Have My Drawing Homework Till I Type A New Story

Also skull what readers do you write for?

hmm, currently I write Gender Neutral, Female, and Male.

When I have more confidence in my skills, I'll venture out but that it's for now.

Thanks for asking, Hermes!

hiiiihihi I like your Jason x reader alpha and omega stuff! Could you write a Jason in rut pls?

Burning for You

Alpha!Jason x Omega!Reader

The apartment was too hot. The air thick with Jason’s scent—gunpowder, leather, and something deeper, darker, needier.

He was pacing. Restless. Every muscle in his body coiled tight, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. His rut was coming in hard, harder than usual, and the only thing keeping him from completely losing himself to it was you.

You, curled up in his bed, blinking up at him with wide, patient eyes. Your Omega scent was everywhere, wrapping around him like a damn vice. It was soothing and tormenting at the same time, because fuck, you smelled like home, and Jason’s instincts were screaming at him to claim, to mark, to make sure every inch of you knew exactly who you belonged to.

“Jason,” you murmured, your voice like silk, threading through the haze in his brain.

His jaw clenched. “You should leave.”

You tilted your head, eyes flicking over him—his tensed shoulders, his fists gripping the sheets, the way his breath came too sharp, too ragged. You should be nervous. Hell, you should be scared. But you weren’t. Instead, you pushed the blankets off, crawling toward him, your scent blooming even sweeter in the air.

“Not gonna happen,” you said softly, fingers brushing over the back of his hand.

Jason shuddered. His body ached. His rut was tearing through him like fire, and you—soft, willing, his—were just within reach. His Omega. His mate.

He exhaled sharply, eyes flashing with something feral. “I won’t be gentle.”

You smiled, tilting your head to bare your throat—trust, surrender, invitation. “I don’t need you to be.”

Jason growled, the last of his restraint snapping like a frayed thread. And then he moved.

He had you pinned in seconds, pressing you deep into the nest of blankets. His hands roamed over your body, rough and urgent, mapping every curve, every inch that belonged to him. His lips found your throat, hot breath fanning over the sensitive skin before his teeth scraped against it—a warning, a promise.

Your fingers tangled in his hair, nails scratching against his scalp as you arched into him. Jason groaned, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. His hands gripped your waist, thumbs pressing into the soft flesh, holding you still as he pressed himself closer, his scent thickening, overwhelming.

“You’re mine,” he growled against your skin, voice raw with need. “Say it.”

Your breath hitched, your body trembling under him, but your voice was steady when you answered. “I’m yours, Jason.”

Something in him snapped. His hands tightened, lips ghosting over your scent gland before he bit down—not hard enough to claim, but enough to stake his claim in this moment. Enough to make sure every single part of you knew exactly who you belonged to.

And Jason? Jason was never letting go.

Burnt Bridges

(Dabi x Villain!Reader)

The first time Dabi left, it wasn’t loud. It wasn’t dramatic. There were no explosive confrontations or sudden betrayals. It was just an absence that spread like a poison, slowly creeping through the air. You should have seen it coming, really. The signs were there, even if you didn’t want to acknowledge them. But you didn’t expect him to just leave.

He didn’t say goodbye. He didn’t give you any warning. He just... vanished.

You had been partners in crime, partners in everything. Destruction. Chaos. He was fire, and you were the wind that fueled it. But now, in the wake of his absence, you felt like an ember, flickering in the cold.

You’d come back from a mission, bruised and bloodied as usual, but the familiar warmth of his presence wasn’t there to greet you. His side of the room was empty, the bed unmade. No smirk, no flame, no Dabi.

You should have been used to it, but you weren’t. The hole he left was jagged, painful, and the silence rang louder than any explosion you had ever caused. The night he left, you tried to convince yourself it didn’t matter. That you didn’t need him. You had always been able to go it alone before.

But this wasn’t the same.

You spent days — no, weeks — trying to drown out the void he’d left. You threw yourself into missions, into villain work, into destruction. But each kill, each robbery, each confrontation felt hollow. Something was missing. Someone was missing.

And it wasn’t just anyone. It was him.

You hated the way you couldn’t get him out of your mind, the way you felt like a part of you had been ripped away. And the anger? It burned inside you like an open wound. He had left you without so much as a word. No explanation, no apology. He just left. It wasn’t like Dabi to be this cold, this distant. But maybe he’d always been that way, and you’d just never realized it.

-------------------------------Time Skip------------------------------------

You didn’t expect to see him again. Not after everything. Not after he left without a trace, without a single word.

