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[buckets-and-trees]

Rank and Promotion

Characters/Pairings: soft!dark Alpha!Ari x curvy Female!Omega!Reader Word Count: 7.5k Summary: Ari Levinson receives a visit and a gift from Governor Barnes. (part of the Fine Line collection but can be read fully on its own)

Content/Warnings: omegaverse (alpha-omega dynamics, scenting, etc); power dynamics; loss of virginity; explicit smut: thigh riding, oral (female receiving), vaginal fingering, unprotected vaginal intercourse and insemination, cum appreciation; omega trafficking

Author Notes: I said there would be more alphas in this verse, and HERE'S THE FIRST OF THEM! It is not necessary to read anything else in this story. Relevant information is relayed directly and/or insinuated in the narrative for this piece. But for anyone who has followed the Bucky parts of the story, this takes place immediately after the council scene in No Way Out.

Additional Note: I need to give credit where it's due to @stargazingfangirl18 for helping me figure out how to best approach sharing this storyline for new characters/a new reader into an existing verse!

Fine Line Collection

↠ Main Masterlist | Aspen's Ask Box | Field Guide to the Forest

Five years ago, Ari would have been pacing impatiently across the floor of this opulent living room in the penthouse of Skyline Tower, but now he’s learned how to control the impatience, to cage it, let it undulate deep inside of himself to be used to launch into action at the right moment. 

And so he sits in a comfortable armchair with a view of the mountains in the distance out to the west of the city, studying the view, reading on his phone, and looking out into the distance again.

Twenty-seven hours ago he’d received a summons from the Governor’s executive aide, told he was expected in the capital by sundown and to pack for an indefinite stay. The order had not been entirely unusual - he’d been instructed to move to different locations many times given the nature of his work, and many of those reassignments had been with unknown expectations for how long he would need to be there. 

Ari arrived in the capital the night before and had been escorted to this penthouse in the city’s tallest building, and thathad been unusual. Typically his assignments were fulfilled in ordinary, unremarkable areas, not the a place like this. 

The space balances luxury with functionality – sleek lines and modern fixtures softened by plush seating and warm lighting. Floor-to-ceiling windows showcase the sprawling city below, but automated privacy screens can be adjusted for comfort. The leather couch looked genuinely used, not merely decorative. Books lined built-in shelves, their spines showing wear. The kitchen gleams with high-end appliances, yet remains approachable with its open layout. Even the temperature is perfectly calibrated – cool enough to remain comfortable, but not so cold as to require additional layers.

This attention to livability rather than mere display speaks volumes about its owner. Bucky Barnes may be Hydra's conquering fist, but he clearly values practical comfort over ostentatious wealth. It's an unexpected insight into the man who seized control of the territory mere weeks ago in a swift, brutal campaign that left the previous government broken, but not obliterated left with just enough strength and infrastructure to remain viable and powerful on the continent.

His phone buzzes, and there’s a message indicating that Governor Barnes has just arrived at Skyline Tower and will be with him presently. 

Ari frowns.

Having been summoned, he expected to be called to the Governor’s office or his mansion. 

A personal visit was yet another anomaly. 

Only a few minutes later, there’s a brief knock and a man enters the penthouse, making way for a tall, imposing alpha, and his omega. 

Ari man rises from the leather armchair. "Governor Barnes," he greets Bucky with a slight inclination of his head. 

"Levinson," Bucky responds, stepping forward to clasp his hand firmly. "I trust the accommodations are satisfactory."

"More than," Ari replies, gesturing around. His gaze shifts to the female at Bucky’s side, curiosity evident in his expression. "And this must be your new omega. The former governor's daughter."

Bucky's hand moves to the small of her back, a possessive gesture that doesn't go unnoticed by anyone in the room. "Yes. She's mine now."

Bucky steers his omega and gestures for her to sit on the plush leather couch with him. She settles beside him, and he drapes his metal arm possessively across her shoulders. Ari can see it’s not a demonstration for his benefit, but for hers. 

Ari takes his seat again in armchair opposite the couch and waits, deferring to the governor to speak first. 

"Your work in the eastern territories has been exceptional," Bucky begins, his tone matter-of-fact. "The intelligence you've gathered over the past three years has been invaluable to our acquisition of the territory."

"Just doing my job," Ari responds with a modest shrug, though there's a hint of pride he can’t hold back in his tone. 

"Which is precisely why I've called you here to the capital," Bucky continues. "Every weakness, every vulnerability you identified in the territory's defenses proved accurate. The takeover was executed with minimal resistance, just as you predicted."

"Minimal resistance is generous," Ari remarks with a slight smile. He heard every report, saw footage online and on television. "Your tactics were... thorough." 

And in line with many of the intel and suggestions Ari himself had supplied to Barnes and the others in the Hydra network for this very purpose. 

Bucky leans forward, his posture shifting subtly from casual to intent. "Which brings me to my proposition. I need someone to lead my military forces—someone with your strategic mind and field experience." 

Ari keeps his expression carefully neutral, though he is more than intrigued if Barnes means what he think he means. 

Still, he doesn’t want to misstep by assuming or betraying any eagerness. 

So he waits half a moment before saying evenly, "You have STRIKE teams already in place. Rumlow seems capable enough."

"Rumlow is a blunt instrument," Bucky replies dismissively. "Useful for specific tasks, but lacking the vision required for what I have planned." He pauses, studying Ari with calculating eyes. "I'm offering you the position of General of my armed forces.”

Ari raises his eyebrows slightly. "General?" 

"Yes," Bucky confirms without hesitation. "The current military leadership lacks vision. They're competent at maintaining order, but we need more than that to secure our borders and expand our influence. You understand the larger picture." 

He assumed there would be a special assignment, but he hadn’t anticipated this. Though his pulse has accelerated, he keeps his voice even. "What exactly would this entail?" 

Like himself, Bucky is a man who respects cool heads.

"Authority over all military operations, reporting directly to me," Bucky explains. "A seat on the territory council, but also a member of my personal cabinet.”

Ari considers the Governor’s words, drumming his fingers lightly against the armrest. His gaze flicks between the alpha and his omega - a woman who has remained stoic, silent, and still through all of the exchange, though certainly studying every word and action, thoroughly paying attention. 

"Think about it,” Bucky continues, “this territory has resources, manpower, and strategic positioning. What we lack is someone with vision to utilize them properly."

Ari weighs his options, calculating the benefits against potential risks.

Bucky shifts, squeezing the back of his omega’s neck before standing. "I don't expect an immediate answer. Consider the offer." He gestures toward the door where the man who entered with them has remained, clearly waiting for this signal. "In the meantime, I've brought something to mark your acceptance."

To mark your acceptance… So this is an edict, no room for negotiation, refusal an impossibility. 

The man - a beta, Ari can tell - nods and opens the door. A moment later, an older looking beta female enters, leading five omega women in behind her. 

"Alphas like us have... certain needs," Bucky says, his tone casual but his eyes sharp, watching for Ari’s reaction.

Ari stands, and something in his chest rumbles unbidden. He’s enjoyed an omega here and there, though they’re difficult to find. To have five in a room together is rare. Five unmated? Unheard of. 

Bucky steps forward, his hand gesturing toward the line of omegas with practiced smoothness. "These fine specimen come from Whitecrest," he explains, voice carrying an unmistakable note of pride. "Perhaps the most prestigious omega training facility in the northern hemisphere."

All five are dressed modestly in cream-colored, simple yet exquisite dresses - each cut and tailored to show off the omegas in the best way possible. They appear to range in age from twenties to thirties. Their hair is neatly styled, their postures submissive but dignified, eyes downcast.

The beta male - Marcus, according to his silver name badge - steps forward with a slight bow. His suit is impeccably pressed, his manner formal yet approachable.

"Whitecrest is an institution with over a century of tradition. Interested families who are interested contact us when they have a child who identifies as an omega within days of their presentation, usually between thirteen and fifteen years of age," Marcus elaborates. "Only those with exceptional potential are selected. From that moment, their education becomes comprehensive. We identify their natural aptitudes and enhance them through rigorous education."

One of the omegas lifts their gaze momentarily before lowering it again. The brief glimpse reveals intelligent eyes that seem to assess the room.

"Our curriculum for all our omegas is comprehensive—multiple languages, of course, with each omega mastering a minimum of four. They study diplomatic companion relations, learning to navigate even the most complex international negotiations at their alpha's side. Our political training ensures they understand governance structures worldwide, while our history program contextualizes modern power dynamics."

Marcus's voice takes on a reverent quality as he continues, "And naturally, we provide thorough instruction on what an omega's role should be—how to anticipate an alpha's needs before they're expressed, how to manage a household of any size, how to present themselves in society. They learn to navigate hierarchies with grace and dignity."

Ari's eyes travel down the line of omegas, each one a testament to careful cultivation. "And their families simply... give them up?"

"They entrust them to us," Marcus corrects smoothly. "Most come from prominent families who understand the value of proper training. Others are discovered through our scholarship program, which identifies exceptional potential regardless of background. In either case, the families are generously compensated."

Bucky watches Ari's reaction carefully. "Each of these omegas represents years of investment. Their training costs more than most people earn in a lifetime.”

Ari feels a primal hunger growing within him as he studies the five women. His alpha instincts, normally kept under tight control, rise to the surface. He hasn't had the luxury of an omega companion during a rut in years, though he had been able to find sufficient satisfaction with betas to get him through. 

"And now, one of them will be yours," Bucky says.

The implication hangs in the air, heavy with expectation. Ari feels his pulse quicken despite his practiced control.

"You're offering me one of these omegas?" he asks, careful to keep his tone measured despite the sudden rush of alpha interest surging through him.

"Consider it a signing bonus," Bucky replies with a slight smile. "A general requires a proper companion. Someone who can manage your household, accompany you to diplomatic functions, and of course," his voice drops slightly, "satisfy your more... primal needs."

The older beta female steps forward. "If I may, Governor Barnes?”

Barnes nods, “Certainly. Levinson, I’ll leave you to your selection. Marcus and Elsie, send the final contract to my assistant.” Then he turns to his own omega, and reaches a hand out. 

The Governor’s wife rises from the couch with her own grace, and follows her husband out of the penthouse. 

The older woman speaks again. "Each omega has been specifically selected based on compatibility with your profile, sir," she explains, her voice crisp and professional. "We've studied your background, preferences, and needs extensively to ensure an optimal match."

Ari's brow furrows slightly. "You've been researching me?"

"Of course," she replies without hesitation. "Whitecrest prides itself on creating perfect matches, not merely providing bodies. These five were hand-selected from our entire cohort as potential matches for your specific temperament, career demands, and genetic compatibility. Governor Barnes provided us with your dossier months ago. We've analyzed your service record, psychological assessments, even your dietary preferences to identify the most compatible candidates."

Ari shoots a glance toward the door where Bucky has just exited. Months ago. Before the territory was even conquered. The realization that Barnes had been planning this role for him all along settles like a weight in his stomach – both flattering and unsettling.

"And what exactly did your analysis determine about me?" Ari asks, unable to resist his curiosity.

Elsie - Ari notes her own silver nametag - smiles politely. "That you're disciplined, methodical, and intensely private. You value competence above all else. You require an omega who can anticipate needs without constant direction, who can function independently when your duties demand your attention, yet submit completely when you require it."

Her assessment is uncomfortably accurate, even identifying elements he may not have thought to consider for himself but sound satisfying to him. 

Ari walks slowly along the line of omegas, studying each one with careful consideration. They remain perfectly still under his scrutiny, spaced out evenly approximately a meter apart from each other, enough room for him to circle them physically and assess their smells somewhat individually. 

As Ari approaches the fourth omega, he catches a subtle shift in demeanor – not defiance, exactly, but a certain alertness that distinguishes you from the others. While the rest remain perfectly still, your head tilts almost imperceptibly, but he does catch it. He recalls that you’re the he noticed looking up before, during Marcus’s thorough explanation about the education omegas of your kind receive. 

He steps directly in front of you, drawn by that subtle difference. "You," he addresses you directly, his voice low. 

Your eyes remain downcast respectfully, but your posture straightens a fraction more. Unlike the others who remained unmoved around him, you appear to become more present.

"May I?" He extends his hand, palm up, an invitation rather than a demand. The gesture reveals more about him than perhaps he intends – a preference for consent, even in a situation where he holds all the power.

You lift your gaze to meet his, just for a moment, before lowering your eyes again in practiced deference. With fluid grace, you extend your wrist, turning it upward to expose the delicate skin where your scent is strongest.

Ari's fingers close gently around your offered wrist, bringing it to his nose. The first inhale is cautious, analytical – but the moment your scent fills his lungs, something shifts fundamentally in his gut. 

Your scent hits him with unexpected force. It's not merely pleasant; it’s complex and resonates with him on a primal level, setting off a cascade of reactions he hasn't experienced before. His pupils dilate slightly, and he finds himself drawing a second, deeper breath.

"What's your name?" he asks, still holding your wrist, his thumb unconsciously tracing small circles against your pulse point. 

You respond, answering in a calm, controlled tone, but he can feel the way your pulse races beneath his thumb. 

Elsie steps forward. "A fine choice, General Levinson. This omega has excelled particularly in languages – fluent in seven, including Mandarin and Russian – and has specialized training in military history and strategic analysis. We believed these skills would complement your new position admirably."

Ari barely notices her words, as he's entirely absorbed in the scent that envelops him. However, his keen sense of movement and awareness of those around him ensures he catches Marcus signaling the other omegas to leave the penthouse. 

Marcus approaches with a sleek digital tablet in hand, clearing his throat discreetly. "If you're satisfied with your selection, sir, we have just a few formalities to complete." 

Ari reluctantly releases your wrist, though his eyes linger on you for a moment longer before turning to Marcus. "Of course." 

"Standard transfer of guardianship documentation," he explains, gesturing toward the tablet. "It confirms your acceptance of this omega and outlines your rights and responsibilities."

Ari scans the document quickly but thoroughly, his years of intelligence work having trained him never to sign anything without reading it first. The legal language is precise, transferring all rights to him while acknowledging Whitecrest's continued interest in your wellbeing – a formality more than an actual limitation on his authority. 

"Everything appears to be in order," he murmurs, pressing his thumb to the digital pad in the appropriate spot. 

Elsie, who has guided you to stand slightly apart while the men handle the paperwork. "The omega comes with a complete wardrobe and personal effects," she explains, her tone businesslike. "All items have been selected to complement your lifestyle and preferences."

Ari nods. 

“They will delivered to the concierge downstairs within the hour. Whitecrest provides a six-month adjustment period," Elsie explains, “should you wish to make any changes or find any incompatibility or unwanted behavior from or with the omega.”

"And we'll need your signature here as well, confirming receipt of the omega's medical records and maintenance instructions," Marcus says, swiping to another screen on the tablet.

Ari raises an eyebrow. "Maintenance instructions?"

"Just a formality," Elsie interjects smoothly. "Dietary preferences, exercise regimens, heat suppressant schedules as long as you wish to suppress them. Nothing you wouldn't expect." 

Marcus taps several more fields on the tablet before sliding it toward Ari once more. "Just your signature on the final acceptance form, General. This confirms receipt of the omega and acknowledges Whitecrest's fulfillment of our contract with Governor Barnes."

Ari signs with a practiced motion, his eyes flicking toward you. Marcus taps a few more buttons before the tablet emits a soft chime.

"Congratulations, General Levinson. She is officially yours," Marcus says with a practiced smile. 

Elsie straightens her jacket. "The omega has been thoroughly briefed on her duties and expectations. She'll serve you well." She gives you a final appraising look, a nearly imperceptible nod that seems to convey some private message, before turning back to Ari. "Should you require any assistance during the adjustment period, our support staff is available at any hour."

"That won't be necessary," Ari replies, his tone making it clear the conversation is concluded.

With a final nod, Marcus and Elsie depart, leaving Ari alone with you for the first time. The door closes with a soft click, and the sudden silence feels weighted with possibility.

Ari studies you, still standing precisely as you had undoubtedly been trained to do, hands folded neatly before you, eyes downcast. The perfect picture of omega submission—yet he hasn't forgotten that brief moment of alertness that drew him to you initially.

"You can look at me," he says, his voice neither harsh nor particularly gentle. "I prefer direct communication."

You raise your eyes to meet his, and he's struck again by what he sees there—intelligence, assessment, and something else he can't quite define. Not fear, which is interesting. Perhaps caution. Certainly awareness.

"I imagine this is... unexpected for you as well," he says.

“On the contrary, General Levinson, I’ve known for two decades I was being held in reserve, training and preparing for the alpha who would claim me.”

Ari notes that your tone doesn’t seem to harbor any resentment towards that statement or the reality of it either. 

"Two decades is a long time to prepare for something without knowing when it will happen," Ari observes, moving to the kitchen area. He pours himself a glass of water, then, after a moment's consideration, pours a second. "Would you like one?"

"Thank you, Alpha," you respond, joining him in the kitchen and accepting the glass with graceful movements. Your fingers brush against his, and he notes the controlled steadiness of your hand.

"You can call me Ari when we're alone," he says, watching your reaction carefully.

You take a small sip of water before responding. "As you wish... Ari." The name sounds intimate on your lips, a privilege you understand the significance of.

"I should inform you," you continue, your voice measured and practical, "that I'm currently on a regimen of heat suppressants, as is standard protocol before a Whitecrest omega is transferred to the care of an alpha." Your voice is measured, professional. "However, I can discontinue them immediately if you prefer. The medication will clear my system within seventy-two hours."

Ari's expression remains neutral, though his scent shifts subtly with interest. 

"That won't be necessary just yet," he replies, studying your face. "We have time." 

You nod once, acknowledging his decision. "Regardless of my suppressed state, I am fully capable of satisfying any and all intimate requirements you may have." Your tone remains matter-of-fact, neither coy nor embarrassed. "While I am a certified virgin omega, Whitecrest's curriculum includes comprehensive training in all aspects of physical intimacy." 

Ari's lips twitch beneath his mustache. He told you he appreciates direct communication, and he likes that you seem to fall into it naturally with him. “How does that work? A virgin but with comprehensive training?”

At this, you do drop your eyes for a moment shift slightly from one foot to the other. 

"Whitecrest, as explained, always adopts a thorough and methodical approach to educating their omegas," you explain, your voice remaining professional despite the intimate subject matter. "My physical training included extensive work with beta partners—men and women both—to master techniques of oral gratification. I can pleasure with my mouth, hands, and body in a myriad of distinct ways."

You take another small sip of water before continuing, "We were also thoroughly schooled in self-pleasure, to understand our own bodies' responses. This knowledge helps us better anticipate and accommodate an alpha's needs." 

Ari watches your face as you speak, the blood in his veins pumping more heatedly as you speak. 

"There were practical vaginal applications too," you add. "Specialized stretching exercises to gradually stretch and prepare our bodies to accommodate an alpha's... dimensions."

You meet his eyes directly now. "However, nothing has ever penetrated my vaginal canal deeply enough to break my hymen. That honor is reserved exclusively for my alpha. For you."

“Fuck,” he says.

The word escapes his mouth before he can stop it, his careful control slipping for just a moment. Your eyes widen slightly at his reaction, and he sees a flash of something—satisfaction, perhaps—cross your features before you compose yourself again.

"I apologize if I was too forward," you say, though your tone suggests you don't believe you've overstepped.

"No," Ari says, setting his glass down on the counter with measured precision. "I said I wanted direct communication. You're giving me exactly that."

He moves closer to you, close enough that you can feel the heat radiating from his body. Your scent shifts subtly in response to his proximity, and he catches it immediately—a sweetening, an unconscious response that makes his alpha instincts stir with primal satisfaction.

"I want to be clear about something," he says, his voice dropping to a lower register. "You were trained to be what Whitecrest believed an alpha would want. But I'm interested in what lies beneath that training."

Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, your carefully constructed demeanor wavers. "Whitecrest doesn't encourage individuality," you admit, tone laced with wariness. 

You’re incredibly intelligent, strategic. He likes that. 

"I consider it essential," Ari counters. “I want to know who you are beneath the training."

You tilt your head slightly, a gesture that seems less practiced and more natural. "What would you like to know, Ari?"

He steps back, creating space between you again, regaining his composure. "Let's sit," he suggests, gesturing toward the living area. You follow him, moving with elegant efficiency, and take a seat on the couch while he chooses the armchair opposite you.

He studies you for a long moment, taking in the details of your face, your posture, the way you hold yourself. There's a precision to your movements that speaks of years of training, but underneath it, he senses something more—a natural grace that couldn't have been taught.

"Tell me something that isn't in your file," he says. "Something Whitecrest doesn't know about you."

Your eyes widen slightly at this unexpected request. For a moment, you seem to wrestle with it, your training having conditioned you to present only what would please an alpha. But he sees the moment you let go and relax from that expectation.

"I steal moments," you admit finally, voice softer than before. "When I'm supposed to be meditating during quiet hours, I sometimes watch the stars instead." Your hands rest in your lap, perfectly still, but he notices the slight tension in your fingers. "There's a constellation that as visible from my dormitory window that wasn't in any of our astronomy texts. I named it myself." 

Ari leans forward slightly, genuinely intrigued. "What did you name it?" 

The question seems to surprise you, you’re clearly not expecting his curiosity to extend beyond a surface level. "Libera," you answer after a moment. "It means—"

"Freedom," Ari finishes for you, his expression thoughtful. "I speak Latin too." 

Something shifts in your eyes—a flicker of deeper interest in him, the man, not the alpha.

A current seems to pass between you both at that moment. Ari's eyes darken slightly, and the air in the penthouse grows heavier with unspoken tension. 

"Come here," Ari says, his voice low as he extends his hand toward you. His command is gentle but unmistakable.

You hesitate for just a fraction of a second—another glimpse of the real person beneath the training—before rising gracefully from the couch. You cross the short distance between you and place your hand in his.

With a smooth, deliberate motion, he guides you onto his lap, your body naturally finding position across his thighs. Without a word, Ari's hand comes up to cup your cheek, his thumb tracing the outline of your lower lip. His eyes search yours, seeking something beyond the polished veneer of your training.

His eyes never leaving yours, Ari leans forward, closing the distance between you. His lips brush against yours—tentative at first, almost questioning. But when you respond, parting your lips slightly, his restraint crumbles. 

Ari deepens the kiss, hungry for more of you, exploring your mouth, the way you taste. His hand slides from your cheek to the back of your neck, fingers threading through your hair to hold you in place as he tastes you thoroughly. You taste of mint and something else—something uniquely you that makes his alpha instincts surge with possessive pleasure.

You respond with the technical precision of your training, but there's something more authentic beneath it—a genuine response to him that makes his blood heat. He can sense it in the air as your scent shifts to something more heady. His tongue sweeps into your mouth, claiming, exploring, and you match him movement for movement.

When he finally pulls back, both of you are breathing harder. Your eyes have darkened, pupils blown with a desire he believes matches his own. 

His hand travels from your neck down your spine, pressing you closer as he leans in again. This time his lips find the sensitive spot just below your ear, and you shiver involuntarily at the contact. He grins against your heated skin, and continues his exploration, trailing kisses along your jawline, down your neck, lingering at the junction where your neck meets your shoulder. 

"Your scent is..." he murmurs against your skin, inhaling deeply. "Intoxicating." 

Ari shifts beneath you, adjusting his position in the armchair. He slides his hands to grip your waist, then guides you to straddle his muscular thigh, positioning you so his quad presses directly against your core, the fabric of your dress forced up around your hips. 

His eyes, dark with desire but still observant, study your face. His hand slides to your hip, fingers applying gentle pressure.

"Ride my thigh," Ari commands softly, his thumb stroking your hip. "Show me what brings you pleasure."

You hesitate, confusion flickering across your features. "I don't understand. My purpose is to—"

"Your purpose right now," he interrupts, his voice firm, "is to give me what I want, and what I want is to see you please yourself." 

The concept seems foreign to you, and Ari can see the conflict in your eyes—your training has conditioned you to focus exclusively on an alpha's pleasure, not your own. This slight deviation from your programming fascinates him. 

"I..." you begin, uncertainty coloring your voice.

"This isn't a test," Ari says, and he moves from your hip to cup your face, his touch gentle but commanding. "I want to see what feels good to you. I always study my subject, that’s my expertise. I want to watch you come apart, know what your body craves so I can meet out pleasure to you like you’ve never experienced before."

Something in his words seems to unlock something in you. Your body responds to his reasoning, beginning to move slowly against his thigh. The friction sends visible shivers through you, and your eyes widen slightly at the sensation.

"That's it," Ari encourages, his gaze intense as he watches your face. "Don't hold back." 

Your movements grow more confident, planting your hands on his shoulders and finding a rhythm. Your breathing quickens as you grind against his muscular thigh, the rhythmic movement causes your dress to ride up further, exposing more of your thighs. Ari's hands move to grip your hips, not to guide but to feel your movements, to learn your rhythm.

"Look at me," he commands, and your eyes lock with his. The vulnerability in your gaze is intoxicating—this isn't the practiced performance of a Whitecrest omega, but something raw and genuine.

A small moan escapes your lips before you can stop it, and you immediately tense, as if surprised by your own loss of inhibition so quickly.

