawl up your face. “ …It’s just one drink, boss.” Even though it is soft, you can still clearly hear that admonishing huff of breath come through your ear-piece while your personal Jesus – your boss, Schoenheit – breathes with affront. You decide that you will hold the cordial glass for the rest of the night as decoration rather than drinking it.

“One too many.” The words are so cold that you feel a shell of frostbite coat your earlobe. “I expect your greatest performance, Potato. The audience is very bilious tonight.”

Bilious, as in bad-tempered. For a moment, it feels the weight of the world socks you in the ear. That you know too well. Whether they are actually watching through the S.T.Y.X. footage back home or are simply holding up an ear to tomorrow’s whispering grapevine, the audience is upset with you.

If tonight’s performance does not go well, there will be no more stage for you. The next time you appear to the audience, it will be on your curtain call. You imagine Rook (under Schoenheit’s instructions) taking a knife to your throat with all the poise of a violinist playing its instrument, the red notes splattered across the leather seats.

The thought makes you yearn to down the rest of the Pinot.

Instead, you find an appetizer table to stand by inconspicuously. And though you have already been stricken by the sight (which caused you to even grab a drink!) you glare upwards with a furrowed brow, through the polycarbonate sheets of your swim-goggles, towards the second floor.

Above the ballroom is a circular platform walkway, connected to the ground by two spiral staircases. Leaning on the golden railing that twists like interlocking peppermint canes, the left hand man of Ashengrotto fiddles with a single drumstick. It propels through his hand like a miniature helicopter blade, spinning effortlessly. Sullen and bored, his eyes flicker all across the ballroom to find a crumb of entertainment. In Floyd’s right ear, Ashengrotto is talking – yet most likely being ignored too.

His outfit is … juvenile. (the sneer blooming on your face is natural) Unlike the other attendants, the eel-mer is simply dressed in a graphic tee – your HUF graphic tee with Spider-man and Venom on it – and sweats. There is a ketchup or tomato soup or blood stain on your shirt’s collar. A pair of Monty Python bunny slippers peek out from the pooling, gray fabric around his ankles. The ears flop as he squirms back and forth on his feet.

Ashengrotto is dressed much better – an expensive, freshly pressed notch lapel suit of cobalt and swirling violet – but it is still very different from the fool’s play that is happening below them. You survey the crowd wearing rubber fish masks, diving equipment that conceals their faces, and any other variation of deep sea disguises. The ocean tonight is full of sycophants..

Most people think an Ashengrotto masquerade is the zenith of high society. Tabloids have waxed poetry about the ‘nocturnal beauty of a deep sea labyrinth where desires are found in nebulous waves’ and how the masks give ‘a thrilling sense that we are all drowned, wayward souls brought together in harmony under his glorious might’. You know better. That flowery poesy is a mere facade in a game of facades. Ashengrotto likes to throw these masquerades so often because he likes to laugh at others who unquestionably follow his every whim or will.

Schoenheit has informed you that Ashengrotto is a schadenfreude. Not too fluent in German, you asked for the translation. The two jigsaw puzzle words of schaden, which is damage, and fruede, which is joy, connect to make schadenfreude. It means Ashengrotto experiences emotional pleasure at the sight of others misfortune.

‘There is no better sight to Ashengrotto than the sight of some poor, unfortunate soul begging on their knees at his doorstep. You would do well to remember that, Potato.’

Remember it you shall and you have. One drink is not enough to send you to your knees or make you beg. However, to Schoenheit, sipping a drop of wine tilts the scale in favor of the one-out-of-ten chance of you walking up there, blowing your cover, and smashing the empty glass in Floyd’s face.

Instead of doing that, you ask conversationally, “When was a covenant struck with the Shrouds?” You wish Schoenheit would have more trust in you, but you are well aware you lost that trust. Waiting for an answer, your eyes search the environment for those mentioned cameras.

“When you were out of commission.”

All of your limbs flinch at that, as if you have just taken a bite of the world’s sourest lemon. “Ah.”

How altruistic of Schoenheit to remind you.

Being out of commission was very unlike you. For five years, you have known Schoenheit; for four, you have worked for him. In that time, sick days were once-in-a-lifetime events. You pride yourself on how effectively you worked because, for three years, you have known Schoenheit’s face and for two years, you had been in the upgraded position from canon-fodder to information recon.

Then, for one whole year, you had … well, you rather not say. Speaking it would be like swallowing a bouquet of roses but without the petals and solely the thorns. At the very least, you inform Schoenheit on new information, just in case he has not seen it on the cameras, “He’s here, boss.”

“Ah.” At least both of you are dealing with this in stride. After that faint whisper, the earpiece fixated tightly on your snorkel is quiet for a few moments. In that time, you stumble into a memory.

As the kunai slams into the wall by the door’s opening entrance, emitting a sharp warning bang, you announce to your uninvited guests, “If it’s the mailman, you can leave the package by the grocery bags like normal. If you’re here to stop my heart, someone’s already beat ya to the kill.” With that said, you let your deceased arm drop and fall limp on your mattress.

“And if it’s your boss?”

Wincing, you respond, “ … ah, I supposed you’re welcome.”

“Thank you,” Schoenheit says primly as you hear your apartment door close.

Though he says nothing, you can hear Schoenheit’s eyes flickering across each item of a break-up vomited across your single room apartment. Ah, where to even start? The snow white vivisection of the beheaded bear that he made for you at Build-A-Bear? How about the dart board where a handful of porcupine quill darts stick out of a five-tiered photo of you and him squeezed tight in an arcade’s photobooth? Yet, who could neglect to look at the real ruins of the relationship which is you, spread out like a starfish on your bed, eyes raccoon-ed with running mascara and insomnia?

After scrutinizing over the heartbreak hurricane that has torn through the room, Schoenheit starts to make his way over to you. It only takes a second to recognize that he did not come alone. You hear a second pair of shoes. “Oh, mon cher,” Rook says sullenly.

At least you don’t have to turn your head to see who it is. Body comatose in dolor, you cannot be bothered to move an atom of yourself besides the hand that feeds yourself and your bunny a bowl of carrots.

You hear one of your two superiors seat themselves at your bar as Oswald nibbles an orange stalk from your fingers. “How long do you think you have been here?”

“Must be more than a couple days, three?” You put a carrot in your mouth as you wait for the reveal.

“A week and a day,” Schoenheit supplies the answer. Then, he repeats chastising, “A full eight days.”

“Hm,” you hum, just as acknowledgement to let him know that you heard him. Eight days seems so insignificant. You press another carrot to Oswald’s lips as he takes it in his chattering teeth. As the ebon Havana whittles the vegetable down to nothing, you depress your fingers down onto his fur, feeling the vibrations of his nibbling on your chest.

Eight days? If you had the energy to scoff, you would be up in Schoenheit’s face with the loudest, most scornful scoff he has ever heard in his life, a scoff that would have the academy sending you home with a performing arts award.

Eight days is nothing!

Your apartment goes quiet for a beat. Unsure which one has previously sat down at the bar countertop, you listen to the single pair of footsteps that walks around the wreckage. Crunching glass murmurs in the air. Again, you are unsure on whether one of your two superiors has picked up a photograph frame you bludgeon to bits or has accidentally stepped on the skeleton remains of a ceramic plate you two painted downtown at some rickety pottery studio.

You bloodlet a year worth of your time for him. He left. So, you broke everything that could be a reminder of stolen seconds, minutes, and hours – even though it does not reverse the clock at all – to cement the finiteness.

No going back: that is what you wanted your destruction to symbolize. You know that is not where your feelings lie. Reversing time is all you want to do. All your love and longing is strapped to you like a huge hiking bag, and you cannot find it in yourself to shoulder off that paralysis-esque weight. Thus, it crushes you, much like how Oswald crushes down on your sternum when he starts to make biscuits.

“Do you plan to make it nine?”

That rouses you enough where you stop looking at the ceiling and drop your cheek on the right side of the bed. Schoenheit is the one sitting at your bar. Plucked straight from a vogue magazine, your boss looks like Jesus himself with his shoulder-length hair. His halo is the light shining in your set of a dozen, upside down cordial glasses. Like sleeping bats, they hang from your iron mounted, wine glass rack and cover him in evangelical sunshine. Your personal Jesus who came to console you after a break-up.

“I don’t know,” you verbalize. Moodiness makes you brave. “Why don’t you stay for the next twenty-four hours and find out?” You put another carrot in your mouth, intending to turn back to staring at the ceiling when, “Ew, bunny hair.” You flick your tongue up and down, trying to dislodge the stray black hair.

Chuckling with a dangerous undertow, Schoenheit says, “I wish I could but I have much better things to do with my time than watch you eat your pet’s hair. Time should not be wasted. I know, Potato, that you can use your time more wisely than this.”

Oswald’s hair finally out of your mouth, you bite back, “No, I’m quite content doing this forever.” This time you take care to brush your fingers on the edge of your shirt to rub off pet fur before you reach back into the bowl.

“Well, I tried to be gentle about it.”

Oswald is plucked off your lap. You give a noise of protest when the rabbit is handed to Rook. That noise is effectively silenced when a disposable syringe tip is placed on the skin folding over your carotid artery. Not yet pressing it, just a small apply of pressure to remind you of its existence.

Your slow blink is confronted by the blink of awe that rinses over Schoenheit’s face, thoroughly shocked at your lack of reaction. In the grand scheme of things, eight days truly is nothing. And, in the grand scheme of things, death really is nothing. “I loved him, Schoenheit.” You have no idea what could possibly be in the syringe. Poison made by your boss has made men weighing two hundred plus pounds drop in seconds and has made others dissolve into a bubbling puddle of red.

Thus, you continue on, bitter and thoroughly hurt, “I loved him like a garden loves the sun and rain. I loved him like a guitar loves making music. I loved him like … oh, I don’t know. More than anything really.”

“The sustenance from a kiss is a fertilizer like no other! From each replenishing embrace, a flower grows in the garth of our hearts! What a beautiful seraphim love is! A free spirited angel of our making! Some might even say finding love is like finding Heaven on Earth! Que c'est beau!”

“You’re not helping.”

“Ah, je suis désolé,” Rook apologizes, switching his energy outlet from an impromptu poetry slam to brushing Oswald’s fur in neat sections.

Schoenheit’s eyes are testy as they regard you. Two rich pools of orchid violet dissect you from the top layer of epidermis down to your bone. You are very curious to what those keen eyes could be seeing in the decrepit, disgraceful state you are in. Is there anything left to salvage from you or are you a lost cause (a potted plant, too withered to revive)?

You flinch when the syringe goes in. It feels like pinching skin between metal. As mysterious fluid flows through your carotid artery, you listen to Schoenheit’s lecture, “He has stolen from me something that was in your possession. Something that I trusted you to keep safe. That I cannot forgive.”

When the syringe is pulled out, you offer nothing more than a wince. You want to be a smartass and ask, no bandage?, but you continue to listen on. “Diligence. Excellence. Relentlessness. Those three values are what Pomefiore is founded upon.” The cap clips over the empty needle of the syringe. “I have full confidence in you that those are memorized in your mind. Yes?” Those orchid lakes seem to grow bottomless and nebulous. Which of the Greek Gods must you never look in the eyes?

Jesus pulls back from your coffin-bed. Oswald is put back on your chest like a bundle of flowers.

“The heart is flexible. There is always a place to make new love.”

You have no idea what is in the syringe but you sit up in bed, feeling refreshed like one does after a long shower or long nap.

After they leave, on your countertop and under the hanging wine glasses is a ticket to Ashengrotto’s upcoming masquerade along with three vials of swirling colors that move like tiny lava lamps of blue, red, and yellow.

“Remind him, Potato.”

