r-kaye

[r-kaye]

Tobias Rieper, PI

Los Angeles may be called the city of angels, but Tobias was certain that there were no angels left hanging around. Everywhere he looked there was misery and tragedy; people losing their jobs, spouses cheating on their partners, mafiosi making people disappear. Any God that had been in LA seemed to have damned them long ago, taking off with the angels, likely.

That Thursday night was no different. He had walked down the street, watching children beg and men back from the war fight as he tried to find the address Olivia had scrawled on the corner of his newspaper that morning. He was supposed to meet a man named Smith about a problem he was having, which Tobias hoped was just another cheating wife. Those types of cases were a pain in his ass, but money was tight. A few pictures may well keep Olivia and him at least sheltered for another week. The back rent on the office was getting awful high, and he just couldn’t let the damn thing go.

So Tobias stuffed his hands into his pockets and kept walking, skipping around the cracks and debris on the sidewalk as he scanned the house numbers in the low light of the few street lamps that were actually lit. He was unfamiliar with the neighborhood, and he was sure that he had already made several wrong turns. Before long, he was wandering aimlessly down a poorly lit alley, checking each doorway as he somehow made his way closer to the address Mister Smith had left for him. 

The meeting spot turned out to be a vacant lot at the very end of the street, butted up against a derelict factory that dead ended the road. Tobias’ skin prickled despite the relatively warm September evening, his gun hanging heavily in its holster against his chest; he’d have reversed his stride and skipped back across town to the office if “Mister Smith” hadn’t been standing at the curb lighting a cigarette. He and Mister Smith were well acquainted, if one would consider them such, enough so that a cigarette case was tossed Tobias’s way.

“Viktor, I told you I don’t want to do that kind of work for you,” he said, accepting the cigarette being offered to him. He pulled his own lighter out to light the cigarette, exhaling the smoke with a sigh as he tossed the case back to its owner.

Viktor Novikov smiled widely at him in the flickering streetlight. He shrugged and pocketed his cigarette case.

“Can’t blame a man for trying. What if you’d changed your mind?” he drawled, inhaling and exhaling a drag of his cigarette before gesturing wildly with his smoking hand. “It seems like you may be in a position to accept my offer. My condolences, by the way. It must be very difficult, losing your partner.”

Tobias bristled at the comment, the urge to do something incredibly rash rising higher and higher in his stomach. Viktor rolled his eyes, raising both hands in a pseudo-apology. 

“I’m sorry; that was incredibly rude of me. I know Grey meant a great deal to you, saving you in the war. And now the possibility of losing the business you built together… I am in need of a service, and I am more than willing to pay you more than enough to keep yourself and… what is her name… Miss Hall, that’s it… comfortable and taken care of. What do you say?”

Tobias didn’t care for his cavalier tone of voice, nor the fact that he had brought Lucas and Olivia into the conversation. He took one more drag from the cigarette, relishing the taste one last time (cigarettes hadn’t made the budget this week) as he regrettably flicked the half burned paper down.

“I say that I told you I’m not a bodyguard. I’m not sneaking and following your wife around because you pissed off some politician or don or another.” He stepped on the cigarette and kicked it off the curb into the street, watching Viktor’s smile fade into a deep frown. “If you’re worried about her safety, hire an actual bodyguard. I’m a detective.”

Tobias turned on his heel, resting his hand on his gun as he began his retreat. Viktor scoffed as he walked away, calling after him, “Everything will catch up to you eventually, Rieper. It has already caught up to Grey.”

Before he could turn around to rebut, Viktor disappeared into the shadows, leaving Tobias alone on the sidewalk pondering his parting words.

He didn’t have long to ponder before a shadow stepped from the alley and connected a fist to his jaw. He reeled back, nearly falling into the street as his feet stumbled to steady himself on the edge of the curb.

[r-kaye]

I’m alive

[r-kaye]

have you no idea (you’re in deep)

She had watched him fuck up; instead of hearing her short congratulations on a job well done, he had heard her swear as he had been caught heaving the target over the low railing into the river. The ensuing fight had been rather short. His assailant got the first stab in as he turned to face his would-be killer. Sharp pain spread through his stomach as he grabbed the closest object he could find, which happened to be the target’s unopened soda, sitting on the ledge 47 had just tossed the body over. The second stab missed as he sidestepped away, merely cutting through his shirt and shallowly slicing a large path across his side. 47 gripped the soda can tightly as he brought it across his assailant’s face with as much force as he could muster. The man fell to the ground and hastily joined the target in the river running serenely past them. The damage had been done, however, as alarms started ringing throughout the compound. 

