#maybe i need to get him arrested or something. murder? breaking and entering? maybe he can get mixed up with la Llorona

[phanboyo]

Not me being incredibly disappointed that my fic timeline doesn't match up so that Danny has to dig up a corpse. Now I have to plan out a trip to europe with an assassin and a fake passport or something. What is this bullcrap

[tojisbbygworl]

The Apartment Across The Street - Sukuna x Reader

In the short time he watches her, he learns 3 new things: 1. She has a mirror on the left side of the window. 2. She is completely unaware of how easily someone could see her in all her half-naked glory. 3. Sukuna could overpower her if it came down to it.

Or maybe it’s 4 things. From the beating of his heart and the warm rushing feeling heading towards his dick, he learns the drug he thought he needed might not be a drug at all.

Words: 6.7k

Tags - 18+ MDNI, No Use of Y/N, No Curses, Set in late 90s/early 00s, Smut, Angst, High Sex, Missionary, Degredation, Marijuana, Slight x Toji (I can't help myself)

WARNINGS - Dead Dove, Dark, Non-Con/Dub-con, Breaking and Entering, Sukuna and Toji are criminals, Sukuna's a hitman, Choking, Violence

AO3 Version

Masterlist

author's note: Heyyyy! Okay I went a little too hard like I always do so this is a bit long and (imo) it get's a little intense so be warned. I hope you enjoy hopefully I have some motivation to keep writing. art cred: @innaillus

That apartment used to be empty.

Sukuna hadn’t been home in a week. He doesn’t mind. He’s learned to not have too many hopes or expectations in this line of work. Besides, he prefers being his own boss. He accepts contracts when he needs money then he’s off until it runs out. Doesn’t matter if they take days or even weeks.

Shorter jobs like this one weren’t his treat. They don’t pay as much as he likes, but it works out. These apartments were a bit shitty, they didn’t cost too much. And, he was right in the middle of the city. Easy to meet clients. The clubs went on all night long. Which is exactly how late he was out when he was home. Actually, he was planning to go out tonight. Meet up with Toji and see if he can’t get a woman in his bed by 2 am.

He wondered how long it would take to see his newest neighbor. The way the apartments in the complex are built, you could easily see into your neighbor’s bedroom. 'State guidelines say blinds aren’t required. You buy them,' was the response he received when he brought the problem up to the landlord. A lot of people invested in curtains, maybe they hadn’t bought any yet. He saw a bed, but it seems to be the only thing they’ve managed to set up. There were a couple boxes with flaps wide open sitting beside it.

After a few more moments of rumination, he closed his curtain and laid down on his bed waiting for a text to come over. In truth, he couldn't wait to see who was unlucky enough to be his new window neighbor. The last one didn’t go too well. They also didn’t invest in curtains and he isn’t entirely sure if he’s the reason they moved out, but he’s sure they didn’t appreciate catching his stare multiple times a day. And that one time at midnight.

-

All it took was the next morning.

Sukuna’s eyes crept open and he stared towards the ceiling. The girl he brought home last night was dead asleep and naked on his chest. He yawned and wiped his face tiredly. He nudged the girl off of him a bit, then sat up on the side of his bed. Ugh, he felt like shit. Toji always went entirely too hard when they went out, but Sukuna doesn’t mind. He has nowhere to be. Nothing to do. 

He got up and stretched then walked to the bathroom. As he completed his morning routine, he pondered about what today would behold for him. This is another reason he hated short jobs. Sukuna loves free time, but only if there’s something to do with it. There never really is.

He could kill that girl in his bedroom. In fact, he could have killed any girl he brought home since he moved in half a year ago. But the last time he made his job his hobby, it didn’t go so well for him. It was too close of a call, and getting arrested for murder just isn’t worth it. He could spend a couple months in the pen, not years at a time.

He spat out his toothpaste. Life was so fucking mundane. He had no life goals, barely any friends, his little brother hates him, and he works alone. All things he doesn’t actually care about, but shit, when is he going to get some excitement? Nothing gets him going anymore.

He needs something that will make him feel. A drug of some sort? But that doesn’t seem right to him. Even now as he walks back in the room staring at the woman in his bed, he feels nothing. If she woke back up and decided she wanted to have sex with him, he would say yes, but only because it’s something to do. He’s not feeling any particular way about her.

The moment he sat back down on the bed, she started shifting around. A few seconds later, she lifts her head and yawns. “Good morning.” She giggles, she leans over and kisses his cheek. Sukuna grunts.

The girl looks around the dark room. “It is morning, right?” She doesn’t let him answer before she stands up and opens the curtains. “Oh wow,” she exclaims. “I can see directly into your neighbor’s room.” She says. He still doesn’t get up, just hums at her.

“She’s cute though.”

Sukuna perks up upon hearing that. “Oh yeah? I haven’t seen her yet. She’s new.”

This was the first time since they’ve met that she said something interesting, but unfortunately for him, she drops the subject immediately and walks back into bed, leaving the curtains open. Sukuna holds back his sigh. Does he really want to spend the rest of his morning with this girl? It was half past 8. Way too early.

“I'm going to start getting ready for work,” he says without skipping a beat. She stops in her tracks and blinks at him, clearly not expecting that. It’s silent for a few moments. Sukuna’s not sure what she’s waiting on, but if it’s for him to say he’s kidding or let her stay, she’s sorely mistaken.

“Oh, I thought you were contracted,” she says nervously.

‘I only work when I feel like it, gorgeous.’ Sukuna inwardly curses himself for his suave nature. “Yeah. I got a contract. In an hour.”

His curtness and annoyed expression did good to make her feel completely and totally unwanted. The girl awkwardly smiled at him. “Oh, ha ha. Yeah…okay.” Sukuna got up and walked out of the room. Give her a little space to feel like shit while she gets ready to leave. He makes himself a cup of coffee, his face still that same blank expression even after he hears her rushing out the door from behind him. When she’s gone he takes himself back into his room.

He walks up to his window to close the curtains once more until someone catches his eye. He freezes and his eyebrows shoot upwards. That girl was right. She was cute. And he had the perfect view of her. She seemed to be posing or checking herself out. Sukuna wasn’t sure which one it was, but he hoped she didn’t stop. That bikini she had on was doing wonders for her, and him.

Something was off. Looking at her made him…tense. His hands were gripping the curtains, he was biting the inside of his cheek, his leg was shaking; Was it anxiety? No, she’s not making him nervous. What he’s feeling is euphoric. He likes it. He wants to grip her bare waist and squeeze her until she bruises.

In the short time he watches her, he learns 3 new things: 1. She has a mirror on the left side of her window. 2. She is completely unaware of how easily someone could see her in all her half-naked glory. 3. Sukuna could overpower her if it came down to it. Or maybe it’s 4 things. From the beating of his heart and the warm rushing feeling heading towards his dick, he learns the drug he thought he needed might not be a drug at all.

-

It doesn’t take long after that to finally meet her.

Before taking his most recent job, Sukuna had nearly consumed everything in his fridge. What was left was now finished and he spent a lot of his morning sulking at a half empty milk carton, his breakfast for the day. He hated eating out, it messed with his figure.

The local grocery wasn't too bad of a walk from his place, although he hated carrying everything back. He always bought a few necessities and a few ingredients to quickly whip something up for his dinner. Today, he’d have to bulk up if he doesn’t want to keep coming back.

As much as he hated the public, shopping never seemed to be a problem for him. He was tall and intimidating, he never smiled, he was always tense; people tended to avoid him like the plague. He appreciated it. But, as he enters the frozen meal aisle with his cart half full he wishes that just for a moment, he looked approachable. Then, this would be much easier.

There she was, in sweatpants and a cropped tube top, looking at the frozen pizzas. She looked like she had been home all day. She was much cuter now that he could see her better. A lot cuter. She’s pretty as hell.

Thank goodness, too. He already knew what her body looked like, what with her constantly taking pictures of herself in front of the window. She liked to play dress up, she would try on entirely different outfits before she was satisfied. Pretty soon, the colors of her bras and panties would be ingrained into his memory.

He stood there looking her up and down for a few more seconds before he started browsing once more. Although he really was looking for food he wanted, he used this opportunity to slowly get closer to her. He pretended to be interested in some frozen broccoli and he snuck a look at her. To his surprise, and enjoyment, she had done the same. When they made eye contact, she jerked and looked away. A couple moments after that, she grabbed her food and walked away into another aisle.

Sukuna chuckled to himself. She wouldn’t get away that easily. He dropped the broccoli in his cart and followed after her. He hadn’t seen which aisle she’d gone into, so he kept walking down and looking into each one until he found her trying to get some chips from a high shelf. He smiled upon seeing her struggle. Maybe this would be easier than he thought.

He managed to walk right up behind her and reach for the chips she was trying to get before she got startled. She gasped a bit and looked up at him. He looked down at her. Fuck, she was pretty. His heart started to pound, he could practically salivate at the idea of taking her home.

He hands her the chips before she can say anything, then walks away. Before he’s out of her sight he hears her say, “Thank you so much.”

Her cadence, the velvety softness of her voice; it made him want to drop to his knees. How sweet would she sound if he bit into her neck? How soft is her yelp when she stubs her toe? How shrill is her scream when she’s in pain?

Her appreciation made him stop in his tracks. He turned over his shoulder to look at her. She seemed nervous and her eyes were uncertain. Sukuna began to feel restless. So many ideas of what he could do to her if he got her alone were rushing through his mind and she was none the wiser. This aisle has been empty and no one has come by. He could take her right now.

Instead, he looks her up and down. “Yeah, sure.” And then he walks away with his shopping. He leaves wondering when next they’ll meet, she does the same as she watches his back.

-

“Still haven’t called the maintenance guy, huh? Lazy jackass.”

Sukuna turns his head to the side and glares at his unwanted guest. Toji may have been his best friend, but that doesn’t mean he didn’t want to break his fat neck and bury him in the park. Besides, that title meant jack shit. They met in jail and Toji helped him get on his feet when Sukuna’s sentence was up. Toji never really left him alone and Sukuna stayed because his family was rich. If anything, they were close acquaintances who had sex sometimes.

Speaking of Toji’s money, the asshole grew up in an affluent family which means his standards were a bit too high for the humble abode that Sukuna prefers. It was probably the most annoying part about him. He was complaining about the door to the bathroom. It didn’t close correctly so you had to force it shut. Something that just isn’t enough of a problem to be bothered to try and fix.

“Stop coming over if it annoys you so much,” Sukuna responds, taking another drag from their second blunt for the morning. He was finally starting to feel something from it and he didn’t want to hear Toji whining about bullshit.

“Nah, I think I’ll keep coming. Especially with your fine ass neighbor.” Toji walked away again, not seeing Sukuna’s head jerk towards him. What was he talking about? Sukuna didn’t tell him about her. Did he see her?

“Why the fuck are you in my room?” He gets up to follow behind him. Sukuna looks down the hallway and sees both his room and the bathroom doors wide open. The bathroom was empty. “Get out.”

He starts walking towards his room door but jumps back when Toji rushes out of it. “Come look at this,” he says, grabbing his arm.

Toji had this crazed grin on his face and he was tugging him along impatiently. “What the hell are you-” Sukuna’s words die in his throat as he gazes upon what had Toji so excited. It was his beautiful neighbor changing in front of her mirror again except, there was a big problem. She had never been completely naked before.

Holy shit, her body could stop a truck. Sukuna let his jaw drop. His eyes raked her from her breasts to her legs. She would turn around occasionally, walk back and forth in front of the window, oh he loved the way her tits bounced. He wanted her on top of him, his dick sliding in and out of her while he latched onto her nipple.

“She’s sexy as fuck, huh?” Sukuna’s unceremoniously snapped out of his trance by Toji’s comment. He turns his head towards him looking at his smile and twinkling eyes. “She do this all the time? Does she even know?” Toji gasps and looks him in the eye. “Does she do it on purpose?”

I’m that moment, a switch had flipped inside of Sukuna. Toji was watching her before he brought him in here. He saw her naked first. He shouldn’t have seen her at all. The warm swarm of butterflies in his abdomen had fluttered away, a feeling of rage building in his heart instead. She was Sukuna’s to look at, not Toji’s.

To answer his question, Sukuna shrugs. Then, they both turn towards her again only to make eye contact with her. They see her gasp, cover herself and shriek before running from the window. “Fuck,” they say in unison before shutting the curtain.

“I blame you for that,” Toji says despite both of them being at fault. He puts his hands in his pockets and walks out of the room. “Where’s the blunt?”

Toji may have forgotten about that little encounter, but Sukuna doesn’t think he can forget anytime soon. He hates that Toji got to see her like that. They still haven’t spoken more than once to each other, and now she knows he’s a pervert that stares at her through their windows. Sukuna scowls at the ground then slams his hand into the wall. She’ll leave soon just like the last one did, but this time, he doesn’t want to accept that as a possibility.

He gives himself time to calm down before joining Toji again. He can’t bring work home again.

-

It was over.

He saw her once after that incident. Waiting for Toji to pick him up for the night, he stood outside the local gas station smoking a cigarette. She’d been on his mind since. She invested in curtains, unfortunately. She was really uncomfortable. He’s not even sure if she’s left the apartment.

Thinking about what happened made him furious. If Toji hadn’t gone into his room he would have never seen her. Oh he just can’t shut the hell up about the shape of her ass and how he would let her suffocate him with her gorgeous thighs. Sukuna sighed, her thighs were gorgeous weren’t they?

She was a missed opportunity. There are so many ways he could have started something with her. It’s not like she didn’t like him, had they met again before that, he’s sure he could have gotten her number. Usually, missing out on a woman wasn’t that bothersome, but she was different for him. He looked forward to beating his dick under the windowsill while she tried on clothes. His imagination wasn’t bad, but by the time he came in his hands, his dick was red and sore and his arm was tired.

His memory is not enough. He wants her.

He looks at the time on his watch. A quarter ‘til midnight. He rolls his eyes. Toji’s always late. A quick snack is in order.

Sukuna mindlessly stares at the powdered donuts wondering if he really feels like fucking up his clothes and having dirty fingers. He hates club bathrooms, the one here is just as bad, and he doesn’t want to lick his fingers. Maybe he won’t. But right before he decides to leave, the door opens. He turns his head upon hearing the small ring of a bell, but doesn’t pay attention to the culprit until they’re in the same aisle. “Oh shit,” he said before he could stop himself.

He tries to look away before she notices, but it’s too late. He looks back at her and grimaces. The girl is shaken to her core. Poor thing is afraid. And while Sukuna feels a bit bad about making such a cutie so frightened, it kind of…warms his heart. She takes in a deep breath and twists back around. She doesn’t even buy anything. She just leaves.

He almost chases her. He stands in the aisle still reveling in her presence. He breathes deeply thinking about how nice it felt to have such power over someone. Hm.

Sukuna leaves the store only a few moments after her. Toji’s BMW was running next to a pump as he got out of the car. “Oh shit, there you are.” He grins. “Guess who I just saw.”

“I know. She was running from me.” Sukuna says, getting into the passenger seat.

Toji cackles while driving away. “Damn, so she’s scared of us, huh?” Sukuna shrugs. “She looked like it. Girl was huffing it. Actually…she ran down the street towards where we’re going.”

Sukuna raises a brow at him. Toji doesn’t say anything and just keeps smiling. “So?”

He turns on his beamers and slows down as he drives between the apartment buildings. Sukuna’s eyes widen as he realizes just what Toji’s trying to do. And soon his lips follow. Just up ahead was a figure with a hoodie walking very quickly. They turn around and immediately shield their eyes from the bright lights. It was her.

She seemed confused at first, and the bright light contrasted with the darkness of the night blinded her from seeing who was in the car. However, she didn’t stop walking or slow down. She decided to mind her business instead. It could be anyone. Anyone. Even though it was the same car waiting at the gas station.

Despite her telling herself that she’s okay, she couldn’t help but notice how they were matching her speed. And that once they had gotten right behind her, the window was rolled down. And that she still had a block left to go.

“Ay,” Sukuna shouted from behind her, effectively terrifying her. She turned to see his smile and upon further investigation, she saw Toji’s from the driver’s seat. Oh no. “You can’t say hi? You scared of me?” He taunts.

She ran.

-

And that was the worst thing she could have done.

There have been a few recent instances that made her question her move to this city. She was hoping to start a new life, away from her family, away from her ex, make some new friends; she didn’t think she would be planning to move out after a couple months.

That man…she didn’t know what the hell his problem was. Why did he and his friend follow her out of the gas station? Was he crazy? Did she do something to him? Since they followed her, she’s been racking her mind trying to figure out what the hell she did to deserve this. Before that, she had only ever spoken to him once at the grocery store. He was extremely intimidating, but she was intrigued by him. She didn’t mean to stare, but he was very attractive. Clearly he had seen it as some sort of invitation. Maybe he followed her into that aisle and it wasn’t just an act of kindness.

Coming home after work had become so much more nerve wracking. In fact, coming out of her unit brings her horrible anxiety. She’s constantly looking over her shoulder. Tries to pretend the building across doesn’t even exist. She doesn’t understand what took her so long to get curtains; it just wasn’t a priority for her. Either way, she didn’t deserve to be punished for her forgetfulness.

She’s in a weird position where the longer she goes without seeing him, the more worried she becomes even though she never wants to see him or his friend again. Currently, she was in the elevator heading up to her apartment. She was catching her breath and trying to relax now that she was safe. She does this everyday now.

She couldn’t wait to be home. The entire day she’s been feeling like complete crap. Her heart refused to leave her stomach. She dropped so many cups behind the bar that she spent more time sweeping and wiping up drinks than making them. And she was on the verge of tears the entire time. It was nice to be home, but she wondered how bad it would be tomorrow.

In fact, it was so bad today that although she was physically relaxed, her brain just wouldn’t be quiet. It kept telling her to stay alert, that there was still something waiting for her. She tried her best to ignore it and enjoy her night. She was going to kick off her shoes, rip off all her clothes, warm up her leftovers and hit her bong. She was off tomorrow and she is not planning on leaving her room at all.

She messed with her keys when she approached her door. All the apartments had two locks, a deadlock and a lock on the handle, but she was looking for another that she could attach herself. The home goods store near her didn’t have any promising ones, so she had to wait on a shipment.

She reached for the handle to unlock it. Her hand twisted the lever and she retracted it immediately. Her heart starts racing once more, but then she realizes the door was still closed. When she can’t get the door open, she sighs in relief. The deadlock was still intact and locked. The apartments are just shitty.

As relieved as she was in that moment, this just meant she had another problem to deal with. She couldn’t go with one of her locks not working, especially not the handle. In fact, maybe she’ll deal with it tonight. She does have tools and she can be pretty handy when she needs to be.

Like she wanted to, she kicks off her shoes and rips off her jacket. She almost takes off her clothes before she notices a certain smell in the air. Her apartment smelled of weed, but it smelled like someone was actively smoking right at that moment. Maybe it was her next door neighbor.

She walks through her silent home. Maybe she should get a cat. There are quite a few friendly strays around. She could afford-

What was that noise?

A bump. In her bedroom.

What could it have been? Had her worst fears come true?

No. It’s not possible…so why had that sinking feeling returned in full force? There was nothing in her room. There was no one in her room…

-

Toji had broken the lock for him. 'Just record it for me,' was his end of the bargain.

The place was just as cute as he thought it was. She still had a lot of things unpacked, and she hadn’t gotten a couch for the living room. Hm. He wonders if she really is planning on leaving. That would not be good.

He would want her to stay, but if she can get away from him, at least he’ll get a taste of her.

She leaves her weed out. Hm…he would enjoy this better if he were high. And he’ll make her smoke too. 

When he heard her coming closer to her room, he put the bong down and stood up. Her room was small and it was pitch black, the only light coming from the embers in the bowl. He hit her closet door and she heard it. Fuck. He hopes she doesn’t get a weapon out.

And she didn’t. This girl is…something else.

He hides right behind the door in between the wall and the hinges. Then, he waited quietly and patiently until she slowly opened the door and turned on the light. And before she could try to look around, he slammed the door shut behind her.

-

It all happened in a second.

She heard the door slam and time froze. She told herself then and there, that she was going to die tonight. She knew who her killer would be before she turned around. Did she even want to?

She didn’t have a choice, her body reacted before she could think. All she saw was a small scowl, he had brown eyes, but they looked tainted with blood. His hands, his large hands, shot towards her head and before she could scream he trapped her mouth shut. His other hand gripped the back of her head.

She fought him as violently as she could. She scratched his face, pulled his hair, tried to poke him in the eyes; but he was quick to show her that he was much stronger than her. He pulls his hand off of her mouth and smacks her across the face. She can only scream for a second before his hand is back on her mouth and he pushes her into the bed.

Sukuna takes his hand off of the back of her head and squeezes her neck. He still holds her mouth shut. She gets weaker and weaker as the oxygen leaves her brain. He leans down towards her face to speak to her. “You want to live?”

Tears had long been streaming down her face, but this is the point where she finally breaks down wailing. She lets her arms fall and Sukuna loosens his grip on her neck. But only slightly. She takes a deep breath and cries into his hand. “Answer me,” he says. “Come on, pretty girl.”

She cries a bit more before nodding her head in defeat. “I know. You’re gonna do what I say?”

She nods again. “You’re not gonna scream when I take my hand off?” She sniffles and sobs again. “Because you want to fucking live, right? Right?” He tightens his grip on her neck again. She kicks her feet and nods as best as she can. “Go turn off your light and turn on your lamp. You’re gonna smoke with me.”

He gets off her and watches her to make sure she does what he asks. It takes her a minute, she lays there quietly sobbing and wiping her tears while Sukuna takes another hit of her bong, but eventually she gets up to turn on her lamp, then flip her light switch. “Lock the door too. I like the feeling of extra privacy when I’m taking a woman to bed.”

-

He disgusts her.

He forces her to take several long hits that had her in horrible coughing fits. And of course, it wasn’t long before she was completely inebriated. She couldn’t really move too much, or think too much. But even though she was out of commission, she could hear every word Sukuna said to her.

He talked her ear off about how he’d been looking at her for a week before they met at the grocery store. All the way up until she realized just how exposed she was from catching him and his friend staring. It was her fault, is what he said. He said she was stupid to not think anyone could see her. She should have gotten blinds or curtains when she moved in. A fucking dumbass bitch.

That’s how she felt.

He taunted her as he watched her take her clothes off. His dick was already in his hand, he had been hard for a while. Imagining his dick finally pounding into her as he squeezes the life out of her.

‘I think you wanted someone to watch you,’ he said to her. She hung onto every word he said, answered every question he had. ‘You’re an attention seeking slut, aren’t you? Nod your head.’ And she did. ‘What’s your name?’ And she told him. ‘Take that shit off faster and come hit this again.’

She was completely out of it, but instead of floating, she sank. She sunk deeper into the bedsheets, Sukuna weighing her down with every word. Every stroke of his hand on her thigh, every lick on her neck and collarbone, every bite on her chest. When he reached down between her legs and stroked her clit, she moaned, then cried in shame.

“Shhhh,” he whispered in her ear from behind her. “You’re gonna love me. And if you’re good I won’t hurt you.” He kisses her ear, then nibbles on it. He leaves a trail of wet kisses down the side of her neck. She cries and shakes, twisting her head away from him as best as she could. Sukuna’s hands explore her body eagerly. He can’t decide whether he wants to grip her hips or play with her nipples. She was so soft, just as he imagined.

He flips her onto her back. “Look at me, baby.” She opens her eyes only slightly, her tears blurring her vision completely before falling. He takes his hand to cup her cheek and wipe them with his thumb. As she gazed upon his naked body on top of hers, she accepts her fate: this man was going to rape then kill her.

He looked deranged. His brows were knit together with a lopsided grin. Her body is racked with sobs once more. “It’s okay,” he tells her. “Shhhh.” He slowly brings his thumb wet with salty tears to her mouth. She tries to pull her head away, but he quickly attaches his hands back to her mouth and head then he leans down towards her. “I thought you said you wanted to live.”

She’s actually not sure at this point. Does she want to live with this trauma? Does she want to continue being this man’s neighbor for him to torture however he sees fit? Does she want to have to look at his building every single day living in fear that he’ll do it again? Living in fear of his friend getting any bright ideas?

“Just relax.” He lets go of her head and goes for her neck. She moans as he bites and sucks on it, making sure to leave a mark reminding her of what he did. It won’t be the only one.

Sukuna slowly takes his hands and lifts both of her legs in the air. He licks his fingers while looking at her, then bites his lip as he plays with her clit once more. She breathes harder and harder with every rub. They don’t break eye contact, it does something to him. He’s reveling in her fear. Her eyes were shot, her mascara and eyeliner running down her face. It made her look even more beautiful. She was making him feral.

Sukuna’s dick was an angry scarlet and dripped precum all over her leg where it rested. He was big and it scared her even more. As his eyes explored her body, he got hungrier and hungrier. He slides a finger inside of her and starts pumping. Her pussy was slick with her arousal.

“Fuck,” he whispered putting in another finger. He pumped his fingers hard enough to make her wetness splash. She threw her head back and arched her chest into the air. She sounded just as sweet as he thought she would. She was turning out to be everything he wanted and more. He wasn’t waiting any longer.

He yanked his fingers out of her and searched her bedside table for his camcorder. She whined when he removed himself from her and watched him. Sukuna pressed record.

