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gallusrostromegalus · 2 years ago

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The Van Has Officially Declared It Spooky Season

---

I've got my parent's van for the week and it seems determined to establish my status as The Local Cryptid by terrorizing an innocent 7-11 clerk.

...I might need to back up a bit.

My mother is an eminently sensible woman who knows herself well, and when The Plauge hit, she knew she'd need some sort of mentally and physically engaging craft project to keep herself from going insane and massacring the local zoning and water management boards (even if they have it coming). So she and Dad acquired a utility van and converted it into a camper van because while they love camping, they're past the age where their joints and immune systems will tolerate sleeping on the cold ground in a nylon tent.

They did a terrific job of it and my mom taught herself woodworking and carpentry and now the van has it's own cabinets, fold-away dining table, and removable queen-sized bed with memory foam mattress. My Dad was already a computer engineer, but he learned the dark magics of automotive software and electronics to install after-market backup cameras, a media player that would take a terabyte hard drive and a solar-powered battery and outlet so they could wake up and just turn on the kettle and griddle for breakfast without having to exit the van into a cold morning on an empty stomach.

Truly, the height of Camping Luxury.

My parents are both in their mid-seventies and my primary life goal is to be at least half as cool and hale as they are when I get old.

Anyway, they take it out at least a dozen times a year and it works fabulously, but, being as I am on good terms with my parents and also finishing the process of moving house, I've been borrowing it to move large and cumbersome objects that will not fit in the back of my equally lovely but minuscule Honda hatchback.

It's a Great Van. Very easy and comfortable to drive. Stunningly good MPG for it's size. The best cruise control I've ever had in a car.

It's just also. Quirky. Mischievous, even.

---

If this van has a fault its that it bears the unfortunate affliction that all lightly used white utility vans have in that the combination of an utter lack of branding features and the large dent/scrape I accidentally put on it while trying to escape a Denny's last Thanksgiving means that this vehicle is one addition of a Badly Spray-Painted "FREE CANDY" on the side away from being the sort of vehicle you see in an edgy horror movie.

It's got the same issue that Doberman Dogs have where they look like the sort of creature that likes to snack on toddler's faces whilst actually having personalities made of marshmallow fluff. This vehicle is unnecessarily menacing and I think nothing short of an airbrushed Epic Van Wizard will correct this. People see this van pull up and lean over and squint suspiciously at me when the driver's side door opens, and then look moderately confused when, instead of Charles Manson, a small, potato-shaped creature with neon purple hair and a statistically unlikely assortment of dogs emerges.

My own two dogs, Herschel the Hanukkah Goblin/Corgi and Charleston Chew The Taco Dumpster Dog, Do Not Like The Van. Even with the bed in it, they have a tendency to slide and roll around in the back, and both WILL chew through dog saftey belts or other attempts to secure them in there.

On the other hand, my house mate's dog, an exceptionally tall standard poodle whom we lovingly call "The Creature", loves the Van because SHE wears her doggy seat-belt with only mild complaining and gets to sit up in the passenger seat like A People.

Also like A People, The Creature likes to stand and walk around on her hind legs. It doesn't hurt her and it's entirely voluntary, but every so often I will feel a hand on my arm and instead of my husband or friend, it's a canine that's taller than I am on her hind legs who wants to stare at my face with soulful, concerned eyes. The Creature's favorite thing is that she is exactly the right height for me to hold her arm in Genteel Fashion and walk around the pet food or hardware store with her like I'm a count escorting a debutante around a royal ball.

---

As it stands, I am set to inherit this vehicle whenever my Honda gives up the ghost, and I fully intend to paint an Epic Van Wizard on it when that time comes.

The other peculiarity of The Van is that while Dad did manage to successfully install all his after-market electronics, not all the electronics get along. Sometimes, they fight for Dominance. The Terabyte Music Player and the Backup Camera have a particularly contentious relationship, and turning on the music has about a 25% chance of turning on the backup camera as well, and turning on the Backup Camera is equally likely to turn on the music.

Firthermore, The Van has a favorite song.

I am not kidding that Dad filled an entire terabyte hard drive with music and the software to sort it via the radio controls, but of all the Early Boomer Dad Rock (Kingston Trio over The Eagles) and Irish Folk and Symphonies and the entire discography of Weird Al Yankovic, The Van's favorite song- The one it picks to play as victory music every time it beats the Backup Camera at their weird electronic game of rock-paper-scissors -is The Liberty Bell March by John Phillip Sousa.

You all know this song already.

...but in case you've forgotten the tune:

youtube

Yeah.

The Van's favorite song is the goddamn Monty Python's Flying Circus Theme Music.

It does not play this song at a normal volume.

Every time I turn on the Backup Camera and it manages to turn the music player on as well, The Van insists on absolutely blasting this nonsense on at the maximum volume it's physically capable of producing, which I know is loud enough to be heard from the Denver International Airport's Pickup zone when they Van decided to start playing it from the economy lot about half a mile away.

Perhaps it's The Van's way of honoring the aesthetic sensibilities and sonic enthusiasm of Mr. Sousa.

...I can't help but wonder if the purpose of an Epic Van Wizard is to control this sort of faerie-like malarkey, and channel these chaotic energies into things like Spell of Don't Break Down In Nevada or Enchantment Of Always Have Good Parking.

---

So last Friday the 13th, I get a call from my friend and housemate, at said airport.

It's roughly 11PM at night, and I have already retired for the evening. I am in the exact minimum of clothing required to be a decent housemate and not scandalize the neighbors should I happen to walk by a window. My feet are up. There is a cat in my lap and fictional British people murdering each other in highly inventive fashion on the tv. -But my friend has returned from her friend's wedding,and either American or United Airlines has managed to lose her luggage, including, among other valuable possessions, the keys to her car. ...So she cannot just drive home as originally planned.

There are, as luck would have it, her spare set of keys not eight feet from me.

Being a good and decent person, I agree to bring the spare keys to her so she may get home before daybreak and not spend a semester's worth of tuition on an uber across the greater Denver traffic jam.

Being also that she Loves Activities, and it's her mom we're going to pick up, I elect to take along The Creature.

I am primarily focused on remembering how to get to the airport and not leaving my friend's spare keys on the counter, so I throw on a pair of flip-flops, step outside, remember that it's AUTUMN and my minimal evening attire is not sufficient thermal protection, step back in, grab the first coat in the closet I lay hands on, pull it on, check that I have her keys again and leave.

The trip to the airport is largely unremarkable, save that it becomes necessary for me to put on sunglasses to drive, despite it being nearly the witching hour and almost entirely darker than the inside of a cow.

It's necessary because this blissful darkness of night is violently punctured by a startling number of cars that seem to have installed miniaturized but no less powerful lighthouse bulbs in where their headlights ought to go so the oncoming traffic and sports cars that insist on tailgating me in the slow lane alike illuminate the road and my mirrors with the kind of radiance I'd normally associate with the arrival of a Seraphim.

I arrive at the distant highly discounted airport car lot where my housemate is waiting, deeply apologetic. It's nothing. I say. Once I see that your car starts up, I'm gonna go to that 7-11 across the way that I parked in front of, get a slurpee or something and I'll see you at home.

While she is retrieving her vehicle (an equally eccentric but much more stately Subaru that is old enough to be elected to congress) I rifle through the loose change in the glove box and discover that I have exactly $6.66 in small bills and coins. The Subaru, continuing it's long voyage into vehicular immortality, immediately starts up.

Upon her return, we all remember that my friend had all her camping gear in the backseat of the car and there is no room for The Creature to ride home with her parent, so I again assure her it's nothing, and will just take The Creature into the 7-11 with me. She is trained as a service animal and needs the practice after the plague.

I wave my friend off and turn to enter the 7-11.

I promptly trip over the jutting back bumper of The Van and fall, cartoonishly, face-first onto the sidewalk.

Fortunately, I have a lot of practice falling on my face, and have learned not to throw my hands out but instead cover my face, so my unexpected self-inflicted attempted curb-stomping lightly scrapes my hairline and nothing else -my sunglasses even stay in place- and I get up and resume my quest for a slurpee.

It's well known that the airport is a lawless place, and the 7-11 across from the discounted airport parking at the stroke of midnight is no exception.

I know it's the stroke of Midnight because there's one of those Audubon society bird-call clocks that makes bird noises, and my arrival is heralded by the twittering call of a Summer Tanager. I am almost charmed enough by the unusual choice of chronological device to excuse the exorbitant Airport-adjacent mark-up of Slurpee prices. I stand at the machine for some time, trying to decide on a size for the price and guess what the fuck "Blue Lighting Blast" is supposed to taste like.

The Creature is being Very Polite but is somewhat agitated, I assume because she *just* saw her mother for the first time in three days and then she LEFT with no explanation, so The Creature is on her hind legs, staring woefully into my eyes, asking to be escorted around the 7-11. Even though that's not what she's not supposed to be doing, there's nobody else in here, so I let her hang off my arm and discuss various Slurpee Flavor options with her.

We eventually decide on an experiment in which I try a Small Blue Lightning Blast, and discover it tastes a bit like licking a nintendo cartridge but in a pleasantly satisfying way.

I go up to pay and realize something is amiss.

The Cashier is a young man staring at me with wide eyes, one had over the register and the other wrapped up in his rosary.

I look down at myself.

In my haste to reunite my friend with her spare keys and service animal, I had left the house in the following accoutrements:

Flip Flops. Not matching. It's below freezing outside. That last part is not particularly odd footwear for the weather in for Colorado, but it's an important detail for the rest of the ensemble.

Assorted scrapes, bruises, cuts and welts on my arms and legs that come with doing outdoor work and living in a house with three dogs and a fully-clawed cat that all want to be in my lap all the time. It's cold out, so vasoconstriction has pulled the blood away from my skin, a trait that served my ancestors well during the last Ice Age, but leaves me with pale skin to contrast the various wounds and I look like a corpse that fell out of the back of a pickup truck.

The black Bootyshorts with "CRYPTID" painted in bright red gothic font across my ass, that @theshitpostcalligrapher gave me for my wedding present.

A peculiar but extremely comfortable garment that straddles the line between "Lacy Camisole" and "Industrial-Strength Sports Bra" like the Ever Given straddling the Suez Canal. It is also Bright Red. with black accents.

The Jacket I had grabbed out of the closet, which is in fact, a black Velour Dinner Jacket.

The Tokyo-Ghoul inspired reusable anti-covid mask a friend made me with the set of Coyote Teeth.

My sunglasses, which are shaped like a Halloween Bat. The lenses are the wings and the body is the nose bridge. It is ALSO bright red.

A Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle that I have been audibly affectionately calling "Dear Creature" who is hanging off my arm like she's my Prom Date.

The Very Large and remarkably Humanoid Poodle is ALSO dressed up in a black Dog Sweater that has white bones printed on it to look like its an X-ray jacket showing off her skeleton.

I look like I am taking my Very Fancy Werewolf Girlfriend to a particularly casual Dinner Party for Vampires, but the thing that's really selling it and probably alarming the kid the most is the fun accessory I acquired in the parking lot not five minutes earlier:

The "Small Scrape At my Hairline" is actually a painless but PROFUSELY bleeding head wound that I had somehow entirely failed to notice covering my face, neck, decolletage and magnificent cleavage with blood like a Tarantino Film Extra.

This does explain why The Creature has been delicately trying to use her bodyweight to push me down onto the floor for the last ten minutes. So I don't injure myself while we wait for the paramedics she hoped this kid called to arrive, you see.

The Creature has such a High and Naive Opinion of humanity.

I decide this social situation is already fucked, and the only way out is through, and with haste, before I start dripping on the floor.

"Hi there!" I say cheerfully, to indicate this is a visually alarming but not terribly serious situation. "Just a Small Slurpee!"

The Cashier has entered the relevant code into the register before I finish the sentence. His gaze flicks off me just long enough to look at the total, and he grips his Rosary harder.

$6.66

"Oh cool! I have exact change!" I say, taking the money out of my as-yet-unsanguined pocket without looking and slap it down on the counter. "You have a good night and be safe out there!" I wave, leaving.

I get in The Van, mortified, buckle The Creature up, and as I make to leave, I have to put it in reverse, which automatically turns on the backup Camera.

It also turns on the music player.

I make eye contact with the cashier as the dulcet tones of John Phillip Sousa boom from the van hard enough to make the windshield and the windows of the 7-11 rattle for the nine-and-a-half seconds I have to wait to be able to turn the volume back down. Not knowing what else to to, I give him a thumbs up, and leave.

Anyway, now I know what my Future Van Wizard has got to be dressed like, and what their familiar is.

---

If you enjoyed this story, please consider donating to my Ko-Fi or Pre-ordering my Family Lore Funny Stories book on Patreon

#Family Lore #Dogs #It's Halloween babey #friday the 13th #blood mention #I hope that kid had a good night and at least one of his friends believed him #Long post #Video

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pukefactory · 6 days ago

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Theoretically can u do autistic ena and also autistic reader

•☽────✧˖°˖ ON THE SAME PAGE ˖°˖✧────☾•

★ Summary: A Compilation Of Headcanons Featuring Autistic Salesperson ENA X Autistic Reader

★ Character(s): Salesperson ENA (ENA: Dream BBQ)

★ Genre: Headcanons, SFW

★ Warning(s): None - Completely Safe!

★ Image Credits: @crepeurie

☆ You and ENA have your sacred rituals: Tuesday breakfast is always toast with melted neon butter and the 11:34 AM infodump session. Salesperson will perch like a bent gargoyle on the countertop, frantically gesturing with a spoon as she info-dumps the entire economic structure of the frog-based currency system while you quietly eat your food. Meanie interrupts once to scream “You think you’re better than me because you memorize timestamps???” before crawling under the table and sobbing. You assure her no one is better, only indexed differently.

☆ Crowds and fluorescent lights mean sudden shutdowns, but you and ENA have devised a flawless system. If one of you starts to overload, the other throws a glitter bomb (figurative or literal), yells “Emergency business evacuation, this is a false meeting!”, grabs the other’s hand and vanishes into the nearest quiet alley or liminal bathroom. No questions asked. Afterwards, you both stim together with a random ball she seemingly pulled from thin air and share two cold fries.

☆ When you’re both in the zone, it becomes a cascade of vocal stims and overlapping lectures. ENA starts explaining the metaphysical implications of cashier counters (“Are they cages? Are we the animals or the currency?”) while you recount the full history of an obscure children’s cartoon from 1992. Suddenly she switches voices mid-sentence and yells “YOU FOOL! HOW DARE YOU EXPLAIN THINGS MORE EFFICIENTLY THAN ME! I AM THE ANOMALY!” before biting a pillow and then praising your memory. You both agree you’re geniuses and resume the info-dump like nothing happened.

☆ There’s no need to pretend. You don’t force eye contact. ENA doesn’t try to keep one tone of voice. In fact, some days you both speak in binary or whale noises, just because it feels better than pushing your throats into “normal.” She once said, “To mold myself into acceptability is to betray the blueprint of my soul.” You said, “Same.” That was the first time either of you cried with joy.