"Don't," Ari says, his voice husky with desire. "Don't hide those sounds from me. I want to hear every one of them." 

Your movements become more urgent, more desperate as pleasure builds within you. Your body trembles against him, and Ari can feel the dampness growing between your legs, seeping through the thin fabric of your underwear and onto his pants. He finds the evidence of your arousal deeply satisfying.

"That's it," he murmurs, one hand leaving your hip to slide up your back, pressing you closer. "Show me what you need." 

Your movements become less controlled, more instinctual as pleasure builds. Your head falls back slightly, exposing the elegant line of your throat. Ari can't resist—he leans forward to press his lips against your pulse point, feeling it race beneath his mouth. His teeth graze the sensitive skin there. Not a claiming bite—not yet—but the promise of one.

"A-Alpha," you gasp, forgetting his instruction to use his name in the haze of your building climax. 

Ari doesn't correct you. There's something primal and satisfying about hearing his designation on your lips in this moment of abandon. His own arousal is painful against the confines of his pants, but he ignores it, focused entirely on your pleasure.

His hand tightens on your hip, urging you on, his other hand sliding from your back to slip beneath the neckline of your dress, exploring the soft skin he finds there.

Your movements become frantic, chasing the release that hovers just out of reach. Ari slides one hand between your bodies, pressing his thumb against the exact spot where you need it most, even through the fabric of your underwear.

"Let go," he commands, his voice a low growl. "Show me."

Your rhythm falters as pleasure overtakes you. Your thighs tighten around his, your fingers digging into his shoulders as your body shudders with release. A broken cry escapes your lips, raw and unfiltered.

Ari watches, transfixed, as you come apart for him. The sight of your genuine pleasure, the sounds you make, the scent of your arousal—it all combines to stoke his own desire to nearly unbearable levels. His hardness presses insistently against his pants, but he makes no move to seek his own release. Not yet.

As the aftershocks subside, you slump slightly against him, your breathing ragged, your forehead resting against his shoulder as your body continues to tremble with aftershocks.

"Beautiful," he murmurs against your hair, his hands still gripping your hips.

In one fluid motion, Ari lifts you from his lap. His movements are controlled yet urgent as he lowers you to the plush carpet. Your dress has ridden up around your waist, and he takes a moment to appreciate the sight of you—flushed, disheveled, still trembling slightly from your release. 

"That was just the beginning," he murmurs, his voice deep with promise as he positions himself between your thighs. 

His fingers hook into the waistband of your underwear, sliding them down your legs with deliberate slowness. The garment is damp with evidence of your arousal, and Ari inhales deeply, his pupils dilating at your scent. 

"Perfect," he whispers, mostly to himself. 

He spreads your thighs wider, exposing you completely to his gaze. He can see the mixture of anticipation and interest as Ari lowers himself, planting his shoulders between your legs. He senses his intentions are in no way unwelcome, but not what you were told to expect. His breath ghosts over your sensitive flesh, already swollen and slick from your previous climax. The first touch of his tongue against you sends a jolt through your entire body, your back arching involuntarily off the carpet.

"Ari," you gasp, forgetting formality as sensations overwhelm you. 

He hums against you, the vibration adding another layer to the pleasure coursing through your body. His technique is methodical yet intuitive – exploring, learning, cataloging every response. When his tongue circles your clit and your thighs tremble, he takes note. When he flattens his tongue against you in a broad stroke and you whimper, he files that information away too. 

"You taste even better than you smell," he murmurs against you, his voice rough with desire.

Your hands flutter uncertainly before settling on the carpet beside you, fingers curling against the plush rug. 

Ari shifts his approach, abandoning the methodical exploration in favor of something more primal. His movements become unhurried, indulgent—almost worshipful as he parts your folds with his fingers and drags his tongue through your wetness with deliberate slowness. The meticulous pace makes every sensation more acute, more overwhelming. 

You gasp as he laps at you with broad, leisurely strokes, and he knows his beard is creating a delicious friction against your sensitive skin - he’s looking forward to seeing the evidence later. His technique is less precise now, messier. He's savoring a feast rather than executing a strategy. Slickness gathers at the corners of his mouth, but he’s unconcerned, focused entirely on drawing out your pleasure. 

"Please," you whisper, the word escaping before you can contain it.

He glances up, meeting your eyes over the landscape of your body. His mustache is slick with your arousal, his eyes dark with desire. "Please what?" he murmurs against your inner thigh, his hot breath teasing you.

You struggle to articulate what you need, your training suddenly inadequate for this unexpected experience. "More," is all you manage.

A low chuckle rumbles through him, vibrating against your core. "Like this?" He seals his lips around your clit and sucks gently, his tongue flicking against the sensitive bundle of nerves with precision.

Your back arches off the carpet, a strangled cry escaping your throat. Your hands move instinctively to his head, fingers threading through his dark hair. For a moment, you freeze, but Ari responds by pressing closer, encouraging your touch.

He slips one finger inside you, careful to maintain the barrier of your virginity while still providing the pressure and fullness he knows your body craves. 

"That's it," he murmurs against you, feeling your inner walls begin to flutter around his finger. "So responsive.”

He adds a second digit, and his fingers continue their teasing exploration, never quite breaching you but applying just enough pressure to make you ache for more. All the while, his tongue works against your sensitive bundle of nerves with deliberate, focused attention. 

Your hips begin to rock against his face, seeking more pressure, more friction, more of everything he's giving you. He responds by increasing the intensity, his tongue circling your clit with relentless precision while his fingers press deeper, stretching you without breaching that final barrier.

"Ari," you gasp, your voice breaking as the tension coils tighter. "I can't—"

"You can," he growls against your sensitive flesh. "Come apart for your alpha again."

His tongue flattens against your clit, applying firm, consistent pressure while his fingers curl inside you, finding that perfect spot. The dual sensation shatters you completely. Your release crashes down, your body convulsing beneath him as waves of pleasure radiate outward. Your cry echoes through the penthouse, uninhibited and raw.

As you tremble through the aftershocks, Ari's control finally shatters. With a fluid movement born of years of military training, he flips your limp body over, and he hoists your hips up with powerful hands, positioning you on your knees.

"Present for me," he growls, his voice barely recognizable even to himself, thick with primal need. 

Your body responds instinctively to his command, your back arching, hips raising to offer yourself to him. The position is vulnerable, submissive—exactly what your alpha demands.

Ari's hands caress your exposed flesh, appreciating the curve of your spine, the perfect roundness of your ass, the sight of you ready and waiting for him. He quickly unfastens his pants, freeing his straining erection. The cool air of the penthouse against his heated flesh makes him throb with anticipation. He positions himself at your entrance, the blunt head of his cock pressing against and then parting your slick, swollen folds.

"Mine," he growls, the single word laden with possession and promise. 

Without further warning, Ari drives forward in one powerful thrust, breaking through your virgin barrier and burying himself to the hilt inside you. The sensation is overwhelming—your tight heat enveloping him completely as your virginity yields to his claiming.

Your cry echoes through the penthouse, a mixture of pain and pleasure. Your body, still limp and sated from your previous releases, offers little resistance to his invasion. Your inner walls stretch to accommodate his considerable size, pulsing around him as your body adjusts to this new intrusion. 

Ari remains still for just a moment, his hands gripping your hips with bruising force as he fights for control. The primal part of him wants to rut into you with abandon, to claim and mark and own. But the more controlled part of him—the strategist, the soldier—knows to temper that instinct.

"Breathe," he commands, his voice strained with the effort of restraint. His hand slides up your back to grip the nape of your neck, applying gentle pressure—a steadying, grounding touch. 

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling as it adjusts to the unfamiliar fullness. Your inner walls flutter and contract around his length, instinctively trying to accommodate him. The sensation nearly makes Ari lose his hard-won control. 

"So tight," he groans, his fingers digging into the soft flesh of your hip. "So perfect for me." 

You whimper beneath him, your body trembling as it stretches to accommodate his invasion. Your inner walls flutter around him, adjusting to his girth, your body producing more slickness to ease his passage.

"Good omega," he murmurs, the praise falling from his lips unbidden. His hands return to your hips, gripping firmly as he begins to withdraw slowly, almost completely, before driving back. Each thrust is measured, calculated to stretch you perfectly while minimizing discomfort. The warrior in him wants to claim you roughly, but the strategist wins out, conquering your body with deliberate precision.

"Alpha," you moan, your fingers curling into the plush carpet beneath you. Your voice carries a note of surrender that satisfies something primal in Ari's core.

His pace increases gradually as your body yields to him completely, your initial discomfort giving way to unmistakable pleasure. Your scent changes, sweetening with arousal, and Ari inhales deeply, letting it fuel his desire.

"You were made for this," Ari growls, his rhythm increasing as he feels your body responding, accepting him deeper, your inner walls gripping him like a silken vice. "Made for me."

Your gasps and whimpers spur him on, each sound a testament to your pleasure. He shifts his angle slightly, searching for that spot inside you that will make you shatter again. When your back arches sharply and a broken cry escapes your lips, he knows he's found it.

"There," he murmurs, satisfaction evident in his voice. "Right there."

He maintains that angle, hitting that perfect spot with each powerful thrust. His hand slides around your body to find your sensitive bundle of nerves, circling it with his thumb in time with his movements. The dual stimulation has you trembling again, your breath coming in short, desperate pants.

"Let go for me again, omega," Ari commands, his voice rough with exertion and desire. "I want to feel you come apart around my cock."

The pressure of his skilled fingers combined with the relentless stimulation of that perfect spot inside you push you over the edge. Your entire body convulses as pleasure crashes through you, more intense than before. Your inner walls clamp down around him in rhythmic pulses, drawing a guttural groan from deep in his chest. Your cries are uninhibited now, echoing through the penthouse as your body surrenders to him entirely. 

With a final, powerful thrust, Ari buries himself completely inside you, his body going rigid as his climax overtakes him. His release floods your insides, hot and abundant, marking you from within. His fingers dig into your hips as he holds you firmly in place, ensuring every drop remains inside you. 

As the waves of pleasure gradually subside, Ari remains buried deep inside you, leaning forward. His breath comes in harsh pants against your neck, his chest pressed to your back as he covers you completely with his larger frame. The position is intensely intimate, possessive in a way that satisfies something primal in his bones.

For several long moments, neither of you moves, your bodies joined and slick with exertion. Ari's hand slides from your hip to your stomach, splaying his fingers across your abdomen where he can almost feel the evidence of his claiming deep inside you. The thought sends another pulse of satisfaction through him. 

"Mine," he murmurs against the shell of your ear, the single word carrying weight beyond its simplicity.

You shiver beneath him, your body responding to his declaration with another small aftershock that ripples around his still-hard length. 

With utmost care, he eases out of you, his cock still semi-hard and slick with the evidence of your joining. Satisfaction courses through him as he watches his release begin to seep from your entrance, marking you in the most ancient way.

He will clean you soon, but for now he wants your thighs sticky with his seed, your slickness, and traces of your claimed virginity.

He helps you collapse gently onto the plush carpet. You fold your arms together and rest your head on them, turning your face to your alpha, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

Ari stretches out beside you, propping himself up on one elbow to study your face. His other hand traces lazy patterns on your back, unwilling to break physical contact. Your eyes are half-lidded, your breathing still uneven. 

"Are you alright?" he asks, his voice softer now. 

You nod, meeting his gaze with a new openness. "Yes, Alpha... Ari," you correct yourself, reconditioning yourself from the instruction you’d surely been given to only call him Alpha. He imagines he will always find satisfaction from both falling from your sweet lips. 

He reaches out to brush some hair from your face. 

"You're remarkable," he murmurs, his eyes studying your features with newfound appreciation. "I didn't expect..." 

You wait for him to finish, but he merely shakes his head slightly, surprised by his own thoughts.

"What didn't you expect?" you press, your voice still slightly breathless.

Ari's thumb traces the outline of your lower lip, his expression thoughtful. "To feel this... connection. This quickly." 

The admission is wholly unexpected. He didn’t expect the feeling or to be ready and willing to share it with you, but you seem to be an element weaving itself into his inner alpha.

Your eyes soften at his words, a warmth spreading through them as he continues to hold your gaze. Your hand lifts hesitantly to touch his face, fingers tracing the edge of his beard with unexpected tenderness.

"I feel it too," you admit, your voice barely above a whisper. "They taught us to expect... many things. But not this." 

Ari turns his face slightly to press his lips against your palm, a gesture that feels more intimate than the joining of your bodies moments before. His alpha instincts purr with satisfaction at your admission, at the vulnerability you're willing to show him in return. 

The silence between you stretches, comfortable rather than awkward. In this quiet moment, Ari feels something settling into place inside him—a certainty he hasn't experienced before. Outside these walls, he will still become General Levinson, the calculating strategist who helped Barnes conquer a territory, the ruthlessly efficient military leader who will shape and command armies. The world will see the same disciplined, controlled alpha who has built his reputation on precision and detachment.

But here, with you, something different exists. Something private and separate from that external identity. 

I know I was just writing a very different Alpha!Ari last week, but IT'S ALPHA APRIL! And I've had this idea swirling in my head or about six weeks. I hope he was satisfying... 😏 There's at least one other alpha I'm going to introduce to this verse very soon.

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[waywardxrhea]

Heart's Desire - Spencer Reid

part 2 | part 3

pairing: Spencer Reid x BAU!fem!reader (no use of y/n)

word count: 9.58k

When working a serial killer case in Tennessee, you become the bait for a violent unsub whose victims all match your description. When going after the man you collapse and are rushed to the hospital for medical treatment.

a/n: so yes, this is a Reader one shot, but it is super niche so...whoops? this honestly was just a super self-indulgent fic for me to write because i can't say i have ever seen the heart condition i had presented in the media and i really wanted to explore how Spencer may interact with it, so here we are! this is my first time writing for the criminal minds fandom, so shout out to my bestie who helped me out with coming up with case details and smaller plot points that have been incorporated into this little one shot!

content: fluff (oh how i adore the fluff in this one!), multilingual Reader, secret relationship, implied smut (if you squint lol), insecure Reader, Reader fits the victimology, graphic description of canon level violence, Reader is bait for the unsub, protective Spencer, mentions of jealous and possessive Spencer, language, medical emergencies, small medical inaccuracies (no AED on the scene - i had to do it for the drama don't judge), crying Spencer.

(not my gif), CM dividers by @firefly-graphics , EKG dividers by me

“Good morning, beautiful,” you heard Spencer’s sleep ridden voice mumble from behind you as you began to stir awake with the sun that was filtering in through the curtains of Spencer’s bedroom. The two of you had just gotten back from a case the day before and you were utterly exhausted. All you wanted to do was sleep in, and although he had bought blackout curtains for this exact reason, the sun still somehow managed to slip through, which you cursed the manufacturer for every time…

You flipped around in his arms to face him and sent a sleepy smile at him before mumbling, “Bonjour mon amour.” 

“Oh, so it’s a French morning?” Spencer asked with a quiet chuckle as he took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles.

“I was debating between that and Italian, but… French usually gets us to where I would love to spend this free day with you,” you replied with a smirk before leaning up to kiss him.

After a few slow and loving kisses, Spencer pulled away for a brief moment to rest his forehead on yours and say, “You know, since we just got back from a case out of state that took so long to solve, the odds of the team getting called back out are significantly lower than if-”

And then your phones started ringing. 

“What were you saying about the odds being low?” you muttered with a sigh as you turned back over in the bed and grabbed your phone off of the nightstand. You heard the automated voice on the other side tell you that there was a case the BAU was requested to work and that your presence was requested as soon as possible. 

As you sighed and closed your eyes briefly while you tried to sink back into the pillow, Spencer noted, “Well I did say the odds were low, not zero…” You couldn’t help the smile that slipped onto your lips at the comment as you laughed and lightly hit him in the bare chest with a throw pillow. 

“‘Never tell me the odds,’” you told him as you reluctantly began getting out of bed, sitting up on the edge and stretching to wake up your tired muscles. 

Spencer positioned himself to where his legs were on either side of you and wrapped his arms around your torso before kissing your neck and mumbling, “No matter how many times you quote Han Solo at me, it’s not gonna stop me from telling you the odds of things, you know that right?”

“I know, I know…” you told him with a giggle as you toyed with his hands that were clasped in front of your stomach. “How far apart do we have to leave again so they aren’t suspicious?” 

“Well, your apartment is about a thirty minute commute from the office while mine is twenty depending on traffic, so you'll leave ten minutes after me,” he reminded you as you both began to get up and untangle yourselves from each other. “I have an extra go-bag packed for you in the closet as well as a few outfits so you aren’t wearing the same clothes you came home in yesterday.”

“You’re the best, Spence,” you told him quietly as you both made your way into the bathroom to get ready for the day. 

As you jumped into the shower to take advantage of your extra ten minutes, you thought about your relationship with Spencer. You two had started dating about a year after you joined the BAU and out of fear of getting in trouble, like two teenagers you hid the relationship from your teammates. Your transfer from Homeland Security was prompted when your interrogation and hostage negotiation tactics landed you on the BAU’s radar, and you very quickly became fast friends with the whole team. So with the guise of being your usual friendly self, it truthfully hadn’t been too hard to hide the relationship from your friends. And while Spencer was hesitant about hiding a relationship from a group of people like the BAU team, your fear of being let go as the “more inferior” member out of the two of you was what convinced him to keep it a secret. It also prompted him to lecture you on your clear inferiority complex, but that was neither here nor there. 

“I’ll see you there, drive safe,” Spencer told you before kissing your cheek as you wrapped yourself in your towel to dry off while finishing your routine. 

“You too,” you replied, giving him a peck on the lips before he began walking out of the restroom and apartment to head to headquarters. 

When you got to HQ, you yawned as you made a beeline for the kitchenette for some much needed caffeine. When you got inside, you cordially told Spencer and Derek, “Good morning you two,” as you poured your coffee, creamer, and sugar into the mug you always had on your desk. It was your parting gift from your Homeland team that was in the shape of the sun and what prompted your nickname from Derek. 

He laughed as he watched you and Spencer prepare your coffees, telling you, “You know, Sunshine, I think with how much creamer you put in that, you may have Pretty Boy beat on sugar consumption.”

“Ha ha very funny,” you told him with a playful roll of your eyes as you turned to walk into the bullpen. 

As the three of you ambled into the area, Hotch emerged from his office and announced, “Sorry to call you all in so soon after getting back from a case, but this one is something we aren’t taking lightly and needs to be stopped because the unsub is escalating quickly.” So, after a quick briefing on what he knew of the case, Hotch told you all to be prepared for wheels up in thirty. 

When the plane landed in Tennessee later that afternoon and you stood up from your perch, you stumbled a bit when you felt your heart give an irregular stutter in your chest. “You okay, kid?” David asked you with concern in his eyes after seeing the brief moment of panic flit across your features. 

“Yeah, fine, just feeling a bit off after that flight, I guess,” you replied, taking a deep breath and straightening up which seemed to do the trick as your heart began beating in a regular rhythm once more. 

“You know, I wouldn’t say I blame you if you were a bit anxious,” he told you as you both exited the jet and started making your way to the black SUVs awaiting your arrival. “It isn’t every day we get cases as violent as this one, especially when the victims…”

“All look like me?” you supplied quietly when he trailed off at the end of his sentence. It was true that when you began going over the pertinent files on the flight that all of the unsub’s victims shared many of your physical features, and while that did alarm you, you knew that your team would have your back during this case no matter what. You placed a small smile on your lips as you told him, “I’ll rest easier when this guy’s behind bars.”

“That’s the spirit,” he told you with a warm smile as you loaded into the SUV, your bag at your feet and your case file in your lap as you continued to read over what all the unsub had been up to in the last couple of months. 

After you all got to the local police precinct and got settled in and assigned tasks, you made your way to their break room for another cup of coffee, only to be followed in by Spencer a few moments later. As you both made your drinks, you casually turned so you were leaning on the counter and watching over the office as Spencer asked, “Are you okay?”

“You know, Dave asked me the same thing, I’m starting to think you guys are more worried about me than I am,” you told him, your lips covered by your cup in case anyone you couldn't see was watching. 

“I always worry about you,” Spencer told you softly as he stirred his sugary drink. 

“And I, you, but for now we need to work on getting this guy in cuffs, and it won’t happen if either of us get distracted,” you said with a sort of finality in your tone, determined to make sure you conveyed a sense of confidence or else you too may fall victim to worrying about yourself instead of working the case. 

As you walked out to the desk where you were allowed to set up, Penelope ran past you, almost toppling you over as she shouted, “Hotch, I found out how he’s luring the victims!” 

“How?” your unit chief asked as she made his company. The team had barely been here a couple hours and the locals' work was already being combed through and missing clues were being found. 

“Dating apps! On every victim’s phone was a dating app and she had planned a date with a man from there. None of the men’s accounts were the same and none of them had common pictures, but the unsub always used the same lines when chatting the women up!” she told him in a rush as she showed him pages she had printed out while doing her dive into the womens' phones. 

Spencer emerged from the break room with his coffee in hand, saying, “Well, based on that knowledge we can assume that dating apps have a significant meaning to him.” 

From her place nearby, JJ spoke up, saying, “Every victim had her left ring finger severed off, maybe his wife cheated on him using one?”

As Derek walked into the room with David hot on his heels, he added, “And turns out they also had their ovaries taken out by the unsub.”

“As well as their cervix glued shut with industrial sealant before their genitals were mutilated,” David supplied, his head shaking as he handed Hotch the ME reports. 

A scoff huffed out of your chest before you mused, “So he feels slighted by his ex wife and has decided that in order to pacify that anger he does what he wishes he could to her to the victims…” 

“Do we know if any of the victims was the ex wife?” Derek asked. 

“Nope, all the victims are single women who have been on dating apps for quite some time and none of them have an active or otherwise marriage license under their name,” Penelope replied. 

“Good work everyone, let’s get to work finding this guy,” Hotch said. “Find out all you can, I want to give this brief before nightfall.”

“Yes sir,” you all replied before once again splitting off into your assigned tasks. 

Right as the sun began to set that evening, Hotch called everyone together and the team began giving the locals the brief on the unsub. Hotch of course began the brief, informing the locals, “The unsub is a caucasian male in his mid thirties to early forties who we believe to have a medical background in surgery and likely just went through a rough divorce." 

You were the next to speak, announcing, “We believe he was cheated on by his ex wife, which is what triggered the break and the murders. The victims all share common features which we assume are also shared by the ex wife.” As you said this, you clicked the remote in your hand and on the board behind you popped up the faces of the victims. 

With the slightest tremor in his voice, Spencer was the next to piggyback, saying, “The victims have all been found with mutilated genitals as well as their left ring finger cut off. The unsub also took the time to use industrial glue to seal the victim’s cervix shut and to cut out her ovaries.”

Derek was next to speak, adding to Spencer’s statement, “The cause of death in all the victims was prolonged blood loss. This tells us that he's performing these rituals while the victim is still alive.”

“He’s tech savvy, enough so that he is able to create difficult to trace profiles on dating apps on which he seduces victims before murdering them,” Penelope said sadly. 

JJ was next, telling the team, “The only evidence that he’s left behind are the bodies in secluded dump locations and as of right now we do not know where the victims are being killed.”

David was the last to speak, rounding out the brief with, “All of this combined leads us to believe that he is a very calculated and dangerous individual who needs to be found before he strikes again.” When he was done, Hotch dismissed everyone to begin their search with this new information. 

“Hey, chief?” came a voice from the front of the office a few minutes later. Both the local police chief and Hotch looked up at the young man expectantly before he replied, “There’s been another victim…”

“He’s escalating again…” Hotch mumbled as he ran a hand over his chin. “There was a lot less time between victims. We need to work faster.”

“Yes sir,” everyone replied before attempting to double down on their work. 

As they all began working, the gears in your mind began to spin, and when you finally formulated a plan, you approached Hotch and said, “Sir, I think I may have an idea on how to catch him.”

“How?”

“We do a sting. Penelope makes a dating profile for me on one of those apps and we use me as bait,” you told him, never breaking eye contact to convey that you were serious about the idea. “If we can get someone inside then we get our guy as well as possible evidence for half a dozen murders.”

Hotch sighed before saying your name warily. “You know how risky that is.”

“And that risk is something I’m willing to take in order to stop this guy. If we don’t do this then there may be another victim tomorrow, maybe two,” you said. Squaring your shoulders, you added, “I agreed to take this job in order to help people. I fit the victimology. This is how I can help.”

A few moments of silence passed as Hotch seemed to weigh his options before he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose as he said, “Fine. I’ll think through the details. I want everyone well rested tonight before we start planning tomorrow. You and Garcia share a room at the hotel so she can start making that profile for you.”

“Yes sir,” you replied with a small smile and a nod before heading off to find Penelope so you two could head to the hotel and begin. 

“So, are you on one of these apps normally?” Penelope asked as the two of you sat beside each other on one of the hotel beds, laptop and phones in hand to create this fake profile for yourself. 

“Me? No, I don’t trust them for this exact reason,” you replied, shuddering as you thought about the poor women who thought they were simply going to meet a new man but paid with their lives and dignity. 

“Oh, I see,” Penelope said before instructing you to find a specific type of photo in your camera roll that the unsub may find attractive. “Are you dating at all?”

