#implied x reader

[NO MINOR ZONE]

- His only lover is his hand. I’m serious he gets NO bitches. Every time someone came on to him he would fumble like a dink. Helix is still trying to give him better pickup lines than ‘I won’t kill you… tonight.’

- For me Tarn is on the ace spectrum. He doesn’t want to participate in interfacing, but he likes to watch. You could probably find him in the corner at some swinger parties.

- Normally he doesn’t have time/is too tired to even try to get off. He runs the DJD he’s a busy Mech. Not to say he doesn’t have his own little fantasies.

- Top all the way. He WILL NOT bottom (unless you ask) Tarn likes to feel in charge, superior, loved. He likes to be serviced and he likes the idea of ‘capturing’ someone and making them obey his every word.

- is actually a super awkward bot. His old self- Damos- comes out when he is flirted with. He’s a bashful Mech that can’t take any praise.

- Likes the idea of his partner getting off to his voice, it makes him feel powerful that his voice alone could make someone so down bad (I am looking at you tarn fans)

You knew the leader of this particular cult usually sat to eat with his peers as a sort of bonding process. He was usually quite reserved and would sit in his private chambers for hours, hardly letting anyone near except a chosen few whom he trusted. Poisoning him seemed to be the least hard of all the options you had at hand, and the least messy as well.

Nervously, you waited for his arrival. The girl to your right kept chatting to you about all the things she wanted to see changed in this world. And wasn’t that ironic? You smiled politely at her, did your best to appear at your most charming. You knew no one noticed the tenseness of your muscles or the way you expertly schooled your expressions. You’d never been caught before and today wouldn’t be any different.

Finally, the man you had been tasked to assassinate appeared. He was followed by a handful of men and women, all eager to brush their hands past his shoulders and chest like he was some kind of messiah. You looked at them with contempt and bit your cheek. Why were you feeling all hot and bothered inside at seeing how others touched him? It must be because you could tell he took delight in it, right? That he was used to being revered as some sort of God. You wondered if he thought of himself as so, or if he truly believed he was just the messenger, tasked to speak for his Goddess?

It didn’t matter. After tonight, he would be gone.

Arthur Harrow did not have his own spot at a table. Rather, he liked to sit somewhere different each night, following a pattern around the room. And if you had not been mistaken, he would be seated at your table tonight. He did not disappoint, for he came over to where you were, footsteps slowly crunching.

You had prepared a plan to distract him. And you would use the girls by your side to enact it – they were unknowing of how you would lure them into doing the thing you needed them to do, of course. It would make tracing you down as the culprit that much harder – if the cult ever decided to treat Arthur’s demise as suspicious instead of natural.

You had to suppress a smirk at the thought of how you were going to get away with it. But it was in that exact moment that Arthur’s eyes met yours, and you felt as if he could look into your soul. Your smirk had gone, like snow in the burning hot sun. Was he onto you?

“I think, I’ll sit next to you,” was all he said, then waited for the girl next to you to scoot aside. It was clear which spot he indicated. It was on the same bench you were seated on, exactly next to you.

Shit, this ruined your plans. You had not expected for him to sit next to you. Somehow, that scenario had been off the table, because why would he pick a seat next to you when they had already been taken? You had to recalculate. The upside of it all was that it would be easier to slip the potion into his food like this. He was seated at the right side, at the right sleeve. And the potion would not take effect till at least a few hours later. You could get away with it. By the time suspicions were roused, you’d be long gone, back on the plane home.

The girl next to you scooted aside to make room for her leader. She looked up at him with lovey-dovey eyes, like most of the younger women here, you thought. And even some of the men.

Arthur had his charm, certainly. Yet you were determined not to let him work his magic on you. You flexed your fingers and waited with baited breath for the man to take his seat by your side. You instantly felt the warmth radiating from his body, and picked up his earthy scent of herbs and spices that enveloped you along with his presence. Everything about him was enchanting. You would almost believe that a Goddess truly existed and had claimed the man as her own. He was like magic himself.

“So,” he said, and turned at you smiling. “Have you tasted the soup?”

He gestured with his hand at the plate in front of you. The watery substance didn’t look very alluring, but it was highly recommended to you by the chefs. Of course, you had taken it, not to break character. You forced a smile and looked up at him until the two of you locked eyes.

He knew.

You didn’t know how you could tell, but there was a certain glint to his eyes that told you he was aware of what you came here to do. That you had come here solely with the purpose to annihilate him. And that you would do it by poisoning his food. Soup was the perfect medium for it. A liquid that he would devour enough from. He always finished his plate.

“I,” you hesitated, not able to conceal you had not taken a single taste of it. Then you shook your head.

“Pity,” he murmured, voice low while he bend his head closer to yours. “I’ll tell you a little secret,” and then he whispered, for the others not to hear, “I made it myself.”

You felt the stir around you, noticed how the other young men and women at the table grew restless at seeing their leader confide in you in hushed tones. There was a certain jealousy radiating off them. Especially the girl to Arthur’s right, the one who had to scoot aside and had been happy to be seated next to him, at first. She seemed angry now that his attention was on you fully. So his charm worked, you thought amused. He has them all in his palm, but could lose them just as easily by making the wrong move.

“Try it,” he urged you. And unable to break your disguise, to give away anything that might prove his suspicions to be true, you slowly picked up your spoon and sipped from the soup.

It tasted… nice.

Good even. Heavenly. You had not thought that such a plain looking soup could contain so much flavor. And you eagerly started to lap it all up.

“What kind of soup is it?” you asked after a few more hasty sips. Your eyes found his again and you could not but notice the small smile that played on his lips as he slowly started to eat from his.