“Get out, 47,” Diana said, the sharpness of her voice something he hated to have directed at him. He gave no reply, just running as fast as he could through the bushes and shadows, pressing a hand tightly against the stab wound. She was silent as he moved deeper into the forest surrounding the compound, stopping to catch his breath at the edge of the city when he could no longer hear guards screaming behind him. He dipped down an alley and got lost among the masses of people who cared too little for those around them to notice the blood pouring from the two knife wounds on his lower abdomen, staining his already ruined shirt and dripping onto his pants alarmingly fast. He thought that he had gotten lucky; it felt like he had been stabbed there before, maybe the scar tissue had lessened the damage. There was a sports coat draped over the back of a patio chair nearly in the street as he passed and taking it was very important to avoiding suspicion. He pulled the jacket on, wincing as he slid it on his left arm, quickly checking the pockets. The wallet he found was promptly discarded, tossed under the chair as he walked briskly away. He needed to find a place to bandage his wounds before heading to the airport, but foremost on his mind was the part that had his head spinning and stomach flipping much more than the blood loss.

Soon Diana would have to contact him again.

[r-kaye]

necessity (continued)

They had started sleeping in the same bed out of necessity, or at least that was what they both claimed. When 47 had started work on his new safe house, he hadn’t seen a reason for having a second bedroom. It was only him. He never would have imagined that Diana would turn up, bags in tow, and stay. It had taken him a long time to realize she intended to stay. He had spent the first week sleeping in the den, insisting that he couldn’t let her sleep on the couch, but she was obstinate that he not be displaced from his own bed in his own house. 

“Really, 47, I don’t see why we can’t share a bed,” she had finally declared, crossing her arms in a way he had learned meant she was either about to make a good point or just get her way. “A king size bed has enough room for both of us.”

The first night had been nerve wracking for him, his stomach in knots as he brushed his teeth for a second time, prolonging his night routine. Diana had already gotten in bed, and he couldn’t imagine what to do or say once he left the bathroom. There was no script, intel, or past experience for him to rely on. He had no role to play; there was only 47. He finally steeled himself, striding out of the bathroom like he always did. Diana had been sitting against the headboard, under the comforter, a book open with her reading glasses perched on her nose. He had stopped in his tracks at the sight of her, hair down around her shoulders, shining like fire in the light of the lamp on the bedside table. She was wearing one of his sweatshirts, an old Oxford one that he was fairly certain she had gifted him after visiting Victoria years before. She had closed her book, looking up at him with a soft smile. He would have done anything if she kept smiling at him like that. She sat the book on the table, then patted the other side of the bed. 

He wasn’t one to disobey her.

[r-kaye]

Explicit, Mission Fic, Second Chance Romance, Jealousy

He has never stopped watching her. She is good at staying hidden from view, and he fears that if he looks away for a second too long, she’ll disappear into the world, never to be found again. And because he has been watching her, he knows she is looking for him too. It will be only a matter of time before she finds him.

[r-kaye]

"you can't just relate everything back to this ship" prepare to be stunned and amazed at how little control i have over my own brain

[r-kaye]

there needs to be more content specifically aimed at people who grew up in the middle of rural bumfuck nowhere who love the shitty worn down rusty pickup truck unclean gas station bigfoot sighting 200 degree weather dirt-eating redneck vibe of it all without the whole homophobic white christianity thing

[r-kaye]

untouchable

47 had never trusted anyone like Diana.

She was his handler, his conscience, his other half, his partner. They had been together so long that she was the same as breathing; an unavoidable, unconscious part of life.

So as she pushed her foot against his shoulder, rolling his seizing form back into the dirt, he struggled to stay alert for as long as possible. He couldn’t believe this was how it ended, betrayed again by the only person who had been close enough to do it a first time. She had become his weakness, he realized as his brain began to scramble, thoughts becoming harder to string together. A slight part of him hoped this was some sort of plan she hadn’t trusted him with, but the cold indifference in her voice cut him to the bone as she spoke of her parents; he was just a weapon to her, one that had turned out unsatisfactory in the end. He abandoned thought as she knelt in the dirt next to him, instead deciding to use what he had left of his faculties to simply look at her; if it was the last time he ever got to see her, he would let himself indulge, even as she was throwing him to the dogs in a power play of revenge.

He willed his eyes to linger over her as he apologized, stuttering unwillingly as his body began shutting down in response to the neurotoxin. Her head was haloed by the setting sun, copper hair shining like fire against the branches of the olive trees. Her eyes held no emotion for him; where he once sought empathy and reassurance there was only the cold depth of her earthy eyes. He gazed over her nose and mouth while she spoke, taking in the lines where she had once wrinkled her face in laughter. The path down the column of her neck and onto her chest was littered with freckles, so small and faded he could hardly make them out; he wondered if he was imagining them. The dress she was wearing was beautiful; he had thought she looked stunning as he approached her on the dance floor and almost let himself murmur as much in her ear as they danced. He supposed now that he wished he had. 