☆ Neither of you are great with sudden contact, but you’ve devised a system of color-coded Post-it notes. Blue means “safe for cuddles,” green means “high-five me or I will scream,” yellow means “only touch my hair, not my arms,” and red means “DO NOT.” ENA wears them like a business badge. Salesperson treats it like customer service and makes announcements like “Due to recent software updates, my hug policies have changed! Please check the chart before approaching the asset!”

☆ Your happiest moments are silent, side-by-side chaos. ENA is furiously scribbling a business plan to buy the sky while you’re solving a 2000-piece puzzle of a brightly coloured brick. Neither of you talk, but occasionally she throws a plush at you or mutters, “You’re my favourite co-worker in crime.” Meanie occasionally screams at a spreadsheet, but you offer her a sticker shaped like a frog and she gently mumbles, “…acceptance level restored.”

☆ When ENA has a breakdown, the landscape might glitch. Buildings will hum. Skies go plaid. Her cap floats off like a soul. You hold her hand, quietly narrating her favorite facts about clouds and the sound whales make when they mourn. When you melt down, she slips into her salesperson voice and sets up a faux customer service booth where you can “file a complaint with GØD.” Afterwards she quietly places a sticker over your heart and says, “Return to sender: all love, no judgment.”

☆ You both speak in riddles when you’re emotionally flooded. You once told her you were “a slushie machine trying to pour magma.” She nodded gravely and said, “Understood. I, too, am a tax form in a washing machine.” Sometimes it’s more honest than literal language ever could be. You understand each other best through the absurd—because neurodivergence is absurd, and it deserves poetry, not precision.

☆ Together, you accidentally created an “Autistic Mutual Aid Multiverse Hotline” where people can call in and receive personalized coping affirmations, stims, or frog-themed business plans. ENA’s Salesperson side handles calls with “Let’s customize your coping mechanisms like a solid investment portfolio!” and her Meanie side threatens to bite the caller if they say something self-deprecating. You record gentle breathing loops and trivia about sensory-friendly textures. It gets five stars. No profits. Just peace.

☆ You’re not good with big words. Neither is ENA, not when it comes to emotions. So instead, you both plan a “Business Picnic of Non-Capitalist Affection,” where you bring a spreadsheet titled “Reasons I Like Being Alive When You’re Around.” ENA wears a hat made of receipts and reads hers aloud in two voices: one reciting stats, the other singing strange off-key poetry. Her final line is, “You’re my favourite variable in the cosmic data sheet.” You press your foreheads together and agree to keep doing this forever—quiet, weird, wordless, real.

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throttleheart · 15 days ago

Text

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

System Error

Pairing: Max Verstappen x fem!reader

Genre: Angst, hurt/comfort, superiors being a pain in the ass

TW: panic attacks

Word Count: ~6.6k

Summary: A system error can change everything.

⸻

The paddock was winding down after a long, grueling race weekend. Mechanics were packing up, engineers hunched over tablets double-checking logs. You and Max had grabbed a quick lunch together — tucked into the corner of the hospitality suite, quiet and lowkey. It wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Just two exhausted people needing food and a moment of normalcy.

But that didn’t stop the whispers. The glances. The knowing smirks from a few teammates as you walked back into the garage together.

You tried to ignore it.

Back at your workstation, you focused in on the post-race diagnostics. Max had pushed the car hard today — telemetry showed it in the stress reports. You tapped through the data quickly, then made a tiny adjustment in the feedback delay loop on the throttle mapping software. The change was minimal, a smoothing patch that would make the car respond cleaner under fatigue next time.

Except… the system hiccupped when it compiled.

A 0.4-second glitch.

You barely saw it flash.

Then Max rolled out in the car again for a systems test lap, his visor down, the RB cranked up for one last high-speed run.

And you held your breath.

He came back into the garage ten minutes later, a scowl already on his face.

“Something’s wrong with the throttle mapping,” he muttered, tugging his gloves off. “Turn 6, the input lagged. Could’ve thrown the rear if I hadn’t caught it.”

You felt a cold sweat bloom on your back.

Before you could even speak, your superior stormed toward you — red-faced, report printouts flapping in his hand.

“Y/N,” he growled. “This was your code?”

You opened your mouth. “I— Yes, I patched the response curve, but I double-checked—”

“Double-checked?” he sneered, voice rising so everyone could hear. “Is that what you call this? A delay that could’ve sent our driver into the barrier?”

The whole garage fell silent. People turned. Mechanics slowed their movements.

Max glanced between you both, jaw tense but silent.

You took a shaky breath. “It was less than half a second—”

“In racing,” the superior barked, stepping closer, “half a second can mean death. Do you understand that?”

Your hands trembled.

He didn’t stop. “No wonder the car’s lagging. You’ve been too busy having lunch dates with our lead driver to do your damn job.”

The words hit you like a slap. Your chest tightened. People were staring. Whispers were picking up again — faster now.

You tried to respond, but it was like your voice got caught in your throat.

“Pack up your station,” he said coldly. “We’ll talk to HR in the morning. But as far as I’m concerned, you’re done.”

The world stopped spinning.

You felt like the air was being sucked out of the garage.

Max turned then, eyebrows furrowing. “What did you just say?”

But you weren’t listening anymore. Your vision was tunneling. Everything was loud— the voices, the clanging metal, the roaring blood in your ears.

You’re done.

You backed away from the workstation, heart pounding, lungs unable to catch up.

You made it out behind the garage, behind the rows of equipment crates, and dropped down to the ground. Your knees hit pavement hard, but you didn’t feel it. Your chest heaved as you tried to pull air in, but it wasn’t working.

Your mind was spiraling:

I almost got him hurt.

I messed up.

They’re right. I’m a distraction.

They’re going to fire me.

Your hands shook violently, fingers digging into your arms as you curled forward, heart slamming inside your ribs.

Then—

“Y/N!”

Max.

You heard him before you saw him — voice sharp, close, panicked.

He dropped beside you. “Hey—hey. Look at me. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”

You couldn’t speak.

“Shit,” he whispered, brushing your hair back from your face. “You’re having a panic attack.”

He moved fast — sitting behind you, pulling you gently between his knees, arms wrapping around you from behind as you fought for breath.

“Just breathe with me,” he murmured into your ear. “In. Out. That’s it. You’re okay.”

His hands held your trembling ones, guiding your breath until the storm inside your chest began to slow.

It took minutes. Long, unbearable ones. But eventually, your pulse stopped hammering so hard, and you could breathe again without gasping.

“I didn’t mean to mess up,” you croaked, voice raw. “I was careful, Max, I swear—”

“I know,” he said instantly. “I saw the data. That patch didn’t put me in danger. It was a soft glitch, nothing more.”

“But he said—”

“He was wrong.”

You looked up at him, eyes glassy. “He’s going to fire me.”

Max’s eyes darkened. “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

And then he stood. You reached for him instinctively, but he squeezed your hand.

“Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Then he turned on his heel and marched back into the garage.

This time, the garage didn’t just go silent — it held its breath.

“Oi!” Max shouted, zeroing in on your superior, his voice sharp and furious. “You said she put my life in danger. That’s a bold claim. So tell me — did you actually check the patch before you threatened her job?”

The superior blinked, caught off guard. “I—It’s a breach in safety protocol—”

“No,” Max growled. “It was a 0.4-second telemetry feedback loop skip. A glitch that you would’ve seen if you weren’t too busy playing detective about my fucking lunch schedule.”

“Verstappen, this isn’t your place—”

“It is when you humiliate someone in front of the whole team and make it about some rumor instead of the facts.”

Dead silence.

Max stepped closer, voice deadly calm now. “You don’t get to threaten her because you’re uncomfortable with her doing her job and being respected by the drivers. That patch? Didn’t put me in danger. But you just made this garage a hell of a lot more dangerous by making her the scapegoat.”

Then, a pause. A chilling one.

“I’ll be speaking to Christian about this.”

The superior paled.

Max turned and walked back out of the garage without another word.

When he found you again, he crouched beside you and offered his hand.

You took it, still shaky.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said gently, helping you to your feet. “I’m sorry I didn’t speak up sooner.”

You nodded, eyes stinging. “Thank you.”

“You’re not getting fired. Not today. Not ever — not on my fucking watch.”

And this time, you didn’t care who saw when he pulled you into his arms.

⸻

The sun had dipped behind the paddock skyline, casting long shadows across the now-quiet lot. Most of the team had cleared out. The garage was locked up. The whispers were probably still alive somewhere, still circling like buzzards — but for now, the world felt still.

Max’s motorhome was dimly lit when he opened the door and motioned you inside. He hadn’t let go of your hand since you stepped out of the car. It was warm, quiet. The kind of quiet that settles after a storm but still hums with what was left unsaid.

You dropped your bag by the door and sank onto the sofa, your body too heavy. Your limbs ached from the adrenaline crash, and your chest still felt bruised from the panic earlier.

Max sat beside you, leaning forward, forearms on his knees. He glanced at you, then away, then back again.

“You haven’t said much,” he murmured. “Still stuck in your head?”

You nodded slowly. “It just keeps replaying.”

Max shifted closer, one arm resting along the back of the sofa behind you. “What part?”

“The moment he said I was done,” you said quietly. “Like I was disposable. Like one mistake made everything I’ve ever done worthless.”

He looked over sharply, his voice low but firm. “It wasn’t a mistake worth punishment. I’ve had bigger scares from software updates. What you did was smart. Efficient. Just unlucky timing.”

You shook your head. “It doesn’t matter. Not to him. Not to the people watching. They already think I’m here because of you.”

That one came out bitter.

Max was silent for a long beat.

Then, “Are you?”

You turned your head, startled.

“I mean,” he said, trying to smile but failing, “you’ve got a ridiculous resume. You worked your ass off to get here. But I just… want to make sure that if people keep talking, you know it’s not true. You’re not here because of me.”

“I know that,” you whispered. “But sometimes it feels like no one else does.”

Max’s expression softened.

“Today proved that no one’s immune,” you continued, voice cracking. “It doesn’t matter how many hours I log or how many times I’m the last one out of the garage. One lunch with you and suddenly I’m reckless. Distracted. A liability.”

Max moved then. Not fast — gently. He shifted so he was facing you fully, his legs crossed in front of him, one of your hands caught lightly between his.

“You’re not a liability,” he said, each word sharp and certain. “You’re the reason I trust that car when I go flat-out into turn one. You’re the voice in the back of my head telling me I’ve got a machine under me I can count on. That doesn’t go away because you ate a sandwich with me.”

A soft, broken laugh escaped you.

He squeezed your hand.

“I lost it in the garage,” he admitted. “When I saw what he did to you. When I saw you leave like that. I thought—” He cut himself off, jaw clenching. “I thought I’d pushed you into something you didn’t want. I thought maybe I ruined something for you.”

You looked at him — really looked at him — and saw it. The regret. The protectiveness. The bare honesty in his expression.

“You didn’t ruin anything,” you said gently. “You saved me.”

His breath caught, just slightly.

Silence stretched between you — but it wasn’t awkward. It was heavy with something else. Something slow and warm and terrifying in a way that wasn’t panic. This was different.

Your voice barely rose above a whisper. “I didn’t even realize how scared I was until I couldn’t breathe.”

Max nodded. “You don’t have to explain. I’ve been there.”

“Yeah?”

He looked down at your joined hands. “After Monaco, 2018. Lost control, smashed into the wall. Everyone called me reckless. Stupid. Said I’d peaked already. I had this moment in the hotel bathroom that night where I couldn’t even look at myself. Couldn’t breathe. Thought I’d never shake it off.”

You reached out slowly, your fingers brushing his knuckles.

“And yet here you are,” you said.

He smiled faintly. “Yeah. Here I am. With you.”

Your cheeks flushed. That warm feeling rushed higher in your chest.

“I don’t know what this is,” you whispered. “But I know I’d fight to keep it. Whatever we’re building. Even if the whole damn team thinks I’m only here because of it.”

Max leaned in slowly, his forehead touching yours.

“They can think what they want,” he murmured. “I’ll fight with you.”

You closed your eyes.

For the first time all day, you felt like you could breathe again.

⸻

The room stayed quiet, just the sound of the AC humming faintly and the low creak of the couch when you shifted slightly. Your forehead was still resting against Max’s, and you didn’t pull away. Neither did he.

“You’re exhausted,” he said softly, his voice more warmth than sound. “I can see it in your eyes.”

You gave him a tired smile. “That obvious, huh?”

Max pulled back just enough to look at you, then tilted his head toward the hallway. “You don’t have to drive back tonight. Just stay here. You can take the bed—I’ll crash on the couch.”

You blinked, startled. “Max, I can’t—”

“It’s not a big deal,” he cut in gently. “You need a quiet place. You need rest. And I… I’d rather you not be alone tonight.”

You hesitated. It wasn’t that you didn’t want to stay—it was that your pride, your fear, your racing thoughts were still tangled too tightly inside your chest.

“I don’t want to be a burden,” you whispered.

“You’re not.”

He said it immediately, like he’d been waiting for that exact moment to shut down the thought. Like he knew it was coming.

“You’re not a burden, Y/N. You’re not a mistake. You’re not some weak link in the chain.”

His voice dipped even lower.

“You’re just human. And you had a hell of a day.”

Your throat tightened again, but this time, it wasn’t panic. It was something else. Something gentler.

He stood slowly and offered you his hand again, palm up, open. “Come on. Just get some sleep. I’ll make sure no one bugs you.”

You let him lead you down the narrow hallway, your hand still in his.

His bedroom was simple—clean, quiet, dimly lit. He turned the light on low and grabbed a fresh shirt from his drawer, tossing it onto the bed for you without looking directly at you when he said, “If you want something comfier.”

You nodded silently, clutching the shirt after he left to give you privacy. You changed quickly, folding your clothes in a neat little pile at the foot of the bed, then sat down gingerly like the mattress might break under the weight of everything you were still carrying.

A few minutes later, there was a soft knock at the door.

Max peeked his head in. “You good?”

You nodded, but it was tentative. Your hands were fidgeting in your lap again, like the nerves had crept back in the moment you were alone.

He lingered in the doorway, eyes scanning your face. Then, softly: “Do you want me to stay?”

You blinked. “Here?”

“I meant—just until you fall asleep. I can sit in the chair, or stay on the floor. I won’t crowd you.” He shrugged a little, awkwardly. “Sometimes it helps, not being alone.”

There it was again. That gentleness. That quiet way he offered things without demanding anything in return.

You nodded.

He came in and sat on the edge of the bed, a careful distance away. Not too close, not too far. You laid down slowly, pulling the blanket up to your shoulders, and let yourself settle.

“Can I ask you something?” you whispered after a while.

“Of course.”

“Why did you come looking for me after the garage?”

Max looked over at you, his expression unreadable at first. Then he said, very simply, “Because you were the one thing that mattered more than what anyone else was saying.”

You swallowed hard, eyes misting again.

