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supercorpkid · 7 months

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Powergirl Should Die - 2

Supergirl, Powergirl, B!D. Kara Danvers x BabyDanvers!Reader, Alex Danvers x BabyDanvers!Reader, Lena Luthor, J'onn J'onzz.

Word Count: 2840.

Part 1

Kara is the sunshine. It irradiates through her skin and you don't think there's a single soul that would be able to deny that. Your sister is always bringing good light wherever she might go. But you-

You were born to rain clouds. Always almost but never enough. Power, yes. But never Super. Even back in Krypton, you were always blessed in her shadow.

And that was fine, for most of your life. You didn’t care to hide away behind her at school. Didn’t care that when she moved to National City, you had to follow her too. But then she got you inside a skin tight suit, gave you a superhero name, and that was a little too much for you to bear.

Because now you are sleep deprived, too tired to function properly. Haven't rested a bit in days. Patrolling the city, watching everyone's step, listening to every heartbeat and shaky breath. Waiting for the worst.

It's not even that you can't rest because you don't have the time, that is only partially true. You have to go to the Museum and work. You haven't let anyone patrol the city ever since you saw that flash of red in Lena's surveillance camera. Even so, you would still have a couple of hours to nap, if only you could. If only you wouldn't wake up drenched in sweat from your nightmares.

All of them are about what's happening right now. You watch from afar seeing her blonde hair and red cape flying behind her while she writes the words that are now rooted in the depths of your mind.

Powergirl should die. Why won't she die already?

"That's enough!" J'onn stops the arguing. His deep commanding voice is enough to make everyone shut up, including both of your sisters that had been yelling at you until a minute ago. "You are in a government space and some of you are public figures. I expect at least a little bit of decorum, and if that's not possible then the three of you should go talk somewhere private. Preferably at home."

"Fine by me." Kara says, hardening her jaw. "We're all going home." She speaks almost out of greeted teeth, only one eye blinks, so laser focus on you, it sends shivers down your spine.

She picks Alex up, ready to fly away, but looks back at you before she does so, almost daring. You don't want to go home with them. All the previous yelling already made clear what their point was. You are getting obsessed with this 'Powergirl should die' thing. You're getting fixated, absorbed, borderline manomaniacal about it. Throwing blame around, wary of the people who are there to help you, snapping at your own flesh and blood.

Yeah, yeah. No shit.

"Y/N, would you stay behind for a second?" J'onn says, and Kara furrows her brows at him. "She'll catch you in a moment, Kara. You and Alex can go."

"Alright." Kara leaves, but it is clear it wasn't ok by the way she said that.

He starts walking and you follow him silently throughout the corridors of the DEO, and only stops in front of a lead covered room. "For privacy." He explains, pointing inside and you agree with your head walking in. "Would you like to tell me what the problem is?"

"Besides someone wanting me dead?" You snap. You can't really control how you sound right now, even though you wish you could. You're tired, scared, and suspicious of the very one person you should rely on the most. That makes everyone around you untrustworthy by default.

J'onn agrees with his head. And you bite the inside of your mouth to keep you from spilling the truth.

"Seems enough of a reason to me."

"You think Kara wrote it." He explains it further, saying what you've been thinking. At least someone had the courage to say it out loud. You sigh, looking down.

It's wrong. Thinking your sister is the one writing all these terrible things about you. But what else would you think? It’s the only lead you have. The only one you need.

"It's a pretty big accusation."

You can't look him in the eyes. Even though you haven't directly said it, he could read all the messed up thoughts you were having about it. "You didn't say I was wrong."

"I didn't say you were right." J'onn counters, crossing his arms in front of his chest. "You're going to end up doing something you regret if you don't rest. I'm not going to argue you on this, Y/N. This is not a suggestion, it's an order from a superior. I am not giving you a shift tonight, and I hope that means you won't be on duty."

"What if the writing comes up again?"

"Then we clean it."

"What if something more than the writing comes up this time?" You can't help the watery eyes when you say that.

He gives you a long pause, "Then we fight it."

Alright, well. You can't argue with that logic. And you also can’t argue with the fact that you are so tired, you might end up doing something stupid.

So you agree that you won’t patrol tonight, trusting him on this, and leave the DEO. You are well aware that your sisters are waiting for you in Kara’s apartment, ready to tell you what to do. So before you face them, you send Lena a text.

You: Hey! You, me, Love Actually and Thai food tonight?

Lena: Yes, please. All of it sounds perfect ❤️

You smile at her text. Your heart doing a small loop inside you. Alright, now onto the hard part.

You fly in through the window and the second Kara notices your presence, she picks up the conversation from where it was left.

“How long has it been since you've slept?” She asks, crossing her arms and Alex mimics her action right after. They look like two angry parents, and it makes you even more annoyed. They are not your parents. Your parents exploded 20 years before you even stepped foot on this planet, so.

“I don’t know.” You mutter, knowing they wouldn't like the honest answer and having no energy to fight them.

“If you would just let me take over for you, mini me. I could patrol the city tonight. I promise I'll call you the second I see something suspicious and –”

“Yeah, ok.”

“What?” Kara and Alex stare at each other.

“I have direct orders from my superior to stay put. And I also have a date – I mean, a movie date – a movie thing with Lena tonight, so yeah. If you want to patrol the city, you do it.”

“Oh.” They stare at each other again, confused about your approach to this. You’ve been very demanding the past few days about how this is only about you and that no one else should get involved, and just one conversation later, you're quick to give up that control? Sounds weird. But they're not going to fight you on this, since it's exactly what they want. "Great! I'll do the patrolling and you do the date."

"And sleep." Alex adds. "Don't forget you need to sleep."

"Sure thing, mom." You force a smile then fly out of Kara's living room, and go back to work.

It’s a lot later that night when you give Lena the empty container of your already eaten Thai food, and snuggle up on her couch, throwing the blanket over your legs and trying to get as comfortable as possible. “Mmm, just FYI I might fall asleep during the movie.” You warn her. “I haven’t had a good night in a while.”

Lena hums her agreement from the kitchen, but soon she is back to her place next to you. “Something’s been worrying you?”

“I guess. But I don’t wanna bore you with that, it’s not something fun to talk about.” You smile when she gets under the blanket too, body so close her warmth irradiates through her skin.

“You couldn't bore me if you tried, honey.”

“Au contraire, darling. I think everyone at the Museum would say I’m the most boring person alive.” You give her a side smile.

Lena shoots her head up, comically fast. She blinks at you, head clearly going one thousand miles an hour. She is thinking so hard, it's almost loud. You furrow your brows in confusion, while her mouth drops with a 'oh' sound.

"You're ok?" You pat her leg.

There's no verbal answer. Lena's shaky hands make their way to the collar of your shirt and you sit up straighter trying to understand what's happening right now, and trying to predict what's going to happen next.

“Lena?” You question her movements when she undoes the first button of your shirt. You swallow. It's not like you never once imagined this happening, but not like this. Not without love confessions and a whole lot of prior conversation.

“Lena, what are you doing?”

Lena doesn’t answer, doesn’t blink. Hands still shaking, but decisively making their way to the second button.

“Lena, please.” She undoes that one as well. And that's when it hits you. You are always wearing your supersuit attire under your clothes, so it's faster when you have to run out from work and such. Panic shoots through your body as you realize that if she unbuttons one more, she’ll be able to see your supersuit. You hold her hands to stop her. “Lena,” you try to smile even if your mouth is completely dry and your breath is stuck in your lungs. “Darling, shouldn’t you kiss me first, before trying to get me naked?”

Lena finally looks back at your eyes, a smile dangling on her lips to match yours. And then she gives you a smirk. “You’re not naked, though. Are you?”

“Under my clothes? Yeah, I’m naked.” You lie with a fake chuckle.

She untangles her hand from yours, places it behind your neck and brings your face closer. You hold your breath. Widen your eyes. This is happening. It's happening! You and Lena, it's finally happening!

“What’s going on with you tonight?” You stare down at her mouth. “I’m not complaining, I’m just confused.”

And that’s enough of a distraction for her to move her other hand and unbutton one more. Lena looks down at the white of your supersuit and the little bit of gold from the House of El crest. And you? You panic.

"I, um, I can explain." While your heart beats strongly into your ribcage and there's a loud buzz inside your ears. How do you explain yourself?

Lena seems to be inside her own little world while both hands now make all the way down undoing all of your buttons, opening your shirt to have the House of El crest staring at her in all its secrecy.

"I'm sorry." You whisper, one tear rolling down your cheek. Because there's no explanation, really. Nothing you can say for yourself to stop Lena from hating you now.

She finally looks up to you, eyes tearing up as well, mouth agape to her recent discovery. You can see it all playing out in her eyes. She has the most expressive ones. Betrayal and anger, sadness and confusion. And then, a few seconds after two tears drop from her eyes, she raises her eyebrows at you. Eyes widening when something hits her.

"Powergirl should die." Lena whispers, swallowing deep. "Oh my God, Y/N. Someone is trying to kill you."

She launches herself onto you, holding you tight. Her hand entangles on your hair, holding your neck strongly.

"Oh, darling." She whispers, her body even closer now. You feel a kiss being planted on the side of your head, while you seek comfort on her arms, face buried on her neck. "No wonder you've been so careless."

"What?"

"Au contraire, darling? Please, Y/N, I've never heard anyone say that except for you. And Powergirl, apparently."

"Lena." You whine, embarrassed. Can't believe you made it that easy. You guess J'onn was right, you were about to do something stupid from the lack of sleep. "Someone wants me dead." You try to justify, earning a smile from her.

"You really are tired, huh?" She brings you closer again, kisses your temple. "You thought I was trying to get you naked, honey."

"Lenaaaa." You whine harder, face burning red from embarrassment. God, you're such a loser. "Can you please ignore everything I said tonight? I haven't slept an inch in four days."

Lena smiles fondly at you, while she strokes your cheek delicately. She plants a kiss there, then a light one on your lips. It's so soft, it holds no sexual implication. Just pure comfort. "Come on, Powergirl. You need a power nap."

"Oh God." You complain again, but soon Lena hugs you tight, and with your head on her chest, and Love Actually playing in the back, you're fast asleep. You don't even care if the writing shows up all over town tonight. There's no other place you'd rather be.

You wake up from your place on Lena's chest. Sometime last night she laid back on the couch and you curled yourself around her, not ready to let go. It was the first night you haven't had any nightmares.

You hear a few knocks on the balcony door, and you and Lena raise your heads at the same time to the intruder on the other side. Kara. She is smiling and waving, then she widens her eyes and turns around quickly. X-ray vision. You look down to Lena's body under yours, and your leg slotted between hers.

"Oh my God. I'm sorry." You get up in a flash, shirt still hung open with a clear view of your supersuit. "Shit, fuck."

Lena gets up as well, trying to look less disheveled to your sister's eyes. And after you button up your shirt, you finally open the balcony door and clean your throat, so Kara can look back at you.

"Hi!" She tries with the biggest, most awkward smile ever. "Just, um, wanted to say that there's nothing new for me to, um, report?"

You look back at Lena who knows exactly what Kara is talking about, but is looking down pretending she doesn't.

"I didn't mean to interrupt –"

"You didn't." You both are quick to say.

"Oh-kay?" Kara raises her eyebrows, a smile reaching her eyes, and you know exactly what she is insinuating. And sure, you thought the same thing last night, but you're both wrong.

"Can I get a ride?" You ask and Supergirl eagerly agrees. You turn back at Lena. "Thanks for –" You bite your tongue. You don't want to say anything in front of your sister. "Lunch later?"

"Lunch." Lena agrees with her head. And you smile before letting Kara pick you up and fly out of her balcony with you.

When you're out of sight, you untangle yourself and start flying next to her. "So no writing last night, huh?"

"Nope. Not even a kitten to rescue to keep me entertained." Kara grins devilishly at you. "You, on the other hand, was well entertained last night."

"Yeah, well. I slept for the first time in four days and had no nightmares. I'd say I was very entertained."

"Nightmares?" Kara stops flying, and you have to fly back a little, so you can talk face-to-face. "You haven't had nightmares in years."

"That's not true. I've been having them for… I guess, months now?"

"Months?" Kara's eyebrows furrow so hard, her crinkle shows. "When did they start?"

"They're just nightmares, Kara." You argue, annoyed. But she looks at you with an expression you almost couldn’t read. It's a midst of worrisome and distrust.

You furrow your own eyebrows, looking back at her. And then it hits you. The only reason you recognize this look, is because it's how you've been looking at her for the past four days.

"When did they start?" She repeats, strongly this time.

"I don't know." You lie. You know exactly when they started. Right after she gave you a superhero name and your first mission. Ever since, you haven't been able to sleep right.

"Let's make sure you don't have them anymore." Your sister finally breathes out. "Maybe you should try sleeping more times with Lena. It looks like she helps."

Wouldn't she like having you back at no patrolling so she can go back to the new way she found to be passive-aggressive and make you question your every single step?

"I'll pick up some extra shifts and I'm sure J'onn won't mind picking up some as well. That way you can rest your head a little."

You narrow your eyes at her, questioning her intentions. "Why don't you worry about your own enemies, and let me deal with mine?"

She doesn't answer and you're certainly happy you rendered Kara Zor-El speechless for the first time all your life.

#supergirl #kara danvers #lena luthor #kara x reader #alex danvers #baby danvers #lena x reader #reader insert #supergirl imagine #alex x reader #powergirl

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kneelingshadowsalome · 1 year

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“In walks König, and it seems even the birds have gone silent, the sun goes into a cloud, and he stands there at her door, barely fits to straighten to his full height under that frame, his ice blue eyes creasing in the depths of the hood – of course he's smiling. And then he tilts his head, terror and lust pool in her stomach again as he says......

...And she despises herself for the first thought she's having, the unchecked little whisper...

He came for me.

"Found you."

———-

i am literally spiralling rn this had my damn heart beat speeding up!!!!!😭😭😭😭 howwwww do you manage to outdo yourself every time, it’s like you add another twisted piece of a puzzle into building this man😭😭😭

good luck getting rid of him now, he’s gonna put a tracker on your phone, car, laptop etc making sure you don’t stray from your regular routes (he compromises after you two make up and says he’s fine with you working/studying and having a few close friends, friends he has of course done an extensive background check on without your knowledge. The private military allows one such perks)

he’d put hidden cameras all over the house, just for making sure that you’re safe when he’s out during missions no ulterior motives whatsoever he’s totally not creeping on you when you’re sleeping or showering no mam

he’ll give you the illusion of freedom, but in reality you’re only moving freely within the confines he has created for you. Everything to keep you pliant, and willing.

PLEASE my drink came out of my nose

König could just watch you for hours ❤️ (with a zoned out, blank expression). It's cute when you go into a fetal position when you're sleeping, as if you can sense you're being watched… And when he's at the base he would plug that stuff in and watch it from a bigger screen in some surveillance room. It's just to make sure you do what you said you would are safe, to check that everything's ok.