“Say hi to Toji,” he told her, sticking the lens in her face. She closes her eyes and tries to avoid the camera. He grips her chin with his fingers and forces her head forward. “Ain’t she pretty?” Sukuna pulls away from her face to record her body. He takes her tit in his hand to play with. He jiggles and pulls on her nipple before smacking it. When she squealed he did it again.

“He’s gonna love watching me fuck the shit out of you.” Sukuna sat and balanced the recorder on her nightstand perfectly angled to show their torsos and hips. He gets back on the bed to grab her waist and pull her towards his. He groaned when he felt his dick rub against her pussy. “You know who I’m talking about, right? My friend? You know he saw you before I did.”

He pauses to spit into his hand and starts jerking his throbbing shaft. “I wanted to kill that fucker.” Sukuna leans over once more and kisses her several times before capturing her lips in one long and forceful kiss. He rubs his dick against her entrance as he does this, with a desperate moan from both of them to accompany it. Sukuna rests his forehead against hers. “Tell me you’re mine.” His eyes are fiery, and she doesn’t wish to find out what will happen if she fails to do what he asks.

His tip begins to poke through her entrance. She whimpers and he brings his head down and bites her lip. “Come on…”

“I’m yours-” He finally starts tucking his dick into her. The feeling of being inside her was heaven on Earth. He wasn’t ashamed of how loudly he moaned. She was louder anyway. They always are. Even when they don’t want it.

“My name is Sukuna.” She takes all of him like a fucking champ. And looks good as fuck while doing it. And her voice…

“I’m yours, Sukuna.”

A tear ran down her cheek. The dragging of his dick against her walls was nothing like she’s ever felt before. It felt so good, but she was the unhappiest she’d ever been. She’s terrified and unsure if she’ll live to see tomorrow. He says he won’t kill her if she’s good, but what does good even mean to him?

She knows there’s nothing she really could have done to avoid what was currently happening to her. This man- no, Sukuna, saw her when she was first moved in and decided then and there that he wanted to rape her. No matter what he claims about her being rude and ignoring him when he helped her. And yet, she blames herself.

If she had just gotten curtains or blinds early enough, then maybe she could have avoided him. Or maybe she wouldn’t have existed to him at all. At least he wouldn’t have known what floor she was on or her room. Maybe he wouldn’t have known what building she was in.

She was so fucking stupid.

-

He repeated that all night.

‘Stupid fucking bitch,’ he would mutter under his breath. ‘Changing in front of a window, thinking no one’s gonna see you? Posing in mirrors and shit?’ He fucked her at a smooth and steady rythym, she was soaking wet and splashing all over his stubble. The sheets were damp underneath. ‘Oh yeah. You like it when I talk to you like that?’ She couldn’t stop herself from crying in humiliation.

He asked her to cry louder for ‘Toji’, which she did, and he proceeded to smack her across the face for being too loud.

He felt amazing, he pushed her legs into her chest and hammered into her. She cried into his mouth as she came all over him. Her pussy squeezing his member drive him insane and before he knew it he was cumming inside her. ‘Fuck…’ He pulled out and jerked the rest of his cum onto her pussy and thighs. He quickly grabbed the camera to show Toji, with the flash on.

‘Look at that shit,’ Sukuna made sure to examine her at every angle. He pushed his finger into her and chuckled when she moaned. His index was covered with his cum and he brought it and the camera up to her body and face.

She was completely tired out. She couldn’t move, she couldn’t speak, she could barely even lift her eyelids. Sukuna kissed at her like a dog, then maneuvered the camera to her face. Her face was soaked with tears and spit. Her makeup had smudged everywhere and ran down her cheeks. Her hair was a mess, and she ached everywhere.

Her mouth hung open and Sukuna proceeded to jam his finger into it. He used it to pull her head back over to him and made out with her. Then, his dick started poking her ass.

She had no idea what time last night they were finally done, talk less of when she actually fell asleep. He smoked a blunt after the whole thing, sat her up so he could make her smoke too. He found her liquor cabinet. The night got worse.

She puked her guts out then fell asleep on the floor, but now she was in her bed trapped underneath him. They were both naked. She was sore as the day was long. He snores next to her. Holy fucking hell. She’s alive. Why is she alive?

She starts breathing heavily and looking around her room. She doesn’t know what to do. She didn’t think she would still be here.

In a flash, he’s up. His hand is over her mouth, and his eyes are staring into hers. He has a poker face. She shakes in his clutches and her eyes fill with tears already. “Relax. Listen to me. I know what you’re planning.”

What? What is he- “I dare you to fucking try and move away from me. I will follow you and ruin your life.”

“You said you were mine last night? Then you’re mine. You’ll do what I say, and I’ll do as I please with you. Do you understand?”

All she could do was nod. What could she say? She was planning on moving despite not having the money for it. She would have to save up. And now that he’s shown her what he’s capable of, why would she take the risk? 

Why is this happening to her? What did she do to deserve this? Want a better life for herself?

-

Sukuna was pleased with how the morning was going.

She was sitting on a stool in her dining room watching him make them breakfast with an ice pack on her face and a blanket over her body. She didn’t know what to think.

Suddenly, he perks up and turns towards her. “You got a phone, pretty?” 

She could throw up again. She swallows and points towards the hall . “My room,” her voice was hoarse and weak. “On the other side of the bed.”

He pauses and blinks at her. She gets scared again wondering what she did wrong this time. He turns the heat off. “You’re coming with me.”

Toji answers in a flash. “So, how was it?”

“You’re gonna like what you see.” He turns towards where she’s sitting on the bed. “Isn’t that right?” She’s not amused.

“Are you…are you with the bitch right now?” Toji asks.

“Yeah,” Sukuna makes his voice dreamy. “We’re going steady.”

ending a/n: Please lmk what you think ! Thank you for reading !

Masterlist

W E L C O M E P A G E

[mothhball]

Positive Reinforcement

Pairing | Jonathan Crane x delusional!Reader (fem)

Warnings | 18+ SMUT, DUB-CON (bc Jon is playing a little hard to get), L-BOMB, fingering, oral sex (both m + f receiving), deepthroating, brief breathplay, mutual body worship, p in v sex, unprotected sex, multiple rounds, overstim, clothed male/naked female, threats of drugging, violence mention, reader is a little unhinged

Summary | You’re convinced he’s the one, but you’ve been causing nothing but trouble for Jonathan. Maybe it’s time to switch up the strategy.

Words | 6.2k

Notes | FILTH. Jon may be ooc, whoops. Honestly, this is very self-indulgent and was a struggle to write lol

Arkham certainly has its charms. From the noisy, dark hallways to the scratchy and shapeless patient uniforms - there’s something for everyone here. As far as you’re concerned, you’re here for no reason. At least no serious reason. You’re a lover and a fighter. Literally just a girl. Even though the GCPD certainly didn’t agree when they arrested you for attempted murder, assault, breaking and entering, and a bunch of other rude accusations.

Your ex broke your heart, so you crashed your car into him in an attempt to get back at him, breaking both his legs in the process. He may never walk again – big deal! A crime of passion, your honor! Revenge for the two years that you’ve wasted on a person, only for him to break up with you once he noticed the tracker sown into the bottom hem of his favorite jacket. Bummer.

But life goes on, and as long as your heart can beat, it can love. And the person who made you believe in romance again is sitting right in front of you in his office, narrowing his eyes as he stares you down over the rim of the coffee cup he’s sipping from. If only you could trade places with an inanimate object. Jonathan Crane in his entirety is worth the stay at Arkham. He’s worth the uncomfortable bed, colorless food and horrible daytime television that’s always running in the recreation room. Who needs freedom when you have love?

Crane was the first to listen to you. The first person to let you speak and philosophize about the nature of your devotion and the way you love people. And he didn’t judge you. At least not out loud.

But now, two months after being admitted to the asylum, he’s grown tired and agitated. Unhealthy attachment and mood-natural delusionships involving someone who wants nothing to do with you. That’s the addition to your diagnosis that Crane is currently rattling off right in front of you, but you’re too busy staring at every detail of his face, trying to manifest his hands on your skin and his tongue down your throat.

“Are you trying to go for a new record in weeks spent in solitary confinement?” Crane sets down the cup to have a free hand to rub his temple with.

The question makes you smile. Oh, he’s always so funny. So charming. But being sentenced to solitude wasn’t the goal you had in mind when you smashed another patient’s face into the cafeteria wall, not easing up until her teeth were scattered around like the shiny pearls of a rich lady’s ripped necklace. Even though you were hosed down by a guard and received a fresh set of clothes, the other woman’s dried blood is still crusted under the nail of your left ring finger. A secret little sign of your devotion. You didn’t do it out of anger or jealousy either. You did it because you knew that Crane would be forced to sit you down for an emergency therapy session. It’s his own fault for reducing your sessions to only once a week.

A playfully coy smile pulls at the corners of your lips, and you lean forward a little, wanting to get a better look at him even though you’ve already perfectly memorized every detail of him after just the first two days of being here.

“She shouldn’t have provoked me. I was defending myself. You understand me. Right, Jonathan?”

You slowly inch your hand across the table, almost making contact with his fingertips until he opts to grab your file instead. It’s a pointed gesture, and you quietly mourn the chance for physical contact with him. Crane clears his throat to bring your focus back to the here and now. And of course, the first thing he does is correct you.

“Whistler?” You furrow your eyebrows. “What does she have to do with this? I thought… I thought you were trying to help me.”

“It’s Dr. Crane for you. And I understand that you have very little self-control.” He pauses for a moment, struggling with a sudden surge of anger before he manages to continue. “I’ll be honest. My patience is wearing thin. You’re a danger to the other inmates, and Dr. Whistler of all people already offered to take you off my hands.”

This revelation makes you perk up suddenly, and there’s a bitter taste in your mouth. He’s thinking of giving you away?

“Yes, emphasis on trying. But as you can see, we’re not getting anywhere, are we? And Whistler mentioned how optimistic she is about your case. If you want my opinion, I think she’s itching to test out some new sedatives we’ve added to the catalog.” Crane adjusts his glasses, and the way he speaks almost makes you think he doesn’t care. But you’re sure he does. Of course he does. He has to. Nevertheless, the mere thought of not seeing him on a regular basis makes anxiety crawl up your spine, and you absently pick at your cuticles until you tear a little too deep, and another line of red pools around your fingernail.

“You can’t do this,” you try to argue, searching your brain for any good reason for him to keep you aside from the fact that you two belong together. You briefly lick your lips, daring to appeal to his pride. “If you hand me off, everyone will know that you failed. They’ll all know that you gave up on me because you couldn’t handle me.”

Crane’s eyes narrow into cold slits, and his grip on your file tightens. Uh-oh. That’s a very ugly expression on your darling doctor. He’s quiet for a moment, silently reigning himself back in. The rage that’s simmering beneath his skin dissipates a little when he has a sudden idea.

Maybe a different approach could work better. Realization sets in, and he almost wants to smack himself for not thinking of this sooner. Evidently, you don't care that much for punishment. Solitary confinement and restriction from activities do little to keep you in check. But how about a different motivation? How about reward?

"Alright, here's what we're going to do. We'll keep up the weekly frequency of solo therapy sessions." He thinks out loud, crossing his arms over his chest and occasionally tapping his fingers on his biceps. You want to voice your protest about not getting more sessions with him, but he continues with this lovely, rumbly tone that he uses whenever he's planning something and getting matter-of-fact with you. It's like catnip for your ears, almost making you melt in your little grippy socks.

"And if I don't hear any complaints about you from the other members of staff, you'll get a reward each time. So, be a good girl for a week and you'll get a treat. Easy, right?"

His eyebrows are raised expectantly as he waits for your reply, and you think about his offer, picking at your sleeve as you weigh out the pros and cons.

"Do I get to pick the reward?" you eventually ask, looking back at him with a glint in your eyes that he immediately recognizes. Crane firmly shakes his head, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

"No. Because I know what you'll choose."

"Then I'm not doing it."

Crane sighs, pulling out his work phone.

"I'll give Whistler a call," he states, concentrating on trying not to smirk at the way your expression falls. Like threatening a child by calling Santa.

"Wait! No, I - ... how about a compromise?" You plead, not missing the parallel either. But if you don't want to settle for coal (or in this case, withdrawal from your man), you'll have to suck it up.

Crane looks up from his phone, thumb hovering over the buttons for another moment before he tucks it back into the pocket of his suit jacket. "A compromise? Doll, we’re not arguing over who does the dishes and brings out the trash. You have no say in this aside from agreeing to either a good or a bad time.”

Damn. Did he have to make it domestic?

“Let me burst your bubble for a moment,” He continues, not allowing you to fantasize over his choice of words for longer than necessary. “You have no power here. No agency, no privileges. You’re not ‘doing’ anything, you’re having things ‘done to’ you. You may think you have me in the palm of your hand, because I’m forced to see you every time you get yourself into trouble, but I could just as well keep you drugged and docile for the rest of your indefinite stay here. So,” he leans forward, resting his palms on the table and clearing his throat.

“No more nonsense. This is your very last warning. If you lash out again, I’ll hand you over to Dr. Whistler, advise her to keep you sedated and move onto other much more interesting and agreeable patients, my reputation be damned.”

The silence that follows his words is deafening, and you can hear the blood rushing in your ears as the air suddenly feels thinner. Tears well up in your eyes. Bitter tears of shame and disappointment, and you feel like a petulant child, but it does nothing to stop them from rolling down your face and dripping onto the table below.

Crane stiffens, visibly taken aback by your sudden display of emotion. He thought he’s seen it all from you. The smirks, the winking, the way you bite your lip in an attempt to seduce a man who’s as emotionally available as one of the brick walls making up this very building. Part of him wants to escape the conversation immediately, but it’s his job to at least attempt to help you through your issues, and leaving you in a state of distress is the entire opposite of that.

“Listen,” he starts, almost tentative. “I don’t want to do any of that. Not really. I want to keep working with you. And I believe you’ve made a little progress so far, but you’d be even further along if you’d stop antagonizing everyone for a chance to speak to me.”

“But I need to. You don’t understand.”

“Understand what?”

You sniffle, unable to articulate properly. He should know. He should understand from a single second of eye contact. Yet here you are, forced to spell it out for him. Crane’s eyes soften ever so slightly, and he pulls out a pack of pocket tissues, sliding it across the desk so you can dry your tears. His tone is calmer now, almost gentle.

“Why are you doing this? All of this resistance… the altercations with other patients… your life could be so easy. So why?”

“To make you notice me,” you sniffle, gingerly patting your cheeks with one of the paper tissues. Crane’s eyebrows furrow in response.

“You don’t think I would’ve noticed you without all of this mess?” He tilts his head, slightly amused by your melodramatic performance. You scoff at the question, frowning when he actually smirks at you this time.

“No, you wouldn’t. You wouldn’t notice me if I were a model patient. You wouldn’t spare me a single glance if I was docile like the others… I want you to think about me even when your shift is over.”

Crane shrugs, letting out a sigh through his nose as he does. A corner of his lip twitches, and you can’t tell whether it’s in amusement or disgust. The fact that you tried to manipulate him by being a ‘bad’ patient irritates him, but he has to admit that your strategy worked.

“You’re right. I wouldn’t notice you. You have no idea how difficult and repetitive this job gets… how much the faces start to blur together after a while. You’re not very special at all, if I’m being honest.”

The comment and the monotony in his voice sting, and just for a split second, the mask of sweetness slips to reveal the anger and hurt in your eyes. You quickly manage to reel yourself back in, and you clear your throat as you look away from him. At least he’s being honest with you. The basis of a good and healthy relationship.

“I could… make myself special to you.” A pause.

“Do you think you’re capable of doing that? I mean, so far, you’ve just been causing problems and it’s getting stale. Can you really do something better for me?”

“I can be good… I could show you how I feel for you.” It’s a gamble and you know it. But the possible reward outweighs the risk. At least to your infatuated brain. Crane shifts in his seat, deciding to humor you.

“How do you feel for me? Enlighten me a little bit.”

“I’m in love with you. I love you.” Your sweetheart bristles like a cat, and you feel let down by his reaction. During the countless times you’ve fantasized about this moment in the showers, scrubbing yourself with cheap soap, he was elated by your confession. But the real-life Jonathan Crane just looks at you with mild pity. Pity that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.

“That was… fast. Didn’t even waste a moment to admit it. But I suppose it’s expected from you,” he sighs, shaking his head as he writes something down in your file. You’re quick to defend yourself. This isn’t a joke to you, after all. You’re laying your heart completely bare, ripping apart skin and flesh to expose the bloody, weakly beating thing to his unimpressed eyes.

“I mean it.”

He lets out a low whistle, and his eyebrows raise ever so slightly. For an agonizingly long moment (about 30 seconds), he punishes your honesty with silence before he finally sets his pen down and looks at you.

 “Then do something to prove it.” He says it so nonchalantly. As if he’s not really expecting anything at all. But he’s severely underestimating how deep your devotion runs for him. Your chair screeches across the floor as you get up, and Crane looks alarmed for a fleeting moment before you lower yourself to your knees and crawl under his desk until you come up between his thighs. Your sweetheart’s eyes soften, and he reaches down to brush his fingers through your hair almost instinctively.

“I’ll show you…” you murmur softly, running your hands over his thighs and lightly digging your nails into the fabric of his slacks. Crane lets out a barely audible sigh, shifting a little in his seat to part his legs for easier access. So considerate. Your man really is such a darling.

Looking up at him from beneath the table, you make quick work of his belt and zipper before you pull up his shirt that he kept tucked into his pants. Your mouth waters at the sight of his skin, and you lean in to kiss his stomach while your hand moves to palm his cock through his boxers. Crane hisses softly, keeping his eyes locked on your devoted form between his thighs, and a shiver runs down his spine when you pull down his underwear, exposing him to the cool air of his office.

“God… your cock is so beautiful… you don’t know how long I’ve been dreaming of sucking you off…” you murmur, eyes lighting up as you wrap your hand around him. Crane licks his lips, unsure how to feel about the compliment. You’ve been his biggest headache for months now, and yet here you are, sweettalking him while you’re sitting under his desk with your fingers around his dick.

“I bet you taste as sweet as you look.” You giggle, gathering some saliva in your mouth before you let it dribble down onto his tip so you can pump his cock more easily. Crane’s brows furrow, and you smile up at him before licking from his base up to his tip, causing him to twitch against your tongue. You know he’s always pent up, always stressed, and you don’t really have to worry about him seeking release elsewhere since he’s always focused on his work. And, in some abstract way, always focused on you.

Loyalty. Another pillar of an unbreakable bond.

You can feel him hardening within your grasp, and you swear you can hear an almost silent breath of relief when you finally take his cock into your mouth. You start off slow, moaning at the feeling of his length on your tongue, and you continue to caress his thighs and stomach in an effort to worship him like he deserves.

“No teeth, doll.” He smirks down at you, smoothing his thumb over your cheekbone as you continue to suck the precum from his tip. The taste of him makes your mind fog up, and you nod eagerly, pulling away from him for just a moment to answer properly.

“Cross my heart, Jon.” Your mouth is back on him within seconds, and you bob your head up and down, taking him deeper down your throat every time. Crane hisses in response, and his grip on your hair tightens.

“It’s still Dr. Crane to you…” His protest is half-hearted at best, and you witness his composure crumbling in real time as you suck him off like you’re trying to devour him whole. You’re on a mission. A mission to drive him to the brink of insanity like his mere presence does you. Crane huffs out another sharp breath, and his hips twitch forward, generously helping you to breach your throat barrier and causing you to splutter around him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you stay down on his cock, pushing down all the way until the neatly trimmed hair on the base of his length tickles your nose.

“Fuck… You’re so pretty when you gag on it.”

You pull off of him, only managing to swallow half the spit that gathered in your mouth while the rest drips down your chin, but he doesn’t seem to mind at all. Crane’s hand massages the back of your head encouragingly, and you flash him a bright smile before you go back down at him with a little more vigor.

After a while, you go to catch your breath, but before you can pull away completely, both his hands shoot out to grab your head and push you back down on his cock. Your eyes widen, and you let out a slight noise of protest as he begins to fuck into your throat. Drool dribbles down your chin, soiling the shirt of your patient uniform while your nails dig into Crane’s thighs in an attempt to ground yourself. He clenches his jaw, moaning through his teeth while your throat contracts around him.

“Perfect little cocksucker… so eager to show me your love…” He cuts himself off with a little grunt, and his grip on your head tightens as he moves your skull up and down. “All the way down… yes, keep your tongue out…”

You continue to gag around his length, trying to keep up with the rhythm of his thrusts as he forces his cock down your pharynx, enjoying the way your muscles clench and contract. His soft moans become more urgent, and pride makes your heart swell. He’s making these noises because of you.

“That’s it… good girl. Eyes on me. I want you to look at my face when I cum down your pretty little throat...”

You whine in response, nodding your head as best as you can, and you start to work in tandem with him as he gets close. The moment you feel him pulse on your tongue, he pushes you down all the way again, and his hand reaches around to your face. You catch a dark glint in his eyes when he suddenly pinches your nose shut, constricting your airflow completely as he chokes you on his cock. You struggle against him, but he doesn’t budge as his eyes fall shut and he grunts out more praise. Panic rises in your chest, and your muscles convulse in a desperate attempt to get air into your neglected lungs. And it’s exactly this panic in your eyes that pushes Crane over the edge and he shoots his load directly down your throat, giving you no other option but to swallow the hot ropes of cum that he lazily continues to fuck into your mouth.

Finally, he lets go of your head, and you immediately flinch back to suck in some much-needed air. The both of you are panting, and you keep your watery eyes locked on his satisfied expression while strings of spit still connect your swollen lips to the flushed head of his cock.

“You okay?”

“Yeah...“ you breathe out in reply, trying to swallow the soreness in your throat. Crane’s hand reaches out to you again, caressing your head like a cherished pet, and he chuckles to himself.

“Catch your breath, doll. That was one hell of a way to prove yourself…” He murmurs, reaching across the table to retrieve the pack of pocket tissues and hand it to you. Your fingers are a little shaky as you wipe the mess from your chin and neck, and you slowly return to your chair. Crane’s brows furrow when he watches you retreat, and you blink at him.

Immediately, your thoughts begin to spiral. What are you doing? Sitting back down, that much is evident. Did he want you to stay and keep on sucking him off? Were you supposed to keep the spit on your face intact? Does he – Crane effectively snaps you out of your mental gymnastics routine by brushing his foot against your calf, and you’re immediately focused on the butterflies that fill up your chest.

“What?”

“What are you doing?” He asks, not bothering to elaborate.

“As far as I’m concerned, you behaved very well just now. So, I’d like to keep my word and reward you.”

He points over to the leather couch in the corner of his office, and you find yourself standing before he can even fully extend his arm. Crane follows after you, leading you with his hands on your hips until your knees softly bump against the furniture. He’s pressed up behind you, breathing in the scent of your skin while his hands begin to trail all over your body. You tilt your head back, resting it on his shoulder as his touch slips under your shirt, and you can feel the way his fingers are trembling against your flesh. Crane clicks his tongue as he pinches your nipples, slowly rolling the hardening bud between index and thumb in a way that makes you jolt in his grasp.

“Let me see what I’m working with, doll,” he murmurs, pulling your shirt over your head and tossing it aside before the cotton bustier that the asylum provided follows suit. Your first instinct is to shy away, but he grabs your shoulders and spins you around to get a good look at you. His gaze is detached. Clinical. And you can feel yourself shrinking away until he finally decides to open his mouth. “Fucking hell… maybe I should’ve indulged you sooner.”

It isn’t much in terms of a compliment, but to you it might as well be a marriage proposal. Your breath catches in your lungs as Crane leans in, sucking your nipple into his mouth while his hands wander lower to push down your pants and sneak into your underwear. He chuckles when his fingers dip into the mess that has built up between your thighs.

“Did sucking my cock make you this wet already?”

“I mean… it is a pretty cock…” you try to defend your already half-unraveled state, and he lets out a laugh. A genuine one of honest amusement, and the noise makes your heart soar up into the sky.

“Quiet. Lie back on the couch for me, sweetheart.” The new pet name almost makes your body collapse in on itself. Your back meets the cold faux leather, and you let out a quiet hiss of discomfort as you sink a little into the cushions. Crane pulls your pants and underwear off completely, letting them join the already existing pile on the floor before he gets on the couch with you. He grabs your thighs, pulling you a little closer so he can rest your legs over his shoulders while he lies flat between them. His breath ghosts over your pussy, and he spreads your folds open with his thumbs to get a good look at your drooling entrance.

“Pretty… so, so pretty,” he murmurs, kissing up the insides of your thighs before he circles his tongue around your eager hole, savoring your taste with a deep, guttural groan.

You reach out your hand to hold his, but he swats it away, causing you to give his hair a harsh tug when he doesn’t do as you want him to. This, however makes him answer with a rough bite to the meat of your thigh, and you’re almost embarrassed by the wanton noise that slips past your lips. Pain tingles down your spine, and you try to sit up, only for him to push you back down. In a second attempt, you manage to catch his hand and immediately link your fingers together so he can’t escape your clammy, possessive grip. To your absolute delight, he’s not even trying to this time around. You knew he’d come around.

His tongue dances around your dripping entrance yet again, licking a stripe up your pussy that makes your grip on his hand tighten and your toes curl. Finally, finally, he sinks a finger into you, already sliding in to where his digit meets his palm, and he moans along with you when he feels how your pussy flutters around him.

