𝗵𝗲𝗮𝗿𝘁𝗹𝗲𝘀𝘀; ❝ just because i'm a woman doesn't mean i still can't kick your fucking ass. ❞
in which a boy and a girl are
forced to come together in
order to defeat a common enemy
𝗢𝗥
where two heartless assassins
learn how to love again...
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ATHENA WOULD BECOME THE NIGHT. Dark. Deadly. Savage. She would become enigmatic, dissolving into the midnight like raindrops in an ocean but with a fire blazing in her belly that no water could extinguish. She knew this was a trap; it had to be. No normal, sane person (regardless of the fact that he sold drugs for a living and probably had, inevitably, some form of internal brain damage) would invite a person, let alone her, to meet with a dealer that had gone out of their way to never have their name leaked to the public. It was preposterous. Men. Men are stupid.
Athena dressed in black. Black shirt, black pants, black shoes. Blending in would be the easy part; stick to the shadows and all would turn a blind eye. It was habit, she supposed. The need to be unseen, unheard, to be invisible. The best assassins were quiet, out in an instant once the body had dropped. To make the fastest getaway before the unfortunate soul who finds the body can even begin to piece together evidence. Of course, she always left no evidence behind. She wasn't sloppy.
Her hair splayed down her back, bleeding into the black material in a waterfall from a dark sea. Never again would she dare tie her hair up for a mission. Not ever. And she was so incredibly thick to have done it in the first place. Bruce has warned her to tie her hair up, but her, being the rebellious idiotic teenager she was back then, decided that she didn't need to have her boss breathing down her neck every second of every day and this time, just this once, she would prove him wrong. Oh, how wrong she was. She had learnt that lesson the hard way. She had been on a mission; a simple assassination of a pimp on the outskirts of Gotham. He was significantly larger than her, built in his arms but rough on the face, she chewed her lip to seduce him away from people, going so far as the graze her fingers up his inner thigh and earning a sharp intake of breath on his behalf. She scoffed internally. "Never wear your hair up, Athena", "It's dangerous, Athena." Shut up, Bruce. This is going far better than she could have ever anticipated. It was easy. A little skin showing was all she needs for the man to begin drooling over her. The low cut shirt combined with tendrils of dark hair sprawled across her shoulder would work ceremoniously in locking down her prey. And it had. So, so, perfectly. But once she had him in the room above the strip club, before she had even drawn the blade from its sheath hidden beneath her skirt, he had gripped her by the hair, wrapped it around his fist, turned her around and forced her to hit face first onto the bed. It must have aroused him, seeing her absolutely subdued and at his command. So much so that he had growled—growled—and grabbed her wrists, pinning them against her back before pulling her head up off the bed so hard, she thought her neck had snapped. If the circumstances had been anything but this, Athena wondered that she might have actually enjoyed herself too. But the roles were soon reversed as she kicked up her feet, her heel colliding with his groin, and his hands slipped while he toppled to the floor, cradling his bruised ego in his large hands and whining as he rolled from side to side. She was fast with the knife, already slicing his throat before he could even begin to yell. She was never going to admit to Bruce what happened that night but she had a feeling that he already knew. Considering that every mission she ventured on since, he never said a word because she never gave him the opportunity; her hair was always down.