Diana knelt over him then, their faces closer than he could ever remember them being. He saw something cross her eyes, a glimmer in the dark, but he wasn’t sure he could trust his mind at that point; the area around them had grown dark, his eyes trying to compensate as his body failed, filling his vision with dark spots and Diana.

“This is a kindness,” she spoke softly then, almost as if it were just to him. He knew it wasn’t. He could hear the CICADA team moving in around them as she stood from his prone body. “Goodbye, agent.”

47 succumbed to the toxin as Diana walked away, no reason to fight against it any longer.

[r-kaye]

STOP WHAT YOU'RE DOING

Jane Perry, voice actress of Returnal and Hitman's Diana Burnwood, says Trans Rights (and a little bit more)

[r-kaye]

Olivia and Diana have an enlightening conversation that leaves Diana with some feelings that she had never considered.

OR

I got the phrase “you wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid” stuck in my head…

Rated T for saying fuck a lot and the kissing, I guess

[r-kaye]

too busy (being yours)

The ICA had very strict policies against handlers and agents being in the same place, but Diana Burnwood had always made herself the exception. In the past, it only happened after a contract got fucked. 47 would make it to the next safe house, take a brief moment to redress his hastily bandaged wounds, and Diana would turn up shortly after. She didn’t dote on him, nurse his wounds, or usually even speak. She would sweep around the safe house, checking for bugs that he had already removed, before going to the kitchen and finding something that resembled a meal. They would eat in silence, her eyes boring into him as if she were trying to set him on fire. She would clear the dishes, watching him intently as he stood and headed into the bedroom. He never had to wait long for her to follow him or for her to begin stripping him of his shirt, examining the job he had done patching himself up. The chill that he felt down his spine when he was compromised had absolutely nothing on the iciness of her stare or touch as she put pressure on his wounds, testing his pain level. His knees would always go weak, having known from the moment he screwed up the mission what would be happening next. The bed would be suddenly underneath him as she pushed against his bare chest, her hands already working to undo his belt and yank his pants down just enough to free his achingly hard cock before climbing astride him. 

Now that they were independent contractors, he wondered if this time would be any different.

[r-kaye]

Another highly highly highly specific poll because I'm both extremely bored and extremely curious.

[r-kaye]

being so fucking annoying about a subject on a regular basis that people associate it enough with you to call someone within it “your guy” is so funny. yeah that man is the lead singer of an acclaimed band but he is also My Guy, i guess. that’s true

[r-kaye]

Its all “i love putting guys in situations” until were on a filler episode. Where are the REAL putting guys in situations lovers.

[r-kaye]

One of them will have to get finished eventually, right???

[r-kaye]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Hitman (Video Games) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Agent 47/Diana Burnwood Characters: Agent 47 (Hitman), Diana Burnwood Additional Tags: New Year’s Eve, Kissing at Midnight, Balcony Scene, Pre-World of Assassination (Hitman), before anything except the training missions, erich soders is an ass Summary:

There was one agent that people had been whispering about as they saw her pass by, his absence the apparent talk of the evening. Diana had wondered if 47 would show up, but he had seemed to lack any interest in the occasion when she had passed along the invitation. She really couldn’t imagine him there, drinking and mingling.

Of course, 47 wouldn’t come to an Agency party.

It’s time to party like it’s 1999, but Diana feels like something is missing to ring in the new millennium right. or 47 shows up at an Agency party.

[r-kaye]

this is complete!

https://archiveofourown.org/works/46388515

Y2K

The ballroom was absolutely beautiful, all arches, chandeliers, and hidden alcoves, located in one of the city’s finest luxury hotels. There were several bars open, as well as waiters walking around with trays of champagne and various canapés. The people mingled and laughed, enjoying the last night of the millennium as they drank just a little too much. A band played ambient music, nothing in vogue or too recognizable, keeping steady waves of dancers entering and exiting the dance floor.

It felt silly to be there, but Soders had made it very clear that she was to attend. So Diana had bought a new dress, one that she wouldn’t have dared to wear to a society party; the slit went well past her thigh, just below her hip. She had stepped out of the changing room to the uproar of praise from the friends that had accompanied her, as well as the whistles of several passersby. The deep green velvet contrasted her alabaster skin and copper hair; the off shoulder bodice accentuated the sparse freckles that peppered her shoulders, clavicles, and upper back. Her friends had goaded her into wearing several layered necklaces, the long golden chains more of a decoration for the wide expanse of her exposed back. She had felt beautiful when she turned in the mirror, watching how the hem fell as the long slit seemed to lengthen her legs; she could have almost forgotten she was buying a dress to wear to a party for her new contract killing job.