“Oh, uh, not really,” you said, trying to pace your words so they didn’t seem panicky. “This job takes up a lot of my time and all, so it would be hard to find time for a relationship between cases.”

“You have an excellent point, but you can’t let something like that hold you back! You deserve all the happiness in the world!” she told you cheerfully as she continued typing away at the laptop. “What are your interests?”

Smiling inwardly at how the subject turned from your dating life you told her, “Reading, rom coms, coffee, patisseries, art, the occasional drink.” As you thought for a moment, you added, “Ooh, make sure you put ‘not looking for anything serious.’ I think that’s something that may trigger the unsub into choosing my profile.”

“Smart!” she replied before selecting that option on the profile. “We should do this more often! Maybe when this is all said and done we can make you a real one and I can just do a background check of the person before you go on a date!”

You laughed lightly as you told her, “Let’s make sure I survive this case first then we’ll go from there.”

The next morning came and went as the team tried to track the guy to no avail, so right before lunch, Hotch gathered everyone around and announced, “Okay, this unsub is proving hard to find by other methods, so we’ve decided to pull a sting. We can’t just sit around waiting for our surprisingly extensive list of divorced surgeons to make a move.” He motioned to you and Penelope and said, “These two worked on creating a fake dating profile that the unsub may fall for. The plan is to get him alone and our resident interrogator will pull a confession out of him.”

“Wait, what?” Spencer asked immediately, his eyes wide. “Is it a good idea to send her in when we know the unsub is escalating?”

“It’s the only lead we can get right now,” Hotch told him. “If we don’t do this tonight, then we may risk another woman dying at his hands.”

“Yeah, and it may be her,” Derek said sharply, the idea of sending you into the belly of the beast not sitting right with him either. 

“Not if we’re all on our A-games when it goes down,” David said in an attempt to calm the younger men down. “If you’re so concerned, we can send you into wherever he asks to meet her so we can have eyes on her the entire time." He chuckled before adding, "Derek, not you Spencer, no offense but you do tend to stick out like a sore thumb in certain environments."

“But-” Spencer tried, but was cut off by Hotch. 

“No buts, we’re doing this. Tonight. Garcia, activate the profile.”

“Yes sir,” she replied quietly before opening up her phone and clicking a few buttons. “It’s done.”

“Good.” He turned to you and said your name to get your attention. “Just make sure you reply to any account that may fit the profile. Garcia will run a trace on it to see when it was created since we knew he makes a new account for every victim.”

“Yes sir,” you replied, nodding your head as you pulled out your phone and got to work. While you scrolled through the app and took a seat in one of the secluded offices to eat your lunch, you were startled by another presence entering the room without knocking. “Geez Spence, you scared me!” you scolded him, clutching your chest in a vain attempt to slow your racing heart. 

“And you’re scaring me,” he told you as he shuttered the blinds to prevent any passersby from seeing the two of you in there together. As you sat your phone down on the table, he covered your hand with his and asked sincerely, “Are you okay with this plan?”

You nodded. “It was my idea. We need to get this guy before another innocent woman dies.”

Echoing Derek, he asked, “And what if that turns out to be you?”

You scoffed humorously before deadpanning, “And you really think you’d let that happen?” After he floundered with his words for a few seconds, you kissed him gently before saying, “I trust that if anything goes sideways, you’ll be there to save me. You always are. I just need you to trust me and my judgment on this one. Do you trust me?”

“Of course I trust you, it’s just-” he tried, but you cut him off with another kiss. 

“Just trust me, love,” you told him once you pulled away again. 

After you said this, your phone pinged with a notification that caught your attention. You picked it up and saw that there was a new message in your dating app’s inbox. “‘Hey beautiful, you look like you are in need of some company. How about you meet me at Monroe’s tonight and we see where this goes,’” Spencer read with disdain in his voice. He cringed before saying, “Please say that’s not what I sounded like flirting with you…”

You laughed, telling him, “No, the poetry you quoted at me was much more romantic than that line.” You placed one more quick kiss to his lips before telling him, “I’m gonna have Penny run this profile and we’ll see if it could be our guy.”

Turns out there was a high chance of it being your guy, seeing as the profile was created just hours before and yours was the only account that he interacted with. So after a chat with Hotch about the plan to get this guy to confess, you got dressed in a little black number and silver heels, finishing your look with the most effortful hair and makeup you had done in a while. When you emerged into the precinct, you saw that Spencer was the only one in the immediate area. “Where is everyone?” you asked. 

“Getting the gear ready and briefing the police. I got the distinct honor of greeting you,” he told you with a warm smile as he drank in your appearance. His eyes darted around the room to ensure the two of you were alone before he wrapped you in his arms and kissed the top of your head, mumbling into your hair, “Tu es magnifique.”

“Merci beaucoup,” you replied, feeling a heat rush up your neck and into your cheeks at his words. No matter how long you and Spencer had been together, whenever he flirted with you, especially in any of the different languages you spoke, you still got flustered. 

When Spencer’s arms quickly untangled themselves from your embrace, you rightly assumed that the team was emerging into the offices once more. Hotch called out your name before asking, “Are you ready?”

“As I’ll ever be,” you replied with a nod, smoothing out your dress before joining the team near the door. 

On the way to the bar in the taxi you were assigned to take, Hotch went over the plan once more, detailing to you that Derek was already at the bar to keep an eye on you in case things went sideways, that you are to attempt to get any sort of confession out of the unsub, and if you could get information on where the killings were happening that would be even better. You had a plan in mind to attempt to get inside his head and get him to confess without even realizing it, so as you walked into the bar, you feigned confidence as you walked up and sat on a barstool to wait for the unsub to approach you. 

Derek sat across the room behind you and to your left, near the door, and his soothing voice came through the in-ear you had, saying, “All right, Sunshine, if things go sideways you just say the word and I’m all over this guy.”

“Just trust me,” you told him quietly as you took your first drink from the water glass that the bartender handed you with your drink. 

“I believe I’m supposed to be meeting you here?” came a voice from beside you a few minutes later. 

You turned toward the voice and smiled in greeting. He did fit the profile, strikingly actually. You noticed a tan line on his left ring finger and how his hands were slightly cracked and dry, perhaps from surgical scrubbing at his job. You offered out your hand for him to kiss as well as your name before telling him, “I believe so. And you’re already nearly half a drink behind, so why don’t you catch up, handsome?”

“I think we can make that arrangement,” he said after kissing your knuckles.

"That was smooth, remind me why you're single again?" JJ asked with a quiet laugh through the in-ear.

You kept your facial expression in response to the comment neutral as the unsub ordered his drink from the bartender. When the two of you began talking, the team kept their ends of the coms silent as you worked to get what information you needed from the unsub. 

During the conversation, you almost dragged out what you wanted from him, but he always skirted around it. You knew he was your man though, that was plain as day when he spoke about his ex wife who he told you moved off to California to be with the man she cheated on him with. During the conversation, Penelope informed you quietly that she had found record of the woman as well as IDing the man sitting across from you as Doctor Samuel Costner, who specialized in abdominal surgery.

After another paced drink from you and a couple more for him, he stood behind you and wrapped his arms around you, his hands splaying out over the tops of your thighs as he asked, “How about I take you back to my place and show you a good time?”

Bingo. His place. One of the things the team couldn’t figure out was where the unsub lived, otherwise it would have been much easier to locate him and the possible murder site. With this information in mind, you leaned back into his embrace and told him, “I like the sound of that.”

The silence from the team was broken as Spencer’s voice asked, “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”

“As long as we tail them it should be fine,” you heard JJ tell him. 

“We have his name now though, can’t we just have Garcia dig into where he lives and go from there?” Spencer countered.

“And go in with what suspicion? We need evidence that he’s killing there in order to step onto the property,” JJ replied.

“But this is a controlled scene, if she gets in the car with him, we can’t control what happens in there. What if we lose the truck on the backroads? This is too risky, I’m-”

“Reid, sit down and trust her,” you heard Hotch scold him. “What we need is a location and she’s getting us exactly that. Now sit back and let her work or else I’m pulling you from this case.”

“Yes sir…” Spencer eventually said. 

“Remember the signal,” Derek mumbled as you and the man made your way out of the bar and to his truck. 

A nearly thirty minute drive took you to a farm that had vast amounts of pastures and trails hidden within the woods as well as a large picturesque barn that looked just like they all did in the movies. “So this is where you live huh? It’s beautiful…” you breathed as you looked around, trying to take in any specific details you may need to relay to the team in case they weren’t able to tail you. 

He nodded as he pulled up in front of the barn, putting his hand on your thigh as he said, “Family owned and operated since the 1800s. And while I don’t do much of the labor around here because of work, I am still the proud owner. Maybe you could be too one day.”

“Oh yeah?” you asked in your most alluring voice as you slightly widened the space between your thighs, the gesture making you feel filthy, but if this was how you caught the unsub then so be it. 

The kisses that he gave you started off innocently enough, but soon turned aggressive and you cringed inwardly at the fact that you knew the team was listening to everything from their end of the coms. You didn't even want to think about what was going through Spencer's mind - the man had a reputation of being jealous and possessive sometimes when you two went out and guys flirted with you.

Before you knew it, the unsub was coming over to your side of the truck and opening the door. He pulled you into his arms and asked, “How about we go for a roll in the hay?” You giggled innocently before agreeing, subtly eyeing the black SUVs that had begun to creep onto the outskirts of the property line with their headlights out. They followed you. Good.

So, as he took you deeper into the barn and to an area that was lined with tarps that had seen better days, your eyes began scrutinizing every little thing that could be evidence that he had killed those women here. And you found it as you eyed a corner of another tarp that seemed to have dried blood on it. 

Right as you were about to sneak in your code word to the team to signal you had what you needed, you heard Spencer’s distinct voice shouting, “FBI, hands where I can see them!”

“Shit!” the man shouted before jumping off of you and darting away, the large knife you had somehow not noticed before dropping to the ground as he sprinted off. 

“We’ve got a rabbit!” you shouted, tossing off your heels and beginning to run after him. “I’m taking the back exit, someone go around the side!”

“On it!” JJ called as she began running around the other side of the barn to cut him off. 

When you ran out of the door you saw him leave out of, you were met with a wooden fence that he had jammed in the few moments you were distracted. Not wanting to waste any time, you opted to climb the fence, jumping over and landing awkwardly on your feet. When you did, you felt your heart give an irregular stutter in your chest before starting to beat rapidly. As you stood up, you began to get light headed and it felt like cotton filled your ears as you faintly heard a commotion around the corner of the barn. Heat seemed to fill every part of your body and your vision started to tunnel as you gasped for air, stumbling around to try and steady yourself on the side of the barn before your body gave in and collapsed. 

“Stay down!” JJ sternly told the man as she pinned him to the ground and cuffed him. “Samuel Costner, you’re under arrest for the murder of six women.” 

As JJ recited his rights and escorted him to one of the police cruisers that had emerged on the scene, Spencer looked around and asked where you were. “Didn’t she say she was going out the back?” Derek asked. “I didn’t see her come back around…” 

Panic filled Spencer’s body immediately and he began quickly making his way around the barn with Derek hot on his heels. What if Costner got to you in desperation before JJ arrested him? What if you were bleeding out behind the barn? He had to get to you quickly. 

When he rounded the corner and saw you collapsed on the ground, he shouted your name before sprinting over and feeling for a pulse. After a few seconds and some quick math, he said, “Her heart rate is 238 and she feels clammy… She’s not bleeding that I can see, but she’s hardly breathing. Derek!”

“On it!” he shouted, pulling out his walkie to dispatch an ambulance to the location. “They said it’ll take about twenty minutes to get here.”

“She might not have twenty minutes!” Spencer snapped as he watched your now frail body and how you were losing color quickly. With a strength that Derek didn’t know he had, Spencer lifted you into his arms and began carrying you to one of the SUVs, telling him, “Get one of the officers to give us an escort, we’re taking her!”

“Oh, got it!” Derek stuttered out before barking orders at an officer and getting into the driver’s seat of the SUV. 

“What’s going on?” JJ asked as she quickly jumped into the passenger seat while Spencer got you and himself into the back seat. 

They took off at a rapid speed, Derek intending on cutting the ride to the hospital in half at least as he pushed the pedal into the floor as far as it would go. 

“I don’t know, her heart is racing though, and we found her collapsed,” Spencer told her, his own breath beginning to come in rapidly as he began to panic. 

“Spence, look at me,” JJ told him gently which prompted him to look up at her. “We’re gonna figure it out. She’ll be okay. What do we know?”

As he ran his thumb over your jaw as a way of soothing himself, Spencer rattled off to JJ, “Well, obviously she was in a state of stress during the sting, but even a panic attack wouldn’t cause her heart to beat this fast, panic attacks top out at about 200 beats per minute. She’s usually good at controlling her anxiety anyway, especially under pressure like this… He couldn’t have drugged her at the bar because she got all her drinks directly from the bartender and she was cognizant of what she was doing and saying the whole time. As far as I know, at her last doctor’s appointment she was given a clean bill of health…”

“Well, not being drugged is good, we can work with that,” JJ reassured him. She checked the map on her phone and said, “We’re almost there, just hang in there.”

When you arrived at the hospital, Spencer carried you in and placed you on the stretcher that was waiting at the triage door. “What happened?” a nurse asked as a doctor walked up while the team began placing EKG leads all over your chest. 

“We’re FBI. We were working a case and she was chasing down a perp. I didn’t see her come back from where she said she was going and I found her like this,” Spencer replied as he began following them while they pushed you into a room, JJ and Derek hot on his heels. 

“Any significant medical history?” she asked as they began plugging the wires into machines which immediately began blaring with alarms. 

As Spencer began rattling off your medical history, two of the nurses escorted JJ and Derek into the hall to clear some space for the medical team. After two nurses got IVs started in your left arm, another came running in with some syringes, vials of medication, and a cart. As they began preparing the medication, the doctor looked toward Spencer and told him, “We’re about to give her a medication that’s going to stop her heart.”

“What?!” he shouted, his eyes wide. 

Calmly the doctor continued, saying, “It’s got a super short half-life so it’ll only be for a few moments and then her heart should go back into a normal rhythm. It’s a very routine drug. She may feel sore afterward but that is to be expected.”

And so a pair of nurses worked together to quickly administer the medication. When it hit your system, sure enough, for a few moments he watched the monitor as your heart stopped and Spencer could practically feel his own stop too. The tension in his shoulders eased up slightly as your heart returned to a normal 88 beats per minute, but then alarms started blaring again within seconds as the EKG suddenly looked like a toddler was scribbling on the monitor. Spencer knew that rhythm from a book he read one time and knew that it was deadly if not treated quickly. In a blind rage, he shouted at the doctor, “You said that medication would help! Look what happened! I want a different doctor on her case right now and-”

“Get him out of here! Geneva, get the defibrillation pads on her and deliver 200 joules. If that doesn’t work start CPR!” the doctor called before calling more orders to the rest of the team, two of which began trying to escort Spencer from the room. 

“You can’t just-!” he shouted in frustration before he felt a hand on his shoulder that squeezed gently. 

“Let them work,” came Derek’s voice from behind him. 

When Spencer wrestled himself out of the nurses’ hold and watched them go back into the room, closing the door that now had a blue light above it, both JJ and Derek saw the dangerous look in his eyes. JJ though was the one brave enough to ask, “What the hell was that about Spence? You can’t just yell at the doctor like that! He was trying to help!”

“Him trying to help sent her into v-fib and now her heart isn’t working!” he retaliated, running a hand through his messy hair. He tried to hide the tears in his eyes as he turned away and stalked off down the hall, unsure of what to do with himself at the moment. 

“Spence!” JJ called after him, about to follow him, but was stopped when a gentle hand grabbed her forearm. 

“Let him go,” said David as he too watched Spencer’s retreating form. 

JJ sighed in frustration and said, “I just don’t know what’s gotten into him! Why would he yell at them? Yeah, I’m worried too, but that was a whole other level. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him that mad.”

“Just think about it from his perspective,” David told her vaguely before encouraging the two of them to meet the rest of the team in the waiting room. 

Once the pair of them parted ways, David sighed and took off in the direction he saw Spencer going. When he found him a few hallways over staring out a window into nothingness, David cleared his throat and asked, “How long has this been going on?”

“From the time I found her with her heart beating that fast, it’s been twenty-eight minutes and thirty-seven seconds give maybe three minutes from the moment she took off after Costner. It’s been two minutes and forty-eight seconds since that doctor sent her into v-fib and effectively made her heart useless as a pump,” Spencer mumbled.

“That’s not what I meant, kid,” David told him, a small smile playing on the corners of his lips. He leaned his back against the window and said, “I know love when I see it.”

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Spencer said, his back straightening as it clicked in his mind what he was saying. 

Now David chuckled as he said, “Don’t lie to me, kid. I see the way you two look at each other. The way you joke around together. You’re relaxed around her.” He paused for a moment before adding, “And between you and me, I’ve seen you two sneak off together when you thought no one was looking.”

Spencer cringed at the last bit, but couldn’t help the small smile that graced his lips at the thought of you. “We’ve been together for just over a year,” he said softly, the smile growing wider as he remembered your anniversary a few weeks prior. That smile quickly faltered though when he remembered what was happening in that hospital room a few halls down. 

“She’s going to pull through,” David said gently, his hand landing on Spencer’s back, giving him a gentle pat. 

When he said that, Spencer’s phone started ringing with a call from Hotch, who told him, “She’s stable and resting, they gave her a sedative so she doesn’t overwork herself again. The rest of us need to finish up at the scene. I trust you can get your paperwork done on the jet later. Call with updates, please.”

“Yes sir,” Spencer replied, a tinge of hope in his voice at the words. 

“Well?” David asked expectantly when Spencer hung up.

“She’s stable!” he told him, the tension in his shoulders leaving as he exhaled deeply. 

“Then go to her!” David said, a smile on his face. 

“I-I will!” Spencer said, turning to take off toward the room he left you in. Before he could leave the older gentleman’s presence though, he asked, “David?”

“Yeah?”

“Please don’t tell Hotch.”

“It’s not my secret to tell,” he replied with a nod before he answered his cell, presumably with his own call from their unit chief.

The wait for you to wake up took longer than Spencer would have liked, and by then they already had to move you out of the emergency department and to a cardiac monitoring floor to make room for more emergencies. When your eyes finally fluttered open in the early hours of the morning, you cringed at the bright light coming from the window before orienting yourself to your surroundings. You were in a hospital room that much was clear, and beside you was Spencer, with one hand in yours and the other holding up what looked like a map that you assumed was a medication insert. Only Spencer would be reading up on whatever medications they may have given you for whatever you ended up in here for…

“Spence?” you whispered to get his attention. When his hazel eyes flicked away from the pamphlet and met yours, you could see how they instantly flooded with tears as a smile made its way onto his face. As he gently threw his arms around you, you asked, “What happened?”

“When you ran after the unsub you collapsed and your heart was beating extremely fast. I got you into the SUV and Derek drove you here to get treated,” he replied, his voice muffled by your hair. You could hear this disdain in this voice as he added, “They gave you this medication that stopped your heart and was supposed to put you back into a normal rhythm, but it ended up making things worse. You went into an even deadlier heart rhythm and they had to shock you. No CPR thankfully, but the nurses said that if that first shock didn’t get you back they would have had to…” He pulled you impossibly closer as he whispered, “I was so scared. I thought I lost you…”

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m right here,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion as you attempted to comfort him by rubbing soothing circles into his back. That was a lot to take in, but you hated seeing Spencer so upset and that was your biggest concern at the moment. 

You cleared your throat, but before you could ask what was on your mind, there was a knock at the door and two people came in: a nurse and a doctor of cardiology. The doctor sent you a warm smile and said, “It’s good to see you awake Miss, you gave the ED team a real scare last night!” 

“It was the doctor down there that caused such a fuss…” Spencer muttered, which earned a squeeze of your hand that warned him to be cordial. 

“Yes, that’s actually what I came up here to talk to you two about, er, you Miss.” He glanced down to your hands and didn’t notice a ring, so he asked, “And what’s your relation may I ask? Are you okay with him being here for this?”

“He’s my boyfriend and yes he’s allowed to be here. If I don’t remember something that big brain in there will,” you said, a quiet laugh leaving your lips. 

“Okay, great!” the doctor said as he clapped his hands together. “So, when you came in, you were in what we call SVT which they treated with a medication called adenosine since you were unresponsive. It’s a fairly routine drug for emergent SVT conversion. When they gave it to you though, it threw your heart into V-fib, which essentially caused your heart muscles to quiver instead of contract. In my years of experience, I’ve only ever seen one condition that would cause that medication to make your heart react like that.” He motioned for the nurse to hand the two of you a piece of paper as he continued, “What I think may be going on is called Wolff Parkinson White Syndrome. It’s a condition in which the conduction system in your heart misfires and sends you into SVT. Luckily enough, it’s easily treated with a heart ablation surgery, but you will have to go through the steps of a formal diagnosis before going through with that as this is just a guess. Do you have any questions for me?”

You looked at the doctor for a moment, your eyes wide as you shook your head no, unsure why you did it, but in your state of shock you didn’t know what else to do. You were sure whatever research Spencer does on the condition would answer any of your later questions anyway. Through the ringing in your ears, you of course heard Spencer’s muffled voice asking the doctor as many questions as he could think of after reading through the education packet, but you paid no attention as you thought of the implications this might have on your job and life as a whole…

What felt like only a few moments passed in the fog of noise and chaos in your brain before you were gently pulled back to reality by Spencer’s soothing voice as he called out your name to get your attention. “What’s going on in that beautiful head of yours?” he asked when your eyes finally met with his concerned ones. 

“Too much… I don’t wanna think about it right now…” you whispered, a tear slipping from your eye as an array of emotions blasted through your body. He pulled you into a hug and rubbed your back, not pushing the topic further for the moment. 

Wanting a change in subject, you cleared your throat and focused on work, asking, “Did we get him? The unsub?”

As Spencer pulled away and tried to discreetly wipe a tear from his cheek, he laughed incredulously before saying, “All thanks to you.”

“Good. At least he’s put away now,” you said, relaxing as much as you could into the stiff hospital bed. 

Spencer looked at you and shook his head in disbelief as he said, “Only you could be told your heart stopped practically twice and that you may need surgery to fix it, and you’re still more concerned about if we caught the unsub or not.” 

“What can I say, I was passionate about putting that one away,” you said, forcing a small smile on your lips. 

Spencer, for the first time in a while, was at a loss of words for what else to say on the subject, so instead he simply whispered, “I love you,” before leaning forward to place a chaste kiss to your lips. 

The two of you quickly broke away from each other when you heard a squeal and something hitting the floor behind Spencer. When you both looked over to identify the sound, you saw your team standing in the room holding various gifts as well as your go-bag and some palatable food for breakfast. “You two! I- We- You-!” Penelope stuttered out as her eyes darted from your face to Spencer’s and back. She quickly crouched down and picked up what turned out to be a pack of makeup removing wipes before asking, “When did this happen?!”

“My man!” Derek said with a sly smile on his face as he went over to clap Spencer on the back.

“I- We can explain!” Spencer said, a bit of desperation in his voice as he watched Hotch place his get well balloon down on the table before walking out of the room. 

Spencer took one look at the returning terrified look on your face before starting to stand up to go after Hotch, but stopped when David placed a hand on his shoulder to stop his movement. “I’ll deal with it in a minute, kid. You stay with her.”

After a few moments of tense silence, you managed to say, “Surprise?” as Spencer once again resumed holding your hand. 

JJ laughed quietly as she sat down on the couch in the room, asking, “Like Garcia said, when did this happen?”

“Just over a year ago,” Spencer replied, squeezing your hand as his smile once again appeared. 

“A year?!” Penelope and JJ asked at the same time, their eyes wide in shock. 

David laughed and shook his head before asking, “And how did anyone else not notice?”

“In my defense, I thought it was an unspoken rule not to profile each other,” JJ mumbled, shaking her head in disbelief. 

“It’s not profiling if it’s obvious,” David said with a chuckle. He leaned over and placed a kiss to the top of your head before telling you, “Rest up and get to feeling better, you scared us all.”

“Yes sir,” you replied, huffing out a laugh as you watched him exit the room followed soon after by the rest of the team who gave you their well wishes too. “Well, I guess that cat’s out of the bag now…” you whispered, pulling your blanket closer to your body as your anxiety began to creep in. 

“Hey, we’ll figure it out,” Spencer reassured you, his eyes flicking up to the heart monitor and noticing that your rate was beginning to climb. He squeezed your hand as he said, “Right now we just need to focus on figuring out if you have that condition the cardiologist mentioned. Dave is talking with Hotch and I’ll talk with him soon too, okay?” 

He gently lifted your chin and mumbled, “Deep breaths, sweetheart…” You simply nodded in response as you closed your eyes and tried to breathe in time with him to calm your racing heart and mind. 

After a few moments, Spencer reached over you and grabbed the pack of makeup wipes and took one out, starting to bring it to your face, which prompted you to ask, “What’re you doing, Spence?”