But there he was, standing at the center of the chaos, his flames dancing like an inferno, scorching everything in his path. He didn’t even look at you at first. Not until the smoke cleared, and you saw him standing there — taller, colder, more controlled than you remembered.

He was a walking blaze, but the heat was different now. It wasn’t the wild, unpredictable fire that used to send shivers of excitement down your spine. It was something calculated. Detached.

And that’s when it hit you. He hadn’t just left. He had changed. His flames weren’t the same, but neither were you.

The battle raged on, but you didn’t care about the heroes. You didn’t care about the villains. Your eyes were fixed on him, and the anger inside you bubbled over.

“You just left,” you spat as you approached him, the words sharp and filled with venom. “Without a word, without a fucking reason. You just left.”

Dabi’s expression was unreadable. His eyes, once filled with fire and intensity, were now cold, like nothing could touch him. It was like he was a different person altogether.

“I don’t owe you anything,” he muttered, his voice like gravel.

“No,” you shot back, your fists clenching. “You don’t owe me anything, but that doesn’t mean I won’t make you owe me an explanation.”

You didn’t wait for him to respond, didn’t care if he wanted to fight or talk. You were done holding back. You were done pretending. His absence had carved deep scars inside you, and now you were going to burn everything down until he understood the weight of his silence.

-------------------------------Time Skip------------------------------------

The city was ablaze, but nothing compared to the fire inside you. You fought like an animal, driven by rage. Every punch you threw, every villain you took down, was a piece of the anger you couldn’t contain.

But the heat of the flames was different now. Even Dabi’s fiery presence was no longer enough to soothe the wound he’d left behind.

After the battle, you stood alone in the remnants of the wreckage. The sound of distant sirens was like a mocking reminder of everything you had lost. Everything he had taken. You didn’t know why you stayed here. Why you didn’t walk away.

Maybe it was the lingering hope that he’d finally talk to you. But after everything, you weren’t sure what you expected.

“Why the hell did you leave?” you demanded, your voice shaking with barely-contained fury.

Dabi didn’t respond right away. His eyes were cold, focused on the destruction around you. But then, finally, his gaze flicked to you. His lips curled into a thin, bitter smile.

“I didn’t think you’d care,” he said, his voice distant, almost disinterested.

The words hit you like a slap. You didn’t expect him to apologize. You didn’t expect him to beg for forgiveness. But this? This was worse. The indifference in his tone, the way he dismissed you as if you didn’t matter, as if you were just another part of his past he could burn away… It was more than you could handle.

“You think I didn’t care?” Your chest tightened, the anger threatening to swallow you whole. “You think I don’t care that you left me without even telling me? Without any warning, without any explanation?” Your voice rose, the fury in your words making the air around you crackle. “You’re a fucking coward, Dabi. A coward who ran when things got hard. You always leave when it gets too real. And I’m sick of it.”

He stepped forward, his gaze unwavering, the flames flickering at his side, but there was no emotion behind them. “I didn’t ask you to stay. You’re here because you chose to be.”

“And now I regret it,” you hissed, taking a step back, the fire in your eyes not matching the coldness in his. “You’re not the same, Dabi. You’re just a ghost. And I’m done chasing after you.”

For a moment, the world seemed to freeze. There was no sound, no movement, just the two of you — separated by everything that had come between you.

Then, without another word, you turned away, leaving him standing in the flames.

John Constantine x Witch!Reader

Endless Banter & Snark – Constantine would never admit it outright, but the fact that you're slightly better at magic drives him insane. He hides it behind constant sarcasm, throwing comments like, “Yeah, yeah, show-off, let’s see if you can also make a pint appear in my hand.” (You do. Just to shut him up.)

Reluctantly Impressed – He watches you cast a spell he’d struggle with and just lights a cigarette, muttering, “Bloody hell...” before pretending he knew how to do that all along.

Competitive as Hell – He keeps trying to outdo you, even in the most ridiculous ways. If you exorcise a demon in five minutes, he tries to do it in four. If you fix a broken ward, he’s suddenly acting like it was faulty in the first place just so he can redo it.

Protective in His Own Way – He won’t admit it, but he worries about you getting tangled in the same kind of magical disasters he does. He warns you about messing with certain forces, even though you’re arguably more capable than him. If something actually does hurt you? Hell hath no fury like a pissed-off Constantine.

Drunken Magic Debates – After a few drinks, you two get into long-winded arguments about magic theory. “That’s not how that bloody rune works—” “Oh? Then why did it just work when I used it?” He groans and orders another drink.