So caught up in memory-lane, you startle because who are you supposed to remind? And remind them of what? Jesus (the actual Jesus, not your boss), did a week out of commission really have you in such disarray?

Yet, you know each intricate circumstance that leaves your nerves so shot. Just like you know exactly where freckle is on his back, the exact hues that blend together to make up the color of his contrasting, gazing eyes, and just like you know the print his teeth leave behind when he bites down. All that information is left in high, extensive detail in the files of your mind.

Luckily, Schoenheit was only beginning his sentence with Remind him, Potato. You listen to the rest of his words and commit them to memory. “That he is not the only one on the stage. You are there too. On the same stage.”

You inhale a tiny planet of air. Steeling yourself, you take one last glance up to the second floor. The only person who could recognize your face from the casting call of tonight’s performance stands up there, picking his nose with his pinkie like a child. Tonight is just: him, you, and this wire.

The objective of tonight – in order to proceed to the main objective – is to find someone to inject with a syringe.

You have exactly three. Blue, red, and yellow. Three plastic vials that are hidden in a pocket professionally stitched inside the inner wrist of your suit. Nestled together like newborn bunnies nursing, they lie in that pocket and await the moment you take out the needle from your boutonnière.

It is an impossible task to bypass security into an Ashengrotto masquerade. Without fail, guests are scanned down for metal lingering on their bodies. Thus, creative liberties need to be taken to complete Schoenheit’s wish. Underneath the rose pinned on your suit are three needles. They blend together with the metal found in a boutonnière, and that disguise allows you to perform on stage.

A brief [Aside], they also do not check shoes here with their metal scanners.

Each vial has a different job for tonight. Blue, red, and yellow. All your primaries gathered together underneath the veins on your non-dominant wrist.

If injected, blue will cause a seizure unlike the likes anyone has seen before, causing bones to climb into directions thought impossible of anatomy as the victim crawls upward for heavenly salvation. If injected, red will cause the punctured spot to dissolve, flesh dripping away to reveal bone that falls away like a melted jar of sugar. If injected, yellow will cause any wounds to heal, reversing all damage no matter how grotesque or twisted out of proportion.

The best thing about them is there is no need for a syringe. As soon as the needle pierces something, the liquid is pulled out of the plastic by its own fate. Right now, you look around for a masked individual (anyone besides Ashengrotto and Floyd) to empty the blue one into.

It has to be a distraction of magnetic caliber. Everyone’s focus needs to be pulled, even those of the most insignificant waiter to Ashengrotto himself. No matter what, it has to be compelling and spellbinding.

Which is why you chose a man wearing a diver’s helmet. So when his Herculean head inevitably falls, it will cause a loud clank! that is heard all the way from the second floor.

It is why your conspiracy starts off delicate; the femme/homme fatale simply spreading out their influence in subtle ways. You only know you had him ensnared in your web when the arm you are running a hand upon relaxes, his previous flinch and tension melting like a peppermint in the mouth. You flutter your eyelashes at him from behind your goggles.

“My apologies. I didn’t mean to startle you; I was simply hoping to get the hors d'oeuvre in front of you.” You retract your hand but not without giving his elbow a teasing squeeze.

It is difficult to deduct any sort of thought from the impenetrability of his costume. Sealed away by blue-rusted brown copper, his ‘face’ is a tenebrous ebony with the words Anchor Engineering, 1913 as his temple and then as his chin. Unperturbed, you stare lovingly into the cold, lifeless circle.

He side-steps but does not leave. That’s good. As you masterfully pluck a shrimp square off the lazy susan, you make sure to turn your victim. Act uninterested in the food. Look at him as if he is your next meal.

“They always serve such extravagant, authentic seafood here. It feels as if I am truly dipping my hand into the Coral Sea and reeling in my meal from those very waters. Don’t you agree?”

The helmet sways up and down in a slow nod. His body underneath is like a statue.

You take half a bite of the shrimp square. It is an explosion of flavor; the bread, sauce, and meat combines into one sophisticated umami that excites your tastebuds. When you finish chewing, actually genuinely pleased with your bite, you hum out, “köstlich!”

And whatever fleeting interest this stranger has with you is amplified, if only by a slim margin. That flat black circle that reminds you of a bottomless fishing hole in northern ice tilts, curious at your words. A smile graces your face.

“Do you speak any German?” The helmet goes back and forth in a negative response. “I’ve picked up a bit of German in my teens. A beautiful language. Köslitch, a pretty word, no?”

His body language is poised with interest. Thank Jesus, he must think you are something exotic and seductive. That intrigue will solidify his fate. “In German, it has a double meaning.”

You finish your shrimp then continue, “It means both funny and delicious. You would call a certain snack köslitch in the same way you would call someone that makes you laugh köslitch. I think,” — Here, you grab his hand. It is ungloved and a bit coarse. Meaty in your slim hand. Gingerly, you pull his hand up towards your mouth, making sure your breath hits across each of his knuckles — “, that you could fit both meanings.”

Then, mimicking a centipede with sharp pincers, you bite hard upon his index finger. And, with both hands cradling his single hand, you slip the needle piercing the blue vial into his exposed wrist. A crescent mark of teeth lingers on the top notch of his finger.

“I’ve always had this secret yen for funny guys.” The black hole leans forward, intense. “Meet me in the bathroom on the second floor in ten minutes.”

Yet, walking away, you know the diver only has five minutes of oxygen left in his tank.

“Ya never had a burger?”

Even though, yes, you did just previously confirm that, Floyd’s awestruck words leave you wide-eyed. You are in disbelief over how … in disbelief he sounds! Lips on his cheek, lipstick-staining activity halting momentarily, you ask, “Is it really that hard to believe?”

“It’s almost impossible to believe!”

You chuckle with a dumb grin. Used to his dime-flipping moods, you lean in to continue peppering his face with kisses. Arms already around his neck, you pull him just a few more centimeters down so you speak into his ear. “Well, we just gonna have to order one after we fuuuck.”

Despite the chuffing link you have with your arms around his neck and with your legs around his waist – your crotch rubbing eagerly and teasingly up against his! – Floyd pulls back from you. It is almost comedical the look of sheer devastation of his lipstick polka-dotted face; would be too if you were not so astronomically horny. “Never? Like never never?”

Oh God, this is going to be a whole thing. “I don’t know. Maybe as a kid? Come here.” You tighten your legs around his waist when he tries to pull himself up from your apartment’s bed. Doubling down, you fasten your pace a bit when grinding down upon his crotch, feeling the familiar shape of his penis in his sweats moving against you so nicely. “Forget burgers. I want a different kind of meat.”

“I can’t just forget something like that! Who the hell grows up without eatin’ a burger!”

How you desperately wish to reverse time when his steadyfast words reach your ears. There is a determined fixation in his voice. You let your arms fall by your head as Floyd’s hands squeeze your ass; he’s now no longer reciprocating in your grinding. Putting on your best pouting face like a young actor desperate for the role, you whine, “If I knew you were going to be like this, I would have said yes.”

“But seriously, how have ya not?”

“I don’t know. It wasn’t something my parents made and now I’m on this caloric diet that has me eating whole foods.”

“A hamburger is a whole food. It’s a whole cow.”

“Ugh, I don’t know! Can we please have sex!”

You throw your head back in exasperation. Legs fall down by your side. Floyd had the munchies after coming back from your bowling date, so you thought it would be nice to brainstorm aftercare options for dinner together — ping-ponging between the idea of ordering takeout or going somewhere. Curse you and your big, dumb mouth.

“Nope! We’re goin’ out again!”

Just like that, he is skirting around your apartment to pick up the graphic tee he shucked off. His Neckface dunks are already hooked on the edge of his fingers when you sit up, readjusting your wrinkled shirt. You need to fix your cosmetics. However, when your hand falls around the oyster-shell of your compact mirror, your other hand is grabbed.

“Let’s go! Let’s go!” Floyd cheers, half-dragging you to the door. He is ignorant to your distress as the compact-mirror slips from your grip, soap-esque. “Me and my brother used to go to this place all the time. They do this whole burger of the week thing; it’s like pun-based burgers. My brother kept going back for the jokes, but I just think the grub’s good. You’ll love them! The owner’s super nice and I met his wife and kids –!”

“Floyd.” Your feet digging into the carpet finally grabs his attention. His face is equivalent to a giant question mark. “I need to check my face.”

The blank look on his face is wiped by him moving his dual-colored eyes up and down, surveying the area. His reply is genuine. “Looks fine to me, babe.” A mischievous gleam comes to his irises as he chuckles, “It’s a real sexy face. Even sexier when it’s moanin’ my name.”

Hope flares up in you. Maybe, just maybe, you can drag him back to the bed.

“Yeah, baby?” You slur huskily before pulling him into a deep kiss.

Floyd always kisses well. Somewhere in the middle of it, he spins you. Towards the bed? Hope is dashed when you hear the click of your apartment door, realizing you two are on the opposite side of it. Your boyfriend giggles the entire way down to the lobby, having successfully duped you.

The burger joint is built like a tiny house or a big shed, depending on how you view its humble spot in the universe. With the sun starting to set, the owners have powered on the string of lights crawling like a march of ants across the tiny house’s soffit. The unique footprint of Floyd’s car engine is already recognized before you enter. And, when you are seated, the waitress already knows not to ask for Floyd’s order (“He won’t order anythin’. Just trusts the slobs in the back to bring him something good.”) and the waiter claps him so hard on the shoulder you are afraid Floyd’s thin frame would break (“Haven’t seen you in a whole month! Where you been?” – here, the waiter stops and looks at you – “… and you are trying to hide things from us now?”). The energy is so light that you cannot stop yourself from leaning over your shared appetizer, waffle fries.

“You failed to mention you're a local celebrity here, you know? Warn a girl/boy before you bring them to somewhere where they’re rolling out the proverbial red carpet for them” you say, fishing a fry out of the greasy basket. You really should have done your face.

“What,” unlike you, Floyd talks with his mouth half full of words and the other half full of food, “everyone here is super lowkey.”

“I think the entire world is lowkey from your perspective.” You dot your sentence by dipping the waffle fry in the shared ketchup. “I feel like everyone is dissecting me.”

Floyd looks back again at the bar where everyone seems to be oblivious to your conversation, so deep and entangled in their own. “Nah, I don’t feel it.” And before you can refute, Floyd reaches over and bumps your chin with his finger, causing you to miss your bite. Your worry is forgotten as you dabbing your face with a napkin, laughing threats about taking the entire basket if he plays dirty with his food anymore.

At an appropriate time, your food arrives from the kitchen. It is set down on the table and this time, instead of Floyd’s shoulder being clapped, his hair is ruffled. Juice spills over the edge of the lower bun, soaking into the yeast. The bun seems to radiate its own heat as you pick up your burger – Knife to Meet You Burger (comes with thinly sliced beets) – and bring it towards your mouth.

“You eat with your pinkies up?”

Lower jaw still hanging open, you glance at Floyd. He has already taken two large bites of his burger, a ketchup mustache decorating his face. My, he really does not care about his appearance. “Hmmm?” You look down to see that your pinkies are in fact raised like two little horns.

A laugh comes out of your mouth. It has been ages since you’ve eaten finger food other than fries or maybe some whole wheat crackers. “Yeah, I guess I do.”

Floyd smiles, fond. “Cute.”

The clang as metal helmet meets ground sends a shockwave through the masquerade. A woman shrieks; when a man starts to yell out if anyone shrouded in mysterious masks might just be a doctor by chance, you make your way up the stairs.

It won’t take you long to decipher the code. The potion Schoenheit gave you yesterday heightened your senses. Hearing each click of a correct turn on the safe’s dial will be easy. Like how elevated your sight and smell are, there is a certain air about you.