He would so watch those tapes, preferably a live stream, every chance he gets. And if he can't get it real-time he'll just watch the recording when he gets back, fast forwards through some of it but checks meticulously certain parts & that you keep to your routines. You know, go to work and come home at times you're supposed to.

Checks the tracker for your routes, that everything matches, but mostly just loves it that he put those cams inside your house. Sometimes plays the parts where you're having breakfast, sitting and sipping your drink all cute... watches you sleep, too.

And omg the shower cam??

Someone walks in the surv. room when he's having some me time and watching you shower, and is like "König…? What r u doing?" Because there's an odd scent of musk hovering in the air, and König looks at the screen completely obsessed, answers without ever moving his eyes from it:

"Mm, watching the perimeter."

And the rando soldier leaves with a feeling that someone just sent ice down their back... They think to themselves, "Why the hell is he so mesmerized by some CCTV material? There's nothing going on out there, just wind blowing and like… this is a heavily guarded secret military base we're not in some safe house wtf?"

…doesn't know König was slowly fisting himself under the table while watching his Engel rub some shower gel on those tits 💖👀

#answered #yandere könig #toxic könig #obsessive könig #cw: stalking #good god #it's getting bad again

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eddiemunson-reader-shame · 15 days

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Eddie Munson x MKUltra!Reader: Something About Us

I wanted to write something for MKUltra!Experiment! Reader in an attempt to make a more non binary option for readers.

The storyline was inspired by Interstella 5555, which is a visual companion to Daft Punk’s Discovery album. The scene is from “Something About Us”, which I highly recommend watching for the visual effects and story. I believe Interstella itself is available to watch free on YouTube these days.

I’d like to explore more of this character in the future, so let me know if you’d like to see more of the storyline I have in mind.

Trigger Warnings: Main character death, blood, spoilers for Season 4

***

This time… he didn’t run away…

And you tried to help…

What a fool…

You approached slowly, exhausted. Limping from the pain of battle and just as chewed up as the love of your life was. It didn’t look good for him: flattened on the ground, bleeding from the mouth and monster-made orifices.

Dustin looked at you, tears in his eyes as Eddie, his friend, the one he saw as a brother, told him weakly that he loved him.

“Thirteen…” Dustin whispered, “He… He isn’t going to make it… Do something.”

I know… you thought bitterly. Neither am I.

At the end of the day, you knew you weren’t your “sister”. You wanted to help, but what good was your power when all it could do was show rather than do.

You gently but firmly pushed Dustin Henderson aside, reaching out to stroke his chubby cheek. A wet streak of sanguine ran down the pale baby fat, marked by your shaking fingers.

You had a mission. One last declaration to make that you were saving for Eddie.

Eddie Munson coughed. Dribbles of wine colored life running down the corners of his mouth as your beloved looked at you through wet, dark eyes.

“Baby…” he whispered, calling the name he’d given you.

To everyone else, you were Thirteen. A connection to their Eleven. In their eyes, a replacement.

But to Eddie… you were more than that.

I know, Eddie… don’t talk…

You took his hands in yours, resting your forehead against his. This was what you’d come here for. Dragged yourself with the last of your strength, sheer force of mind propelling you forward and to his side. Even though the demobats had taken chunks, you kept going. Pressing on with one mission:

You wanted to make the Pictures for him. Just one last time.

And he knew.

“Pi… pic…”

A bloody finger pressed to his lips.

Shhh… don’t talk. Just let me show you…

You leaned in closer, sharing the last of his breath, closing your eyes. Focusing the last spark of energy. Manipulating the pictures that vividly danced across your imagination. It had taken time. Had taken expertise and five long years to hone.

But Eddie had fine tuned it. His words and beautiful way with linguistics had inspired your imagination, and with his weaving of words you learned to make your own Pictures. No longer were you a surveillance camera forced to document everything and see horrors beyond recognition. You were no longer Papa’s camcorder. You could make your own worlds, your own Pictures of beauty and magic to chase away the dark.

And you wanted to show this beauty to Eddie. Your beloved. Your savior. Just as he’d shown it to you, one on one, playing dice games on the worn out coffee table of the Munson trailer.

Your castle…

You pressed his cold hands to your forehead, eyes opening, irises milky white.

Instead of the Upside Down, your Pictures washed over the landscape, with his touch you showed him how your surroundings in your mind were an elven paradise. No longer twisted, dark blue, or deadly poison. Instead you showed him Pictures of Greyhawk, the worlds he’d described to you from the depths of his vivid dream-like imagination. You used your Pictures to show him grassland dales, the City of Splendors, rivulets of starlight that marked the Astral Plane, dragons soaring through the clouds with red leathery wings cutting through the soft fluff of white against a blue sky…

One last visual burst of color, one last moment of respite to show him that you loved him. You would always love him.

Just one last moment of happiness before the end came to take the both of you.

You hoped he saw it… before he hissed out one final breath, and before your eyes closed forever…

#stranger things #eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #stranger things x reader #eddie munson x oc #stranger things reader insert #dustin henderson #eleven hopper #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson fandom #guys I fucking love interstella okay #Spotify

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tossawary · 3 months

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The AVALANCHE group in "Final Fantasy 7: Remake" keeps cracking me up. They're not wearing any face masks to hide their identities when busting into secure SHINRA facilities full of surveillance cameras??? They don't even change outfits when they're not running missions??? It's killing me.

Assuming that they are not outright killing every SHINRA trooper they encounter (maybe they are, idk), even if they weren't being caught on a bunch of surveillance cameras (the opening mission shows this happening), there's like dozens of people who should be able to give relatively detailed descriptions of them??? (Also, I laugh every time the screen says that Cloud has "defeated" a SHINRA trooper. If he's a super soldier swinging that much sharp metal around at high speeds, he should (realistically) be cutting people in half. It is amusing to me to see the people enemies just fall over and the machine enemies get trashed. I find it very cartoony.)

(I am still failing to properly watch my way through this series during work. I personally don't super love the hyperrealistic dolls design style and I don't think it jives all that well with the incredibly cartoony world building, clumsy "as you know" exposition, and wacky gameplay execution so far. It's just not my thing. Yet I found "Ace Attorney" utterly intolerable to watch but very fun to actually play through the wackiness, so I'll give FF7 the benefit of the doubt there and say, "Sure, I assume this is still really fun to actually play and that the world is immersive enough that way.")

This game is a "AAA" remake of a super popular game in a super popular franchise, but they apparently couldn't be bothered to make secondary "civilian" models for Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge? What is this? A cheaply made cartoon series? These characters are waltzing around the slums in their matching bright red bandanas and Jessie, who is apparently a former performer and therefore especially recognizable, is always wearing her silly tit-sculpted armor. AVALANCHE took a crowded passenger train home from their opening terrorist mission when they should rightfully all smell and look awfully beat-up and suspicious after fleeing a massive reactor explosion???

Like, I don't really care if the characters think they're hacking the camera systems here or if the game wants pretty character faces to be visible at all times. I also don't really care about faithfulness to the original setup. They could yank facemasks down during specific cutscenes? Cloud could lose his facemask at a dramatic moment during a cutscene? And Jessie could exclaim over how cute Cloud is at the end of the mission or whatever; you can frame all of their faces as a rewarding reveal at the end of the opener. I know that character models removing clothing is super hard in 3D animation, especially games, but there are storyboarding and model swap tricks for that. You can fake ripping off a facemask relatively easily.

If the point is for SHINRA to know it's them all along and to set them up to take the fall for something later, then AVALANCHE taking greater precautions and the Turks catching them out anyway could be used to make both AVALANCHE and the Turks look more competent / dangerous. Maybe you could generously interpret SHINRA's apparent failure to catch our protagonists out as the corporation being a bloated wreck of greed and incompetent, overly reliant on their technology and wealth, but that still doesn't really excuse for me making the AVALANCHE characters look this reckless. Jessie later visits her SHINRA employees PARENTS' HOUSE in her TERRORIST UNIFORM??? JESSIE, NO!!! That's so dangerous.

There's so much detail in the backgrounds here already! If it's a matter of resources, surely some random mob NPC models could be cut so that I could see Jessie, Biggs, and Wedge in cute civilian wear outside of their missions! I am already suspending so much disbelief for so much of FF7's wacky worldbuilding, but these little details are what's really tripping me up for some reason, like, come on. SHOW ME that these characters are good at what they do by having them take some basic precautions.

I laughingly shared these thoughts with someone and they said (jokingly critical of the game as well) that Barret probably doesn't bother with secrecy because he's already apparently the only big black guy around and almost certainly the only big black guy with a gun for an arm. Which is a point! But also, BARRET!!! YOU'RE A FATHER!!! SUNGLASSES ARE NOT SUFFICIENT ANONYMITY HERE!!! THINK OF MARLENE, MAN!!!

#tossawary ff7 #cloud strife #jessie biggs and wedge #barret wallace #long post #spoilers

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luna-andra · 4 months

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The Shadows Return | Simon 'Ghost' Riley x OC Retired AU | Chapter 8: Compromise

Summary: Andra wants answers, and Ghost has to choose

Word Count: 6.5k

If this is the first time you're seeing this, Chapter 1 is here. You can find the rest on my masterlist!

Content: slow burn, eventual smut, 18+, fluff, mentions of mental health, mild violence

The clouds on the way home were overcast across the afternoon sky. Johnny left Andra with several things to think over, bringing her back to a familiar train of thought from five years ago.

He gave her the same look that stirred shame in her belly. She didn’t like being on a different level of rationality – or lack thereof – with the people once close to her.

It was declared by the officer that showed up there was no indication of foul play. The possibility of an incompetent and inconvenienced officer being sent to her call was in the forefront of her mind, and also the possibility of any traces of someone’s presence could have been washed away from the thunderstorm by the time they came out to investigate. The whole process of filing the report gave her no peace of mind, but she took the advice of setting up surveillance seriously.

A precautionary that she should have done ages ago.

The quiet, quaint life out on the farm had soothed her troubled worries all of these years, making her forget for a moment what it was like to live looking over her shoulder every moment. She wasn’t naïve, no, she knew how to take care of herself when the seldom case of harassment arose. Andra should have never gotten so comfortable the way she did.

Her foot pressed down heavily on the brake pedal as she waited at a stop light to rub the exhaustion from her eyes. She was just a few more turns from home, she reminded herself. The caffeine she had ingested all throughout the morning was threatening a big crash.

Andra drove slowly down Middleton Lane as she spotted the first right turn to the private dirt road of Ghost’s property. Then her truck came to a full stop. You know what-

Her hand turned the wheel right as her tires skid around the corner.

Andra didn’t know what she was doing, or what she would exactly say to him, but she needed to know what was going through his head.

Andra parked behind his truck and turned the key out of the ignition. She paused for a few seconds to take a breath and gather at least the first sentence that would come out of her mouth.

Her phone vibrated.

I’m in the garage.

Of course Ghost knew Andra had arrived, another sign that she definitely needed to do the same thing to her property. Cameras and motion sensors.

She shut the door behind her as she made her way to the garage off to the right of his house. One of the metal double doors was left cracked open, and she could hear the metal clink of a tool being put down.

The garage was Ghost’s own personal auto shop, with an incomplete classic-looking car taking up majority of the left. The wall was lined with tool boxes, yard tools, and almost a pallet’s worth of army green ammo cans. To the right, a rudimentary gym setup took up another portion of space, with a bench press, a high pull-up bar, seemingly crafted and welded together amateurly, and a rack of assorting dumbbells and plates to complete it all.

Ghost was hunched over the open hood of the car, one hand on the lip of the hood as he kept his attention on whatever he had been working on before Andra’s unannounced arrival.

“Is this your way of letting me know that you’re pushing me away again?” Andra sharply said to the backside of Ghost.

Ghost tossed a tool onto the toolbox on his left side and retrieved a rag, wiping grease from his stained hands. His muscles tensed in his back as he turned to Andra’s direction. “Today has been a really tense day. I wanted to give you some space to come down from last night.”

Andra clenched her jaw. “I don’t need space, I need answers. I feel like I’ve been kept in the dark about something I have no control over.”

“That’s because you don’t.”

She could feel her blood simmering already. Not how she wanted this to go. “I don’t because you never gave me the choice to take control.” Andra couldn’t recognize the person she was talking to. His stare was cold and dark. If his goal was to anger her into cutting her losses with him, it wasn’t going to work. “You didn’t tell me anything because we lost touch the first time, fine, I get it. But you went ahead and told Johnny? That’s what I can’t get passed.”

Ghost trudged out of the garage with Andra following behind him. “He and I had an eye on things. We had it under our thumbs.”

Andra tossed her hands up. “Had what exactly?” Her voice echoed all around them. “What the hell is going on with you?”

He turned back to her, stopping her in her tracks before bumping right into him. Ghost peered down to her, his eyes burning the same heat. “What do you want from me? You want me to take back what I did?”

Her fists clenched hard enough for her nails to dig into her palm. “No, I just want you to stop being such a hard ass and talk to me.” Her carotid artery strained against the muscles in her neck. “Tell me what you think is going on and we’ll deal with it together.”

He flinched as if her hand flew across his face.

“You keep acting like you’re looking for an excuse to push me away, for an excuse to leave.” Andra’s chest rose and fell with a heavy rhythm. “You act as if one morning I’ll wake up and you won’t be here, and you’ll just be a memory for me.”

His eyes squeezed shut as his own breath left him.

“You’ve thought about it, haven’t you? Leaving without another word, taking your shadows with you.” There was a shiver in her voice.

“I have.” Ghost finally answered. “I could leave in a moment’s notice. I’ve done it before.”

Andra didn’t doubt him. She had done it herself, she knew how easy it was to pack a couple of bags and leave. “What’s stopping you this time?”

Ghost opened his eyes to meet hers.

She scoffed and turned away from his silent response. The wind picked up and wisps of her hair flew around her face. She had to squint her eyes at the unbearable overcast sunlight. “I was able to forgive you for cutting me off the first time. I shook it off because there was no expectation for you to keep in contact after fixing my truck. Then you came back, and I thought you wanted me in your life, and maybe we even had something. Cool. Great, even.

“But when you brought up the transpiring events, the person driving up our street and telling me there have been people on my property?” She shook her head. “You think you’re handling this on your own but you’re not. I won’t let you. Either you let me know what’s going on, or you’ve lost my trust.”

His eyes were unreadable when she saw him once more.

Andra reached into her pocket and flipped her keys into her palm, the key ring sitting on her index finger as she clenched them tight. “I’ll see you around, Ghost. If you figure out what you want to do, you know where to find me.”

The screen door smacked the side of the house harder than it should. Andra wasn’t paying attention. Her face still felt hot with anger. Sammy darted outside for her chance to do what she does, leaving her alone in the house.

The air felt thick, charged with energy that wasn’t there when she woke up the morning before. Or maybe it was her mind messing with her. Either way, her house felt compromised.

The tears collected in her eyes out of nowhere, and she quickly wiped them away. This is stupid. She felt ridiculous for letting it get to her. For letting a shattered window re-surface the fear that drove her away to another country.