Demon Magnet Duo – Demons and other supernatural beings hate you both but also find you very interesting. Sometimes they even try to pit you against each other, which is hilarious because you just team up and make their existence miserable.

The One Who Fixes His Screw-Ups – He won’t say it, but having you around is incredibly useful because, occasionally, even he digs himself into magical trouble he can’t get out of. You casually fix things, pat him on the shoulder, and say, “You’re lucky I like you.”

Constantine Being a Mess, You Being Over It – He shows up at your door, bloody and half-cursed, expecting a place to crash. You sigh, let him in, and then spend the next hour undoing whatever hex he pissed off this time.

The One Who Can Actually Call Him Out – Constantine gets away with a lot of things because he’s so good at talking his way out. But not with you. You see right through his crap, and the first time you call him out, he just stands there blinking like, “…Shit.”

Unspoken Mutual Trust – He never really trusts people, but you? You’re different. He won’t say it, but he knows if things go really bad, you’ll be the one standing by him, fixing things together—even if it means pulling his reckless ass out of the fire again.

I'll pop in with a prompt

✨ Superman x Reader where Superman falls in love with a Kansas farm girl ✨

- 🧑🏼‍🍳

A Quiet Retreat

Superman X Fem!Reader

Chapter 1: The Weight of the World

The city lights flickered in the distance, a blur of orange and white beneath a starry sky. Superman, bruised and battered from his latest battle, flew above Metropolis with a quiet urgency. His body ached, muscles sore from the relentless fight with the alien warlord. The world was safe, for now. The villain had been stopped, but the weight of the battle lingered in the air. It was always like this—he would win, but the cost never seemed to get any easier.

He needed a break. Desperately.

The world depended on him, but who would protect him when the burden became too heavy? He couldn’t keep running on empty. His responsibilities were endless, and sometimes the pressure suffocated him. The countless lives he’d saved, the never-ending battles, the constant reminder that he was different—he was the world’s protector, but there was no one to protect him.

So, he did what he always did when the strain of being Superman became too much: he retreated to the one place that had always offered him a sense of peace. He needed to remember who he was beyond the cape. He needed to be Clark Kent again, if only for a short time.

Clark didn’t land in Metropolis. Instead, he set a course for the one place that had shaped him—Smallville.

The familiar, rolling fields of Kansas awaited him, and though he had been away for years, they still felt like home. The crisp, open sky greeted him, the air full of the sweet scent of earth and grass. He took a deep breath as he descended toward the quiet town, feeling the tension in his body slowly begin to ease.

It had been a long time since Clark had come back to Smallville for anything other than business. This time, though, there would be no interviews or press conferences—no reporters or crowds clamoring for his attention. He was just Clark Kent, the son of Jonathan and Martha Kent, returning to his roots. He’d parked his car by the old farmhouse, and now he found himself walking through the familiar dirt roads, away from the noise of the world.

That’s when he spotted it—an old farmhouse just at the edge of the hill. The porch light flickered softly, a warm, welcoming glow in the quiet evening. His eyes shifted to the small garden beside the house, where a young woman in worn jeans and a faded flannel shirt knelt in the dirt, her hands moving with practiced ease as she tended to her plants. She hummed a soft tune under her breath, lost in the tranquility of the moment.

Clark paused, a quiet curiosity pulling him closer. He hadn’t seen her around before. She didn’t look like she was from the town, but there was something about her that made him feel like he wasn’t the only one in search of peace.

Without thinking, he walked up to the porch, careful to keep his distance as to not startle her. It wasn’t like him to intrude on someone’s solitude, but something about her presence, the calm that radiated from her, made him want to know more.

The woman didn’t seem to notice him at first, her focus entirely on the rows of vegetables she was pulling from the earth. It wasn’t until he cleared his throat gently that she finally looked up, her eyes meeting his with a spark of surprise, quickly followed by cautious curiosity.

“Oh,” she said, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “I didn’t see you there. Can I help you with something?”

Clark blinked, caught off guard by her ease, her voice warm yet unbothered by his sudden presence. "I... I was just passing by," he said, offering her an easy smile, trying to keep things casual. "I’m Clark. Just visiting the old town. Needed to get away from the noise for a while.”

The woman straightened, brushing the dirt off her hands with a sigh of satisfaction before extending her hand. "Nice to meet you, Clark. I'm Y/N. Welcome to the farm."