Despite the entire prologue, you feel good. Heartbreak might be the costume cemented upon you in this masquerading parade but you are still capable. Pomefiore’s disciples always seek to be their best.

As you slip into Ashengrotto’s bedroom like a breeze, removing your snorkel, you forget in your joy of elevated sensations how your own heavy scent carries on the wind.

Just as the safe opens, the door to Ashengrotto’s bedroom opens.

It is a bit hard to shoulder your apartment door open with arms full of groceries, five ringlets of plastic hanging on for dear life on each of your forearms, but you still manage to do it.

Today, the click of the door seems a smidgen louder than normal. It is probably because of how you need to use your spine and hip to push open the wooden slab. Blissfully unaware your key did not manage to unlock the door on the first try like you thought, you rotate yourself so you walk into your small apartment chest first.

You would have flicked on the lights if you did not spot movement in a place that is definitely not where your bunny cage is. Five grocery bags sliding off your right arm, you hold out your second kunai, pinched in your hand.

The first kunai you throw lands a few centimeters from the man who is crouching down by your slide-open closet door, piercing the birch wood.

You take care to put down the groceries bags on your left arm. You have lettuce, eggs, and bananas in those. Hand still aimed, the point of the kunai trained straight at the spot where the intruder is, you take your non-dominant hand and turn on the lights.

“Floyd?”

Standing up – the files detailing Schoenheit’s jury tampering where two of Kingscholar’s men were killed by Schoenheit’s men and then the failed narcotics conspiracy sentence to imprison one of Ashengrotto’s men (files that could get Schoenheit arrested in the wrong hands (his) and files that could get Ashengrotto arrested in the right hands (your boss’s)) in his dominant left hand – Floyd gives you a fleeting once over. He looks as if all of your time spent together was erased from his memory. As if he has successfully forgotten it.

“It’s nothing personal, Shrimpy. Just business.”

The door of Ashengrotto’s bedroom fully opens and knocks you back into the present.

He looks handsome.

To be fair, his face has always looked handsome. He has looked handsome curling into your blankets, hair unbrushed and laughing. He has looked handsome picking you up in his car, cheek soft and squished on his steering wheel. He has looked handsome eating a burger with you, face dotted with a melange of sauce and crumbs. He looks handsome, staring down at you now.

Shock – in the terms of upsetting events that surprise you like a deer in highlights – is something Schoenheit has trained out of your system. The only man who does not act is a dead man. So, when you launch yourself to your feet, you fully anticipate getting the first punch in.

Only to be caught so off guard when your ex-boyfriend cuffs both your wrists in one large hand and sends your face reeling back in whiplash due to the connecting embrace his other hand delivers.

It feels like a spider blooming. That animal is all you can use to describe the sensation of being punched. The egg-shaped body of the arthropod is the spot where the nose lands – directly on your nose – and the spreading flame of pain is like a thousand legs stretching over your face.

A teardrop trails down the heated surface of your face as you gather your bearings. Or is it blood from a nostril? You cannot check the color of the watery drop because Floyd still has your two wrists prisoner in his single hand. With a grimace and hateful eyes, you turn so you may face him. Gaze upon his handsome face and deem it ugly.

“Shit. I didn’t mean ta hit ya that hard.” The whiplash you are receiving tonight is like a rollercoaster! Full of so many ups and downs, just like you would expect of Floyd. Still, you cannot help the look of pure dumb shock that paints itself over your face as you are suddenly fussed over.

When the hand that punched you tenderly touches your broken nose, you reel back with a growl.

“Get your hands off me!”

The files are still in your hand when you pull back. Like a magnetized magnet, Floyd follows in your desperate attempt to escape the bind he has upon you. You waste no time in clicking your heels, gaining an extra inch under your left sole. If that idiot won’t let go, you’ll force it. Left soles now sprouting a field of spikes, you bring your foot up and kick him hard in the abdomen.

Floyd falls back. The papers rustle. The click of your heels is like the tongue of a dragon sparking up a breath of fire. As his footing stumbles, you kick up and cut a long slash across his cheek and down to his lips with the knife sticking out the top of your right sole.

“Shit,” Floyd shouts as his body collides and closes the door.

When you pull your fingertips back from your face, you see that the drop from earlier was certainly blood.

Then, for a moment, you and Floyd observe each other. Intensely, both of your eyes take to tracking over the features previously known so intimately. Your eyes squint with so much vitriol that Floyd almost blurs in your vision. But, you are eating up the gourmet image of him, blood curling down the left side of his face much like the black strand curls down his right.

He smiles that familiar smile. “Hi, Shrimpy-baby.”

“...”

“Ya know, I never told ya this, but I always had this secret yen for the feisty ones.”

“Don’t spew that shit at me, you asshole.”

What a wicked game he played with you. To burrow into your life like a plump, devouring mite that took to digging deeper into the soil of your garden. A year of love is too convoluted of a scheme for a man of his ever-changing disposition to do, yet he did it. In doing so, he has destroyed your belief in the very concept of love.

This time around, you are much more unsure if the drop falling down your face is a tear or blood.

“Ya … You smell the same.” Confusion flickers over your face, so Floyd continues, “Didn’t think you’d be wearin’ the same perfume. Was almost positive I wouldn’t smell it again. Shit stinks.”

My, what a compliment. Like a practiced magician, you go to pull a syringe out from underneath your cufflink when surprise paralyzes you. Cheekbones burns as Floyd perfectly recites the French name – you distantly him saying how much he hated that language – of your perfume.

“Comme Des Garçons Avignon.” Then he names the top notes. “Smells like Roman chamomile, elemi, and incense.” Then he finishes off with, “Ya spray like twelve puffs on yourself. And ya always make sure to get in on your inner wrist before rubbin’ it into your neck.”

“There’s something evil in you.” Disgust coats your tongue as you shake your head back and forth. Why can’t he just vanish off the face of the earth? Or at least walk back into the masquerade so you can finish your job.

You cannot face the ugly truth that you still love him.

Floyd’s eyes flicker down to the ground … or perhaps only to analyze the files in your hand. All the same, a shadow falls over his features. It reminds you of each time his body shut down when emotions got too big, resemblant of powering off electronics. His next words are less confident than how he described your habits and perfume in detail. Whispering, he insists, “You should be in my life.”

What is he talking about? Your head continues shaking, almost stuck in that action. You were in his life. Both of you were so intimately entangled with one another’s life. That sentiment is now completely unrealistic; this cavern between you will never heal.

“I hate you,” you whisper, just before closing the distance.

There is a foreign sentiment you know pretty well despite the language gap. Bilingual because of Schoenheit and his right hand man, you pick up French and German much like how a child picks up alluring shells on the shoreline. You carry them in the pail of your brain. Naturally, you cannot stop one from floating to the surface as pallid plaster coats your knuckles.

Qui aime bien, châtie bien. Who loves well, punishes well.

In its original meaning, it relates to the idea that as your love grows older, you become well versed in teasing. More comfortable in your aging relationship, certain barriers fall away from the heart. The nautilus shell falls away to reveal the soft, vulnerable body of slime. Teasing happens. Tough love is natural. Right now though, as your hand clenched around a syringe falls in a diagonal arch, you use the proverb in a much more literal way.

The popcorn wall dissolves under administration of the liquid. Red churns in the tube before magical magnetism pulls into the area of injection. Floyd ducks out of way just in time and makes a grab for the hand holding the files.

TITLE: THE TEXT MESSAGE ‘IT’S NOT ME, IT’S YOU’

INT. ASHENGROTTO’S BEDROOM

OPEN on two people fighting. One holds a stack of papers large enough to be a dictionary. The other is trying half-heartedly to steal those files back, but is mostly fixated on avoiding the onslaught of punches falling in his direction. The shuffle is a violent dance. Punches are thrown and dodged. Some connect and others miss. The only sound is the huff of measured breaths, exhaling when either FLOYD or YOU attack on offense.

The room is full of three main objects; a safe, a bed, and a dresser underneath a large mirror.

FLOYD.

(exuberantly)

You’ve been holdin’ back on me. I didn’t know you could fight like this.

YOU.

…

FLOYD.

C’mon, Shrimpy, don’t be like that. Woah!

YOU

Do you ever shut up?

FLOYD.

I’d like it if you made me. Aren’t little spiders supposed to neutralize their prey with venom?

YOU.

Aren’t little eels supposed to bite their prey with teeth? … Did it feel good? Building me up to tear me down?

FLOYD.

It was just business. It had nothing ta do with us.

A punch connects with the side of FLOYD’s face. As he stumbles, a swinging leg sends his torso falling onto the dresser. It rattles like a hundred bones in a coffin shakened like a child’s birthday present.

YOU.

(voice raising)

Don’t lie again. I’m sick of being lied to by you!

FLOYD.

I never lied to you. I haven’t been lyin’ about a thing. It’s not fair that Vil gets to have ya.

YOU keep throwing punches, ignoring his words.

FLOYD, growing increasingly aggravated, abandons his position of defense. He pulls YOU in by the lapels of your suit, hoisting them up by sheer strength and slams them into the mirror above the dresser. Papers fall like autumn leaves and glass falls like snowflakes. Seen subtly behind them, a trail of blood coming from their pierced shoulders, rolling down the dresser’s side like one stretching snake of sanguine.

YOU twist yet are unable to escape the grasp.

FLOYD narrows his gold and olive brown eyes.

FLOYD. (CONT.)

I know everything about ya. I know ya can’t blow a bubble with gum. I know each mole and freckle on ya. And I know no matter how hard you try, your pinkies always go up when you eat a burger! So, you shouldn’t be with a lover who doesn’t know ya. Give him up. I can put in a good word with Azul; we could be back to how we used to be. It’s not fair that Vil gets to have you! I should have ya!

YOU

(shaking their head and laughing, haggard)

You don’t get to have me. – No-Not after what you did.

FLOYD

(angry)

You should be in my space! You should be in my life!

THE fight continues. A sharp sound much like a tongue clicking inside a mouth startles the audience. YOU press the left sole of their shoe into FLOYD’s abdomen and push back as hard as they can. A pained shout bleeds out his mouth. YOU, stumbling from the glass that managed to sink through their suit and into skin, goes to punch yet is blocked.

WITH a rough tug on YOU’s biceps, FLOYD pushes them both down to the ground. Pain flares across their back like one crashing wave. EXIT SCENE.

“Kiss me. Kiss me,” he pleads, his fingers digging so harshly into your skin that bruises will be there tomorrow. His voice is turbulent with so many emotions. “Just one. Just kiss me again.”

Fist enclosed on his shirt’s sternum, you push against him and try to rebuild the distance between you two. “Get off! Get off me, you psycho!” Each time he attempts to close the gap, you violently twist your lips away. Your body squirms like a desperate fly caught in a web. His lips collide with the corner of your lip and chin. You push back as hard as you can. “Get off me right – fucking! Floyd!”

The hands that left tomorrow’s bruises on your upper arms move to grip your writhing, wrinkled in anger face. He holds you still with tremendous strength, eye to eye. Each atom of your skull shakes with frustration. Gritted teeth almost seem to vibrate in your mouth. Despite your desperation to tear away and flee, Floyd keeps you pinned.

“I love you so much,” he confesses, dual-colored eyes brimming over. Emotion crinkles his voice. You want to scoff at his well-improvised act.

The scoff lands in Floyd’s mouth as he pulls you into a perilous kiss. Teeth act like iron gates. Closing him off from your love, you try to use each component of yourself to escape. Knees and fists curl up and push him away with fruitless strength. Nose wrinkles as if you smelt something horrid. When he tries to French-kiss you, you take the hand shoving at his chest to wrap your hand around his throat. A thumb presses hard in his trachea.