This was all going to blow over. The tracks in the woods were a random coincidence, the car meant nothing. And the rock flying into her window was just a freakish feat of nature. She’s witnessed some heavy storms in the countryside in her years of living here. It wouldn’t be the first time something has sustained damage on her property, and it was bound to happen again.

“Be kind to yourself.” Andra whispered to herself as she kicked her shoes off, remembering what she was taught in therapy and from self-help reading. However, being kind to herself was proving difficult with the lingering anger from talking to Ghost.

The nerve of him.

But also, the nerve of her. She felt the weight of her corrosive past. An affliction, threatening to dismantle the life she had built. It had to be irrational, she was no one. She wasn’t worth being tracked down, right? That’s the rhetoric she kept force feeding herself. They had succeeded in getting rid of her, she made sure of it. At this point, if anyone wanted to pursue in finishing the job, she would end up burning a hole in their dirty wallets.

And if Ghost was going to play the need-to-know card, two can play that game.

She stopped in her tracks as she walked into the kitchen, catching a glimpse of the black trash bag covering her window. It crinkled and swayed inward and outward with the passing wind. The ever-growing chasm in her chest was making itself comfortable, and she couldn’t stand it.

-----

Ghost knew Johnny would stop calling after the second time he reached his voicemail. The third call in a row told him that he better answer the phone. His heavy hand reached out to the nightstand for his phone, swiped his thumb across the screen and pressed it against his ear, eyes closed. “Yes, sir.”

“You broken, Simon?”

Price’s gravelly voice came through the speaker on his phone, and it was like a splash of cold water on him. It was a question he was familiar with Price asking, except he’s no longer checking for missing limbs or hemorrhaging blood loss. Ghost sat up on the edge of his mattress and rubbed the exhaustion from his eyes. “M’solid.”

“When’s the last time you got a full eight hours of sleep?” Price asked.

Ghost took a quick glance at the time on his phone before returning the receiver to his ear. “I was getting’ rest before you woke me up.” He was only asleep for two hours, and his pounding head reminded him that it had been a restless 72 hours.

Price doesn’t reach out very often. The captain – along with the other lads – will dedicate an amount of time out of the year to catch up with the former task force in person. It was an annual event of spending the holidays doing anything but celebrating Christmas and New Years. When he hears from Price before November, it’s because he’s been tipped off on Ghost’s concerning behavior.

“Soap tells me you’re acting barmy, you think you’re being followed, son?”

There it was.

Ghost didn’t respond for a few beats, his feet felt like lead against the cold wooden floor. “A couple of events transpired, would put you on edge, too.”

He could hear a deep sigh come from the other end of the line, and it had Ghost clench his jaw. “Get yourself to an appointment or a meeting, or I’ll bring the meeting to you.”

Price’s demand sent a wave of guilt and shame through Ghost. The memories of being pulled up off the living room floor and thrown into his tub flashed behind his heavy eyelids. Price, Johnny and Gaz showed up. Ghost reeked of alcohol and piss. They had him hauling bags of sand back and forth from his backyard to the range on his property for several hours, making him sweat and puke the remains of alcohol in his system.

“I’m still sober.” Ghost gritted his teeth. He made Ghost sound like an addict.

Price clipped his words, “See your doctor, and get out of bed for a sweat.”

Ghost opened his eyes to the void of his darkened room and sighed. “I’ll set up an appointment today.”

“Good lad.” Beep-beep-beep went the line as Price disconnected the call.

Sleep had eluded Ghost once more. He sat there at the edge of his bed and rolled his neck, failing to relax the knotted muscles at the base of his neck. His eyes burned, and his headache pressed down on every surface of his skull. He felt an irritation for Price waking him up, but rationality told him it wasn’t his fault.

Since sleep was out of the question, Ghost stood up and peered out the bedroom window. The sun wasn’t due to come up for another couple of hours, but he insisted to listen to Price’s advice. Get a workout in, then when the office opened, call doc to get that appointment.

His feet were heavy as he shuffled to the bathroom. Ghost always looked down to the basin of the sink before turning on the lights, avoiding the reflection staring back at him. He watched as his hands gripped the edge of the counter. Scars littered his knuckles, the skin over bone splitting open too many times for him to count.

It was when he was sick of looking at the reminders of his violence when he slipped and the person he hated stared back with cold, dead eyes.

You’ve tried killing me so many times, but fail every single time. You need me. You need the mask. You need it to hide so there’s never a chance to hurt again. You don’t deserve her. You try and pretend to be someone worthy of a teaspoon of affection, but you’re not what she needs. You’re filthy. You’re-

The glass shattered against his fist as he struck as quick as an asp. He hissed between clenched teeth, cursing as the reached for a towel and covered his bleeding knuckles.

If one thing was for certain, his reflection was right.

He didn’t deserve her.

-----

Andra flipped closed the back end of the book and placed it on her blanket covered lap to rub her tired eyes. Every night she would read The Operators when it was evident she wouldn’t be getting peaceful rest, or when something had her jolting awake. She had no clue how many hours she had slept in the past couple of days; definitely not enough to keep her from loading up on caffeine and making her debate breaking her years of being nicotine-free.

She could hear the roosting of her birds out in the coop. Andra leaned her head back against the headboard and sighed. There wouldn’t be time to try and fall asleep. Her day had to start.

After the morning chores, Andra headed inside for another cup of coffee. She stared out of her newly replaced window, out into the distance. It was hard not to; it was as if something – or someone – was going to come storming out from the brush and trees. All remained quiescent in those groves, as logic would have it.

The rattling sound of her plastic phone case vibrating against the countertop broke her focus. She swiped her finger across the screen and pressed the speaker button. “What’s up, Johnny?”

“I need to ask a favor.”

His voice was hushed and the words were muddled like he had the phone pressed against his mouth, and she could hear the workings of the auto shop in the background.

“I need you to go check on Ghost for me, he called out of work this morning.”

Andra felt her chest and throat tighten all at the same time. Johnny wasn’t aware of the fallout between her and Ghost from the sound of it. Or if he did, he must be extremely concerned for Ghost’s silence. I figured he would be used to it by now… she thought bitterly. “You need me to go immediately?”

“Take yer time, a mate of ours reached him this mornin’. Just pop over there when you get a chance. Gotta go, text me.”

The line went dead before Andra could say bye. She released a heavy sigh after taking her first sip, her fingers tapped against the countertop as apprehension churned in her gut.

Maybe Ghost took their last conversation as motivation for him to actually leave.

Tears pricked in the corner of her eyes, and she rubbed them away with her thumb and index finger, pushing her fingers together to pinch the bridge of her nose. She didn’t want their relationship – friendship – whatever they had, to end on that note. Fuck, I messed up.

She took a deep breath to regain composure. You don’t know if he’s gone. Andra decided she would go by after her run to the post office to pick up her package. With a quick rinse of her empty coffee mug, she headed to the front door to collect her keys and purse.

The sound of gravel crunching and a vehicle engine made her pause in her tracks. Her heart raced, she could feel her adrenaline dump. Her shaky hand moved aside the curtain to look out the window beside the door, and the sight of Ghost’s truck had her releasing a heavy breath.

It took everything in her not to throw the door open and run to him. She took another grounding breath and unlocked the door, opening it to Ghost preparing to knock.

Andra swore her heart was going to burst. The look in his eyes mirrored the same surprise she displayed. The discernible presence of a bandage wrapped around Ghost’s hand caught her attention in the corner of her eye.

He noticed where her eyes fell to, and shoved it in the pocket of his jacket. “You got a minute to speak?”

His voice sounded like sandpaper. He looked just as sleep deprived as she felt. Andra couldn’t say anything, so she just nodded. She closed the door behind her and opted to sit on the wooden bench, leaving a space for Ghost to sit beside her. He never did, instead he decided to lean against the railing, his ankle crossed over the other.

Seconds passed before anything was said. “I’m not good with words, you’ll have to bear with me.”

Andra folded her legs beneath her and clasped her hands together. Her eyes remained on him as she waited to hear him out.

His head tilted down. “I gave a lot of thought to what you said, about losing your trust.” He rolled his neck, rolling the nerves and giving him a chance to think. “And I realized, taking a bullet is far less painful than that.”

Andra could see his adam’s apple bob in his throat underneath the fabric of his mask as he tilted his head back with closed eyes. She felt her throat tightening, and had to swallow to relieve the ache.

“So, I’ve come to terms with if I want to mend what I had with you, I’m going to have to find a way to tell you what you need to know.” Ghost’s eyes found hers, searching for a response.

She gave him a subtle nod, letting the words sink in. “How are you going to do that?”

Ghost uncrossed his ankles and took the two steps to sit beside her. It was a struggling few seconds for him to begin speaking. “Did you ever pick that book back up?”

Andra was confused by the approach he was taking, but went with it. “Yeah, I finished it actually.”

"Did the author talk about some of his assignments?" Ghost asked patiently.

She recalled what the author was able to talk about and reveal. "Not specifics, but he went in detail with Selection, and then the training thereafter and some events that happened in the 80s in Northern Ireland."

He nodded as he listened. "What did the training entail?"

"Physical training, a lot of sleep deprivation, weapons and vehicle tactics, photography, interrogation..." Andra's words drifted as she continued her recollection. She wouldn't say this out loud, but it was a dry read.

Ghost cut in at the mention of the last topic. "Interrogation, okay." His shoulders rose and fell as he let out a deep breath, and his hands flexed over and over. "I've been on both ends of being interrogated. Not just in training, but out on the field." His red-rimmed eyes aged several decades, and her chest grew heavy. "And there were times the bars and stars – officers that outranked me and my team – had ordered us to let go of the person we had just roughed up.

"They were dangerous people, Andra, do you understand what I'm trying to say?"

Andra was piecing together why Ghost had given her that book to read. It was more than just what was on the surface. The selection process, the training, the assignments, the images in the book illustrating the teams with black lines redacting their eyes. It occurred to her then when she was reading it all, Ghost was another one of the SAS operatives that had an alias, he had paperwork with his name on it that contained redacted information on what he and his team had accomplished, but now discussing it all solidified it for her.

Not only him, but Johnny as well, and Johnny had brought up a few other names. People that were also special forces.

It was sobering. She never took the time to sit with all of this information and come to terms that these men had enemies that went deeper than just being from differing nations. Enemies that may or may not still be alive out there, preying on the downfall of the men she had come to know.

“Has anyone ever found you or Johnny?” Andra asked with a tremble in her throat.

“No.” He answered definitively. “And I would like to keep it that way.”

Andra nodded, as she fully agreed with him.

Ghost leaned back against the bench. “I truly never intended to alarm you and bring you to endless conclusions. I wish I could take it back, my foolishness, everything.”

“You can’t help that, though.” Andra defended. “It was a really messed up chain of events.”

There was a pregnant pause. “I have moments like these when there are too many coincidences happening at once. I’ve been working on how I handle it.”

Andra turned to him. “Do you… talk to someone about it?” She felt hesitant to ask.

Ghost’s eyes slid back to her. “Does that bother you?”

She shook her head swiftly. “No, oh Gods, no I didn’t mean it that way.” Her hands covered her face for a moment. “That was wrong of me to ask.”

Ghost reached for one of her hands. “You have every right to know, doll.” The calloused pad of his thumb brushed the top of her hand. She could feel a tremor in his touch.

It would have warmed her heart had it not been for the churning contrite souring her stomach. He had every right to know, too, but how would she even begin to tell him?

His injured hand was holding hers. She took this opportunity to distract herself from the guilt eating at her. “What happened to your hand?”

“Ridiculous accident with some glass.” He answered too quickly. Andra could feel him wanting to recoil, but he continued to let her hold his hand. Her peripheral vision gave her a peak of Ghost studying her face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look exhausted.”

Andra let go of his hand and rubbed her eyes. “I really haven’t been sleeping. Every little noise wakes me up, and I lay there for hours.”

Ghost’s eyes turned serious. “What can I do to remedy that?” Andra started to shake her head. “No, I’m responsible for this. Name it, I’ll do what I can.”

“I was actually on my way to go pick up a security system I ordered from the post office.” Andra raised her hand with her set of keys jingling.

Ghost stood from the bench, Andra followed in suit. “That I can do.”

Her smile returned. If it was one thing Andra was certain about Ghost, acts of service was how he communicated his apologies. It was easier to demonstrate with his hands than words.

After picking up the hefty box of camera and motion sensor equipment, Andra worked around the farm after her and Ghost discussed where the best places to set up the cameras would be. He got it done in less than a few hours, giving them time to pick up food together.

As they traveled, she remembered Johnny was waiting for an update from her.

Ghost is fine, we’re picking up food.

“So, you read the book in the past three days?” Ghost asked to start up chatter. Look who’s talking more now.

She hummed. “I read when I can’t sleep, and found it sitting there on the table before I locked up for bed.” Andra glanced at him. “What do you do when you can’t sleep?” Her phone vibrated with a response.

Thank you.

Ghost shrugged. “I lay there hoping I fall asleep.”

“I would get so bored.” Andra confessed, tapping her hands on her thighs. “You don’t even scroll through Netflix or something to try and turn your brain off?”

“I don’t have Netflix.” He responded.

Andra shook her head and blinked. “Remind me to give you my login.”

“I don’t watch TV or movies.”

Now she was looking at him like he was crazy. “You’re lying. You’re a liar.”

He rolled his eyes. “I do watch movies, but they’re all old war movies or westerns on DVD.”

Andra narrowed her eyes. “What are you, fifty?”

Ghost chortled. “I have a while before I hit fifty, thank you for that.”

“How long is a while?” Andra smirked. “Five years or six months?” His mouth opened, but she kept going. “Wait, I bet you have M.A.S.H. all on DVD, don’t you?”

“There’s nothing wrong with M.A.S.H.” Ghost defended.

“Yeah, when you’re as old as my dad and watching it on your days off as you doze on the living room couch at eleven in the morning.”

“You’re pushing your luck, doll.” Ghost warned with a grin in his voice. “Let me put it this way, I joined the Royal Air Force after the events of 9/11.”

Andra’s face went slack and her eyes were as wide as saucers. She turned to the passenger window with a hand pretending to scratch the side of her head and wondered if he would be weirded out if she told him she was in grade school during 9/11.

Her silence was loud in the cabin. “We’re not that far apart in age if you know M.A.S.H.” Ghost resumed.

Andra raised an eyebrow at him. “Are you saying I look old?”

“No.” His accent thickened as his voice dropped. “I didn’t say that.”

She was having too much fun busting his chops. “We have a tad bit of an age gap,” she demonstrated with her thumb and index finger with a small gap, “I’m a ninety’s baby.”

He narrowed his eyes. “Three years is a tad of an age gap, not a whole decade.”

Andra rolled her eyes. “Is this what I have to look forward to in my thirties?” She laughed at the flash of astonishment as he panned a look at her. “I’m kidding! Well, kind of, but I’ll be thirty next summer.”

Ghost smoothed his hand over his covered mouth. “You’re killing me, woman.”