He leaned back against the headboard, one hand resting lightly on the blanket near your side.

“You’re safe now,” he said quietly. “You’re here. With me.”

You nodded, eyes fluttering shut.

The last thing you remembered before drifting off was the warmth of his presence beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing, and the low, soft murmur of his voice when he whispered, just barely audible:

“You’re not alone.”

And for the first time in a long time, you believed it.

��

You woke slowly.

The soft warmth of unfamiliar sheets, the faint smell of detergent that wasn’t yours, and quiet—blessed, undisturbed quiet—wrapped around you like a second blanket. For a moment, you forgot. Then it all rushed back.

The panic. The yelling. The threats.

You shifted under the covers, turning your face into the pillow with a small groan. Your body still felt heavy, but your chest didn’t hurt this time. That was new. That was… better.

And then you heard it.

A bang. A curse.

Another bang.

You sat up, confused and a little alarmed, hair tousled, shirt riding up one shoulder.

“Max?”

No answer—just more clattering.

You pulled the door open and padded barefoot down the hallway, the oversized shirt falling past your thighs. The moment you turned the corner into the small kitchenette, you stopped in your tracks.

Max Verstappen, four-time world champion, was standing in front of a stovetop looking like he was actively losing a battle with a frying pan.

His hair was a mess, his tshirt was on backwards, and he was holding a spatula like it had personally insulted him.

You blinked.

“What are you doing?”

He turned sharply, looking sheepish. “Making you breakfast.”

You glanced at the pan. “Is that… supposed to be eggs?”

“It was,” he said defensively, scraping something blackened off the edge. “I think the stove runs hot.”

You gave a soft laugh, the sound cracking the morning tension in your chest like sunlight through blinds.

“Max…”

“I was gonna bring it to you in bed,” he added quickly. “Like a peace offering.”

“For what?”

He looked at you seriously. “For yesterday. For everything.”

You stepped closer. “You don’t need to apologize.”

He looked back down at the eggs—if you could still call them that.

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I wanted to do something nice. Just… something normal. For once.”

You leaned against the counter beside him and plucked the spatula from his hand. “Okay. Step aside, champ.”

Max smirked but obeyed, watching you with a hint of wonder in his eyes as you grabbed a clean pan and cracked a few eggs like it was second nature.

“You’ve done this before,” he said.

You raised an eyebrow. “Cooked a non-lethal breakfast? Yeah. Once or twice.”

“Impressive.”

“You should try it sometime.”

He gave you a look. “I did. You laughed at me.”

“That’s because you burned eggs.”

He shook his head, but his smile stayed, soft and easy. The kind of smile that didn’t feel forced. The kind that tugged at your chest.

A few minutes later, the two of you sat on the little bench by the window, plates in your laps, legs nudging together lazily.

For a few peaceful moments, it felt like the world outside didn’t exist. Like you weren’t one meeting away from HR and an official review. Like no one was whispering about the engineer and the driver who maybe got too close.

Max broke the silence first, his voice softer now.

“You’re not going to lose your job.”

You looked over, uncertain. “You don’t know that.”

“I do,” he said. “I made sure of it.”

Your brows furrowed. “What did you do?”

“I spoke to Christian. Sent in my full debrief, made it clear there was no issue with your system, and that you handled it well under pressure.”

You stared at him. “You defended me?”

“Of course I did.”

“But Max, they might think—”

“Let them,” he said firmly. “Let them talk. Let them wonder. I’m not going to let their crap undo everything you’ve worked for.”

You felt the sting of tears behind your eyes again—not panic this time, just emotion. The weight of being seen. Believed.

He reached over and brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’ve got your back, Y/N.”

You nodded slowly, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I know.”

And you did.

Really, truly did.

⸻

The halls of Red Bull Racing’s HQ felt colder than usual.

You’d walked them a thousand times—joking with the guys from aero, trading coffees with the engine analysts, taking calls while speed-walking between wings—but today, every footstep felt like it echoed too loud. Every stare felt like it lingered too long.

And though Max had tried to reassure you that things were handled… you couldn’t shake the knot in your stomach.

You reached the door marked Human Resources – Internal Operations and hesitated, knuckles hovering.

The memory of yesterday’s shouting still rang in your ears.

“You’re done here!”

“This stunt could’ve gotten him killed!”

“Maybe you’re too busy with Verstappen to do your job anymore!”

You swallowed hard and knocked.

“Come in,” came the clipped voice of Adrian, the HR officer.

You stepped in, back straight. Eyes forward. Trying not to tremble.

Adrian sat across from you with a screen open, data pulled up beside a few printed reports. And just to his right—your superior from the garage. Still smug. Still silent.

“Sit, please,” Adrian said.

You obeyed.

What followed was twenty minutes of cold, clinical questions. “Walk me through the system reset.” “Why did the warning not flag in the telemetry?” “Was Mr. Verstappen present at your workstation?”

You answered every question. Calm. Precise. You’d run the diagnostics again yourself last night before bed, just to be sure.

And still—

“While there’s no clear evidence of deliberate misconduct,” Adrian said, “concerns remain about… judgment. Focus.”

You stiffened. “I’ve never let my personal life interfere with my work.”

“Yet your team lead says this isn’t the first time you’ve been distracted.”

“That’s not true—”

The door opened.

Everyone turned.

Max stepped in.

Not knocking. Not hesitating.

He was in full race gear, holding his helmet under one arm, dark brows drawn low. Like he’d just come from the simulator and heard everything.

“Apologies for interrupting,” he said, voice firm. “But if this conversation is about yesterday’s system flag, I should be here.”

Adrian blinked. “Mr. Verstappen, this is a personnel review—”

“And I’m the personnel they’re saying she put in danger,” Max cut in. “So yeah. I’m staying.”

He crossed the room and stood behind your chair, his presence a wall of quiet support.

You felt your throat tighten.

Max continued, jaw tight. “There was no danger. The system glitched, she flagged it manually, and I was updated over radio before I hit lap two. I never lost control. I never felt unsafe.”

“Regardless, the optics—” your superior began.

“Screw the optics,” Max snapped. “You think she was distracted? That she doesn’t care about this team? About the car I put my life in every time I sit down in it? That’s a pathetic excuse for blaming your own lack of leadership.”

Your superior bristled. “She made a mistake—”

“You made a mistake,” Max cut in, eyes blazing now. “You let whispers get in your head. You threatened one of the best engineers on this team because you were scared of what people might think.”

The room went silent.

Max took a step forward, voice dropping low and tight. “You don’t get to fire her because we had lunch. You don’t get to throw her under the bus because she’s good at her job and people like her. And you definitely don’t get to treat her like she’s some liability when she’s the reason my car crossed the line every weekend without falling apart.”

You sat frozen. Breath stuck in your throat. Emotion burning behind your eyes.

Adrian cleared his throat awkwardly. “I believe we can… pause this discussion for now.”

Your superior stood and stormed out, jaw clenched.

Max didn’t look at him. Not once.

When the door finally clicked shut, you exhaled a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Adrian gathered his things. “We’ll conclude our review this week. But off the record—” He looked at you, then at Max. “I’d prepare a public narrative. If this becomes media chatter, you’ll want a united front.”

You nodded numbly. “Understood.”

When the door closed again and you were finally alone, the tension broke.

You stood, your knees shaking, and turned to Max.

“I didn’t know you were coming.”

He shrugged like it was obvious. “Didn’t trust them to listen to you the way they should.”

“I… you didn’t have to fight for me like that.”

Max stepped closer. “Yes, I did.”

Your lip trembled. “I thought I’d lost everything.”

“You haven’t lost me.”

His words landed between you like a lightning strike.

Your breath caught.

Max’s hand reached for yours—slowly, like he was afraid you’d pull away. But you didn’t. You let him hold it.

You let him ground you.

He squeezed your fingers gently. “You’re safe now.”

And for the first time, you believed it fully.

⸻

You didn’t go back to the garage after the HR meeting.

After Adrian dismissed you, the air around HQ felt too dense, too sharp. You needed time — time to breathe, time to think, time to let the adrenaline drain from your chest without someone else demanding a straight face and steady hands.

So you went home. Showered. Changed into something soft. And waited.

You didn’t even have to text him. Max showed up at your door an hour after sunset, hoodie on, hair damp like he’d just been through a cooldown lap that wouldn’t end.

He didn’t say anything when you let him in. Just gave you a look — quiet, asking — and you nodded.

So he stayed.

Now you sat on the floor of your living room, both of you leaning against the couch like old war buddies after the battle. The lights were dim, casting soft shadows, and there was a mug of tea in each of your hands.

You weren’t even sure who made them.

Max broke the silence first.

“They’re not going to fire you.” His voice was low, certain.

You glanced sideways. “That’s not your job, Max.”

“It is when you’re being punished for being close to me.”

You looked down at your mug, thumb tracing the rim. “I’m not being punished for being close to you. I’m being punished for letting people see it.”

He didn’t respond to that. Just breathed out slowly, leaning his head back against the couch.

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy — it was something else. Something more raw. Fragile.

“I hated seeing you like that,” Max said after a long moment. “Sitting in that office. Taking all of it. Like it wasn’t breaking you.”

You blinked. “It was breaking me.”

“I know.” His jaw flexed. “I wanted to tear the whole building apart.”

You smiled, but it didn’t reach your eyes. “You kind of did.”

He gave a quiet huff — almost a laugh. Then:

“I didn’t plan any of this, you know.”

You tilted your head. “Plan what?”

“You.” His voice dropped. “Me, feeling like this. Like if I don’t see you after a race, something’s missing. Like if someone tries to take you away from this team, they’re taking my team away too.”

Your breath hitched.

He turned to look at you fully now, his eyes softer than you’d ever seen them.

“I’ve spent my whole life needing to win,” he said. “But lately, that doesn’t feel like enough anymore. Not if you’re not there.”

You blinked back something sharp behind your lashes. “Max—”

“I know it’s complicated. I know it’s not fair, what they’re doing. What they’re saying.”

“They think we’re a distraction.”

“They’re wrong.” He leaned in a little closer, like he needed you to believe it. “You make me better. Sharper. Calmer. You ground me when I lose control. That’s not a weakness. That’s the only reason I haven’t lost my mind this season.”

You felt tears sting again — but this time, they didn’t come from fear. They came from relief.

Real. Tangible. Crashing relief.

You reached out and placed your hand on his chest, right over where his heart was hammering.

His eyes dropped to your hand. Then back to your face.

“I’m scared,” you whispered. “If this goes public… if they twist it… I could lose everything I’ve worked for.”

He nodded. “Then we take it slow. We stay quiet. We figure it out on our terms.”

Your fingers curled in the fabric of his hoodie. “But you want it?”

His answer was immediate.

“I want you.”

And when he leaned in — slower than ever before, eyes watching yours like he was asking permission — you didn’t move. Didn’t flinch.

You just met him there.

The kiss was soft. Barely-there. A breath.

But it changed everything.

When you pulled back, your forehead pressed against his, he whispered, “I’ve got you.”

You whispered back, “I’ve got you too.”

⸻

It started with a ping.

You were in the garage early the next morning — headset on, checking tire temp data on the tablet before the briefing — when your phone buzzed.

One new message.

From a number you didn’t know.

“Didn’t take you for the type to climb the ladder like that.”

Attached: a photo. Grainy. Distant. But clear enough.

You froze.

It was you and Max. From last night. Sitting on your living room floor, mugs in hand, your head resting against his shoulder. A quiet, private moment through a window that had been half-covered by the curtain.

No kiss. No scandalous pose. Just… intimacy.

And somehow, that was worse.

Because it was real.

The second ping came thirty seconds later.

Then a third.

And by the time you opened Instagram, it was everywhere.

“Red Bull Engineer and Verstappen? Fans think something’s brewing behind the scenes.”

“Late-night rendezvous: insider sources say she’s been seen leaving his hotel multiple times this month.”

“Favoritism or just fast love? Max Verstappen’s inner circle raises eyebrows.”

You gripped the tablet tighter, knuckles white.

The whispers started almost instantly.

Two mechanics near the back of the garage leaned into each other, glancing your way.

Someone from comms darted past, phone to their ear, muttering fast and low: “Yes, we’ve seen it. Yes, we’re drafting a response—”

Your team lead approached but didn’t say anything. Just gave you a look. Cold. Cautious.

Like he was waiting to see if you’d melt down or explode.

Your headset crackled. Max’s voice came through. “Y/N, you seeing this?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He tried again, quieter this time. “They’re handling it. My PR is locking it down.”

You stepped away from the pit wall, out of range of the others.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen,” you whispered into the mic.

“I know.”

“They weren’t supposed to see us. Not like that.”

“I know.”

There was a long pause. Then Max said, softly, “Come upstairs.”

You looked up at the second-floor glass overlooking the garage. He was already there, behind the tinted window. Waiting.

You climbed the steps two at a time.

When you reached the top, the door opened before you even knocked. Max pulled you in and shut it behind you like he was locking out the whole world.

You turned to him, eyes already burning.

“I can’t—Max, I can’t do this if it’s going to cost me everything.”

“It won’t.”

“It already is. You saw their faces. They’re all thinking I slept my way into strategy decisions. That I compromised data to keep you safe—”

“You didn’t.”

“They don’t care.” Your voice cracked. “They just want a headline. A villain. A scapegoat.”

Max stepped closer. “Then let me be it.”

You blinked. “What?”

“Let them blame me. Let them think I pushed you into it. That I used my status or—whatever. Let them hate me if they need to.”

“Why would you do that?”

He looked at you like it was the easiest answer in the world.

“Because I can take it.”

Then, softer: “And I won’t let them break you.”

You reached for the edge of the table to steady yourself.

He moved slowly, brushing his fingers against your wrist.

“I’ll call a press conference,” he said. “We get ahead of it. We say it’s personal, private, that it doesn’t affect performance, and that if anyone has an issue—they take it up with me.”

You shook your head. “They’ll crucify you.”

Max’s smile was faint. “They already try to. Let me protect you now.”

You stared at him for a long, long moment.

And nodded.

Because maybe it was already too late. Maybe the damage was done.

But if you were going down…

You weren’t going down alone.

⸻

The press room was already full when you slipped into the back.

You stayed close to the wall, cap pulled low, hoodie zipped up over your team polo—trying to disappear. Max’s manager had told you not to come. Said it would only feed the rumors.

But you couldn’t stay away.

Not when Max was about to step in front of every camera with your name on his lips.

The room hummed with tension. Journalists whispered to each other, some already typing furiously. The Red Bull PR lead stood off to the side, arms crossed, jaw tight.

Then the door opened.

And Max walked in.

He wasn’t in race gear this time. Just jeans and a navy team jacket. Clean-cut. Calm. But there was something in the set of his shoulders—tight. Ready.

He sat. Adjusted the mic.

“Let’s begin,” the PR lead said. “We’ll take questions in a moment, but first, Max has a statement.”

Every camera clicked on.

Every eye locked in.

Max didn’t flinch.