Floyd pulls back immediately, hacking and his spit flying through the air. There, you think, is your opening for freedom.

Your body rolls onto its side. You only get a shuffling inch or so away from him before he is laughing jubilantly, teeth gleaming in his mouth – Like he used to laugh at comedy shows, playing on your shitbox CRT, or like he used to laugh when breaking out into an impromptu dance, playing music and heartstrings in your kitchen. – “That’s my Shrimpy. Oh, I love you!”

Your fruitless escape is squashed as Floyd pulls you back into another kiss. This time he manages to slip his mouth past those iron gates.

According to songs, sparks fly when a kiss happens. In this moment, you feel like those sparks are not from joyous, amorous fireworks but a hundred plane engines blowing their transmission. Screaming into his mouth, you pull back so hard that your head splinters a crack into the wooden dresser behind you.

Floyd’s hands protectively cradle the back of your head after that. He rotates his body so his weight smothers. Your rotated body is once more flatten like a pancake. Lying by the dresser, you kiss – well, he kisses you. You are actively still fighting against it.

Curses and potions, you know them well. They are frequently used in your work. It is not unheard of to utilize ancient, outdated methods of magic to gain an upper hand in this dangerous tango of organized crime. Just like the Shrouds excel in technology, the Schoenheits excel in potions and curses. No matter how many charms cloaked over objects or potions brewed inside bubbling cauldrons, you have never been under a curse or tasted a potion more dangerous than love. It is the most potent, poisonous curse.

A wet drop falling from Floyd’s face falls on your cheek; tear or blood, who can tell? The next motion you make, you blame it upon the brain damage you sustained when knocking your head into the dresser’s bottom leg.

As you grab his hair and open those iron gates, you think, ‘Sorry Schoenheit.’

Slobbering into his mouth, like you are trying to fuse together, you explore the cave. Finding the familiar stalagmites of teeth and the moss spot where his canker sore from too many bedtime sodas or snacks laced with salt and vinegar. Teal hair is pulled at the root and your embrace feels more like a hook than a hand, yet Floyd still launches into the kiss with relief and excitement.

He is an everlasting object of motion. Unstoppable and breaking laws of psychics. He pushes his tongue further in, entwines it with yours. Each pressure point of contact is seductively bewitching. Floyd lets out a long, stretching groan like a widow mourning. The sound reverbs in the grottos of your interlocked mouths.

Hands flurry about in wild motion. You open up your legs and hold him pelvis to pelvis. His hands do not stop running up and down frantically from shoulders to waist. It is only because of this endless stream of movement that Floyd does not notice when you draw a Z across the back of his skull.

Pulling back from the kiss, you say a single word with closed eyes, “Somnum.”

Floyd’s own eyes fall shut and his body goes limp.

Like pushing away fallen rumble, you discard Floyd’s body to the side and bring yourself up to sitting on your knees. A shaky groan exits you. Fingers trembling from adrenaline, you smooth the pads of them over your nose – it is definitely broken – over your back – the material is wet with blood – and over your bottom lip – it radiates a soft heat. Ducking your head, you sigh.

Bewitched Sleep is one of the least complex curses. Just a simple swish of a finger writing a Z and a single Latin word, the chosen victim will fall under a temporary spell of sleep. Those guarded enough will be able to resist it though; casting a glance over at Floyd’s slumbering body, you reflect upon the notion that his iron gates must have been open the entire fight.

A glare passes over your face. It melts. Then, it comes back again stronger than before. “Such an asshole.” You bite at the air and push yourself up to your feet. One last time, you knock your heels together and the spikes underneath your left sole disappear. “You’re the most convincing actor of all, Floyd.”

It takes a while to gather up the mess of papers, shaking the glass off certain pages. Still, you pile them all back into the folder and check that none had swooped underneath the bed or dresser. As you go about collecting all the pages, you also pick up the snorkel you left by the safe. Holding it up to your ear, you say, “Have Epel send the car around to the back.”

It takes a while to receive an answer and, even when you do, the snorkel is held in your hand rather than by your ear so it is a very muffled answer. “Good work, Potato.” The praise feels empty as you stare down at Floyd’s body sleeping in a bed of glass.

He is not your problem anymore. He is not yours. Yet, it was only nine days ago that he meant everything to you and he had been yours. Just because it is over, that doesn’t mean it didn’t mean anything.

Like a sinking stone, your acid-coated heart makes itself a little elevator ride down to your stomach.

“Fuck,” you whisper before fastening your snorkel back on your face. “I’m ridiculous.”

So, ridiculously, you find yourself hooking your hands under Floyd’s armpits. Dead-esque, his head slumps forward on a limp neck. It reminds you of those nights, coming home to the apartment from the bar, each of you shouldering the other’s weight. Experienced with it, it is a fluid effort and getting Floyd on Ashengrotto’s bed is no trouble.

You shake the files in your hand. You stomp your feet to make sure each blade is inside the sole. Then, you go to leave?

Ridiculously, you find that your feet are hesitating. Shuffling indecisively on the carpet. Heavy as if cement has been poured in them. The window is only a matter of a dozen steps away yet you might as well be trying to trudge through glutinous quicksand towards a whole other planet.

Once more, your intelligent mentor’s voice rains down from the Heavens with his oh so introspective words of wisdom (this time imaginary). “Honey, ditch that loser,” Jesus-Schoenheit says.

‘Oh I wish I could. I really wish I could,’ you bemoan to the fake voice of your boss, face pinched in a grimace. As you turn around, you start to dig around in your slacks pockets.

‘I should have that pen somewhere.’ Shoving the files under your armpit, fingers flutter through the snow fields of lint at the bottom of each pocket. Where is that stupid pen? You know you were carrying a permanent tattoo marker. If you had to make a run for it after getting the codes but before opening the safe, you brought along the writing utensil so you could mark down the numbers on the length of your arm … that is, if you can find it.

A breath of relief escapes you. Uncapping the pen, you take a short moment to observe comatose Floyd. Even with his clothes elongated and stretched from your hateful hands and his skin drenched in sweat and sanguine, he rivals the very concept of beauty. Individuals favored by Aphrodite, actors or actresses with faces that belong immortalized in marble, and a blond Queen who seduces men and women with a poisonous potency: these are the type of people you surround yourself with daily. Yet, all of them look hideous in comparison to Floyd who sleeps with a slightly parted mouth and tacky blood streaming down his face. How has he warped your vision so grandly?

Upset, you force your eyes to fall away from his mesmeric features and move down to his waistline. Most of your graphic tee is untucked like normal so you have little problem with wrestling his shirt above his belly button. On his navel, above the dusting of black hair, you place the tip of the marker.

In quick yet eligible swirls, you write down your new phone number across Floyd’s V-line. A twisty six forms, an eight loops side to side, a soldier-straight one is born. You punctuate it all with a sharp dot, imagining that your very innocent pen is a dangerous knife. The stab of ink hits him so hard that he coughs in his sleep, pained.

God, you want to make him feel so much more pain than that.

Capping your marker, you pull down his shirt and pull the files from the crook of your armpit. Rereading the document’s identification, you feel just a tiny spritz of your frustration dissolve inside of you. The job is complete. Despite everyone back home thinking you would be a loose canon and fail tremendously, you manage to succeed.

Yes, your nose will have to be snapped back into place. And, you doubt Rook (under Schoenheit’s instructions) will be gentle with the whole procedure. But, at least you did not run into Ashengrotto which you consider a huge, jackpot-esque win of a night full of many ups and downs, and much lack of faith from homebase.

The door clicks open just as you reach up to your ear. Startled, your fingers depress down on the still intact communication device, sending your desolate “fucking shit” out on radio waves back to that beloved homebase.

“(Name)? (Name), what’s wrong?” Schoenheit’s voice worries in your ear as you and Ashengrotto lock eyes across his wrecked, demolished bedroom. The absolute puzzlement in those blue eyes would be amusing if only you did not know the octopus’s exact next move.

“How close is Epel?”

“He’s only one block away from your location.”

“Yeah, I got enough time.”

“Potato?”

“I’m jumping out the window,” you inform your boss just as Ashengrotto unclips the gun from his belt. Confusion has long since drained from those blueberry hues; just as hesitation has vanished magically from your feet. “Tell Epel, proceed as planned, meet me at the spot.”

“Potato! Don’t you dare jump through a window! (Name)? (Name)!”

You have a nagging suspicion that Rook (under Schoenheit’s instructions) will not be gentle when taking the glass out of your skin. It matters very little to you as the wall by your head coughs out a dusting of white plaster. A decorative new eye in Ashengrotto’s bedroom wall is just another damage left behind in the mess you have made. Something else matters much more.

There has been a dormant craving in you for disgustingly greasy food for days.

That said, you need to keep your calories in check so you could definitely use some company to reach over the sticky table and paw at your share of food. The burger of the week at yours and Floyd’s self-established ‘joint’ is Poutine on the Ritz Burger. Comes with poutine fries. Probably will put a yellow, waxy clot of cholesterol in your veins. As you leap from the window, you can already picture it perfectly.

Floyd, sitting across the table from you, licking gravy from his fingers, his shark maw gnashing back and forth noisily as he grinds down cheese curds and potatoes from your fries, looking as irresistible as a hung Da Vinci portrait.

#twisted wonderland x reader #twisted wonderland #floyd leech x reader #floyd leech #twst floyd

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jennamoran · 2 months ago

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Tonight's Hitherby: "No Innards, No Problem"

Jane is sick.

“Darn it,” Jane says, when she hears the doctor’s report. “Tuberculosis!”

There’s a little picture of tuberculosis on the wall. It shows the various systems that the TB bacteria infests. It says, in bold, “There’s no magic answer to tuberculosis!”

“You shouldn’t be playing in infested pits of tuberculosis bacteria,” explains the doctor. “That’s not good hygiene!”

Jane makes a woeful face. Her lip trembles.

“But it’s the only good place to play in,” she says.

“There’s a half-finished slide at the park!” the doctor says. “You could use that!”

“I could have,” says Jane. Her eyes widen. “But now I’ll be quarantined!”

The doctor shakes her head.

Jane slowly relaxes.

The doctor says, “In nihilistic 19th century Russia we would have idolized you. In barbaric 20th century America we would have quarantined you. But today—”

The doctor taps the “treatment” section of the tuberculosis picture.

“—today, we can treat this malaise with advanced medical techniques. Do you have good health insurance?”

“I have moderate health insurance,” Jane stresses. “It’s okay for ordinary treatment, but don’t try any of your funny medical tricks!”

The doctor nods. She prints out a series of instructions. Jane watches nervously as the doctor measures out doses of several different medications into the plastic mold of a wand. The doctor then hands the wand to Jane.

“Wave the wand and recite,” says the doctor.

“Okay!” says Jane, giving a thumbs-up. Then she coughs, racking consumptive coughs. Then she blinks it off and beams at the doctor.

“Star sparkle power,” says the doctor. “Production!”

Jane waves the wand, reciting, “Star sparkle power—production!”

Jane leaps into the air. She can’t help it. It’s the magic of the words. She spins around. Her clothes attenuate into great sky-pythons of fabric that swirl in the air around her.

“Ack!” says Jane. “My dignity!”

Jane’s skin turns translucent. She doesn’t have organs! Instead, inside her, she has the sparkling grandeur of a starlit sky.

“You can tie the sky-pythons together in back,” says the doctor, “so that they’re more concealing.”

“Oh!” says Jane.

But the transformation sequence does not last long enough for Jane to apply this advice. She lands on the ground in a heap, now wearing the marvelous rainbow outfit of a Star Sparkle Girl.