“Best stay on top of those heart meds then – ooh!” Andra shot forward and was caught by her seatbelt from Ghost slamming the breaks harder than normal. “You’re gonna cause an accident, sir.”

After a few beats of silence, Ghost changed the subject. “I hope the camera system will give you some peace of mind.”

“I’m sure it will.” She nodded with a hopeful smile.

Ghost ran inside the chip shop they ordered from while Andra sat in the truck to keep it running. Her head tilted back onto the head rest as she stared up at the roof of the truck. The lack of sleep was catching up to her, and now that there was less of a problem with surveillance around the farm, she felt the muscles in her shoulders relaxing.

The sudden sound of the driver door opening had her jerking back awake. She attempted to cover up the fact that she had dozed off in his truck with a little stretch of her legs.

Ghost handed her the bag of food without noticing her brief second of sleep and drove back to her house.

-----

“I get why you go to this place.” Andra spoke in between eating in the living room with him. “It’s not bad.”

“It’s also because Johnny has been getting us discounts from his little girlfriend.” Ghost wiped his mouth with a crumpled napkin.

Andra looked over the app on her phone that connected her to all of the cameras on her property. The feed looked really good, giving her confidence that she could point out important details if she ever had to. She switched to the camera that aimed at the dirt driveway with both trucks sitting outside. Her thumb and index finger spread across the screen to utilize the zoom feature; she was able to read off the license plate numbers from each truck.

“Thank you again for setting up the cameras.” Andra locked her phone and placed it down on the coffee table.

Ghost covered the lower half of his face back up with the balaclava as he finished his own meal. “Thank you for letting me.”

Her heart fluttered at the sudden drop in his voice. His eyes were set on her when she turned to look at him. Despite not being able to see his expression, she could feel a softness in his brown eyes.

“Let me get these out of the way.” Ghost insisted as he began to collect the takeout containers. Andra sucked down the last of her drink in her Styrofoam cup and tossed it into the bag Ghost was using.

Andra slipped a hand in the back pocket of her jeans. “You staying for a little while?”

“I can.”

She felt some relief for having to spend less time by herself for the evening.

While Ghost did his thing, Andra browsed her bookshelf in search of a new read.

“Anything interesting?” Ghost asked as he returned.

Andra chose Dune from the shelf. “Maybe.” She returned to her designated reading lounge chair and curled her legs up. “How far did you get with The Outsiders?”

Ghost scratched the back of his head. “Maybe the first fifty pages.” Then, he tilted his head. “How did you know I had it?”

Andra smirked. “It was gone the following morning after you left.”

Did she have him flustered? The indecisive glance to the couch and back to the front door then back to the kitchen was amusing enough to have her grinning.

“I have it in the truck, actually. Be right back.” Ghost made his way outside, letting in a kissing, chilly breeze.

It must have been the book she chose, or the way she receded back into the cushions, but she felt the wave of sleepiness return back. Or maybe it was Ghost’s presence, knowing he was only a few feet away on the couch with Sammy next to him. He emitted an aura that Andra could only classify as comfort. Safety.

She knew he was safe to fall asleep around, she knew he would keep her safe.

Andra flinched out of the sleep she was slipping into and let out a disappointed sigh. Her book was still in her hand, but the pages were damp from the warmth of her fingers holding them in place. She closed the book, not worried about where she left off because she wasn’t paying attention anyway and softened her movements as she looked to her right.

Ghost’s head lulled to one side from the upright position he fell asleep in, his arms crossed over his chest and his own book sitting on the table with Sammy resting in her own bed by the window. The heavy breath he suck in and released told her he was deeper in that sleep than she was.

How is he sleeping with the mask on? Andra wondered.

With light movement, Andra rose from her chair and padded quietly to the hallway closet to retrieve a blanket. He looked as tired as she felt halfway through the day, and she wasn’t about to wake him up and send him home. She unraveled the blanket and moved to lay it over Ghost just above his arms and below his collarbone.

But his awareness was more keen than Andra had anticipated. Ghost reached out, throwing the blanket off and swiped her wrists single-handed. The room went spinning, and she let out a small yelp as her back met the bottom cushions of the couch, his grasp securing her wrists above her head.

Ghost’s eyes were wild with alert, then widened as he realized who he just wrestled down. It startled her at first, but out of nervousness a chortle escaped. Then a chuckle, and confusion wrinkled Ghost’s eyebrows.

She probably looked insane to him. She was supposed to be frightened, but all she was was dizzy. And too aware of how his body hovered over her. The grip on her wrists eased up but remained there. Her giggles dissipated, along with whatever she was about to say. She was too absorbed by Ghost’s eyes darting all over her face, and she wasn’t too sure, but she was almost certain he kept looking to her mouth.

Before Andra could register what she was doing, she pressed her lips against the teeth of the skull pattern on his mask, hitting her mark as she felt his lips beneath. Ghost pulled away like she had put his hand in an open flame, his eyes widened. Oh shit, what have I done –

His empty hand shoved up the fabric of his balaclava and he smashed his mouth against hers. Heat blazed through her face, molten liquid flooding her core as she took in every sensation overwhelming her. The fierce hunger of his kiss. The friction of their bodies pressed against each other. The solid grip Ghost had on her wrists.

She couldn’t get close enough to him. Her leg attempted to hook around his waist, but only succeeded in wrapping around a thigh that nestled its way between her legs.

He couldn’t pull himself away, and instead fed the part telling him to nudge his knee where she wanted it. Ghost freed her hands to grip the thigh pulling him in, giving her free reign to cradle his stubbled jaw. His fingertips worked divots into the fabric of her jeans, earning a small sound from her tightening throat.

Andra hoped there would be marks later left where he was squeezing.

Her tongue slipped out between her lips and playfully swiped across his mouth. Oh fuck, the sound that just came from him… Andra had never heard arousal so delicious before.

All of Ghost was crashing through her like a freight train. His taste, his heat, his sounds. Her head felt like it’s been shoved underwater, and she has no intentions surfacing for air. Not when drowning in all of him felt this good.

Ghost reciprocated her invitation and found his tongue pushing through the slit of her lips. She felt her own arousal winding tightly in her warmth. Anything more was likely going to set her off. There’s no way I’m coming just from this, she cursed herself.

Ghost pulled away, hit hot breath fanning over her face. He moved his free hand to his mask, but it remained there. One second, two seconds. His mouth slackened into a frown, lips parted with labored breathing. The trance had been broken between the two. He retreated from where he had Andra pressed into the couch, his hands ran down his face and stayed there as he battled with himself.

Andra adjusted her shirt as she sat up and gave him a nudge of space. “Hey,” she softly said as she brought his hands down, cradling them in her own. “You don’t need to.”

“I want to.” He rasped, breathless from their kiss. “I don’t know why, but I can’t.”

“It’s okay.” She took his hand away from his face and stroked his knuckles with her thumb.

Ghost blinked a few times like he was waking up from a dream. “I shoved my tongue in your mouth.” He stated, a little too forward. His words had heat rushing to her face. “The least I can do I show you who is beneath this.” He gestured to the mask covering half of his face, a bitterness in his words directed to his disguise.

Andra slowly raised her hands to the bottom half of his revealed face. He flinched away from the contact, but settled as she let her thumbs brush against the stubble on his jaw. She made no subtle movements; just exploring the craters and slits across his skin.

Ghost watched her silently, attentively, his eyes flickering back and forth. She can feel the intensity, a man questioning the intentions of the woman touching him, holding the privacy and secrecy he clings to. He sucked in a breath as she took hold of the balaclava and didn’t exhale until Andra had pulled it back down over his face.

“If you’re not ready, then you’re not ready.” She affirmed.

His bandaged hand brushed Andra’s disheveled hair behind her ear. Ghost leaned in and pressed his covered mouth against her forehead. Andra gave him a meek grin as he pulled away.

Andra felt this moment building up to a goodbye, but she took his hand again. “You can stay here for the night. I don’t want you driving back even if it’s just down the street.”

He reached down on the floor and picked up the blanket. “If that’s alright with you, I’ll take up the couch-”

“Sleep on a bed, for gods’ sake.” Andra nodded her head to the stairs. “I have an extra room upstairs.”

Thankfully, Ghost didn’t argue. Heavy feet dragged themselves up the stairs, Sammy following them both. They took pause as both turned to each other from across the hall. There was so much she wanted to say, but the brief, drowsy goodnight that was exchanged had them retreating into their respective rooms. Andra leaned against the closed door, clouds in her head and lips swollen with the phantom sensation of their catalyst.

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princessmisery666 · 19 days

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Retirement Plan

Summary: After Six rescues Claire, there are no mission details to follow, no designated escape route, and no arranged extraction. However, Donald planned for the day Six would learn there is more to the Sierra Program than dangerous operations and battle scars.

Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, drink spiking, canon-type violence, flirting, murder, flashbacks.

W/C: 8.5k

Characters: Sierra Six, OFC, Claire Fitzroy, Lloyd Hansen, Donald Fitzroy.

Pairing: none. Platonic friendships.

A/N: first time writing for this fandom, please be kind. I know this is long but I didn't feel there was no good place to split it. I had to post before I lost the courage and decided I hated the whole thing.

Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch

Graphics: made by me on Canva// @slytherkins created the OFC image.

Master Lists: Main // Other Fandoms

2021

The multiple yellow warning triangles that line the road should be redundant after the big, bold, capitalized lettering warning of RADIATION RISK. PRIVATE PROPERTY. DO NOT ENTER. TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT THEN PROSECUTED (if you survive). Yet Six continues to drive. He hopes the warnings are an attempt to keep people out because he has little in the way of choices. It’s either risk radiation poisoning or…well, he doesn’t know what other option they have at the moment.

The alarm sounds, pulling Carmen’s attention from her task of scrubbing the internet of any trace of the man who just trespassed on her land. The screen switches from the split view to track the vehicle as it crosses the property line. Shit.

Six wonders if Claire got the coordinates wrong. He’s been driving on an uneven dirt road for well over a mile, surrounded by nothing but trees to the right and chest-high grass to the left. He can’t blame the kid, Donald made her memorize coordinates and a random password during a stressful situation. He’d understand if she got confused or misheard him. But Six is not about to wake her to check the intel for the hundredth time.

The car isn’t speeding, so it’s not an emergency, but its occupant still shouldn’t be here. She rushes up the basement stairs, unclipping the safety button on the sheath holding the knife on her hip. The stairs lead directly into the sitting room, and she grabs the gun from under the couch, checking the magazine as she walks toward the front door. Before stepping outside, she plucks the baseball cap off the hook in the entryway. The car is on the horizon, a quarter mile out, and she tucks the gun into the back waistband of her jeans, making sure her oversized shirt covers it.

The sun is quickly descending, and Six doesn’t want to drive this uneven path in the dark. The dirt road finally gives way to gravel, and Six sees the house. A figure steps out onto the porch, watching his arrival. He didn’t see any cameras, but there must be surveillance because how else would they know he was coming?

Gravel crunches beneath the tire, kicking up a cloud of white dust as the car pulls to a stop a little too close to the porch steps.

The engine cuts off, and Carmen cautiously waits for the occupier to step out, wondering how he knows about this place. Fitz would have called if there was trouble because no one else knew of her existence here.

Six looks at the woman through the window. Her long brunette hair fans out from under a navy blue baseball cap, concealing most of the right side of her face. Suspicious in itself but not cause for concern. Yet.

The tall blond man, who she knows only as Six, steps out of the car and eyes her suspiciously before uttering, “Password: Portal to another world.”

Fuck. Her throat tightens, and her chest constricts, feeling heavy with pain. The spoken words mean one thing. But still, she asks, “Fitz is dead?”

She sucks in a deep breath and waits for his reply. That she had a relationship with Donald is apparent from her reaction. He hates being the bearer of bad news, but he has to deliver it and nods once.

She knew this day was coming. It was only a matter of time. Fitz got too close to the kid - well, man now - and it wasn’t ever going to end well. She’d told Fitz as much on one of their many - almost daily - phone calls, and he always told her to stop worrying so much. Maybe she was too close to Fitz, too, because she constantly worried about the man.

A fat lot of good that did. He’s dead. And his protege/son/weapon is staring at her. She lets him stare. Everyone does. It’s human nature. She pushes back her shoulders, slipping off her baseball cap, and shakes her hair off her face as best she can without lifting her hands to aid the process. He’ll see that as a threat.

Six keeps his eyes on hers for a second, beautiful amber eyes that wouldn’t look out of place on a Hollywood star. His eyes fall to her nose and trace the deep scar, made by a sharp blade, running from the bridge of her nose, curling around her right cheek and up into her bottom lip.

He traces it twice before meeting her eyes again, and she returns the cap to her head. “Got somewhere for the kid?”

“Claire?” she asks, dipping to look into the car's window.

He nods again.

“Through the living room, upstairs, second door on the left.”

Carmen watches him gently rouse the girl, enough to get her to release the seat belt and allow him to scoop her up. Six winces as he stands, but he doesn’t let whatever pain it is stop him from carrying her into the house.

The walk to the stairs is painful. He’s probably popped some stitches by carrying her, but he doesn’t care. He grunts and groans as he climbs each step and pauses to catch his breath at the top. Thankfully, the corridor is short, and the door to the room is slightly ajar, allowing him to kick it open and shuffle in sideways.

“Six,” Claire groggily says as he places her on the bed. “Where’re we?”

He wants to let her rest some more, so he tells a white lie, “We’re safe,” because he’ll be damned if anything happens to her. He waits for her to settle again, rolling onto her side. To back up his statement, he does a bit of recon.

Carmen hears Six moving around while she waits for the coffee to brew. She can’t blame him for checking out the place. He’s never been here, doesn’t know her, and now Donald is gone. There’s one less person on the planet that he trusts. He’ll fall back on his extensive training and try to use whatever he can to his advantage.

Six doesn’t care about manners today. He doesn’t know this scarred woman even though she apparently knows Donald, so he searches the house and is not quiet about it either. There are weapons stashed in obvious places, and the hum of computers draws him down the open door at the bottom of the stairs. Eight steps lead to a concrete floor. Cautiously he walks down, and if he weren’t so damn tired, he’d probably have let out an appreciative whistle.

The place looks like a NASA command center, with four monitors, multiple tower systems, a large-screen TV, and Six’s photo on the middle screen. A program is running at speed, a jumble of white numbers and letters scrolling over a black box, and occasionally, images of the mess in Berlin pop up and then disappear. Why is she looking for him?

Carmen knows Six will find all of her weapon’s stashes. They aren’t that hard to find, and if he’s bold enough - which he is - he’ll walk down the stairs disguised as a linen closet that leads to the basement and see her computer system. He’ll make his own assumptions as to who she is.

Apparently, having decided to switch tactics, he sneaks up on her. She hears him just before he reaches for the gun in her waistband. As he pulls it free, she turns to face him. Using his lower body to pin her between him and the edge of the counter, he wraps a hand around her throat, cutting off her air. She hadn’t expected his assumption that she’s an enemy to hurt as much as it does, but he’s had a shitty few days, so she forgives his behavior. Although, she’s not going to go down without defending herself.