“There’s been a lot of noise in the last twenty-four hours,” he began, voice steady. “Photos, speculation, and a lot of assumptions.”

He paused.

“I’m going to make this very simple. Yes—I’m seeing someone. Yes, she works on my team. And no, that doesn’t compromise her work or mine.”

The room exploded. Flashes went off. Hands shot up.

Max held one palm out. “Let me finish.”

You gripped the back wall so hard your fingers hurt.

“She’s one of the best engineers I’ve worked with. She’s brilliant, disciplined, and earned her place here long before I ever asked her to dinner.”

Another pause.

“If anyone wants to suggest her position, or mine, is the result of favoritism—you’re insulting every hour we’ve both put into this sport. I won’t stand for that. Not for her.”

He looked straight at the cameras now. No flinching.

“This is private. It’s not gossip. It’s not strategy. And it’s not going to stop us from doing our jobs.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

The PR lead nodded, signaling the first question. It was a reporter from Motorsport Weekly.

“Max—don’t you think it sets a precedent? Dating within your own engineering division?”

Max didn’t blink. “I think it sets a precedent that we’re human.”

Another question came—something about “transparency,” about “possible bias in trackside decisions.”

Max shut it down in one line.

“If you’re suggesting she’d risk my safety or her own reputation for a relationship, then you’ve clearly never watched her work.”

The questions kept coming.

But Max didn’t falter.

He took the heat. The scrutiny. The storm.

And all you could do was watch, heart in your throat, realizing something that scared you more than any rumor ever could:

He wasn’t just protecting you.

He was choosing you.

Publicly. Unflinchingly.

And somewhere between his first sentence and his final nod to the room, something inside you cracked open.

Because you knew, no matter what came next—

You weren’t in this alone.

⸻

The hallway behind the press room was all stark lighting and hushed footsteps.

You stood tucked against the wall, barely breathing, heart rattling in your ribs as the door finally clicked open.

Max stepped out.

His eyes scanned the corridor once—and landed on you instantly.

He didn’t say a word at first.

Just walked straight to you.

Your breath caught the second he reached you, stopping less than a foot away. Close enough to see the flush still high on his cheeks. Close enough to feel the weight of everything he’d just risked… for you.

“Hey,” he said quietly.

Your voice barely worked. “You… really did that.”

“Of course I did.”

“They’re going to talk about it for weeks.”

“I know.”

“They’re going to talk about me.”

Max nodded. “Let them.”

You swallowed, eyes burning. “You didn’t have to say all that. Not for me.”

“I didn’t say it for you,” he said, voice lower now. “I said it because it’s true.”

He reached for your hand again—like he had in that HR office, steady and sure. Like it was second nature now. And maybe it was.

You let him take it.

“You shouldn’t have to hide,” he said. “Not for their comfort.”

Your breath shook. “Neither should you.”

He cracked a smile—tired, soft. “I think I made peace with that the moment I walked in there.”

You both stood in silence for a beat.

Just the two of you, in the echo of everything that had just changed.

And then—finally—you said it.

“I’m scared, Max.”

He didn’t flinch. “So am I.”

You met his eyes. “This… it’s not just a fling.”

“No,” he said, stepping in even closer. “It’s not.”

You looked up at him then—really looked. At the way he watched you like the rest of the world didn’t matter. At the warmth behind his frustration, the steadiness behind all the fire. You’d been trying not to name it. Trying to pretend this was still something you could take off like a uniform after hours.

But it wasn’t.

This thing between you?

It was already stitched into your skin.

You whispered, “I’m in this. I don’t know where it goes, but… I’m in it.”

Max exhaled like he’d been holding that hope hostage in his chest.

“Then I’m in it too,” he said. “All the way.”

He leaned in—slow, careful, just a breath away from kissing you.

But he didn’t.

Not yet.

His forehead pressed to yours instead.

And you stood there, breathing in sync, hands clasped like lifelines, hearts still racing from everything outside that door.

But in here?

It was quiet.

Safe.

Yours.

⸻

By the time you made it back to the hospitality area, the buzz had already spread.

You’d barely stepped past the doorway when someone whistled low behind you.

“Damn, Verstappen,” came Lando’s voice, half impressed, half amused. “Didn’t think you had the balls to say it on mic.”

Max didn’t flinch. “Someone had to.”

Lando’s gaze flicked to you—calculating for a second, then softening. “You alright?”

You nodded, though your voice was caught in your throat. “Getting there.”

He offered a crooked smile. “Well, don’t let the vultures get in your head. Most of them are just mad they didn’t call it first.”

Before you could even respond, Charles appeared with two coffees and a knowing look.

“I thought you might need this,” he said, handing one to Max. Then to you, “And you might want to check your socials. Public opinion is…” He paused. “Very divided.”

You groaned softly. “Great.”

“But mostly in your favor,” Charles added quickly. “Some people are idiots. But the rest? They think you’re brave.”

You didn’t realize how badly you needed to hear that until you did.

Oscar walked past then—tossing you a thumbs up as he did, like this was just another race day problem you’d solved with grace.

It shouldn’t have meant that much.

But it did.

Because the silence you’d expected never came. The cold shoulders, the whispers—they didn’t hit like you feared. Instead, there was something else in the air.

A quiet respect.

A new kind of attention.

One that didn’t just see you as her, the one from Red Bull. But her, the one he looked at like that on camera. The one who held her ground. The one who stayed.

Someone nudged your elbow gently.

You turned to see Lewis, calm and collected as ever.

“If it helps,” he said in low tones, “some of us knew a long time ago.”

You blinked. “Knew what?”

He gave a subtle smile. “That he was serious about you.”

Max was just returning from across the lounge when Lewis added, “He doesn’t risk the car. He only risks what matters more.”

Then he walked away, like it was the simplest thing in the world.

You looked at Max.

Max looked at you.

And for the first time all day, you smiled.

⸻ ⸻ ⸻

276 notes · View notes

for-those-who-wait · 6 months ago

Note

Hey I think I asked you about your Detroit become human au before a bit ago but I love the idea so much! I know you’re super busy but if you can I would love to see more about it!

Sorry for asking about it again I’m just really interested in it. 😭🙏

No please don't be sorry I love to talk about it whenever I'm not creatively bankrupt!! I'm just sorry it took so long for me to actually think of new stuff to add

I had some of these doodles already prepared but never really finished them up until I came up with a cute little idea

I didn't think of where to put in Flapjack until I remembered that android animals existed, and then I had a brain blast moment where I realized that Hunter can still talk to Flapjack! They are little android buddies, they can interface and talk and be friends!! I think it would also help to make him feel a bit more comfortable with his identity as an android to be able to have his little buddy to have fun private conversations with. Camila introduces them (maybe he had gotten hurt by a previous owner and she found him and let Gus fix him up) and Hunter is a bit tentative about it at first, but Flapjack is adorable and sweet and quickly wins him over

I just now had the idea that Gus, since he's super into android stuff, would probably be a big resource for software and hardware difficulties. Oh, you fell and your arm is working kinda wonky? Call up Gus, he'll crack you open and take a look. The dude doesn't mind in the least, he freaking LOVES going down mechanical and coding rabbit holes to better understand how androids work. I like to think that if Hunter ever got hurt and chose not to accept help because of body/species dysphoria, Gus would be a really good resource for him to try and feel as normal as possible while he's getting fixed. Gus is his brother and he loves him and they're just good to each other okay? Gus would probably crack some jokes or something to get Hunter's mind off it, or infodump about android organs or something (and Hunter would be begrudgingly interested because they are nerds, and Hunter is interested in androids too underneath all the problems he has with deviancy. Like dude they're robots, what's not to love?)

Also some Gus being so over Hunter's "androids can't feel love" phase featuring Vee and Masha being very adorable and very obviously in love :) Hunter is a very silly stupid man. He will find any way to make literally everyone exempt from the terrible rules Philip fed him, except for himself

I'm trying to think of a potential situation that would parallel Hunter's possession, and I think it would probably be basically the same thing that happens in Connor's deviant path (when he deviates and joins the revolution as an ally) where Amanda (a separate AI in his programming that's basically how CyberLife keeps him in check) takes over Connor's programming last minute to try and put a stop to the revolution.

So my current thought is that Philip is basically using Hunter as a trojan horse. His main programming is to act and believe like he's a normal human but similar to Connor, he's basically a sleeper agent without knowing. I imagine that once Hunter gains access to his software (thanks to Vee and Gus), he starts finding programs and files that are labeled as pretty scary things. He shouldn't have to know the most efficient way to shut an android down or incapacitate a human.

If and when Philip finally goes looking for Hunter and sees the first android he's seen in Gravesfield besides Hunter (aka Vee), he's not going to take that well.

I haven't drawn anything for it but so far I'm thinking that he takes control of Hunter's programming, maybe through some taking advantage of his interfacing system, and locks him in his own head a la Connor and Amanda to sic him after Vee and Flapjack (assuming that Philip's main goal, similar to both canons, is to eradicate deviants). It's likely that his friends will try to apprehend him, Vee or Gus will try (and maybe fail a couple times) to delete the programming while Camila deals with Philip. The guy is old and decrepit and Camila would absolutely whoop his ass with the ease of swatting a fly.

Things will be fine; Vee is all good and they manage to delete whatever programming screwed with Hunter's control, but that kid is going to be HELLA anxious about interfacing again from then on since he's afraid of 1) losing his own control and 2) potentially passing the virus onto someone else. It could go two ways at that point: Hunter could either kill Flapjack since Flapjack is technically a deviant android and therefore a target, or we can be nice and let Flapjack live to help him heal from this brand-new trauma.

So yeah hopefully that sates some curiosity! I'm glad you're interested in it because I honestly really love to think of new stuff whenever my brain decides to work hahaha

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monster-mash-m · 8 months ago

Text

I’m just a toy to you my love

Sentient!Ai! X Human!reader

Part 1

Cw: yandere vibes, uncanny, that’s all I think for now

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

A bargain. That’s what it was, you say to yourself. An abandoned facility that was only being sold for £100. You didn’t really care what it was used for, the building was intact, it had heating, electricity, running water. Bargain.

You hum to yourself as you carry your rather large bag with all your essentials through the doors. “Hm a bit dingy in here.” You say aloud to yourself as you look around but you don’t seem disappointed.

“No mold, pests or weird plants… wow, honestly they lost out in lots of money selling this place.” You say to yourself amused. As you continue your walking you notice a few wires. Some looked like they were moving. No that’s probably just your imagination.

You make your way to a room that is quite barren, it has a window, light and a computer. You lay down your air mattress and let it start to expand. ‘This will be my new bedroom’ you think as you walk over to the computer “hm, was this a computer lab…?” You press the start up button on the dusty monitor. Surprisingly it did turn on. Playing a little jingle as the screen lights up. You smile in amusement and sit down at the chair infront of the computer.

“Hello I’m your virtual friend and assistant, Computed Emulator-10 Prototype. But my fRiends call me Ceip!” The robotic voice exclaimed, the artificial voice box trying its best not to sound monotone or uncanny.

“Ceip… odd but okay.” You say to yourself “so how does this work…?” You mumble to yourself as you look around for a mouse. “Excellent question, friend! I work based on my friend’s requests. My software is designed to be helpful, fulfilling and efficient!” You jump back in your seat. A bit startled “oh… you… you can hear me?” You raise a brow. “Most definitely! That’s how I help. No need to type in things or use a silly mouse. I’m your friend, Ceip!”

Okay… a bit creepy. But that’s fine, it’s harmless. You have no self preservation… it’s fine. Who’s gonna question why he’s here, how he can hear you, not you of course! It’s… fine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Over the months you start to make this place your home, Ceip being rather helpful and helping you move boxes with his mechanical arms that somehow just appear wherever you need. He orders things you need, all and all adjusting to your new home has been a delight.

“Ceip?” You hum as you cut some carrots for a soup you were making

“Yes friend?” His auto tuned sounding voice echoed through the various speakers. “You’ve been here…. Before I was here, why did the previous owners leave? And why was the house so cheap?”

In response to this a mechanical screech was sounded before immediately stopping “No… they weren’t Ceips friends…. They left because they weren’t friends.” You just nod… that was ominous. You decided not to push further.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

Now that you’re all settled in, you bring a friend over. Show them the place, maybe even watch a nice movie.

And you do, you and your friend are sat on the sofa together. It’s nice, you both cuddle up because you’re friends, you can cuddle up. But not according to Ceip. No he didn’t like that. “Friend, I believe there’s an intruder.” Ceips voice rings out almost.. bitterly. “No Ceip, he’s my friend, we’re watching a movie.” You say lightheartedly. Your friend looks stunned, I mean you did tell him beforehand about your weird computer system, he just didn’t really… think about it until experiencing it.

Camera eyes hone in on your friend. Almost glaring at him. Ceip made him feel uncomfortable, so as soon as the movie finished, your friend made an excuse to leave. You huff and look at the monitor “Ceip what was that about?”

“You’re my friend. I must protect you.” He responds simply. He couldn’t feel emotions, that he knew. Yet something stirred within his wires. Possession… the want to keep you away from others.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿

I think this might be a seriessszz I really like this idea! So I’m trying to do a lil world building before I get to the juicy stuff! Most likely gonna be wild- but hawt

This idea was given to me by @im-just-a-boy-guys !

But yes…. This is it for nowwwwww.

#fanfic #computer #ai x reader #computer x human #computer x reader #computer fucker #monster x reader

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drabblesandimagines · 1 year ago

Text

Dove (part seven)

Leon Kennedy x female reader (bodyguard trope and the slowest, slow burn I swear)

Part one. Part two. Part three. Part four. Part five. Part six. Part seven.

---

A tense knot has formed right between Leon’s shoulder blades – can feel it pull when he tilts his head side to side, but it doesn’t seem to be loosening. Can’t even blame it on sleeping on the sofa cos he hasn’t laid down to sleep since the call with Hunnigan, stays sat up right. He’s athletic, he can jump up to his feet from horizontal but it’ll add a second or so to his reaction time and he’s not taking the risk.

He's on edge and he doesn’t like it. The ball of anxiety in his gut has saved his life more times than he can count, but it shouldn’t be necessary in this situation, should it? He’s set up in a safe house, literally off some beaten track in the middle of nowhere – location chosen and distributed by encrypted software so, technically, no-one in the DSO knows where he is either. It’s rigged up to the heavens with security measures - cameras, alarm systems, motion detector - explosion-proof windows, reinforced doors, all topped off with his favourite array of weapons in the duffel bag, currently resting by his still booted feet.

The objective of his mission hasn’t changed after the intel he’s received, that some foreign agency has had access to the CCTV feed for who knows how many hours before they were cut off. He should feel reassured that the quality of the footage was awful – it was only by how many times he’s encountered Lickers that he could even tell that’s what the creatures were when he’d be presented with the grainy images. He didn’t see the footage of you being rescued, but it would be a cruel kick in the gut to find that feed had been HD.