“Huh,” says Jane, dizzily. Her skin is still shimmering, and little stars whirl around her head.

“Say ‘ah’,” says the doctor.

The doctor puts a tongue depressor in Jane’s mouth.

“Ah!” says Jane.

“Good,” says the doctor. “I don’t see any tuberculosis bacteria in your throat.”

Jane’s stomach twitches a bit. It’s from the minor gag reflex triggered by having the tongue depressor on her tongue.

Then, even though the doctor takes the tongue depressor out, Jane’s stomach heaves! She hiccups stardust all over the doctor’s floor. Now it’s very sparkly.

Jane gulps a little bit.

“Um,” says Jane.

“It’ll happen for a bit,” says the doctor. “I mean, the stars-in-the-stomach.”

“But all the kids will tease me!” says Jane. Her eyes are wide. “I can’t be ‘throws up stars girl!'”

The doctor looks in Jane’s left eye, then her right eye. Then the doctor takes down a few notes, shrugs, and tucks her medical clipboard under her arm.

“There’s no magic answer to tuberculosis,” the doctor points out. “It says so on the sign.”

Jane hiccups. There’s the bitter taste of a white dwarf in the back of her throat, its cold electrons mashed one against another to fill up all the available energy levels.

“But everyone will tease me,” Jane says, miserably.

Playing in the tuberculosis pits doesn’t seem that good an idea now.

#hitherby dragons

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naomikozura · 6 months ago

Text

Playing With Fire: Chapter 6

Jason Todd (Red Hood) x Fem!Reader (Criminal)

Trope: Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Romance

Warnings: strong language, mentions of guns, drinking (all overage), tiny tiny tiny angst (if you squint), stealing/heist, illegal coding (meh barely a warning), not too many this chapter but lmk if I missed any!

WC: 10K

Summary: In the heart-pounding midst of a daring heist, you encounter him for the first time behind the mask. As partners in crime, the stakes are high—this job could reshape your future. But amidst the adrenaline and danger, a connection sparks, complicating everything. Will you emerge unscathed by consequences, or will you find yourself entangled in a precarious dance where risk and intimacy intertwine, forcing you to confront the true meaning of loyalty?

Series Masterlist

Chapter 5 || Chapter 7

The night was filled with people from all backgrounds, business owners, CFOs, CEOs, COOs, jewelry heiresses, stock brokers, even those who dabbled in international trade and shipments of luxury goods were in the room. Every person with any sense of power on the money side of Gotham was present tonight. You were wearing a gorgeous golden dress with fabric that hung around your chest and drooped over your shoulder, covering the gunshot wound that you’d received a week ago. The dress complimented your skin and hugged your figure perfectly. Every curve of your body hugged by the fabric, showing off your form in a delicate yet seductive and classy way. You had your necklace under the wrap around neckline, but wore the matching green earrings adorning and balancing the outfit. It was simple and perfect for the occasion. You had your hair up in a slick back ponytail, the length hanging perfectly, giving you a soft glowy look versus your dark seductive alter ego. You wanted to be seen as the charming, beautiful, supportive partner that worked with Calvi himself.

Your heart was beating in your chest, pounding like a wild animal trying to escape from its cage. After weeks of preparations, the night was finally here. Ambushing and infiltrating Sionis’s business to make him crumble from the inside out. You hadn’t spoken to Red in a few days, his plan perfectly laid and seemed fool proof. One of the calls was ceased communication. It was the only way to ensure the plan would work in the end. You couldn’t be in ties with him since he had his own role to play which he had started before asking for your help. Befriend and gain the trust of Calvi’s business partner, Marcos. A powerhouse in Gotham’s elite. Working in foreign exchange, luxury goods, and security, he was almost as devastating as Calvi himself. Only he was more egotistical and cocky than Calvi was. He didn’t have the same charm or the same sense of formality. He was new money rich, everything spiraling and taking off after he created his security platform, Python.

You finished applying your lipstick, fixing your hair and grabbing your designer clutch off the sink. You needed to play the part of being the daughter of a wealthy businessman, trying to cover your tracks so no one could wonder how easily you had access to Calvi and ended up on his arm this night of the Gala honoring him. Calvi already knew your background as you were able to create a false one that lined up perfectly with the daughter of a businessman who’d disappeared and gone off grid. The family kept it a secret so as to not be caught in a scandal, so you stepped in as the replacement and since you were a beautiful, young woman with interest in luxury goods, everything checked out. No loopholes, no openings.

~~~

It was all selfish. It was personal. It was for your freedom. That’s what you kept telling yourself when you paced in the outskirts of the city, waiting for Red at the secluded location he’d embedded into the file for future meetings.

Could you actually manage to pull something like this off? Was it all a ploy or did he truly believe this could work?

“Y/n”, you turned at the sound of his voice.

“Red”, you breathed, your shoulders tense.

“You came.”, his voice had a hint of humor in it, but serious quickly took over as his body stopped only a foot away from you, his proximity sending you over the edge. He had a deep musk to him, a woodsy scent that filled your nostrils and made your veins flood with a sensation you couldn’t quite place.

“How serious are you?” your voice was a whisper, but the intent was loud. You weren’t here to play games. You needed answers.

“I’m dead serious about this, sweetheart.”, he replied. “I take you overlooked everything.”

“What interest do you have in the Blue Moon of Josephine that you need to steal it from the museum that Black Mask has under his protection?”

“It’s a hefty hit and a hefty payout. I thought you’d be the first to jump all over this.”

“It’s a suicide mission!”, you raised your voice slightly, your eyes slightly widening as you held back your confused frustration.

“It’s your ticket out of here. It’s my ticket to a direct hit at that son of a bitch and getting closer to completing my work.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you looked at him, your eyes glossy with emotion you couldn’t quite place. Was it anger, frustration, false hope, or a sense of trust that you knew you shouldn’t be placing in him in the first place?

“You always seem focused on escaping this shit city, and now I’m giving you the chance and you’re doubting it.”

“I don’t want false hope.”, you clenched your teeth.

“The evidence was all in that drive. You can see for yourself it isn’t false anything.”, he replied as stared at you intently, his focus on you as he waited for your answer. His silence made the air around the both of you fill with tension, there was more to it than he led on. You took a step back, not noticing how his close proximity had affected you. You needed to focus.

“If you’re serious, if you truly believe we can pull this off…” Red noticed how you were overthinking the situation, his voice ringing out again.

“I won’t force you to do something you’re not confident in doing.”

You let yourself sit in the silence, his body still radiating heat and his hand on your chin to meet his eyes. You basked in his presence for a moment, snapping yourself out of the trance and looking at him intently.

“No.”, you breathed. “I’m in.”

~~~

“Ready, my dear?”, Calvi stretched an arm towards you as you wrapped your hands around him and walked elegantly next to him. He was tall, around 6’5, even taller than Red. You were wearing heels so your height would be closer to meet his eye line, but you were still far shorter than the both of them.

“Are we meeting any of your partners tonight?”, you asked softly, your eyes examining his face, his demeanor very relaxed and laid back.

“A few, but only one catches my attention tonight. He has a new development and I want to be the first to have it.”, he mentioned nonchalantly.

“You look stunning tonight. I don’t know how you get more beautiful every time I see you, Vivian”, his breath smelled like mint, his natural scent overwhelming with overpriced cologne. It was almost too much for your senses, giving you a slight headache.

“You clean up nice yourself, Cal. You sure you’re not holding back on me?”, you smiled as your words left in a flirty tone.

The two of you walked through the halls, taking in the cases full of jewelry spanning from rings, necklaces, crowns, bracelets, everything worth tens if not hundreds of thousands of dollars. Everything here was priceless. But you weren’t here for scraps.

You moved around, looking at the well dressed statues that were clothed in beautiful custom gowns that were hand crafted by the best designers in the city. You admired them deeply and loved the complex colors and the reflection of the light making the diamonds, emeralds, rubies, pearls, all the jewels illuminate beautifully.

Calvi followed behind but remained close at your side, allowing you to take your time as you moved through the entrance halls and into the main room, the music and the chatter of people filled the atmosphere. There wasn’t a single inch of the room that didn’t have a person standing in it. Servers, musicians, security, attendees, everyone was here.

It was almost as impressive as the Wayne Galas.

Almost.

It was a grand hall full of beautiful, timeless decorations, the curtains reaching the roof and the chandeliers hanging around the room as the music played in a lively tune that allowed people to have drinks and mingle with one another. The attendance list was full of the rich, powerful people of Gotham, all having their own born right to be here. Many of the names on Red’s drive were old money, generations of wealth passed down through each new member. Others were self-made businessmen and women, they had gone from middle class citizens to the highest ranking in the city, making them more respected by those who kept a watchful eye on them.

Calvi motioned towards the small bar area, walking over with you in hand as he ordered a glass of his favorite whiskey while you ordered your wine. You leaned into Calvi, reeling him in as he placed a hand on your waist, turning towards him as you smiled and lifted a hand to your face, brushing a small piece of hair back. How easy it was to have men wrapped around your finger and at your command.

“Is that Calvi Calbera?”, you turned to be met with the very man you were anticipating the whole night. Marcos Maroni. The unknown son of Sal Maroni. Except here, no one knew he was a Maroni. He did well hiding his background from everyone in this scene. Only you and Red knew who he was, who he really was.

“Marcos Morona”, Calvi walked up to him, shaking his hand and patting him on the back, laughing as they greeted each other.

“Excuse me, forgive my rudeness, but who is this lovely lady?”, Marcos turned to you, his charming smile hiding the intrigue in his eyes not missing the way they darkened as they skimmed your body quickly. You would’ve missed it if you weren’t so good at reading men and their mannerisms. You stood from your seat, stretching your hand out towards him as he took your delicate hand in his broad, rough one. “Vivian Lancaster”, you said softly, batting your eyelashes at him, letting him notice your obvious observation of his movements. It would inflate his ego, just like every other man in Gotham who took a liking to you. You knew you were beautiful, you knew men gravitated towards you. It made your line of work easy, especially when it came to getting intel you needed from these men. Just like Calvi.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”, he smirked at you before he kissed your hand and turned back to Calvi. “I heard you were looking for me. Wanting to take a look at my new software?”

Calvi let out a chuckle, taking a sip of his whiskey before setting it back on the bar. “I heard it’s better than Python. I want to see it and be the first to bid on getting the system for my trades.”

“You flatter me, Calvi. It is a good system, I worked with a programmer who is beyond my time and my years. I didn’t realize Bludhaven produced such intelligent people who worked in system informatics and security programming.”

“You can never underestimate people. Especially when you came from the same background”, Calvi mentioned calmly. The false life Marcos had made for himself was filled with the lie that he was completely self-made. A nobody that came from a small town in New Jersey and grew his skills and his company from the ground up. Yeah, right.

“That’s why we have to take risks when it comes to new minds.”, Marcos rambled for a few more moments, a part of you anxious of when your partner would show up. He hadn’t made his appearance yet, you wondered if he was actually planning on coming or if all of this was just to get you away from him for another night. He had been cutting communication off for the past week so it would make sense if that was his reasoning.

“There you are.”, you looked up from your glass, you had zoned out and didn’t realize until Marcos snapped you back to their conversation. “Calvi, Vivian. I want to introduce you to one of my partners. His intelligence and deduction skills are far beyond anything I could ever imagine trying to find outside of Gotham.”

You looked behind Marcos, your heart stopped in your chest. Out of everything you expected tonight, from the risk of getting caught to the possibility of leaving empty handed, you could have never expected this.

“Calvi, Vivian. This is Jason Todd. My partner in building my new security software and convincing me to take a risk on my programmer from Bludhaven. Not to mention the son of our beloved Bruce Wayne.”