“Lentil soup,” he answered, truthfully. “I am a vegan, but that doesn’t mean I have no taste.”

And indeed, the soup was heavenly. You sat there, hip against hip, while the two of you sipped from your soup in silence. Arthur radiated a warmth that made his presence undeniable. Suddenly, a weight plummeted in your stomach. It was the realization that you had been paid to come here and to murder this man. This hidden five-starred homemade chef.

“They say that the way to a woman's heart is through her stomach,” you murmured, catching Arthur’s attention fully. He tilted his head and looked at you from the corners of his eyes.

“Is that so?” he murmured.

You smiled. “It appears that you will have no trouble in finding yourself a bedmate, Mister Harrow.” Something in his eyes glinted, as if you had unearthed some kind of hidden secret there.

Your retort had given you away though. The expressions of the others at the table should have been a clue as they looked at you in shock. No one called Arthur by his surname except for his enemies. And what you had just done, was betray your identity without you even knowing it. Perhaps you could blame the soup. It was making you drowsy.

“It seems you’re tired,” Arthur whispered near your ear, then turned to the men and women by his side. “Bring her up to my room. I think she could use a laydown.”

Then he was above you again as he made you lie against his chest, vision spinning, head dozy. "Lay her upon my bed," you wondered if you truly heard him say that. Everything had started to spin and sounds became dull. It all was happening so fast. You could just make out his eyes, burning as they looked down upon you, and feel how his fingers slipped inside of your sleeve, taking the vial out between the tips of his fingers. For a moment you feared it had gone, that he had somehow used your own potion on you. But you knew it shouldn’t have worked that fast.

It was a relief to see all the contents were still inside, and to see how Arthur tucked it inside of his own pocket with a slight hum. Then his hair fell around his face again, the imitation of a halo of an angel.

“I had not heard that expression before,” he murmured only for you to hear, his hands gently on the sides of your face. “The way to a woman’s heart seems to be through her stomach indeed. And I promise you, I will cook my homemade soup for you every day after this, if you promise to stay with me.”

Your vision blurred, and with that promise, your consciousness was gone.

AN: Sorry, it became dark again. Ugh. I can’t help it… I have been feeling under the weather even more lately. Can’t wait for tomorrow, new hospital visit, hopefully they’ll find something.

“I won't get scared! I'm a brave kid!” Their Grandma chuckled softly, eyes squeezing in amusement. Her once composed concentration seemed to stare off into the distance as a story formed in her once-young mind. “Ah, well how about I tell you about something that happened to me 20 years ago?” The child crossed their legs in suspense as they waited not-so-patiently for their grandma. “It was a foggy day and me and your grandpa were chasing dandelions across the fields in England. We could barely see a thing, but in the distance was a small girl. Too old to be a baby but too young to be a teenager, I thought at that time I was seeing a ghost!” The child’s grandma didn't seem to be telling a story to the child anymore, she seemed to be recalling a distant memory from afar. “She was indeed, just like a ghost. Blood tainted her pink dress and her viridescent eyes…they looked…dead.” The child gazed upon what seemed to be what their grandma was staring at. “Dead? A ghost?” The child had a spark in their eyes whilst questioning in an innocent curiosity, but their grandma did not respond. Lips pale and eyes in sorrow, the child’s grandma whispered the end of the story. “That…was the last day I saw your grandpa…” All the excitement drained from both the child and the grandma’s faces. The last glimmer of youth disappeared from the grandma’s eyes as a tear wedged itself out. “What…what happened…? Did that girl cause it?” The child nervously asked in a soft voice, their eyes watching as the tear slowly rolled down their grandma’s cheek, falling down to the cold, wooden floor beneath the two, and landing with a faint thud.

“I…I’m not sure.” The grandma quietly answered, her gaze having dropped to the floor. “They never found him after that. It was like he just…vanished into thin air.” More tears started to fall from her eyes, and the child quickly stood up, taking a step closer to their grandmother before reaching out and gently holding her hand. “I promise I’ll find out.” The child said, their voice full of confidence and determination. “When I’m older, I promise that I’ll find out what happened to him! I’ll be just like mum and dad!” The child paused as they thought for a moment. “...um…what was the word again…oh! I’ll be a detective! Yeah! I’ll help find grandad and help mum and dad with their job!” The child’s voice sounded so confident that their grandmother didn’t have the heart to tell them that even if they did find out what happened, she might not be there to hear it. “I…thank you, dearie.” She gently squeezed their hand before brushing away a few of her tears, her gaze finally landing on her grandkid’s face. “Now…you should go off to bed. You have a big day tomorrow since your parents are coming to pick you up at five am so you don’t miss the plane.” The child blinked and perked up, shock taking over their emotions.

“But-” Their grandmother cut them off with a small shake of their head. “No buts. You said you would go to sleep after you heard a story.” The kid’s expression faltered and they hesitantly let go of her hand, taking a few steps backwards. “...okay…goodnight grandma.” They said quietly while retrieving the nearby plushie of their favourite animal, holding it close to their chest as their grandmother answered. “Goodnight dearie.” She said this with a smile, her voice soft and delicate. It was almost as if she hadn’t just been crying. With a small nod, the child started to walk away and to the stairs, but paused shortly after and quickly turned around, running over to their grandmother and giving her a quick hug before turning and running back up the stairs, their cheeks flushed in embarrassment. “Goodnight!” They called out again while running up to their room, closing the door behind them quietly before walking over to their bed and slipping under the blanket, curling up and holding their toy close to them as their eyes slowly began to flutter shut, and sleep washed over them. Little did they know that that would be the last time they would ever see her, and that hugging her before leaving had let her rest feeling happy, staying unaware of the knife that would soon be plunged into her back only a few days after they left.

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