“I’m helping you take your makeup off,” he replied simply as he began to gently run the wipe over your jawline. “I know you hate when you get acne from your makeup when we're busy with cases…”

“I can do it, love, I’m sure you’ve been up all night and you need rest too,” you told him, gently grabbing his wrist to stop his movement. 

“I don’t mind,” he told you with a small smile on his lips. “This gives me an excuse to admire your beautiful features…”

You could feel yourself blushing as you mumbled, “You’ve had my features memorized intimately since around two months into our relationship.”

“And I’ll never tire of your beauty,” he told you as he coaxed your hand off of his wrist and began gently working the makeup off your face. 

“Je t’aime, Doctor Reid. You always know how to make me feel better,” you whispered a few minutes later when the last makeup wipe was discarded. 

“I love you too, sweetheart,” he replied, placing a gentle kiss on your lips once more. 

When you were cleared to discharge the next morning, the rest of the BAU had already flown back home. Hotch offered to send the jet back to get the two of you, but knowing that they could be called out on a case, Spencer declined, also citing to him, “People with unstable heart disease and arrhythmias have the risk of deadly episodes while in the air due to the pressure changes within the cabin as well as the lower oxygen levels and higher risk of dehydration, not to mention the added stress both physically and emotionally.”

“Is that your way of telling me you’re just renting a car to get back?” Hotch asked, and the pair of you could practically see him pinching the bridge of his nose as he asked this. 

“Yes sir,” Spencer replied shortly. “If anything comes up feel free to call. We’ll both get our paperwork done before coming back to the office.”

“Thank you,” he said simply before hanging up. 

Since he hadn’t wanted to leave your side, Spencer hadn’t gotten the chance to speak with Hotch about your relationship, and over the phone it was hard to tell what the annoyance in his tone was over… As you began to think about those implications, Spencer glanced over at you before taking your hand in his and saying, “You’re working yourself up again…”

“I’m just scared is all…” you mumbled as the pair of you followed the rental car agent to the car you would be taking back to Virginia. 

Once you were both in the car after Spencer inspected it for cleanliness, he took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles, reiterating to you, “We’re going to figure it out. David said he thinks Hotch will come around, and if you’re worried about your heart, we’ve already got your appointment scheduled for when we get back home. Whatever happens we’ll take it on together like we always do.”

“Thank you, Spence,” you whispered, tears welling up in your eyes once more. You felt like you had done more than enough crying in the past few days, even though there had been more than one occasion when Spencer had rattled off some facts about crying being a great form of stress relief. 

Walking into headquarters a few days later, you tugged at your shirt uncomfortably as you and Spencer stepped into the elevator together. You had been to the doctor the day before and they had attached you to a 24-hour heart monitor that they would use to aid in your diagnosis. You’d be lying if you said all the wires didn’t cause you to be filled with an overwhelming feeling of insecurity. 

Taking note of your shifting, Spencer asked quietly, “Would you like to wear my jacket?”

“And give Hotch another reason to let me go?” you rebutted, your voice breaking at the end. 

“That’s not going to happen,” Spencer reassured you as the doors to the elevator opened and you two walked out and toward the BAU offices. 

It definitely felt that way though when the first thing you heard when emerging into the bullpen was Hotch calling both of your last names and saying, “You two, my office.”

Feeling like two teenagers caught in the act, when Spencer closed the door behind him, he immediately started rambling. “Hotch, please I can explain, we-”

“I don’t need an explanation, I need you to sign these forms,” your unit chief said, handing the both of you a packet of papers that you began reading even though the papers shook with the tremors in your hands. 

“If you just give me a second to-” Spencer tried again as he took the packet but didn’t so much as glance at it. 

“Sign the papers,” Hotch said, ignoring Spencer’s pleas for him to listen. 

“But-”

“Spence, read it,” you said a few moments later after you had read the summary of the form on the front page of the packet. 

At your words, Spencer finally looked down at the packet in his hands and within moments had it read, his mouth opening a little in shock as he asked Hotch, “Wait…you’re not mad?”

“Oh, I’m mad. I’m mad that you two would keep such a secret from us, not only because I thought we functioned as a family here, but also because of how much your relationship played a role in that Tennessee case," Hotch told him sternly. "Seeing as even I never noticed before now, and up until that case, it has never interfered with your work, I came up with some forms that should appease the higher-ups if for some reason this relationship were to get out to other teams.”

“So, if we sign these forms then we’re both allowed to stay on the team as long as it doesn’t interfere with our work?” Spencer asked, slightly breathlessly. 

“Correct,” Hotch replied, the corners of his mouth almost tugging up into a smile. “We can’t afford to lose either one of you from this team.”

“Well, that’s a relief…” you mumbled as you grabbed a pen out of the cup sitting on his desk and signed the paper in the appropriate places. 

“No more secrets, okay?” Hotch asked sternly as he eyed the two of you, pointing his own pen at each of you in turn. 

“No more secrets,” you both agreed, giggles flying out of both of your mouths as you looked at each other after saying the same phrase. 

“So, when’s the wedding?” Derek asked with a chuckle as the two of you emerged from the office once everything was filed away. 

“Once we get her heart situation figured out because I know she’ll want to go to Europe for the honeymoon,” Spencer replied as he pulled you close and placed a kiss on your forehead. The statement made your heart leap in your chest and you began to think of excuses to tell the cardiologist about what caused that reading on the monitor. 

So, with your job at the BAU still secure, you took a seat at your desk across from Spencer’s and sipped at the decaf coffee JJ had bought for the kitchenette, completely grateful for the team, but even more so for Spencer. You weren’t sure how you would navigate this crazy and unpredictable life without him.

[sweetkpopmusings]

hongjoong coworker headcanons <3

a/n: a whole bunch of people got laid off at my company today, so it only seems right that i cope by escaping into thoughts of coworker!ateez <3 please enjoy the precious gem that is coworker!hongjoong :,-) pics not mine~

content: fluff, nonidol!au | wc: 1k | warnings: none really! one mention of food | pairing: coworker!hongjoong x gn!reader | requests: open

everyone, and i mean absolutely everyone, wants to be mentored by hongjoong

they don’t care if they aren’t even in the same department as hongjoong

they just KNOW that he is the best ally and support system to have in the office

everyone also says his face is a workplace perk most people are too scared to say thing within earshot of hongjoong lmao

hongjoong knows everything people say about him, but he doesn’t let on

instead, he simply does his job and minds his business

things change when you start working at the company

you were hired in not only the same department, but same team as hongjoong

so your supervisor assigned hongjoong as your mentor

hongjoong, ever the professional, happily accepts and promises to train you well, so you can succeed in your new role

this all happens before you have a chance to learn hongjoong’s lore at the office

so you are wildly confused by the shocked and jealous stares from your coworkers as hongjoong walks you to your desk

it also feels suspicious that seemingly everybody is walking by your desk while hongjoong gives you a brief introduction to workflows, programs, etc.

but you, like hongjoong, are just trying to mind your business and do your job

which is actually super easy because hongjoong knows every single hack, automation, etc that means you can get your work done without being slowed down by tedious tasks

he’s a genius but so casual about it that you’re just sitting there like :-0 ??? how does he know everything ???

he chuckles when he sees your face and assures you that it’s just because he’s been there for ages and that soon enough you’ll be exactly the same way

you doubt it but appreciate his confidence in you LOL

at the end of your first week, hongjoong offers to take you to lunch

he says your boss is paying for it because it is “team bonding” so you agree 

what you didn’t know was that this team bonding would include hongjoong spilling ALL the tea in the office

he wasn’t gossiping in a cruel way, but he felt it was his duty, as your mentor, to give context on all the looks you were receiving

hongjoong finds it hilarious and adorable when you look at him with an absolutely shocked face

he just sits back while it sinks in for you, and, based on your reaction, hongjoong knows for sure that he finally has a friend in the office

he can tell that you won’t treat him like he’s different, which is a massive relief for him

so, from that day on, he makes it his mission to be both an amazing mentor AND a good friend

he stops by your desk for little check-ins and spends his breaks with you, whether sipping on coffee or walking around outside

hongjoong remembers everything you tell him about your life like he’s an incredible listener

you joke that it’s creepy he pays SO much attention to every detail you share and he says his resume didn’t say “detailed-oriented” for nothing

that is the moment you realize he is a complete dork LOL

speaking of dorky hongjoong

whenever he offers you a “cheer up!” or “you’ve got this!” it feels so much like a proud parent cheering on their child

he complains when you say this because “at least i should be an older brother but a DAD?!?!”

hongjoong is sulky but that goes away as soon as you buy him his favorite drink

you also changed his contact to “dad” but he doesn’t need to know that <3

he isn’t beating the dad/older brother allegations any time soon because he nags you once he gets comfortable with you 

it’s always with a smile on his face and full of care

but he will nag you about keeping your desk clean, using better handwriting, making your presentations more stylistic, etc

like sorry when did he become a judge instead of a mentor ???

it’s okay though because he lets you return the favor by nagging him constantly <3

hongjoong pretends not to like it when you nag him, but it fills his heart because that means you’re comfortable with him too :,-)

it also adds to everyone’s jealousy because you two are CLEARLY close and hongjoong finds their envy ridiculous and hilarious 

he definitely brags about how close you two are like he thinks you’re incredible and that everyone should be jealous they don’t know you like he does

somehow dating rumors start of course and when asked about it, you and hongjoong always reply with “wouldn’t you like to know”

hongjoong made you promise to give that answer because he thinks it’s fun to mess with everyone LMAO

he has so much fun with you that, to show his appreciation, hongjoong gets you a gift for your one-year anniversary at the company, including a handwritten note

he makes you promise not to open it while he’s with you because he doesn’t want either of you to feel awkward

later, once you read the note, you understand exactly why he requested this

the note starts with him praising your work ethic and improvement because he’s a proud mentor :,-)

at the end, he confesses that, before you started working there, he felt pretty isolated

it was like he was on an island or in a fish bowl, being watched from afar by everyone else

after that first lunch, and the many, many conversations you shared afterward, hongjoong finally felt like he belonged there

you made hongjoong feel like he belonged

that was something he was immensely grateful for, so he promised to pay you back by supporting you as a coworker and person, so you never felt like you were alone or an outsider

hongjoong tries to play it off the next time he sees you, but the sparkle in his eye when you thank him for being such a good colleague and friend reveals just how much he cherishes you in the workplace and beyond <333

[drrden]

‘Study’ Leon Kennedy x Gender Neutral! Reader

I headcanon Leon was smart in highschool - in History majorly. So...

There's always bound to be that one student who pays attention to a hundred percent of the lessons taught, not letting their attention falter for even a brief moment. As if missing out on a split second's worth of information could tarnish their grades and ruin their entire future. In the majority of your classes, this is none other than Leon Kennedy himself, a friendly guy who's typically on the quieter side. Predominantly during lessons though, that is, since he refuses to let any of his friends distract him from achieving the best results in the exams that he can possibly get. Perhaps it's the desire to distance himself from his past, the one he's buried deep within himself, limiting to it a certain degree of obscurity. Figuring that, if he's academically successful enough, then he won't get roped up into some shady side of society; someone from his biological family's past might catch up to him one day. No way is Leon letting him continue the legacy of the family he admittedly misses more than anything, despite having lived with his adoptive parents for the majority of his life by now. All of this could be the reasoning, some twisted sense of inferiority to his classmates who had normal childhoods. Or maybe, just maybe, he's smart. Could just be as simple as that, he's just a guy wanting to do well in life - but it just appears to come unnaturally easily.

The class that he's most successful in at the moment is History, having a profound interest for events of the past, and how they've shaped modern society. And it just so happens to be one of the lessons you share with Leon, despite your enthusiasm not being as evident or intense as his. As any student with a desire to pursue other things than being shoved into a cramped yet quiet classroom would, you're not always in tip-top shape to be paying attention to every little detail. That's where a certain well-mannered American of Italian descent comes into the picture, being your study pal. Not that he exactly volunteered for the position for himself, but he didn't exactly have it in him to deny you of the privilege - being far too polite to let you fail any of the tests due to having no clue about some of the course content. Though it was imposed upon him suddenly a few months ago, he still puts effort into your weekly sessions; bringing flashcards for you to keep, with summaries neatly filling up the rectangular cardboard pieces. Which are all color coded by the way. For once, the topic you're studying is at least mildly interesting, since it's from a period spanning between just before World War One to a while after it. Despite this, the weekly meet ups between you and Leon persist.

Which is where the two of you find yourselves once again, nestled away in a quiet corner of the school's library - away from all the jocks throwing crumpled up balls of paper as if they're still in middle school. Leon flinches a little when he hears them in the distance, still having a sense of anxiety that they're going to come over here and disturb the one time he gets to talk to you. "So. Uhm. The Treaty of Versailles." The words not exactly tumbling from his lips, instead he speaks stiffly - like English isn't even his mother tongue, as if he's reading from an automated speech. Offering an encouraging nod, you urge him to continue, accustomed to the pattern of his timidness easing up the further you get into studying together. "Yeah, that's what we said you were going to go over today." A gentle reminder, and that's all it takes for him to straighten up, clearing his throat and glancing round; as if searching for the information on the cracked walls of the building. Snapping out of it after a short moment, his attention flicks back to you, nodding. "Ah, right. So...Germany were expected to face repercussions for starting the war in the first place." For a while, he rambles on about the reparations bill and how their army was limited to 100,000 men, all the basics as he gives you a rundown.

Reaching into his bag, he pulls out designated flashcards, decorated with little doodles and smiley faces, complimenting his endearingly messy handwriting. Leon passes them over to yours and you accept, fingers brushing against his momentarily - and you can almost swear you notice his unblemished cheeks redden partially. "You, uhm, seem to know a lot more about this than you do with other topics we've covered together." Though the sentence is more of a declarative, there's a tinge of a compliment within there, however he's much too unsure of himself to outwardly praise you. Not thinking much of it, you sheug, brushing the notion off with nonchalance. "Anything's better than learning about those art guys, Leonardo DiCaprio or whatev-" "Da Vinci." He corrects, eyes widening as he seems more caught off guard at his interruption than you are, having not meant to come across as rude. You him in response, not finding it not really offensive or anything, but Leon gets the wrong end of the stick. "Yeah-" "I'msorryIdidn'tmeantointerrupt." Being totally honest, you didn't really catch a word of that, but you've gotten the general gist that Leon's apologetic over one small interruption, but it's sweet in a way. Essentially panting over the exertion from speaking so quickly and letting his thoughts tumble out in an effort to soothe your nonexistent frustration.

It's like that awkward stage as a relationship is brewing, two people desperate to avoid any awkward silence when they're with the person who it's most enjoyable to talk to. But these introverted qualities only apply to Leon, and you offer him a blank stare - not deterred by his anticts in the slightest. Just continuing on as if nothing had happened. "Leon, it's fine." Though you brush it off, you can't help but notice there's a certain nagging feeling in you, sensing that his jitteriness is more prevalent than usual. "...Are you okay?" Following a quick glance around, you lean in and lower your voice; wearying over if someone else is around to hear. The answer is given, plain and simple, biting on the tip of his thumb and sharing his head frantically. "It's fine. Just the Literature test is coming up and I'm not exactly confident." Literature. You're actually decent at that, maybe he knows this already. Well, thinking of it now, there's not exactly been anything you've done to repay him. "I guess we could make our little rendezvous two times a week." A playful tease from you, but the suggestion is genuine. "And I do owe you a dinner, I guess." Looks like you'll be seeing a lot more of each other.

[daisynik7]

Give You Blue

Chapter 1: How It Ends

Pairing: Eren x f!reader, Reiner x f!reader (past relationship)

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

cw: explicit sexual content/smut (brief flashback), language, angst, a breakup

Word Count: ~3.2k

Next Chapter

Give You Blue Masterlist | ao3 | Give You Blue Taglist

Summary: Reiner, your best friend since childhood and your high school sweetheart, breaks up with you the night before the new semester begins. With his car packed with both your belongings, the hour long drive back to campus the next day offers some clarity. Author's Notes: Excited to be writing a new series! I hope you all enjoy it. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciate. Thank you so much!

“I think we should break-up.”

It’s the last day of summer vacation, the night before you and Reiner head back to Stohess University for the start of a new schoolyear. You’ve been at his place all day, helping him pack his car, which is already halfway full of your own belongings. With the door to his bedroom wide open, you can hear his mom humming a familiar tune downstairs as she puts away the leftovers from tonight’s dinner. Her signature meatloaf and mashed potatoes, a favorite of yours and Reiner’s. It’s been this way since you were ten years old, when the two of you finally started eating real food instead of only candy, pizza rolls, and chicken nuggets. 

The words come out of his mouth low and monotone, an automated machine void of any emotions. That’s why you’re convinced it’s in your imagination, until he speaks again. “Coco, did you hear me?”

Coco. It’s the silly nickname he’s had for you since you were five, the first time you ever met on the school playground. You were in the same kindergarten class, but Reiner could not, for the life of him, remember your name for two whole weeks. What he does remember is you eating a homemade coconut macaroon every first recess of the day. And like a typically five-year-old boy, he picked on you for it, calling you Coconut even after he learned your name. Even after you became the best of friends. Eventually, it became Coco for short, and from there, it just stuck. You’re not sure if you ever liked it; maybe you only did because it was him calling you that. One of the many special secrets shared between you two throughout the years.

You turn towards him, a pair of his socks in hand, ready to roll and toss into his half empty luggage, unfazed. “Huh?” You’re prepared to hear him say something else, anything else.

He swallows hard, a serious expression on his face, glancing at his feet. “I think we should break-up.”

It takes you a good minute to process it. Three minutes, if you’re being completely honest. And he doesn’t rush you this time for a response, seeing you stare back at him, a deer in headlights, seconds before getting hit and crushed under the weight of a semi-truck. Because that’s how it feels when your boyfriend of four years and your best friend of even longer tells you that he thinks the two of you should break-up. 

You’re surprised at how long it takes for the tears to stream down your face. Everyone knows, Reiner included, how much of a sap you are. You cry easily over the most insignificant things – a car commercial, people playing with puppies, a sad scene in a movie. But this – this absolutely warrants all the tears you’ve cried over stupid shit like that. 

Reiner quickly closes the door and wraps his arms around you, lips pressed to your forehead. “Baby, I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.” His facial hair brushes against you, a sensation you’ve always found comforting. He was a late-bloomer, incapable of growing that rugged look all throughout high school. It was really only last year when he needed to pay more attention to it; grooming became part of his regular routine. Now, it’s harsh and coarse against smooth skin, an itch you want to scratch but can’t. Somehow, you keep your volume to a minimum, aware that Mrs. Braun is downstairs, blissfully ignorant to what’s happening above her. Through quiet, choked sobs, you ask, “Why?”

He sighs, a pained expression on his face now; he’s always hated seeing you cry. How much worse does he feel knowing he’s the cause of it? Leading you to the edge of the bed, he sits, and you follow. With your hand in his, he starts explaining himself. “We’ve been inseparable for so long; I just think we need to take some time to figure ourselves out. As individuals.” He’s practiced this before, you can tell. He usually sputters when he’s put on the spot. Not this time. He’s been thinking about this for a while, you realize, and it breaks your heart more. 

It’s hard for you to look at him as he speaks, so you stare at his lap, his hands holding yours delicately. When you don’t respond, he continues. “We’ve been friends forever, and I don’t want to lose that. I don’t. I just need to explore my horizons.”

In your mind, you replace the word horizons with options. He joined a frat last semester, which you can admit, worried you at first. He assured you nothing about him would change, and you believed him. Before your logic can stop you, you spit out, “So you’re trying to fuck some sorority girls, is that it?”

He clicks his tongue at you, disappointed. You’re better than this, you know this, and he does too. “C’mon. It’s not like that.” 

“Then what? Don’t bullshit me, Reiner. If you’re going to break-up with me, I deserve to know the truth.” It’s fighting words. You can’t help it when you’re defenseless like this. 

He hesitates before confessing, “I’m not in love with you anymore.”

It fucking hurts to hear. The one person you were so sure would never harm you, stabbing you in every vital point of your body. It’s betrayal, disappointment, and heartache all at once, and you’d give anything to turn back the clock and go back to even a few minutes ago, when you were happily folding his laundry. You’re speechless, a jumble of thoughts stuck in your throat, gagging you until it’s too hard to breathe and you’re gasping for air. There’s static noise surrounding your ear drums, and Reiner’s voice is so muffled that you can barely understand him. You reach around him for a pillow, burying your face in it to hide your cries. 

“I’m sorry, baby. I’m so sorry.” Baby. He still calls you that through a breakup. You’re his baby that he’s not in love with you anymore. It’s all so fucked up. Between anguished sobs, you ask, “What did I do wrong?”

He rambles on and on about how it’s not you it’s me. It was nothing you did, except in the back of your mind, you keep thinking why wasn’t I good enough? He strokes the back of your hand with his palm, his skin cracked and calloused from rock-climbing, one of his new favorite hobbies. You’ve been nagging him about using that special cream you bought for him, the one that’s supposed to help soothe skin with a tiny dollop. Did that annoy him? Is that the feather that tipped the scale? You can’t help but replay every single fucking thing you’ve ever said to him, every single thing you’ve ever done for him, trying to discern when and where it went downhill. 

You’ve always been best friends first, lovers second. You thought it was special this way, that it means something more. Now, as you sit at the edge of the bed with him, listening to him talk in circles about how this isn’t your fault, you realize that maybe that’s what led to this. Better off as friends, nothing more. You were both sixteen when you decided to cross the line. At the time, it felt right. Looking back, maybe it was just convenient. Were the two of you doomed from that day on? 

“I’ll always love you, Coco.” He repeats it, hoping it’ll make you feel better. You hold your tongue, tempted to reply then why are you doing this? It’s a slap in the face when he says it. A consolation prize reminding you that you lost. 

At the end of the day, you can’t hate him. There’s too much history there. You’ve been through too much together, seen each other at your lowest points, held each other up at the highest. That kind of relationship is rare, a treasure too precious to throw away. But damn, you want to bury it in the darkest depths of the ocean right now. Hell, you want to sink down with it.  

There’s no yelling; you don’t have it in your heart to scream at him with his mother in the house with you. He probably planned it like this; he knows you too well. You don’t like making a scene, especially in front of Mrs. Braun, who’s basically another mother to you. 

You think back on the other night, in this very bedroom. His mom went out to dinner with some friends, leaving you two alone. Of course, you took the opportunity to fuck each other silly. He ate you out sloppily at the edge of the bed, kneeling before you on the carpet with your legs spread wide. Was he already considering the break-up in this moment? He must have. This kind of decision doesn’t just happen. As he bounced you on his cock, his usual tired eyes peering up at you with a small grin on his face, he said, “God, you’re perfect.” And when you came with his thumb on your clit, cock still buried deep in your pussy, he whispered, “I love you,” before he released inside you. He repeated it when you relaxed against his chest, bodies spent, chanting it while he caressed your back. I love you, I love you, I love you.

You sleep in his bed tonight. Instead of being cuddled in the middle, you roll the farthest you can, turning your back to face away from him. He does the same.

“Are you still awake?” he whispers, barely audible. You don’t respond. 

You hear him exhale. “I’m sorry.”