Your lips parted from the shock. You were left speechless. He had dark hair that was slicked back neatly, exposing his face and making his jaw appear more sharp and defined than it already was. He was wearing a dark suit and a dark burgundy tie that made it obvious who he was to you. Only to you. His eyes were a deep, dark green that pulled you into a trance. His lips pulled into a charming smile, his eyes focused on your appearance as you noticed that same emotion in his eyes that you knew was in your own. Your face remained neutral, but you knew your eyes gave you away the second he looked at you. He was devastating, handsome, his eyes gentle and full of emotion as they took you in, your heart pounding in your chest while trying to remain calm.

You felt time stop, everything around you had disappeared and the two of you stared at each other for what felt like an eternity. His eyes bore into yours, holding an unwavering amount of attention, skimming down your frame and drinking in every inch of your body. He dressed in a suit that fit him perfectly, made him look muscular, toned, and perfect. You’d wondered what he’d look like under it all, what it would feel like against yours, the heat rising in your body as the darkness in his eyes swirled into something more. Something you couldn’t quite place. You noticed the way his hand flexed slightly but quickly relaxed. You held his gaze for what seemed like forever until his smooth, clear voice pulled you out of your trance.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Jason Todd”, he stretched out his hand, letting him take yours and kissing the back of it. “What a lovely woman you have with you tonight Calvi.” Jason spoke, never taking his gaze off of you. You hadn’t broken eye contact since he waltzed in.

“Vivian Lancaster. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”, you said, taking your hand back after noticing how he rubbed the back of your hand with his thumb.

You felt your skin ignite on fire, his green eyes holding you gaze as a small smile tugged at his lips.

“She is beautiful. We’ve been working together for some time. Who knows what the future holds for us, right my dear?”, Calvi spoke as he looked at you, your eyes still under siege by Jason’s green ones. How did you go this long, never seeing his face, his eyes… he..

“Right.”, you snapped out of Jason’s stare when Calvi wrapped an arm around your waist, almost like staking his claim. You looked at his face, no emotion showing in his eyes and his jaw was relaxed. So why was he being weird?

“Calvi, let’s catch up in the meeting room before they start the auction. I’m sure Jason can keep Vivian company for a short while.”, Marcos said as he and Calvi said another snide joke under their breath and walked away.

You watched as they left before meeting Jason’s gaze again, your heart absolutely betraying you in your chest. He looked at the ground, his smile spreading across his face as he met your gaze again. He cocked his head, pointing towards the balcony that was on the other side of the room and you followed him outside, stepping into the fresh, cool air leaving your skin feeling relaxed as the soft breeze hit your warm skin.

“You clean up nice”, you said, trying to keep yourself from stuttering. You needed to focus on why you were here, not on how devastating the man in front of you looked.

“I’d say the same to you. This dress really suits you.”, his voice was deep, suave, flirtatious, and it drove you absolutely insane. This was the first time you were seeing him like this, the first time you were on mutual grounds and he had this hold over you that you couldn’t shake.

“So, Jason Todd.”, you said as you looked at him, that charming smirk playing at his lips again. “Son of Bruce Wayne, I thought this was supposed to keep a low profile.”,

“It’s my real name.”, your eyebrows raised slightly, your head turning to look at him as he looked down at the garden, one hand on the railing.

“Your real name? Seems believable enough.”

“It is. Jason Peter Todd.”, he looked at you, meeting your gaze again.

“Do you really want me to take that seriously? Do you really think I am that gullible?”

“I know you’re not.”, he spoke again. “And, I really am the son of Bruce Wayne.”

You stared at him. The silence growing and the tension slowly getting thicker. You couldn’t believe him. He was pulling a prank on you. There’s no way he’s…

“Why do I feel like you’re lying to me?” “When have I ever lied to you?”, he was right. Over the course of the past few months, he never lied about anything he was doing. He wouldn’t tell you complete thoughts, sometimes keep small tidbits of information from you, but lying? He never did that.

“You’re Bruce Wayne’s son?”, you asked again, almost as if asking for confirmation of the truth once again.

“Yes.”, at this point, he was full on facing you, his hands in his pockets as he stood tall over you. His eyes bore into your soul, almost like he was breaking apart every one of your walls and getting under your skin, making you burn in your dress.

“Does he know… that you..”

“No. He doesn’t even know I’m back in Gotham.”, he answered.

Back in Gotham? Does that mean he left at one point? Where did he go? How long was he gone? Why did he leave?

“I see.”, you were at a loss for words. You felt like there was something about his background that just… left you wrecked. Why did you feel betrayed? Because he was a rich kid with a father who had all to Gotham in the palm of his hand? Did you feel deceived, did you believe he was just another vigilante fighting to make ends meet and he had no other choice but to enter this life like you had? Or was he just rebelling against his father?

You felt an ember of anger growing in your chest. You couldn’t look at him, couldn’t stand next to him. You just felt like you received the worst confession in your life. Jason Todd, son of Bruce Wayne, was the one trying to take out Black Mask’s business to take a shot at his money and make him miserable. A rich pretty boy was trying to take out one of Gotham’s most ruthless mob bosses in the city. He could get away with killing all those people because Bruce Wayne would convince the world it wasn’t his son, there was no proof either. He wasn’t known as Jason Todd, no one knew it was him. He was just Red Hood. The annoyance grew in your chest as you remained silent and lost in thought.

Did you even have the right to get mad at him? He’d helped you so many times, could’ve killed you throughout the past few months. He hadn’t shown anyone else within the city any form of sympathy or second guessed killing them, so why you? More importantly, why were you so bothered by the truth of who he was?

He owed you nothing.

You forced yourself back to the reality of the situation: get the job done.

“We can head back to my apartment once we’re done, just to get out of sight from the guards around here.”, you murmured, your eyes scanning the room in practiced scrutiny. Your focus on examining each attendee before arriving was paying off, but there were still internal updates that could have happened in the span of the past three days leading up to the Gala. Your eyes turned back towards Jason, his eyes looked at you in a soft glance, his focus on your words and actions as you scanned the room. He hummed lightly before creating distance between the two of you, your slicked hair showing off your features in a delicate manner that left him soaking in the sight for a second longer before turning away.

“If the blueprints are accurate and they didn’t move any of the jewels around, they should be located by the main entrance where the guests came in and every one can see them.”, his response was practical, focusing perfectly on the very reason both of you were here tonight.

Your mind raced through all the details, recalling every base of your plan down to the nitty gritty. You had calculated everything, trying to remember the blueprints exactly. Your memory was borderline photographic when it came to jobs like these. “We can leave at different times before the speeches and auction. We hack into the security system and set the cameras on loop, reprogram the sensors on the cases but we’ll only have around 10 or 15 minutes to get what we need and get out before the sensors turn back on.”

“What if we move the cameras into a blind spot that's only a few inches to the left of the main hallway?"

Your surprise was evident. "How do you know there’s a blind spot?"

"Hacking into the camera system a week ago helped a lot. I took it upon myself to cover the bases for a plan B in case we needed it."

You couldn't deny his resourcefulness, but the revelation of his background left you on edge. His clear, confident voice contrasted with the dissonance you felt in your bones. Your perception of him shifted, your judgment clouded by this deal with him and the payout at the end of this suicide mission.

“Let’s finish what we came here for.”, his deep voice rang out. Deep, smooth, not hidden behind distortion. He was clear, articulate, and it irritated you knowing his background. It’s like your entire opinion of him just… shifted. You moved around him, slipping back into the main room and finding your way through the hallways, leaving him alone while you carried out your part of the plan.

Back in the main room, Jason felt a tug in his gut, watching you with his deep green eyes, never leaving your form as you walked through the crowded room. He swirled his drink before throwing back the amber liquid, the burn offering him a momentary distraction from the irritation growing in the pit of his stomach. He watched as a group of men swept their gazes towards you, his hand tightening around the glass as he buried the annoyance under focus. If there was one thing he despised more than Galas, it was the people. He hated the social scene more than anything, everyone in this room included with the exception of you.

He’d noticed how quickly your body language changed at the mention of who he was, it left him with a strange sensation wondering if you’d really gotten upset at his identity. Your sudden change in attitude made him question if his true self would change your perception of him, if it would change your alliance and the results of the job. His jaw clenched as he snapped back to focus. Regardless of how much he wanted to contemplate his actions or breakdown your reaction, he had a job to do.

He slowly moved through the room, his body tall in confidence as he noticed some of the women staring at him, blushing as they whispered between one another. He couldn’t help but feel strange, he’d always been hidden in his brother's shadow, women never particularly liked him but now that he’s older he can’t help but notice how the attention has changed. It was a complete contrast to his past, used to be overlooked and now everyone noticed him. He couldn't care less about it though, he didn’t care about anything here except for a particular woman who just walked out on him.

He exited into the hall, walking past several people and groups of businessmen, giving them a slight nod in greeting before continuing through the corridors. He had turned down a particular hall, one he remembered from his intel and the blueprints he’d downloaded for this very night. It was the main server room, he could get to any of the cameras and completely shut them down to make the night easier on both of you. He couldn’t plant the chips there yet, he needed to touch base with you first.

He turned into the main hall, scanning through different bodies of people until he saw you in front of a painting in all your glory. He hadn’t admitted it out loud but the pang in his chest at how you were dressed tonight left him on edge.

“Van Gogh.”, he spoke out as he walked up beside you.

“Yeah..”, you replied softly, your attention briefly on the painting before looking down in contemplation.

After you’d left the main room, you walked through the halls with other groups and couples, seemingly talking harmlessly but then you took in every piece of information and camera angle to the best of your ability. You stopped to admire one piece in particular, a kick to the gut but when Jason placed a hand on the small of your back, you looked at him. To anyone else the gesture would have been discreet and simple, but between the two of you it carried weight - a silent form of comfort. All you couldn’t place if it was due to his reveal, or just the stress of tonight, but you knew he’d intended the subtle gesture as a comforting touch.

He turned to look at you, his eyes softening before flicking down to your parted lips, your lipstick beautifully painted as he took into account every detail of your presence. His jaw clenched before he removed his hand, turning back to the wall and you turned your head, not letting the heat show on your face due to his touch.

“It’s a beautiful painting.”, you looked up at him, turning and continuing down the hall. Jason had lingered behind a moment longer, his chest filling with a rush of emotion before following behind you. Now wasn’t the time to dig up hidden meanings and make sense of them.

Not now.

There was only half an hour before the auction started off, even less time than that before speeches and dinner started. You and Jason needed to be quick, needed to plant the chips, hack into the security system, and return before anyone caught on to your antics. You nodded at him, silently giving him an unspoken confirmation to complete your individual tasks before rendezvousing back to the main hall.

You had carefully taken in every inch of the building, watching and taking note of everything that came into proximity. You had to get to the server room and set up the security system to a no detectable loop, ensuring the system couldn’t be traced back to anyone just long enough to get what you needed and leave. You navigated the halls in focus, quickly scanning through while keeping complete composure and even nodding at a few people who walked past you to lighten suspicion.

You quickly hurried through the hallways until you backtracked, heading down a hallway that was more dim than the rest and noticing the nameplate next to the door. You stood a few feet away to stay out of sight of the camera, trying to have as little mess to clean up as possible as you examined the door silently. You played through every possibility in your head within seconds, trying to find the best route of action to move forward with.

You were able to find an opening just a few inches from a camera, a minute blind spot but it was all you needed to succeed. You had been keeping tabs on the security system long enough to see the actual entrance to the security room was blocked off. It gave you the perfect in to pick the lock, place the chip, set pre recorded footage, and delete any footage that showed your and Jason's entrance into the event and anything that could put you as suspects. You needed 10 minutes to pull the whole thing off.