“Jonathan…”

For the first time, he doesn’t correct you. Instead, he chooses to lean in and devour you, eagerly lapping at your juicy cunt as he presses the pad of his fingers against that sweet spot inside of you. He’s insatiable, parting your folds with his tongue and groaning at your taste as you grind your clit against the diligent muscle. And his eyes. Oh, God his eyes. He’s almost crushing you beneath his heated gaze, keeping you pinned while he eats you out like a starved man. Now, it’s Jonathan’s turn to get messy, and he doesn’t mind in the slightest as your saccharine slick coats his chin. He adds another finger into your cunt, pulling away from your clit to bite and suck on your thighs while he stretches you open.

“Fuck – “

“Just another finger, doll. Let yourself go for me…” He murmurs between licks and gentle bites as he returns to your pussy, his glasses fogging up from the heat.

Your hands are still intertwined, even as your back arches and you continue to pant and moan out his name. Even as your breath hitches when he latches back onto that sensitive bundle of nerves. Even when he adds a third finger and you finally come on his tongue with a wail that sounds as blissful as it does delirious.

Your brain is clouded by euphoria, and your bite your lip to keep quiet as he continues to pump his fingers inside of you. You can hear the mess he’s made between your thighs. A mix of his saliva and your juices, and Jonathan is not wasting a single drop of it. Pleasure quickly turns to overstimulation, and you only faintly register the little laugh he lets out at your state.

“Christ, I want to kiss that expression off your face… Actually, don’t mind if I do.”

Jonathan leans over you, laughing again when he gets a closer look at your expression. And then months of yearning and dreams of romance become reality when his lips meet yours. Fireworks go off in your head, and you immediately pull him closer, almost causing him to topple over on top of you. It’s messy and overly excited on your part, but you couldn’t care less as your teeth clash a few times and you lick against his tongue and taste yourself on it.

Jonathan pulls back for a moment, despite the vise grip you have on his shoulders, but he calms you by pressing his lips against your brow, whispering like he’s trying to calm a wild animal. “Easy there… come on, be good.”

You whine in response, but when his thumb brushes over your clit again, your body jolts and you immediately shut up. Jonathan pushes his own pants down further, freeing his leaking cock again and giving himself a few pumps before he pushes his hips forward to coat his length in your slick. Every time the heard of his cock brushes up against you, you let out a soft little noise, and it’s in that moment that Jonathan decides he’d like to hear a lot more of it in the future. He grits his teeth, slowly sinking into your cunt while keeping his eyes fixed on yours.

Once upon a time, you were nothing special. You have an interesting backstory, sure. And your obsession with him does wonders for his ego. But right here, right now, something cracks the stony façade and he silently dares to venture a little further into the dreamworld you’ve built around the two of you. He sees parts of himself in you. The obsessive, volatile behavior. The inability to love in a way that’s considered normal. The desire to possess something or someone in its entirety.

You shiver when he bottoms out inside of you, his hips meeting yours and slightly squishing you into the faux leather cushions of the couch. You’re still tight and sensitive from your previous climax, and Jonathan can feel your pulse in the velvety walls of your pussy that’s clenched around him. Despite your heightened sensitivity, his thumb returns to your clit, rubbing a tight figure eight into it that makes your head spin. His other hand leaves yours, grabbing your jaw instead to keep you from squirming.

“You’re gonna come for me again,” he states, rubbing you a little faster and applying more pressure along with it. Your muscles tighten, and your heart hammers in your chest as you stare up at him through half-lidded eyes.

“C… can you – “

“Move?” he finishes for you, pressing his forehead against yours. “Only if you cum again, I’m afraid. It’ll be another reward.”

You sob out a moan, face scrunching up when that familiar pressure begins to build inside of you for a second time. Jonathan keeps his hand on your jaw, watching every twitch and flinch of your expression with a look of genuine fascination.

“God, why would anyone ever leave you…” he murmurs, and his word pierce right into your heart and the black depths of your lonely little soul. “Pretty thing… if you didn’t break his legs, I’d recommend for him to get a cell on the opposite end of the hall…”

Your breath hitches as he continues to rub your clit and softly speak to you. “Insanity, I tell you… abandoning such a cute toy... It’s beyond me.” He lets out a soft groan when you tighten around his cock. “That’s it… thaaat’s it.”

You reach the edge again, clenching your eyes shut as you come a second time. Jonathan captures your lips with his own yet again, and while you’re stuck on cloud nine, he pulls his cock out all the way only to slam back inside with an intensity that pushes the air from your lungs. You cry into his mouth as he picks up a consistent, slow rhythm of deep thrusts that make your eyes clench shut. Jonathan releases you from the kiss and gives your jaw a little warning squeeze, wanting your eyes to stay on his while he’s rearranging your anatomy with his cock.

“There we go… stretched open so well.”

You squirm back on your elbows, looking up at him with dilated pupils and burning cheeks, but he grabs your waist and pulls you back right to the base of his cock. A truly sinful noise spills from your lips and for a moment you don't even register that it came from you.

Crane chuckles as he starts to roll his hips again, his right hand hovering dangerously close to your poor, abused clit again. A silent threat almost. Then again, he's quite literally threatening you with a good time.

"S'too much...," you groan out, your body rocking every time he spears you open with his girth.

"Shh... no, no.." he tuts, tightening his grip to prevent you from escaping. "You're gonna stay right here and take it. Stay right. Fucking. Here."

Every word he speaks is empathized by a sharp thrust into your drooling cunt, causing you to howl in pleasure and claw at his back. Every nerve in your body is on fire, drowning you in sweet, sweet agony.

"You wanted this, right? For months you've been begging. And now it's suddenly too much?"

You can only nod, babbling some incoherent nonsense in response. Crane lets out a condescending laugh which quickly twists into a moan when you clench around his cock. No matter how much he tries to pretend, he's just as close as you are.

His fingers dig into the flesh of your thighs, clinging to you like you're a lifeboat in a storm as he keeps on thrusting into your slick heat.

"So good for me... God, you're so beautiful when you're sweet and obedient... accepting your reward like a good little patient."

You look up at him, trying to focus on his flushed face even though your eyes are rolling back in your head. Crane leans down to capture your mouth in another heated kiss, nipping at your lips and tasting your tongue while he moans down your throat.

The rhythm of his hips stutters when he pulls away to press his face into the crook of your neck, and suck and bite at your skin in a desperate attempt to leave traces of himself.

“Are you going to cum again?” He groans into your skin, flattening his tongue against your pulse.

“N… no…” you whine

“No? This –“ He’s cut off by a moan of his own, and it takes a moment for him to pull himself together to finish his sentence. “This is your reward, doll… We’re going to have to work on – fffuck – on gratitude…”

“I can’t...! Please… please…” you beg, but you’re not sure what you’re even begging for. Certainly not for him to stop.

“You can’t? Well… you’re going to.” His thrusts begin to get faster and more erratic as he tries to fuck into you as deeply as possible “Do it for me, hm? Just for me…”

“No- fuck, please! Jonathan -!!” Tears well up in your eyes from the delicious pain, and you actually scream when he starts to rub your clit again. Colors explode behind your closed eyelids. “Please, please, please- “

“I know you can do it… one more time, doll… Just one more time…”

And you finally do as you’re told, cumming around his cock with an intensity that feels as if someone punched you in the gut. Your brain short-circuits, and you’re not even making noises anymore as he fucks you through your climax like you’re a toy that was handmade for his pleasure.

“Fuuuck – Christ, fuck -“ Jonathan’s voice completely lacks the air of authority and superiority that you are so used to when he whimpers into your neck, his hands tightening around you. It feels like you’re wrapped in cotton, and you can only hear him faintly due to the volume of your pulse that’s hammering in your ears. Finally, his hips still, and he sinks down on top of you as he finishes inside of your fluttering cunt. Rational thought is absent in this moment, and you’re absolutely certain that this is what paradise must feel like. Connected to the one you love so dearly. Overwhelmed by pleasure.

For a long while, the office is silent aside from the rugged breathing that’s coming from both of you, and you bask in his warmth, absolutely content to stay like this for the rest of time. Jonathan clears his dry throat, lifting himself up onto his elbows as he looks down at you, and you’re struck by overwhelming affection once again.

“I love you…”

“Shut up…” But there’s no bite to it. He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head, and for a moment, there’s a very real glimpse of fondness in his eyes. Crane stays silent, taking in your features like it’s the first time he sees you properly, and his hand comes up to gingerly trace over your cheekbone and eyebrow before he brushes a strand of hair out of your forehead. Then finally, he lets out a soft breath before he murmurs gently, intimately.

“Looks like I’ll have to come up with more rewards in the future.”

[fueioekjfisks]

Im so sorry im losing my absolute mind but please hear me out for a second.

Mild tw for implied SA - NOTHING ACTUALLY HAPPENED PEOPLE JUST THINK IT HAPPENED

You know the common misunderstanding au in the danny phandom rn about vlad being a creep and people thinking hes like a CREEPY CREEP and not just a supervillain creep?

Well imagine danny is going on break or something and his dad wants to bring the whole family up to vlads castle for whatever reason.

Danny, obviously, does not want to waste his ONE FREAKING CHANCE of getting some god damn sleep being tormented by vlad and his stupid birds. Plus, vlad will probably plan some big murder plot for his dad and danny CAN. NOT. HANDLE. THAT. RIGHT. NOW.

So danny decides to make a PowerPoint presentation about why he doesnt want to go.

Obviously he cant reveal vlad or his own halfa status so its mostly just really jumbled information about vlad being creepy.

He gets backup from sam, tucker, jazz, and even val. He also knows his mom already dislikes vlad and knows hes a total creep so all he really needs to do is convince his dad.

But??? As hes compiling evidence??? And rehearsing his presentation with hes friends??? He realizes that it sounds super fucked up???

And like, it’s mostly just bad without all the context. But he realizes that Vlad is actually kinda sick in the head. Danny knows he would never actually do something that terrible, but its supper concering how similar his actions are to like, actual bad people.

Danny isnt mad about it or anything, he’s actually just worried about it Vlad.

Danny is not perfect by any means. But Vlad is the only other member of his species besides, like, his fucking clone (which holy shit Vlad what the fuck) or maybe dan who is also fucked up.

Danny knew that Vlads death definitely messed him up, but he never really thought about Vlads actions beyond “obsessive fruitloop, at it again :/“ and is just now realizing that vlad might need psychological help. Which he feels pretty (REALLY) bad about.

Danny has no idea what to do, and no idea who to go to.

So he sneaks out, doesnt even go ghost as he takes the powerpoint to vlad who obviously freaks tf out because holy shit thats SO MUCH WORSE THAN ANYTHING HE COULD HAVE POSSIBLY IMAGINED. What if he had actually hurt daniel? What if he had hurt his precious Madeline?? He needs help like yesterday! How did he ever get so bad???!

So Vlad freaks, trashes his own house, apologizes to danny, and books it through the portal to find the far frozen or somewhere else he can get help.

Danny is somewhat shellshocked about the whole situation. It doesnt get better when people start investigating Vlads disappearance.

The state of the manor indicates foul play and the police look into it further. Find security tapes. They see danny, frazzled and paranoid, enter Vlads property, everything goes to static, and only danny leaves.

Hes arrested of course, and he and his friends/family are interrogated.

Everybody vehemently denies that Danny would ever do such a thing, but when they are asked if danny has potential motives everyone (except for jack) gets all squeamish.

Its practically common knowledge in Amity Park that the mayor and the weird Fenton child had beef. People just were unsure why.

I think it would be really cool to focus a story around the polices pov of the investigation/ random Amity Parkers interpretation of the events.

Danny being kinda creepy after the accident (because death) could totally make people assume he did it and that would be awesome.

We can also add in de-aged Dani/Ellie and or Dan for that extra spice.

Imagine the fentons finding out about Dannys supposed kids in the context that they are MOTIVES FOR THEIR SON TO MURDER THEIR COLLAGE FRIEND ( AND DANNYS OWN GODFATHER) WHO APPARENTLY GROOMED HIM???!? AND THEY DIDNT EVEN NOTICE??!?

This could totally be a crossover too. Lucifer tv show. Batman. Supernatural. All are good.

Anyway, thought this could be kinda interesting

Please continue if you want

[leiawritesstories]

PART SEVEN: JULY

Word count: 8.4k

Warnings: swearing, so so much scheming, pissy Rowan, snarky Aelin, innuendo, references to sexy times, breaking and entering and other criminal behavior, Maeve, violence, and a splash of angst

enjoy...? @house-of-galathynius i did an oopsie 😈

Masterlist

Read on AO3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

In the absence of Captain Westfall, Lieutenant Whitethorn has been made temporary head of the investigation into the Orynth Assassinations. 

Rowan knew for a fact that multiple people in Orynth PD were fucking pissed about that memo, but it was jointly signed by the Chief of Police and Commander Gavriel Ashryver of the Terrasen Special Forces, so nobody could complain. Chaol’s murder had, apparently, been something of a kick in the ass to both the police and the TSF, and as a result, the special forces had openly partnered with PD in an effort to solve the case, arrest whoever was behind the murders, and put the Shadow Assassin behind bars. 

In the meantime, Rowan had an entire investigative team now turned to him for directions, and he didn’t fucking know where to start. 

The morgue was supposed to have the results of Chaol’s autopsy an hour ago, and he hadn’t heard a damn thing from them. He could allow a bit of extra time, but if he didn’t have autopsy results in his hand by the end of the day, he was going to be fucking angry. That autopsy was key to uncovering who had slaughtered Chaol, and once he had that information, Rowan could finally set into motion the part of his plans where he laid a trap for Celaena Sardothien. 

Right on cue, someone knocked on his door. 

“Come in,” he said brusquely. 

Borte stuck her head into his office. “Autopsy report for you, Lieutenant.” 

“About time.” He took the papers from her. “That’s all, Borte.” 

“Sure thing.” She turned to leave. “Coroner should have his report in a week or so.” 

“A week?” Rowan snapped. “What the hell?” 

Borte’s dark eyes narrowed. “In case you hadn’t noticed, the coroner’s office is a little fucking busy at the moment. A week is the fastest he said he could get this case done, and only because it’s Westfall.” She’d never been one to take anyone’s shit—years of working as the medical examiner for Orynth PD had thickened her skin. 

“Fucking hell.” Rowan ran a hand over his face. “Okay. Fine. A week it is.” He turned to the autopsy report in his hands, barely hearing the door click shut as Borte left. His eyes scanned the lines of text rapidly, noting the key observations from Borte’s examination. Some of it was expected—he’d found Chaol’d body, after all, so he knew the condition it had been in. Some things, though, made him stop for a moment and question his own thinking. 

He’d been expecting the M.O. to match up with the string of homicides for which he believed Celaena Sardothien to be responsible, but the M.O. of Chaol’s murder was completely different. 

Mentally, he slapped himself across the face. Get a fucking grip, Whitethorn! He should have known from the second he saw that note on Westfall’s forehead that it wasn’t Sardothien. She was brutal, but she never left a fucking calling card. Still, he couldn;t shake the part of himself that insisted there was some kind of connection between this Queen of the Night name and Celaena’s criminal outfit.

Maybe that was what she called herself to her crew.

Either way…if there was even a small possibility that Celaena was involved in the murder of Chaol Westfall, then Rowan needed to go meet with Aelin. Because there was a distinct possibility that with Chaol gone, the Shadow Assassin had decided there was no longer any reason to keep her cover, and that meant that Aelin could be in danger. 

And Rowan would die before he let the Shadow Assassin threaten the woman he loved. 

~

Near-invisible earpiece settled in her ear, Aelin paced across her office, gesticulating wildly as she yelled at Nox over the encrypted line. 

“The fuck do you mean, can’t do anything about it? Owens, this is bad fucking news!” 

“It’s too risky, Boss,” Nox retorted from the other end of the call. “He’s gonna be in the PD morgue by now, and we can’t take the risk of breaking into fucking PD.” 

“Like hell we can’t,” Aelin snapped. “Owens, you’re a smart man. You know at least some of why I’m losing my shit over Chaol Westfall’s death. Tell me why.” 

Nox paused for a short moment. “Well, I know he’s your inside man in PD. I know he’s been feeding you info on the investigation. And I know Maeve had him killed, because she left a goddamn note like she always does.”

“That bitch,” Aelin grumbled. “Keep going, Nox.”

“It sucks that he’s dead, but I don’t know what the big fucking deal is, Boss,” Nox admitted. “Maybe we don’t have an inside man anymore—so what? Maeve is the number one target now, yeah?” 

“Do you know how we were able to get an inside man in PD?” 

“I’m assuming you knew Westfall and…uh…convinced him?” 

“Let me tell you something, Owens.” Aelin huffed out a tense breath. “Westfall isn’t actually Westfall. He’s Ren Allsbrook.” 

There was a long, incredulous silence. 

“What…the fuck?” Nox breathed. 

“Ren Allsbrook. Internationally infamous spy, probably one of the most wanted persons in the world. Remember how he escaped prison way back in January? Yeah. That was me. I had a job for him, and he does—he did—that job admirably fucking well.” 

“Bloody fucking hell. Westfall was your inside man.” 

“Yeah, pretty much.” Aelin twisted the ring around her right middle finger. “If and when PD finds out that Westfall wasn’t actually Westfall, they’re gonna start actually investigating shit.” 

“And we can’t have that happening,” Nox said, voicing the unspoken end of her sentence. 

“Definitely not.” She went quiet for a moment, thinking. “Owens?” 

“Yeah?” 

“What security system does Orynth PD use at their headquarters?” 

“Uh…” Keys clicked in the background on his end of the call. “It’s an Axis system, most recently updated last year, so probably a current model, which tracks to CCTV and phone networks. I’d bet that a number of higher-ups have phone access to the footage.”

“Axis…they’re not known for subtle devices, are they?” Aelin asked. 

“Nope, they’re more into wall-mounted stuff. Some of it is smaller-scale, but you can pretty much always visually locate it…wait a goddamn minute.” Nox’s tone slipped towards the accusatory. “Why am I telling you all this, Boss?” 

Aelin shrugged, though Nox couldn’t see it. “Just curious.” 

He scoffed. “And I’m the queen of Spain. Who the hell are you sending to PD?”

“Haven’t decided yet, but thanks for the info on the security system,” she said lightly. “Oh, and Owens?” 

“What?” 

Her voice was bloodied steel. “Question my thoughts again and I’ll hang you by your intestines.” 

“That’s pretty fucking gory,” he deadpanned. 

She sighed, knowing he only wanted to support her schemes. “I’m not squeamish, Owens.”

“Don’t I know it.” His keyboard resumed its clicking. “That all, Boss?” 

“That’s all.” She ended the call with a click. 

She took a deep, controlled breath, releasing it with a drawn out hiss of frustration tinged with fear. Fuck. For the first time in…possibly ever, she felt a surge of real terror knife through her blood. If Orynth PD discovered that the body in their morgue was clothed with a synthetic substance that absolutely nobody should know about, she would have real problems. 

Which meant that she needed to get the SecondSkin back before they found it. 

~

Three nights later, on silent feet, Aelin crept around the shadowed corner of the Orynth Police Department’s downtown headquarters, the brick exterior rough beneath her gloved hands. Reaching the edge of the bright floodlights that illuminated the property, she paused for a moment, reached into one of the pockets of her fitted charcoal-black cargo pants, and pressed a small button on a tiny remote. She waited for exactly fifty-two seconds, counting each one in her mind, and pressed the button again. 

The eyes of every single security camera perched on the Orynth PD building, light posts, fences, even the ones hidden in the trees, blinked twice and returned to normal. 

Aelin smothered a triumphant grin. Yes! The cameras would be on a loop of those fifty-two recorded seconds for the next hour, giving her exactly sixty minutes to slip into the building, find the morgue, locate Ren’s body, detach the SecondSkin, and return everything to its exact location before she left the building. Easy—right? 

Not giving herself time to wonder, she darted forwards, still clinging to the fraction of shadowed space directly against the walls, located the nearest basement-level door, found the ID reader mounted next to the door, slid a generic fake police ID out of her pocket, and pressed it against the reader. The tiny red light flashed green, and the door unlocked with a muted clicking noise. She pushed it open just far enough to slip inside the building and carefully closed the thick metal door behind herself. 

She was in. 

Luckily for her, Orynth PD had convenient signage posted around their building, so she easily located the morgue—on the basement level, as she’d suspected—and keyed in the combination that she may or may not have hacked into the PD database to find. The morgue door unlatched with a hiss. Again, she smothered her smirk and ducked through the doors, bracing herself against the sudden chill, then turned to the…task at hand. 

If her count was correct, she had forty-two minutes to extract the SecondSkin. 

Thankful for the black half-mask that both obscured her face and filtered out some of the smell, Aelin crossed the sterile, eerily silent room and located the row of stainless steel doors. She forced her emotions to the back burner, flicking that mental switch that turned her from CEO to heartless criminal, and scanned the row of doors. Westfall. There he was. 

She reached for the door’s handle and suddenly froze, overcome with the reality of what she was about to do, of who was inside that door, of how brutalized Ren Allsbrook’s body would probably be. 

All of a sudden, Celaena Sardothien felt a spear of terror, of weakness, of…humanity. 

Then she shoved it down, pulled open the door, and watched impassively as the high-tech cryo table slid out with a mechanical hiss and unfolded its legs from the bottom of the shelf. When the table was stable, she snapped a pair of sterile latex gloves on over her protective leather ones, exhaled a short sharp breath, and reached for Ren Allsbrook’s still, silent body. 

The SecondSkin peeled away surprisingly easily, and it only took her about twelve minutes to remove all the pieces. She tucked that little fact into the back of her mind—Nehemia would definitely want to know that body temperature had an effect on how easily one could apply and remove SecondSkin. The fact that Ren had only been wearing the synthetic substance on his hands, face, and feet probably made the process faster as well. When every bit of the SecondSkin had been removed, she checked his body once more, still impassive to the wounds that marred his pale, cold skin, and tucked the pieces of synthetic material into a plastic bag that she then hid in yet another pocket. 

Then, Aelin gently laid her gloved fingertips against Ren Allsbrook’s still, silent face and said a quiet goodbye. May we meet again in the next life. 

Steeling herself, she pushed the button on the side of the table, and it retracted its legs and slid back into its slot. In her mind, she made a final goodbye, the ancient words of farewell that were uttered at every funeral coming easily to her tongue. When the door concealing Ren’s body clicked shut, Aelin took a fortifying breath, turned, and walked back out of the morgue. 

She wove her way back through the halls of the building until she came to the same door she’d come in, and after checking to make sure there were no cops strolling down the halls, she tapped the fake ID to the reader, opened the door, and left Orynth PD headquarters. As she turned to make sure the door closed completely behind herself, she felt the slightly scooped neckline of her shirt dip, the back of the neckline dipping towards her shoulder blade. She ignored it, knowing she wasn’t on camera anyway and she could fix it when she was safely in the shadows. 

Barely sure if she was breathing, Aelin crept back around to the same shadowed corner where she had reset the security cameras, and just as she had done to loop the feeds, she reached into her pocket and tapped the tiny remote once. The cameras blinked back into their usual motion, back on their normal recording circuit. Aelin watched them for a full minute before she nodded, exhaled, and turned on her heel, melting into the darkness of the night as she headed back towards her shitty apartment in the industrial sector. 

She didn’t notice the tiny, near-invisible blue light blinking at her from a tree directly opposite the door that she had used. 

~

Back at the Gal Inc. labs the next day, Aelin carefully logged each piece of SecondSkin that she had retrieved, checking it three times against the records. She breathed a soul-deep sigh of relief when she finally confirmed that it was all there, that nothing had been left behind at the Orynth PD morgue. 

“Good news, Miss CEO?” Nehemia’s question broke into Aelin’s thoughts. 

“Yeah.” Aelin closed the concealed door of the secret locker that held the SecondSkin. “All of it is there, nothing missing.” 

“Well, that’s a good thing.” The engineer sat down on the stool opposite Aelin’s. “And you?” 

“What about me?” 

“Are you doing okay, Aelin?” 

Aelin tugged her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m fine.” 

Nehemia gave her a flat look that screamed, bullshit. “I’ve known you for too damn long to accept that as an answer, boss lady.”

“Fine.” Aelin blew out a sigh. “I shut myself off last night, Nemi. It…it was like I turned off my humanity, for fuck’s sake. But I had to.”

“And you feel torn up about that, yeah?” Nehemia’s voice held no judgment, only sympathy. 

“Pretty much, yeah,” Aelin said. “Ren was…I’d known Ren since we were kids, Nemi. It doesn’t feel right that he’s gone.” 

“I know.” The chief engineer reached over and tucked her hand over Aelin’s. “I know.” 

Abruptly, Aelin stood up and fiercely hugged Nehemia. “Thanks,” she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. 

“Always,” Nehemia whispered back. She gave Aelin a small smile tinged with sorrow as they parted. “I’m here whenever, Ae.” 

“I know.” As she walked out of the labs, Aelin expelled a deep breath, winding her emotions back into control. She hadn’t been quite herself since last night, partly from what she had done and partly from the tiny, niggling feeling that she couldn’t quite shake. The odd sense that something was off about her break-in, that the whole thing had gone too smoothly. 

She shook her head. Everything is fine, Galathynius. She’d been in the business for so long that she might be embarrassed if she couldn’t pull off a simple break-in. It was probably just the unsettling reality of what she had done—taking the SecondSkin off of Ren’s body. There was something so wrong about that situation, something so tragic about seeing an old friend dead. 