Raising the gun to her temple, his deceptively calm voice demands, “Who are you? Why is my face streaming on your monitors?”

Carmen doesn’t fight back, though she could if she wanted to. She’s as skilled as he is. One arm is trapped between their bodies, and the other rests on the marble countertop near the coffee pot. While he obviously doesn’t feel it, the small knife she pulled from the sheath as she turned is resting on the inside of his thigh.

When she doesn’t attempt to answer, he forces the heel of his palm into her larynx, compelling her to bend further backward to keep from passing out. She could grab the carafe and drench his face in scalding hot coffee, but it would only escalate the situation. Instead, her solution is to tap the hand wrapped around her throat three times, conceding.

He loosens his grip but doesn’t move. She gasps, sucking in much-needed air, and he allows her three deep breaths before he asks again.

“I just told that girl she’s safe. Are you gonna make me a liar?! Who are you?”

“I’m Sierra.” the pressure on her neck lightens further but doesn’t disappear. “Donald gave me strict instructions: if he doesn’t check in every two days, I’m to scrub the internet of any mention of you or anyone matching your description.” she pauses, giving him a second to process, but he’s still as a stone. “The agency has done their part, the news outlets have stopped running the story, but your little escapade in Berlin is still doing the rounds on the internet.”

Six remains in place, gun grinding into her temple, strained muscles fighting against the burn of fatigue, as he debates what to believe. It’s plausible but still doesn't answer his question.

“Do you work for the agency?”

“No. I work for Fitz. Off the books. Or at least I did.”

The coffee finishes brewing, and their labored breathing is the only sound for a tense moment. “Six,” she says, as softly as she can with his hand so close to being able to crush her windpipe.

He does not react, so she taps the blade resting on the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to his femoral artery, to make him aware of its presence.

“Let me go,” she demands.

He’s not ready to trust her or at least be calm enough for a rational conversation, so he keeps her pressed against the countertop.

As best she can, in her most professional voice, she utters the sentence she hopes will make him recognize her. “Oscar One to Sierra Six. Safe to talk.”

“Star,” he murmurs, letting his hand fall away and taking a half step back after putting the gun on the countertop beside her.

Cautiously eyeing him, she rubs her neck, greedily inhaling the oxygen he deprived her of. “Star?”

He’s not willing to explain and instead apologizes. “Sorry. I always imagined you as a short, rotund woman with glasses on the tip of her nose like a librarian.”

That’s a lie. He had never seen a picture of her, so all he had was imagination, and though librarians often came up, she was never short and rotund in his vision.

Carmen chuckles, rolling her eyes, “Yet you still flirted with me.”

He did flirt, and not because it gained him perks; fancier hotels, restaurant recommendations, a rush on an evac team when needed, but because it was nice to have someone to talk to who knew the job and, in a way, knew him. He shrugs with the smallest of smirks, denying nothing.

“Disappointed?” She asks, gesturing up and down her body.

His eyes travel the length of her body and back up to her eyes. “No. I’ve always had a thing for librarians.”

She laughs out loud, shying away from his gaze and turning back to pour the coffee. She’s not so sure he’d have flirted had he known what she looked like. “Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich.”

“Starving,” he says. The danger has passed, and now Six understands why Donald sent them here. Oscar One is a friend. Donald trusted her, and Six does, too.

The enormity of the realization hits him hard, and suddenly, his whole body aches. “Got somewhere I can freshen up?”

“Yeah, bathroom upstairs. Everything you need is in the closet in the bedroom, third door on the left.”

He leans around her, picks up the fresh mug of coffee, and smiles, but she doesn’t see it. Stirring sugar into her coffee, she uses it as a pretense to keep her face averted, but he senses it’s because he’s on the side with her scar. “Thank you.”

2019

The park had been relatively empty, but it’s growing in popularity as the proverbial lunch bell sounds at the bordering businesses. The benches surrounding the central attraction, a lake containing a large floating fountain, quickly become occupied with people reading newspapers, eating lunch, meeting friends, and scrolling their phones. Ducks, swans, a few geese, and greedy seagulls all vie for the spoils of the humans offering bread and seeds.

Six leisurely jogs laps around the lake. He’s not working on his cardio, which is good because he keeps having to slow down and dodge around people, but he is working.

The women, with babies in strollers, track his movement, whispering to one another and giggling whenever he passes and nods a polite greeting. They think he can’t hear their lewd comments and salacious musings, but the AirPods aren’t piping music. They’re providing a connection to his operation specialist.

At a safe distance from prying ears, he pulls his phone from his pocket. Pretending to press the screen as if making a call, he says, “Sierra Six to Oscar One, safe to talk.”

The voice comes back almost immediately. “Oscar One to Sierra Six confirmed, safe to talk.”

Translation: secure line. No one else, including top brass, is listening.

He heads toward a tree, making the most of the shade to unnecessarily stretch because he’s barely broken a sweat. He looks up at the blue sky, with no clouds in sight, and knows Oscar One can see him via satellite and the cameras located around the park. Though he has no idea as to her location, she is his eyes and ears. Essentially, she holds his life in her hands. If he needs a quick escape, he relies on her to provide the safest route.

“What’re you doing after this?”

She sighs dreamily, “There’s a bottle of red cooling in the fridge and a pizza with my name on it somewhere.”

“Want some company?”

“I’d love some,” she says wistfully, then chuckles it away, “but it might take you a while to get here.”

He sighs at the thought. Wine and pizza sound like a fun night to him, and it’d be nice to put a face to the name Oscar One. He knows that’s not her name, just like Six isn’t his name, though he much prefers Six to the name his father gave him.

He starts up a light jog again, going in the opposite direction around the lake, just to change things up a bit. “Where is here?”

“If I could tell you, I would.”

She means it, too. It would be nice to have company. She’s been alone for so long she’s acclimatized to the solace, but she was supposed to be a field agent and craves to be where the action is. But she lives vicariously through Six and makes the most of being able to take control of cameras around the globe to see what’s going on in the world.

Six believes her. They’ve established a good relationship over the sixteen years she’s been his Northern Star, as he likes to think of her. She’s helped him out of multiple sticky situations - she’s smart, calm in a crisis, and possesses great communication and observational skills - she’d be excellent in the field. Still, he’s glad she isn’t because he relies on her to be a guiding light to safety when he needs it.

Fitz speaks highly of her, sometimes too much, and Six believes him to be the reason they are paired together more often than not. It’s rare that he gets an assignment where she is not his partner, and he questions it whenever she isn’t. However, he still finds it inequitable that he has no idea what she looks like, yet she can probably see the mole below his left temple.

“It is unfair, you know.” he swerves around a businessman shouting into his phone. “That you know what I look like and where I am at any given moment.”

“It’s part of the job,” she reminds him, not for the first time. “I promise, one day, we’ll meet and share a pizza.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

Six continues his jog and listens to One tapping keys and humming along to the radio. He contemplates asking her real name, but a part of him likes the mystery of it. The story and images of her he creates in his mind are far more fanciable than the truth. Their stories are morbidly similar.

The lunch crowd dissipates, and Six completes twelve more laps before One pipes up again.

“Target identified,” One says at the same time Six spots him. “Southwest entrance, heading your way.”

With a light tone, “Bad guy identified,” Six confirms, returning to the tree to do some stretches, a little necessary this time.

The target doesn’t look like a typical bad guy. He’s clean-shaven with slicked-back hair and wearing an immaculately tailored suit and expensive shoes. He looks like a banker. Arguably, he’s probably as much of a crook as any easily identified ‘bad guy’.

“Is he a bad guy?” One wonders ruefully. “He’s just a whistleblower.”

Six isn’t one to get mixed up in feelings or emotions. He’s here to do a job. The assignment is basic: collect a document dropped ‘anonymously’ and then follow the mark.

One is accustomed to Six’s indifference when the conversation gets deeper or potentially contentious, so she provides her own answer. “It helps me to think of them as bad guys that deserve whatever the agency is going to do to them rather than potential good guys that are in the way of someone's agenda.”

Six understands the logic, but he’s never had much of a problem with it because whatever he’s tasked with is better than the alternative.

“He’s made the drop,” One informs him. “On the bench a hundred yards…”

A loud pop echoes around the park, and the smartly dressed man is no longer so well put together. A red dot blooms on his chest, and he falls to his knees. Someone screams, and Six takes a step to go after the file to complete the mission.

“HOLD!” One yells in his ear. It’s as frantic as he’s ever heard her, and he freezes. “I can’t see the shooter. I don’t have eyes.”

The first echo dies down, but another quickly follows. The already downed whistleblower takes a kill shot to his head. People begin to scatter in every direction except Six. He waits under the tree, hopefully out of sight of the killer, deciding on his next move.

“Six,” One impassively states. “I need you to be a civilian. Run.”

“The file.”

“Forget the file,” she grits. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes.”

“I need you to run, please,” she begs. “If you ever want to meet me for that pizza and wine, I need you to run.”

His Northern Star has never steered him wrong, so he doesn’t protest. He turns away from the bloody murder and runs in the opposite direction, following the crowd of scared civilians.

One is strictly professional, but the relief is in her tone. “I’m hacking the target’s phone. He took photos. I have the files.”

“Thanks for the save.”

“Always.”

2021

Carmen sits on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, listening to the running water upstairs. It’s odd to have a guest, let alone two, but she’s thankful for the company. She figures that now that Donald is gone, like Six and Claire, she doesn’t really have anybody left. Tears prick the corner of her eyes, but she dilutes them with a sip of scotch. It’s horrible stuff, something Fitz left behind, but she’s drinking it in his honor.

As Oscar One said he would, Six finds all he needs in the bedroom next door to where he set Claire down, including clothes and bandages. It’s been a long, stressful couple of days, and it’s not until he steps into the shower that he realizes he hasn’t asked her real name. Once he’s ready, in clean sweatpants that fit and a fresh white tee thrown over his shoulder that’s also his size, he seeks to remedy that situation.

The half-nakedness isn’t to show off his physique or to reassure Oscar One that they both have scars. It’s to let his freshly dressed wounds air dry. Luckily, he didn’t pull any stitches while carrying Claire.

The smell of bacon hits Six as he steps into the kitchen, mouth watering at the sight of the film-wrapped sandwich on the countertop. The whole thing is about two inches deep. Fluffy white bread holds chunks of white chicken mixed with salty bacon, sliced tomato, and the greenest lettuce he’s ever seen. Once he unwraps it and lifts a corner of the bread, he finds a healthy serving of mayonnaise.

Living alone is something Carmen is used to. Sometimes, she thinks the solitude surrounding her has helped fine-tune her hearing because she hears Six remove the film wrap from the sandwich and sniff it. “There’s chips in the pantry,” she calls from the porch.

The sandwich looks plentiful, so he takes it out to the porch sans chips. Crickets chirp, a distant bird sings as the night draws in, and Six walks to the edge of the porch, taking time to appreciate the spectacular view — trees and green as far as the eye can see. The world could end, and they’d never know.

“Find everything you need?” she asks.

“Yeah, thanks. How’d you know my size?”

“Donald Fitzroy,” she says, fondness and grief coating his name as she raises a glass of mahogany liquid to the fading sun. “He’d visit every couple of months, always had a suitcase of crap with him.”

Six walks across the porch, hoisting himself and his sandwich, to sit on the wide brick wall. “He knew I’d come here,” he concludes, looking out at the forest and the dirt road he drove up.

“He had a plan for everything.” She explains, “That was part of my deal, to stay on this side of the bars.”

Six turns to look at her again. Although she said she was Sierra, it hadn't occurred to him that Fitzroy could have found her the same way he found Six, on the wrong side of the law, rotting in a jail cell.

She continues, “I had to take you in if you ever needed it,” motioning with her half-empty glass to indicate all of his wounds and bruises, “and it definitely looks like you need it.”

She’s right. He had no plan other than rescuing Claire. After that, he had no idea what he was going to do. They drove as far as a full tank of gas took them, and when Claire fearfully asked him what they were going to do next, he had no answer. Claire was the one to offer the solution, and honestly, they had nothing to lose.

“I’m guessing you know my story,” Six states rather than asks, and she gives a slight nod. “How did Fitz recruit you?” He takes a huge bite of the sandwich and hums appreciatively around a half smile.

2000

Carmen shuffles inside the interrogation room, cuffs on her ankles and wrists. She understands the precaution, but it's ridiculous. Despite her crime, which she has never denied, she has no ill intentions against anyone.

Donald sits at the desk, laptop open, an official brown document folder beside it. He nods to the guard, who then backs out, closing the door behind him once she’s taken her seat.

“Hi,” he says with a gentle smile. “I’m Donald Fitzroy. I’m going to cut right to the chase.” He turns the laptop around, pulls a slip of paper out of the document wallet, and slides them both over to her. He watches her eyes flick over the instructions on the page and expects the cocked brow she gives him. “I need you to get me access to that.”

She doesn’t ask why. It’s not the first time an unidentified or lettered government agency has asked her to do such a thing, and she doubts it’ll be the last. She taps a few keys and bypasses the government’s supposed firewall - they really should find someone better equipped to build the thing - in forty-five seconds. If her hands weren’t cuffed, she’d pat herself on the back. It’s nice to know she hasn’t lost her touch during her incarceration. “What kind of access do you need?”

“View only is fine.”

Donald waits for her to ask what’s in it for her or why he wants it done. But she taps away at the keys. His eyes flick to the clock, and he waits a full five minutes before interrupting her concentration.

“It’s a tough one, huh?”

She shrugs, “Not really. I got in three minutes ago. I’ve been playing solitaire.” She turns the computer back to him with a playful smirk.

The screen shows him exactly what he expected it to show him, but regardless, he smiles. He knows he has the right person for the job and loves being right. He opens the document folder again. “Carmody, initial H, born nineteen eighty. Got your first taste of the correctional system in nineteen ninety-four, juvenile prison for cybercrimes, before we really understood what cybercrime was and hit the big leagues in nineteen ninety-eight, life without the possibility of parole for first-degree murder.”

She rolls her hands as best she can and bows her head as if thanking the audience. “At your service.”

“You're wasted here.”

“I do my part,” she argues, “I teach women who wouldn’t otherwise have a chance how to use a computer and software to give them better options when they get out. But seeing as you addressed me by my surname leads me to believe you know I take great offense to being called by my given name, which means you know more than you’d like me to know that you know, and all this,” the chains rattle as she motions toward the computer, “was a test.”

“Like I said, wasted.” Donald smiles. “You're two years in and never appealed the decision.”

She looks decidedly bored. After all, he’s only telling her things she already knows. She was there, she lived it, and she suspects he knows she didn’t appeal because it would have been a waste of everyone’s time and money.

Though, there is one thing he doesn’t know, so he asks, “Still think it was worth it?”

“Every goddamn day. I go to bed with a smile on my face and sleep like a baby.”

“Fair enough,” Donald nods, “I’d be the same. He deserved everything he got.”

“Actually, he deserved a slow, agonizingly painful death, but y’know,” she shrugs, “I was pressed for time.”