Clark took her hand, surprised by the strength in her grip and the way her gaze seemed to appraise him without judgment. “A farm, huh? That’s a good place to get away from the noise.”

Y/Nchuckled softly, her eyes crinkling at the edges. “You’d be surprised. Some of the loudest things around here are the chickens. But it’s peaceful. Most of the time.”

Clark could sense that there was more to her than just the calm exterior—the sharp wit and the quiet self-assurance. The simplicity of her life was something he hadn’t experienced in years. He felt himself relax, the constant hum of his superhero life momentarily silenced in her presence.

“I could use some peace right now,” Clark admitted, glancing around at the farm, at the serenity she had cultivated in the middle of the vast Kansas plains. “It’s been a long couple of days.”

Y/N gave him a knowing smile. “I get that. Life can be overwhelming, but you’d be surprised what a little time outside can do. I’d offer you some lemonade, but I’m guessing you’re not here for that.”

“Lemonade sounds nice,” Clark said with a chuckle, his tension starting to ease. “But I’d just like to sit for a while. If that’s okay?”

“Of course.” Y/N gestured to the rocking chairs on the porch, the evening sky beginning to paint itself with hues of pink and purple. “There’s always room for someone who needs a break.”

Clark nodded gratefully, following her to the porch and sitting in one of the rocking chairs. For the first time in what felt like forever, he felt his shoulders relax, the weight of the world momentarily lifted by the simple act of sitting beside a stranger, away from the chaos of his double life.

It wasn’t much, but it was enough. For now.

First off, plz post Chapter 2 of 'The Making of a Villain' 🙏

(Only if you want to, I ain't forcing you to do anything)

Second! I had just some small ideas that I couldn't get out of my head. They're just fun small things I guess...

So like, I just imagine some of the ways Duck would be disruptive for the bats.

Like, they are able to lock most of the computers down at the Wayne tower or something, leading to 'Ah, ah, ah. You didn't say the magic word' from Jurassic park playing on loop every time someone tries to unlock the computers

Or, or. During an important mission, Duck disrupts their communications by playing 'Barbiegirl' on loop at max volume, making the vigilantes unorganized, and making the mission even harder

Idk, stoic chaos gremlin is just right up my alley

They'll make your day hell via pure chaos, and won't even crack a smile

Anywho, stay hydrated!!

- 🐇

Firstly, I'm giving you a kiss on the head and a plate of cookies.

Secondly, I LOVE THESE IDEAS AND WILL BE USING THEM. I have ideas on how to use them, either in a later chapter or as another side story.

Like, waaaay after Duck left the batfam and went with the other villians (minus Joker, he can die in a ditch), they batfam are putting together important information regarding a big case Gordon wanted them on. And while in the middle of working, the screen goes black and the only on said screen is "AH, AH, AH, SAY THE MAGIC THE WORD" in big bold letters and on loop, with an annoying song in the background.

The batfam are confused and concerned, and slightly annoyed, as to how someone was able to hack into the batcomputer and leave this message ON LOOP OF ALL THINGS meanwhile Duck is just sitting in a comfy chair in their lair, watching all of this go down from the little camera placed in a spot no one looks.

A smirk playing on thier lips, watching their former family scramble to figure out what happened.

I LOVE YOUR IDEAS, GIVE ME MORE. Please and thank you!

Also, thanks for reminding to hydrate! haven't had water today.

I WILL BE POSTING CHAPTER 2 IN A FEW MINUTES BTW!

The Genre Bakecase:

- Salted Silence Scones (angst) - Bittersweet Brioche (angst w/ comfort) - Sweetheart Shortbread (fluff) - Mend-Me Macarons (hurt no comfort) - Cherry-On-Top Cheesecake (romance) - Wildcard Whisk Cupcake (a make your own, mix genres etc) - Poisoned Passionfruit Pie (Enemies to Lovers / Lovers to Enemies) - Wasteland Wedding Cake (au versions of TMoaV) - Bitterlayers Tart (The Making of a Villian fic)

Wrapped in Red

Alpha!Jason x Omega!Reader

The apartment was quiet when Jason came in, boots scuffing softly against the floor. His body ached from the night’s patrol — busted ribs, a graze along his shoulder, and more bruises than he cared to count. But none of that mattered when his nose caught your scent, sweet and familiar, pulling him down from the simmering rage still burning under his skin.

You were curled up on the couch, wrapped in one of his hoodies that was way too big on you, the sleeves bunched over your hands. Your breathing was soft, steady, and his Alpha instincts eased at the sound. The sight of you — peaceful, vulnerable, safe — sent a wave of warmth through his chest.