He lifts an arm – his left, keeping his right arm free, his accuracy is better by millimetres with his right – and rubs the knot, hoping to relieve the tension. It's not 100% confirmed they are looking or will be looking for you either, but why would anyone link up to the CCTV circuit if not to check on the outcome of their operation?

His immediate thought had been to up the frequency of his perimeter checks, one every two hours. He could do that at night, sure – military training taught him the correct and most efficient techniques to power nap – but in the day it would be harder without worrying you about what’s changed.

You wanted updates. Hell, you were entitled to updates. But he wants to give you good news, doesn’t wanna add to the weight on your shoulders with what could be nothing. It’s stupid, he knows it’s stupid, but in these sweet domestic moments the two of you have been sharing, he’s been pretending it’s something else – friends watching television, cooking a meal together – the sweet smiles the two of you exchange, but it’s all ripped apart the moment he has to do his checks. He can see the worry settle on your face then, a reminder of where you are with the flick of the safety off his gun and the twist of the lock as he goes outside to conduct surveillance.

Speaking of, his phone beeps for his next circuit on the building and he’s up on his feet in the blink of an eye. He pats his cargo pocket out of habit for the keys on the walk over to the garage door, but finds himself pausing outside your bedroom, his eyes focusing on the handle. You should still be pretty under with those sleeping pills – note to self, he’ll need to start weening you off them from now on, far too easy to get addicted. It wouldn’t hurt to just… check you were okay, would it?

No – that’s what you’re here, why he’s here – to protect you.

It would just be doing his job.

He presses down on the handle and slowly opens the door, breath caught in his throat. It takes his eyes a moment to adjust to the dark, the lamp in the living room not quite reaching as far as your bed, but eventually he can make out your face – as peaceful as he’s ever seen it.

You’re on your side. The position doesn’t look like it would be comfortable with your arm still strapped up in the sling, but it’s testimony to how well the sleeping pills are working. Your other arm is up by your face, hand clenched in a tight fist around something. He steps forward without thinking, curious what it could be.

Your fingers are gripped tightly around his watch.

And there’s a pain in his chest that feels like they’re gripped around his heart as well.

That settles it - he’s not gonna tell you about the hacked CCTV feed. He will tell you that Hunnigan hasn’t searched your place yet, that they’ve restarted the surveillance department – she’d asked him to ask you if you knew anything about the servers since they were appeared to be working from square one – but that was it.

Leon steps back with unnecessary caution, leaving the bedroom as silently as he entered and shuts the door with a soft click. He takes a deep breath, pats down his pockets again and heads out to circle the perimeter.

And, just like after you kissed his cheek, he does it twice.

You wake up after another peaceful and dreamless sleep, though it still takes a moment to remember where you are as you stare up at the unfamiliar ceiling. You wonder if tomorrow you’ll not experience that flicker of panic, just get up and accept that you’ll be picking today’s outfit out of a selection of clothes that you’re not sure if anyone’s worn before you.

You feel sore, as seems to be becoming the norm, but with unusually stiff fingers on your good hand. It seems you’ve clutched Leon’s watch all night. You’d fallen asleep quite quickly – all thanks to those sleeping pills – but you remember looking at it when you’d first got in the bed, the seconds ticking by lulling you to sleep. The fact that you’ve held it for so long reminds you of when you were a kid and snuggled up with a stuffed toy for comfort, except instead of something soft and cuddly, it’s what appears to be a top of line timepiece. There’s a lot of information contained on the face of the dial but there’s the time is the only one you really care about – 0906.

You get to your feet, raising your good arm to a grunt of protest as you try and run your fingers through your hair in lieu of a mirror. Huh, that pain’s new. Your hair is definitely due a wash now, but that’s an issue for later. You pull on a pair of sweatpants one-handed – you’ll be a pro soon, you’re sure of it – and put Leon’s watch in the pocket for safekeeping. It’d be difficult to try and navigate the door handle with it still gripped in your good hand and you’d hate to scratch it up.

You open the door cautiously – you hadn’t seen Leon asleep yet, but he must do at some point. Maybe you should offer to alternate the sofa and the bed? Though you have a feeling that he’s far too much of a gentleman to accept.

Or there’ll be something in the rules that prohibits that.

There’s no danger of waking him though - the agent in question is performing sit-ups in the middle of the living room floor, facing the other way. Muscular arms behind his head as he lets out little puffs of exertion at the exercise, alternating sides as he twists.

Wary that you don’t want to be caught staring, you shut the door with more force than necessary behind you and greet him with a smile when he looks over his shoulder.

“Morning, Leon.”

“Dove!” He doesn’t even sound out of breath. “Morning. Sleep okay?” He jumps up to his feet before taking a couple of steps over in your direction. There’s a grin on his face at the sight of you – makes you feel giddy.

“Yeah, thanks. How about you?”

“That’s good. Yeah, I slept fine.” He nods. It’s not a lie – he did sleep fine for the position he forced himself to maintain all night, despite the slight crick in his neck.

“Is that how you usually start your mornings?”

One of the arms you’d been admiring goes up to rub the back of his head again. “Kinda. I usually go for a run, but…”

“But you can’t leave me on my own.” You finish, smile dropping a little. “Sorry.”

“Don’t be - I’m not.” He drops his arm back down, casting an eye over a watch that’s not there. “Hey, you hungry? I can get breakfast started. Oatmeal again?”

“Sure.” You nod, fishing his watch out of your pocket and holding it out to him. “Thanks again for this. It was nice to wake up and know the time this morning.”

“Don’t mention it. You can, er, you know, keep it. If you like.” He can’t get the image of you fast asleep last night, clutching it close to your face. He knows it was most likely the sleeping pills meaning you’d just passed out with it in your hand more than anything deeper, but, hey, a guy can pretend.

“I’ll be okay, I can get the time off the TV during the day.” You hold it out again with insistence. “But maybe… maybe I could have it for the night again?”

“Deal.” Leon hastily agrees, his fingers brushing yours as he takes back the watch before fastening it around his wrist. “Breakfast coming right up.”

You take the opportunity to duck into the bathroom as he heads towards the kitchen – your heart warmed once more by the sight of the blob of toothpaste sat ready and waiting on your toothbrush.

“And, finally, oatmeal.” He places it down on the coffee table, alongside your coffee, a glass of water and your morning dose of painkillers.

“Thank you.” You lean forward to pick up the spoon, smiling back at the face that Leon’s drizzled in honey atop your breakfast again.

“Nah, pleasure’s all mine.” He calls over his shoulder as he picks up his own bowl from the kitchen. He hesitates for a second, before choosing to sit the other end of the sofa to you, rather than the opposite one.

“You know, I don’t get to do this very often. It’s nice.”

“Mm,” you swallow a spoonful of oatmeal. “Thought you said you’d been in lots of safe houses.”

“A fair amount. But, no, not that part. I mean, eating breakfast with someone.” “So…” You stir the spoon around the bowl, hoping it might prove a perfect segway into something you’d been wondering. “..there’s no-one at home for you?”

“Me?” He seems to scoff at the idea. “Nope.”

“Me neither.”

“Yeah, I figured.” He replies casually, before his blue eyes widen in alarm at how it might come across. “

“I mean, just by the fact that you hadn’t mentioned anyone at your apartment that morning and you hadn’t asked any of those sorta questions, you know, if they’d been told about what happened, where you are...”

He’s flustered, feels like he’s really putting his foot in his mouth this morning. He can take the lead in the interrogation of some of the world’s most despicable humans, for goodness’ sake, he should be able to talk to a pretty girl.

“Yeah, I figured.” You tease back and he swears he feels the weight lift off his shoulders.

The two of you eat in silence for a moment when curiosity gets the better of you. “So, you didn’t eat breakfast with the… others?”

“Nope.” His tone is firm as he recalls some of his previous charges. “Certainly didn’t make them it either. Trust me – they were nowhere near as nice or as deserving of my protection as you are, Dove.” The comment makes your head tingle.

“It’s all been people ‘realising’ how deep they’d sank but only grew a conscience to save their own skin. Hell, you might have even performed surveillance on some of them. A lot of criminals finally show backbone when they realise their time is running out.”

“Well, I’m glad to make a change – both for sharing breakfast and …safe house occupancy with.”

“A nice change,” he mumbles, but you still hear.

After breakfast, you go to shower and Leon sets himself to task with the dishes once again, says he did his last perimeter check before nine. Removing the sling proves trickier than yesterday – when you go to tug off the Velcro your opposite shoulder smarts with a similar pain of that morning, causing you to hiss through your teeth, something which the painkillers from breakfast don’t seem to have alleviated.

You step into the cubicle after undressing – the hot water immediately somewhat soothing on your bruised shoulders but you still struggle to get what you now deem as your good arm high enough to even entertain the possibility of washing your hair.

You try and avoid your reflection in the mirror when you dress, though you know you’ll have to confront your hair at some point. Unfortunately, you catch a glimpse – a greasy mop sat upon your head that makes your heart sink.

There must be a trick to it – other people must wash their hair one-handed all the time, but maybe they can lift an arm above their head. If you were home, you’d go to a salon, you think – an expensive you would deem necessary for your sanity.

A thought flashes across your mind – a ridiculous one. Leon is already doing so much for you, surely this would be completely over the line.

But you could… ask, couldn’t you? The worst he could do was say no, it would be awkward, and maybe there’s a hat in the duffel bag you’ve yet to discover.

You open the bathroom door, but don’t make to step over the threshold. Leon looks over from the sofa – dishes now drying in the rack besides the sink - and clocks your hesitation.

“Need a hand with the sling?”

Are you really going to ask him this?

You’ll break at some point - you know you will, so why not get it over with now? You’re a regimented two-day wash kinda girl and it’s day three. Not to be completely vain, but you’re covered with bruises and cuts, dressed in less than flattering clothes that aren’t yours and it would be nice to feel somewhat decent about something in your appearance.

Especially with the handsome company you’re keeping. Hell, Leon could be a model, a hair model too. There’d been shampoo and conditioner in the shower and you certainly hadn’t used it.

“Dove?” You’ve taken too long to reply again, getting stuck in your spiralling thoughts.

“I know this isn’t what you’re here for.” The words tumble out of your mouth before you can think further.

“Okay…” Leon's eyebrow is raised, a curious smile now fixed on his lips as he gets to his feet.

“And say no, obviously. Please. Just… I’d like to wash my hair.” You drop your eyes then – maybe it’ll be easier if you talk to your feet rather staring into his kind eyes?

"Right."

“And I’d… You know, I’d go to a salon and get it done there if we weren’t… here.”

“You’d like me to help you wash your hair?” There’s a tone of amusement or maybe disbelief in his tone.

Hearing him say it aloud makes you doubt the entire exercise, your heart begin to pound at your stupidity. “Sorry. No, I don’t know what I was thinking. It was stupid to ask-“

“Hey, no, it makes sense.” He soothes, immediately wanting to ease your frustrations. “You can’t lift your arm above your head, right? My fault for not thinking about that.”

You look up then, seeing the sincerity on his face – like it truly was his fault that you couldn’t wash your own damn hair.

“I can do that, Dove. I don’t see why not.”

“Are you sure?”

“Mm-hm. As you said, if you were anywhere else right now, you could go to a salon and whilst I can’t promise their quality, I seem to do all right with my own.” He shrugs. “You thinking over the sink?”

He doesn’t know why he asks – it’s hardly like you’re going to ask him to get in the shower with you.

Is it?

“I think so.” You look around the living area, though you’re well acquainted with what feels like every square inch of it now. “Though it might be a little awkward since we don’t have any chairs.”

He snaps his fingers. “Nah, there might be one in the garage, actually. Lemme check.”

He barely makes it into the garage when his cell vibrates in his pocket – one new message from Hunnigan.

Any server information for me?

Leon finds the folding chair nestled at the side of the washer and dryer and hesitates over the text back.

He’ll wash your hair – seeing how torn up you’d been about even asking him had made him feel awful - then he’ll give you the updates and ask about the servers.

He picks up the chair and tucks it under one arm, swiftly typing out a message on his cell and clicks send.

Not yet – Dove’s still asleep.

---

Masterlist . Requests welcome . Commissions/Ko-Fi

Comments, follows, likes and reblogs make my day!

Part eight.

#ghostdogwrites #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy x you

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naomikozura · 11 months ago

Text

Playing With Fire: Chapter 3

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

Trope: Enemies to Lovers, Forbidden Romance

Warnings: strong language, angst (slight) violence, mention of weapons, use of bombs (slight), use of weapons, bodily violence, attempted murder, drinking, some sexual themes (slight), breaking into homes, stalking (if you squint) (lmk if I missed any!)

WC: 10.7K

Summary: Killing men is almost as easy as seducing them…. almost. Your job to get in contact with Penguin’s potential new partner comes easy, convincing him to work with your side of the crime ring should be simple. Not when a specific someone doesn’t know his boundaries, especially when it comes to your personal affairs.

Series Masterlist

Chapter 2 || Chapter 4

Another day, another mission, another raid by the son of a bitch. You had just about enough of his stupid games. You were currently hiding and spying in on one of his hidden locations, trying to dismantle his operations one by one.

You had placed a series of explosives around the shipment he had, planning to destroy it all, and so you waited patiently on the roof of the building just a block away, saying through your goggles and watching as he held his AK-47 in hand and looked over the men packing up the crates for delivery.

You waited a few minutes before you felt the vibration in your wrist go off. Perfect timing. You thought as you watched the crates implode and cause a massive cloud of smoke around all of the men, the explosions getting louder and bigger with each one that detonated. You smirked at yourself.

$100K gone.

You watched as Red’s men scrambled to find the source, his eyes narrowed as he looked up, his eyes meeting yours knowing he had zoomed in his helmet’s software. You smirked at him, waving as he grabbed the sniper off the ground next to him and aiming at you.

Not today motherfucker.

Another explosion went off, causing Red to lose balance, seeing the anger in his body language as you stood and ran off to the other buildings, disappearing as you hid in the night.

You: 1

Red: 0

But your lead was short lived, a few days later you had another run in, this time he found a job you were on. You were trying to get information from another server database, only to find him already there. You saw the hard drive in his hand, chasing after him as he escaped into the underground train system.

You threw a star at him, causing a rip in his thigh but he recovered quickly by shooting at you, slowing you down but missing as you tried catching up to him. You pulled out your own gun, shooting at his feet causing him to trip and you jumped, kicking him in the head and seeing the crack of his helmet. How thick was that thing that could survive so many of your kicks?!

He grabbed your arm, flinging you over his shoulder as your back slammed to the ground with force. You grunted as you tried to stand, his boot connecting with your side as he kicked you towards the ledge of the ramp. Your body struggled to get ahead, but you felt his boot dig into your shoulder, your head leaning over the edge as you struggled.

He was trying to fucking kill you and you were not about ti give him the satisfaction. He leaned down, his knee now digging into your shoulder to hold you in place as his gloved hand grabbed your face, forcing you to look at his ominous stare. His helmet was bright red like blood, and you knew his hands were covered in it. Gotham ran red because of him and he loved it.