She’s deathly serious - excuse the pun - and Donald sees why the judge threw the proverbial book at her. She has no remorse, and in his opinion, rightfully so, but life imprisonment is a waste of her talent, talents of which he thinks can be adapted and grown.

“What would you say if I told you I could get you out of here and you wouldn’t be pressed for time should you encounter a similar monster?”

“I’d say tell me what I have to do.”

2021

It feels like a lifetime ago, the day Donald changed her life, and while Carmen talks about it, she gets lost in the memory. It’s bittersweet. She owes a lot to Donald Fitzroy and will do all she can to pay it back.

“I was in the field for just over a year before this,” she points at her face. Her pause is born of grief, a reminder of the life before she was mutilated.

There is and will forever be a before and after, like how people treated her or how she felt about herself. Society treats beautiful people differently. It isn’t, nor has it ever been right, but it was the way of the world, and as Sierra, she used it to her advantage. She’d never been exceptionally vain, but still, some days, she found it hard to look at herself. Even now, she has days when she’s bitterly angry about it.

Six recognizes her beauty, scars and all. She doesn’t strike him as a vain person, but he can understand how it must have affected her life. Sometimes, he’d get a glimpse of himself, passing a window or the stupid front-facing camera on his phone, and it’d take his breath away because he’d see his father.

Mirthlessly, she smiles, and a hint of bitterness seeps into her tone. “Can’t be inconspicuous with such a recognizable face, and I, for sure, thought they’d dump me back inside.”

“But Fitz kept you on.”

“I don’t know what story he fed the agency, but for all intents and purposes, I was gone, wiped off the grid. He set me up here, checked in almost every day, visited once every couple of months, and now I think I understand why.”

Six nods, agreeing with her line of thought. “He was building his retirement plan.”

“Not his,” Carmen corrects.

The scenery is no longer interesting and Six pulls his attention away from it to look at her because now he doesn’t understand her thought process.

“He was ensuring your retirement,” she says softly as if that will make the realization sting less. “There’s nothing in those wardrobes,” she points back inside the house, "that would fit Donald. They are all in your and Claire’s sizes. He’s been doing it for years, bringing new stuff and taking stuff that would be too small for her as she grew. Donald was never going to retire here, Six, or he never thought he’d get the chance, but he planned for you to be here.”

Sierras aren’t known for riding off into the sunset or surviving to the point of retirement age, but her assumptions and the evidence to back up her claims seem correct.

Six scoffs, the idea almost laughable. He doesn’t quite believe it was a plan, more of a fail-safe, to keep Claire protected should Donald ever meet his maker. Then again, why would Fitz bring clothes for Six if he didn’t expect Six to be Claire’s savior or perhaps guardian?

Contemplative silence lingers for a while, and the birds fall silent as the sun disappears and the nocturnal creatures begin to wake.

As with most Sierra operations, there’s never a paper trail. Most of it gets swept under the rug, so Carmen isn’t aware of the circumstances surrounding Donald’s death. Perhaps she’s better off not knowing. Ignorance is bliss, so they say. Six won’t offer the information without prompting, but in the twilight, she decides she’s not ready to hear it.

Eventually, the questions and quest for knowledge interrupt the thoughtful reminiscing, and Six has to ask, “How do you survive out here?”

“There’s a Walmart a couple of hours from here and a small town with a Farmer’s Market not too far from that. I do a monthly run, two if I can stretch it.”

“And no one knows you're here?” he questions skeptically.

“As far as I know, only Fitz,” she says, sipping her drink to douse the grief in her tone. “The only people who know I’m here now are you and Claire. There’s no family or friends.” She’s not bitter about the fact. Carmen smirks, “So if you want to off me and seize the place, it’s yours for the taking.”

“Maybe when I’m feeling better,” Six deadpans.

All joking aside, she looks somber. He's hiding it well, but there’s a slight wince to every movement, a noticeable slower pace for a man his size. “Last couple of days are starting to take their toll, huh?”

It’s a segue to, hopefully, get him to tell her what happened, but he’s not easily swayed.

He grumbles as he slowly pulls himself to the edge of the wall and takes his time to stand up. He stretches his arms high above his head, and Carmen watches until she realizes it could be misconstrued as checking him out and averts her eyes.

“Last couple of days or years,” he says, mid-stretch adding, “and Lloyd fucking Hansen.” as he drops his arms again.

Carmen's reaction is immediate. She shoots to the edge of her seat, distaste and hatred sneering at her lips. “Wait, Hansen was involved?”

The reaction isn’t surprising. Lloyd usually has that effect on people, but Six recognizes that it’s something deeper than having a run-in with the guy. “Yes,” Six tells her.

“Of course he was,” she snaps, lips tight with agitation. “I should have known, this shitshow has his fingerprints all over it!”

Her chest heaves with simmering anger while she fits the pieces together in her head. The CIA keeps Sierra-involved missions close to their chest, strictly off-book, so she hadn’t been able to garner sufficient information to understand precisely what happened.

“Was it…. Was he….” she can’t find the words because she already knows the answer. She’d always thought it inevitable that Lloyd would be involved in her grief again someday. “Donald,” she starts again, clearing her throat of emotion, “it was Hansen, wasn’t it?”

Six nods and chews his bottom lip before elaborating, “Fitz got shot in the escape. He wasn’t going to make it. He knew he was slowing us down. He cornered Hansen and some of his guys, then pulled a pin off a grenade.”

The anger yields to a mild hopefulness. “So Hansen is dead?”

Six nods, “The trash ‘stache is no more.”

Carmen smiles, satisfied. “That was too quick a death, but I’m glad it was Donald.”

“That’s not how he died,” Six explains.

The anger returns in the form of her hand gripping the chair's arm tightly, knuckles turning white. “What happened?”

Six recounts events from the takedown of Four to his rescue of Claire and Donald from the house in Croatia, taking them through a quarter bottle of scotch and three beers each. Carmen asks questions, and he answers them as best he can. She fills in some blanks on the Carmichael side, and it all helps to get Six’s thoughts in order and clarify a few murky details.

“Clarie blew off a few of Lloyd’s fingers. He burnt her face with a flare gun, and of course, if you know Lloyd and from your reaction, I assume you're acquainted, he tried to prove he was better than me. I beat him pretty good, but then Suzanne Brewer put one in his chest.”

“Fuck,” Carmen gripes, “he should have fucking suffered.”

“So you’ve definitely met the guy,” Six notes flatly.

She meets his gaze with a heavy sigh. “I had the displeasure a few times.”

Six isn’t one to pry, but he’s shared details about himself, okay, more so about the mission he was involved in, but he put everything on the line to save Claire and Donald, though he failed the latter. He knows that tells Carmen a lot about him, more than he’d willingly share with most people.

He isn’t staring at her scar. He’s mesmerized by her eyes, momentarily lost in trying to figure out if they are amber in color or if the orange-tinged sky reflects in them. She gives him little time to decide, shying away, but he uses a gentle finger beneath her chin to bring her gaze back to his. “Is Hansen the one who did that?”

She doesn’t need to answer. The wriggling out of his grip and avoiding eye contact to look at her fidgeting hands in her lap is enough confirmation, but she takes a deep breath and gives him a half smile. “If you wanna hear about it, we’re gonna need more booze.”

2003

Being a cog in the Sierra machine has its perks. Not being stuck in an eight-by-eight cell is an obvious one, but seeing different corners of the world, having fun pretending to be someone else, fine dining, and luxury hotels were top of the list. There were drawbacks, too. Having to be incognito and traveling to distant places usually meant cargo planes, which weren’t exactly first-class service, but Carmen never complained. Donald had given her a second chance, and she’d never take it for granted.

Except when she had to team up with Lloyd Hansen.

“Fitz, c’mon! Why am I here?” she whines into the phone. The fact that she’s lying in the middle of a queen-size bed staring up at a half-million dollar chandelier in the penthouse suite of a hotel in Dubai isn’t lost on her. She’s grateful for the opportunity but sick of being Lloyd’s maid.

“He asked for you.”

“He asked for me? That means he’s already screwed it up, and I’m here to clean up his mess. Again! Isn’t it about time you locked him up and threw away the key?” she asks, already knowing the answer. He’s a sociopath, psychotic at times, but nine times out of ten, he’s effective - until he isn’t. “This is the third time I’m cleaning up his mess, and the last time he almost blew my cover acting like a petulant child ‘cause he didn’t get his own way.”

“He’s a petulant child because he likes you,” Fitzroy tells her, not for the first time.

The idea of having Lloyd’s affection makes her skin crawl. He’s all mustache and sharp edges. “That’s not a compliment,” she says.

Fitzroy sighs, and she imagines him running a hand down his face. “Don’t worry, this will be the last time, I swear. I have his replacement ready to go,” he explains in a hushed whisper, not wanting to be overheard from his office.

Curiosity peeks, and though she knows he won’t give her concrete details, she asks, “Sierra?” Lloyd isn’t technically part of the Sierra program. He was kicked out pretty early during the process, but he has friends high on the food chain.

“Uh-huh,” he confirms. “Six. He’s excelling in the program. Almost better than you.” The teasing smile filters into his tone. “I just need to get him on a few smaller missions before I set him loose. And he has a full beard, like a real man.”

Carmen chuckles. She forgets how much Donald pays attention. She’s complained about the mustache before, so he knows that's ten percent of her issue with Hansen. “Fine, he better be cute,” she concedes. “And if Hansen happens to be collateral damage during this mission, there’s to be no questions asked.”

Fitz heartily laughs, “Deal.”

The mission is a success, despite Lloyd’s involvement, and unfortunately, for Carmen at least, he survives without a scratch.

“Come on, one drink,” Lloyd insists. “We’ve got the night to ourselves. Fitzroy put you up in this beautiful hotel…”

Yes, Fitzroy did put her in a different hotel from him, on purpose, to avoid this very situation.

“...What’re you gonna do instead,” he snarks, “go crochet a sweater for Donald?” His declared, “Boring!” echoes around the marble reception area, and she silently apologizes to the few guests who turn to look.

The implication of a close relationship with her handler is nothing new, so she doesn’t bother responding. But Lloyd isn’t a man who gives up easily.

“One drink,” he repeats, walking beside her toward the elevators.

The last thing she wants is to spend any time with him and his molester-esque mustache on a professional or a social level, but Lloyd is a persistent fuck, and she has no doubt he’d likely follow her to her room and push his way inside. At least if she sits at the bar with him, she’ll have somewhere to escape.

“Fine,” she sighs, rolling her eyes, “I’m going to the bathroom. Get me a Cosmo.”

“What room number? I’ll put it on the tab.”

She rolls her eyes. He asks her to go for a drink, but apparently, the agency is paying for it. Such a gentleman. “Penthouse.”

His positively disgruntled scowl makes her day, and she kind of wishes she’d invited him up to see it. She manages to hide her laugh until she’s in the bathroom.

The Cosmo is one of the best she’s ever had, and if she doesn’t look directly at him, he’s not that bad of a conversationalist. Unless that’s the booze talking. She’s only had two, yet her head is swimming. Something’s not right. Was there something in the drink? Is their cover blown?

Lloyd seems fine, but she’s having trouble focusing, so it’s hard to tell. He’s droning on about some ‘dipshit’ he had to deal with on his last mission, so she eyes the bartender. He doesn’t appear interested in them. There are no surreptitious glances their way or feigned ignorance of their conversation. He probably can’t even hear them as he’s at the other end of the bar, slicing lemons and restocking his condiment tray.

“I don’t feel too good.” she twists the stool to face away from the bar, needing to see who’s around.

Two other couples are in the bar, but they are too far away for drink spiking to be an effective plan. She looks back to Lloyd, and his twisted smile makes her realize the error she made in trusting him.

The floor seems to be getting awfully close. “Woooo, there,” Lloyd says, wrapping an arm around her to keep her from face-planting on the tile. Her head lulls against his shoulder, tilted far enough to see the bartender is now across from them.

“Sir, is everything okay?” The bartender asks, but it sounds so far away. She tries to form words to ask for help, but her tongue feels heavy and thick. “Please-"

Lloyd preempts any further response from her. “Everything’s fine. We’re celebrating our engagement. A little too much excitement and too much alcohol… Put the drinks on the penthouse tab, please.”

She’d never heard him be so polite or sound so…human. That’s the last thought she has before her world goes black.

Carmen’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dusky light of the room. They focus on the ridiculously priced chandelier above her. She wonders how the hotel installed it. It’s big and looks heavy. It must be a bitch to clean!

Her thought process is murky, and she tries to lift her arm to push the hair off her face. It’s tickling her cheek, but her limb doesn’t move. She tries to sit up, but none of her limbs respond. Her chest rises and falls, but she only knows that from the panic-filled breaths she hears exiting her lips.

“Finally,” Lloyd huffs from somewhere in the room. “I thought you were never going to wake up.”

She turns her head, and to her surprise, it moves. Lloyd sits on a plush chair beside the bed, looking bored and agitated at having to wait for her to come around.

“There she is,” he sighs, almost wistfully, and if it weren’t for the flick knife he’s expertly twirling in his hand, she might have thought he was genuinely concerned.

“Lloyd,” she mumbles, “what’s going on?”

He continues to expertly twirl the knife, ignoring her question. “You know I really did like you. You’re smart, formidable, and a pleasure to work with when you aren’t being a complete bitch.” Venom laces the word, but he keeps his face void of emotion. “You are beautiful. It’s almost sickening that they locked up such beauty. Maybe that’s why Fitzroy recruited you. Too wasteful to spend your youthful years in a cell and not seducing people for your country's benefit.”

“Geez, you like the sound of your own voice.” It’s too slurred to portray her boredom as effectively as she’d like.

“Because I’m the only one that makes sense,” he shrugs, smiling smugly, underlining the arrogance of his belief in that statement.

Carmen rolls her eyes, along with her head, to look away from him. She’s bored of this already. The disrespect angers him, and he reaches over, grabs her chin, and violently jerks her head to face him again. “Those eyes,” he grits his teeth, “those damn fuckin’ eyes that do nothing but look at me with repulsion.” Elation and admiration cement his tone, “WOW, mesmerizing!”

She could get whiplash from listening to him. “Just do whatever you're going to do,” she growls, wincing when he pinches harder, putting almost unbearable pressure on her jaw and teeth. “Save me the monologuing.”

“Fine,” he leers, sinister and taunting. “Carmichael showed me the report from the last mission. What was I? Unhinged, chaotic, reckless, and dangerous.”

Through gritted teeth, she snarls, “There’s only so many professional ways to say bat shit crazy.” She manages to wriggle her face free and turns away, looking back up at the ceiling.

Before her mind wanders back to the chandelier because it's way more interesting than Lloyd, the bed bounces, and he's on top of her, straddling her hips. If she weren’t numb from the neck down, she’d feel where his knees crush her hands against the bed. “We could have been a team.”

She scoffs, using the fear as fake bravado, “I’d rather go back to prison.” Tears spill, and she feels them drip down her ears. Instinctively, she tries to lift her arm to wipe them away but it’s as unresponsive as the first time she tried.