That lingering sliver of doubt was just her unsettled emotions. It had to be. 

Besides, it would no doubt go away when all hell broke loose at Orynth PD, and she couldn’t fucking wait for that to happen. 

~

When he had seen the notification from his security camera, Rowan had initially dismissed it as nothing important. The near-undetectable camera that he’d installed outside a back door of Orynth PD headquarters when he came onto the investigative team was just an extra measure for his own comfort; he was completely confident that the advanced CCTV system at the building was just fine. He simply liked to have a camera feed that went only to him. 

He didn’t think anything of the notification—the system sent him occasional notifications at random times, and they were typically nothing more than something blowing across the field of the camera’s vision—until a couple of days later, when he happened to open the app and notice the alert. 

Almost out of habit, he tapped on the notification and half-watched the footage, until a flicker of movement snapped his full attention to the video feed. He backtracked, slowed the playback speed, and watched the video like a fucking hawk, second by second, until that blurred flicker of movement came onto the screen again. 

It was a person. 

Fucking hell. 

Rowan paused on the single, half-second clip of the person, scrutinizing their form and stance and any detail he could pick out from that tiny glimpse his camera had caught. He could tell from the person’s figure that it was a woman, dressed in dark, fitted clothing, with a cap and mask obscuring her face. She was a bare flicker of movement before she disappeared into the shadows, and…wait a goddamn fucking minute. Disappeared. Into. The. Fucking. Shadows. 

He’d captured video footage—brief as it was—of Celaena Goddamn Sardothien. That had to be her—the clothes, the movements, the sheer speed with which she dodged the cameras’ range. He knew of absolutely no one else with that level of skill. 

Burning hell. That meant…Rowan reached for his radio. “Luca.” 

“Sir?” Luca answered instantly. 

“Get the CCTV footage from July 6th night onto the monitors. I’m going over it with the team.” 

“Give me two minutes.” As always, Luca was dependable and quick. 

Two and a half minutes later, Rowan stormed into the bullpen, his jaw locked in a rigid line. He glanced at the monitors, where Luca had indeed projected the footage from July 6th. He’d managed to pull all the footage, which was perfect, but Rowan was primarily concerned with the cameras that had been recording the back of the building. 

He cleared his throat. “On the sixth of this month, someone broke into this building.” 

Gasps of shock rippled around the room. 

“Luca, pull up just the cameras from the rear of the building.” Luca nodded and tapped rapidly on his keyboard, reducing the camera feeds down to six different angles. “Now, I have a suspicion of what we’re going to see, but I need all of you to watch. Hit play.” 

Luca started the recording. The entire investigative team watched in utter silence as the CCTV footage played seamlessly, a seemingly perfect recording of absolutely nothing but the exterior of Orynth PD headquarters at night. 

“What you don’t see is the criminal who waltzed right the fuck into our building and did gods know what before leaving without a trace.” Rowan’s jaw flickered as he gritted out the words. “I need analysis of the segment from 0330 to 0410 ASAP. Get it done.” 

“Yes, sir!” Three of the team members clustered around one monitor. 

Rowan turned and stalked out of the bullpen, heading back to his office to examine his camera’s footage, again, in the hopes that it would distract him from seething over the completely clean footage from the night of the break-in. He slowed the speed down even further, scrutinizing every tiny breath of time as the figure of Celaena Sardothien flickered across his screen. 

A knock on his door interrupted his analysis. “Sir?” 

“What.” 

Luca popped the door open and stuck his head in. “Results, sir.” 

Rowan went back to the bullpen. “Analysis? What’ve you got?” 

Rem, one of the few women on the team, fiddled with her badge. “Well, it’s not good, sir. We found nothing in the recording, not even with different rates of playback.” 

“Inconsistencies?” Rowan snapped. He didn’t give a shit about being rude—Rem had been trying to get her fake nails into his pants since the day he’d walked onto the investigation. 

“None.” Her face tightened in irritation. “We suspect a loop, but no timing matches an ordinary loop. It’s too natural—no cyclical marks, nothing that crosses the screen at exact intervals, nothing.” 

“Fucker,” Rowan grunted under his breath. “Did any of you even bother running a stopwatch to track if there’s any breaks in the footage?” 

Rem’s bright pink lips turned downwards into a scowl. “Sir, there aren’t—” 

“Fifty-two seconds, sir,” Luca interrupted. “Watch.” He slowed the camera footage to an excruciatingly slow pace and started a timer. At exactly the fifty-two-second mark, a near-seamless line blinked across the screen, almost completely undetectable unless the playback was slowed this far down. 

“Shit,” Rowan hissed. “Good work, Luca.” He turned on his heel and left the bullpen, thoughts and theories flying around his head at the speed of light. On his phone, the blurry image of Celaena Sardothien’s back glared up at him, taunting him, as if the goddamned Shadow Assassin was laughing at him from wherever the fuck she was. 

He glared at his phone, glared at the devious, black-hearted woman in the footage. It was so damn fitting that she’d choose to wear black clothing to match her heart. But that small sliver of skin revealed that she was human, no matter what the rumors said. 

Sliver of skin??? 

Rowan zoomed in as close as he could, scrutinizing the grainy, blurry image. He hadn’t been mistaken—in that frame, the back of Celaena’s shirt had dipped a tiny bit, exposing a sliver of her back. 

Exposing the licks of ink tattooed onto her spine. 

Rowan’s mind abruptly went dead fucking silent, the cacophony of his thoughts and the noise of the police building cut off into throbbing, terrifying, heart-stopping silence. 

Because those flicks of ink looked like fucking flames. And he knew exactly one person in the whole of Orynth—hell, in the whole of the fucking world—with tattooed flames licking up towards her hairline. He knew exactly one person with both the audacity and the personality to pull off a spine tattoo that boldly artistic. 

Aelin Ashryver Galathynius. 

Aelin. 

His Aelin. 

What…the fuck?!

Rowan jerked himself out of his chair, shook his head sharply, let his gaze dart around the room, and couldn’t seem to see straight. Crack! The harsh slap of his palm against his own cheek yanked him back into something resembling sanity, and he shook his head again before turning back to that goddamn image frozen on his phone screen. 

Even paused—especially paused—the image was grainy and blurry, as if Sardothien had been moving so fast that the camera physically couldn’t keep up with her speed. Blinking, Rowan squinted harder at the blurry image, his mind churning through all the possibilities. First—and he could kick himself for jumping to conclusions so damn fast—how the fuck did he know the tattoo was flames? So many people had tattoos; clearly Sardothien was just one of many. Knowing what he did about the elusive criminal, it was probably some kind of fucked-up depiction of her torturing one of her victims or some depraved shit like that. He couldn’t see clear details from the grainy image, so he had absolutely no right whatsoever to jump to some half-crocked conclusion about Sardothien’s tattoo. 

Still, knowing that she had a tattoo on her back was crucial information; it was one more definite physical descriptor that could identify her if she was caught. When she was caught.

As his breathing and heart rate returned to normal, Rowan dropped back into his chair, tapped out of his security camera app, and went to log the new findings in his notes. With the knowledge that Sardothien had broken into the fucking building, this investigation had taken on a new, more urgent tone. Clearly, the Shadow Assassin had moved into a new phase of action, one that targeted the police, which made it all the more urgent to get her behind bars. 

If only the damn morgue would get back with Westfall’s scans and the coroner’s report, he would have a decent idea of where to go to hunt down Celaena Sardothien. 

~

“How,” Rowan seethed, “in the fucking FUCK?!” 

Every door in the hallway rattled on its hinges as he slammed open the meeting room’s door and stormed down the hall, a dangerously murderous gleam of rage lighting up his eyes. His hard, heavy steps burst into the bullpen, where every single person there snapped to attention as he slammed the coroner’s reports down on the table. 

“We have a fucking problem.” His voice was deadly calm, tight with barely-leashed fury. A muscle ticked rapidly in the corner of his jaw. 

The coroner’s report, its final version dated July 14th, contained extensive information on the postmortem state of Chaol Westfall, down to DNA analysis in case it was needed. Rowan typically found coroner’s reports to be incredibly helpful pieces of information, but this one…this one contained a little nugget of detail that had his head spinning in so many directions he didn’t know which way was up. 

Luca broke the tense, shivering silence. “Sir? You received the report before any of us.” 

Rowan flicked a bladed glare at the papers sitting on the table. “Look at the top one.” 

“Of course.” Luca picked up the sheet, looked it over, and dropped it, his jaw falling open as if it had been unscrewed. “Holy fuck.”

“That’s about right,” Rowan grunted. “Like I said, we’ve got a fucking problem.” 

The team clustered around the table, passing around the paper. Whispers, gasps, and murmured theories and ideas rippled throughout the room as more people discovered the new information that had turned Rowan’s brain into a goddamn washing machine on a spin cycle. The thoughts he’d been toying with—the ideas about Sardothien’s tattoo—flew out his mental window, lost in the maelstrom of finding out that Chaol Westfall was not Chaol Westfall. 

Under the heading “DNA Analysis,” the coroner’s report had listed the DNA identification of Chaol Westfall’s body. But the name and identity given was not Chaol Westfall. 

“DNA analysis finds identity of the subject to be Ren Allsbrook, 31M. Height 183cm, weight 81.6kg. Dominant hand: Left. Eyes: hazel. Hair color: brown.” 

Ren Allsbrook. 

All hell broke loose.

“He’s been in maximum-security federal prison for the last twenty-two months!” hissed one of the officers, his brows furrowing in utter confusion. 

Luca snorted. “Did you forget the headline from January, dumbass? Allsbrook broke out.” 

“And broke right the fuck in to Orynth PD,” Rowan muttered under his breath. He refused to acknowledge the part of his brain that was astonished at the sheer ingenuity and capability of Ren Allsbrook—the man’s reputation as the best spy in the world was clearly deserved. Fuck, the man had been waltzing around in plain sight as Police Captain Chaol Westfall since January, and every single member of the highly trained, highly skilled investigative team had even once questioned Westfall’s alibi. 

“God-damn,” Rem whistled, sneaking what she thought was a sly look over to Rowan. “That’s six whole months with a fake Westfall here. I wonder why?” 

“You don’t get paid to fucking wonder,” Rowan snapped. 

Rem flushed with embarrassment, her icy blue gaze turning pouty. “That’s literally my job, I’m a detective.” 

“That’s—” 

“Connect the obvious fucking dots, Remy,” Luca interjected, cutting Rowan off before he could say something truly awful. “Allsbrook was a spy, the best one in the world if we believe his reputation. He’s been posing as Captain Westfall since January, which was when Lieutenant Whitethorn joined this investigation. That was also when we went public about the investigation.” 

“So he was working for the special forces?” Rem frowned. “But that doesn’t make sense, because why would the TSF want to hire a spy if they already publicly gave us one of their men?” 

“Wrong track,” Luca said. His dark eyes were alight with a look that Rowan recognized as frantic joy, a look that meant he’d formed a new hypothesis that he couldn’t wait to share. “What else happened in January? Hamel’s murder, among other murders. The Wilkins lot explosion, at which we found a mysterious scrap of fabric that lab analysis told us was completely foreign. Followed by more murders, more known criminals turning up brutally murdered or disappearing entirely, and a whole fucking lot of our trails going cold.” He paused for breath and raked his fingers through his frizzy curls. “We eventually identified a suspect in the homicide investigations, but that didn’t happen for months. Why? Because that suspect was the person who hired Allsbrook. That person was making sure we didn’t find her. Can’t you see?’ He spread his arms wide. “The Shadow Assassin hired Ren Allsbrook! He was her spy in the police department, making sure we stayed off her trail for as long as possible. He was Celaena Sardothien’s inside man.” 

Even Rowan stared, slack-jawed, as Luca concluded his half-wild rant and caught his heaving breath. The younger man looked over to Rowan, hopefulness muted beneath his eager gaze. “What do you think, sir?” 

“I think,” Rowan said slowly, “that you’re a goddamn genius, Luca.” 

Luca beamed. “Really?” 

“Absolutely.” Rowan nodded, latching onto Luca’s theory and immediately seeing how all the pieces fit into place. “We’d been locating the bodies too soon after Sardothien made her murders, and she needed a way to keep us delayed so that she could kill more and more people. The homicides did trail off; we haven’t had one in a few months. However, that does not mean she’s done killing. If anything, she was just using the time to get us all caught up in the murder scene analysis, probably working with Allsbrook to make sure we didn’t see any new developments until too late.” 

“But…but what about Allsbrook’s murder?” Luca asked. “I can’t figure out why he’s dead, if he was working so closely with our suspect.” 

“Because our suspect has an antagonist.” Rowan paused, waiting for that to sink in. “The note on Allsbrook’s forehead, nailed there after he was murdered, was stamped with the insignia of a criminal known as the Queen of the Night.” 

Luca gasped. “She left a sign-off? She hasn’t done that in over a year; we all thought she’d fully shifted to the drugs and arms trafficking part of her, uh, business.” 

“Well, she clearly decided to get back into this side.” Rowan’s tone was grim. “I think she’s working against the Shadow Assassin, but I can’t be sure. For all I know, they’ve joined fucking forces.” 

And gods help them all if that was the case. 

~

Maeve Ond, Queen of the Night, had always been drawn to the darkness. The lack of light spoke to some ancient part of her soul, calming her when she grew angry. The darkness had been her solace when she was young, and the darkness had quieted her rage when Celaena Sardothien killed her lover, Arobynn, and threw the world into loud, messy chaos. 

Darkness was her shield, and as she sat in her darkened office, the deep purple floor lights casting eerie shadows behind her, and waited for her newest soldier to come in, Maeve felt calmness wash over her mind after the last few hectic hours. 

With a discreet knock on the door, Fenrys entered the office, pausing briefly to let his eyes adjust to the dark. 

Maeve smiled as the blonde man approached her. “Hello, Fenrys.” 

“Ma’am.” He dipped his head to her. “How can I be of service?” 

She tapped her violet acrylic nails on the edge of her desk. “I was impressed with how quickly you executed Farran, Fenrys. Even more so when you took care of that smug little police captain.” 

Fenrys’s lips twitched towards that charmingly ruthless smile of his. “I pride myself on swiftness as well as skill.” 

“I liked the touch with the note nailed to his forehead,” she said. “Creative. I admire creativity.” 

“I was hoping you’d like it.” 

She smiled. “And I did. I liked it so much that I want you to do it again.” 

He blinked. “I…I can’t exactly kill a man twice, ma’am.” 

“Of course not.” Maeve steepled her fingers, drawing out the pause before she hit Fenrys with his newest target. “I need you to kill Celaena Sardothien.” 

His jaw slackened. “With all due respect, ma’am, I think she’d kill me before I got close.” 

“I don’t.” Maeve had learned long ago that the best way to encourage men to do her bidding was to stroke their egos. “That snarky bitch might think she knows everything, but she isn’t invincible. You’re going to prove that to her.” 

“Hmm.” Fenrys hummed, ideas glimmering behind that handsome, scheming face. “I may not be able to do that as quickly as I got to the police.” 

“Most likely not,” Maeve agreed. “So, in the meantime, I have a smaller mission for you. Are you familiar with Galathynius, Inc.?” 

“Of course.” Fen chuckled. “Who doesn’t know of that company?” 

“Good.” She let her smile bloom, delighting in the way Fenrys recoiled just a bit at the threat of violence in her crimson smirk. “Their laboratory complex has a protected room that contains a secure locker. In that locker is something that Galathynius, Inc. is developing. I need that substance.” 

“And you need me to get it for you?” 

“Indeed.” She handed him a small flash drive. “Here are the blueprints of the lab complex.” 

Fenrys gasped. “How the hell did you get these?” 

“Arobynn,” Maeve replied simply. “They are complete, current, and contain all the details you need to get into the lab complex. I need results by the end of the month.”

He whistled softly. “I’ll do my best. What if I can’t get in by the end of the month?” 

She shrugged. “With Connall’s assistance, I am sure you can.” She let him form the beginnings of a hopeful conclusion, then continued. “Connall stays with me, as I’ve grown appreciative of his skills.” 

Fenrys’s face shuttered, going completely blank. “Of course, ma’am.” 

Ah, the look of pure submission. She did love it when men looked at her like that. “End of the month, Fenrys. Dismissed.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” He nodded deferentially and left her office. 

Maeve leaned back in her chair, let the dark silence of her office wash over her, and smiled. Her plans were coming together so beautifully now. Soon—so soon—she would avenge her lover. 

~

Fenrys’s heartbeat was thundering. 

The moment he was out of the Night Owl, he hopped onto his motorcycle and sped off towards a safe part of the city, down to the banks of the river, and he parked his bike and headed off down an old, half hidden, familiar path. He reached the edge of the river and dropped onto the grass. 

Fucking hell. 

First Chaol Westfall. Now…Celaena Sardothien. The very woman for whom he was already working. The very woman on whom he was supposed to be reporting to Lieutenant Whitethorn. 

And if he couldn’t do what Maeve demanded of him, his brother was in danger. 

Fucking hell. 

On impulse, he reached for his burner phone and dialed Rowan’s contact. His head was spinning with everything that had just happened, and he needed to get at least one piece of information out before he went goddamn insane. 

Rowan picked up after six rings—an uncharacteristically long time. “What.” 

“Well hello to you too. I thought you were going to let me go to voicemail.” 

“Don’t be a jackass,” Rowan grunted. God, it was too easy to push his buttons. “Info?” 

“She’s going to make a move on the Galathynius labs.” Fenrys deliberately kept his words vague enough that Rowan could form his own conclusions about which “she” he was referring to. 

Rowan swore. “When?” 

“By the end of the month.” 

“That’s in ten fucking days, Moonbeam.” 

“You think I don’t know that?” Fenrys snapped. “She just told me.” 

On the other end of the call, Rowan exhaled a tightly controlled breath that meant he was on the verge of his temper snapping. “All right. Anything else?” 

“She mentioned something about a room with a hidden locker in it.” Fen had known Rowan for long enough not to be confused by his rapid subject changes. “It wasn’t that clear to me.” 

“Room with a hidden locker,” Rowan echoed, probably writing that detail down. “Fine. Keep me posted.”

Fenrys rolled his eyes. “Of course, Lieutenant,” he simpered. 

“In any other context, I’d beat your ass for that,” Rowan said, completely serious. “But you’ve given me a hell of a—” 

“God above, do not finish that sentence!” Fen all but shrieked. “I’m not your damn girlfriend!” 

“Jackass.” Rowan snickered. “You got me a new lead, Fen. Good work.” He hung up. 

Fenrys sighed as he tucked the phone back into his jacket. He strolled casually down the street, taking a meandering path through the neighborhood before he headed back to his dingy little apartment down by the shipping district. With any luck, he’d be able to hear Sardothien’s conversation through the floor—if she was home. He could have sworn that she wasn’t home too often, but that made sense. She had a criminal empire to run. 

And he had a criminal to catch. 

~

“There’s so many more new leads unfolding that I don’t know which direction to go.” Rowan flopped onto his back with a deep sigh. 

“I’m so sorry, love. That must be infuriating.” Aelin rolled onto her side, facing Rowan, tugging the rumpled sheets with her so the soft cotton laid against her bare skin. 

He huffed in agreement, pushing himself up so he sat back against the pillows. “I still feel like my head’s about to explode every time I walk into work.” 

A wry grin tugged at the corners of her lips. “We should swap offices for a day; you can have all of my employees drive you up the damn wall and I can try to deal with your cop squad.” 

“Sounds bloody brilliant.” Rowan tugged Aelin into his lap, sliding his arms around her middle beneath the sheets. “If only that was allowed.” 

She tucked her head comfortably into the crook of his shoulder. “Seems like we both need a day off. Maybe I should have Ells ‘clear my schedule,’ yeah?” 

“I wish,” he mumbled, absentmindedly tracing his fingers up and down her spine, following the intricate paths of ink that made up her dragon tattoo. “For now, are we still on for Saturday?” 

“Absolutely.” She kissed the spirals inked just below the corner of his jaw. “Don’t you even think about rushing off to another crime scene.” 

He chuckled deep in his chest. “Love, you know I don’t control that.” 

“Yes you do, you’re the head of the investigation.” 

“It doesn’t exactly work like that.” 

She grinned up at him, her eyes sparkling. “Ruin your girlfriend’s dreams, why don’t you?” 

“I’d rather ruin something else.” His smirk turned devious, and he turned her around so she was sitting in his lap, her back flush with his chest. The sheets tumbled away from her body, and he murmured in admiration, tilting her head forward to kiss the inked flames that licked towards her neck. “Yes?” 

“Yes,” she moaned, deliberately exaggerating the sound because of how feral it made him. 

As if on cue, his dick stiffened beneath her. “You drive me fucking crazy, Fireheart,” he groaned. One hand brushed her loose, messy hair away from her back, allowing him to drink in the full, unfettered sight of the fire-breathing dragon screaming up the length of her spine. “Funny—you once told me this tattoo makes a lovely contrast with your sheets, and I’ve never seen that contrast.” 

In response, she shifted to face him and caught his lips with an eager, heated kiss, giving his lower lip a little nip just the way he liked. “That’s because you’re always too fast to notice.” 

His eyes darkened. “Are you sure about that, love?” He wrapped his free hand around her jaw, angling her head so he could take possession of the kiss. “What was that you were screaming just a little while ago, hmm?” The hot, heavy words brushed against her swollen lips. 

“More,” she said. She pulled away and splayed herself on her stomach, arms folded beneath her chin, legs bent up at the knees with her ankles delicately crossed. With her hair scattered across the pillows and her wicked grin painted across her face, she looked to Rowan, waiting for his control to snap. 

Jaw dropping, he stared at her, his burning pine gaze nothing short of possessive. “You…Aelin, love, you are fucking stunning.” 

A soft pink flush brushed her cheeks. 

Rowan traced the pad of his thumb over her cheekbone and down to her lips. “Now be a good girl and stay still for me.” 

~

Covered head to toe in SecondSkin, the material of her suit snug against her limbs, Aelin slipped into one of the bland security rooms at the Gal Inc. labs, sat down at a computer, and keyed in an access code. She’d deliberately chosen a room where no one else was on duty, but she worked quickly anyway. It was her company’s lab, but for all anyone knew, she was a feared criminal, not an honest CEO. 

The security system’s menus unfolded across the screen, and she scrolled through the lists of files and titles and drop-down boxes, clicking and tapping her way through the maze of code until she came to the little black box that held the system shut-down function. It was only accessible by admin privileges, so she keyed in her admin password and waited for the system to boot up. It took a couple of minutes, but eventually, one single line of green text popped onto the screen. 

Temporarily Disable System?

She pressed enter.

The screen blinked off and back on, and Aelin smiled. Until she turned the system back on, the safety measures that protected her lab complex would be disabled. The security cameras would still be on, of course, but the numerous hidden traps—hallways that turned around, dummy doors, even a handful of booby traps near the room where the SecondSkin was kept—would be inactive until she turned them back on. It was nothing short of an invitation to anyone willing to brave the maze. 

And she knew—because Fenrys had told her—that Maeve was sending someone into that maze by the end of the month. And it was July 31. It had to be today. 

Aelin quickly navigated back out of the menus, unmasked the server IP address, shut off the computer, and slipped out of the room. She checked the hallway, making sure it was empty, then darted a few feet down the hall, pushed aside the grate covering the nearest airshaft, and climbed into the smooth metal shaft. She replaced the grate, checked to make sure no one else was taking the sneaky route down to the SecondSkin room, and then she started crawling. 

When she reached the air vents above the SecondSkin room, she turned her wrist over and tapped the inside of her forearm twice. A small, darkened screen strapped to her arm illuminated, bringing up a feed from the security cameras outside and inside the room. When she was satisfied that it was clear, she crept over to a vent, pushed aside the grate, and swung herself out of the airshaft and into the steel rafters that crisscrossed the ceiling of the simple, sterile lab room. 

Aelin crept through the rafters until she came to a spot where three beams crossed, forming a kind of makeshift seat that was far enough away from the door to obscure her in shadows but central enough to give her a decent view of the room. She crouched down into a seated position, tapped her forearm screen on, and waited. 

Sure enough, she’d been watching and waiting for less than an hour when the door cracked open and a dark-clad, masked, hooded figure ducked into the room. For a moment, her mind flashed back to a near-replica of this exact scene, almost eight months earlier. 

~

She knew they would try to come for her tech. 

The moment she had reached a stable, functional form of SecondSkin, Aelin knew that the rest of the criminal world would want to get their grubby little hands on her tech. She suspected that the first person to make a move would be Arobynn Hamel, leader of the Assassins, supposedly the most ruthless,  dangerous, heartless killer in the known world. It would be on brand—Arobynn had never been able to stomach the idea that anyone could outsmart him. 

So, Aelin rigged a deceptively simple trap. 

She armed the locker where she kept the SecondSkin with tranquilizer darts that would go off the moment someone opened the door, unless the combination that only she knew was keyed in. There were a few other combinations that opened the lock, but only she had the one that disarmed the trap. She drew up vague, enticing plans to that room, making only a few broad notes that she knew would have the entire criminal world foaming at the mouth when they discovered what she was working on. 

She “accidentally” leaked those plans in the bowels of the dark web. A few hours later, she took down the plans, but they had been up just long enough for Arobynn to get his filthy hands on them. 