Several minutes later, he stops stirring and his soft snores fill the quiet. Eventually, you fall asleep too, wiping your tears on the pillowcase.  

~~~

The next morning, you pretend that everything is normal at breakfast. Mrs. Braun prepares a feast, as usual, before you make the journey back to school. She remains ignorant to the fact that you and Reiner are no longer a couple. He mentioned it last night, how he doesn’t want his mom to worry, that it’s not the right time to break the news to her. Honestly, he’s too scared to confront it, knowing for a fact how big of a deal this will be to his family. You two are practically married in their eyes. Well, were.

You do your best to act like your cheery self, despite being close to dead inside. Reiner gives you nervous glances here and there, afraid you’ll explode any second. You keep your cool, though, making conversation with Mrs. Braun, feigning excitement for the upcoming semester. Laughing along to jokes about how Reiner should be more focused on his studies and less on the frat parties. Ha ha ha.

Around noon, with the car fully packed with yours and Reiner’s possessions, you bid farewell to his mom. She gives you a warm embrace, squeezing you extra hard. “Take care of yourself, dear. And take care of Reiner too. Love you.” It takes all the strength you have left in your feeble body to not sob on the spot, so you quickly return the sentiment and walk to the passenger side, closing the door shut, burying your face in your palms. A few moments later, Reiner joins you in the driver’s seat, one more wave to his mother before starting the car and driving away. 

It's silent for the first five minutes, you wiping your tears with your sleeves, him changing the song every three seconds on his playlist to preoccupy himself. He finally picks a song, a familiar one that you know all too well. It brings back memories of the summer right after you graduated high school. The melody synonymous with weekly road trips to the beach or warm nights staying in, watching a movie marathon in bed. A bowl of popcorn on your lap, his arm wrapped around your shoulder. His face nuzzling your ear, lips nipping at your lobe. Soft touches leading to rough sex, with your mouth biting the pillow to muffle your moans as he pumps his cock into you. The cuddling afterwards, him whispering that he loves you, and that he’s so happy that you’re both going to the same college. Because he wants nothing more than to stay with you, to be with you, for the rest of your lives. 

You can’t take it anymore. Before you realize, you reach over to shut off the radio, the silence louder than the music that was playing. He glances at you, mouth agape like he wants to yell, but he doesn’t. He focuses his attention on the road again, taking a deep breath before saying, “You could have asked me to change the song.”

You cross your arms over your chest, leaning your head against the window, watching the blur of buildings pass as you approach the freeway. “Every song on this playlist reminds me of you. Of us.”

He pauses, unsure how to respond. “I’m sorry.”

You’re sick of hearing it, but you don’t tell him that. Instead, you ask, “When did you know?”

“Know what?”

“That you wanted to break up.” After having a night to let it sink it, you’re ready to talk about it. At least, you think you are. 

He thinks carefully, knuckles tight on the wheel, brow knit. You wait patiently for his answer, growing more afraid of whatever harsh truth he’s about to drop on you. “It’s been on my mind all summer, if I’m being completely honest.” 

Never mind; maybe you’re not ready for this. Still, you let curiosity get the best of you. You swallow back the quiver in your throat, tears welling in your eyes again. “Why did you start thinking about it?”

He sighs, clearly uncomfortable. “Are you sure you want to hear this? I thought I already told you yesterday. It’s not you, it’s me.”

You can’t help but chuckle at the cliché. “I’d rather hear the truth than hear that bullshit again.”

He bites his lower lip, inhaling deeply through his nose. “I guess I started to think about how you and I have been together forever. Basically our whole lives. We don’t really know what’s it like to not be with each other.” 

“And that’s bad?”

He shakes his head. “It’s not bad. It’s just…college is supposed to be about experiencing new things, right? Stepping outside our comfort zone. I don’t know if we can do that if we’re together. We rely on each other so much; we’ll never be able to explore the real world.”

You continue to stare out the window, watching as you zoom past the other cars on the street. Reiner has always been a fast driver, foot heavy on the gas pedal, raring to go past the speed limit for that tiny rush of adrenaline. You, on the other hand, are safe, never willing to push the boundaries, even for a fleeting moment. Maybe this type of mentality goes beyond the steering wheel. 

After a moment, he asks, “Haven’t you ever been curious?”

“Of what?”

“What it would be like to date other people?”

It’s your turn to bite your lip, contemplating the question. In all honestly, you’ve never pictured yourself with anyone else besides Reiner. He wasn’t perfect by any means, and neither were you. But when you pour your heart and soul into one person for years, it’s difficult to imagine repeating that process with someone else. 

You choose your words carefully. “I never thought about it, no. But I…I guess I can see where you’re coming from.” 

He doesn’t respond to that. You can’t tell from his expression if he’s relieved or concerned. Minutes pass before he speaks again. 

“You’re still my best friend, Coco. I hope you know that.”

You bite down on your lip harder, hoping the subtle pain distracts you from the influx of tears gathering in your eyes. Throat dense, tongue heavy, holding your breath because if you don’t, it’ll all come to a crumble. Before you lose it, you tap on the dial of the radio, turning it to increase the volume, not caring what song is playing anymore. Anything to get rid of the strained silence at the end of those words. For some reason, it hurts more than what he said last night. 

He doesn’t continue and neither do you, him studying the road, you gazing at the evanescent glimmer of the ocean as you cross the bridge. Officially leaving Marley and entering Paradis, halfway to Stohess University. It was your top choice when you first started applying for college, and it became Reiner’s, too. And when you both received your acceptance letters, you were thrilled, and so was he. So much so that he ordered matching sweatshirts from the online store, ecstatic to let all his friends and family know that the two of you were going to Stohess, together. That part of your life, although not that long ago, seems like a dream. You’re wide awake now and the gut-wrenching reality of it all is settling in. 

Finally on campus, you point him in the right direction towards your new dorm. He finds parking right in the front, reversing the car and backing into the spot. Turning off the ignition, he remains still, waiting for you. Without facing him, you announce, “I’m going to check in.”

He nods, looking down at his lap. “Okay. I’ll unload the car.”

After you check-in and receive your key, you make your way back to the Reiner, who’s already taken out most of your belongings from the trunk. 

“I’m on the first floor, so I can take it from here,” you tell him, grabbing one of your suitcases. 

“I’ll help you. It won’t take long.”

You don’t argue, swinging another bag over your shoulder and leading him to Room 104. You unlock the door, relieved that it’s still empty. Not ready to face Annie, your roommate, just yet. Reiner helps move your heaviest items, the mini fridge and a box of clothes and shoes. When everything has been pushed into the room, you both stand around, hands on your hips, waiting for the other to speak first. 

“Thanks for your help,” you start. “I really appreciate it.”

“Yeah, of course.”

“I’ll help you with your stuff now,” you offer, grabbing your keys from the desk.

“No, it’s okay. I’m sure there will be some brothers there to help me.” He’s moving into the frat house on Greek Row, a few minutes’ walk from the sophomore’s dorms. Last year, the two of you lived in the same building, one floor apart from each other. It seems symbolic the way you’re separated this year.

“Anyways, I should get going,” he says, running his fingers through his hair. 

“Sure.” You consider stalling by asking him to help you unpack, but you decide not to. 

He looks at you, sadness in his eyes. For the first time all day, you finally meet his gaze, the lump in your throat returning. Stepping towards you, arms out, he embraces you, wrapping you snug in one of his signature bear hugs. “I love you, Coco. I really do. This is just something I have to do.”

You keep your arms to your side, nestling your face into his chest, memorizing the familiar scent of his t-shirt, tears soaking through the fabric. If you return his embrace, you’re certain you won’t want to let him go.

He kisses you on top of the head, giving you one last squeeze. Then, without another word, he walks out of your room, leaving you alone. 

Taglist: @batafuraikisu @bloompompom @monirei @filunara @katestrophes @ichinosejager13 @hoperenae @zellskz @e-ayyy @liliorsstuff-blog

[axkirak]

The Curse of Cassandra [EP : V]

Read in Ao3 : here

Pairings:  Qimir x f!reader(SEA Reader)  [The Acolyte]

Content waring: a lot of blood, mind manipulation, referenced violence and murder, mention of killing killing killing and also killing

tags/themes: Alternate Universe - Dune & Star wars, Partners in Crime, Strangers to Lovers

Summary: Today is the last day of your life. That is what you have seen in your vision. You prepare yourself and accept the unchangeable fate, unaware that your destiny has already been altered. and you cannot predict what kind of fate awaits you ahead.

Status: finished writing this fic! (It will end in Episode 14)

A/N: still bummed about The Acolyte being canceled and unsure if I should continue this fic. However, Thanks to everyone who’s followed along—this fandom is amazing, and I love you all.

➡  Intro // EP : 1 // EP : 2 // EP : 3 // EP : 4 // EP : 6 // EP : 7 // EP : 8 // EP : 9 // EP : 10 // EP : 11 // EP : 12 // EP : 13 // EP : 14 (Completed)

Special OS : Phantom Thread // My mother is my enemy

[Episodes 5] When you have lived with prophecy for so long, the moment of revelation is a shock.

Everything happens for a reason.

Your mother once taught you this, speaking of how fate works from the perspective of a seer.

The words suddenly come to mind again as you follow Qimir up onto the Fallon, the ship hidden in the darkness of Tatooine's vast desert—your home planet.

"The desert is your home and your tomb," you murmur absently. A sudden realization dawns in your consciousness. It’s happening, you think with dread, your pulse racing erratically. You’ve seen this scene a hundred times before, yet it still feels surreal as it unfolds before your eyes.

Four months—precisely. No more, no less. This is the exact time Qimir has to deliver you to his employer, as stipulated in the contract.

And it might just be the last stretch of your life, along with everyone else on this ship.

A new alertness grows rapidly within you as you step forward into the unfamiliar cargo ship.  Everything is pristine, modern, and expensive. The air inside is cool, courtesy of the automated climate control system, yet you feel anything but comfortable. Partly because of the thick, heavy metal cuffs clamping down on your wrists, and partly because of the piercing gazes of the three guards, who look identical in their matching gray uniforms. They follow close behind, laser guns in hand, watching your every step without blinking. If you make even the slightest suspicious move, they won't hesitate to shoot you down instantly.

For a brief moment, your mind retreats into a temporary calm—a sense of resigned acceptance of a fate that can no longer be altered.

You shift your focus to the figure ahead—the tall, familiar man walking a short distance away. Qimir’s expression is as unreadable as a statue, devoid of any emotion. You can’t tell what he’s feeling at this moment. Perhaps he’s relieved, finally rid of the burden that is you.

A soft, cynical laugh escapes your lips. You can’t help but pity yourself.

So this is your reward for saving his life. In the end, he still sells you out for the bounty.

Before you could take another step, Qimir suddenly halted, causing you to stop as well. He turns to face you as if he had known you were watching him all along. It seems like he wants to say something, but the words never come. So, you decide to speak first.

"I should have left you to rot there," you say. The words sound harsh, but your tone lacks any trace of resentment.

A part of you wants to be angry at Qimir, but you know you deserve to be angrier at yourself. Who else could you blame? You chose this path willingly. It was your own weakness, your own foolish attachment, that led you to this pitiful end.

You notice Qimir's brow furrow, a look of surprise on his face, but you have no chance to hear his response as the barrel of a gun presses hard into your back, forcing you to move in another direction. The guard behind you roughly pushes you forward, guiding you toward the ship's holding cells, where you will await whatever fate has in store for you next.

Before you are taken away, you glance back at Qimir one last time. That was when you caught sight of the person who had hired him. The other man stepped out from the opposite door of the ship and approached Qimir with an air of authority.

The man was an elderly Neimoidian, his skin mottled in shades of gray and green, as was typical of his species. Tall and thin to the point of looking like a matchstick, he was dressed in luxurious dark silk robes with the peculiar headdress common to the Trade Federation. His large, piercing red-gold eyes, sharp as a hawk's, met yours in return, studying your deep blue irises with a hint of satisfaction before nodding to Qimir.

You didn’t know the name of this old stranger, and you were certain he didn’t know yours either. But he knew who you were and what you were capable of. That’s why he had gone to such lengths to obtain you.

Death was drawing near. You could feel it in your bones—the malevolent intent of something hidden, something that would soon be revealed.

The dark metal box was opened, revealing a collection of rare and priceless materials neatly arranged inside, their surfaces gleaming as they caught the light. Qimir picked up a Nova Crystal, inspecting it briefly before setting it back down with little interest. He had no desire for it, but he was compelled to take it as part of the reward specified in the contract.

But in truth, there was only one thing he had ever truly sought—only one object that mattered to him.

At the bottom of the box, lay a large piece of Cortosis. It had been carefully concealed, meant to be seen only by the bag’s owner and those granted permission to open it. Qimir reached for it next, examining it closely, his fingers tracing the subtle lines of the dull gold metal. It was genuine, he thought, the finest quality he had ever encountered.

The Neimoidians hadn’t exaggerated when they claimed their people could find anything in the galaxy, no matter how rare or scarce it might be.

“Is this all you wanted?” Blex, the branch manager and captain of the Fallon, asked with a hint of uncertainty. He had worked for the Trade Federation for decades, and this was the first time someone had specifically requested Cortosis. Though rare, it wasn’t particularly valuable compared to other metals, minerals, or energy sources that fetched far higher prices.

“Yes, that’s all.” Qimir nodded, carefully placing the cortosis back into the chest and locking it securely. He was well aware of the Neimoidians' curiosity regarding his unusual request. To most, Cortosis seemed like a worthless scrap, its softness making it nearly impossible to forge into weapons or armor. But Qimir knew its value far exceeded what others might assume.

“You’ve done well.” The old man wasn’t stingy with his praise. He had a particular fondness for bounty hunters who weren’t foolish and didn’t greedily demand more than they deserved. “I expect we’ll be working together often in the future.”

Qimir responded with a broad grin. For a moment, Blex felt an odd discomfort at the sight of that grin, but the feeling quickly passed. In the next instant, the human’s face returned to its usual friendly demeanor.

"I have a small question," Qimir began, his voice casual and still smiling. "You’re not planning to kill that woman, are you?"

The elderly Neimoidian let out a snort, as if he was on the verge of laughing. "Kill her? What nonsense are you spouting? Why would I kill something so useful?"

"Useful?" Qimir echoed, raising an eyebrow in curiosity. "What use could she possibly have?"

Blex hesitated, realizing he had let slip something he shouldn’t have. "Nothing," he waved dismissively. "You’ve got what you came for, so be on your way. Don’t waste my time with unnecessary questions. My time is money, boy."

Normally, Blex would be quite irritated by anyone prying into his business affairs. But this time, he was in too good a mood to bother with an ill-mannered bounty hunter. The old man could hardly wait to leave this place and present that woman as a gift to the head of the Trade Federation.

This is an incredibly worthwhile investment. Blex thought gleefully, considering what he stood to gain from his superior. That woman was worth more than a hundred Nova crystals or Aurodium ingots combined.

Qimir, however, remained still, even after being told to leave. His gaze drifted out the ship’s window, where nothing but the faint glimmer of distant stars, silent and desolate. The Neimoidians were a cautious and paranoid race. They had chosen the rendezvous point carefully to ensure there were no outside witnesses and minimize the risk of any unexpected dangers.

How ironic he mused with grim amusement. A race so paranoid, and yet not a single one of them realized that the real danger wasn’t outside the ship—it was inside.

"You don’t need to answer my question." Qimir's voice suddenly turned chillingly cold, the smile vanishing as quickly as his demeanor shifted, as if he were an entirely different person. "Because I can extract the answer from your mind anyway."

He raised his hand, and with a single flick, the Neimoidian’s body seemed to be constricted by some invisible force, lifted into the air, and violently yanked toward him. Within seconds, Blex's throat was clutched in Qimir’s grip. The Neimoidian’s greenish face darkened as the grip around his throat tightened.

In that instant, Blex felt a sharp intrusion of the force, penetrating his cerebrum and dissecting his memories piece by piece. The pain was excruciating, as if a real blade were slicing into his brain.

Blex's eyes widened even further as he stared at Qimir. The realization of truth in this moment between life and death brought a mixture of surprise and terror beyond words. "Y-you... You have the force. Are you a Jedi?"

"Not exactly, but close enough," Qimir shrugged, a mocking laugh escaping his lips—a laugh that could easily send chills down anyone's spine. "If I had more time, I'd let you guess again, but unfortunately, time is money."

Blex didn’t even get the chance to beg for his life. As soon as the mind-reading process was complete, the Neimoidian merchant’s neck was snapped with swift precision. Qimir discarded the lifeless body like a piece of trash, throwing it to the ground before glancing up at the ship’s ceiling. He noticed the lights abruptly turning red, followed by the shrill blare of the alarm echoing throughout the spaceship.

Qimir began calculating in his mind.

There were about three minutes before every guards on the ship would storm his position, and it would take at least another five minutes to kill anyone who stood in his way to reach his second target, who was now securely locked in the holding cell on the lowest level of the ship.

Eight minutes is too long he thought, quickening his pace, not wasting any more time.

As he walked, his thoughts drifted to you—the somber expression on your face, your strange mannerisms and words, and those blue eyes that always seemed to carry a hidden burden, as if you were harboring a crucial secret.

Qimir had never understood you, not even a little. He always thought of you as a living enigma, a puzzle he would never be able to solve.

But now he finally understood everything.

Eight minutes.

You think as you peer through the bars, noticing the two guards stationed outside your cell—a surprisingly small number, likely because they see you as nothing more than an ordinary woman, harmless and lacking the strength to retaliate.

“I don’t see why I have to waste my time guarding her too. One of us is enough. What could she possibly do?” One of the guards, whom you’ve privately nicknamed 'Scarface' because of the large scar on his face, grumbles to his companion. Despite the distance between your cell and the guards’ station, you hear every condescending word with crystal clarity.

These men underestimated you, and it was likely that many here, except for the Neimoidian merchant, didn’t even know who you really are or what you’re capable of. Their negligence in handling your imprisonment was unforgivable—like locking your arms tightly but forgetting to gag you.

You know this is your chance, slim as it may be. But it’s better than sitting idly in your cell, awaiting death. You must seize every opportunity and struggle with every ounce of hope left.

Closing your eyes, you take a deep, controlled breath, following the calming techniques your mother taught you. You steady both your body and mind, preparing for what needs to be done.

You know what you need to do. You've trained for this situation before, but the results were often less than successful. It’s an ancient technique that's difficult to learn and even harder to execute. During your training, you failed countless times, leaving you uncertain if you could actually pull it off when it matters most.

In the brief moment of calm, you focus your thoughts, replaying memories of your mother’s teachings. Her voice played in your mind, reminding you of the details you had once studied so intently.

Words, tone, and thought must align as one. For it is the forceful will, distilled from the vocal cords and heart, that becomes a command no one can resist.

You suddenly open your eyes, your thoughts halting as your heightened senses catch the presence of death creeping in from above, gradually drawing nearer.

There's no time left.

The realization sends a tremor through your body. You quickly leap to the bars and shout, "Let me out, now!"

Both guards turn to look at you, puzzled at first, before breaking into loud laughter. “You must be crazy if you think you can command me,” Scarface sneers.

You grit your teeth, knowing you have failed. Your panic made you pitch your voice too high; those men would feel nothing.

You refocus, breathing in rhythm as you had practiced. Your blue eyes gleam with intensity as you fix them on Scarface. This time, your voice rings out clear and unwavering, reverberating through the air—a blend of sharpness and depth that fills the room.

“Take your gun and shoot your friend. Then, release me and kill yourself, you bastard.”

The scarface jolts, his expression suddenly turning to one of impassivity, his eyes empty and emotionless. At that moment, you know you've succeeded. 

You wait calmly for the outcome as the scarface turns his laser gun to shoot his own colleague, walks over to unlock the cell door and handcuffs, then lifts the gun to shoot himself in front of you.

It’s as difficult as it is easy you think. An inexplicable feeling takes shape inside you. You're unsure whether it's the sorrow of killing someone for the first time or the thrill of manipulating someone's mind for the first time.

You clench your fists, your palms sweaty, trying to suppress the strange feeling before stepping over the bodies with distaste and quickly moving on to find a way to escape.

However, as soon as you climb up to the top, everything in front of you turns into a nightmare you’ve seen before.

The ship is bathed in red from the emergency lights, and the blood is scattered across the floor and up the walls of the corridor. The more steps you take forward, the more you see corpses strewn across the floor. You smell the blood clearly and hear the moans and cries growing louder after the alarm has ceased. It indicates that some are still alive, but not for long. You've seen it in your dreams. These people will all die, and soon it will be you—the last one alive here.

For a moment, you consider retreating back to the cell, locking yourself away from the outside world, and hiding quietly behind bars until everything is over. But you know that the cell won't help. It will only make you an easy target. You need to get out of this ship before it finds you.

Suddenly, your determined thoughts abruptly stop as you feel a chill run through your entire body. 

It’s coming. You can feel it. 

Not from the front, but from behind.

Fearful instinct freezes your body like a deer in front of a lion, but curiosity compels you to slowly turn around, just to see it with your own eyes. 

What you see leaves you confused rather than scared.

"Qimir," 

You utter it in bewilderment, addressing the man standing there, the one you always thought you knew well. But today, everything is different. His face is cold, and blood was smeared all over his body and face, making it difficult to determine if it was from his own injuries or those of others.

Your eyes widen in disbelief as you look at Qimir, both fearful and astonished.

It can’t be.

You remember the vision vividly. The one who should have appeared here and killed everyone, including you, was the mysterious Sith with the cracked metal helmet. But in reality, Qimir is here, and he is the one who has killed everyone instead of that Sith. This has never appeared in your visions before, not even once.

You and Qimir lock eyes, frozen as if time itself has paused. But finally, it's Qimir who makes the first move. He begins to take a step toward you, but suddenly, you shout, your voice firm and echoing through the air, "Stop. Don't move."

At first, Qimir thinks you’re speaking to him. But as he observes more closely, he notices that your gaze isn’t on him at all but focused somewhere behind him instead. When Qimir turns around, he sees one of the security guards aiming a laser gun at him at a distance close enough to be fatal. Yet, the guard doesn’t pull the trigger. He just stands there, motionless like a statue, except for his eyes, which dart back and forth in terror.

Qimir swiftly raises his knife and slashes the guard's throat, the blade cutting through the major artery with ease.

As the guard's body collapses, you also fall to the ground, blood gushing from your nose down to your chin. You can feel your strength ebbing away, replaced by a sharp pain. It’s the side effect of using your power so abruptly, damaging part of yourself in the process.

You wipe the blood from your face, smearing it across your skin, then slowly force yourself to stand just as Qimir reaches you. He grips your arm, helping you to your feet. You want to pull away, but you have no strength left. Standing on your own is a struggle in itself.

You look up at him, countless questions on the tip of your tongue, but the only words that escape your lips are a faint whisper, "Why?"

Qimir remains silent, and suddenly, he raises his hand. You flinch, the image of being choked by that Sith in your dream flashing through your mind.

But Qimir doesn’t do that. Instead, he gently places his hand on your cheek, his thumb tenderly wiping away tears you hadn't even realized were falling.

In that moment, something deep within you sends a warning, alerting you to the significance of what's happening—a twist in the thread of fate, altered by an unknown variable, changing the course of events at the last possible moment.

You’re unsure and unable to comprehend what is happening until Qimir leans in, so close that your foreheads touch, and answers all your unspoken questions with a kiss.

As your lips meet, breath merging with breath, tongue with tongue, and soul with soul, intertwining and becoming one, you understand. Qimir is everything to you—whether it be the beginning...or your inevitable end.

[dragonnarrative-writes]

Data Breach

Read on AO3

Word count: 12.8k

Alternatively titled "Lockdown."

CW: Public partial-nudity, references to sex work, Kidnapping, implied trafficking, threats of violence, anxiety/panic, body horror, brief mentions of medical trauma, character being hunted, brief mention of cannibalism, guns, knives

Notes: Naya "Bambi" Walker and Veronica "Bricks" Mason are my characters. Morgan "Sparrow" Voss belongs to @sentientcave.

I'm very excited because this is my first "complete" fic. And I wrote it within my first year of posting fanfiction! Thanks to everyone who has been here with me through it all!

The genetic and cybernetic enhancements that the public took for granted were a drop in the bucket. No one protested the same-day medical procedures for aesthetics and practicality and security. What harm is a microchip to automate one’s home, modified musculature that needed less exercise to maintain? Who was ever going to protest genetically coded locking mechanisms?

Soldier modifications are a violation of human rights. The deployment of those soldiers isn’t, unless they use their enhanced abilities to commit a war crime. But the process of modification, experimental and unregulated, driven by greed, desperation, a cold war that bled and screamed…