“Oh, that’s where they’ll send you,” Lloyd smiles, genuinely happy, “because you’ll be no good to the agency anymore.”

“Whatever you do to me will be the end for you.”

“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he admits, “I’m so sick of Fitzroy and all his bullshit. But what you fail to realize is that Fitzroy won’t be in charge forever!” Gently running the cold blade down around her cheek, almost like a lover’s caress. He continues, “Don’t worry. I’m gonna spare your eyes. I want you to see how everyone reacts to your new face.”

“You're proving I was right, Lloyd!” Carmen snarls and works up a wad of saliva to spit it in his face.

The consequence of the action is immediate, and Lloyd doesn’t bother wiping it away. He presses the blade to the bridge of her nose, “every time you look in the mirror, you’ll remember me.”

2021

Carmen wipes away a tear, and Six is polite enough to look away to give her a little privacy to reign in her emotions.

It’s funny that she didn’t cry or scream when it happened. She wouldn’t give Lloyd the satisfaction, but now, whenever she recounts the event, she can’t stop the tears from falling. She’s never really processed it, at least not in a healthy way, and having to relive it every time she looks in the mirror, as Lloyd promised, she feels it all over again.

“Sorry,” she apologizes to Six, who’s clearly uncomfortable at the show of emotion.

There’s nothing to be sorry for, so Six doesn’t acknowledge the apology, and Carmen doesn’t really know why she offered it.

As the conversation and drinks flow, so does the night. It doesn’t feel like they have been talking all that long, but when Six checks his watch, he realizes it’s been a long while. “Sun will be up soon.”

“You should get some rest,” she says. “Can’t imagine you’ve slept much lately.”

That is the understatement of the century. Except for his drug-addled sleep in Miranda’s trunk, he doesn’t remember his last full night's sleep. He stands and stretches his arms over his head, feeling his muscles and bones pop.

Six thinks of wishing her a good night but realizes he didn’t remedy the situation as he had set out to do earlier. He’d been distracted by the delicious sandwich. “This is awkward. We’ve been talking for a few hours, but what’s your name?”

She looks up at him, the porch light highlighting her amusement. “It’s not Oscar One.” She chuckles, “It’s Carmody. But Carmen is fine.”

“Carmody,” he repeats, “sounds more like a surname.”

“It is. My first name is Haven.”

He stares for twenty seconds, waiting for her to laugh or deliver a punchline, but she stares back. It isn’t a joke.

“I wish I were making it up,” she says finally. “It’s stupid and ironic, and I hate it because of who gave it to me. So I’d appreciate it if you don’t use it.”

He nods solemnly. He understands more than she realizes. He hates his name simply because of the man who gave it to him. He much prefers Six and the man who gave it to him.

To be a good guest, he collects their empty beer bottles and takes them inside. Following Carmen’s instructions on where to put them, Six deposits them in a bin labeled ‘Glass’. She does her part to help the environment, so her monthly supply run includes disposing of any recyclable materials.

Six notices the wine glass turned upside down on the drainer, and he remembers a conversation from long ago.

“Carmen,” he calls softly through the house, knowing the breeze will take it to her through the open doors and windows.

A few short seconds later, she steps through the backdoor, a crease of concern in her brow that he may need something. “Yeah.”

“What’re you doing after this?” he asks, unable to keep from smiling.

It takes her a half second to remember. She shrugs, matching his joyful smile. “There’s a bottle of red cooling in the fridge and a pizza with my name on it somewhere.”

“Want some company?”

“I’d love some.” She shies away for a millisecond before her smile turns to a devilish grin, and she jokes, “But I never said I’d share either.”

Six huffs a laugh through his nose, slowly continuing his path through the house. “Goodnight, Carmen.”

A/N (2): okay, I read it through again before clicking post and I absolutely love it and if you made it this far I hope you did too.💜

Feedback is soul food and I appreciate it more than you will ever know 💜

Master Lists: Main // Other Fandoms

#Sierra Six #Lloyd Hansen #sierra six #lloyd hansen fic #courtland gentry #The Gray Man fic #fanfic #The Gray Man #the gray man fanfiction #the gray man fic #sierra six fic #Courtland Gentry

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dragonmaiden39point5 · 5 months

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No Escape (2)

Probably one or two more parts for this? Idk if I can get up five parts just yet. Appreciate the amazing response! Thank you so much to everyone who read, y'all are the best❤️💕🥰

All characters depicted are over the age of 18

Summary: You grow tired of Bakugo's bad behavior and after 4 years as a couple, you make a run for it.

Katsuki Bakugo x Black!Reader

Darkfic. Stalking, humiliation, dub-con, mild Daddy!kink. Potentially some untagged triggers.

For a few months, you plotted and played your role. If you wanted to go somewhere, you asked him to bring you. You wore overly revealing clothes and climbed all over him in public. You stopped using his name, referring to him exclusively as Daddy no matter who was around. You would initiate sex, begging him to fuck you; beg to fuck him. You even took to sending him video and pictures of you playing with yourself when he left you at home, sometimes in his oversized clothes, other times nothing at all-- (which would make him come back much faster, if he could help it). You really made him feel his victory; it was the only way to disarm him.

Kats was too busy loving that you didn't resist him anymore and was all too eager to have you all to himself; You, he, and the dog had been to 5 countries in the three months since. It was easy to get swept up in the gifts and vacations (and mind-blowing orgasms) and forget he was something that you needed to get away from, since he had been absolutely perfect since you started acting the way he wanted. You almost felt bad about your brewing plot to leave.

Well, it actually wasn't much of a plot, you were you going to take a few thousand out of his home safe, get the dog, and ghost. He was just too unstable and insecure, and at this point it was clear that he could only behave properly when you were 'obedient'.

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The sole opportunity to leave came with the passing of another month. When he wasn't traveling, Bakugo habitually visited his parents' headstones on the Saturday of every third weekend, at sunset. It was the absolute only time that he left you devoid of incessant phone calls, messages, and his suffocating presence. A cloud of guilt shrouded the decision to leave at such a time... But you'd never know peace if you didn't. What other choice did you have? You had learned from the last several times you attempted to break up with him that it would only intensify his crazy.

When he left that evening, you waited until receiving the text that he was there to make your move. You left absolutely everything behind other than Thunder with his dogfood and cash from Bakugo's safe-- On foot, hence lurking through the woods that started on the edge of the property instead of taking a main road. The location of motion cameras on the edge of the acreage that surrounded the house were something that you had carefully mapped out the boundaries of-- And after almost 4 years, you knew where they were by heart.

There was also a small plan that was put into play as a distraction; He always took the smaller, more low key of the cars when visiting the cemetery. In turn, you sent his chef to a store over an hour in the opposite direction of where you were going, in his easy to spot orange car.

It would be hours before he knew you were gone.

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Bakugo entered the house, flopping down on a couch in the den. Immediately a frisson ran through his body and he looked around as anxiety sunk its icy claws into his stomach . Something was *off*. The pitter-patter of Thunder's feet as he ran through the house to greet him was completely absent. He rose from the couch and called your name in confusion.

No answer.

"This again?" He huffed, going upstairs.

A pit formed in his stomach as blood and adrenaline began to course through his veins when he didn't see you or the dog in any of the rooms.

He tried to calm himself, shuffling through his pants pockets with shaking hands to check the surveillance. Other than seeing you go in through the front door and out through the back, they barely caught you and Thunder in range, before going completely out of view. Running sweaty palms through his hair he fumbled through his contacts until he found Midoriya and Iida's names name in the group chat.

He couldn't think straight, barely able to get his words out, typing with fidgeting hands, "She's gone!"

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A few months went by and you were living it up. You had moved 3 times since ghosting Bakugo and never looked back. The night you left, you walked through the woods until you reached a back road, and then continued until you reached a bus stop. Because you couldn't risk using a phone or GPS, you went off of memory to figure out how to get there.

You rode the bus to its farthest stop, and then another to Central Downtown, where you were able to catch the Megabus out of town. Of course you expected to be seen on the cameras on the streets and at intersections, but you did not care. It certainly helped that no one made an issue of Thunder joining you on each bus. Perhaps it was his service vest, or maybe there just weren't enough people around to care, either way it made your escape much easier.

Your life, now 8 hours and hundreds of miles away, consisted of a job doing live-in care for an elderly man named Torino. He still had his mobility, but no longer had the energy to stay on his feet long enough complete tasks such as cleaning or cooking and the person who usually took care of him was currently traveling for work.

In the meantime, you were able to live in the massive basement of the home rent free. It was basically a 'modern' renovated studio apartment, while the first and second floor of the house remained mostly in its outdated state.

When you weren't at home, you worked part time for a juice truck that drove around town. Thunder had to stay at the house for that, but he was a good boy and even knew how to get things for Torino.

Life had become so peaceful..

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Per your new routine, you cooked for Torino early on the weekends and then headed out by bike to your job on the juice truck. This day in particular, he asked if you could cook a bit more than usual because his former caretaker would be stopping over for a visit since he was back in town. You were more than happy to do so, proceeding as normal without a second thought.

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When Toshinori arrived at his former teacher's home, he was stunned to say the least. The trimmed front yard's garden beds were in bloom and the porch was clear of all debris and trash, instead having cute decorative tables and chairs. There were also a few hanging plants that there was certainly no way that Torino could've put up, let alone water every few days.

The inside of the house was now immaculately kept, with scented candles, incense, and more plants. All of the clutter had been thrown out, the dishes cleaned, and the floor shined. "I am Here!!" He called out to Torino and was pleasantly surprised to be greeted with the sound of paws clattering on the polished floors. "Hello there, Thunder!"

"I'm back here!" Torino called out from the kitchen.

Toshinori was beyond impressed. Everything was clean and smelled nice; You'd certainly exceeded expectations. He hired you on Torino's behalf since Midoriya had moved to open his second gym location and would not be able to make the journey regularly to care for the old man.

"Where's the boy?" Torino asked as soon as Toshinori entered the kitchen.

"Way to get to the point." He chuckled in response. "He's running a few minutes behind; I think he stopped by his dad's house first. But, wow everything sure looks nice in here!"

"Yes, indeed! That girl that you hired is very sweet. I asked her to cook some extra food so that you and Midoriya could have some when you got here. She even made tea." He said with a smile.

"It's great to see you in good spirits." Toshinori replied, "It seems like you're feeling better too."

"Yes. Remember that garden I mentioned her planting in the backyard? Turns out it's fruits and veggies instead of flowers! I've actually been feeling well enough to walk down the street and back."

"Wonderful!" Said Toshinori, "Here, let me help you with that." He carefully grabbed 2 of the covered plates from the counter and followed Torino to the living room couch, where folding table stands were waiting. Just as they sat down, Thunder took off towards the front door.

The lock clicked and Midoriya stepped inside, greeted by a perfectly seated gray pooch wagging his tail in the entryway. He stared in confusion for a moment. The dog had blue eyes and only the front paws were white, 'Thunder? I thought Kacchan's girlfriend ran off with him?', he thought to himself.

Of course other dogs could look like that, but a sharp shiver hit him and his heart skipped as alarm bells went off in his head.

"Midoriya, my boy? Is that you?" Toshinori called out.

"It is! Here I come!" He answered back, rushing to the living room to properly greet them.

"Did you get lost on the way in?" Torino joked.

"Oh, no. Sorry about that. This place looks so different than it did a few months ago." Midoriya remarked, sitting on the loveseat, "And the dog surprised me. When did you get it?"

"Oh, he came with the new caretaker." Toshinori interjected.

Midoriya hummed in response, as the cute animal came and placed its muzzle on his knee, looking into his eyes. Thunder would always do exactly this when he went to Kacchan's house and didn't give out pets as soon as he walked in. 'Yeah, this is definitely Kacchan's dog.' he thought to himself, as he finally reached down to give the dog the attention he was asking for. He gave the dog scratches under the chin as it panted happily, now putting both white paws on his leg-- the gesture that he used to beg for treats. Midoriya licked his lips as he thought of all the possibilities. 'She could've sold the dog to hurt Kacchan. Or maybe he got away from her when she was somewhere nearby. Because if he got lost or abandoned before they left town, Thunder probably would've just wandered back home. Or maybe--"

"Young man! Did you hear me?" Torino asked sharply, somewhat annoyed.

"S-Sorry Torino. No, I didn't hear you."

"I asked if you could put the dog bowl out. It's in the kitchen." Torino huffed.

"Sure." Midoriya got up, chuckling to himself. A perfect opportunity to be nosey.

"Where's it at?" He called out, after getting to the kitchen.

"You'd know if you'd been listening!" He heard Torino shout, followed by Toshinori's voice saying; "Bottom cabinet by the fridge!"

He went to the cabinet, pulling out the food bowl and removing the lid, revealing portions of lightly cooked steak (amongst other meats), fish, eggs, and fruit, in some sort of broth, all cold as if it had just finished defrosting.

"Goodness." He remarked, rolling his eyes. There wasn't even a need to snoop around-- this was too obviously Bakugo's dog, and based off of its diet being maintained most certainly you were here...

"Hey Torino, what's the dog's name?" Midoriya yelled to the next room.

"Thunder!" Came the reply

"Come here, Thunder!" Midoriya said, with a smug smile barely able to contain his glee. He sat the bowl down and washed his hands, quickly drying them on his pants to take out his phone and snap a picture of the dog eating. Then, he headed to a hallway in the back of the house where a lone door awaited him. Toshinori had mentioned a renovation overhaul for the basement so that a caretaker could move in right away and he wanted to see the space now that it was yours.

Kacchan had bragged on you for years, promising to share you with him and Iida as they had done all the girls before, but talked about how difficult you were being and how you weren't ready, or wouldn't go for it. He sighed as he walked down the stairs into the massive area of the basement. He'd had the biggest crush on you and was now presented with an incredible opportunity, if he was impetuous enough to take it.

Eyes scanning the room, he spotted a quaint full sized bed that was perfectly made, save for a set of pajamas that was tossed onto it. You were only using maybe 1/4 of the oversized basement, with a few colorful rugs, dog bed in the sleeping area, miscellaneous books and trinkets filling 2 sets of built-in shelves and 3 armoires full of clothes. There was also a couch and a loveseat around a large area rug facing a T.V. mounted on the wall. The kitchen was clean but mostly untouched, likely due to you doing most of your cooking upstairs. Aside from the one room on the opposite side of the basement that was fully closed off with its own door (the bathroom), you hadn't filled any of the other space.

Midoriya skulked over to your bed, flopping down backwards and covering his face with your pillow. He took a deep breath, inhaling the light shea butter and argan oil scent that lingered there from your hair products. "Mmmm..." He hummed, undoing his belt. He was already half hard rubbing the outside of his jeans when he got an idea. Sitting up, he smoothed your sheets over, putting the pillows back in place. He looked straight to the opposite wall of the basement where the washing machine and dryer were, heading over with a spring in his step.