You knelt down to the handle, inserting the pin you can tucked into your hair, and began to work on the lock. It was a simple thing even for being placed in an event like this. After a few seconds, the subtle clicks gave away the opening of the lock, turning the handle and pushing the door open.

It was empty.

That eliminated one concern you had. If someone was in here you’d have to get your hands dirty.

You closed the door, walked over to the desk and pulled the chair back to sit in it. You overlooked everything quickly, taking in every angle of the event being monitored in high definition. You could see the main room, the hallways, the club rooms, the library, the fountain where the art and jewels were displayed, even see the entrance to the gala as well as the outside cameras. Everything was here all in 30 tiny screens. You smirked at yourself.

They really knew how to cover bases when they needed to. No doubt they did an in depth review of every inch of the location to ensure tighter security.

You quickly typed in a virus code, connecting your chip to the server and watching the file download. You glanced at the camera that pointed into the hall next to the room you were in. Still empty. A good sign but it also left you on edge. You needed to hurry.

You watched the file download, turning green in completion as you quickly added it to the server and set the programming to start with the looped footage in 15 minutes. You needed to hurry and program your chip to delete footage from the past hour, coding it into the system as fast as possible.

You froze at the sound of the handle of the door turning, your heart pounding in your chest as you quickly finished the code. At least if you were caught they wouldn’t be able to trace this back to you. You removed your chip and shoved it into the inside of your dress, replacing the pin into your hair as you moved away from the computers.

The turning of the handle made you freeze, not wanting to take out the gun you had strapped to your thigh. You pressed your back against the wall, holding your breath as the door opened with a soft creaking before watching someone walk inside. A tall muscular figure walked into the room, probably a guard, you quickly rushed him from behind, feeling the turn of his body as the both of you slammed on the ground.

“If you wanted to get on top of me, all you had to do was ask, sweetheart.”, your eyes snapped up to him, your body completely flush with his as his hands laid perfectly on your curves. You felt a heat rise into your face, the flexing of his fingers on your waist making you burn hotter.

You pushed yourself off of him, fixing your dress and glaring at him. “You’re insufferable.”, you muttered as he smirked at you.

“I planted my chips. We have 15 minutes.”, he rolled his eyes, ignoring your momentary frustration. “We need to move.”

He gestured for you to follow as both of you slipped into the hall and navigated through the ornate corridors of the building, blending seamlessly among the guests. You couldn't deny the rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins; working with Jason was like walking on a knife's edge—exciting, unpredictable, and dangerous.

You both moved through the corridor, trying to make your way back to the main room in time to make your rounds before moving into the final stages of your plan. You’d haven't thought about Marcos and Calvi, knowing they’d probably be preoccupied in the sitting room doing their usual sketchy business. You didn’t see them on the cameras during your search earlier, but yet again, the probability of a secret room with no surveillance wasn’t too far off from what would be considered a possibility. Besides, it was better if Calvi stayed out of the way, especially when it would make things far more exhausting having to manage him and this operation.

You tried to focus, your head swirling with a hundred different thoughts but if you lost even a minute detail, the whole operation would go to shit. Jason seemed a lot more focused, maybe the years of practice or just being gifted with that skill. Either way, it made him a good partner in all things criminal, even if you wouldn’t admit it out loud.

Slipping back to the main room, everyone seemed to be within the grand walls of the ballroom, either socializing or in the middle of the open floor. You and Jason both slipped through the crowd, trying to make it back where Calvi and Marcos had left you before the harmonizing of orchestra instruments caused you to come to a sudden halt.

Shit.

You could not get caught in this right now, it would set your entire plan back. You grit your teeth before turning to find confirmation in Jason to get out of this situation but your irritation grew when you looked over at him. You watched him extend a hand towards you, your eyes widened slightly in shock as you hesitated to touch his palm.

He could not be serious right now.

His eyes urged you forward, showing the seriousness in reminding you of the role you had to play tonight despite the reminders it gave you of your past. You couldn’t raise suspicion.

You slowly grabbed his hand, letting him lead you onto the dance floor as the orchestra played a simple waltz. You felt him get into perfect position, your body moving in sync with his. It felt like he was almost trained to attend events like these, he truly did commit to the part but then again he was the son of Bruce Wayne. You were sure he had more experience with Galas than you did.

You recalled the moments you spent living with The Family, forced into a position of learning how to waltz and dance in order to better fit into the mold of their image. You didn’t mind it too much but you found it redundant, tiresome, tedious.

Jason’s body moved in sync with the orchestra music, his movement smooth and in pace. You could barely keep up with him as he twirled you around before bringing you back in, your chests meeting each other as you sucked in a silent breath. You felt his breath slightly on your lips, your eyes meeting his as your faces hovered only inches from each other. You held his gaze as you saw an underlying burning in his eyes, they were dark and hazy almost like he was a man starved. You breathed, your lips parting as your eyes flickered down, focused on everything that had to do with him and nothing with the reason why you were here.

You felt paused in time, like only you and him existed in this moment. Everything faded into nothing as the orchestra continued to play the waltz as it blurred into the background. You watched as his head tilted a millimeter, barely but enough to notice at the proximity you were at. His eyes flicked to your lips for a split second only to meet your eyes again. His body heat burned your skin, your pulse skyrocketing into a pounding sensation and slightly praying he couldn’t feel or hear it. His face was too close, his lips just a breath away from touching yours, everything in him burning at the proximity.

The clapping from tonight's attendees broke you out of your trance, forcing you out of the moment you shared with Jason and snapping you into reality. You blinked, stepping back as he removed his body from yours only to give the traditional bow and walk away. You watched as he headed to the bar, your eyes looking around at everyone going back to their conversations and ignoring the people on the dance floor.

What was that?

You felt a pang of emotion in your chest, your irritation brewing as you walked over to the bar where you watched him order another drink and down it in one go. You stood next to him, your heels helping you meet his eyeline as you tugged his arm back and forcing the green eyed man to look at you.

“What was that?”, you whispered in a sharp tone, only loud enough for him to hear you.

His hooded eyes looked at yours, he looked exhausted or maybe just drunk but you couldn’t bring yourself to care at that moment. Whatever was going on with him internally he needed to figure out outside of this mission before he ruined everything. Your eyes narrowed at him as a half-assed smirk appeared on his lips.

“I’m keeping appearances, wasn’t that the plan?”, he said lazily, his demeanor completely changing. This wasn’t his usual act, so why was he putting it on?

“You’re going to blow our cover.”, your spit through clenched teeth. “You’re going to ruin everything.”

“I think we both know that’s not the reason you’re upset, sweetheart.”, he retaliated.

“That wasn’t keeping appearances, Red!”, you whisper yelled at him, the burning in your eyes growing stronger as he stood upright.

“Maybe not.”, he shrugged, his voice carrying a hint of something you couldn’t quite place. His eyes flickered with an unreadable emotion.

You took a step closer, your voice a low murmur laden with urgency and frustration. "We have a job to do. This isn't about personal feelings or playing games."

“Yes, Ma’am”, he did a mocking salute before looking over your shoulder. “Let’s just get this over with.”

Why did he become an asshole all of a sudden? You were about to spit something back at him before you felt a hand on your waist.

“Vivian, Jason. Apologies for being gone so long, I hope the two of you were able to keep each other company?”, Calvi looked at you with deep eyes, his smile forced but he didn’t need to know you could tell.

“Everything has been pretty calm here. I think they may start the dinner soon.”, you smiled at him as you felt the dark stare coming from Jason.

“Then, let’s get to our tables shall we? Jason, I believe you and Marcos are with us tonight.”

“Let’s find our seats then.”, he pulled out a fake charming smile as he followed behind the both of you. The atmosphere crackled with unspoken tension, the weight of your shared moment just a few minutes ago hung between the two of you. You couldn’t deny whatever pull Jason had on you, but you needed to shove the thoughts away. Outside of this job, he was still a name on your list of targets.

Calvi pulled out your seat once you’d reached the other room where the dinner would proceed. Several other guests were already sitting at their tables as they surrounded the main stage, waiting for the speaker to come up for the night and proceed into the auction. Your heart pounded in your chest as you looked at the clock on the wall. You had less than five minutes to find an opening or you would lose your only advantage.

“Calvi, I need to step out for a moment. I'm just going to head to the washroom”, you asked trying to sound as calm as possible.

“I'll accompany you, I have a call I need to make.”, Jason’s voice rang out, Calvi nodding slightly as he looked towards Jason. “I can walk with you."

“Thank you, Jason.”, you forced. “I’ll be back before they even start with the first round of appetizers and the opening speech.”, you placed a soft kiss on Calvi’s cheek, trying to keep up the appearance of his adorned partner.

You followed behind Jason closely, his shoulders tense as he parted in the opposite direction once you exited the dining hall, leaving as you went into the women's restroom. You pushed the door open, opening the final stall and locking it behind you. You quickly removed the hidden compartment behind the wall. To anyone else it looked like the normal wall in the restroom, but you had managed to sneak your undercover clothing into the empty space behind it. You quickly removed your dress, pulling it off gently as you changed into the simple kitchen staff clothing. Black pants, black button up, non slip shoes and tying your hair into a bun. You had opted for makeup that was easy to put on and take off, quickly taking off parts of the eye shadow before letting yourself look more natural. The same with your hair as it only remained in a slicked back ponytail, making it easy to twist into a bun. You quickly put on the tie and the hat you had that the kitchen staff wore in order to hide your face.

You quickly zipped your dress into a seal proof bag and shoved it into the wall along with your heels, fixing it before looking down at your watch. You had less than 2 minutes before you needed to look for the diamond, 8 minutes to find the case and retrieve it, all while keeping a low profile.

You pushed through the door of the restroom and walked confidently through the halls, your eyes taking in the different cases being showcased around you with all the different jewels. Some of them remained in cases, but according to your plan book, it would be on display tonight for the auction.

You paced through the halls, seeing dressed in all black Jason walk up next to you, his attire matching the security guards uniform as his words dropped into your ears. “We need to move quickly.”, he breathed as his eyes glanced over at the other servers moving through the halls carrying trays.

You hummed in agreement, your focus sharp as you fell into step with him before breaking apart once again. He went towards the east wing and you to the west, both wings holding different jewels but only one holding the one you needed.

45 seconds until the outage.

You moved through the halls quickly. Your eyes skimming every jewel showcased on the mannequins that were also dressed in beautiful gowns and wore other expensive jewels.

30 seconds.

Jason paced the east wing, his eyes taking in every case, keeping a close watch on the cameras and making himself look as normal as possible. Being dressed in security clothing and observing the rooms would cease suspicion. It was the perfect cover.

15 seconds.

You felt your heart pound as you looked at the last of the people head into the dining hall.

10 seconds.

Jason felt a tug in his gut as he heard the announcer start speaking in the other room, signaling his opening in a few seconds.

5 seconds.

You could hear the announcer in the other room, then complete silence before you heard the scream of one of the guests. The power had gone completely out and you watched the camera intently as the red light signaling its recording flickered off. You felt yourself go into overdrive, your body quickly searching through the mannequins as your watch gave you the alarm that you only had 8 minutes before the cameras and the security locks on the cases turned back on.

Adrenaline surged through you as the darkness acted as your cover, the loss of power would only give you so much time. You knew each second counted, quickly moving as you scanned each mannequin with precision, your senses heightened due to the lack of light. The echo of distant voices carried down the hall, the subtle sound of rushed footsteps heightening your awareness. Your heart pounded in your chest every time there was a noise down the hall, but you couldn’t let your anxiety get to you if you were going to pull this off. You needed to focus on this and only this. You only hoped that if you couldn’t find the diamond here, Jason had it already.