In the early days of accelerated genetics, on the heels of the prosthetic revolution, things had been hellish. Rejected limb grafts.    Explosively contagious viral infections previously rare in humans. Incompatible bones and organs and structures drowning experimental groups in their own fluids. Hunting and prey drives that only became apparent on the battlefield.

The deployment of modified soldiers isn’t a violation of human rights. But if even a single civilian is caught in the crossfire, it’s a war crime.

What the governments of the world did to the men and women who served them - and the populations they were supposed to serve - was a flood of destruction that led to international court-martial and proposed executions.

Only proposed though.

Naya, green around the gills from her latest information dive, wonders if maybe those proposals had more merit than she’d initially thought.

The files she found about the modified joint task forces, the Ghost Team JTFs, are more horrifying than anything she’s ever seen. Bone and dental removal, replacement, and additions. Brain implants, deeper and more invasive than most civilian interface units, which go just under the skin. Increased metabolism, shortening of the digestive tract, automatic injectors with stim packs that keep soldiers awake and lucid through unimaginable horrors.

Her hands shake, spilling tea leaves on the counter as she disconnects from her VPN network. She’d stumbled upon the initial files surrounding what had been Task Force 141 days ago, had quickly skimmed and duplicated their contents to read and review on her own time. Those had been bad enough. Reading about a Scottish soldier, shot in the head and brought back only to have his body altered. Another sergeant suspended in a tank as his genetically altered body attempted and failed to process all of the poisons they wanted him resistant to. A lieutenant who’s frontal lobe was hacked through to make room for a larger processor. The Captain captured and tortured and changed for investigating what was happening to his unit…

And that was before the videos.

Finding more information on Ghost Teams is virtually impossible. Official reports, even the ones she breaks into, list the 141 as defunct. Her fellow archivists don’t have any other information, and aren’t willing to help her dive again.

>>>Flower: even if the GTs are still alive >>>Flower: it’s too dangerous >>>Flower: too many powers want them to stay buried >>>Flower: we’ll lose everything if we go digging >>>Bambi: you don’t have any contacts i could ask? >>>Flower: i‘m sorry bambi

There’s more security, when she returns to the original server, too much for her to feel comfortable to try to force her way in. Her bots identify a couple of devices on the network that might be exploitable - a printer, two coffee machines - but she leaves them alone, for now.

Instead, she trawls conspiracy theory forums for any mention of experimental modifications, missing soldiers, and questionable medical equipment shipments. Experience means her bots filter through everything, which saves her more than a few headaches, but also means that she waits hours before a possible hit. And that hit is a dead end.

The hours turn to days before she’s able to find an abandoned, locked forum with deleted answers to heavily coded questions. The last post is seven years old, ostensibly informing community members of upcoming changes to the forum. The veil over the warning of government surveillance is thinner than tissue paper.

It’s the closest thing she has to a lead, so she makes a new post and sets her bots to monitor it.

>>18|\/|48(Guest): GTJTFs producing new 141 units? Leaked production reports, new specs?

She doesn’t expect a response, but maybe an auto-responder will give her a clue of where to look next. So it’s jarring when she gets an encrypted email with a reply from “dimentionspoker@noreply.co,” an hour later.

new units? have info on old units if you need references. let me know.

—

The middle city isn’t the safest, for all that the well-to-dos topside like to pretend that the truly unsavory elements aren’t that close to their picturesque lawns. Naya’s lived here her whole life, though she’s worked above a time or two. Even so, she’s never ventured this close to the freight shafts down to the docks.

The bar she steps into is loud and smells like liquor and motor fluid. It’s dim, and smoky, and she feels eyes on her as she makes her way to the bar. Her interface lights up with pings and an attempted ID and bank chip skim. All they get for their trouble is her least informative ID tag - Bambi.

The bartender, a large bodied person with the simple tag of Engine, operates behind the bar with four cybernetic arms. There’s no digital queue for her to log in to, or even a service request button on the seemingly organic wood bar. So she stands, hands folded on top of the bar for them to finish pouring drinks and notice her standing there.

Just as the barkeep’s attention slides her way, a warm body presses up behind hers. She stiffens as a the person jostles her to lean heavily on the bar. “Eng! Another for me. And whatever my cute new friend wants.”

A refusal is on the tip of her tongue, but when she looks up into slitted yellow eyes haloed by curled black and purple freeform locs, she gets an encrypted message.

>>>Bricks: Hello Bambi. >>>Bricks: Order a drink and come with me.

—

"They shouldn't be locked up. They're people, not mindless killing machines."

Across the table, under the dim lights, the woman called Bricks cocks her head. She’s a true cyborg, someone who’s modifications are probably keeping them alive. The cybernetics of her left arm extending well into her ribcage. She doesn’t hide it. Under dark overclothes, a slouching shirt exposes the metal of her collarbones, the servos that whir as she breathes. She swirls her glass of Jack and Coke with an amused look on her face as a barely muffled moan pierces through loud music.

Naya takes a deep breath to keep from fidgeting. It took three months to arrange even this meeting with the elusive American arms dealer, in the back of this dingy bar on a busy Friday. She wasn't about to lose the lead just because she could hear lewd comments and barely muffled squeals of pleasure from the nearby hall to the washrooms. The more concerning noise was coming from behind her, anyhow, the thump of knives into a dart board, distressed beeping from the unlucky mini-droid bound to the target.

"You want me to set up a meeting with the Watcher," Bricks drawls, sitting back in her chair. Her pointed cybernetic nails drum against the table. She doesn’t bother to whisper, but both of them have been disrupting any listening devices in range. "So you can make sure that Price's monsters are being treated humanely?"

"They're not monsters," Naya hisses.

"You've never seen them." It's not a question.

"I don't need to see them to know they shouldn't be kept locked in cages."

Bricks freezes with her glass halfway to her lips. Her eyes narrow. “Cages?”

“That’s what I saw.” Gritting her teeth, Naya hisses. “Look. You know what it means to be augmented, what extensive modifications are like. But without anesthesia? I wouldn’t wish that on anyone, not even my worst enemy.”

“You’d be surprised what I would wish on my worst enemy, sweetheart.” Bricks chuckles and throws back the last dregs of her drink. "But you know what? Fine."

"Fine?"

"Fine. You want in so bad? I'll set up a meeting with the Watcher, and Price."

Well. That was easier than expected. "What'll it cost me?"

"Oh, your whole life, probably. Your whole world view, certainly," Bricks chuckles. She gives Naya an obvious once over, gaze lingering on her breasts. "But you don't owe me any more than a quick flash of your tits."

That does make Naya’s confidence falter. "W-what?"

"You heard me. C'mon, give me a little peek, and I'll send a message right now. You can have Price's monsters off their leashes by the end of the week." Bricks grins, slit pupils pulsing wide with interest. "We don't even have to go anywhere, just pull down your shirt a little bit."

"I'm not..." Naya looks around, furtively. "This isn't exactly priv-" She flinches as she's interrupted by a loud moan, followed by a cheer from the rest of the bar.

"You're asking me to let your hands get real dirty, sweetheart." Bricks stands and circles the table to crowd Naya against the wall. She dips down to breathe into her ear. "And unless you want word to spread of a cute, clean cut, little topsider digging into illegal soldier mods, you're gonna pull your tits out and take the money I give you, after, Bambi."

There’s something behind the predatory look in the taller woman’s eyes. A challenge. She’s called Naya’s bluff, hasn’t she? When she refuses, Bricks will send her off with a laugh and a pat on her ass. And she’ll be back at square one, unable to face the danger of diving deeper again.

But Naya’s never been accused of knowing when to back down.

It’s the work of a moment to have the various video feeds in the room start a ten second loop. Her bots use movement patterns to make the video seem natural to anyone not looking closely. Bricks makes an interested noise when the video feed from her cybernetic eye continues showing Naya’s darting eyes and regular breaths. Her organic eye takes in the way Naya’s hands come up to unclasp the front of her shirt.

She takes a deep breath before hooking her fingers into the neck of her undershirt. She looks down as she inches it down to reveal the scalloped edge of her bra, instead of looking to see if Bricks is aroused or amused or some other, worse thing.

Before she can truly expose herself, a warm hand touches her wrist. “So eager. Not even gonna give me a little tease?”

>>>Bricks: Nice trick with the cameras, but you’re going to call attention.

Naya tips her chin up and immediately regrets it when Bricks leans down to meet her. Her breath shivers between their lips. When a metal arm comes up to block her view of the rest of the room, she turns her face away.

>>>Bambi: It’d be more suspicious if I let everyone have a clip for distribution.

“Smart girl,” Bricks whispers against her temple. “Take the credits.”

The fund transfer Bricks initiates has a public comment attached. ‘Classy. Could almost be the real thing.’ Naya glares up at Brick’s smirking face as she accepts the transaction. Two hundred. It feels like too little and too much money at the same time. Almost immediately, she gets inquiry pings from six other patrons the bar.

“And that’s your alibi,” Bricks chuckles, stepping back so quickly that she barely has time to put herself to rights. “Let’s go, sweetheart.”

—

Naya tries not to fidget in the freight elevator, down, down, down, into The Throat. Bricks's arm is a possessive weight on her shoulder. On the other side of the lift, a startlingly tall man stares at them through the holes in a cloth sack. When she meets his eyes, something writhes where his mouth should be.

"Eyes to yourself," Bricks growls when he takes a half step in their direction. Her cybernetic arm crackles warningly.

The man visibly considers his options before making a guttural sound. A thick appendage, tongue or tentacle, Naya can’t really tell, pokes out from under the hood. He mutters something she doesn’t understand in under-tongue. Bricks hisses something back, pushing Naya behind her as she takes a threatening step forward. The man flinches, then crowds himself into his corner. He doesn’t even look in their direction for the rest of the descent.

When the doors open, Bricks holds her back until the man leaves, then steers her out into the street. Naya's been under-city before, but not in this bloc. The air is just as stale and hazy as she remembers, but this shaft doesn't see as much vertical commuter traffic as some of the others, so the street is dark instead of lit with neon. The faintest bit of light filters down from straight above.

Groping for something to say, she asks, "Did you know that guy?"

Bricks snorts, keeping an arm around her's waist as she steers her along. "Yeah."

“What did he want?”

She gets an uninterested shrug. “The same thing any bottom dwelling opportunist wants.”

It’s not hard to imagine what she means. When she doesn't say anything else, Naya searches for another topic. She swallows her pride and forces herself to say, "Thank you for setting up this meeting."

"Don't thank me yet, sweetheart. You're gonna hate me soon enough."

"I know it's dangerous for you," she insists as Bricks draws her down a side street. Dangerous is an understatement, if the Ghost Teams are so far gone that they’re experimenting on human beings. "Even if things are hard, moving forward, I appreciate your help."

Bricks doesn't answer. Instead, she knocks on a barred door. It opens a crack, and she and the other person hiss low words at each other. A shining green eye looks Naya up and down, the door shuts, and Bricks draws her away.

They stride, briskly, back to the main street. Bricks asks, "Do you have a respirator?"

"Yes."

"Put it on, don't speak."

Wordlessly, Naya unfolds the mask from her pocket and covers her mouth and nose. Bricks pulls a dark scarf from her shoulders and wraps it around Naya’s head and neck, and then drops a poncho over her head. Somehow, the mercinary looks bigger in just her thin shirt, the muscles and metal in her shoulders more pronounced.

Ten minutes into their silent walk, a man melts from the shadows and starts walking on Naya's other side. Though she can’t see much under his baggy clothes, his gait speaks to digitigrade modifications. When she glances up, he has a faceplate under his own hood. His voice, when he speaks, is robotic. "Bricks."

"Roach."

“You’re looking smug and determined.”

“I’m on a very… interesting job.” An encrypted message gets passed between the two of them, and Naya frowns behind her mask. She shouldn’t be able to tell that a message was sent, though, so she bites her tongue. Bricks smirks down at her, then turns her eyes forward. “What’s on your mind?”

"Shadows are hunting you. Seven thousand credits."

"That's insulting," Bricks dismisses. "Mace take the job?"

"That's insulting," Roach parrots back. Somehow, his metered and inflectionless voice sounds amused. A flurry of encrypted messages flows between them. Once those have finished, he says, "Come see us when your business with the Watcher is done." And then he fades away into the shadows again.

"Good job," Bricks whispers. "Stay silent. Keep taking deep breaths. Walk straight ahead. Don't run." And then she ducks down a side street, leaving Naya alone in the dark.

Fuck.

She keeps putting one foot in front of the other. Measured. Brisk, but unhurried. A couple of people pass on the other side of the street, then a man passes on her side. Under her poncho, she palms her pocket knife, but no one spares her a second glance.

After a full minute, Bricks slides out of the next alley and falls into step with her, a cigarette that smells like real tobacco between her lips. In her cybernetic hand, she has a twitching, bleeding length of what looks like an octopus tentacle the size of Naya’s forearm.

"You can talk now,” she says. “But you don't want to ask about this."

—

The respirator makes a lot more sense when Naya is led to a shaft to the Belly.

She’s never been to the middle level of the true undercity. Technically, no one should live in this industrial level, so there’s very little in the way of individual commerce and amenities. There is an abundance of dead “topsider tourists” every year, mangled and hacked to drain all of their resources before anyone can realize that they haven’t come home.

This lift is much smaller, just big enough for her to stand behind Bricks as the woman primes her arm. The edge of a plasma knife glows blue from within the mechanics of her bicep. When Naya activates the plasma in her own knife, Bricks looks over her shoulder at the near silent hum.

“You ever use that before?”

“Once.”

That earns an interested noise as the other woman faces forward again. “On a person?”

“…No.”

“Well, there’s a first time for everything,” is all she says about that as the elevator shudders to a stop. “Stay behind my right arm. If I tell you to drop, you fall to the ground and don’t move until I tell you.”

When the door opens, it’s into a pitch black alley. The only light is the obscured gleam from with Brick’s left shoulder. Something in the darkness hisses. Bricks strides forward, and Naya has no choice but to follow after.

They walk for a few minutes without incident before Bricks knocks on a nondescript door. Next to it, a biometric scanner creaks open and scans one of her eyes, then one of her metal fingers. Naya flinches at the noise of a series of locks grinding open.

A stern faced blonde woman is on the other side of the door when Bricks gestures Naya inside. She’s not wearing a respirator, but then, neither is Bricks. The woman doesn’t say anything, so Naya doesn’t either. She just waits for Bricks to finish securing the door, then returns to her spot just behind her.

“Watcher,” Bricks greets with clear good humor. “I brought you a little something.”

Naya huffs a surprised breath from her nose, but stays silent. The Watcher. The overseer of at least one of five active Modified Task Forces. She looks so… normal. A woman in her mid forties, maybe, face lined with stress but open. Naya feels a little thrown off. When the lights flicker, however, she catches the red shine of a cybernetic eye. Whatever mods she has, they’re hidden so well that Naya can’t even sense them.

The Watcher’s eyes scan her for a moment before she’s looking back to Bricks. Naya only has a moment to wonder why she hasn’t been pinged before she asks, “Alive?”

“You always pay more when they’re alive.”

What? Naya stumbles backwards until she hits the door. “What?”

Bricks throws a grin over her shoulder. “I told you not to thank me.” Turning back to the Watcher, she says, “Thirty thousand credits. Had a run in with the King on the way here.”

“No one told you to bring her alive. Fifteen, and we void the Shadows bounty on you.”

“Twenty five. You want her alive, trust me. And I can handle the Shadows on my own.”

Naya gapes at the two of them. A quick glance over her shoulder and query to the door confirms that the locks won’t open again without a lot more force than she could manage, even if she wouldn’t have to fight Bricks to get out. And the Watcher… isn’t motivated to let her live. Fuck. The little knife in her hands feels less than useless.

“She wanted to meet you,” Bricks continues, crossing her arms. “And Price.”

That makes the Watcher pause and look over Naya again. “Oh?”

“She used his name,” Bricks confirms. “Real skilled code-breaker.”

“Hm.” The Watcher frowns, then says. “Thirty thousand is a low ball offer, then.”

“She thinks you’re keeping the task force in cages,” Bricks chuckles. “I want to watch when she sees them for the first time.”

That gets a huff of amusement. “Thirty thousand and a show… Deal. Bring her.”

When the Watcher turns away, Bricks looks back at Naya with a surprisingly gentle smile. “Good job. Now comes the hard part. Let’s go.”

“What’s going to happen to me?” she doesn’t want to walk forward, but there’s not much else to do. She tries to stand away from Bricks, but it’s hard in the narrow hallway.

“Nothing, now,” Bricks laughs. “Got you through the door alive, and Watcher can always use a code breaker.”

It’s hard not to feel stupid. Naya struggles to keep her voice even. “So this was just… a bounty for you?”

“Better me than König.” Bricks wiggles the tentacle that she’s still holding in metal fingers. “And better now than when an actual bounty was on your head. Diving into secure government information brings out the worst kind of trouble. The Shadows would have killed you in your bed. Kortac would have chipped you, if they decided keeping you was worth it. This way, everyone gets what they want.”

“Except me,” Naya points out.

“You’re still alive, for now,” the Watcher points out from a few steps ahead, without looking back. “Considering the problems you’ve caused me, it’s tempting to kill you myself. But Bricks is right. I can always use a Breaker.”

“I don’t do that professionally,” Naya protests weakly.

The Watcher doesn’t break stride. “You do, now.”

They get into another elevator, big enough for eight people. There aren’t any floor indicators, but as soon as the doors close, it starts to descend. Wrapping her arms around herself, Naya shivers. At this rate, she realizes, she may never see the sky again. She’ll be locked in a cage next to the 141, underground, let out to circumvent code for… what? To support more killing? More human experimentation? If she doesn’t cooperate, will they experiment on her? Put a processor in her brain to erase everything about her except for her skill?

Tears gather in the corners of her eyes, and she can’t help a sniffle.

“None of that,” comes the surprisingly gentle voice of the Watcher. When she approaches, she puts a gentle hand on Naya’s shoulder. “You’re here now. There’s no going back. But we take care of our own.”

Bricks snorts. “For given values of taking care of. You are keeping the boys in cages after all.”

“That’s not helpful,” the Watcher says, producing a tissue from her pocket and dabbing at Naya’s eyes. She pushes the makeshift hood back and gently removes her respirator, scanning her face with hard blue eyes. Eventually, she asks, “Why did you come here, Bambi?”

Shoulders coming up around her ears, Naya gets the feeling that because I’m an idiot isn’t the answer she’s looking for. She looks down at her sensible shoes, bracketed by the Watcher’s own worn work boots, and confesses, “Bricks said I could meet with you, and Price. And… I thought I could… encourage you to treat the modified soldiers more like people than animals.”

“And I suppose this encouragement was going to come with a threat to leak records to the public?” The Watcher’s mouth twitches into a sardonic smile when Naya looks up at her again. “Bold.”

Bricks chuckles. “Naive.”

“Hopeful. And some of the best plans are the simplest,” the Watcher dismisses.

Naya wouldn’t call her plan to connect to the building’s intranet and threatening to disrupt all of the life support systems “naive.” Now that she’s locked in, it feels like a distinctly hopeless course of action. She’ll have to think of something else, fast.

The Watcher steps away as the elevator comes to a stop. The doors open into a large control room, huge observation windows giving a 360 degree view out into dimly lit halls. Bricks ushers Naya out, heavy hands on her shoulders, until she pushes her into a chair facing a window to the left side of the room.

“Did we miss feeding time?” Bricks grins and pulls a puzzle ball from her bag. Her cybernetic hand twitches and whirs as it clicks through combinations.

“Luckily for Bambi, yes.”

Before Naya can ask what feeding time entails, something drops from the ceiling on the other side of the glass, startling a yelp from her. It’s a man, tall and lean, slitted eyes shining a red orange as he stares at her face through the glass. He’s half dressed, only in loose pants. Thick, dark streaks of something wet cover his chest and splatter down his legs. The grin that splits his pretty face puts three pairs of sharp canines on display, stained red.

The Watcher pushes a button, an intercom. “Gaz.”

“Who’s this cute little thing, Laswell?” Naya shivers as Kyle “Gaz” Garrick looks her up and down. He looks just like his personnel file, except for a wildness around his eyes that changes his face from welcoming to something dangerous. “Could practically smell her from the street.”

“Back away from the glass, you’re filthy. What the hell did you roll in?”

The man ignores the Watcher, face going soft as he leans down to get on a level with Naya. “Hello, honey. Such a pretty girl, what are you doing down here? You a friend of Bricks?”

Something about his crooning voice makes Naya’s hair stand on end. At the same time, she finds that she can’t look away from the man’s eyes as he tilts his head. They’re such an interesting color, and he keeps shifting ever so slightly in ways that draw her eyes to follow. He jerks quickly to one side when her eyes dip down to the red and brown splashed down his chest, then smiles when she looks back at his face. His teeth - even the extra ones - are perfect and red. Naya’s heart beats a little faster.

A loud pop and sudden flash makes Naya jump as Gaz reels back with a snarl.

“I told you not to touch the glass,” the Watcher grumbles. “Clean up. Make yourself presentable. And remind the others to put their masks on.”

“Sir, yes, sir,” he hisses. With one last, sweet smile to Naya, he turns and strides away before leaping up to grab an exposed beam and hoist himself into the shadows above the observation room. He disappears in the space of a moment. No matter how Naya squints, she can’t tell where he’s gone.

“Don’t look any of them in the eye,” Bricks whispers from close behind, chuckling at the way Naya jumps. “They’re predators, sweetheart, and you’re the sweetest bite of prey they’ve had in a long while.”

“Bricks,” the Watcher (Laswell?) chides. “Get her keyed in. Bambi, you’re not to be alone in here. We’ll get you interfaced with security so you know how to do a lockdown sequence before you’re introduced to the Task Force.”

When she’s handed an interface chip, Naya blanches. “I can’t, I don’t have a hard disk reader. Why do I need to know the facility’s lockdown sequences?”

“There’s no where in this facility that they can’t get,” Bricks replies, distracted as she opens a floor panel to extract a series of wires, and what looks like a very robust integration cable. “And if you’re going to work here, you’re going to need to be able to keep them from dragging you off and eating you.”

“Bricks.” Laswell snaps. To Naya she explains,    “Everyone who works here needs to know how to lock down in case of emergency.”

Naya gapes. “Emergencies? They can - They’re not -! They have full access to the facility?”

“Of course. They can get out of the facility, too,” Bricks snickers. “Who’s going to stop them?”

“Bricks!”

“All of the records say that they’re severely restricted.” The tight squeak in Naya’s voice is undeniable. “What do you mean they could eat me?”

“Old records,” Laswell answers without looking. A terminal lights up under her fingertips. “The only way the SAS would let us keep the facilities without bomb chips. Let me know when you’re ready for input.”

“The part about eating me?” Naya flinches as Bricks circles behind and pushes her hair up to expose the port beneath her left ear.

“If you’re as good as I think you are, you don’t have to worry about that,” Bricks says, shoving the cable into place. “Go.”

“What-”

Laswell launches the integration before she can get the question out. Naya’s whole body jolts, brain flooded with sudden input. She doesn’t dive into the data so much as she’s dragged under the tidal wave of the facility.

The whole structure unfolds around her, five floors, twelve stories down, three shafts up, two elevators, one stair. She’s in the observation tower, which descends three more floors. Heat, cooling, air filtration, power, food storage, office of Watcher One Kate Laswell, office of Bravo One John Price, research labs east and south, conference rooms, break rooms, sleeping quarters, inventory, directory of personnel.

Access Denied.

It’s nothing to shuffle the alert away. Asset Records. Veronica “Bricks” Mason, Gary “Roach” Sanderson, Mason “Mace” Ward, [Redacted] Nikto, Morgan “Sparrow” Voss. The list goes on. Task Force 141. Kyle “Gaz” Garrick, John “Soap” MacTavish, John “Bravo One” Price, Simon “Ghost” Riley. Vital statistics steady, duplicate identification signals, three dead copies, one living set. Security, kill switch overrides. These doors won’t close, but they’ll tell the observation tower that they have. Interesting.

Diving a layer deeper, she observes three separate security records. One is distressingly familiar, the records she’d found before, that spurred her to find Bricks, full of echoes of old code, now that she can see it. Then the one with logs going to Watcher One Kate Laswell, current and accurate. Except that the third log indicates security discrepancies and pings to KGKLJMJPSR. She logs the discrepancy on her own, internal system, a reminder to see if she can piggyback on someone else’s clearance.

Now that she’s thinking about it, she scans for what her clearance is supposed to have access to. It’s the second level, the one that doesn’t actually close the security doors surrounding the servers, sleeping quarters, and the observation tower. Well, that won’t do. She makes a digital copy of KL’s access and patches it into her own.

Just as she finishes, four ID tags simply labeled “Ghost” enter the lowest observation tower floor. That’s a glaring red security alert, and it only doubles in urgency as he accesses the hatch to the system port cable.

“Oh, that’s bad,” she hears herself say aloud as she gropes, blindly for the cable in her neck. “Ghost is accessing, I need to disconnect before he-“

Three more security alerts come up as the ID tags for Bravo One, Gaz, and Soap appear around the top floor of the observation tower, their floor. Naya quickly circumvents the overrides on the blast doors, and half observes rolling shutters covering the windows as Laswell makes a startled noise. Unfortunately, Ghost finds her while she’s distracted.

And he is a ghost, sliding between the layers of Naya’s own security code like a cold breeze. He rifles through her ID cards before she can even try to lock down. When she tries to lock him out of her interface, he slams through so fast it sends her reeling. Unfortunately for him, and for her, he trips over her Brain Blast in the process. The packet of musical theater data explodes to override everything she’s connected to, knocking her out of her connection to the facility and blaring Ohmigod You Guys through the speaker systems of the facility.