Not even two weeks later, he made his move. 

The plans that she had “leaked” were confidential, but the blueprint of her lab complex was public domain, since she had filed the permits with the city like any normal businesswoman would do. Naturally, Arobynn had gone and checked the plans and used them to carefully plot his path to her supposedly secret room. What he didn’t know was that she had planted a lot more hidden traps along that path, but just for him, the traps were disabled. Arobynn strolled into the SecondSkin room bold as brass, thinking that he’d finally get to pull one over on Celaena Sardothien, the youngest crime boss of Orynth, the woman who had humiliated him in front of his close circle of assassins and crime lord buddies the last time they had crossed paths. 

And the instant he opened the locker, the tranquilizers skewered his neck. 

The last thing Arobynn Hamel ever saw was his dream of victory slipping right through his greedy, slimy little fingers. 

Well, that wasn’t entirely true—the last thing he had actually seen was the inside of Aelin’s river warehouse, where she’d kept him for two and a half weeks, letting her men work on him, before she treated him to a full day with just her and her weapons for company. At the end of that day, he was dead. 

After Arobynn had been…dispatched, Aelin made some changes to the trap on the SecondSkin locker. The first thing she did was re-rig the tranquilizer darts, but this time with poison, since they had worked so well before. She reorganized the traps leading up to that room, even spread some of them down other halls to deceive anyone else who thought they could get smart and try to break into her lab. 

The other change she made was a small addition to the trap on the SecondSkin locker. She emptied the locker, moving the SecondSkin to a different one in the same room, and replaced the canister with an identical one, except that the new canister contained a precisely measured dose of modified hellfire suspended beneath a trigger chemical. The instant that locker door opened, the trigger would drop, and the hellfire would explode, ripping through whichever scum tried to steal Aelin’s tech.

SecondSkin would never get into the hands of anyone who would abuse it. Not on her watch. 

~

From her perch in the rafters, Aelin tracked the movements of the man who had entered the SecondSkin room. As expected, he glanced around the room and crossed over to what he thought was the locker containing the SecondSkin. His gloved fingers danced along the edge of the panel until he found the tiny, hidden spring, and he pressed it down and slid aside the masking panel. He glanced at the back of his hand briefly, then pressed a series of keys on the electronic combination lock that secured the locker. On her screen, Aelin zoomed in on the combination, smirking when she saw the same sequence of numbers that Arobynn had used. 

Maeve thought she was better than her former lover, but her man had taken the same route.

The lock blinked green, and the man paused for a moment, then gingerly reached out and took the handle. He was a little smarter than Arobynn; he at least anticipated some kind of trap. Aelin smothered her anticipation—she knew something that the man didn’t know. She knew that no matter how slowly or carefully that door was opened, the hellfire would be triggered. It didn’t matter if this man opened the locker by micrometers. The explosion was inevitable. 

With a short, sharp breath, the man pushed open the locker door. 

BOOM. 

Aelin didn’t need camera footage to see the blindingly bright burst of blue-white flame blast out of the locker, crashing right into the man’s upper chest, throat, and head, obliterating his clothes and probably melting his skin. He barely had a millisecond to scream before the poisoned darts embedded themselves in his throat, and his body dropped to the floor with a thump. 

Aelin counted to twenty, and right on time, the powerful fire extinguisher system flicked on and doused the body and the ruined locker with white foam. A blast of water followed, rinsing away the foam, and she tapped her screen back on so she could see the intruder’s corpse in more detail. She zoomed in on the body, her gaze skipping over the charred remnants of his chest, and scanned his mangled masked face. The mask had melted into his skin with the force of the explosion, and his features were partially destroyed but still somewhat distinguishable, and she saw the faint lines of twin scars…

Twin scars slashed down his ruined cheeks. 

Aelin’s blood turned to ice. 

“F-Fen?” she breathed, one gloved hand shakily floating up to cover her mouth. “It—no—it can’t—Moon Moon?” 

She stared at the footage, frozen numb with shock and horror. “M-M-Moon Moon? Fenrys!” 