His fingers twitched. He should go shower, clean himself up before crawling into bed. But instead, he found himself moving toward you, drawn in by the pull of You. His Omega.

Jason’s eyes drifted over the room, and something in him itched, restless. The nest wasn’t good enough. You weren’t surrounded by enough of him. The hoodie helped, but the couch was too open, too exposed.

Without really thinking, Jason started moving. He gathered the extra blankets from the bed, his leather jacket from the hook by the door, even the clean laundry he hadn’t put away yet. He didn’t care if it was messy — he wanted you wrapped in him. He needed you to feel safe, to smell him, to know you weren’t alone.

By the time he finished, the couch was buried in a mountain of Jason. Soft cotton, thick comforters, and his leather jacket draped over the top, all of it smelling like him — gunpowder, leather, and that faint, warm spice that was unmistakably Jason.

Satisfied, he carefully scooped you up, mindful not to wake you. You stirred just enough to nuzzle into his neck, your sleepy scent sweetening as you recognized him even half-conscious.

“Jay…” you mumbled, voice muffled against his skin.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he murmured, voice rough and low. “I’m here.”

He tucked you into the nest, pulling the blankets over you. You made a soft, content sound, fingers curling loosely into his hoodie. Jason exhaled slowly, his body finally starting to relax.

He didn’t mean to join you — he was dirty, battered, and running on fumes. But the second he sat down at the edge of the couch, your hand found his, tugging weakly.

“Stay,” you whispered, half asleep.

Jason sighed, the fight leaving him. “Yeah… alright.”

He slid in beside you, carefully easing you against his chest. His arms wrapped around you instinctively, protectively. You burrowed closer, his scent enveloping you completely, and Jason felt his heart stumble in his chest.

He wasn’t good at this — the soft stuff. He never thought he deserved it. But with you pressed against him, safe in a nest made of him, he didn’t feel so broken. For once, the world could burn, and he wouldn’t care. Not as long as you were here, wrapped up in him.

“Mine,” Jason murmured against your hair, voice barely above a whisper. He didn’t know if you heard him — maybe it didn’t matter.

Because it was true, whether you were awake to hear it or not.

Caffine and Capes

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Hal Jordan (Batlantern) Setting: Cozy café, followed by a walk in the park Tone: Soft Fluff

The café was small and cozy, tucked away on a quiet street in Gotham. The air smelled like freshly ground coffee and something faintly sweet, like cinnamon. A soft jazz tune played in the background, mixing with the chatter of the few patrons.

Bruce sat at a corner table, his usual sharpness dulled by the warm lighting and comforting atmosphere. His coffee sat in front of him, but he wasn’t drinking it. Instead, he was watching Hal, who seemed entirely too excited for a simple trip to a café.

“This place smells like... joy,” Hal said, eyes wide as he looked around. “I’m convinced coffee beans are secretly happiness in disguise.”

Bruce didn’t smile, but there was the tiniest flicker of amusement in his eyes. “You sure it’s not the sugar?”

Hal leaned forward with a smirk. “Maybe a little bit of both.”

Bruce reached for his cup, taking a sip, and Hal watched him, eyes narrowing playfully. “You’re really quiet today.”

Bruce sighed. “I’m not quiet. I’m... contemplative.”

Hal snorted, causing Bruce to give him an unamused look. “I’ll take that as ‘yes, you’re quiet.’”

“Well,” Bruce said, glancing out the window at the soft drizzle of rain that had started outside, “I didn’t think you’d be so... enthusiastic about coffee. You’re usually more into explosions and flashy things.”

“Coffee’s a simple pleasure,” Hal replied, leaning back in his chair. “Besides, it’s a good break from all the chaos. I don’t need fireworks to enjoy something.”

Bruce’s gaze softened slightly. He hadn’t expected Hal to be so... well, normal. In the middle of Gotham, in a café with soft lighting and jazz, Bruce felt a kind of peace that didn’t come often.

After a few moments, Hal was up and pulling his jacket on. “So, I know you’re Mr. Nighttime—“

“Don’t.”

“—But how about we take a walk through the park?” Hal finished, ignoring the glare. “There’s a park not far from here. I promise, no giant green robots or alien invasions.”

Bruce gave him a flat look. “You really think that’s going to convince me?”

Hal just smiled, mischief twinkling in his eyes. “I’m betting on the fact that you’re curious enough to see what a normal date looks like.”