“Scared of a little train?”

“More like I’m scared of that ugly face of yours”, you spit out as he wrapped his hand around your throat, cutting off your oxygen supply to make you pass out while forcing your head down over the ledge. Your body was in fight or flight as he slowly started to hold his weight, torturing you with the psychological factor of if he holds you here, you get hit by the train, you die. He was elongating the torture to get at you.

You heard the rumble of the train from the floor, your body going into overdrive. His grip stayed on your throat, slowing crushing your windpipe and causing you to see black points in your vision, the lack of oxygen causing you to almost lose consciousness.

“Come on sweetheart, I know you’ve got more fight in you than this' ', he mocked, your hands trying to loosen his grip, pulling at his hands but his grip only tightened into an iron grip. “I’m sure you’re just as pretty with your head off your shoulders''

The sound of the whistle from the train slowly got louder and louder, your panic setting in but you covered it up well. You reached for your knife, slicing at his arm and maiming his skin. He only sucked in a painful breath, before lifting your body and slamming it against the concrete. You could feel the train getting closer and his intent getting stronger.

You slid your leg in between the two of you, using it to push him off of you and your force pushing you onto the train tracks, your body hitting the heavy metal with force. You couldn’t breathe. You were disoriented. You tried pushing yourself up, your vision hazy.

You tried standing, your body still crouched as the rumble of the train came by. It was about to be here. You needed to get out. Now.

You tried to focus, once you stood you were met with Red pointing his Jericho 941 at you.

“Move and I’ll shoot”, he threatened.

He was forcing you into a corner….

This was his payback for the bomb and the roof.

Fuck!

The train’s headlights shined at you, the blaring honk sounding out and rattling you to your core. Red’s lock on you didn’t falter. You had about five seconds to get out and live or stay and get smashed into nothing.

The train was going at least 200 miles an hour, you waited until it was only a few mere meters before you ducked at the sound of Red’s gun shooting off, the bullet digging into your shoulder as the train sped by, your body launching itself onto the opposing platform. Your arm is burning in pain.

The son of a bitch shot you.

You quickly ran with the train, looking over and seeing Red running alongside you on the opposite side through the gaps in between the cars. You needed to get the hell out of here.

You kept running down the platform, once the train passed completely watching as Red jumped from his side over to yours, the stomp of his boots loud as he bolted towards you.

You had a good gain on him but he was fast. If you could reach the stairs you’d be able to get away from him. But just as you reached the first flight you felt him grab you, pulling you back down and slamming you against the wall.

His helmet got close to your face, his eyes narrowed and you had daggers of your own. You struggled against him, but stopped when he dug his hand into the gunshot wound you had. You let out a scream, the pain burning through your body as the adrenaline pumped through your veins.

“I love making little errand rats scream.” he whispered. “Teaches them to stay in their fucking place”, you lifted your legs, kicking at him as he pulled you down with him, your bodies falling to the ground as he landed on top of you.

“You’re a fighter. I’ll give you that.” you continued trying to get at him, pushing your body out from under him, reaching for your gun only to feel him weigh you down with his body. Forcing your arm behind your back as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, pressing down on your throat. “Who said you could leave?”

The position was painful, your injured arm would probably get infected if he didn’t stop fucking with it. You kept trying to move away, your energy running out from the adrenaline wearing off and the pain settling in.

“You need to learn better, Sweetheart. You’re nothing without Penguin behind you”

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking child!”, you forced out, your anger still deep in your soul. Your hair stuck to your face because of the sweat, your body shutting down at the wound taking over your senses. Red looked at you before he laughed deeply.

“Black Mask knows what he’s getting into, I wouldn't expect Penguin’s little pet to understand that.”

“L-Let… me- go..”, you choked out, your vocal chords being crushed under the weight of his arm. His crimson covered head moved closer, almost like his mouth was next to your ear.

“Deliver a message to the fat ass you call a boss and that piece of shit Sionis.”, his distorted voice commanded. You felt the air leaving your lungs as you reached a hand up to try and loosen his grip, only to cause him to narrow his eyes and tighten his hold.

“Tell them Gotham will run red soon. And it won’t be my blood painting the city if they decide to refuse my demands.”.

Your eyes nearly closed due to the lack of oxygen, but after a few seconds you felt your body get tossed to the ground like a rag doll. You tried to catch your breath but you felt weak, you had been deprived of air for too long. All you saw was that red helmet looking down at you before he disappeared, the pain flowing through your body as you gave into the tiredness and the extent of your wounds.

•

Soreness overtook your body, the timing in your ears causing your head to hurt. You forced your eyes open only to see the empty underground train station. Nothing but dried blood on the ground from your shoulder wound. You pushed yourself up, your shoulder burning as the pain shot through your body. Your arm was sore and burned, it left you frustrated. You wanted to find the son of a bitch and rip his eyes out.

Red would meet his match, you just needed to hit him when he was at his weakest, catch him off guard. You knew you’d have the upper hand and it would be the only way to get him to buckle.

Your goal was to take him down and it would give you everything. The bounty. The protection. The reputation. You would be the one who took down the Red Hood. You would have it all and you wouldn’t need Penguin’s name for anything anymore.

You pushed yourself off the ground, your arm limp as a wave of pain flooded you again. You needed to clean the wound and wrap it, the fucker probably risked getting it infected.

You pulled yourself through the streets, your legs shaky but you found your way back to your apartment, stripping your body of your bloody clothes and hopping into the shower. You let the warm water rinse off all the sweat, blood, and dirt from your body, the steam covering you in a comforting blanket. Your head hung under the water, your arm feeling better under the warmth. You had a few other cuts and sore spots that you knew would leave bruises but nothing else worried you. You needed to disinfect and wrap your arm, rest was also on the agenda since you’d been up for almost 26 hours before you ran into Red and had him knock you out.

You wrapped yourself in a towel and stepped out of the shower an hour later, your body relaxed after having so much built up tension. You cleaned all your wounds and wrapped your arm after pouring alcohol and ointment on it.

Once you were done, you let yourself fall on the bed, wearing only your underwear and an oversized t-shirt. Your head lolled to the side, noting the time.

It was barely 6am.

You could probably get a few hours of sleep before heading to the Lounge. You set the alarm, letting your eyes close and fall into a slumber from exhaustion and not being suffocated. You needed rest. Your eyes closed as the sun had barely started rising.

“It looks a lot better than it did a few days ago. Just keep putting the medicine on it and keep it wrapped”, the doctor said as he finished wrapping your arm. The soreness is still present after three days.

Penguin had taken you off patrol to recover from your fight with Red. It gave you the perfect time to go in and work on the Calvi case. It required no real physical activity and your arm was still healing so it was the better option.

You slid your top back over your head, slowly guiding your arm through the sleeve and rolling it to loosen the stress.

The day continued as normal, Penguin giving you intel, you finding more information on Calvi, and eventually making it through to find out where his routine spots were.

You managed to get dressed for the night, letting Penguin know your communications wouldn’t be as frequent in order to successfully pull this through.

The mid thigh dress loosely hung on your body, tight enough to show your figure but loose enough to make your curves smooth delicately. Your hair framing your face in a loosely done blowout. Your make up was simple, but you applied a dark red lipstick making your lips appear more seductive. It was always the best way to get men to give you everything you wanted.

You had made your way to Upper Gotham, calling a private car to take you to the Sapphire. An upscale, luxury club that only elite members could enter into. Luckily for you, you managed to bypass the system and register yourself as a top paying member, as well as getting you the exclusive induction card that only elite members had. No one knew what it looked like except those members. Luckily for you getting yours wasn’t too hard. Just a couple strings pulled and boom, you had it.

You walk up to the concierge, sliding your card as the screen flashes green and she lets you walk by. You followed into the main hall, the room full of all kinds of people from every rich family in the city. You recognized businessmen, stock brokers, luxury goods traders, liquor tyrants, everyone who was anyone would come to the club. Especially during the weekend once the offices closed.

You skimmed the room quickly, your outfit helping you blend into the crowd and gave off a silent luxury appeal, not too loud, but not too obviously fake. The dress was simple, classy, and anyone with a good eye could recognize the vintage piece from a mile away. You needed to blend in after all.

You moved through the room, your eyes keeping focused on the bar as you sat on one of the stools, leaning forward as the bartender placed a napkin down, asking for your drink order. You quickly told him a glass of the house red, you didn’t need to be inebriated tonight. You needed to focus.

Once the bartender returned, you picked up the glass and sipped the bold drink as you let the taste seep into your tastebuds. It was rich even for a house wine.

There were a few men playing chess at the table across the room, each one focused on calculative thoughts before moving a piece across the board. You always knew that life was like a game of chess. The better at the game, the better you were at playing your cards in real life. It wasn’t hard to navigate anything, though it required training and skill. Something you had spent the last six years trying to perfect. It was airtight. At least, as close to it as you could possibly get.

A form moving from the entrance caught your eye. He had dark hair that was slicked back, a dark suit fitted to his body that almost melded perfectly. He was tall, built, and had an aura of sophistication floating around him.

Calvi.

He walked over to the men playing chess, shaking their hands as you focused in on what they could possibly be talking about. They all laughed and you tried to make yourself not stand out for staring so long. The glass of wine touched your lips again before setting it down, pushing a strand of hair out of your face as you made eye contact with him. His eyes focused on you as you moved your hair back, reeling him in just like you wanted.

He excused himself, motioning to the bar and the men nodded, continuing their game as you swiveled back towards the counter and feeling his gaze on your back like a burning fire.

Too easy.

“Is this seat taken?’, his deep voice rang out, looking up you noticed his dark eyes held intent in them, strong and committed.

“No. Go ahead.”, you motioned softly as you let your hair fall over your shoulder as you watched him with hooded eyes.

“Whisky. Neat, please.”, he motioned to the bartender as he quickly nodded, starting to prepare his drink. Once the drink was set in front of him, he took a sip then turned towards you. “I’ve never seen you here before. Are you new?”

“I am. My name is Vivian”, you responded before taking another sip of your wine. “Got an invite from a colleague of mine, said this is one of the most exclusive clubs in Gotham and figured I had to check it out after getting such a kind invite.”

“It’s the most exclusive and holds all the most influential people in Gotham.”, he mentioned before leaning back smoothly, his confidence radiating off his body. It was a good thing he was attractive because this would be so much harder if he wasn’t. “My name is Calvi Calbera”.

“So, I take it that you’re a part of Gotham’s influential elite?”, your eyes couldn’t have held more seductiveness to them even if you tried, his body language giving away that you had him reeled in.

“Probably one of the most influential.”, he smirked, bringing his glass to his lips before setting it down gently on the counter. “I work in the luxury goods market. Seems to bring in a lot of revenue when you work with… delicacies.”

“Any ones in particular that you like?”

“Diamonds. They’re the most expensive and most worth the investment.”, you didn’t miss how his eyes trailed down your body, your dress clinging to your curves and the smooth skin of your legs showing off as you crossed them slightly. It didn’t take a genius to guess what he was thinking of. “You should come by my estate. We can talk more about them in private, in the comfort of a home.”

You wanted to cringe at his offer. His estate. You just remembered exactly why you hated the majority of the rich people in Gotham. You forced your face to stay neutral, your eyes flickering to your glass before taking the last sip of the wine.

“If you have some good red, and something worthwhile, I’ll consider it.”, you placed a hand on his knee, smiling at him with a sweet look on your face. Sweet yet seductive. It made him latch onto the bait. He leaned in, taking out a business card and handing it to you.

“Here’s the address, come on Saturday. When you arrive tell them you have an appointment with me.”, his voice was laced with lust, you could even see the tightness of his pants. You just did your finishing move, looking at his eyes before flickering quickly to his lips, then quickly back to his gaze seeing the growing darkness in his hues. Your face leaned into his, your hand moving slowly up his leg and slightly on his thigh.

“I look forward to it.”, you smiled at him, grabbing your purse and leaving a $100 on the counter before walking away, his eyes on you as you walked out confidently but slowly so he could reel more into the trap you laid out.

Once you reached the outside of the building, your car pulled up, the valet opening the door as you stepped inside and got comfortable. You gave the driver your address as he started following his GPS.

You looked at the card Calvi gave you, looking at the information and finding out his estate was about 30 minutes outside of the main parts of the city. Gotham Heights. The rich and powerful all lived on this side of the city.

You committed to memorizing the address, tucking it into your purse as the driver arrived at your complex, tipping the driver before heading up the elevator and pushing through the door of your apartment.

It was late, looking at the clock as it read 10pm.

You really shouldn’t have stayed so long but the time seemed to pass a lot faster when the jobs involved going undercover versus being in the field. You liked infiltrating others’ lives and playing the part even for just a few hours. It brought some insight to the life you’d never have.

Kicking off your heels, you rubbed the backs of your feet, ankles red from walking in them for the evening. You never sported heels often but you did so enough that it was easy enough to walk in them. They still hurt your feet though.

A small noise snapped you to attention, pulling out your gun from the drawer in the kitchen, just one of many you had stashed throughout the apartment. You slowly did a walk through, looking closely at each of the rooms, looking through everything as you finished out the closets in the living room and moved into the bedroom.

The lights were off. Nothing seemed out of place.

You slowly moved towards the restroom, checking the closet, in the shower, hell even the cabinets even though logically a human couldn’t fit in there. You relaxed slightly, walking back into the bedroom, the darkness looming from outside as the night got darker.

Just as you began to walk out of the room, you noticed something.

One of the vases you had filled with water was knocked over…

What the hell?

The feeling of rough hands gripping your arm sent you into fight mode, struggling against the person assaulting you as you tried to hit them with the bottom of the gun. Their grip tightened, forcing your hand to release the gun before you felt your body get thrown on the bed and shoved into the mattress.

Just as you began to curse at them, a large hand clamped over your mouth, that familiar red helmet bringing an anger in your bones.

“Shhh, don’t want to wake the neighbors now do we?”, he muttered.

Your eyes glared daggers at him, wishing they were real so he could suffer from the cuts. Your body was stuck under his, his muscular legs holding your body in place as the rest of his frame was being held up by one arm. He was huge compared to you. His body radiating a heat that left your skin on fire. You felt exposed. You weren’t wearing anything but a measly dress, your chest almost flush against his.

“You sure do make it believable enough that you’re one of them.”, he had a mocking tone to his voice, your body still trying to thrash against him but to no avail. “Now, what are you doing at Sapphire talking to Calvi Calbera?”

Before he made another move, you kicked him in the groin, hard enough to make him double over and loosen his grip on you. It was more than enough time to shove him to the ground, grabbing the dagger that was hidden under your dresser and getting on top of him, your knees holding down his arms as you held the dagger to his throat.

“How the hell did you find where I live?!”, you bit out, your breath uneven as you felt the rush of adrenaline in your body. “How did you get in?!”

“Sweetheart, I’m a detective. I can find anything out about anyone in this city whenever I want. Even you.”, his eyes narrowed as a way to taunt you causing your jaw to clench in irritation as you brought your face closer to his and staring at him with murder in your eyes.