“What the fuck,” Veronica Bricks Mason shouts, covering her ears.

“Sorry, sorry,” Naya yelps. She manually reopens her access to the facility and cuts the sound. Her head spins with new information that she doesn’t have time to let her organic brain process. Ghost is nowhere to be found, but she doesn’t wait around to see where he pops up again before locking herself down and physically removing the cable from her neck. “Ghost tripped my security protocol.”

“You shouldn’t be able to influence any part of the facility,” Watcher One Kate Laswell observes. “Which means you’re every bit as good as Bricks says you are. Why did you lock down the tower?”

“Just this floor,” she answers absently, looking around as her interface flashes and labels new data points about her surroundings. It takes a moment for her to filter through everything enough to focus. “Bravo One, Gaz, and Soap were approaching as Ghost tapped in on the bottom floor.”

“I should have charged more,” Asset:Mason chuckles.

“Maybe you should have, Veronica,” Naya replies without thinking.

The woman just laughs. “Oh ho ho, you’re even better than I thought.

Watcher One Laswell drums her fingers on the table. “You don’t have a hard disk reader. Can you still access the facility without a hard line?”

Naya has to shake her head before she runs a quick system check. A ping to the 141 Facility gets a happy little ping back. “Yeah. My, um… my interface is a bit more robust than standard.”

Watcher Laswell nods. “Noted. Reset the security settings.”

Naya almost does it on autopilot, but stops herself. Running a quick check, she shivers. “They’re still out there. Three of them.” When Laswell only nods, she nudges the blast doors and security shutters to open. It takes a moment, but eventually they start to rumble to life.

Worryingly, when she can see through the windows again, Bravo One, Gaz, and Soap are no where to be found. The only active vitals in the facility say they’re right across the glass from where Naya is sitting. It sends a chill down her spine. Diving through the facility systems, she had felt untouchable. But she’s been outmaneuvered again. Unless…

She stands and leans closer to the glass, looking up into the shadows above.

Three pairs of eyes shine down at her from the darkness.

“They’re up there,” Naya whispers. When Laswell simply answers in the affirmative, she activates the intercom with a gulp. “Um. I’m sorry about the noise.”

“That’s quite alright, sweetheart,” a deep voice answers. “Ghost has a way of startling pretty girls. And I quite like a bit of theater.”

Well it’s not Gaz, and there’s no hint of a Scottish accent. “Are you… Bravo One? John Price?”

“You are a clever one.” One of the pairs of eyes squints and tilts. Another shuts, and doesn’t open again. Soap’s tags move a short ways away as Price continues. “Bricks says you asked to meet me.”

“Yes, sir,” Naya says, and then remembers too late that Bricks said not to meet their eyes. She tears her eyes away and jumps at the sight of John “Soap” MacTavish standing a few feet down the hall in front of her.

He looks good, surprisingly so. His hair is long, braided mohawk shining. A gleaming scar is the only indication of the wound that almost killed him. He’s healthy, big and bulky and dressed casually in black joggers and a tight black tshirt. Bright blue eyes with crossed pupils scan her face with interest. When he grins at her, his sharp teeth flash with titanium augments.

“Gaz wisna exaggeratin,’ ye smell quite nice, Bambi,” Soap purrs.

“What part of ‘masks on’ don’t you all understand?” Laswell grumbles.

“They’ve already got her scent,” Bricks snickers. “Did Ghost get your tags Bambi?”

“He did,” Price confirms from above. “Naya Walker, also known as Bambi. Computer scientist, you’ve sold a couple of database systems. Quite impressive.”

A pit opens in her stomach. Ghost had access to her system for less than three seconds. Her throat is tight when she says, “Thank you, sir.”

“So polite,” Gaz chuckles from above. “Come say hello, doll.”

Naya chances a glance back at Kate, then looks back at Soap, then up at the single pair of shining eyes above as Price’s ID winks away from your awareness. “I’m not sure I have clearance for that.”

“You didn’t have clearance to know about this facility,” Gaz points out. “And yet, here you are. Pretty as a picture.”

“Jesus,” Bricks mutters as Laswell makes a startled sound. “We really should put a bell on you.”

And then a huge hand presses against the glass next to Naya’s face. She startles backwards and runs into a huge, solid body, and yelps as a strong arm catches her about the waist.

“Caught ya,” a fourth, deeper voice rumbles above her. His other hand catches both of her wrists and immobilizes her as she stares at dark brown stains up to his wrists. “Been teasin’ us f’ months, dippin’ in an’ out ‘f m’code. So careful, li’l fawn. But not careful enough.”

“Ghost,” Laswell says. The whine of a plasma weapon being primed pierces through the otherwise silent room. Naya squeezes her eyes closed.“Hands off. That’s my Breaker.”

“’S’at so?” Ghost bends down, so far down, it seems, to drag the tip of his nose along Naya’s temple. “Seems she moight be mine, since I invited ‘er.”

“Speaking of,” Bricks interjects. “I’ll take my finder’s fee, now.”

“Bricks.” Laswell hisses.

“Transfer’s cleared, Bricks,” John Price says with a chuckle. “Pleasure doing business, as always.”

Like Gaz and Soap, Captain Price is bigger than his file made him seem. They’d shaved him, when they had replaced some of his bones with metal, but now his facial hair is as full and vital as the rest of him. This close, Naya can see the mechanics whirling within his eyes.

Leaning against his free side, Gaz licks his lips with a tongue that seems too long. But she only sees them for a moment before she’s being turned around, still wrapped in Ghost’s arms.

On the left side of the room Bricks lounges in a chair, tossing and catching and cycling through the combinations on her ball. She’s grinning like she’s gotten away with murder. Maybe she has - she’s been paid three times today for possibly the easiest bounty of her career. Across from her, Laswell holds a glowing knife in a loose grip by her side, shooting an annoyed glare at the other woman.

“What the hell is this?” Laswell hisses.

“You told us to stop hunting your techs,” Price chuckles.

“Bambi is mine,” Kate reiterates, glaring out the glass.

“Just a wee taste, Watcher,” Soap burrs from somewhere. “Ghost is code breaker enough, ye dinnae need another.”

Naya feels her entire body go cold. She takes a deep breath, reconnects with the facility, and runs Flash_Bang.exe.

—

The underground building has a straightforward layout, but that’s dangerous. Naya flicks away the alert when Ghost manages to patch his way back into the facility and silence the music - fuck, it only took him twenty eight seconds? - and ducks under a desk in the office she broke into, one floor down.

It’s hard to stay one step ahead of him, but her spiders and bots repair the five second camera feed loops as soon as he forces the cameras back online. He only wastes time breaking a third of the bot codes before he seems to realize that they’re replicating and switches to tagging, leaving them to run their processes.

It takes two agonizing seconds for her to open the audio relay from the observation tower without revealing her location to Ghost’s sweeping pings.

“-vilian running wild and scared through a secure facility, John.” Kate snaps.

“I thought she was your new breaker,” Gaz snickers. “Not really a civilian.”

“Nae,” Soap interjects. Naya is glad she doesn’t have video to see the nasty smile she can hear in his voice. “Watcher’s right. We cannae let her get too far.”

“She’s fucked the cameras,” Ghost chuckles. “Could get them back online, but it’d take some time.”

Price hums. “Location?”

“West labs’re pingin’,” Ghost answers. He sounds pleased. “Don’t mean much. She’s got bots spoofin’ her IDs.”

“Smells like she’s gone to the east wing,” Gaz purrs. “Lots of classified documents that way, Laswell. Hate to think of what she might come across if she makes it down to the third floor.”

There’s a tense silence before something slams. Eventually, Laswell hisses, “Fine. Bring her back. Alive and unharmed.”

“No promises,” Soap laughs.

Naya scrambles from her hiding spot as she confirms that the cameras in this south wing hall are looped. She needs to get back to the north side of the facility to get to the stairs that might take her up and out. But first she needs to get them off her trail… Somehow.

There’s a janitor closet two doors down, and she spoofs the signal to unlock the door just long enough to slip through it. She looks for bleach and prays it will be enough to mask her scent, then curses to herself when she realizes the bleach will be an obvious mark of her presence. She can’t just erase herself in the physical world the way she can, digitally.

An encrypted message alert calls her attention.

>>>Bricks: Soap will run at you directly. Gaz likes to ambush. Good Luck!

“I c’n see that, Bricks,” Ghost rumbles.

“She’s already at a disadvantage,” the mercenary chuckles. “Poor little thing, you’re going to eat her alive.”

“Oh, she’s not as harmless as all that,” Price laughs. “Took over the whole facility, gave Ghost the slip-“

“I let her go,” Ghost interrupts.

“Set up the meeting so there’d be no one here but us. Got her hands on the codes she thought would let her take control of us, the mindless killing machines.” John continues. He chuckles. “She’s a smart little thing.”

“She got the deadswitches?” Bricks sounds genuinely surprised.

“Command codes. The first ones,” Ghost confirms. “Duds, since we don’t have the chips, but she don’t know that.”

Well, she does now. Naya grabs three bottles of bleach and puts her respirator back on as her mind races. Part of what made soldier modifications so disgusting were the control processors. The irony of finding out that the 141 had somehow removed theirs was not lost on her. They’re already as free as she’d hoped to help them be, and they’re using that freedom to hunt her like animals.

The IDs for Soap and Gaz are still a floor above, moving slowly, following her trail. Ghost and Bravo One are still in the observation tower. She opens one bottle and rolls it back down the hall she came down, then jogs the other way, splashing the bleach as she goes. The observation tower in the center of the floor has mirrored glass, spiking her heart rate every time she catches sight of herself out of the corner of her eye. It’s so jarring that she almost doesn’t realize Gaz and Soap are coming out of the nearest elevator.

She ducks into an office just as the bell dings around the corner.

“Ach, that’s nae very nice, Bambi,” Soap calls. When he speaks next, it’s muffled, likely by his own respirator. “Ghost, she’s scent bombed the whole steamin’ floor. Where is she?”

“Don’t be lazy, Johnny,” Ghost chuckles. “’Ardly a hunt if there’s no challenge.”

“She’ll want the stairwell,” Gaz says. “Lock it down.”

“Already done,” Ghost says. “But locks aren’t exactly a deterrent, if you ‘aven’t noticed.”

“Bottle rolled down this hall,” Gaz says. “So she probably took the other.”

“Aye, that’s what she wants us to think,” Soap chuckles. “I’ll clear this side.”

Naya holds her breath as heavy footsteps start toward her hiding spot, then go so light she almost can’t hear them. She watches the light under the door and resists the urge to flinch at the appearance of a shadow. The man - Soap’s ID sits like a brand so close to her own in her interface - lingers by the door for a long moment then moves on. He’s so quiet that she keeps the map of the floor up to watch his progress. He’s listening for her, she realizes, stopping at each door. She’s lucky that the air circulation vents are above the door, or he might have heard her heart racing.

When Soap and Gaz each turn corners to start investigating the south wing, Naya finally lets herself take more than the shortest breath. She eases the lock open with a flinch at the mechanical click, but neither Soap nor Gaz change their trajectory. When she opens the door and peeks out, the hall is empty. So she eases her way out, crouches low, and shuffles as fast as she can to the stairwell.

She gives the locks three scans before coding them to unlock. The light turns green without incident. She waits for a moment. Soap and Gaz move just a bit farther away. Naya breathes a silent sigh and eases the door open.

“Got her,” Ghost says. “She’s in the stairwell.”

Above her, a door slams open. Naya yelps and starts jogging down the stairs before she can hear what Captain Price yells down at her. She brute forces her way through the lock codes for the third floor and pulls the door open, throwing her bottle of bleach at the wall before slamming it shut. She trips every proximity alarm she can, leading west through the third floor as she throws herself down the next flight. At the fourth floor door, she creates a signal loop, mindful of the door sensor she’d overlooked before. She hears Gaz and Soap slam through the second floor door open just as the door to the fourth closes behind her.

Too late, she realizes that she can’t hear into the tower anymore, and the map of this floor is all static in her interface. The schematics she had before are corrupted - Ghost’s doing, most likely. She can still see the locks on the doors, the terminals connected to the intranet in the various offices. It will have to be enough.

She darts into the eastern wing of the floor and realizes that no, it won’t be enough. The layout is different than the upper floors. The observation tower has no windows in this direction to speak of, for one. And the cameras are few and far between. The doors are also farther apart, and low pile carpet gives way to hard linoleum.

When she turns the corner, she gasps and ducks. Not that it would have helped any. She’s faced with a gymnasium, weight machines and benches and treadmills like a normal gym, except with weights so large it’s almost comical. There’s no one here, but the open space feels like a threat all the same. She turns tail and jogs back toward the observation tower.

As she turns south, she realizes that the tower has no windows on this floor. It’s not a relief, not really. Even if no one can see her, she’s trapped. Gaz and Soap are still looking for her, one floor up. How long will that last? The bleach trick can only work for so long, probably. And Ghost is good, it’s only a matter of time before he breaks into the camera bot code and finds her. How is she going to get up, past the first floor, let alone the next twelve flights of stairs to the streets of the Belly.

God, how is she going to make it home?

Her vision blurs with tears before she can finish taking her next breath.

“No, no, no, no, no,” she whimpers before a hiccup jolts through her. Her breath shudders from her throat as she swipes at her eyes. “No, no, keep it together, it’s gonna be okay. I can figure this out, I can. I can, it’s okay.”

“Bambi? Talk to me,” Brick’s serious voice comes through, suddenly, fuzzy but definitely there. “Those sound like tears, sweetheart.”

Naya sobs, she can’t help it. It’s a few seconds before she can force more words out. “Why did you do this to me?”

“You asked me to bring you,” Bricks reminds her with a soft chuckle. “Didn’t know you were gonna try to take over the whole facility, or I might have set something else up. But if you come out now -“

A hand touches Naya from behind and she screams, throwing a HardReset packet into the space before she can even wonder if that would have any impact on Soap or Gaz. When she whirls around, though, a man she doesn’t recognize is slumped against the wall, barely keeping the weight of a bricked cybernetic leg from dragging him to the floor. Her interface has a moment to tell her this is “Mace,” before she’s darting around him and running again.

“Fuck!” the man shouts. “Watcher what the fuck- No, I’m on the fucking training floor, why the hell-“

“Bambi,” Bricks shouts, “Do not go into the w-“

She slams the connection shut and tries, unsuccessfully, to wipe her tears away. The distraction is probably why she doesn’t realize she’s heading north, but she knows her mistake as soon as she hears the stairwell door open.

She screams again, right in Gaz’s face, can’t help it now that she’s finally made noise. She dodges his reaching hand and bolts, knowing she can’t outrun him, but what else can she do?

“Shite. Ghost!” Soap calls. “Lock it doon!”

Naya dives through a blast door as it slides shut, ignoring the myriad of voices that shout at her. Through the panic, she terminates all of her bots and slams all of her processing power into separating Ghost from the security access from the floor. He puts up a fight, but another BrainBlast and FlashBang gives her the two seconds she needs to take control.

An alert flashes.

<<Message from: WatcherOneKL. Accept?>>

Sitting on the floor, panting and sniffling, she gulps a deep breath. Someone pounds on the door, but it’s solid, and Ghost can’t get past her bots to regain control. She’s safe.

—

In the observation tower, Price frowns at the data pad in his hands. “Ghost, Bricks. Where did you say you found Ms. Walker?”

“Found us, really,” Ghost mutters, focused on the 3D hologram of the facility. Bambi’s ID markers dance all over the place. He’s running algorithms to try to find a pattern, but she’s three steps ahead, it seems. “Set out a lure and she tore through it like tissue paper. An’ then she made a forum post lookin’ f’r information on soldier mods.”

“Scrubbed everything clean,” Bricks adds. “We couldn’t find her for days after she blew through everything. I got lucky that I found the forum post, it didn’t even trigger Ghost’s spiders.”

Price hums. “And… did either of you confirm which hacker group she’s a part of?”

“Didn’t really have time,” Bricks answers with a shrug. “As soon as I confirmed who I was, she demanded to meet Laswell, and you.”

“Interesting. Any of you ever hear of a group called the Archivist Collective?”

Laswell frowns. “Collective for Anarchy?”

“No.” Price shakes his head. “Archivist Collective. It’s the only thing coming up with her background check. And she’s not a known member of any of the major hacking groups.”

Bricks shrugs. “Obviously, she’d use another alias.”

“No,” Price says again, walking over to show Laswell and Bricks the data pad. “None of her aliases are connected with anything but this Archivist Collective. And their only mission is to ‘Counter censorship through the collection, preservation, and dissemination of contested and classified texts.’”

Ghost makes an interested noise and leaves the hologram to start another terminal whirring. “Let’s see what they’ve got then -… oh.”

Bricks sits up from her sprawl. “Oh?”

“They’ve got an archive. Barely any security at all. Hosted on the GaiaPet: Craft servers.”

“GaiaPet?” Kate frowns. “Isn’t that a… virtual pet game? Where people make things with voxels? Procedurally generated…. They’re definitely robust enough servers for cyberattacks-“

“It’s jus’ a fuckin’ library,” Ghost grunts, navigating through. “Huge text files, embedded images. Some of it’s definitely classified. But tha’s oll… Oh, shite. Jus’ found our records.”

Bricks looks from the terminal in Price’s hand, to Ghost, and back. “Wait. John, you said she sold a couple of database systems. She’s got to be working with some data brokers, at least.”

“This says she developed and sold literal systems,” John says, horror dawning on his face. “A spreadsheet editor and a UI designed to organize complex data sets. As far as I can tell, she doesn’t sell information. Everything she’s got, besides those systems, is open source.”

“Oh, fuck,” Ghost breathes.

Kate strides up to look at his screen. “What?”

“She’s got an active account on GaiaPet. A pet frog named Señor fuckin’ Snuggly. Her last login was today, and her chat with the AI said ‘Wish me luck, if we can’t get those soldiers released, we can at least get the information out there.’”

The silence in the room is palpable. And then Bricks says, “Bambi? Talk to me. Those sound like tears, sweetheart.”

—

Naya keeps her arms wrapped around her knees until she stops shivering. In that time, two more message request alerts pop up, from BravoOneJP and GhostSR. All of them are marked maximum priority, and she has no desire to touch them. She can see the signal burst of Bricks trying to talk to her, but she’s muted the feed so that she can just have… a single second to breathe.

Her interface pushes everything away to prioritize an SOS signal, then automatically begins transcribing the subsequent Morse code message.

SOH. West wing dangerous stop. Battle androids stop. 15 active 20 inactive stop. GSR give code for control stop. Confirm stop. SOH. West wing dangerous stop. Battle androids stop. 15 active 20 inactive stop. GSR give-

She minimizes the message and sucks in the deepest breath she can, holds it, and forces herself to focus on her body. If she thinks about fifteen battle droids on this side of the door while modified soldiers hunt her on the other, she’ll start screaming and never stop. A part of her wants to lay down and just… give up. A big part. The whole part.

She opens the message from Laswell.

Bambi: You’re in a hazardous section of the facility. Ghost is standing down, for your safety. You will have to establish connection with the control tower to gain codes for control of battle -

Naya deletes the message and opens the one from Price. It’s more of the same, a demand that she open communication, a warning that the west wing of the floor is dangerous. She almost doesn’t open the message from Ghost, but… she doesn’t have much to lose.

She jumps when the message contains an audio file.

“Bambi, fuck, we didn’t know you was a literal archivist. Bricks an’ I fucked up. This is a truce, a suspension of hostilities. SOH. The training floor you’re on is fuckin’ dangerous, Bambi. Too dangerous for me to try t’ take it from you. You gotta take control of the droids. I can’t fuck wit’ ‘em while you’re in control of the space. I managed to confirm shut down of 20, but there’s 15 more. I c’n try to send the control codes this way, but the codes expire every 2 seconds. Better if you open comms. If you can’t, Morse confirmation, I’ll send the codes. Once you grab one, the rest will come for you. You’re fuckin’ fast, I know you can do it, but if you have an issue, open the door an’ Soap and Gaz’ll support.”

She’d rather be shot full of holes by military grade turrets than open the door. Her map of the facility is complete again, and she can see four IDs on the other side of the barrier. Soap, Gaz, Mace, and the redacted asset, Nikto, mill around, pacing between the blast doors and the central tower. But no one is pounding on the door or trying to open it, physically or otherwise. When she checks, her bots are idly cycling through access code randomization, but there’s no attempts at a breach.

Maybe Ghost is telling the truth?

She sends a Morse message.

Received stop. Hold for confirmation stop.

The answer is immediate.

Received stop. Holding for confirmation stop.

Does she want to open the comms? What if it’s a trap? Without knowing how long the code chains are, she’s at a disadvantage without a direct link to the tower. But if she opens connection to the tower, how can she guarantee that Ghost won’t command the androids to terminate her? On the other hand, if he is telling the truth, and the codes expire that fast, there’s no way she can locate and override that many machines that are actively trying to keep her out in time. And they are definitely trying to keep her out - her spiders have been able to confirm twenty units on standby, and fifteen empty holding stations, but there’s no sign of the other droids.

With a shaking breath, Naya opens the comms.

Brick's voice is the one she hears first. "Oh, thank fuck, she's back. Bambi? Can you hear me? Sweetheart, I need you to keep the blast doors static. If they cycle, they might start a lockdown sequence, and that will get the droids moving.” It takes two tries to get the words past her tight throat. "I don't want to die." "I'm so sorry, dove," Captain Price croons. "We’re gonna get you out of there.” "I won't tell anyone, I promise," Naya babbles though gasps. "I just want to go home." "You're gonna be okay, Bambi," Ghosts voice is surprisingly gentle. “Cleverest breaker above and below the city, yeah? Gave Soap an’ Gaz a proper chase an’ knocked Mace on ‘is arse. Coupl’a droids don’t stand a chance.”

“I’m not - I don’t know how to fight,” she whimpers.

“Who said anythin’ about fightin’? Pretty girl like you don’ have t’ lift a finger. Laswell?”

“Working on it,” the woman mutters. “Bambi, I need you to try to give us cameras without initiating any other processes. That’ll help- oh. You are fast. Give me a few seconds to find the nearest droids and we can give you the serial numbers.”

“She’s so small,” Price notes, somewhere in the background. “Possible the droids won’t even register her as a target.”

“I think we’ve fucked up enough today that we don’t need to risk it,” is Brick’s bone dry reply. “Sparrow is going to beat all of our asses.”

“Well, we’re about to give Bambi control of thirty-five full combat units,” the Captain points out. “Might not be much left of us to kick.”

Laswell breaks in. “Ghost-”

“Got em,” Ghost answers. “Bambi, ‘ve got a bead on the nearest units. ‘ow do you want to do this?”

Naya takes a couple of deep breaths and tries to hype herself up. It’s just code work. There are other variables, but at the core of it all, it’s just code. Yes, many of the variables have potentially painful and fatal consequences… But in the end, she can either do the code or not. And if there’s one thing she can do, it’s code.

“H-how,” she clears her throat and blinks back tears. “How many bits, per unit? For the key, I mean.”

“Forty ninety-six.”

Oh, just the highest security rating in the world, she thinks to herself, a little hysterical. She nods to herself and talks through the urge to giggle with nerves. “Okay. That’s seven hundredths of a second per unit, with the key. That’s… not so bad. I can probably handle them in batches of 5. Can I have the first hardware address? Morse, please.”

It takes a second, but the information comes through. It only takes a moment for a spider to highlight the machine in the network. Very quickly, her bots are able to identify and tag seven other units on her map. She shoots a summary data packet back to Ghost.

“Are these all droids?”

“Yeah, that’s half of ‘em. Laswell, she was able to identify all of the A-27 units, do you have eyes on any of the E-243s?”

In the background, Price mutters, “Kate hasn’t even laid eyes on all of the 27s.”

Another data packet comes through, and Naya is able to tag seven more dots on her map. Fifteen battle androids, and two of them just down the hall and around the corner on either side.

Naya takes another hiccuping breath. “How fast can they move?”

“A-27s are closest to you, they’re about a meter per second. The 243s move at about 4 per second.”

“Okay,” she says, holding her breath through another hiccup. She has two of her bots run movement simulations, and decides she’ll focus on the closest two A-27s, then the closest four E-243s. She has the processing power to do it, between her own interface and the facility. But… “I’m going to need these six keys first, but I have to let the doors cycle. How long is the lockdown sequence?”

Bricks makes a concerned noise before answering, “Fifteen seconds before you can open the door.”

So, if she messes this up, she’ll be dead for about 11 seconds before they’d be able to retrieve her body. Wonderful. “Ghost, I need all of the codes at once, in two packets, with the keys in this order. And then the next set of keys as soon as you have them. There’s a half second delay, so I need them as soon as they’re generated.”

Laswell sounds genuinely concerned when she asks, “Is that going to give you enough time?”

Naya runs the numbers again, and realizes that she’s fallen into a very peculiar state of calm. “I should have one point three seconds plus a little wiggle room per key. That’s plenty, for the first part. And if the first part doesn’t work… I don’t really have to worry about the rest of it.”

Captain Price’s voice is stern as he gives commands. “Gaz, tell Nikto to power up the cutter, in case we need to get you through the door. Bambi’s going to override the droids.” He’s quiet a moment, then, “Ghost says she can do it, and from what I’m seeing up here, I’m inclined to believe him. But the resets she did mean the door is going to lock down before she can open it again.”

Ghost says, “Ready to send the next round of codes on your mark, Bambi.”

Naya squeezes her eyes shut and sets her bots to be ready to receive and engage the keys. She takes one long, deep breath. Another. Lets all the air out in a huff. “Mark.”

As soon as the packet comes through, her interface is a flurry of executables and intrusion alerts. Her bots are fast, but the activation of the keys isn’t instantaneous. Just as she was warned, as soon as the first set of keys starts running, all of the droids set themselves to Active:Seeking, Objective:Eliminate. But almost as fast, they’re all placed back into Standby:HoldPosition in a wave that flows through the entire wing.