Bruce raised an eyebrow, his lips twitching toward a smirk. “Alright. Lead the way.”

The park was quiet, the path lit by soft streetlamps that shimmered in the rain. They walked side by side, the occasional raindrop catching in the dark strands of Hal’s hair. There was a certain ease in the air, despite the world’s usual chaos swirling around them.

Hal kicked a few leaves up, glancing at Bruce. “You know, I’ve always imagined Gotham as... darker. More gloomy. But this place... it’s peaceful.”

Bruce nodded, his gaze on the path ahead. “Sometimes you need a reminder that there’s more to a city than crime.”

Hal glanced at him, and for the first time in what felt like ages, Bruce let his guard slip just a little. He didn’t have to be Batman right now. He could just be... Bruce.

“You know,” Hal began, looking up at the rain-soaked trees, “this is nice. Just... us. No Green Lanterns or Bat-families. No big city problems.”

Bruce turned his head, watching Hal with a rare, genuine smile that seemed to soften the edges of his face.

“I’m glad you think so,” Bruce said quietly. “It’s been a while since I’ve just... walked.”

They continued on in silence for a while, the sound of footsteps mixing with the gentle rustle of leaves in the rain. When they reached a bench near the center of the park, Hal gestured for Bruce to sit.

“I wasn’t expecting you to be so...” Hal trailed off, unsure how to finish his sentence.

“Normal?” Bruce suggested, taking a seat. “Yeah. I’m good at hiding it.”

“Sometimes it’s hard to see past the cape and cowl,” Hal said softly. “But I think I like this version of you.”

Bruce met his gaze, his voice a little quieter than usual. “I think I do too.”

Hal’s hand rested on the bench beside Bruce’s, fingers almost brushing. Bruce looked down for a moment, then subtly shifted his hand so it was resting just an inch from Hal’s.

“I guess we’re both full of surprises,” Bruce said, his lips quirking in the slightest smile.

Hal chuckled, looking down at their hands. “You have no idea.”

The rain fell a little harder now, but neither of them moved to leave. Instead, they sat there, quietly sharing a moment that was simple — but in its own way, exactly what they needed.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

This is for @witherby I'M RATTING YOU OUT. You guys should definitely check out their writing, it's awesome!!

👉👈

Penguin x reader.?

One for the Birds

Oswald Cobblepot (Penguin) X Reader

The Iceberg Lounge was louder than usual. Smoke curled into the chandeliers like ghostly fingers, the kind of place where secrets got dressed in diamonds and danced between martini glasses. You didn’t belong here—and that was exactly the point.

You walked in sharp, calm, and dressed just well enough to be ignored. Not rich enough to be noticed. Not low enough to be questioned. You were just looking for someone to talk to. Someone with power. Someone with reach.

Oswald Cobblepot.

He stood near the back, half in the shadows, watching his empire breathe. People passed him by without a glance, not out of disrespect—but out of fear. He was the kind of man who didn’t need to be loud to control a room. He just was.

You stepped close, careful not to spill desperation on the floor.

“You don’t look like you belong here,” he said without turning. Voice like broken glass dipped in molasses.

You didn’t flinch. “Neither do half the people on your payroll.”

That got his attention.

Oswald turned, eyes narrowing behind his monocle, studying you like a puzzle someone forgot to finish. “Got a name, sweetheart?”

You told him. No stutter, no hesitation. Just enough truth to sound like a lie. His smile was small, but real.

“Brave,” he said. “Or stupid. The line’s thin in this city.”

“I’m counting on that.”

Oswald tilted his head, intrigued now. He motioned to a booth tucked away from the rest of the chaos. “Sit. Talk. If you're trying to sell something, it better be good.”

You slid in without breaking eye contact. “I’m not selling anything.”

“Then you’re asking for something.”

You leaned forward. “A favor. A deal. A crack in the wall no one else will give me.”

His fingers tapped against his umbrella. A beat. Then another.

“Everyone comes to me when they’ve run out of choices.” His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “You? You walked in like you planned to be here.”

“I did.”

Oswald laughed, low and rough. Then he waved a hand, dismissing the waiter hovering nearby.

“Alright,” he said. “You’ve got five minutes. Impress me.”

You did.

By the time you stood to leave, the air between you had changed. His eyes followed you, calculating. Interested.

“Next time you walk in,” he said, “use the back entrance. I don’t like surprises.”

You paused. “What if I do?”

He grinned, sharp and cold. “Then you’ll be fun.”