The laundry bin beside it was less than half full, but he rummaged anyway. Amongst the handful of T-shirts and shorts he dug out a pair of your underwear, burying his nose into the crotch area. There was only the faintest hint of pussy, yet his mouth still watered to taste it.

Finally, he undid and dropped his pants with haste, groaning as his erection sprung free. His hand wrapped around it, stroking as he took deep whiffs to inhale the scent of your cunt. There was so much he wanted to do to you and now you were right here in his reach, a sitting duck who didn't know that a she was about to be pounced on. "Oooh, shit..." He moaned, fucking his hand, precum beginning to dribble from the tip. You only got away because Bakugo didn't know what he was doing; Midoriya would've never would've let you escape. He put your panties in the hand that he was stroking himself with, loving the feeling of thrusting his dick across the soft fabric, before tightening his grip. His now free hand went to caress his balls, as his eyes shut tight so that he could picture you. The last time he saw you, you were in a slingshot bikini and playing with yourself on that beach vacation with Bakugo. He'd longed to fuck you so bad then, stuff your pussy while Kacchan fucked your drooling mouth. Aside from Thunder, you two had gone alone that time, but Kacchan certainly took plenty of pics and videos; He was ready to burst just thinking about it. "Such a slut.." growled to himself as he stroked as fast as he could. He wished he could cuff your wrists to the headboard and tie your ankles to them, so that he could devour your pussy until you were overstimulated and incoherent, while Bakugo stroked himself over your tits.

A shiver ran through his body and he moaned as he came hard, shooting his warm load into your panties. He braced himself against the washing machine panting as the last waves of orgasm rolled through his body.

He looked into his palm to see the underwear completely ruined. Taking a deep breath, he buried them back in the dirty clothes hamper and collected himself, stepping into the bathroom to wash his hands and splash cool water over his face.

When he was done cleaning himself up, he went back upstairs to find Toshinori and Torino out in the backyard amidst the flourishing garden that you'd planted.

"...What were you doing?" Toshinori asked suspiciously.

Midoriya cleared his throat, hoping his eyes weren't too glazed over from his massive release. "Well--"

"There you are!" Torino's voice cut through the air from across the yard, "Come! Make yourself useful." He said, gesturing to the wagon he was pulling full of harvested vegetables and fruit.

"Oh--I just,,, used the bathroom." He chuckled nervously in response, quickly shuffling away to help the old man.

Toshinori wasn't buying it, but he would let it got. For now.

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#dragonmaiden79 #dragonmaiden39point5 #black oc #black mc #black reader #mha darkfic #mha #mha smut #bakugo katsuki #bakugo x reader

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spacetimewithstuartgary · 30 days

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Meteor showers shed light on where comets formed in the early solar system

An international team of 45 researchers studying meteor showers has found that not all comets crumble the same way when they approach the Sun

An international team of 45 researchers studying meteor showers has found that not all comets crumble the same way when they approach the Sun. In a paper published in the journal Icarus this week, they ascribe the differences to the conditions in the protoplanetary disk where comets formed 4.5 billion years ago.

“The meteoroids we see as meteors in the night sky are the size of small pebbles,” said lead author and SETI Institute and NASA Ames meteor astronomer Peter Jenniskens. “They are, in fact, the same size as the pebbles that collapsed into comets during the formation of our solar system.”

As our solar system formed, tiny particles in the disk around the young Sun gradually grew larger until they became the size of small pebbles.

“Once pebbles grow large enough to no longer travel along with the gas, they are destroyed by mutual collisions before they can grow much bigger,” said NASA Ames planetary scientist and co-author Paul Estrada. “Comets and primitive asteroids instead were formed when clouds of these pebbles locally collapsed into kilometer-sized and larger bodies.” /p>

Fast forward 4.5 billion years: when comets approach the Sun today, they crumble into smaller pieces called meteoroids. Those meteoroids co-orbit with the comet for a while and can later create meteor showers when they hit Earth’s atmosphere.

“We hypothesized that comets crumble into the sizes of the pebbles they are made of,” said Jenniskens. “In that case, the size distribution and the physical and chemical properties of young meteoroid streams still contain information about the conditions in the protoplanetary disk during this collapse.”

Jenniskens and his team of professional and amateur astronomers use special low-light video cameras in networks all over the world to track meteors in a NASA-sponsored project called “CAMS” – or Cameras for Allsky Meteor Surveillance (http://cams.seti.org).

“These cameras measure the meteoroids’ paths, how high they are when they first light up, and how they slow down in Earth’s atmosphere,” said Jenniskens. “Specialized cameras measured the composition of some of these meteoroids.”

The team studied 47 young meteor showers. Most are the crumbs of two types of comets: Jupiter-family comets from the Scattered Disk of the Kuiper Belt beyond Neptune and long-period comets from the Oort Cloud surrounding our solar system. Long-period comets move on much wider orbits than the Jupiter-family comets and are much more loosely held by the Sun’s gravity.

“We found that long-period (Oort Cloud) comets often crumble into sizes indicative of gentle accretion conditions,” said Jenniskens. “Their meteoroids have a low density. The meteoroid streams contain a fairly constant 4% of a type of solid meteoroids that were heated in the past and now only brighten deeper in Earth’s atmosphere and typically are poor in the element sodium.”

On the other hand, Jupiter-family comets usually crumble into smaller, denser meteoroids. They also have a higher 8% of solid materials on average and show more diversity in that content.

“We concluded that these Jupiter-family comets are composed of pebbles that had reached the point where fragmentation became important in their size evolution,” said Estrada. “The higher admixture of materials that were heated in the past are expected closer to the Sun.”

Primitive asteroids formed even closer to the Sun, although still outside the orbit of Jupiter. These asteroids produce meteor showers with even smaller particles, showing their pebble building blocks experienced even more aggressive fragmentation.

“While there are exceptions in both groups, the implication is that most long-period comets formed under more gentle particle growth conditions, possibly near the 30 AU edge of the Trans Neptunian Disk,” said Estrada. “Most Jupiter family comets formed closer to the Sun where pebbles reached or passed the fragmentation barrier, while primitive asteroids formed in the region where the cores of the giant planets formed.”

How is this possible? While the giant planets were growing, Neptune moved outward and scattered comets and asteroids out of the remaining protoplanetary disk. This outward movement likely created both the Scattered Disk of the Kuiper Belt and the Oort Cloud. That would predict that both long period and Jupiter-family comets have the same properties, but the team found otherwise.

“It is possible that stars and molecular clouds in the birth region of the Sun perturbed the wide orbits of Oort Cloud comets early on, and the long-period comets we see today were scattered into such orbits only at a time when the Sun had moved out of this region,” said Jenniskens. “In contrast, Jupiter-family comets have always been on shorter orbits and sample all objects scattered by Neptune on its way out.”

TOP IMAGE: Protoplanetary disk. Figure from a computer simulation visualizing the formation of planets Credit NASA/JPL-Caltech

LOWER IMAGE: Three phases in the evolution of the outer solar system. (A) At the time of pebble collapse into comets, pointing to the likely origin region of asteroids (AST), Jupiter-family comets (JFC) and long-period comets (LPC); (B) At the time when Neptune scattered comets into a Scattered Disk of the Kuiper Belt; (C) After the Sun had left the birth star cluster and a planet instability created the outer Oort Cloud. Credit Jenniskens et al. (2024) Icarus

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tobegiggledat · 2 years

Text

To Live is to Serve

18+ CONTENT AHEAD MDNI

✦pairing: Yandere!Midnight x afab!reader (no pronouns)

✦warnings: past kidnapping, dubcon, mindbreak, toys (vibrator, dildo, collar, nipple clamps, harness), masturbation, squirting, exhibitionism/voyeurism, cameras

✦word count: 1.5k

A new week means a new beginning, but more importantly new rules, and as Nemuri’s pet you’ll be expected to uphold whatever instruction she has meticulously planned for that time.

There’s always been an elegance in her way of things, in the way she ensures her control extends past the windings of her whip and effortlessly seeps into the minds of those around her. It’s an influence one can desperately fight for an immunity against only to find each attempt that was made against it was evidence of that same control.

You were once a fighter too.

The moment the clock strikes 07:00, your body swiftly stirs from its sleep, although not a single alarm is to be heard as your awakening is the result of months of Nemuri’s rigid guidance to mold you into her pliant plaything.

A golden-lined, purple envelope she left for you rests on the mahogany of your bedside table. Your fingers tug softly at its glue to reveal the smoothly folded page inside before your bleary eyes scan over the glossy letters along it; relishing her usual, flowery paragraph at the beginning and glancing over the schedule provided.

It only takes a few rereads before her orders become intrinsic to you, with you noting her first rule by padding across the cold marble, and into your bathroom shower.

Your hands make graceful work of the silk robe along your body, daintily pulling at the strap in the center, then plucking at each button delicately as if it'll shatter from the slightest abrasive touch.

When you were initially brought into her home, you weren’t as willing to comply with her oppressive practices; destroying every gift she bought in an attempt to please you and discovering blind spots in her surveillance whenever you got changed.

But you found that her withering insistence and disappointed expressions began to burrow wounds in your heart, after all, she hadn’t really forced you to do much had she?

As time went on, you grew more interested in accepting her lifestyle, and inevitably realized that the gleaming arrangement of her features whenever she came home to your adorned body was the only thing you looked forward to.

The part of you that was fearful of your compliance had eventually diminished with each of her affectionate, but calculated touches.

She knows how to stimulate every part of you, so she must know what's best for you overall…

1) Begin the day with a warm shower, but be sure to bring yourself to orgasm exactly 2 times, with only your fingers.

Thick steam clouds cascade in the bathroom air as you recall the first task you’ve been assigned. When the water reaches your ideal temperature, you step beyond the glass opening, swirling beneath the water’s stream to coat your skin in glistening droplets then reaching for a cloth and bottle of soap to begin lathering your skin.

As the fibers brush over your breasts, you imagine the gentle swipes to be that of Nemuri's grazes, like the feel of her pointed nails tip-tapping along the curves of your neck and spine. It ignites the beginning flickers of heat needed for you to trail your fingers between your damp thighs, shamelessly caressing the outer lips of your sex in scissoring motions while your other hand presses against a wall to keep you balanced.

While your hands are occupied, your mind drifts to devise picturesque renderings of the curves of Nemuri's body—recreating the glow of her porcelain skin within the confines of your skull—imitating the past messy collisions you’ve had with it, all from the firing of arousal-driven neurons.

The pace of your fingertips begin to quicken with each thought before you’re frantically twisting your clit between your thumb and forefinger, rubbing along the slick sides of it until the building electricity seems to run down your legs, to the very soles of your feet. Your knees tremble as sharp jolts of pleasure saturate your nerves and surge through your limbs in prickling waves.

Your arousal reaches its peak with more erotic depictions flashing behind your eyelids. Despite the intensity being enough for you to hurl over and quiver from, the circular motions of your hand continue, parting your throbbing folds with glides then placing a curled finger into your opening and stroking along the ridges.

The desire for her consumes you, flesh to bone, it seeps into your lungs until you’re gasping at the lack of her presence.

Your next climax comes much quicker than the first as your senses have been heightened to spark from even the dullest touches. A brazen cry bleeds from your parted lips while the pressure in your core thrashes against your skin for escape, winding the convulsions of your walls before releasing them with a booming snap that sends you folding once more.

A stream of your tears mix with the dew on your cheeks to collect in a small drop at the base of your chin. You swipe at your puffy eyes before rinsing the remnants of your arousal off your thighs with a shallow stream of hot water and running a rag over your tender sex softly.

Once thoroughly cleaned, you bring the running faucet to a stop then reach for the nearest towel to begin skimming it over your shuddering, orgasm-fatigued body.

You make hurried steps toward your wardrobe, gaze glossing over the selection as you scan for the items mentioned in Nemuri's letter;

2) Put on the following items in the listed order; a leather collar with a ring, a red full-body harness, and weighted nipple clamps.

Your choice for the leather collar is a soft beige one with a small aluminum ring at the center. It fits snugly at the base of your neck, complementing your undertones and pairing well with the vermillion stripes across your hips and chest. You fiddle with the little charms dangling from your nipples as you pose teasingly for the monitor above your dresser, wondering if your body stirs Nemuri’s desire for you the way her mere viewership alters your arousal and every thought.

3) Open the box beneath your bed.

4) Use the small vibrator to the very left; cum once then use the vibrator and middle dildo to cum two more times.

The rich violet box was tucked where expected, you gather the contents inside before placing a velvet towel underneath you then reaching for a bottle of lube on your nightstand.

Your bare legs part in preparation of what’s to come, and with your exposed folds presented to the air, you grab the toy and untuck your swollen clit for better contact.

The vibrator is flat and tucks securely into the crook of your fingers as it’s placed softly against your peeking nub. When the raging vibrations begin, your thighs snap around the sides of your arm in a stifling embrace, trapping it with the strength of a starving predator's jaws that has a meal between its teeth.

You briefly ponder what her alluring cerulean irises would look like as she ogles at your display from behind a screen.

Would she be amused at the desperate contortions you make of your body just for a morsel of the sweet coos she purrs when you’ve been so obedient for her?

Wherever she is, you hope she’s watching diligently—oh god—you hope she’s watching you.

“My, my”, she’d murmur into the crevices of your ear if she were lying beside you, her plump lips curving upward with want. “All this for me?”

The thought alone sends your head spinning, with white consuming your vision as you’re suddenly propelled past the cusp of your climax. Breathy pants escape your mouth in broken pieces, but your pussy is still begging for more stimulation, so you lather the girthy dildo in your fluids and a bit of lube, and start to nudge at your opening.

Lust kindles in your abdomen until it outbursts from behind your teeth in a soft shriek as the silicone head stretches your flexing walls around it.

Cool beads of sweat coat your skin in a faint sheen, trickling salt onto your already tightly sealed eyes with the growing heat.

Your free hand tugs at the pulsing tips of your breasts as you’re lost in the blooming tickles of your arousal, and the coupled sensations mesh into something far more tantalizing than you ever could’ve imagined.

“My body is yours”, you whimper devotedly for ears that may not be listening.

Your hips delve into the bed to brace for impact as your sex succumbs to the continued pokes against it. A flare of pressure shoots through your cunt to spurt a clear, shimmering fluid onto the towel below you as the final flitters of your orgasm rip and tear into the surrounding nerves of your overstimulated pussy.

As the tingling subsides, you press a cloth to your damp cheeks and forehead before gathering yourself for the next step.

5) Insert the final toy, turn it on the lowest setting, then wait for me.

The insertable vibrator clicks to life inside you with the strength to turn your insides into a blended mess, despite being at the lowest intensity. That familiar aching and yearning for Nemuri sweeps through your chest and sinks there with the weight of stone.

But, you’ll wait for her as long as it takes.

You’ve come to realize that your aspirations prior to serving her were void of fulfillment.

She’s saved you from a life of hollow endeavors, but you were too stubborn to accept it at first.

You offer yourself now as a plea for forgiveness of your earlier transgressions, a passionate act of submission to make her adore you more than she already does.

So, yes you’ll continue to wait for her, even if it means an eternity.

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