What had she done?

~~~

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12 - Thief History

Princess Red Thief

Part 13

Tag list - just ask to be added @mystrey101 @melvia-ito @kmc1989 @tallrock35

Walking across the wooden shop floor it had been a few weeks before Mary Margret had been arrested for the seemingly murder of David's wife. Henry knew she was innocent as did I but we didn't know how to prove such a feat. Finding the sword and cane holding stand near the shop entrance door I wrapped my fingers across one of the handles drawing it out.

Staring at the blade I saw the familiar marking of a crown engraved into the edge of the handle. The symbol that represented our royal house. "I was wondering when you'd go looking for it."

"Why's that, Rumple?" I asked him lowering the blade down to my hip after hearing him entering the room by his cane hitting the floor.

He paused in his steps in front of me. "The more you show who you truly are to Emma Swan can only lead the curse closer to being broken."

"I'm not sure about that. She seems to still be avoiding the truth that is right in front of her." I slumped my shoulders, rummaging around some of the shelves finding a sword holder and sliding the sword inside of it.

Rumple clicked his tongue before my phone started ringing so he nudged his head down to my Jean pocket. "Maybe that boy we'll come up with a better plan."

"Hey Henry, what's up?"

He explained back. "Eve, I need you to come with me to my moms office and get something."

"Henry, what would you need from her office?"

"Keys that can open any door. But I need your help getting inside her office. You broke into Rumple's castle all those years ago so I know you can help me."

Brushing hair out of my eyes I clicked my tongue. "I'm out of practice, kid. I don't even have my old thief pack-"

"Surprisingly Henry and I seemed to be on the same track. I found your old gear in one of my boxes yesterday morning." Rumple cleared his throat entering our conversation.

I cleared my throat, focusing back on the kid. "Okay I'll grab my things and meet you behind her office building - looks like I get to say I stole from the Evil Queen's castle now." Rumple sent me a cheeky smirk going to grab my old gear. I pondered on the man who taught me how to break into the Dark One's castle all those years ago.

Tromping through the thick woods of trees my hands were shaking underneath my red cloak. Earlier this week I went to open a window but somehow set the bed spread on fire when my hands turned red. I knew it could only be done through magic and I needed to fix it. "What am I going to do? What am I going to do?"

Halting in my tracks I saw a camp up ahead that I ran straight towards until I got to the edge peaking around one of the empty tents. Men were surrounded by a fire and I saw a little boy playing around with them. "Put your hands up in the air and turn around very slowly." I heard an arrow be drawn in a bow and a male voice speaking behind me.

"I don't mean any harm, sir. I just need help." Raising my hands up I did as I was told coming into contact with a guy that had dirty blonde hair and deep blue eyes. He had a bow and arrow in his hands aimed directly at me.

"Why are you snooping around my camp?" He asked me.

I gulped nervously. "I have heard rumors of a very powerful wizard not too far from here. I need to break into his home and get my hands on a certain object."

"What kind of object?" The man asked me not lowering his weapon.

I met his gaze hoping he would understand where I was coming from. "An object that is said to control him. I need his help before I hurt someone in my family."

"It sounds like you already know all the information you need. So what are you needing from my camp?"

"I need someone to teach me how to be a thief and break into a very secure castle." I responded to the stranger who finally lowered his bow.

The man extended his hand with a bow. "Robin Hood of Loxley at your service."

"Princess Everly. It's nice to meet you, Robin." I curtsy to the thief before me with a slight smile.

He cleared his throat and bent down on one knee. "Apologies princess."

"That's not necessary. You can simply call me Everly." I held my hands helping him up to stand in front of me, finding the formality ridiculous at this moment in time. "I am simply asking for some guidance."

Robin nodded in agreement picking his bow up from the dirt ground gesturing for me to follow him inside the entrance of his camp. "That can be arranged, Everly. And if you're going to learn you might as well learn from the best." We entered his camp and from that day on my life was changed forever.

Coming around the corner after leaving the pawnshop I found Henry where I told him to meet me behind her office building. He ran over to me seeing me slide a duffel bag from my shoulder onto the ground. "So what all do you have in there, Everly?"

"Lock picks, rope, arrows, a bow." Rummaging around I tied one end of the rope onto the arrow tip then drew it back with the small bow. Firing it off the arrow tip stuck into the seal. "Okay I'll go up first then you climb up."

"Okay. Be careful." He nodded watching me climb up the rope and unlocking the window lock with one of my pins from my bag. I crawled through the window and Henry shortly came through it. I slowly began looking around, seeing some apples on the center of her desk, a long coach and some mirrors. "So where would she keep the keys?"

Henry moved past me looking through the different cabinets until he found them underneath the main desk with a secret drawer. "I got them."

"Okay kid we should get out of here before we get caught."

Henry gave me a confused look. "I think we'll be okay."

"Shit! Henry run, run!" I tossed down to him climbing up in the open window seal hearing an alarm sound going off. I eyed the ground, closing my eyes and jumping where I hit my feet hard and rolling down into the grass below. Henry helped me up, holding my back and we bolted away as fast as possible until we called Emma to meet us outside Mary Maragarets apartment.

"I have proof." He holds up the ring of skeleton keys. "This is how my mom got into your apartment. This is how she framed Miss Blanchard."

Emma met us at the top of the stairs eyeing the keys. "Did you steal these from her office?"

"The book said they could open any door." Henry replied to her with a sad expression from her disapproving eyes.

I finally spoke up to the blonde woman. "Emma, don't judge him too much. It was my idea to steal them."

"You should've seen her. It was so cool."

I warned the boy. "Henry, not now."

"There's no way they'll even fit in the lock." Emma nodded, going back to focus on the keys.

"We have to try." Henry tries to open the door with multiple keys, but is unsuccessful.

Emma drops her arms at her sides. "See? What did I tell you? Come on, Henry. I know you want to think the answer to everything is in Operation Cobra-

"It is!" Henry and I blurted out in unison.

Emma sighed heavily. "But, sometimes the real world needs to come first."

"Just try one more. Please." He begged her.

She paused for a moment. "Okay, one more. But then we're done."

"You do it. This one." Henry rummaged the keys around before picking the last one holding it up for his mother to take and she did.

Emma takes the keys from Henry and tries the key he picked out with the door finally opening. "Do you believe now?" Henry asked her, seeing pure shock cross his mother's face. We were getting closer to breaking this curse once and for all.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

[obsidiancreates]

One Undead To Another (Chapter 3)

(It's 1 AM and I work today so naturally I'm hyperfocused on writing. Trigger warning for blood drinking, POV of someone who's dying, and temporary death.)

Burton Guster wakes up to use the bathroom. He checks his phone as he snuggles back under his still-warm covers, a habit he developed pretty much the moment Shawn got a cellphone and the ability to send texts. 

Following MY lead and proving you all wrong

Oh, no. He did not.

Halfway to the Spooky Mansion. Still a chance for you to join in.

Seriously are you ignoring me or did you forget to turn your volume up again :( 

Going in, keeping your half of the check when I solve this.

Spooky mansion got way too spooky. Bury me with my Tears for Fears vinyls.

Gus immediately calls Shawn after reading that last text.

No answer. He waits for a text scolding him for calling during a snooping mission- he waits for ten minutes before he lets out a panicked scream and dials Lassie.

No answer there, fine. He calls Juliet next.

“Gus?” Her voice is groggy and scratchy. “This better be an emerge-”

“Shawn went back to that mansion.”

“He what? I- why am I even surprised?”

“His last text to me says he might be in trouble, Jules.”

“Gus, we ruled them out as suspects.”

“In those murders! In just one set of murders!”

“... That’s a fair point, actually. Okay, I will call Carlton, and we will check on Shawn. Are you going to come with us?”

“Yes, obviously I’m coming with you!”

“Okay, okay, I’ll pick you up on the way to Carlton’s. And Gus?”

“Yeah?”

“Change out of your pajamas before I get there.”

He looks down at his fireman pjs- the same he was wearing last time Shawn did this. Maybe they’re cursed. He should probably burn them and get new ones, just to be on the safe side. “Right.”

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Jebus, O’Hara, why is Guster here?” Lassiter groans as he slumps, practically unwillingly, into his Ford Fusion. 

“He was extremely helpful last time!”

“Thank you, Juliet. Besides, I’m the one Shawn is texting!”

“If he got himself shot again, I’m putting you both in the holding cells for the rest of the case,” Lassiter gurmbles as he starts the car and pulls out.

“If he got shot again, I’m sicking his dad on him.” If there anyone left to- no, no, he can’t think like that. He can panic and doom-spiral after he finds Shawn totally safe, healthy, and grinning with some stupid new piece of evidence. Because that’s how they have to find him.

“Whatever. We’re either going to save his ass again, or arrest it for breaking an entering. Either way, Guster stays in the car.”

Gus scoffs. “Yeah, alright.” 

The car ride is quiet. Lassiter oozes irritation over being woken up. Jules hums along to the radio, either used to or simply resigned to situations like this being apart of her life- and probably trying to help Gus calm down. It’s working, a little. Gus feels a little silly about it, but it’s hard to panic when there’s someone humming nearby.

They’re only a few minutes away when all three feel a… twist. 

Lassiter tenses at the wheel as Jules lets out a soft gasp and Gus’s stomach drops.

Something is wrong. Deeply, deeply wrong, and they don’t need to say it out loud to know they all feel it.

Lassiter floors it for the last stretch. He and Jules run up to the house with guns already drawn and fingers on the triggers, Gus behind them with a mounting dread as the mansion looms.

Lassiter has barely raised his hand to knock when the screaming starts. 

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Shawn’s scream of pain is muffled, silenced, in the shoulder of The Boss. He feels her fangs dig, pressing deeper and deeper into his neck as she uses him like some kind of handsome juice pouch, or maybe a soup dumpling- yeah, definitely a soup dumpling. Should he be thinking about food right now? He is food- and being food hurts.

She bites deeper, and his next scream feels choked. He can feel his blood as it’s sucked out of him, a horrible unnatural feeling. It’s not like when he was shot, where his blood just oozed out of it’s own accord. It’s like his blood knows it’s being stolen, knows it’s being taken away, and it’s trying to cling to the inside of his veins with all of it’s thick, liquid-y strength.

He thinks he might be screaming again, or maybe moaning in pain? He’s making some kind of sound, but good god, she is making quick work of him. The world is going dull and fuzzy, his eyes drooping but never closing. The flickering candles cast strange shadows, making it look like more than four other people surround them- he sees a dozen, maybe more, it’s hard to tell, they’re all moving through each other. How much blood has he lost if he’s hallucinating already? 

His fingers feel cold. No, actually- all of him feels cold. His fingers feel numb. He’s slumping against her now. He can’t hold his own weight anymore. Will they dump him in a field? No, that- they have something else planned for him. Don’t they? It’s starting to go away. Everything is starting to go away. There must be fifty people in the room now. There’s a sea lion in the corner. His arms have gone slack. Why can’t he close his eyes all the way?

“-ay strong.” He’s not sure who spoke. What did he name the other people again? How many were there? He was… investigating something. Right? It’s hard to think. It makes him tired. Someone is cradling him and holding him up, but it doesn’t feel nice. His neck feels the least nice.

“-wn. Shawn, stay with us, help is coming. Help is coming.”

He… he knows that voice. It’s… comforting. Who is that?

His eyes still won’t close. He feels cold. He feels his last dregs of blood clawing to stay inside of him. There’s pairs of feet, just in front of him, taking up his blurry darkening vision. A pair of white shoes, for… some kind of sport, Shawn doesn’t know, he can’t… connect. And a pair of… he doesn’t know, some kind of old lady shoes. He knows those shoes.

There’s a hand against his cheek. No, there isn’t. Yes, there is. No, there isn’t- but there’s something. It’s there and it’s not there, like- like cotton candy. That stuff is weird. A whole mouthful turns into nothing within seconds. Someone is saying something to him.

“-ay. It’ll be okay. They’re almost here.”

“So are we.” He knows that voice too. It’s not as comforting- but it’s not not comforting. It’s… someone. He can’t make the connection. He should’ve passed out by now. He’s lost enough blood to die, he knows that, if he knows one thing it’s that. Why is he still awake?

“We’ll make sure they find you.” That not-there hand is carding through his hair now as whatever is digging in his neck leaves- it’s the first sensation other than numbness he’s felt in… has it been seconds? Minutes? Hours? He’s not good at tracking time even when he does have blood. This is a nightmare. He hopes it’s a nightmare. Thinking hurts.

His head is pushed back. The shoes belong to people- that’s good to know. He can’t really see who. He isn’t sure what he’s capable of seeing right now actually counts as Seeing at all. Someone is yanking open his mouth. 

“-or you. I’m here for you. You’re not alone right now.”

“I’m not sure he understands what you’re saying.”

“Shush, Mary. He needs to hear it anyway.”

Something is in his mouth. Something cold, and thick, and slugdy, and awful. He doesn’t have the strength to gag as it slides down his throat. It tastes rotten. It tastes wrong.

There’s a lot of it. He can’t swallow. He can’t gag. It lasts forever.

It reaches his stomach.

It burns.

He’s on the floor now- he didn’t feel his head hit, but it’s resting against something solid, so it must’ve. Hey, he can still make deductions. That’s cool. Everything is numb, but not numb, and everything hurts, but he can’t feel it. It hurts someone else, even though it’s him. It’s… far away. He’s far away. Someone is kneeling in front of him. Two someones. He can’t see them. His eyes are closed, finally. He doesn’t know how he knows they’re there.

“Go to sleep, Shawn.” … Oh. Oh, he knows where he knows that voice. He must really be dying, then. Or already dead.

“Gr’ma.” He can’t hear his own voice.

“Shhh. It’s okay. Go to sleep. We’ll make sure you’re okay.”

There’s a sound pounding against his ears. He tries to lift his head to hear it better. It’s a dull roar, like a terrible low-quality recording of a rock concert. … Yeah, exactly like that. It’s screaming.

“Your friends will be okay too. I promise. Trust me, sweetheart. Just… let yourself sleep.”

He actually doesn’t think he has a choice- but it’s nice that she’s talking. It’s so much clearer than the screaming. He should probably care about that. He’s too far away to be able to.

Shawn takes a deep breath and relaxes.

He sighs. 

He loses consciousness. 

He does not breathe again.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

As soon as the screaming starts Lassiter breaks the door down. It’s almost too easy- the wood is rotten. Who would live in a place like this? Someone not looking to stay long. Shawn had said that. Why hadn’t Gus believed him?

“SBPD!” Lassiter and Jules to in with guns raised and ready to fire- Gus feels safe enough behind them to follow.

No-one is home. If it weren’t for the ear-splitting screaming coming from somewhere, it would be eerie.

“Guster, go back to the car.” Lassiter doesn’t move. “Now.”

“Shawn is somewhere in here.” Gus can hear his fear leeching into his voice.

“We’ll find him,” Jules promises, just as rooted to the spot- something in the air feels wrong. A stillness, but a crackling, an energy but a void. 

“Alright.” He can’t stand it anymore, he loves Shawn and he wants to find him but he can’t stand it anymore-

The door slams shut behind him.

“AAAAHHHHHHHHHH!” Gus’s scream is lost among the chorus. The lights are flickering- no, that’s too mild a word for it, because the lights are going in and out and sparking and buzzing and it’s like the whole house is screaming-

Someone’s at the end of the entrance hall.

“Hands in the air!” Lassiter bellows, but the figure doesn’t put their hands up. The lights go out again. They come back on. The figure is closer.

“Stay where you are!” Juliet’s gun is steady as she aims it.

“-me? Testing, testing- forgive me. The afterlife doesn’t usually have this much bleed-over.”

Gus almost faints. He knows that voice.

“That’s impossible.” Lassiter swallows. He knows it too. They all do. “You’re worse at rescuing than Shawn,” Mary Lightly says, hands in the pockets of his racquetball uniform. “At least he was moving.”

[no-side-us]

Letters From Watson Liveblog - June 1

Wisteria Lodge, Part 3 of 4

Well that's certainly interesting, I didn't expect there to be some kind of monster (or what this constable thought was a monster) to be a part of this story. I'm guessing it's going to turn out to be a foreign animal of some kind cause Doyle uses that trope pretty frequently. Probably something from Spain if it's related to Garcia's situation.

The idea of a constable seeing the literal devil and deciding the best course of action is to arrest him is so funny to me. And the fact Baynes says the constable is "on duty" implies that if he were off duty he just wouldn't do anything is even funnier.

I had some real whiplash when I got to this line, as I was having such a fun time with this mystery. Just goes to show I shouldn't forget what period these stories are from, cause then I get surprised with something extremely racist when I should really be expecting it.

Baynes ought to be in it for the sake of solving the murder instead of making a name for himself, but we'll see how well he goes about things. If he really wants to make it as a detective though, what he actually needs is his own Watson. Maybe that constable from earlier who thought he saw the devil, since they seem to have pretty contrasting personalities.

Another very extremely racist description. This story seems to have taken a very discriminatory turn. Looking back at the first two letters, Scott-Eccles does call Garcia's cook a "half-breed" at one point, so I suppose there were hints along the way of all this.

At the very least, it seems Baynes is in the wrong for arresting this large man based on what Holmes says here. So perhaps that person will get a happy ending in the last letter, but I doubt it. Here's hoping though.

Oh man, is Doyle gonna make him related to that small corpse they found in the kitchen? Boy, I hope not. They also found a guitar in the house so hopefully it's that instead.

Just because Miss Burnet is forty and a governess doesn't mean she can't either fall in love or have someone fall in love with her. It's unlikely for that to be the case due to the time period and how it might possibly make the plot too complex, but it's not impossible.

Breaking and entering, a Holmes and Watson classic.

I don't really know how this all fits together. Based on what Holmes said, I think Miss Burnet, Garcia, and his servants planned on killing Mr. Henderson. He found out and killed Garcia and Miss Burnet. This explains Mr. Henderson's fearful behavior as stated by the servants, but of course I don't see the why behind any of it. I guess I'll find out in the last letter.

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3 - Part 4

[wanderingpages]

.・。.・゜Dark AU ゜・。.

V E R S I O N 2

“It’s you that I’ve been thinking about and I shouldn’t be. You’re cattle waiting for slaughter, baby.”

TFOTA // All Human // AU : Cardan tries not to lust after the girl he's supposed to kill.

Trigger Warnings: Crude language, Drugs, Sex, Murder/Talks of murder, Sexual/Physical Assault.

Cardan's POV

Madoc has been absolutely no help at all. “You sure?” He asks this two days after the party, when I called to confess about the shit I pulled with Locke.

“Yeah,” I deadpanned. “She hates Care Bears. Or maybe just the yellow one.”

“They do seem like annoying little things,” he mused.

“Madoc.” There’s no way this is a serious job, I had figured. This is punishment for blowing up Asha and Balekin. The only thing that had kept me from going absolutely insane was Elvira. Her head rubbed against mine as if to tell me to calm down and watch my blood pressure, because I’m way too young to be having it spike like this. “I saved her from Carrot -Top. Is that not enough for you? Can you give me something to shoot at now?”

“No,” he said, “To both. I need information from this girl, King, and you’re going to fucking get it for me. So she knows your name. Alright, go back and get to know her for real. No better way of getting information than to actually talk to her.” Except I have no idea how to organically slip into this girl’s life without revealing what a stalker I am.

So, I don’t, partly to stick it Madoc because I haven’t heard from him since that conversation ended, and partly because this is fucking tedious and kind of wrong even for my standards. It’s like I’d be grooming her for slaughter or something. “I should just kill her and get it over with, right?” I ask Elvira but she’s half asleep so I don’t really expect an answer. I run a knuckle over her ear and her nose twitches the way I remember Jude’s does.

I sigh, it’s been nearly a week now and trailing Jude is really not the highlight of my life. I’m running on coffee and blow. If I don’t get at least some semblance of peace, I might actually go into cardiac arrest. There’s only so much asinine things I can take for a whole week. I should probably be perched on a tree watching Jude sleep or paint her toenails or something but I need a fucking break. I check my phone to see a new message. I had requested a background check after Madoc’s joke of a phone call and it seems like there’s a dossier ready for me. I leave Elvira to sleep, shutting the door so no one gets the chance to bother her. It’s not exactly my place, but Dain’s instead. Technically, the late Mayor Eldred’s estate, so to speak, but he’s dead on paper, and most likely in some foreign country trying to find us a new step mom to corrupt, or trying to push Mab’s Specialty trans-continental.

It’s rare that I ever use this way to leave, usually it’s a flight of stairs at the back off the house that leads straight to the garage, so I feel a bit out of bounds as head towards the grand staircase. As it is, Dain is throwing one of his stupid little shitshow parties. It’s blacklight themed tonight, and when I enter the central landing, nothing but the white shirt I have on glows. There’s buckets of paint lining up the wall leading to the living room. Someone immediately greets me and offers to paint between the lines of the ink etched into my skin. “I think it’d look cool if we paint this one,” she winks, tapping a long and glowing nail to my neck. “I’ll take extra time to get the scales all right,” she promises, dragging the nail down my neck. I grab her wrist and pull it off me but I don’t let go.

“What if I want your lips on me instead?” I glance at her bright pink lips, then tap at my cheek and she giggles before reaching up and kissing me there, no doubt leaving a glowing mark on my skin.

“Is that the only place you wanted my lips?” she slides her hand from my hold then against my chest, slowly working down. I’d rather have them wrapped around my cock but I hold back, giving her a wink before the door opens and group of people walk in.

“Looks like you’ve got more customers to paint,” I tell her. She pouts but tends to them when I start to walk towards the living room, already disoriented with the décor. I’ve never been here when there wasn’t a party, and every single time, nothing has ever remained the same. To my surprise, I spot Locke nearly instantly. I scowl, thinking I should have gone back to the party that night and finished the job, because it annoys me immensely that that ginger slut is at this party, mouth breathing dust off of some girl’s tits. How’d he even get an invite? For as smart as Dain is, he’s also two parts dumb when it counts. No doubt he posted on his social media something along the lines of “party at mine, you know where it is.”

Tempted as I was to go back that night though, I had ended up watching Jude. She was smart enough to let me drop her off a few blocks away from her house, guess her braincells returned to tell her probably not to trust a strange man with a gun. I followed her on foot, watched her key in a code to a three story showpiece, then I actually did sit perched on a tree, like a fucking vampire.

Finding Locke seemed unnecessary when I suddenly got a show of her shimmying out of her second skin-like leggings then falling face first into her plush mattress, pert ass in the air, clad in something lace and not much else. Halfway through the night, my sweatshirt came off of her, and while that stayed on the bed next to her, the ripped shirt and then her bra had been tossed to the floor. I watched her grab hold of my sweater, pull it against her breasts and hike her leg up to further trap it against her body. My face feels warm, thinking about it and I try to ignore the semi in my pants.

I spot my brother, his nose is practically scraping the inside of his wrist, trying to get every last particle of coke possible until he can’t anymore, so he opts to lick the residue off. When he finds me, his eyes light up. “Grade A,” he tells me, like it’s his first time tonight. He tosses me the half full dime bag, but I figure I’m at my limit for the day, so I pocket it. I nod over to his wife, who’s beside him tonight. It’s unusual to see them together so I can’t help but watch when he reaches over her and pulls at the girl Locke was nosing. The Manic Panic blue in her hair glows bright, along with the pink and green swirls on her body that look smudged with hand prints. It takes me a moment to recognize her when our eyes meet. She had been one of the girls who had arrived to the party with Jude the other night. She doesn’t recognize me, or if she did, she’s too blissed out to even try to piece it together.

I frown at the way my heartbeat picks up, hoping that Jude hadn’t followed her here of all places. She’s not here though; I have to remind myself, I had left her fast asleep just a couple of hours ago. I wonder, if maybe it would be better if she was part of this crowd, though. That way I wouldn’t feel so guilty trailing an innocent girl, right?

Dain’s hands are tugging the straps of the blue-haired girl’s dress down, while his wife pulls her hair to the side, and sucks at her skin. they’re in plain sight, but so is everybody else. It’s nearly two I the morning, and the party, as per usual, is gradually turning into a drugged out orgy.

“You like watching?” I feel a tug at my arm before a girl plasters herself against me. Her hair glows like flames under the UV lights. Her hand runs down to my belt and she may want to fuck me, but it’s the baggy she’s after when she fumbles into a pocket.

“I want to watch you,” I play along, taking her arm. “On your knees,” I tell her and when she looks up at me, I see she’s even got colored contacts that match her hair. I nod towards the other side of the room. She grins, pulling my hand to follow her to the door there. The room should be a garage, but it’s been converted since Eldred’s “passing” and is now used by Dain to tattoo his clients. I reach for the lights, but there’s no need; I know this place inside and out, being that I’ve been Dain’s client more than a few times. If Dain ever needed a portfolio, he could easily use my body as a progress board. From sloppy doodles and harsh line work to seamless shading and gorgeous artwork; I didn’t care at first, I think I just wanted all those ugly marks covered. It wasn’t until a few years ago when I really requested meaningful shit from him.

I figure I have enough time to kill now, so I let my new flame lead me to a small stool, before she drops to her knees for me. The get up looks cheap in the florescent lights, but she’s still pretty and I don’t want her sucking me off any less. So, I sit down and lean back, spread my legs for her while she unbuckles my belt and goes for my zipper. I reach and pull her shirt down, pretty nipples greet me all taught and perky. Not real, but I like them anyways. I run my thumb over them as she pulls my length out, still partially hard from thoughts of Jude earlier. I groan and grab a fistful of her hair, guiding her head when she starts to tongue me.

My grip tightens when the door opens and I peek an eye open to see Ghost raise only one brow at me, the one I convinced him to let me pierce so many years ago. She starts to bob her head against me and I really wish he’d go away, but when he doesn’t, I let loose a sigh and ask, “What?”

He rolls his eyes, “If I wanted to watch, I’d have been quiet about coming in.”

“Yet here you are,” I eye him through lidded eyes, from the head and maybe from the come down. I know he’s being spiteful because that dossier can wait a few extra minutes and absolutely nothing will change between what I’m doing and how that involves Jude.

“Trust me,” he says, “I found something that’s going to rock your world harder than this broad ever could.”

“Hey,” I chastise, halfheartedly. Sometimes I wonder what era this guy thinks he’s from. Broad? “It better not be your dick again,” I say as an afterthought. “I will throat punch you.”

“What’s a few dick pics between bros?” he grins, “What does she want?”

“Coke,” I manage when she takes me deeper. It’s hard staying hard when he won’t stop watching. It’s not the first time he’s been around while I fucked somebody, but it sure is so goddamned bright this time and I’m a hell of a lot sober than usual. He walks towards the minifridge and grabs a silver can. Its diet Coke I realize when he tosses it to me. I catch it, and the jolt makes her gag. I grimace and tap her shoulder, guiding her off of me. “you’re a piece of shit,” I tell Ghost. I swipe at the side of her mouth, pressing my thumb to her lips. She sucks it, looking up at me with wide eyes. it makes me pause for a moment, because for a split second, those gross orange contacts look unnervingly light brown. That startles me more because usually in my daydreams, its green eyes looking up at me.

“Sorry,” I tell her, handing her over the can. “Maybe next time.”

She looks confused, grappling at the can. I fix her shirt for her helping her up. She’s perplexed and put out, but I don’t get time to say much else to her because Ghost takes her hand and guides her out, looking like a princely escort to a ball rather than what it really is. This time turning the lock when the door shuts. I run a hand through my hair unable to stay annoyed or in my head much longer because Ghost is walking towards the back of the room, to the other door that leads outside. I fix myself and follow him out to the lake. Its dark as hell looking on to the other side, but not enough to make me forget I had lived on that side. The shitty poverty stricken side where the drug use isn’t as glamorized as it is here, but just as profound. That’s the side Mab’s Specialty thrived on.

The Spanish moss rustles against the cypress tree at the center of the backyard. I look up to see Valerian sitting on a branch. He waves down at me, but his eyes are focused on the windows, or rather through them. He’s not much for parties, or crowds or any type of exposure to germs, but he’s always been a curious onlooker and that cypress tree is his favorite vantage point.

He jumps off, landing like he could have gone to the Olympics for it and takes a seat on a fallen log near a doused fire pit. Ghost sits beside him, a good distance away to appease him. He reaches into the inside of his jacket and hands me a rolled manila folder. I trade off with the bag of blow I don’t really want anymore. “I didn’t even have to suck your dick for it,” he grins.

“No,” Valerian muses, quietly, “but you did have to kiss his ass.”

“Whatever,” Ghost finds a rolled blunt in his pocket and hands it over to Valerian, “Didn’t forget you, baby, this is for you.” Valerian reaches for it, then the lighter I thought I lost a few days ago. I should have known Ghost pocketed it.

I straighten out the folder then open it, not surprised to see Jude’s government name at the top. Its surface level information, stuff that I could have gotten off the college board’s back log, but far more than anything Madoc had given me, that’s for sure. I look at Ghost, in time for him to wave his hand lazily, “Turn the page.”

I narrow my eyes, not liking how grim his attitude had gotten. My stomach is already sinking, but nothing could prepare me for what I see next. “But…how?”

My heart is so loud in my ears, I’m surprised I even hear when Ghost explains, “they weren’t in the same grade, but they spent a few summers together. Summer camp,” he explains.

“One hell of a coincidence,” I mutter, looking at the grainy cropped photo of two girls with their arms around each other, smiling at the camera. The girl on the left has bright eyes, freckles dot her face and I know it only ever heightened due to sun exposure. Her dark blonde hair is pulled high on her head and I try not to think about how short she had cut it after we met. Her face is much younger than the face I knew, but there’s no mistaking her. I feel sick and maybe a little guilty, unable to stop myself from remembering the last time I saw her. Unable to stop myself from remembering the last night I held her.

I trace the side of her face, my throat feeling constricted suddenly. “This is fucked, even for Madoc,” Ghost tells me, and he’s right. Madoc had been the one to find me that night, after all.

.

For once, I’m the one screening calls. I don’t answer when he tries to reach me, and it’s been at least once a day for the past few weeks.  I send him a quick text, probably to make sure he knows I'm still alive. I can’t talk to him yet. I don’t know what I’d say. It’s one hell of a punishment for starting a fire, that’s for fucking sure. He’ll be happy to know I’m still trailing Jude, though. If anything, the revelation of her knowing my dead girlfriend – dead fiancée – only intrigues me more.

I thought I had Jude’s schedule down pat, she hardly ever deviates from walking to school, going to the gym, meeting up with her friends and studying. But she’s been self isolating for the past few days. At first I thought it was a cold or something. Then she started shutting her blinds and I thought maybe I’ve been found. But even when she peeks through gauzy curtains, her eyes never quite find mine.

So now, I’m squatting in a car with Ghost who’s chugging coffee like his life depends on it. His free hand flies over the keyboard of his laptop, making stupid little clicking sounds. Still, I rather him than Valarian at the moment. I may trust Valarian with my life but I don’t quite trust him with other people’s lives and right now, I’m assuming Jude is still wanted alive and all that. Besides that, he’d probably bleach the hell out of my car and suffocate us with the smell. He’d nitpick everything then probably dissect the spider I'm pretty sure I saw scurry across the dash a few minutes ago.

Ghost is also good with computers. He’s been sitting with me, going through Jude’s security feed for the last few hours. It’s what’s getting me on edge now, if I’m honest. He pauses to open the lid of his cup and pour in some white powder. He places the laptop on the console between us and scrubs through about a week’s worth of the Jude Show. It makes me uncomfortable how easily he had gotten through the system.