Time blurred as you felt the pressure slowly start to build as you felt the reality sink in. Where was it?!

You looked at your watch, only having 4 minutes to retrieve what you needed, get back to the restroom and change, find Jason, and return to the dining hall before security inevitably took everyone to evacuate the building. The adrenaline and pounding of your heart only increased as you watched the time go down, Jason still not having sent the signal to your receiver that he had found it on his end.

In the east wing, Jason felt himself struggling to keep his composure. He knew you only had mere minutes before the both of you would have to return empty handed or with the diamond in hand. He contemplated just taking a different diamond out of its place, but none of them would hold the same weight as Josephine would towards making a direct hit at Black Mask. Jason looked at his watch, not having received a signal from you yet. Would all of this have been for nothing?

His watch told him he only had 2 minutes left. His jaw clenched, the plan was to be back in the main room by the time 1 minute hit, he had to leave and get changed now if he was going to erase suspicion.

Dammit.

He turned, rushing back to the restroom and quickly changing, shoving the clothes back into the hidden compartment behind the wall as he fixed his suit and swept his hair back in his neat, yet messy style he had when he had arrived at the event for the night. He walked out of the restroom, fixing his cuffs and trying to wipe the sweat from his forehead as he navigated carefully back into the main room, the sound of chatter and mild chaos breaking out as the announcer called for everyone to follow the guards leading them to exit the building.

The hum of electricity signaled the return of power, followed by the faint buzz of security systems coming back online. Jason’s eyes moved through the crowd as he blended in, trying to find any sign of you within the sea of bodies. Everyone walked around him, the security yelling before Jason felt a hand grab him.

“Jason!”, Marcos’ voice rang out. “C’mon. We have to go.”

“What happened?”, his voice deep in confusion although he wasn’t naïve to the situation.

“Security breach. They’re evacuating everyone.”, Marcos said, annoyed as Jason followed next to him, his eyes still skimming through the crowd.

Where were you?

“They don’t want to be at risk for a possible hit. Apparently there have been too many raids around the city targeting the luxury businesses in Upper Gotham.”, Marcos continued.

Jason really couldn’t care at the moment, but he followed behind everyone as they made their way down the stairs and through the security checkpoint. The security were patting down each person, ensuring they didn’t carry anything from the inside out. It made Jason’s heart pump as he watched Marcos get patted down, him following closely behind as he continued to skim through the attendees getting checked by the line of guards.

The guard rushed him forward after being checked, fixing his cuffs Jason looked over at Marcos as he called for his car. “Do you need a ride?”, Marcos asked silently.

“No. I have my own car, thanks though.”, Why was he on edge? He was sure you’d gotten out, maybe you were already back at the rendezvous point. You both agreed to meet there in case anything fell through. His jaw tightened as he grew deeper in thought, waving mindlessly as Marcos left in his car and he walked through the streets until he reached his hidden motorcycle in the back alleys of the city.

He placed the black helmet over his head, kicking up the motorcycle stand as he revved the engine to life, the screeching of tires sounding out as he drove through the city pushing his top speed. His unease gnawed at him as his mind raced through each second he spent on the road. He forced himself to remember you were smart, resourceful, and were probably the best to get out of a tough situation. Yet, the weight of uncertainty hung around him like a 500 pound weight.

His anticipation made him tighten his grip on the handles as he sped through the city streets, weaving through traffic with his timely precision he’d honed throughout the years. The wind enveloped him in a blanket, doing little to ease the anxiety growing in his bones. Every turn, every stoplight, it all heightened his sense of urgency. He needed to be sure you made it back safe, that you were in your apartment and didn’t get caught.

As he pulled into the neighborhood, his focus intensified. He chose the familiar route he’d taken hundreds of times before, trying to find the fastest way to your apartment. He kicked down the stand on his bike as he left it in the alley, rushing up the stairs to your top floor apartment, his heart pumping faster no thanks to the stairs and the rush making him not even think about using the elevator. Each step, each floor, each second made his heart beat inside of him, he felt his anxiety creeping into his veins.

He jumped the last few steps, using his long legs to hurry up the stairs two steps at a time as he finally reached the floor you lived on. He knocked with a rush, the seconds elongating into excruciating seconds as he paced. He knocked again, the sound echoing through the night, his pulse pounding in his ears as he waited.

Did Calvi take her back to his estate?

Did she get caught looking for the diamond?

Did she get lost?

Just as he was about to turn and knock again, the door swung open, there you stood in your golden dress, your hair done as perfectly as it was when you arrived for the event tonight and your makeup still flawless. Your eyes were wide as you stared at him, the silence hanging in the air as he stared at you with shock in his eyes,

Relief flooded through him, overwhelming any lingering anxiety. "Y/n," he breathed, his voice rough with emotion.

“Jason.”, you breathed as you watched his eyes flicker into a calmness, almost like relief. “You didn’t use the window.” you said amused.

Jason ran a hand through his hair as he let out an airy laugh. “Figured this was more suitable for the occasion.”

You moved to the side, letting him enter the apartment as you closed the door behind you and locking it silently. You felt your heart calm from the anxiety you felt at not being able to find him during the final moments of the Gala. You had gotten lost and when Calvi found you, he rushed you out the exit and brought you home in his private car. When you arrived the only thing you worried about was if Jason was able to remember your plan to meet back at your apartment if anything had gone wrong, hoping he’d eventually show.

“I couldn’t find you after the power came back on.”, he muttered as he leaned on the kitchen table. “I didn’t find it.”

You met his gaze, letting the silence hover between the both of you as you let out a small laugh. Jason looked at you with confused eyes, his lips twitching as you laughed even harder. Were you laughing because the entire mission was a failure? Did you also fail in retrieving the diamond?

He watched you intently as you lifted the fabric to your dress, his hand twitching as it gripped the table. You showed off the part of your leg that held your gun, a small pouch attached to it. You carefully detached the small bag, your leg still on full display as Jason’s eyes lingered on your body, a flicker of lust burning inside of him as he forced himself to focus.

He watched as you opened the small velvet bag slowly, placing the 12 carat diamond ring on a silk cloth on the counter. The deep blue color radiating a kind of beauty you couldn’t recreate in a lab, it was definitely one of a kind. You walked over to the small cabinet you had against the wall, taking out a kit used by high end jewelers to decipher the worth and validity of diamonds like this one. He watched you intently, wondering why you could pull out a diamond loupe unless you suspected it was fake.

Though, he knew it was a good idea to do so.

He watched as you held the diamond carefully, examining it in the light and under the loupe to look at every detail and intricate curve within the jewel. You tried to work carefully, using your knowledge to properly decipher the validity of the diamond or if everything tonight had been for nothing. Your hands moved gently as you used the different tools in your kit to check every aspect of the diamond to leave no doubt that it was real.

The air between the two of you crackled with anticipation, the weight of your accomplishment hanging heavy in the room. Jason’s gaze flickered to you briefly, a smile hanging on his lips as he stood impressed by your resourcefulness and grace under pressure.

It was a 50/50 chance that the diamond was actually real, especially since it wasn’t uncommon for high profile events to use fakes in order to not take the risk of something getting stolen, the insurance would surely cost them a fortune.

$48.6 million was a lot of money.

You left him on edge, wondering why your silence had prolonged as he watched you.

It had been 15 minutes.

Was it a fake?

You pulled back, your shoulders slumping as you placed the diamond gently on the silk rag, a shuddered breath leaving your lips. He stood upright, his heart pounding at your body language. You slowly turned your head, meeting his gaze.

"Congratulations, Jason," you praised softly, your words carrying a mix of admiration and pride. "You're officially a millionaire.”. You pushed your baby hairs back, trying to let yourself calm down from the high as you turned towards him. “Oh my god, Jas-”

Jason's response was immediate and primal. In one swift motion, he closed the distance between you, pressing your back against the kitchen counter. His hand slid possessively around the back of your neck, fingers tangling in your hair as he slammed his lips on yours in a passionate kiss. His other arm wrapped firmly around your waist, pulling you flush against him, your body freezing at the sudden contact. Your heart pounded in your chest, your head spinning as he moved his lips against yours in a powerful and hungry way. His hold tightened as you moved your lips against his, breathing in his natural musk.

His hold on you became desperate, possessive, his muscular arms wrapping around you to make your frame push against his even more. His lips moved in a dominant manner, biting your bottom lip as he let himself lose all form of self control. Your hands found their way to Jason's shoulders, fingers tangling in his tuxedo jacket as you responded to his kiss with equal fervor. His toned body flexing under your fingers almost like it burned him but it left him wanting more of you.

The world outside faded away as you stood locked in a dance of desire and danger, your hearts beating in sync with the rush of adrenaline that still coursed through you. The kiss deepened, a testament to the electric connection that had sparked between the two of you amidst the chaos and danger of your mission. He couldn’t get enough of you, his mouth finally pulling away so the two of you could catch your breath. You opened your eyes slightly, looking at his hooded ones as his eyes flickered to your swollen lips.

Was it the adrenaline?

Was it the high?

Was it him?

Was it everything around you that led you to this moment?

“Jason…”, you whispered against his mouth as you tried to catch your breath.

You couldn’t even catch your breath before his mouth devoured yours again, pressing his body against yours and pushing you against the wall behind you. His body hunched over slightly due to the height difference but his dominance was overwhelming, pushing you into overdrive. Your hands tangled in his hair, his lips leaving your mouth and kissing down the side of your neck. Your body shook from the pleasure, your nails digging into his arm as his hand reached your lower back and pulled you against him again. His teeth bit the curve of your neck slightly, licking the sensitive area as a soft moan released from your lips.

In that stolen moment, as you kissed amidst the quiet of your apartment, everything else melted away—the heist, the risks, the uncertainty of your future. There was only the heat of the connection, the electricity that crackled between you, and the undeniable truth that you both had crossed a line you couldn't un-cross.

As you finally pulled apart, breathless and flushed, You looked up at Jason with wide eyes, your heart racing in sync with his. Jason rested his forehead against yours, your eyes locked in a silent exchange that spoke volumes of unspoken promises and newfound intimacy.

“Jay…”, his name slipped from your lips in a desperate tone, your body betraying you by reacting to the final swipe he did on your skin, nipping on your neck before pulling back.

“Y/n….”

Jason rested his forehead against yours, his voice husky as he murmured, "We did it."

You smiled, your fingers tracing lightly along Jason's suit. "Yeah, we did," you whispered, your lips swollen and missing his as you spoke.

In that moment, as you stayed in his hold and met his gaze in silence, you felt in your bones the truth of your relationship with him. Despite the anger, the hatred, the stupid hits at one another, Jason wasn’t the threat you believed him to be. The tension that had grown between the two of you, the moments of uncertainty where doubt had threatened to cloud your judgment, the anger that had been placed inside of you by Sionis, it all disappeared when you met his gaze.

You felt a familiarity in him, despite your denial, you couldn’t push it away. Not when there had been so many times he had helped you, taken you out of harm's way, and refused to make any hits that would result in serious harm.

You’d believed for months that he was irritating, a nuisance, the bane of your existence and yet… here you were completely wrapped up in him.

The cold realization sank into your bones…

What have you done?

AN:

Hey guys!

I want to thank you guys for being so patient with me and the release of this chapter. Uni has been picking up and being between summer classes and fulltime at work, sometimes my posting has to get delayed! So i really appreciate the grace in this!

This series is hitting its mid way point, so there will be more picking up of everything pretty soon!

Also I have a few drafts of a JJK fanfic that I made, one with SukunaxReader and one with GetoxReader that I will be posting either while I write this series or after. I still haven’t decided yet!

Please continue to leave feedback and comments! I love reading them esp the personal messages i’ve received from many of you!

See you next week! xx.

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