im fascinated by the early disco gameplay where kim apparently also has health/morale bars as well. given how often harry takes damage just thinking and not doing anything else how fucked it would be to be in a middle of conversation and out of nowhere "kim - 1 morale, - 1 hp" like bro what happened
a lunatic!! gay murderer!!! with daggers!!! also a painter!!! victims as work of art!!! played by jeff satur!!!! in a bloody mystery crime plot!!!! with hot main casts!!!! and cool af scoring!!!! shout out to happy ending series gotta be my fav gender😭😭😭🙏🙏🙏
Apologies for going silent, I promise I'm writing my other works, I just have a full time job that's about 50 hours a week lmao
masterlist | actual fic
anyway enjoy, full fic will becoming monday
He was too beautiful to be doing something like this for a living. With those bewitching hazel eyes. The effortlessly styled hair. His athletic build. The sweet slur of his accent as he lowered his voice to a sultry level when he talked to you.
But weren’t you as well? Wasn’t that why you fought so hard for your anonymity? Why you had only ever allowed your mouth or lower to be seen in any stream or video, combined with the concealer that hid away any tattoos or marks from the prying eyes of those who watched you pleasure yourself on camera. Why you never wore your glasses to any professional shoot. Dressed so differently on and off screen.
So why did it feel so weird now? Two of you, the same profession between you as you discuss plans for your… collaboration. Charles smiles at you. Stubbly beard and white teeth, a bit of the foam from his coffee clinging to his mustache. Perfectly styled hair as though he’d just stepped out of a convertible. You know you look similar. The soft cardigan slipping of your shoulders. Exposing the delicate tattoos of rue on your upper arms, circling your biceps and dancing up to your shoulders.
Herb-of-grace. Purity. Innocence. How ironic for you, considering what your profession had turned into. From a part-time job to a serious career that often ended up having better benefits and more money.
Charles leans forward, whispering something in French you don’t quite catch, making you frown as he cackles, leaning back. Other tables at the cafe look at the two of you, and you can see the adoration in their eyes. You look like the perfect couple. In a way, you are. A spoiled rotten sub and the protective, sweet dom.
“I think you should let them see the tattoos, no? I think they would like it,” Charles says, shit eating grin on his lips. “What does the rue flower represent again?” Because he damn well knows what it means, he just likes to tease you.