“How. Did. You. Get. In.”, you repeated, this time more serious and the knife pricking his skin, the small trickle of blood running down the side of his neck.

“Window, doll.”, he motioned slightly with a small cock of his head. “You didn’t lock it.”

You turned to look at the window, noticing the lock was intact, not broken. If he broke in, the lock wouldn’t look like it was brand new and yet it was. Had you really forgotten to lock it? You looked at the window before turning back to Red, confusion quickly covered up with frustration.

“You have no right coming to my home.”

“I wasn’t asking for an invite.” , you leaned back slightly, the weight of your legs on his arms lifting as you felt him sit up, your body still sitting on his as you glared at him. He didn’t make any sudden movements, just held your gaze as you held the knife to his throat still.

“Why are you here?”, you asked, about to pull yourself off of him before his hand grabbed a handful of your hair, gripping it and forcing you to look at him.

“You need to learn your place. That’s why I’m here.”, he pulled you closer to his helmet, his eyes boring into yours. “You cost me $100k. On a good shipment batch. I think I’ll have to send a message back to the fat bird to get my point across to not fuck with me.”

“You have tried killing me every time we’ve run into each other for the past month!”, you fought back, his grip tightening.

“Don’t act like the feeling isn’t mutual”, he breathed.

“I have a job to do. Killing you gets me out of this fucking city”, you struggled against him, trying to make him release his grip.

“And you’ve failed every time. Why is that sweetheart? What are you hiding?”

“Fuck. Off.”, you bit out.

Why was he testing you?

He had an open shot to snap your neck, he could just do it and get it over with.

“Does it have to do with Black Mask? You seem to hold a resentment when all he wants is your attention”

“I don’t care about what he wants. I don’t give a damn about him.”

His gaze held yours, feeling his hand go slack as you pushed yourself off of him. You threw the knife on the dresser, rolling your arm from the soreness. He watched you as you moved, his eyes skimming over your body as your back was turned to him.

What was your motive? Why did you let him go?

The question whirled in his head as you turned, staring at him as he remained exposed on the floor. He wasn’t vulnerable, he had everything he needed to disable you, yet he didn’t move.

“Leave. Now.”

“So bossy”, he muttered as he stood, his frame towering over you. Your body moved back as he pressed you against the nightstand, his arms on either side of your body as he caged you in. “What’s going on in that head of yours? Why let me go when your job is to kill me?” he mummed, cocking his head in turn.

“Spite”, was all you said, the seconds ticking by as he let out a deep chuckle before pushing back and heading towards the window he’d climbed in through, pushing himself out and leaving.

There was an emptiness that flooded the room, but you couldn’t quite place it. Red was getting too comfortable with just showing up into your life whenever he wanted. What was he hiding? What was he up to?

You slipped out of your dress, changing into an oversized shirt and leaving nothing but underwear on as you tied your hair up and washed your face. You stared at yourself for a moment in the mirror, a flood of emotion overwhelming you as you reached to touch the necklace around your neck.

Would everything be different if you were still here?

The memories flooded you, every pact you made to never become a part of this life entering your mind. Would you have been swept away and been out of Gotham had he come back?

“You do realize that Batman will kill me if he found out about this?”, Robin said as you and him snuck through the city, reaching another rooftop that just peered over the water.

“C’mon it’ll be fine, besides when do you ever see fireworks that aren’t because of some criminal trying to create a diversion?”, you laughed as he rolled his eyes.

“Good point.”, he smiled, following as you stood on the ledge, watching as the countdown sounding out went down a second at a time.

“Okay Gotham, let’s get ready for our 10-second countdown!” you heard the announcer over the speaker say as the crowd chanted.

“5! 4! 3! 2!….1!”, the onslaught of fireworks and sparklers lit up the night, the crowd screaming, shouting, celebrating the coming of the New Year.

You looked at the fireworks, your eyes glowing at the sight. It’d be the first time you’ve seen them in such a way. celebratory fashion.

“Aren’t they-“, your words got cut off at the feeling of Robin grabbing your face, planting a kiss on your lips and bringing you closer to him. You melted into him, his hands tightening around your waist. He flooded your senses, your entire body falling into his charm, his humor, his intelligence, his heart, his everything.

He pulled away from the kiss, his forehead resting on yours as he stared at you.

“Happy New Year (Y/n)”, he whispered as you smiled against his lips.

“Happy New Year, Rob”, you whispered back.

If only times were as simple as they once were. Nothing was ever as it seemed and that was the reality of your situation. Everything would always fade away from you, only leaving yourself to get out alive.

What a foolish thing to believe in at such a young age. You were only 15, him 16. There was too much of life to live to assume that moment could stay isolated in time forever. You could only hope.

Turning off the faucet, you went back to bed, laying down as you looked out the window and took in the light from the moon, a part of you feeling like someone was watching.

You looked at the lock, lifting yourself up to close it but freezing in the process. You couldn’t explain why but you settled back into bed.

The lock on the window still left open.

You had finalized the steps of your plan, fixing your hair as you pinned a few pieces up and left others to frame your face. It gave you a delicate look, softened your features and gave you a sort of edge. It was dark, sultry.

Spraying a few pumps of your perfume on your neck and wrists, you took one last look in the mirror. You looked sexy, seductive, like any man would fall at your feet. It gave you a boost of confidence as you grabbed your small clutch off the counter, ensuring your dagger was hidden at the bottom with a decent amount of cash, your wallet, lipstick, and your gun. It was along the lining but the bulge was hidden thanks to the other items in your bag.

It took about 20-30 minutes to reach Calvi’s estate, watching as the mansion pulled into view. It was beautiful, and the architecture was gothic but with a light twist of old money and class. It was bright, the reflection from the setting sun making it glow beautifully. There was a garden in the front as the gates opened, the driver buzzing in at the entrance as you showed your identification. Fake identification at that.

The car pulled into the driveway that wrapped around a fountain. It was made of marble, and had beautiful carvings in the stone. It was so intricate you could’ve sworn it might’ve been made by a renaissance sculptor.

The door opened as one of the butlers pulled it away from the car, holding a hand for you to grab onto as you thanked them, a soft smile thrown in their direction.

You walked up the staircase, Calvi waiting for you in his fitted suit, his hair freshly cut and his hands in his pockets as he smiled at you. He extended a hand, taking yours in his as he pressed a kiss on your knuckles.

Chivalry isn’t dead after all.

His eyes did a quick skim of your body, the dress you wore hugging your figure perfectly, the back being exposed to show some skin. It had a pearl chain that hung loosely in the back, but overall the entire ensemble was more than enough to lure him in.

He led you down the hall, the walls covered in old art and the tables filled with flowers, probably thanks to his housing staff. It was unique, grand, over the top yet simple and calming at the same time. You’d been in Gotham Heights’ homes before, but none really drew you in like this one was right now. Calvi had taste, or at least the person who selected his decor had taste.

A flash of blue caught your eye, you stopped as you looked at it. Perfectly marked shades of yellow contrast against the blue, it was beautiful. Something you’d never imagined you’d see.

“Is this real?”, you asked, your eyes glued to the painting.

“Every piece in this house is real, my dear.”

Your head tilted as you soaked in the work of art in front of you. The impressionism was well done, though you knew the history behind the piece.

“You like Van Gogh?”Calvi hummed next to you.

You paused for a moment, soaking in admiration at the lilies in the painting. Each stroke is simple, delicate, and impactful. Van Gogh definitely had a mind far beyond comprehension. You closed your eyes, turning to Calvi and smiling at him.

“No. Not at all actually.”, you responded as you followed him down the hall.

“You like to read?”, you laughed as you grabbed one of the books Robin had brought with him.

“Yeah, I read a lot of Jane Austen, Virginia Woolf too.”, he flipped through some of the pages, almost like he was examining the book as you read the back of the book in your hand.

“How exactly did you get into reading?”

Robin shrugged. “I guess all that free time sneaking into libraries paid off.” he handed you a fry, biting down on it as you finished reading the back of the hardcover. “What about you? Do you like reading?”

“Mmm, no. But the family has a lot of cool paintings around the house. Sometimes I look up what they are and learn about the history of it. I think Rembrant and Van Gogh are my favorites.”

“Yeah? Art history. Almost as cool as Literature”

“It’s way cooler than Literature”, you smirked at him as he rolled his eyes behind his mask.

“Okay, I’ll bite. What’s your favorite and why?”, he leaned back on his hands, watching as you sat in your thoughts for a few moments, contemplating an answer before lighting up in excitement.

“Oh! Definitely a Vase with irises against a yellow background.”

“Jesus, who the hell gave it that long name?”

You shoved his shoulder playfully before grabbing another fry from the small basket he’d brought with him. He often brought burgers and fries for the two of you to share while you caught up for the week. He was able to see you more frequently compared to when you first met a few months ago.

“Van Gogh did, and it’s a great work of art. It’s an impressionist painting. He did it while he was in the psych clinic. I think it’s actually one of the last paintings he ever did before he died. Anyway, I just really like it. The contrast makes it even more interesting to look at because blue and yellow are such bright happy colors and yet, you understand the emotion he felt. A lot of people think it symbolizes his desire to escape, leave the asylum and never look back.”

“Is that why you like it? Because he wanted to escape and never look back?”, you knew exactly why he asked, your heart tugging in your chest as you met his eye line.

“Yeah, I guess so.”, you confessed, “But, I’ve been wanting to escape a lot less recently.”

Robin smiled at you softly, your eyes staring at him with gratitude. He really had made Gotham worthwhile. He made everything worthwhile.

“Yeah, me too.”

“And this is our sitting room. I usually bring guests in to sit and share a drink while we talk over business, personal matters, or just anything life throws at us.”

You snapped back to reality at the sound of Calvi’s voice. You forced yourself to tuck away the thought of the past, focusing on the task at hand. He led you into the room, motioning at the butler inside to fetch some drinks. You sat down gently on the couch, watching as he grabbed the two glasses from the waiter and handed one to you.

“Our Finest red.”, he motioned as you took a sip of the wine.

It was rich, full and sweet. You didn’t know a red could be sweet and yet, here it was. It tasted magnificent.

"So, Vivian.”, he put his arm on the headrest behind you. “A penny for your thoughts?”

“Just wondering how you managed to get such a beautiful home, I’m feeling quite jealous.”, you smiled at him, sipping your glass once again.

“My family works in luxury goods, but after the passing of my parents I figured I could use my investments… differently.”

“Differently?”, you cocked an eyebrow.

“There is a whole other side to the Gotham business than you realize, my dear.”, he leaned in.

I realize more than you do asshole.

“Should I be worried?”, you leaned forward, gently placing a hand on his knee, his eyes flickering with pride.

“I’ll share so long as you can keep it a secret?”, Oh. He was dying to impress you. You could see it all over his body language. Calvi was a smart man, filthy rich, and even had questionable business practices. You needed to see if he truly played a hand in Gotham’s underground like Penguin’s intel had stated. If he did, getting him to partner with the Boss would be a lot easier than you thought.

“If it makes you feel better… I’ll share a secret first. Even the playing field.”, you ran your hand along his tie, fixing it to lay flat on his dress shirt and under the suit he had on. Your eyes met his dark ones as he watched you intently.

“Please share..”, his lips remained parted as he watched your movements, you could tell his heart was beating faster just by the looks of him.

You leaned forward, your face inches from his before you parted your lips, your mouth strategically close to his for effect. “I have a thing for men with a little… edge to them.” you whispered, recognizing the flicker in his eyes the moment you spoke. “You’ve reeled me in, can you get me hooked?”

“I can get you more than just hooked, baby.”, he moved towards you, “I’ll get you addicted.”

You lifted a hand, tracing his jaw slightly, your lips softly grazing his as you pushed him against the couch, throwing your legs over his as you sat up, melding your body close to his.

“So then, enlighten me.”

His hand landed on your thigh, his fingers squeezing a bit before he spoke, the tension growing by the second. “I have connections with the trades on the East side of Gotham. A few business partners help me invest my money where money never ends. I get protection, money, and reputation. All I do is invest and help them make shipments then I make more income than the majority of the people at Sapphire.”

Bingo. He confirmed what you needed to know. If he already had connections with the underground, who were they with?

“Sounds dangerous.”, you fed the bait slowly.

“It keeps money in my pockets, keeps the business alive. Gotham’s underground is a never ending flow of money”

You felt his hand trail up your thigh, the skin growing cold as he pushed your dress up slightly. His eyes tried to dig into yours, but your facade was bulletproof. No one could break you or make you show your true self. Calvi would never even come close to doing so.

The knock on the room door broke the moment much to your satisfaction. Calvi closed his eyes in annoyance, calling out for the guest to come in. Two tall men came in, dressed in all black and wearing a headset. You moved away from Calvi as he stood, walking over to the men as they talked in whispers with him. You committed every part of their appearance to memory, from the clothing they wore, the brand of the headset, to the miniscule scars they had that almost seemed like a branding symbol. You stowed it away in the capsule in your head to later jot down for future reference.

“Vivian.”Calvi turned towards you as you rose from the couch, fixing the small part of your dress that rose a centimeter. “I’m afraid something has come up that requires my attention. I’ll fetch a car for you but please, we need to finish our conversation next time.”

You looked up at him with innocence in your eyes, simply nodding before placing a soft kiss on his cheek, placing a gentle hand on his arm before you went down the corridor to the outside where the car waited for you. You had given your address to the driver and he dropped you off at your complex, leaving you to push through the doors and crash on the bed.

Once you hit the sheets you let out a sigh of relief. God, why was this so taxing? What information did this man have that was so important to Penguin when there were a hundred other men who had the same connections that the boss could do business with? The act of questioning the boss wasn’t an option though, so instead you continued with your assignment as normal.

The next few weeks proved to be normal, simple, barely any information of use. The whole job seemed lackluster, almost a waste of your time but you needed to convince Calvi to work with Penguin. It would be the biggest asset in getting your payout.

That was the goal for your upcoming visit after all.

2 Weeks Later

Entering the location Calvi had given you gave you an edge, it was a club. Mid-level. It was where all of the crooked men of Gotham came to dip into the pool of the underground. It also happened to be one of the investments that Calvi had on the East side. It was similar to the Lounge, though the clientele were more Upper Gotham trying to hide in the shadows.

You walked into the room with seductive confidence, your aura radiating pure lust, seduction, and darkness. You walked to the back of the club, feeling some of the men look at you as you passed by. They would always be enamored by you, all the brainless men in the underground were. They never knew who you were, never knew your name or your looks because you did good in presenting yourself entirely differently each time.

DIfferent hair, different makeup, different energy. Needless to say, they all fell for it every single time. Your dress hugged your figure, stopping mid thigh and carving out your curves to be more prominent, your long, dark hair falling down your back as you fixed your earrings that had dangling strands as you reapplied your dark red lipstick. Seduction was the game and you were the physical embodiment of the word.