She seems like a normal person going through the motions of her day. Ghost occasionally stops the speed for some kind of dramatic effect, “I’m humanizing her,” he tells me when I give him a look. “She’s still a person, you know.”

“What’s the saying? Dead girl walking?”

She eats, he scrubs through, she changes clothes, he scrubs through, she studies from three different books, he scrubs through, answers a phone call, laughs, hangs up, he scrubs through, eats, showers, yoga, looks at her home décor like she’s never seen it before, picks up a vase, puts it down, tilts her head at a wall, scrunches her nose when she looks at photos, leaves to check the mail, tosses the stack on a table, answers a call, scrub, scrub, scrub – and I’m losing my absolute mind.

“This is weird,” I tell him. Had we even gotten through a single day? 

“Really weird,” Ghost admits, “watch,” he tells me, and I don’t understand what he wants me to see by showing me the same day over again. Until I realize it’s not the same day when I recognize she’s got on a completely new set of clothes. This time, when she takes a phone call, her face isn’t pleasant. She hangs up angrily and I blink, startled when she throws the cell against the wall. She seems to let out a scream before dropping to the floor and burying her face into her knees. If she had been this dramatic while I was on her tree, I might have been less bored.

“Call logs?” I ask. He minimizes the window and shows me a pdf file of her cellphone statements before clicking off and going back to the feed. “Why does she keep looking at the wall?” my brows furrow when it seems like a new day has started and Jude is standing in front of a wall with her hands on her hips. Her phone must be dead or broken because I still make out the device right where it fell. “Why is she so heavily surveillanced?” it’s a belated question because maybe I hadn’t really been focusing before, but it is a little daunting to see all the separate feeds in what’s supposed to be someone’s home. Surrounding the property is understandable, but inside? Even Dain’s estate – the Mayor’s House – isn’t as watched as this.

Scrub, scrub, scrub, Jude is sitting cross legged in her living room floor, a laptop open in front of her. She skims over something before quickly shutting the laptop. I can’t make out her face, her back is to the camera, but she looks tense. I think Ghost has paused the video for a moment, but then she reaches for the laptop again. She clicks around, a lot, more and more frantic every time she hits the keypad. She shuts the laptop again and leaves the room, coming back with a sledge hammer.

“Jesus,” Ghost mutters watching her repeatedly bash her laptop to pieces. Its starts to look mechanical after a moment, then she drops the hammer to the ground and wipes at her forehead. She leaves and comes back moments later, this time with a change of clothes – a sweatshirt I didn’t think I’d see again – and a set of blankets. She grabs the sledge hammer and holds it to her chest after taking a seat on the floor. I'm sure there’s still laptop guts all over the floor, but she seems unfazed, wrapping the blanket around her. She’s a completely different person from the girl I had been following around for a month.

Idly, I wonder if she’s parent trapped me at some point. Ghost scrubs again but something off camera catches my eyes. By no means are we on an empty road, but there’s not a lot of traffic either. It’s not hard to notice when the same car drives by multiple times. I narrow my eyes before I turn back to the screen. Jude is looking at that wall again. Suddenly she reaches and half her body is obscured until she returns, this time with a crossbow I can only imagine had been mounted to the wall.

“Beginning to think miss girly pop is a danger to herself, at this point,” Ghost mutters, throwing back the rest of his coffee. I won’t pretend to know the ins and outs of a bow, so I'm not even sure she knows what she’s doing when she raises it close to her face, squinting into what looks like a telescope. The handle resembles that of a gun, so I can make out when she plays with the trigger. “Think they taught this in summer camp?” only vaguely do I remember Sophie saying something about knowing to aim a bow, but I think I always assumed it was a manual one. I’m not sure of the relevance just yet, but I stopped believing coincidences quite some time ago.

The car passes by once more and Jude manages to find arrows the next time I see her. “What the fuck kind of trojan was in her laptop?” Ghost muses. “Oh shit,” he sits up a little straighter, and my eyes go wide. I know its prerecorded, but it still feels like her eyes have pierced through my soul when she looks directly into the camera. She raises the bow, aims, then shoots. The screen goes black. Ghost is fast in finding another camera, but the closest one only shows the hallway leading to the living room. I can make out the blankets on the floor and pieces of hardware, but no Jude.

“What’s the timestamp on that?”

“Eight hours ago.” He scrubs ahead, but I already see the car drive by yet again. I find my gun and check the clip. “Fuck,” Ghost mumbles, closing his laptop and finding his own arsenal is secured. “What the fuck did Madoc get you into?”

The next time he calls, I’m going to beat his ass.

“Knew I should have stayed home today,” he whines like I’m Miss Frizzle, but it’s in jest because he looks too excited to really be complaining. I check my watch, thinking we’ve given them enough time to throw the alarm and break the door handle. We walk through the front door because I was right about the timing. I check my watch again, assuming we’ve got only a handful of minutes before the landline rings, and if that’s not answered, cops will be dispatched within minutes. I love a good countdown moment.

We stand on either side of the doorway leading into the living room. It’s a standoff, and I’d laugh at the scene if this was any other occasion; two men pointing their guns at a girl in her pajamas while she, in turn, holds a crossbow. Physics hadn’t been my favorite subject, but I’m well aware a bullet is faster than an arrow, so it’s not looking too swell for Katniss over there.

Ghost and I are directly behind the men, but if Jude notices, she doesn’t acknowledge. She’s got a tight set to her lips, and I frown when I glimpse her eyes. “Come on little lady,” the slimmer of the men says with humor. He’s got a slight German accent. “Put the toy down, we don’t have time to sit and play.” The other man chuckles. I don’t think Ren and Stimpy quite know what they’re dealing with. In retrospect, I don’t think I know either.

“You should leave,” Jude says, and it makes the hair at the nape of my neck stand on end. I glance to Ghost, wondering if he’s caught the monotony. He puts a hand to his chest, lets out a quiet “Sheesh,” and mouths, “Be still, my beating heart.” I frown at him.

“You just give us what we want and no one has to get hurt,” Stimpy says.

“What… you want…?” Jude’s brows furrow. “No,” she tells them. The phone rings.

“Answer it,” Stimpy tells her.

“No,” she says again. Her head tilts when she finally looks beyond them, to Ghost and I. Rather, just me.

She yelps when Ren shoots her arm. She pulls the trigger on instinct, the bow pierces into Stimpy’s throat. Ghost fires three rounds before Ren can react. The crossbow drops from Jude’s hand and she holds her arm. Blood flows over her fingers, and she gasps, looking up to Ghost, panic in her eyes when he walks closer. “You shot me?”

He doesn’t correct her, just bends to pick her discarded weapon. “Don’t scream,” he tells her sternly. Her mouth clamps shut. Her eyes start to water. I step over scraps on the floor and grab the landline that still rings.  She sucks in a breath when her eyes meet mine again. It’s almost as if she had forgotten I was there.

“Sorry,” I tell her, “Nothing personal.” Except, maybe it is. I walk behind her, hold the phone to her ear, my gun to her temple. “Answer.”

She squeezes her arm tighter, but says, “Hello?” Ghost kneels beside Ren, lifting his wrist to pocket his watch and double check his pulse. “No,” Jude says, voice going steady. She stands still, and her blood starts to spill on to the floor. “No, everything is fine,” she tells them. She answers their questions stoically, then says goodbye. I hang up and toss it to the blanket pile on the floor. Not a moment later, Jude’s knees give out and I catch her before she can hit the ground. Ghost glances at us, before flicking the jutting end of the arrow. Stimpy is still alive, but not enough to pull info from.

Ghost checks his wallet and I shoot him to stop that gurgling noise he’s making. It stops, so I tuck my gun to the waistband of my jeans before hoisting Jude up, not unlike the night we met, except this time, she’s out cold.

A while later, I’m sitting in Dain’s tattoo garage, on the stool set in front of the tattoo chair Jude is currently seated on, still unconscious. Ghost had stayed back for damage control and Valerian is currently dabbing Jude’s face with a wet rag having already tended to her flesh wound earlier.

“She’s pretty,” he says. I scowl when he leans in and pecks her lips. “I hope her body stays intact when you kill her,” he continues his creepy perusal, running the rag along her cheekbone. He takes a step back, “We just have to wait until she’s up, now.”

“Fuck that,” I get up, annoyed with Valerian, annoyed with Madoc, annoyed with Jude, and Locke and Ren and Stimpy, and my patience has worn thin. I tap her cheek, softly then a little harder. Admittedly, she looks much better when the color blooms in her pale cheeks. I go to try a harder tap, but her hands reach up and clasp my wrists just as her eyes flash open.

My lips twitch. “Morning, Jude,” I tell her.

She blinks, her hold on me loosening, brows furrowing, “Cardan…?”

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Masterlist

[honeyphobia]

A Good Girl’s Guide to Murder review (so SPOILERS SPOILERS SPOILERS!!!)

I guess this part isn’t really a review but is my reaction towards some parts throughout the story(also I tried to label which chapter but I got lazy, sorryy)

andie’s dad using past tense??

pippa impersonating Chloe 💀 lowkey would’ve done the same if I had to

WHO THE FUCK WAS WATCHING THEM WHILE WHY WERE CAMPING?!

THE NOTE?!

SECRECT OLDER GUY?

“that’s why her hair is so big it’s full of secrets” that’s literally andie

naomi is a little sus

I thought andie didn’t have a connection w mr ward why would she be calling him an asshole? maybe dress coded her or smth?

what if Elliot Ward is the secret older guy 😨😨

The note nat put in andie’s locker??? she’s def a new suspect

why are adults messing around w Highschooler andie 🤨😨

noo sals Interview kinda makes him look sus 🙁

hippo pippo 💀

jason bell is so ew

yooo are are andie and max so close? 🤨

drink spiking? hmm suspicious

not andie cheating on Sal 😔

why does max have that photo of andie 😨

Ravi staring howie down and lowkey funny and cute at the same time

RAVI BEING PROTECTIVE OF PIP AWHH

NOT ANDIE SELLING DRUGS

Pip and Ravi breaking and entering 💀

ANDIE BEING AT THE INN A FEW WEEKS AGO?!?!

nevermjnd false alarm

chap 24 - MAX KNOWS HOWIE?! BRO GETS MORE AND MORE SUSPICIOUS AND ITS HIS 2nd TIME LYING

THE PHOTO?

SAL IS INNOCENT SAL IS INNOCENT SAL IS INNOCENT!!!

AWHHH RAVI’S REACTION

THE NOTE ON PIPPA’S LAPTOP?!

I CANT BELIEVE IN SAYING THIS BUT WHAT IF IT WAS HER MOM OR DAD

BARNEY NOOO BARNEY

AWHHH PIP I FEEL SO BAD

I FEEL SO BAD FOR RAVI TOO

YAYY RAVI CAME BACK

PARTNERS IN CRIME ARE BACK IN BUSINESS

ANDIE WRITING DOWN NAOMI’S SPARE SIM PHONE NUMBER?! It’s a clue but also kind of useless

the beginning of chapter 39 was a literal jump scare 💀

Cara did it, it was her she likes Butterfinger that’s all the evidence you need

MR WARDS PHONE NUMBER?! BROOO

MR WARD.

pip you’re so smart i aspire to be you

Omg if andie is still alive that would be so much worse

pips going to the house rn so anxious

mr ward finally got arrested

but the girl upstairs didn’t andie so what happened to andie? did she go back home and die there or smth? fucking max I knew he was suspicious

WSIT SO DID BECCA KILL ANDIE?

BECCA OMG GIRL

SO IT WAD HER WHO WENT TO THE INN?

aint no way she drugged pip

SHIT UP IS PIP GONNA DIE

well obviously not because the series has 2 more books 😭💀

why is page 377 so beautifully written

I KINDA FEEL BAD FOR BECCA

“And don’t tell them the only reason you started this project was because you fancied me. You know, think of a more noble reason.” omg ravi 😭😭

”I’m ravishing. Get it? Ravi-shing. Ravi singh.” that was lowkey kinda smooth though

okay review time

Once I got this book in my hands and started reading it I swear, it was one of the best wild roller coaster experiences I've ever had. Still unsteady, blubbering without nails, baffled, and lightheaded, but yet smiling and thrilled!

FANTASTIC CHARACTERIZATION, FAST AND HEART THROBBING PACING, GREAT-SATISFYING ENDING, GREAT STORY TELLING, AND ATTENTION-TAKING PLOT!

While reading, I had too many questions rushing through my mind.

Who actually murdered Andie? Or is Andie truly dead? Did she earn her fate? For the reason that as soon as we find out more about her, we realize that she is a bully, drama queen, drug dealer, and blackmailer! I wanted to punch her for all of her wonderful traits(sarcasm if you couldn’t tell).

Who allocated Sal the blame? Or did Sal actually do it? He is a picture of a kind, modest, and heavenly man. We think he has been hiding something, though. His friends refused to serve as his alibis and changed their testimonies regarding his whereabouts and when he left from their location. Where hence was he when the murder happened?

Who was threatening Pippa with texts to prevent her digging?

Well, I read the book quickly, and my spider senses didnt work properly until the last few pages, I was unable to identify the murderer or murderers. always being five steps behind the author

It was moving, enjoyable, nail biter, mind bending, surprisingly exciting, satisfying read. I enjoyed every page, every clue, every thrilling moments of this book. I highly recommend it!

[islaytonlost]

What Have I Done? LB;MR Fic

First Part, Previous Part, Next Part

Disclamer: Alfendi isnt a representation of DID. Real shooting is bad but I do enjoy a bit of fictional shooting.

----------

It’d been a day since Hilda had seen Alfendi. Ever since he’d been shot he’d grown withdrawn, sometimes he was completely devoid of himself. Maybe she'd been too harsh continuously sending him home instead of letting him stay. They were in the office. No one got hurt in the office, right?

Still, she'd done the right thing. It was regulation. They might ignore it sometimes but Alfendi's health wasn't something she'd ever want to gamble. Him getting shot had been terrible. Working with him made her feel invulnerable sometimes. Every lie, any criminal, no matter who they were he knew. He always knew. Always so happy to work it out. So happy to prove it…

It was why she loved him. His unending devotion. The highs of the chase. He was passionate about this. He would always be passionate about it.

This was different though. He’d always been passionate about her. Rough and rugged and right. She loved that. He would always fight for justice. They could do anything. He made her feel like they could do anything.

Where had that man been in that last interaction? He was confused meek, vulnerable.

She needed to talk to him.

Alfendi had never brought a house. He lived in a small flat at the top of a massive block. Opting to pay for a view over the space. It was easy to walk in. Everyone had seen her before. The crazy woman who seemed to trust their overly aggressive neighbour. Not that she minded. There was always a level of respect in the way they looked at her.

Breaking and entering was illegal but he hadn't answered the door and she was worried and… well she was sure she'd find something. Besides, Alfendi wouldn't press charges against her. 

The place was messy. More than usual. Alfendi wasn't exactly a neat person but he liked things in their place and they weren't in their place. The table was covered in papers. With one in the middle. 

Hilda creeps closer, not exactly knowing why but the paper, a scroll? Looked out of place and some irrational part of her felt like it was watching. She snatches it off the table. Turning it around. 

The grand, extravagant writing was weird. It looked hand written. Hilda scans it, and then spots Alfendi's signature. This warranted some looking.

The fine print was hidden in the embossed sides on the back. It made her heart stop.

He'd thrown Lucy Baker under the bus. This poor young woman's life had been stolen. 

Wasn't she the murder suspect?

"Ain't this illegal? I thought the police didn't break in." An unfamiliar voice calls from the doorway. Hilda turns. Lucy.

She was sporting lime green lipstick which matched her dress. Bold choice, she would be easy to pick up on the cctv.

"I had a key," Hilda lies, "and even if i was it's not as bad as murder."

"Eh, I think it's worse. You go around, loading how much better you are than the rest of us but behind closed doors your just as bad."

"I didn't break in."

"Just like your boyfriend didn't break into the station."

"Where is Alfendi?'

"I were hoping you could tell me that. He's an odd one."

"So you haven't hurt him?"

"Nope! Why ain't you arresting me?"

"I read something on you."

"My file? Ah I'm sure you've seen worse. My parents are loving and alive. Very disappointed in me."

Hilda hesitates.

"What is it?" Lucy sits on the worn down sofa, leaving toward Hilda, "you look concerned."

"I am."

"You can tell me anything."

"No, no I can't Lucy. You're a murderer."

"Not a gossip!"

"How can I even trust that. You've murdered people. This is stupid." Hilda scoffs.

"You're worried about something. Now I am a great catch for a copper like yourself so if I try to share with anyone like you I won't survive will I? I'll find myself all locked up." Lucy stares at Hilda, "come on. Who else is going to listen?"

Lucy was right. She didn't have anyone. She was so utterly involved in her work and she also couldn't tell anyone. Hopefully, maybe, Lucy had the answers.

"I don't think Alfendi is who I thought he was." She admits, "he's changed. Ever since he got shot. I think it has something to do with you."

"I did shoot him." Lucy agrees, sympathetically.

"Not that. Well… he's just different. Look at this," Hilda hands the scroll to Lucy.

The criminal scans it, "You're joking. You're insane."

"Look at the back. It's got the fine print." Hilda's voice comes out horse.

Lucy scans it, "tell me this is a joke."

"Do you know him? Did you know him?"

"There's no way he could have met me," She shakes her head, "I knew you two, after catching Justin. Made you famous."

"Oh, so…" Hilda's voice trails off.

"This isn't real." Lucy’s voice is hard, "my life isn't run by some idiot."

"He couldn't have known."

"He didn't try to know hard enough," Lucy looks it over.

The silence was tense. Fir the moment Lucy and Hilda were in the same side, investigating and exposing Alfendi. She'd never expected to be here.

"He gave up a life working in the mystery room with me, I dreamed of this…" Hilda looks over, wondering what she could say, could she defend Alfendi? "He did some of this for you."

It's an accusation. Lucy was implicating Hilda.

"I never knew. I never would sign something like this!"

"Do you love him? After this do you still live him?"

"...Yes" knew it was an admittance of guilt. She knew Lucy wouldn't respond well.

Lucy was on her feet first. Hand darting to her pocket, Hilda went straight for hhe gun, knowing there was no time for anything else bit Luvy was faster to draw. 

BANG

The bullet scrapes Hilda's neck, drawing blood and pushing her back.

BANG

Brains exploded everywhere, arching into the sky, splattering against the walls, the sofa, the papers, the ground and Lucy herself.

Blood spat out of Hilda for a moment, like a fountain, gushing down her clothes, staring her once pristine blouse scarlett. Her blazer scarlett, her hair matted and scarlett.

Lucy turns, running out.

[newnoirstories]

"Six Diaries and a Murder"

(YOU decide who did it.)

Chapter I: Diary of Cornelius Egret

(July 10, 1934)

Woke up from too much drink… what was it? I forget. Whole ship is buzzing about the Creeper. Philo Mel, the second best architect in the Midwest, strangled, I guess. That's what they say.

Quiet cruise not so quiet. Had hoped to find some of my kind of man among the passengers, but luck is not with me. Lady Luck wants the fellows for herself, I guess. Mel himself was a fine older man, but with a wife, maybe a mistress too, back in Cleveland. The way they are raiding the lavender boys in the cities, maybe they will raid us on the ship too.

(July 11, 1934)

Ship crew found my hashish, say they want me arrested at port. They don't have me for murder, though.

Who killed Mel? As much as I hate the Captain, and I know he has the keys to our cabins, he is too stupid. The Ohio Creeper, when I was back in Cleveland, could enter homes, so the papers said, without breaking locks or windows. Captain Paisley, why he could scarcely use a key.

Trying to get my mind off all this to write a novel, a real novel.

(July 12, 1934)

Stormy weather. Hoosier, the stowaway, dull of wit, but still a pace above the Captain, is out running in the rain, laughing. Odd man.

Judith Breslin is from Chicago, like me, fancies herself a literary mind, but she writes for the Mammon on Broadway. I think she boarded the ship because, though I will bet she's older than I, she always had an eye for the younger women, like Daisy, Philo's daughter.

Judith used to work with Abigail Smith, though Smith I would place several levels above Breslin. Smith was, when I first went to a theater, the best there was, then the motion pictures stole her career. Judith and Abby hate each other now, probably something Abby said about Judith liking the girls.

I think the killer is supernatural. Fine, put it down to me being a mad writer who tried everything from opium to scotch, but explain those unopened doors in Cleveland.

(July 13, 1934)

Storm is worse. Rocking the boat. I need a drink.

The killer: I think it's Adam Bardo, a man I knew from my Chicago days. I sell him the resin, the stuff from the Near East. He thinks it unlocks chakras, as he says. He may be right. I dabbled in the eastern stuff back then. I left my body a bit, too close for comfort to the Grim Reaper's scythe.

Adam, though- what is real name is, I never knew- always was obsessed with skulls and some kind of theurgy from Tibet. Lost an arm in a climbing accident there.

(July 14, 1934)

I had it out with Judy. How could a man with one arm be the Creeper, she said? I told her it was beyond the ordinary, the natural. That is how the Creeper does this and escapes justice. She laughed, but she won't be if the Creeper gets her.

(July 15, 1934)

Arriving at port. May be arrested for the drugs, maybe not. Don't really care. Never found out who the Ohio Creeper was.

Chapter II: Diary of Abigail Smith

(July 10, 1934)

Dreadful business. The Ohio Creeper killed a good man, an architect I knew a bit, Philo Mel. Such a grieving daughter too. I am sure that Judith, who never misses an opportunity, will take advantage of the situation to console the girl.

(July 11, 1934)

How came I to be in Ohio? I was once the top stage actress in New York, even London and Paris, and now, even Ohio scarcely wants me. I could blame age, the withered skin, but no, it's the pictures. They took my career.

Judith Breslin is the Ohio Creeper. I feel sure of it. If she's not the Creeper, at least she killed Philo Mel. Philo would never have approved of Judith spying on her daughter. I saw Judith peeping in a porthole at Daisy, more than one time.

(July 12, 1934)

I thought of Judith and the Creeper. Someone said women cannot commit such crimes, or do not. Not ordinary women, no doubt, but Judith is not ordinary.

She dresses, talks, walks and acts like a man, in every way, more so than any woman I met in 55 years, and she is five foot eight, I would say, and not at all slender, so she could have done it.

Poor Egret will be drinking like mad after this. Hoosier is so noisy, but Paisley is too slow of wit and foot to catch him.

(July 13, 1934)

Ship stay still. Ship stay still. I'm on a stage. I'm on a stage.

(July 14, 1934)

I want back on the stage. I would do anything to be on stage in New York again. I wish I could convince Cornelius to write plays. He thinks it beneath him, unless it were on Shakespeare's level.

(July 15, 1934)

Here we are at port. I still suspect Judith, and always will.

Chapter III: Journal of Judith Breslin

(July 10, 1934)

It's the Ohio Creeper. It's his work. No rhyme nor reason to it. I suppose everyone would say Frank Lloyd Wright was the best, but Philo Mel was not such an insufferable man as Frank, whom I had the misfortune of once meeting.

Now, the Creeper took Philo wherever men go when they die. I think it's nowhere at all.

(July 11, 1934)

I want to collaborate with young Daisy, personally and professionally. She would be so perfect, so prim and innocent, so delightful for a role in my next comedy, maybe even the lead, if she makes the right impression.

(July 12, 1934)

Captain Mordecai Paisley hassled me over "wearing men's clothing" on deck. What an old fashioned fool.

I think Paisley is the Creeper. He has the keys, after all. It amuses me to see Hoosier laughing at his expense. Perhaps I will go out in the storm and join him.

(July 13, 1934)

Tilt, rock and swoosh… nature is unhappy today.

What would Captain Paisley's motive be for being the Creeper, he asked me himself? Simple: Every man is Narcissus, at the core, drawn a bit to himself, and by extension to other males. Harmless in itself, but if he denies it to himself, too proud or too antiquated in his views, his libido turns to madness, sometimes even violence. My theory is that most criminals are repressed souls.

(July 14, 1934)

A smart guy, at times, Egret can be, but so superstitious. Hashish is a bit strong for me, and maybe it is affecting him badly.

(July 15, 1934)

Journey's end. They may arrest Cornelius. They ought to arrest the Captain.

Chapter IV: Spiritual Journey of Adam Bardo

(July 10, 1934)

The Ohio Creeper struck again, as I knew he would. The cards marked poor Philo as the next one to go.

(July 11, 1934)

Meditating. On this ship, Cornelius Egret has the greatest potential for the rainbow, if only he stopped fearing things of the East.

When I see Judith Breslin, I see Shiva.

(July 12, 1934)

Hoosier is water in form, water laughing. I shall meditate on his laughter, not resist it.

The crew will never prove I have hashish. Beside, my purposes are of the spirit.

(July 13, 1934)

The storm speaks to me. I shall enter milam and find the killer, or see his face.

An aeon appeared to me, a wave of flight: Three days ago, Mordecai Paisley, whose face I see, killed Philo Mel.

(July 14, 1934)

I am invisible, unseen by Paisley, watching him. By yoga I can do this. Something he does will prove his guilt.

Trying tarot. Paisley is the Death card.

(July 15, 1934)

Narrow minds arrested Egret. What concern is it of theirs?

I will continue to seek Paisley in dreams.

Chapter V: Journal of Captain Mordecai Paisley (Unofficial- not the ship's log)

(July 10, 1934)

Outrage! A murder on my ship, on my very ship! With arts and madmen and drink about, it is no wonder. Egret has every manner of unspeakable vice. Now he has added murder to the list.

(July 11, 1934)

Our cities are likely better off without the ugly, utilitarian buildings, or whatever some call them, of Philo Mel the architect, but I'll not have this nonsense on my ship. I'll prove it's Egret yet!

(July 12, 1934)

The Hoosier stowaway showed his face. Mad creature runs quickly, and in the rain too.

What are regulations on execution of stowaways? Just wondering.

Miss Breslin scandalizes us all.

(July 13, 1934)

Tell these fools to get inside their cabins. This is a real storm. Why must I manage such puerile, useless people?

If Shakespeare made writing popular, then a mob with pitchforks and torches should have driven him out of England. I earn my living. These reprobates mooch off society. No decent men and women here, other than I myself.

(July 14, 1934)

That bard or bardo or whatever he is, the lunatic, should be in an asylum. My task is to run a ship, not an asylum.

(July 15, 1934)

At last, the miserable voyage ends. I am happy to see Egret arrested, and I hope they know he's a killer too.

Chapter VI: Journal and Last Words of Philo Mel

(July 8, 1934) Boarded the SS Coventina. Know Ohio Creeper is after me. Got three in my city, and now wants me. Sheer madness.

Who can enter homes the way he did- if this even is a man? All I know is the Creeper is on the Coventina. Where did the ship get that name?

(July 9, 1934)

Caught someone peering in my porthole, but could not get a good look at the face.

Will try to draw some blueprints. I signed up to be an architect, not a dime novel detective.

(July 10, 1934)

New evidence in the Creeper case. If it is the Captain, he is very good at hiding his intelligence.

The stowaway [Here the writing trails into a line, indicating time of death.]

[ab-cee-d]

Most Wanted | Part 2

summary: You finally get to hear Eddie’s side of the story and after breaking into a drug dealer’s house Eddie finally confesses how he’s been feeling.

warnings:  obvious mention of death and murder, sad traumatized eddie, established relationship, comforting (both giving and receiving), reader already knows about the upside down

PART 1      Masterlist

Eddie’s voice trembled as he recollected the events of the previous night. How he entered the living room to find Chrissy in a trance-like state. How she lifted into the air before an invisible force mangled her body. His bottom lip quivered as the guilt of leaving her behind sank in.

“You all think I’m crazy, right?” He mumbled and buried his face into his hand. 

“No,” Dustin shook his head. “We don’t think you’re crazy.”

“Don’t bullshit me, man, I know how this sounds!” Eddie shouted in frustration.

“Eddie, it’s okay.” You were crouched down next to him with one arm slung over his shoulder in an attempt to ground him in his panicky state.

“We’re not bullshitting you,” Max told him.

“We believe you,” Robin added gently. Eddie let out a hissy exhale and shoot his head.

“Look, what I’m about to tell you might be a little... difficult to take.” Dustin began. You shot him a stern warning glance but he continued. “You know how people say Hawkins is... cursed? They’re not... way off.” 

“Dustin!” You cut him off.

“Y/n, he deserves to know.” Dustin shot back.

“Know what?” Eddie glanced between the two of you.

“It’s too dangerous.” You pleaded. “He doesn’t have to be a part of this.”

“He kind of already is.” Max empathized with your concern for Eddie’s safety. But she was also always the realist in the group.

You turned to look at Eddie, his soft, sad brown eyes looking back at you with utter confusion and curiosity. 

“Fine.” You sighed and hung your head low in defeat. Dustin cleared his throat before continuing his story

“There’s another world. A world hidden beneath Hawkins. Sometimes it bleeds into ours.” Dustin explains.

“Like ghosts and shit?” Eddie questioned. No doubt more confused than before.

“There are some things worse than ghosts.” Max sadly explained.

“Like monsters.” You said as your mind went back to the fleshy monster in Starcourt Mall.

“These monsters from this other world... we thought they were gone. But they’ve come back before. And that’s why we needed to find you.” 

“If they’re back again, we need to know,” Max told him.

“That night, did you see anything?” Robin asked.

“Dark particles, maybe?” Max offered but Eddie shot his head.

“It would almost look like dust, swirling dust.” Dustin tried again.

“No, man, there was nothing you could see, or, uh... or touch.” Eddie began but cut himself off when another thought went through his head. “You know I tried to wake her, man. She couldn’t move. It was like she was... she was in a trance or something.”

“Or under a spell,” Dustin added. Eddie’s eyes rose as the two of them came to an unspoken understanding.

“A curse.” Eddie furthered.

“Vecna’s curse.” You recognized the name from Eddie’s campaign.

“Who’s Vecna?” Steve asked.

“An undead creature of... great power,” Dustin explained.

“A spell caster.”

“A dark wizard,” Dustin concluded.

Eddie’s shoulder tensed under your palm as the group shared worried glances. Steve went to say something else but you interjected.

“That’s enough for one night.” You stated firmly, rising to your feet. You gathered everyone besides Eddie in a loose circle. “You guys go and try to find  Nancy. See if she can use her journalistic instinct to figure... something out.”

“What about you?” Robin asked.

“I can’t leave him here by himself.” You explained causing everyone to turn and look at Eddie sadly slumped against the wall.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on house arrest?” Dustin asked. “We drove by your house and saw the police car.”

“Technically,  yes.” You nodded. “But, there is absolutely no way I’m leaving him here when he’s like this.”

The group decided that you would stay with Eddie while they went to find Nancy and in the morning they would come back to devise a plan of action and bring some food for Eddie. Everyone said their goodbyes and once they were back into Steve’s BMW you went back for Eddie.

“Eddie.” You whispered as you crouched in front of him again. You reached your hand out to grab his hand that was rested on his knee. Your voice drew him out of his thoughts causing him to look up at you. “Let’s try to find a way in the house, okay?”

He nodded and you helped him rise to his feet. You took his hand and lead him towards the house before searching for a way inside. Determined not to separate from Eddie, the two of you went to the back of the house and started checking all of the windows.

“Y/n!” Eddie gasped as one of the windows flew open. The two of you couldn’t help but smile at each other and laugh at your luck.

“Give me a boost?” You asked Eddie seeing as the window was about a foot and a half over your head. He bent down a little cupping his hands allowing you to place on foot in his hands and your arms on his shoulders so he could lift you to the window sill. You pulled yourself through the frame before turning back to grab Eddie’s arm to pull him in with you. You struggled a little with his weight, leaning back with your body weight to get him up and through the window, although his height made it a little easier. When Eddie finally made it through the window both of you flew back onto what you now noticed was the kitchen floor. Eddie’s body landed nearly directly on top of you which made you let out an involuntary ‘umph’.

“Sorry babe.” He groaned as he rolled off of you. Both of you couldn’t help but laugh as you lay on the kitchen floor of a drug dealer's house. When the laughter stopped and the reality set in, you looked at each other. Both panting from the strenuous journey through the window and the fits of laughter. His large brown eyes were locked on yours and you watched as the momentary happiness fleet and go back to sadness.

“I’m sorry.” He whispered shakily. 

‘For what Eds?” You propped yourself up on your elbow and brought a hand to stroke the side of his face.

“I just- I know how important she was to you.” He brought his hand up a stroked your hair gently. “I’m sorry I didn’t do more.”

“Oh, Eddie.” Your voice trembled and you realized you were crying. You pressed your forehead against his. “There was nothing else that you could have done. All that matters is that you’re safe.”

“I was so afraid that you would think I did something.” He admitted.

“I never doubted you for a second.” You whispered.

For a moment the two of you just stayed like that on the floor holding each other basking in the fact that you were together and you were safe, at least for the time being.

“I love you,” Eddie whispered. You pulled away to meet his eyes. Those words hadn’t been spoken between the two of you yet. There were many times that they threatened to come out but it never felt like the right moment. Neither of you felt like you were in a rush to say anything. You both figured there would be an endless amount of opportunities. Now your opportunities for moments like this, moments where you’re alone, vulnerable, safe, felt finite.

“I love you too, Eddie.” 

reblogs, comments, and likes are always appreciated :)

[bottoms-movie]

SAMBUCKY FIC RECS PT. 2

The first part did really really so I decided to make a second part of sambucky fic recs. Just as the last one: the fics are split into three categories: based on tfatws, canon divergence, and au. CHECK OUT PART ONE HERE All fics are completed and all are on AO3. 