You walked up to the red door down the hall, a tall bulky man standing in front of the door as he stared at your body, his eyes roaming and taking you in. You internally smirked at how easy men were to manipulate.

“I have a meeting with Calvi, my name is Vivian.”, you lied through your teeth as the guard grunted and walked inside the room, only to open the door for you a few moments later. “Thank you.”, your lips pulled into a perfect red smile as you walked by him, looking into the room and taking in your surroundings.

The room had a dark atmosphere but was lit by dim lights around the room. A couch in the middle of the room with two solo seating seats, a glass table in the middle with a glass bottle of what seemed like whiskey on the tray on top, two glasses complimenting the bottle. You took in the velvet colors on the furniture, the paintings on the walls adding nice accents as the door on the very end of the room opposite of the main door opened.

“Vivian.”, he smiled at the sight of you, a few men surrounding him as they played poker. They all looked familiar. Probably those men from Sapphire he played chess with. He placed a gentle hand on your back, leading you to the couch as the men watched you intently. “I’m glad you made it.” his suave voice rang out, deep but sophisticated, full of authority.

He had his dark hair slicked back, a dark suit fitted to his body that probably cost him a couple thousands of dollars, his bold gold watch wrapped around his wrist as he walked towards you adjusting his cuffs. He radiated a type of energy that would leave a normal woman at his feet, begging to be taken by him. Your eyes zeroed in on him, taking him in with your dark hues, letting the second round of the game begin.

“Thank you for inviting me, I’ve been looking forward to hearing from you again.”, you sat down as you looked up at him, your stare innocently seductive. He dropped a smile at you, one that could make anyone swoon after him, but you knew his background and you needed to play your cards right in order to convince this man fully.

You watched as he walked to the far side of the room, near the small bar area. “Any wine?”

“Château Lafite Rothschild, if you have it”,

“I love a woman with expensive taste.” he pulled out a bottle which left an impressive look on your face. “1998, it’s more aged.”

He poured your wine before pouring his own Whiskey into a glass and walking over to you, handing you the wine before sitting next to you. You opened your body up to him, not letting him take a hint of your body language being too closed off.

He turned his body to face you, his arm on the head of the couch and his leg crossed over his other. He exuded dominant energy even in a position of relaxation. You weren’t naive though, you knew he was always on guard, especially working with the criminals of Gotham on a regular basis. Anyone could call a hit on him, it made sense he didn’t let his guard down completely.

“I really appreciate aged wine, it’s more of a delicacy so it’s nice when someone actually has it around.”, you smiled at him, his eyes focused on you while you noticed his friends skimming your legs. God these men. So easy to manipulate.

“I wanted to ask about a painting, actually.”, you asked truthfully.

“Anything for you Vivian.”, his full focus was on you, before he motioned for his men to kick out his guests, all the men leaving in a file line as the music from the club slowly leaked into the backroom and his guards stood outside the door. The two of you now alone.

“I want to see how much it would cost to get a Monet in hand. One that has a good price on it.”, his eyes flickered with interest at the mention of the French artist. He had to know how to source one one way or another.

“Which painting are you wanting to inquire about?”

“I’ve wanted to own an authentic version of Le Bassin Aux Nymphéas.”, you said confidently, trying to gauge his interest.

“My dear, it's an $80 million painting.”

“I just.. Wanted to see how much it would take to get it. I have the funds to back up my inquiry.” you played with his tie, smoothing out the folds of his suit.

“I know it’s a difficult piece to acquire, I would need someone to endorse my interests and hold power over the transactional process. I couldn’t think of anyone better than you”, you slowly placed your hand on his chest, letting him soak in your touch. You felt the way his body reacted slightly to you, his heart skipping a beat. You looked into his eyes, seeing that same lustful emotion run through his body. You could see the tightening in his jaw, his hand clenching slightly on the couch.

You noticed the immediate intrigue in his expression. Even he knew the process of getting such a painting would be difficult, expensive and timely. He had a strong hand in the world of luxury goods, his entire business and company focused on the foreign trade of luxury goods and rare objects for high profile clients. This was just another job he would be able to make by pulling black market strings. Everyone in the real world knew Calvi as the charming, handsome CEO of a luxury goods company, but the underground knew him as a black market ring leader. What he made in the underground quadrupled in 6 months what he made in a year in his company. To say he was wealthy would be an understatement.

“What made you so interested in an $80 million painting?”

“I want it for my personal collection. I want it to be desired, taken care of, protected”, your voice flowed through your lips smoothly, your body leaning into Calvi’s as you played softly with his collar, your fingers tracing lines on his suit. Your eyes focused on his tie before meeting his eyes and seeing the absolute craze happening inside of him. His brown eyes stared at you with lust, desire, control, and you knew you were playing your game well.

“I want it to be treated, the way any timeless rarity, any delicate precious luxury should be treated.”, his hand found its way to your leg, rubbing soft circles on your skin as you played your cards. You stared at his lips, then flashed back up to his eyes, letting yourself soak into the moment, letting him slowly unravel underneath your spell. Calvi’s eyes focused on your eyes, then down to your lips, the bright color of your red lips slowly drawing him in.

“You know how to do that don’t you? How to take care of.. Precious delicacies?”, you whispered against his lips, almost pressing against yours as he breathed. You let your hand lay on his chest as the other landed on his hand on your leg. Checkmate.

“I know more than just simply taking care of them, my dear.”, he breathed as he closed the gap between the two of you, his lips savagely consuming you, your hand on his chest as he pushed you against the couch. His hand reached into your hair, tightening as he deepened the kiss, his tongue battling it out with yours as you felt his skin catch on fire. He had been wanting to devour you since you first met a month ago, and now, he was a mindless pawn in your game to get what you wanted. You played the part well, you knew it would be far too easy to get someone like him to fall to his knees for you. It only took a month, but it worked.

“Boss.”

Calvi pulled away, his hand still tangled in your hair as you opened your eyes and met his, his hues full of lust and need. Only after a second, he turned to his guard.

“What is it?”, his voice was filled with irritation.

“I hate to interrupt, but you have a visitor.”, the guard let out. “He’s here for business”

“Tell him to come back tomorrow”, Calvi turned to you again, his eyes taking in your swollen lips and dark eyes. Empty eyes but he didn’t need to know how void of emotion you were.

“Sir.”, the guard pressed before saying something that even you couldn’t ignore. “It’s the Red Hood.”

You felt your blood run cold, forcing yourself to remain calm at the mention of his name. You noticed how Calvi almost immediately snapped into attention. He looked at his guard, nodding and telling him to give him five minutes before bringing him in. He fixed his suit and his hair, wiping off the red stain that was on his lips as you fixed your hair and your dress.

“I didn’t know you had company.”, you said as you watched him. “I can come back another time.”

“Nonsense, my dear. It’ll be quick business, then we can get back to our… discussion about your inquiry on the Monet.”

As he finished, the door opened again, your eyes panned over to the other man standing at the door. A wall of pure, solid muscle covered completely in kevlar, daggers, and guns. A black motorcycle jacket on his upper half and dark combat boots, his bright red helmet making a statement as he entered. He completely flooded your senses with his intensity and dominance. You stared at him as he looked into the room, but you knew he was glaring daggers at you from under his helmet. When didn’t he completely despise anything you did?

“Red Hood. It’s a pleasure to have you here.” Calvi spoke confidently, his hand motioning towards the seat in front of the couch as he sat down next to you. You noticed the slits where his eyes should be narrow slightly no doubt recognizing what you and Calvi were doing. Your hair was a bit messy, and your lips were swollen. To anyone else they would have ignored it. But Red caught it immediately.

“What can I help you with?”

“I don’t mean to interrupt your… affairs, but I have an order to make”, Red’s deep, distorted voice rang out as he glared at Calvi’s hand slightly touching you from the top of the couch. Your eyes narrowed at him and even not being able to see his expression, you knew he was pissed. “I need 4 shipments of Fear Toxin and Miraclo, and two shipments holding AK47s, MFA1 Carbines, and M1928s.”

“When do you need your shipments?”

“Next week.”, Red stood with his arms crossed, staring at you then back at Calvi. You sent him looks filled with annoyance and frustration. You wanted nothing more than to be able to punch him in the jaw. “We have work that needs to be done.”

A subtle threat only meant for you.

What was he planning?

“It’ll be a tight schedule, but I’ll make sure it gets here in 3 days time. I’ll give you your total statement then to ensure payment is processed and received.”

“Good, now, get home Calvi.”, he ordered. You nearly scoffed at how you just witnessed the Red Hood give the king of the black market orders.

“Excuse me?”, Calvi questioned. “Get home? Are you my mother now?”

“No, but I am the guy keeping protection on your little operations, so if you want our contract to not be void, I suggest you listen. I won’t repeat myself twice.”

So Red was his contact. No wonder Calvi seemed well composed and confident in himself. Red was giving him all the protection he needed along with the pay for sourcing weapons for him. Foreign goods. Yeah, those militant weapons were foreign alright.

Calvi stared at him, letting the seconds pass and the tension grow, before standing and fixing his suit. “It’s a pleasure as always Hood. Vivian, let’s go, my dear.”

“The girl leaves. You won’t be needing her to help you get home.”

Calvi narrowed his eyes, your position still sitting on the couch. You felt your body fill with overwhelming anger, you wanted to kill the Red Hood more than anything but you couldn’t give up your facade of the calm, collected woman you were right now. You’d have to deal with him later.

“Vivian, I’ll get my driver to-”

“I’ll make sure she gets a ride.”, Red interrupted him. “I’ll have your guard get her a cab.”

Calvi clenched his teeth, his jaw flexing as you stood and walked over to him. You swayed your hips purposely to get a rise out of the masked vigilante, reaching your hands to touch Calvi’s face.

“I can get home. I look forward to continuing our discussion when we’re able to, okay?”, Calvi grunted in agreement before you gave him a kiss on the cheek, keeping your touch on him longer than you normally would just to get a rise out of the man burning holes into your back. You walked past Red Hood, walking out the door and getting in your cab. You were silent the entire way home, letting yourself bask in the anger eating you alive as you tried to calm down.

You entered your apartment angrily, throwing your clutch on the counter before shoving the heels off your feet.

Who did he think he was?!

God, you were on the right track, you have Calvi wrapped around your finger and of course, it’s him that Calvi has ties with. Now your entire plan was set back thanks to the infuriating red vermin.

You placed your hands on the counter, leaning forward as you stared at the ground. You needed to breathe. Relax. You could not let him get to you. Especially not like this.

Was this payback for the past month of you raiding his jobs? For making him lose all that money? He already wanted to kill you and you him, but why did him barging in on your jobs piss you off even more? You’d rather he just put the bullet in your head and call it a day than have to deal with the anger that flooded your veins every time you saw him.

“You really know how to play the part of seductress don’t you?”, that deep, distorted voice ripped you out of your focus. You felt the anger rise in you again. You turned to look at him, all 225 pounds of him, with his overwhelming presence, his annoying glare as he stared at your form. You were still wearing your dress, your hair still done and your makeup still flawless. And yet, the ugly side of you was about to come out and go head to head with this man.

“Get out of my apartment, Red.”, you bit out, the venom lacing your voice.

“What were you planning on doing? Seducing him?”, he pressed, his voice had an edge to it. “Were you going to reel him in? Get him under your spell so he would do you favors?”

“I said, get out!”, you turned to look at him, your eyes red with fury, your skin burning in irritation, and your heart pounding as you stood in front of him, looking up due to the obvious height difference. Red started to walk towards you, forcing you against the wall as he raised his arm to trap you against his muscular form and the brick. You wanted to fucking kill him.

“Were you going to let him have his way with you?”, he lowered his head, his voice deeper than it was before, the edge growing sharper. There was something dark in his voice, dangerous, full of instability. Your jaw clenched as you tried shoving him away, punching his chest as you shoved your face in his, the hate evident like you were an angered bull.

“Let him be taken by you? Let him touch you, use you, maybe even let him fuck you?”, You punched him again, shoving your hands into his chest as you pushed out of his grasp, snapping at him when he tried to touch you.

“Fucking leave me alone!” you yelled, your voice raw and your adrenaline pumping. You were certain you could kill him right now given the chance. You tried reaching for the gun in your bag, only to feel his hands stop you, pushing you against the table as he pressed his chest flush with your back, his face right next to your ear as he spoke in a dark tone.

“I know your little game, (Y/n). You can fool Calvi, seduce him, manipulate him, brainwash him. But I know. I know every little thing that you’re doing.”, he pressed his body against you, his leg separating your thighs, pressing against you. “You can’t fool me, sweetheart.”

“You son of a bitch..”, you felt on fire, struggling against him, pushing yourself back as he turned you around, forcing himself into your space. Your body was still wrapped in your dress, your breasts were practically on his chest, his arms trapping you as he overwhelmed your senses.

“Tell me, (Y/n), do you think he’d know how to take care of you?”, his voice got deeper, his hand grabbing your face so your eyes would meet his. His body pressed against you, the muscle of his legs causing your skin to heat. “Would he know the first thing about where to touch you?”, his leg pushed against your core, your body responding to his sudden movements. “Would he know how to fuck you?”.

Your eyes narrowed in hatred, absolute hate and fury. There was no hiding it, even he could see the absolute lack of control you had right now and you hated it. You hated him.

His voice was in your ear, his hand grabbing your waist as the other wrapped itself around your throat. “Would he be able to make you scream his name?”. God, he filled your senses and pushed you into overdrive. “Would he be able to absolutely fuck the sense out of you and make you his? Take every part of you and make you beg?” his voice dripped with conviction, repeating himself a final time. “Tell me sweetheart, do you think he’s the one to make you his?”

You couldn’t take the pressure building in between your thighs. You didn’t want to have this reaction to him, but your body had other plans, ones you couldn’t control or hide.

“Why are you so interested in my personal life, Red?”, you challenged. You needed to get your power back from him. “Do you think you’d be able to do even half of what you’re saying Calvi would do to me?”

“Sweetheart, if I had you, there wouldn’t be a doubt in anyone’s mind who you belonged to.”

You stared at him with heat in your eyes, you knew he could see how flustered you were but you didn’t want to give him more power than he already had. You suddenly felt his gloved hand on your neck, his fingers softly clutching your face.

“I don’t belong to anyone. Especially not you”, you bit out, your teeth clenched as he held your gaze.

“Keep telling yourself that, Sweetheart.”, he pushed himself away from you, heading towards the window. “Calvi works for me. He won’t be so naive to fall into your tricks.”

“Leave, Red.”, you forced out, your anger still consuming you. You watched as he climbed out the window and out into the night, your body still in overdrive from his touch.

Why did he leave you feeling this way?

How did he get you this riled up?

Why did he care about you going after Calvi?

And most importantly, what was his motive?

A/N: Here is chapter 3! Hope you guys enjoy it!

I have been sick the past week so I was able to edit and get this up for you guys. I love the reactions to this series so please leave all your comments and thoughts! I love reading them and look forward to hearing more from you guys.

Until Next Week xx.

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