BASED ON TFATWS

The Truths Beneath Our Ribs | Mature | 6,742 words

5 times Bucky wears Sam's things +1 time Sam wears something of Bucky's

anything you can do, i’ll do you better | Explicit | 5,526 words

Steve is going to kill them if they don't learn to get along, but did they have to take it so far?

making amends | Explicit | 8,645 words

“Not Cap yet,” Sam said. He looked a little ruefully at his hands, which were covered in nicks and cuts. He could already feel his palms bruising from that last shield catch, but at least nothing was broken this time.

“I respect that,” Bucky said slowly. Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn’t respond. Bucky flexed and unflexed the vibranium fingers of his left hand, a nervous habit that Sam had clocked ages ago. “And you’re right.”

“Thanks, I know.” Sam waited a beat. “About what?”

Muscle Memory | 3 parts | Explicit | 13,156 words part 1: Muscle Memory | Teen | 1,766 words

Barnes sighs, and it’s a deep, soul-weary thing. “Maybe no one ever told you this, but I’m telling you right now. You don’t have any obligation to care about me because Steve did. You don’t have to pretend.”

Sam blinks, taken aback. He has to think, really think, about what he says next, because it’s - it’s either going to build or break something.

You’re My World | Explicit | 6,585 words

“I… oh, I get it now.” Sam tilted his head, perceptive as ever, goddammit. “All this flirting with my sister, that was just to get my attention, wasn’t it? I know it was. Say it.”

“That wasn’t—” Bucky croaked, but Sam wasn’t having it.

He huffed a low laugh, and bulldozed right through Bucky’s feeble pretense. “You like it when I pin you against the wall? Take away all that power you have, that strength that your arm gives you? Make you feel small, maybe?”

Call Me By Your (Pet) Name | Teen | 6,928 words

“You got a list of the nicknames available to us lesser mortals?” Sam continued, staring straight ahead at the seat in front of him. “The ‘you’re not Steve Rogers, so don’t even think about it’ collection?”

“Yeah, sure, there’s a list,” Bucky replied, pausing long enough to draw a pointed look from Sam. “Bucky,” he finished, gesturing broadly with his arm to convey the obviousness of the answer.

5 times Sam and Bucky used pet names as a joke + 1 time they used them in earnest

That’s not very gunkle of you | 2 parts | 4,325 words part 1: Bestie Vibes Only | Teen | 1,822 words

“What’s buzzin’ cousin?” Says Bucky, sitting down next to Sam on the docks.

That’s the moment that Sam realizes he needs to change tactics, no more subtly looking up definitions for his weird old person slang, it’s time to fight fire with fire.

“Not much bro, this view is highkey just hitting different TBH” he says, casually looking out at the water.

There’s a beat of silence and then,

“That’s swell doll, I just ate some four-o cackle jelly with side arms, and I’m looking for some kicks, you dig?

Oh, this means war.

misunderstandings | Not Rated | 3,167 words

Sam thinks Sarah and Bucky had a date, and he's Not Okay

you walked into my life to offer me a better view | Teen | 2,534 words

He was standing twenty feet away at the edge of the docks, chatting with Sarah, and Sam couldn't take his eyes away. Bucky's smile was warm, wide, and when he tipped his head back and laughed, his nose scrunching up and eyes crinkling at the corners, Sam could feel it vibrate straight to his heart.

falling, falling, flying | Teen | 2,778 words

Bucky had kissed him.

And Sam had pulled away, because that beautiful golden sunset made Bucky’s hair gleam with the faintest touch of blond, that rare summer breeze hissed like a dying missile past Sam’s ears, the kiss was so familiar, too familiar, and Sam was falling, falling—

(“Let yourself be happy, Sam. Please.”)

lonely boy, you are my world (and i could be anything you need) | Teen | 5,747 words

It all starts with Sam, a shelter, and this sweet kitten that reminded him far too much of a certain century-old, grouchy super soldier.

too dangerous to fall | Explicit | 3,466 words

Bucky Barnes is a one-armed menace. He has murder eyes and no care for basic safety protocols. His jokes are terrible and his bad moods are worse. He’s a godawful roommate who leaves his wet towels on the floor and his combat knives in the linen cabinet. Sam can’t stand the sight of him.

What happens in Louisiana | General | 3,478 words

But just then, in the engine room of the Wilson family boat, away from prying eyes, it felt like something they both needed. The closeness. The warmth.

Steve would laugh at them. Two grown men not being able to get it together. He would roll his eyes at Buck, nudge him with his elbow and tell him “you’re sweet on Sam Wilson so make a move already, punk.”

keep the ashes from my heart (and walk away) | Explicit | 4,412 words

“Jamie asked me out on a date,” Sam says. Bucky swallows. “Took him long enough,” he says, keeping his tone light. He bumps their shoulders together for good measure. “You should go for it.” “You really think so?” Sam asks, looking at him. “Yeah, man,” Bucky says. He fixes his gaze on Torres, high up in the sky, sunlight glinting off his wings. It hurts Bucky’s eyes. He blinks, rapidly. “You should be with somebody who can make you happy.”

(In which Sam starts dating someone who is not Bucky, and Bucky pines, gets seriously injured, and proves himself wrong.)

Hey Samuel | Teen | 3,223 words

"Bucky."

"Yeah?" He looked up eyes wide. Did he say something out loud?

"We're walking the wrong way."

"Oh." Right. Um. "Let's get ice cream."

"I don't know about you, man, but if I eat ice cream in this weather I will get sick."

Bucky was at a loss for words. What now?

OR Ride along Bucky's journey of figuring out when exactly did he fall for Sam Wilson.

Anyday, everyday | General | 6,735 words

He moved his head and locked eyes with Sam. "D'you- can you.. help me cut my hair?" He asked. He forced himself to look away, feeling embarrassed for asking him to come all this way just to give him a haircut.

His stomach dropped when he felt Sam let go of his hand to stand up. Of course he was about to leave. Who wouldn't want to leave Bucky?

"C'mon, Buck. Let me cut your hair." Bucky's eyes snapped up to Sam's. He had a small smile on his face and his hand was reaching out, waiting for Bucky to take it.

Or; the five times Bucky fell more and more in love with Sam, and the one time he finally got the guts to tell him.

If You’ll Have Me | Teen | 4,779 words

Sam casually shrugged, although there was an intent look in his eyes, "Yeah, well it's getting late and I didn't feel like flying anymore so I was wondering if your old man self is okay with-"

"You can stay here." Bucky quickly finished for him.

I like Bucky, Sam I am | Not Rated | 2,653 words

"I would kiss you on the boat. Or in Wakanda by your goats."

Static in the Dark | Teen | 4,989 words

So prompt idea, some bad guy follows Bucky to the docks for revenge (over whatever you can decide) and Sarah gets to see how protective Bucky really is over Sam when he gets in the line of fire

CANON DIVERGENCE

A Different Kind of Problem | Explicit | 7,616 words

“Do you know what it feels like to be insatiable?”

Two months ago, an interrogation gone wrong left Sam with Bucky’s explicit words seared into his brain and body.

Now, Bucky is living in the Avengers Compound, making pancakes and wearing Steve’s huge sweatshirts, fluffy haired and a little shy, seemingly completely content to be on house arrest — and Sam has never been more confused. Whatever Steve thinks, Sam doesn’t have a problem with Bucky. This domesticity is just so at odds with the feral sexuality Bucky had used to rattle Sam during his interrogation. Where did that side of Bucky go? And why can’t Sam stop thinking about finding it? Maybe Sam does have a problem with Bucky… it’s just not the problem Steve thinks it is.

Bucky’s Choice | Not Rated | 4,753 words

When Bucky enters Westview to try to help Wanda Maximoff, he is confronted with something he never expected- Steve Rogers, back from the dead and ready to start a life with Bucky in Westview. It's everything that Bucky ever wanted, everything that Steve abandoned when he went back in time to live his life with Peggy Carter. But Bucky and Sam have been involved for months, and Sam is waiting for Bucky outside of the Hex. Bucky has to make a choice- the life he always wanted with Steve, or a new start with Sam?

tonight i’ll need you to stay | General | 2,227 words

For once, Bucky wants to stop leaving when things are finally looking up. And he wants people to stay with him, too.

(or, 3 times bucky needed an excuse to stay with sam, and the one time he didn't)

How to Win a Supersoldier in Ten Days | Explicit | 14,901 words

When they realize that all the Winter Soldier's interactions with Sam are just him trying to Awkward MurderBot Flirt (TM) with the sexy man, Steve, Tony, and Nat convince Sam to play the honeypot and bring Bucky in.

Sam's pretty sure the honeypot isn't supposed to fall in love with the target, but what can you do?

at the end of the war (what’s mine is yours) | Mature | 4,290 words

They don't talk about it: that's how it works.

warm blood (feels good, i can’t control it anymore) | Explicit | 4,492 words

Sam's just chilling watching TV one evening when Bucky comes in and stares at him silently for a minute or two before sitting down on the couch. He's pretty close to Sam.

Okay, he's really close to Sam. Like, Sam would be using the word 'cuddling' if it wasn't so bizarre.

"What," he says, carefully not looking at Bucky, and Bucky huffs a sigh.

"Steve's not here," he says as if it's obvious. "Don't make it weird. Just- shut up."

Caught With Their Pants Down | Explicit | 3,539 words

“Sam, this guy is not coming, the intel was false,” Bucky replied. “I get this whole ticking boxes and what not, but Rogers got it wrong, and for the love of God I need a fucking toilet.”

“You need to learn to plan your water intake better, is what you need. You’re a damn fool and I don’t know why I put up with you.”

“Because you love me,” Bucky replied, and Sam could hear the smile in his voice.

“In your damn dreams, Barnes.”

They’d been fucking for about six months, but Sam didn’t want Bucky to go getting a big head about it.

AU

sharp teeth, soft heart | 3 parts | 17,866 words part 1: you touch me within and so i (know i could be human once again) | Explicit | 12,444 words 

It’s inevitable, the way it goes. He’s my friend, Steve says, and he is, he is, he must be. Sam’s best friend is Steve, and Steve’s best friend is a werewolf, that’s just how Sam’s life works now.

But once he realizes he’s attracted to Bucky and Bucky can tell, everything becomes, like, a thousand percent more difficult to negotiate. Sam’s just trying to live his life, that’s all, and he keeps getting confronted by Bucky Barnes in a soft flannel shirt, sleeves rolled up, hair all soft and shiny. Bucky glances over at him and smirks, and this is really very embarrassing, how Sam can’t hide his attraction even if he keeps a totally straight face.

I’m so into you I can barely breathe | Explicit | 6,515 words

Sam Wilson had a long day dealing with morons, so he decided to finally go to the famous club in town. There he meets someone who just might get him back in a good mood. And then some.

twelve ounce steak (boxers in briefs) | Explicit | 3,753 words

Sam has pretty lips. Bucky seems to think so, too.

caught it bad (i’ll be on the way) | Mature | 4,830 words

Sam constantly gets roped into doing dumb things with Steve, but this time, it works out perfectly for him.

meet me in the a.m. | Teen | 3,147 words

Steve accidently starts a fire and Bucky's tired. When unbelievably hot firefighter Sam saves the day, though, he can't really be that mad.

i wanna savour, save it for later | Not Rated | 6,419 words

"It's his damn ratings, man," Sam says. "It's weird 'cause when you read the reviews, he seems to like our food and all. Nothing but praise for days. And then you get to the rating, and it's always the same. Three goddamn stars."

Bucky tips his beer bottle from side to side, lips pursing slightly. "I see. And that's… a bad thing?"

"We are not a three-star joint," Sam says flatly.

Or, the one where food truck owner Sam gets caught up in his quest to unmask an anonymous food blogger. Falling for one of his regulars was never on the menu.

we were a fire with no smoke | Explicit | 15,295 words

Sam can’t help but roll his eyes. Take the boys out of New York but they’re still Brooklyn Catholics, that’s clear enough. Bucky catches the gesture, smirks hard enough Sam can see his eye teeth. It should be dangerous but he’s beautiful, pale and charming and recklessly easy.

“You wanna come in?” Sam asks, ignoring the noise Steve makes, and Bucky’s smile gets wider.

“Yeah,” he says. Steps up close to Sam. “I do.”

my house of stone, your ivy grows | Teen | 9,042 words

When Sam Wilson inherits the manor of the old man he once took care of, it feels like his luck is finally looking up. It's an opportunity for a fresh start, something he's in desperate need of. When he arrives, however, it becomes clear that an easy transition into estate living is not exactly a possibility. The house is run-down, nothing like Sam remembers it, and the groundskeeper — who Sam apparently has to share the house with, wants nothing to do with him.

You Smiled Because You Knew | Teen | 3,754 words

"You've got the wrong address," the man who'd answered growled. He had long, scraggly hair that had mostly escaped his attempts to pull it away from his face. He had nice eyes, and wouldn't have been unattractive, especially with a shave, except for the scowl. "Nobody here wants or needs your . . . services."

It was apparent by the tone the man did not appreciate Sam's hard work.

Well, that was tough shit.

[space-mermaid-writing]

House Arrest [Loki X Reader] Chapter 1

Summary: You are Clint’s 'little' sister and actually a trained Shield agent. But you gave that up a few years ago and became a Chef, because you wanted a normal live. Then one day Natasha shows up at your door and takes you to the Avenger Tower for a while for security reasons.

Tags: Reader is an former Shield Agent, chef!reader, Reader Barton, 2012 Avenger vibes, everything is still alright, Slice of Life, Avengers Family, Loki has a good heart, still the god of mischief, Slow Burn, mention of food and cooking

Read it on AO3

Chapter 1: New Home

It's just before midnight when you finally get off work. You really like your job, but the hours are murder. Being a chef at one of the most expensive five-star restaurants in Philadelphia has its price. You take off your apron, which has hardly any stains from the last few hours on it, and throw it in the wash. The white jacket goes neatly into your locker and is replaced by a cardigan and a scarf. It’s a cool night. With a last good bye to your colleagues, who are still putting the dishes into the dishwashers, you make your way home.

The night is dark, but the streets are lit by lanterns and the windows of closed stores. Even if it had been pitch black, it wouldn't have worried you to have to walk alone through the empty alleys. Last year a guy had tried to rob you and threatened you with a knife. You had given him a broken nose and several stab wounds in the shoulder. After all, you had been trained at Shield. But the poor guy didn’t know that.

Half an hour later you arrive at your apartment. It's more functional than nicely furnished, and everything is a bit of a pick 'n' mix. But you don't mind it, because you spend most of your time at work anyway. At home you don't feel such great importance to culinary variety when it comes to your own food. A pizza or French fries with ketchup were always welcome. After all, you've been standing at the stove long enough at work. Tired, you decide to wait until breakfast for your next meal and, after a quick change of clothes, just fall into bed.

Fortunately, the next day is your day off. You make good use of it and sleep in. Afterwards you have an nice brunch with eggs, bacon and toast and after a short shower you go into town to do some errands. The sun is shining warmly from the sky and it's a beautiful spring day. If this holds up until the weekend, maybe you'd visit the weekly market and see what exotic and rare foods you can grab there. You love these little trips, even if you rarely find the time.

About two hours later and with three full shopping bags, you re-enter your apartment. It's on the second floor of a rather nondescript building, but the interior is very modern, with pastel-colored, high walls. You put everything in the kitchen cabinets and then brew yourself a tea/coffee, with which you make yourself comfortable on the couch and turn on the TV. It's time to relax a little. So you zap through the programs, watch the rest of an episode of your favorite series and then decide to watch a reality series, which is not exactly known for its quality but is entertaining. So the noon goes by until suddenly the doorbell rings. You get up to see if it's the mailman or a neighbor with a package. But a look through the peephole shows you that it is neither. Surprised, you open the door "Nat!" Natasha Romanoff is a friend of you and your brother, as well as the godmother of his children. But due to her job you rarely see each other. "Hey," she greets you with a small smile. "Can I come in?" "Sure." You lead her into the living room, where you turn off the TV. "What can I get you? Tea, coffee, milkshake?" "Coffee is fine." You disappear into the kitchen for a moment as she sits down in the armchair. Natasha was a rare visitor. Mostly she came with some news from Clint. You see him even less because he spends what little free time he has mostly with his wife and the two kids. Understandable. You don't hold it against him and try to visit them on holidays or for birthdays at her farm.

It doesn't take long until you return to the Russian woman with a new cup and some pastries and sit down on the couch again. "Well," you ask her curiously. "What do I owe the pleasure?" Natasha reaches for her cup. "It’s rather inconvenience. But first tell me if you’ve observed anything unusual lately." Questioningly, you look at her. "What do you mean?" "Nothing weird? You sure?", she asks. "Tell me what I'm supposed to have seen, please," you prompt her, both impatient and confused. Natasha gets right to the point. "You're being monitored." "By Shield?" "By Hydra." Stunned by this news, you remain silent. Natasha uses this pause to drink her coffee. "Oh, this is really good." But you don't listen to her at all, because various thoughts are circling in your head. And again you try to remember if you have noticed anything: same people you met, vehicles, anything. But you got pretty used to your life and didn't pay attention at these things. "Anyway, I'm here to pick you up. For your own safety it’s best if you stay with us for a while," Natasha finally breaks the silence and you look up. "What could Hydra possibly want from me? I don't know any internal secrets anymore. There are better to kidnap than me." "That's what we're trying to figure out right now." "Well, the danger doesn't seem to be acute", you note. "If they wanted to grab me, I wouldn't be sitting here by now. Thanks, but I decline and prefer to stay here. I have my job and the apartment." And now that you know what's going on, you can pay attention and take the necessary precautions, too. "Thanks for warning me." Natasha, on the other hand, doesn't look like she gives you a choice. "You know Shield has its ways to convince you?", she reminds you, but you shrug. Why would such a large organization bother with a single civilian like you? "What does my dear brother say about this matter?", you ask instead. "He hasn't been informed yet." Ergo, they deliberately leave him out of it so that he can't protest. You know this kind of approach of Shield.

Clint understands and supports you in your civilian life, even though he protested the loudest back when you announced your exit. "How’s he?", you want to know from Natasha, who is now finishing her coffee. "He's alive." That can mean just about anything from being happy and healthy to badly hurt but breathing. Better than being dead, you guess. "He's out in Africa with Steve right now." "Busy, huh?" "As usual." She stands up as a sign that she has nothing more to say for the day, and you walk her to the door, where you bid her farewell. "We'll talk again soon," she promises, but admittedly you have little desire to do so right now. "Sure," you reply and close the door behind her.

Well, that were some news. You put her empty cup in the sink and pause thoughtfully by the window. How could you have missed Hydra's agent, you ask yourself while glancing out. Your new life made you too comfortable. But it also takes up a lot of time and energy. And anyway, you dropped out because you didn't want to be cautiousness all the time anymore. You wanted a normal life with a normal job and normal problems. Away from agents, assassinations and super powers. You didn't want to check every day on your way to work if you were being followed, secretly monitored or if someone else was out to get you. That's why you’ve chosen this life. With a sigh, you sit back down on the couch. The past never leaves you alone, you guess. But tomorrow would be a long day even without these new old worries.

~~

The advantage of being a chef is usually that you don't have to get up at the crack of dawn for work. Most Restaurants open at noon, some even in the evening. So does the one where you work. There are preparations to be made before opening time, but you can still sleep through the morning, do some housework, and then head to the restaurant in the sunny afternoon. That's where the trouble starts, though. Just as you're about to open your locker to change your clothes, someone taps you on the shoulder. It's your boss, who hands you a letter. You can tell immediately from his serious expression that something is wrong. And when you open the envelope, you discover your resignation. You look up, perplexed, but you lose out in the following discussion. You don't even get a decent explanation, and that’s what annoys you the most. You're pretty sure your skills aren’t the issue, neither is the way you work. Nor the way you treat your colleagues, with whom you get along very well, even if the tone among cooks is a bit rough. You go back to your apartment, now in a bad mood. It‘s unbelievable! The sunny weather seems like a mockery to you now, and the people you meet along the way are in far too good a mood, in your opinion. It will be hell to find another good job as this was.

Arriving back home you immediately get more bad news: your landlord put a notice on your apartment door. The bathrooms in the building will get completely renovated soon and will be unusable for several weeks. Plus the heavy construction noise during the day. And the water would be turned off. It would be best to find temporary substitute apartment, so they recommend. "Haha...ha..." You laugh dryly and unlock the door. Was that a coincidence? When Natasha had been here yesterday? Probably not. You know Shield's methods and that it’s easy for them to take away your job and your apartment just to get their way. You have two options: either you accept the offer before Shield gets any more stupid ideas, or you run away and try to hide. With a sigh you go into your bedroom and throw a suitcase on the bed, in which you pack clothes, the most important documents and some things from the kitchen you need for work. Not everything fits, so you add a second travel bag. Meanwhile, you think about who you could complain to. Your brother was a favorite target of yours, but he a) had nothing to do with this matter and b) was not in the country. Which’s a shame, because you'd really like to have him by your side right now. If you wanted to complain to Shield directly, Fury would probably be the best person to do it. But you hold too much respect for him to vent your anger to him. Maybe just the next Shield agent who would come to you on this matter would have to step in. You know someone would definitely get back to you. With one last look around your apartment, you leave it and lock the door. Then you shoulder your bag and make your way out.

Just as you're thinking about getting a large coffee from Starbucks down the street, a red sports car pulls up to the side of the road. Natasha at the wheel. "Hmph..." You walk over to her and throw your luggage in the back seat. Then you take a seat in the passenger seat yourself. "Just for the record, I'm not happy with this." "I can see that." She tries to give a sympathetic smile, but you know this is just a job to her. "Well then, off to the Bat Cave, Wayne." "Does that make you Robin?", the Russian asks, driving off. "I guess", you reply snippy, not interested in keeping the conversation going. Fortunately, Natasha wasn't exactly the talkative sort either, so you have some peace and quiet to get your thoughts in order.

It takes you just under two hours to drive from Philadelphia to New York with city traffic slowing you down a bit. Otherwise, you would have arrived earlier at the former Stark Tower. It's been the Avenger Tower for some time now, but that doesn't make much difference, except that Tony Stark seems to be too lazy to put the remaining letters back on it.

Natasha parks in the private underground garage and you take the elevator up to the grand lobby. She tells you about the current residents here. There’s the usual staff, who are of course always present. Of all the Avengers, Bruce Banner is living here permanently. "He actually hardly ever leaves the lab," the Russian explains. "I'm currently living here, too. Every now and then Thor stops by, but mostly he prefers to explore the world. And his brother Loki is here. There have been some...problems with him and he's sort of under supervision here. Tony trusts technology more than Asgard. The owner of the house, by the way, is out visiting an outpost right now." "There are even Avengers outposts?" Natasha nods as she walks you down the halls to the living area. "But don't tell Hydra." "Sure", you promise unfazed. "Speaking of which, if I want to go out to visit someone, do I need a key or how does this work?" "It's better if you stay here in the house for now. It's for your safety, after all." "For how long?", you want to know. The answer is short. "As long as necessary." "So I'm sort of locked in here”, you state. That's typical Shield. As soon as there's any problem, an agent is sent in to put everything in solitary arrest or quarantine. As long as it’s shielded from the rest of the world. Natasha stops in front of a door that is now yours, but doesn't look directly at you, which as much of an answer as you get. "I'll be fine on my own now, thanks," you smile politely but not genuinely at her, and after she assures you that you're free to move around inside the building, you head off with your luggage in your new apartment.

[smhalltheurlsaretaken]

THE BOX IS NABOO

That’s it, I’m doing it, I’m writing that stupid meta I’ve had in the works for two and a half years, I’m sharing it with the world. I promised it for last Thursday, my poll was forever ago, but whatever! I’m writing that freaking thing.

(super duper long post, press j to skip)

Enter my rabbit hole.

First thing to establish: the Box makes no sense whatsoever in-universe.

((EDIT: Something I forgot to mention. IRL, the premise of a giant murder cube and the aesthetic - wall patterns, light designs, etc - of the episode come from the 1997 horror movie Cube, (see the episode’s wookieepedia page). However, while the two are very closely linked visually, the Box does not follow the movie structurally or narratively, as you can verify by simply reading the movie’s summary.))

Recap of the context for the "Box" episode (s4e17): Palpatine is planning his own kidnapping. It was never meant to succeed, and while the plan would obviously benefit him (making the Jedi look bad, pushing Anakin closer to the Dark Side, making Republic citizens more afraid -> more docile, etc...) his actual goal is never explained, and it’s weird that he’d go to such extreme lengths for results so minimal that we’re never told what they are.

So Palpatine asks Dooku to kidnap him at the Festival of Lights on Naboo. Dooku hires Moralo Eval to design a giant box-thingy to test bounty hunters to hire the best of them to kidnap Palpatine. Moralo then gets arrested to alert the Republic that something is afoot, and hires Cad Bane to break him out. Obi-Wan - undercover to learn Moralo’s plan - goes with them. They evade capture and go to Serenno, and Bane and Obi-Wan have to pass the box-thingy test. The level of brainkarked logic here... Truly on par with Megamind, Gru and Heinz Doofenshmirtz.

Setting aside the insane plot holes and utterly nonsensical behavior of the villains, the Box itself is moronic from a plot perspective. It’s insanely complex, obviously incredibly expensive and would have taken months (more like years but it’s a short war) to make when it’s not even needed for the dastardly plot! Just hire some guys who have already proven themselves against Jedi! Throw cash at Bane and Embo and a few others! Maybe attack them with your saber and see how they do! 

And after all that, Dooku still ends up trying to kidnap Palpatine on his own. I can’t even... 

So why does the Box exist? Well, apart from being a nerdy callback to Cube, giving us a good thrill and being generally awesome to look at, it has actual narrative purpose within the SW universe.

The box is Naboo.

What the Box lacks in plot relevance, it makes up for with its heavily symbolic meaning. It very closely follows Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon’s experiences on Naboo - but only certain parts, which I’ll explain later.

We start with clean, sterile environments, SW’s favored way of showing villainy.

Then we have the protagonists locked in a room as dioxis, a poison gas, pours in.

And then they escape... this way.

(Okay, here the shaft is down, not up. And it’s not a ventilation shaft per say, it’s the designed escape route. Same difference).

We then skip most of TPM (namely, Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon discovering the droid army, finding Padmé, leaving Naboo, landing on Tatooine, going to Coruscant, etc, etc) to come back to Naboo and go directly to the lightsabers and catwalks.

(Note: in both scenes, Obi-Wan has to propel himself from a catwalk.)

In TPM and TCW, the catwalks are immediately followed by ray shields

And we finally end with the last scenes. Now, they don’t look the same but they are structurally identical. 

Obi-Wan is faced with a challenge unsuited for his abilities (facing Darth Maul // shooting three moving targets when he’s far more skilled with a blade than a blaster) on a narrow space above a melting pit/pit of fire. 

He first watches someone die failing to complete the task...

 ... and has to do it himself, faring much better than expected (holding his own against Maul // shooting all the targets easily). 

He then almost falls to his death and gets saved unexpectedly.

And then there’s the final showdown.

In both scenes, Obi-Wan is angry. And in TCW Dooku eggs him on, banking on his anger. (More on that later.) In both cases though, he centers himself and is able to overcome both his opponent and his own unbalance. But in TCW, he doesn’t go for the kill, because he doesn’t need to. 

The Box, as a literal character-explorator ex-machina, thus shows us Obi-Wan’s growth.  

In TPM, Obi-Wan follows Qui-Gon’s lead. In TCW, he is the leader. He identifies the gas, makes the plans. He doesn’t fall from catwalks anymore - he runs atop moving ones. He doesn’t stay stuck behind ray-shields, he finds the solution. (Btw, how did Moralo know what blood type Derrown the Exterminator was? There was a 50% chance of him dying - thus killing all of the bounty hunters. Was that an acceptable outcome? TCW I need answers!) He doesn’t slay his foes, because he’s become powerful enough, skilled enough and wise enough to survive (and win) without needing to kill.

He’s grown - and, even more interestingly, he’s also stayed the same. In the previous episodes, we see some of the dark aspects of Obi-Wan. How he - like all Force-wielders, all people - could lose himself if he stopped maintaining absolute control.

But in the Box, surrounded by the worst criminals of the Galaxy, the most ruthless, worthless people, he’s still kind and tries his best to keep them alive.

The Box is a reminder and a reassurance for the audience that Obi-Wan Kenobi is still there under Rako’s face. He hasn’t lost his compassion, his restrain. He’s still a Jedi. And he’s an awesome, badass one. 

And now, for what it tells us about Dooku! 

It’s much shorter, don’t worry. Basically, Dooku considers that the best way to pick “the best of the best” of the deadliest people in the Galaxy is making them go through what killed his Padawan. There, I’ve broken your hearts, you’re welcome. 

More seriously, Dooku is a manipulative ass. It’s pretty clear that he knows Rako is Obi-Wan, or at the very least suspects it. 

He has an interesting reaction upon learning Rako’s identity, he keeps praising him despite his usual distaste for low-lifes, he smirks secretively after Eval says “I’ll show you who’s weak” (not included there because it’s a close-up of Dooku’s lips and no one wants to see that) and he tells Rako he’s very disappointed when he doesn’t finish off Eval.

[Later]

(Look at this smug asshole - I can’t. YOUR GRANDSON IS THE BEST, WE KNOW, STOP ACTIVELY RUINING HIS LIFE ALREADY.)

(Dooku... why...)

Now obviously Dooku couldn’t have made the Box specifically for Obi-Wan, because it would have to have been designed months before the Council ever decided to send Obi-Wan undercover, but he has no qualms trying to use it to push Obi-Wan to the Dark Side. Ffs Dooku, making your spiritual grandson relive one of the most traumatic events of his life on the off chance that he’ll join you (and desecrate his Master’s memory in doing so) is not okay!

Final tidbits of analysis: I mentioned that not all of TPM is mirrored in the Box. What’s omitted is the droids (even though Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon fight B1′s and droidekas between the dioxis and the ventilation shafts) and anything pertaining to Sidious (all the political stuff on Coruscant). You’ll also note that the fake lightsabers are orange.

=> The Box distances itself from anything that connects Dooku to Naboo. Red lightsabers are the trademark of the Sith, so they’re not used. The bounty hunters will be facing Jedi, so logically the fake sabers should be green or blue - and yet they’re orange, the color closest to red without being red. It fits with Dooku’s special brand of dishonesty - he always tells bits of the real story but twists them just enough to absolve himself of any fault and to justify his choices. 

(”We can destroy the Sith” -> could maybe destroy Sidious with Obi-Wan, but fails to mention he’s a Sith Lord himself; “the Viceroy came to me for help, that’s why I’m attacking the Republic” -> political idealism is a small part of it, but fails to mention he’s Sidious’ underling and is playing the Viceroy like a fiddle; “Qui-Gon would have joined me” -> maybe, still fails to mention he’s working for the man who ordered Qui-Gon’s death; “I told you everything you needed to know” -> debatable, never said that Palps was Sidious; “Sifo-Dyas understood, that’s why he helped me” -> partly true, doesn’t admit to killing Sifo-Dyas right after getting his help)

So we have a twisted version of Naboo, droid-free (as droids are now irrevocably associated with Dooku, even if that wasn’t the case in TPM) and with sabers that aren’t quite red. Keep in mind that Dooku had already fallen by TPM. (We know this because he killed Sifo-Dyas and created the Clone Army - part of Sidious’ plan - when Valorum was still Chancellor, as per the episode The Lost One.) That means Dooku was (in)directly complicit in Qui-Gon’s death. And the Box doesn’t (=refuses to?) acknowledge that. 

(Also omitted in the Box are the Gungans and Tatooine. It makes sense, because Dooku probably wouldn’t have the full details regarding those parts of Qui-Gon and Obi-Wan’s missio as they weren’t as public, and would see them as irrelevant if he did. He utterly despises Anakin, and Gungans are the type of people he always dismisses out of hand). 

Anyway, that’s my two cents about the Box. To quote Lucas...

“It’s like poetry. It rhymes.”

Thanks to @lethebantroubadour @impossiblybluebox​ @nonbinarywithaknife @ytoz​ and @kaitie85386​ for voting for this one. Next up is a compilation of the Jedi being casually tactile with each other (because they’re a warm and affectionate culture, dammit).

Also thanks to @laciefuyu​ for giving me gifs I ended up not using ^^; you rock anyway!