"That's all of em," Ghost sighs, four seconds later. Something creaks, probably the chair he's sunk himself into. "Fuckin' 'ell, she got all of em. Don' think she even needed me to provide the third set of keys. If she don't run screamin', I want her runnin' the damn-" Naya's heart spikes as an alert pings her interface. Her voice squeaks when she calls, "Ghost? There's two units coming online. They’re not listening to me, I can't stop them. What do I do?" Before she can hear his response, the power to the hall cuts out. Naya holds in a scream as everything goes dark and then red with emergency lighting. Captain Price's voice is overtaken by static, and then she loses the tower completely. Somewhere, in the darkness, she can just barely hear the whine of attack units Riley and Merlin priming their weapons.

—

“Goddamn it,” Kate snarls. “It’s the 9s. They’re jamming the signal.”

Bricks jumps up from her chair. “Bambi’s in there without access to the system?”

Ghost makes a disagreeing noise. “They’re active because she’s not an authorized user. They’re jamming anything that isn’t local to the wing, I should be able to patch- Johnny!”

“We cuttin, LT?”

“Forward these packets to Bambi, nothing else.”

“Aye - fuck!”

—

A message request from SoapJM flashes on Naya’s screen just as she finds out that these new droids can move at thirteen meters per second. When she opens it, she gets an immediate key packet. Every bot she has gets set to receive, but the keys are expired, so she has to wait an agonizing three-quarters of a second before the next ones come through.

Just as a next packet arrives, a blue beam of light slices across the end of the hall, then a second from the opposite side. She barely has time to match the keys to the hardware addresses before two furry muzzles round the corner, guns glowing from their shoulders. Naya has only a moment to recognize the controversial K-9 battle units before they both take a step in her direction. And freeze.

It’s an harrowing second of silence, two, three. She doesn’t even breathe.

With a whir, mounted turrets power down and withdraw back behind artificial fur. The K-9s change their status to Standby:AcceptNewObjective with identical head tilts. The one tagged Riley wags its tail and trots forward, tongue lolling like the average bio-dog. Merlin approaches with a little more hesitant body language, though Naya can see the way it’s integrating her tags into the authorized user list in its software.

She flinches away from the door at the high pitched whine of a plasma cutter on metal. Hastily, she sends an ‘All Clear’ message back to Soap, just as the lights come back on.

Captain Price’s voice resolves with renewed connection to the control tower. “-both of your necks. What were you thinking?”

“Oh, suddenly we’re all about vetting assets?” Bricks laughs. “You recruited me with a bag over my head.”

“You were an establlished CIA asset,” Laswell grits out.

Bricks scoffs. “And Sparrow and Nikto?”

“We wasn’t wrong,” Ghost interjects. “Bad intel aside-”

“No intel!” Captain Price half-shouts.

“-she took the facility from me twice and disarmed 15 droids in less than 4 seconds without any formal training. She’s good.”

“None of that matters if she’s dead,” Laswell snaps.

Naya clears her throat. “I’m not dead.”

“Bambi!” Bricks sound downright cheerful. “Doors are almost done cycling, you’re almost out. Hold tight.”

Petting a hand over the soft fur of Riley’s head, Naya feels for the lumps of it’s internal machinery. Of course, she can’t find it - K-9s were built for stealth and surveillance, to blend in with any other dog. These ones are modified for combat, but they’re still adorable.

It’s almost hard to believe that they were going to shoot her, less than ten seconds ago.

The blast door’s status changes to ready, an almost cheerful ping in her interface. She barely gives it a thought before initiating another lockdown sequence, then queuing two more behind it.

Ghost notices. “Bambi?”

“I need a minute, please,” she answers, then cuts the camera feeds.

Merlin eventually comes and sits just out of reach, tail thumping once against the ground. Naya pulls up it’s configuration settings and examines the personality controls. Calm, but friendly, alert, reserved, breaks “arbitrary dog rules” at a rate of 6%. Riley: open and playful, eager to please, breaks rules 17% of the time. Both locked to 141 facility 4th floor, west wing training center.

Do Not Remove.

—

When the blast doors open, Naya is standning a few feet back. Riley and Merlin lay on either side of her feet, solidly in a sleep cycle. Her fingers dig into the opposite sleeves of her cardigan as Soap and Gaz come into view, along with a fully functional Mace, and a fully helmeted cyborg she can only assume is Nikto.

“Steamin’ Jesus, bon,” Soap says taking a step forward. “Ye gave us a wee fright!”

“If you get within three feet of me,” Bambi says, pausing for a deep breath. “I’ll shoot you.”

Three set of eyebrows shoot up. Nikto’s faceplate remains unchanged. Gaz looks at the others before answering, “We’re sorry we frightened you, love. We didn’t know Bricks hadn’t-”

Naya interrupts him. “I would like to leave now.”

“Well…” Soap says with a shrug. “We can take ye back t’ Laswell?”

“That’s fine. Riley, Merlin, up.”

When the dogs “wake” and stand, Mace says, “They can’t pass that door.”

She takes a step forward, flanked by the dogs. “I think you’ll find that they can.”

“Nae, Bambi,” Soap says gently. “They’re hard coded-”

Riley’s turret activates as soon as Soap takes a step toward her. Naya takes another deep breath, and repeats, “If you get within three feet of me, I will shoot you.”

“Well you certainly won’t be doing that with the dogs,” Gaz scoffs. “We won’t touch you, but you really should come with… us.”

The dogs cross the threshold of the door with her, and the plasma cannon in Merlin primes with a dangerous, high pitched sound. When the stunned soldiers don’t step back, the dog’s chest panel opens with a blue glow.

“Three feet,” Mace says, taking two big steps back, hands in the air near his head. “You got it.”

“Yes, sir,” Gaz says aloud, taking his own step backwards. “The doors are open and we have eyes on her. She’s got the 9s with her. Well sir, it seems she’s taken a liking to them.” He pauses. “Soap did tell her that, but apparently she doesn’t really care.”

Naya rolls her eyes and enables the cameras in the hall. “So you’re all allergic to just saying things outright?” The muted audio feed is a flurry of activity, but she just gestures down the hall. “After you.”

—

In the end, everyone ends up in a second floor conference room. Naya stands by the far wall, Riley and Merlin a deadly guard panting in front of her feet. The other eight sit and stand at the other end, fidgeting and clearly searching for a way to break the silence.

Bricks tries first, “Sweetheart-”

“Give me a reason not to overload the filtration systems,” Naya interrupts.

That makes everyone flinch. Laswell clears her throat. “What-”

“Because,” Naya nearly shouts, “I could shoot at least two of you, but then you really would kill me this time. But if I backflow and spark the air, that would kill all of you.”

“Kill ye, as well,” Soap points out.

“I thought I was going to die about five times in the last hour,” Naya says, much calmer than she feels. “Mention me dying again and I’ll fry your interface.”

“Ghost just aboot did tha’ already,” Soap mutters.

“Need a hacker for an op. Thought you was a professional,” Ghost finally admits after a moment of tense fidgeting. “Way you ate through the files I laid out, blew through a 256 like tissue paper. Couldn’t find you after… Figured you knew what you was doin’. And y’do.”

Naya’s eye twitches. “And you couldn’t send me an email? Set up an interview?”

“I did try,” Bricks points out. “But you said all the keywords that tend to get a person fast tracked to a very classified meeting.”

“A very classified meeting where you sell me, twice and then hunt me for sport?”

“Everything sounds bad when you say it like that,” the other woman chuckles.

The air circulator over the door falls silent. In the ensuing silence, Naya can hear the servos whir in Bricks’s arm.

“Clearly, we made mistakes,” Laswell admits. “So. What do you want?”

“I want to not have been sold and hunted for sport. Barring that, I would like a time machine. I’d love to know what you consider an equitable offer, Watcher One.”

“What the fuck did you do?” Mace hisses at Captain Price.

“Apparently we made a tactical error,” the man grumbles. “And then a series of compounding tactical errors.”

“You did not ask Nikolai,” Nikto says, matter of fact. It’s the first Naya’s heard his voice, human and heavily accented. “Or Sparrow. She will not be pleased, I think.”

“None of Nik’s contacts c’n do what Bambi c’n do,” Ghost counters.

“Bambi can kill every person in this room,” Naya says, voice flat, emphasized by the glow of two plasma cannons. “Bambi can turn this whole facility into a goddamn crater. Bambi can post videos of the human experimentation to the holonet.”

“Woah, woah, woah,” Gaz says. “What human experimentation? No one’s experimenting on anybody.”

“I saw the videos!” Naya yells. “People in cages, people on operating tables, awake, screaming, crying. I saw people eating raw meat, off of leg bones, eating people!”

“Oh fuck,” Ghost says, voice wavering. His face is stricken when she looks at him. “Bambi, that weren’t for you to see, fuck, ‘ow deep did you fuckin’ go? I didn’t even-”

“That’s the job,” Bricks cuts in. “That’s why we needed a hacker, because we’re trying to stop that from happening, and we can’t get through their walls or exploit their vulnerabilities.”

“Oh, that’s just the “bad guys”?” Naya scoffs. “Okay. Why was Gaz covered in blood when I arrived?”

“Blood!” Soap yelps. “That was hydraulic fluid an’ oil! One of the bikes is actin’ up, and our mechanic isnae aroond!”

“It was in his teeth!”

“He’s bonnier than he is graceful!”

“Oh, fuck you, Tav!”

“You said you couldn’t promise to bring me back alive! Ghost called it a hunt!”

“Ah was jokin’!” Soap runs and hand over his mohawk. “We’re a right frightful lot, and sometimes we sneak aboot, but mostly people just cannae always hear us coming! Ye’d think we could catch one wee little civilian withoot incident!”

“You’re the one who was running through a secure facility,” Captain Price points out.

A plasma cannon discharges into the wall above his head. The whole room freezes for a beat before Naya hisses. “If you ever even think of implying-”

“Any information you find about Makarov and his dealings, you can make public,” Bricks interrupts. “Who, what, when, where, how. All of it can go into your archive.”

Laswell scowls. “Now hold on-”

Bricks talks over her. “We don’t have anything you want that you can’t just outright take, Bambi. That’s what you came here for. Information, and to get people out of cages.”

Nikto looks at Bricks and snorts before muttering something under his breath in Russian. Mace crosses his arms, leaning back in his seat and doing a much better job of keeping his thoughts off of his face than Soap and Gaz. The sergeants look horrified. Ghost looks about ready to throw up. Captain Price and Laswell share a sour, resigned look.

“You’ll have our backing,” Laswell sighs. “You’ll need something a bit more secure than the GaiaPet servers, or you’ll be tracked. But yes. You can disseminate the information.”

There’s a long moment of silence. Naya considers her options, arms around herself. The air circulator kicks back on.    Eventually, she says, “I want an advance. Thirty thousand credits, plus however much Price paid.”

“Done,” Bricks answers.

“And… I want seventy five credits an hour.”

“…Fine,” Laswell agrees.

“And I keep the dogs.”

Captain Price makes a disagreeing noise. “Those are government property.”

“Either I keep them, or I set them to self destruct and detonate every android on the fourth floor.”

Nikto says, “You are a bloodthirsty hind.”

“I’m really not,” Naya says. “But I’ve had a very long day. Do we have a deal?”

“Don’t think we have much of a choice,” Captain Price concedes.

Just then, the door to the conference room opens, and a brunette peeks her head in. Morgan Voss, “Sparrow,” as her ID tags her, nods at Laswell. “Just got in, didn’t know there was a meeting scheduled. What did I miss?” Her eyes drift up. “What the hell happened to the wall?”

[roseypwark]

Prologue |

ENHYPEN Eighth Member : 지유 JIYU / 지유나 Ji Yuna

Table of Contents

//

The walk through the woods is unremarkable.

There is a freshly laid gravel path, only walked on by those trainees who entered before. The sun is out. The air is warm. It's a nice day. But the walk to the great concrete cube of I-Land is nothing of note to Yuna.

The door is interesting. A giant, automated revolving thing made of steel. She eyes it on her approach, standing back until it spins itself open to allow her access.

She takes a breath, then, before venturing further inside.

She was given the briefing. She knows she'll be inside without contact with the outside world for approximately three months. She knows she will be the only female contestant and her fate will depend solely on how likable she is.

Basically, she knows she has no shot at debuting.

Ji Yuna isn't the kind of girl that people like quickly. Her mom says she’s an acquired taste, a taste not even her mother ever got accustomed to before packing up Yuna’s half-siblings and following her American stepdad to the US.

Yuna was left behind. So, she is here.

She breathes out and walks into I-Land with her chin level. Here's to getting enough publicity to debut in HYBE's first girl group in a few years.

//

지유나 (16세)

국가/지역 | 한국

준비 기간 | 1년

특이사항 | TXT의 새 앨범 제작을 도왔습니다

ㅡㅡㅡ

Ji Yuna (16 (14 Int. Age))

Country/Region | Korea

Training Period | 1 year

Special Note | helped produce TXT's new album

//

The Americans are the only ones Yuna likes in this place.

Jake's okay, too. Everyone else is just... meh.

The foreigners not from Asia don't treat her like a kid. She's always hated that. She's been taking care of herself since she was 9. She doesn't need a too-loud gaggle of boys she half-knows falling over themselves to get their few seconds of screen time for being chivalrous or whatever.

That's the worst part of this whole thing. Yuna can't know when someone is being truthful or not because the cameras are always on. There's nowhere to hide. Every interaction she has may be used against her in the final cut. The same goes for every other contestant. There's no one she can truly trust here.

But if she had to choose, she likes the Americans and Jake. Jay, not as much, but Daniel she likes for sure. He's the only one that's young enough to use honorifics with her.

Her siblings weren't old enough to know how to call her noona before the family moved away. It's kind of nice. Plus, there are enough "doting hyungs" for nothing to actually be expected of her.

Ji Yuna has always been at the top of the vocal ranks amongst trainees. She knows she's lacking in dance but her lyrical and melodic talents carry her farther than those idol-seekers who just don't have the voice for it. That sounds mean but it's the truth and you'll get nowhere by ignoring the harsh reality.

There's nothing behind her to go back to. All that's left is now, and the future that Yuna is hellbent on making for herself. She'll rip it from the ground and mold it with her bare hands if she has to.

//

Ep. 1 | eliminated to the Ground via not recieving enough contestant votes

Ep. 3 | moved to the I-Land via I-Lander dropouts/global voting

Ep. 4 | eliminated to the Ground via contestant votes

Ep. 5 | moved to the I-Land via winning the Grounder Vocal Unit battle

Ep. 6 | retained in the I-Land, continued to Final 12

//

Trying to shift your sleep schedule to match the time you're allotted to practice is the only way Yuna has found to make this barbaric system work for her. She understands better than most the concept of failing and facing the consequences but jeez. If she could stop being moved from Ground to I-Land and back again that'd be great.

The longer the competition continues, the more paranoid Yuna has found herself becoming. She didn't expect to make it to the final anything.

She's a gimmick. She knows that. A way to draw in viewership by giving all the female fans someone to project their fantasies onto.

Yuna knew that coming in. And she was okay with it because it was basically free publicity. She just didn't expect to be in the half of contestants retained onto the second half of the show.

The biggest shock was actually several weeks ago. Being voted into the I-Land by viewers. When the other contestants didn't vote her in after her entry performance, she expected much of the same until she was inevitably voted out at the first opportunity.

But no. Instead, she's being forced to continue playing nice, entertaining herself, longing for her instruments and hoping she'll not be made out as a fool for manically scribbling lyrics at inoppurtune times and humming to herself constantly like a madwoman.

//

Ep. 7 | rank 10 via producer scoring

Ep. 8 | rank 11 via producer scoring

Ep. 10 | rank 3 via global voting

Ep. 11 | rank 5 via producer scoring

Ep. 12 | rank 3 via global voting

//

There are a few select words that Yuna wishes to use to describe how she's feeling after being announced as a member of the final lineup. Most wouldn't go over well with the Korean TV industry, so she keeps her mouth shut as she stumbles over her own feet on her way downstage.

What the fuck.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck.

This wasn't the plan. This was her debut to the public eye, meant to be just the beginning. Ji Yuna takes time to grow on people, time to be tolerated much less wanted or supported by hundreds of thousands of strangers.

They haven't even heard her music, yet. Literally what is going on?

It's fine. She's fine.

Close your mouth, girl, you look like an idiot.

Yuna look across at the audience of idols and producers. TXT, Rain, BTS, Bang PD. Whatever. The person she’s looking for already has eyes on her. Hyowon smiles and she does her best to return it. She's still just so confused.

Suddenly, there's a microphone in her hand and everything is quiet. Is she supposed to say something? What is happening?

She falls into a deep bow. Above all else, be thankful. Even if you have no idea what is going on.

"Thank you," she says. "I really wasn't expecting to be chosen as a finalist. I definitely was not expecting to be chosen to debut. But here I am. Wow. I don't know what to say."

Why did she say that? She's just rambling, has no idea where she's trying to go with her words. Stupid stupid stupid. Say something smart.

"Hopefully, I can bring much to the debut group in songwriting and production and with my singing. Hopefully, the other members can help me in places I am lacking, the same way I will hope to do so for them."

She's talking out of her ass now. It doesn't look like the producers and idols watching her notice, all nodding along politely. If she has any kind of luck, maybe the viewers won't pick her apart and be able to tell she's fronting.

"Thank you so much for this oppurtunity. I won't waste it."

//

<< PREV // NEXT >>

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Carpe Noctem 8

Warnings: dark elements, noncon, age gap, gaslighting, manipulation, other dark elements. Proceed with caution. (short!reader)

Note:Please let me know what you think as it helps me a lot with ideas and I love interacting with you all.

Part of The Club AU

You leave the motel under a cloud of reluctance and relief. You have little to your name but your wallet, phone, and a few snacks. Hesitation keeps you stagnant behind the wheel, hovering over the address saved on your maps. This is it, hit start and accept your fate.

You put your phone on the passenger's seat as the automated voice directs you. You shift into gear and pull out. Disbelief fades to indifference. You don't have the energy to feel. 

You follow along, in autopilot, until the GPS announces your destination on the right. You slow down and look up at the large house. Of course. He's rich. Dirty rich.

You pull down the long lot and stop to the right side of the double garage door. You don't get out immediately, you lean back and close your eyes. You try to sort through your thoughts. It's not that big of a deal. Sleep here, go to work, find anywhere else to be during the day.

There's a rumble on the seat beside you and you snatch up your phone. You drag your thumb across the screen to answer, too late to change your mind. It's him. Of course it's him.

"Don't say a word, sweetheart," Lloyd looks down his nose at the lens, "I just need you to see this."

He switches cameras and you squint as he points it at a familiar wooden door. No. The brass numbers confirm his location; your home. Former home.

His hand knocks on the door as he shifts the phone in his hand.

"Lloyd! Stop. No, don't–"

"Fair warning, sunshine, I got you on mute, so if you're tryna change my mind, it won't work." He knocks again, pounding on the door.

As the door opens, Lloyd's fist flies from the edge and snaps Johnny's jaw. You watch the other man stagger and grip his cheek, only for a moment, before swinging back at his attacker. The picture skews as Lloyd dodges and his foot hits Johnny’s chest and sends him onto his ass.

"Think that's about even," Lloyd clucks as he enters your apartment and steps over Johnny.

He leads with the lens, giving you a glimpse of the front room as he inspects it. He finds his way into the bedroom and hums. He goes to the dresser, opening a drawer then shutting it as all he finds are Johnny's briefs. He slides out the next one and picks out a few neatly folded panties.

"You keep a nice place, sweetie pie," he remarks. "Boring…" he comments as he examines a pair of your cotton panties.

You want to cry. You want to just wilt away to nothing. Why is he doing this?

The camera blurs in a smear of colours suddenly and Lloyd grunts. You hear Johnny and a struggle. Banging, clattering, and clamoring. You hear them locked in contention, helpless as you're stuck staring at a wall.

Another growl and an unsettling thump. The phone lifts and Lloyd snorts as you get a glimpse of him, his nose slightly bloody. He puts the phone down and you hear the drawer snap shut.

"See ya soon, baby cakes," he says, slightly breathless, "make yourself cozy… don't miss me too much."

He taps the screen and the call ends. You gape at your phone and whimper as you slump forward. Shit. You're totally fucked and you have a feeling Lloyd knows exactly that.

You lock your phone and sigh. Well, no going back now.

You get out of the car and look around. It's a nice neigbourhood, a bit far from work but not terrible. God, you're really going to do this.

'High five, fuck, go on our way.'

His words reverberate. Does he really want that? From you? Surely you could just pay rent.

You head up the walk and pull up the passcode. You punch it into the keypad on the door and it beeps, a green light granting you access.

Inside, the entry is airy and bright. You pause to take it all in. You check your phone again. Maybe you should go to the apartment and make sure they're not killing each other. Or maybe you should let them. You might avoid a lot of trouble if you just stop trying so hard.

There's a table against the curved rail of the staircase. You near as you give a curious look to the basket on top. White with a bright pink ribbon snaked around the handle. Inside, you find various boxes, taking the first to cringe at the small bullet vibe through the plastic window of the packaging. 

The rest of the contents are similar; bottles of lube, stimulating salve, toys, clamps, and even a few panties without much fabric. Jesus. You leave the array of erotic aids but take the small envelope from in front of it. He knew. He knows you have no other option and he's entirely prepared.

Inside the card, ignoring the exterior image of a dildo and butt plug beneath a pun, you find script typed in Arial. 'Welcome to the sex shack. Make yourself at home. Yours is the room with the tie on the handle. Leave it on for when I get there.'

Gross. Not just him, you. There can be no doubt that his intent is just as shallow and sick as he is as a person. But you, you're not going to walk out and sleep in your car. Just like with Johnny, you will roll over and take it.

[badbatchposts]

Quiet Corners of the Galaxy, Ch. 14

Fic Teaser: While on a routine mission for Cid, the Bad Batch encounter a woman fleeing from the Empire. Crosshair suspects her seemingly free-spirited, nomadic existence is actually a cover for something else, but struggles to keep his attraction toward her in check as their personalities and ideals clash.

Relevant tags/content warnings: Crosshair/Original Female Character, Slow Burn, Enemies to Lovers, Periodic Smut, Canon-Typical Violence, Alcohol Use

Chapters posted 1-2x weekly!

Read the full fic so far on AO3

Read all chapters on Tumblr: Ch. 1 l Ch. 2 l Ch. 3 l Ch. 4 l Ch. 5 l Ch. 6 l Ch. 7 l Ch. 8 l Ch. 9 l Ch. 10 l Ch. 11 l Ch. 12 l Ch. 13 l Ch. 14

Chapter 14 summary: The squad makes their way through the villa. Everything goes according to plan, until it doesn't.

Tech was pleased with how things were going. Inside the villa, all was quiet: their surveillance had revealed that security was posted exclusively at the mansion’s entryways, in addition to one patrol circulating the perimeter at regular intervals, and the interior was monitored only by cameras and automated systems. With those disabled, they were able to enter easily through a darkened window and proceed entirely unmolested through the shadowy hallways, footfalls sinking quietly into the plush carpets. By the time the Batch had rendezvoused with Dara in the villa’s control room, the stunned workers were already expertly bound and propped securely in an out-of-the-way corner.

In fact, Tech allowed himself the brief luxury of privately celebrating how well this first phase of the plan had gone, even as he mentally catalogued the skill with which Dara had fulfilled her role, adding it to his mounting list of clues that, he believed, would ultimately aid him in deciphering the mystery behind the woman’s origins.

He was well-aware that, despite his expertise in many areas, others often believed him to be unable to read social cues, always distracted by his datapad and perhaps even ignorant of his surroundings. However, because these skills had so frequently been a challenge for him growing up, he had actually dedicated an extraordinary amount of effort to improving them. Crosshair and Hunter were both especially observant in their own ways, aided by their enhanced senses, but Tech, for all he might lack, equaled them by being attentive, thorough, and analytical. Even when others thought he wasn’t altogether present, he paid attention. He collected evidence. He formed hypotheses. He tried to understand.

At present, Dara remained largely beyond his understanding. He was not bothered by this. She had been an asset to the team thus far. He would continue to collect evidence.

Of course, he had one hypothesis that, by this point, he considered more or less proven: Crosshair was entirely taken with her.

If Crosshair’s reaction to their teasing, his obvious jealousy towards Hunter, and the bruise he had left on Dara’s neck had not been enough evidence for Tech, he would have been convinced entirely by the way Crosshair looked at her when he didn’t realize anyone was paying attention. Similar to most soldiers, none of the Batch were strangers to desire, and Crosshair, like all of them, had taken plenty of advantage of rest days between missions and their infrequent bouts of shore leave to find a happily willing partner for the night. Tech had therefore seen Crosshair look at pretty individuals of innumerable genders and species with lust, hunger, even charm—and sure, he had directed at least the former two toward Dara often enough. But more than that, Tech had noticed that, when watching their new traveling companion, his brother’s gaze frequently held a rapt fascination. So often solitary, Crosshair had even taken to hovering in their common areas more, keeping to the edges of conversation and pretending to focus on some task or other, but—especially when Dara appeared to be ignoring him—often eyeing her, as though he could find her secrets written somewhere on her face.

Tech knew that his brother was a difficult man. Whatever was brewing between Crosshair and Dara, Tech was certain that the sniper would be the last to acknowledge it.

In any event, Tech mused, perhaps he should speak with Hunter and suggest that he back off on the flirting, for the sake of Crosshair’s inevitably repressed feelings, and preventing a fistfight. Even now, as Tech was tapping away at the control room’s array to better evaluate the security measures protecting Prium’s private laboratory, Hunter and Dara were engaging in a playful banter that Crosshair was certainly listening to over the open comm channel and, Tech imagined, likely seething over.

“Ah,” Tech interrupted them. “It appears that security for the laboratory—and, we may presume, the archive vault—is maintained via a separate network than this control room.”

Echo sighed. “Are you saying that there’s another control room—somewhere not on the floorplan—that we need to find?”

Tech tapped his finger thoughtfully against the edge of his datapad. “Yes, I do believe that would be the wisest course of action. There may be more workers monitoring the laboratory from there. Additionally, in the event that a security measure is triggered, I would need access to the network to shut it down.”

“Make it quick,” Crosshair urged over comms. “Before the other guard comes looking for Dara.”

Hunter glanced around the room, assessing their options. “Tech, stay here. Look through the camera feeds and floor plans to see if you can identify where the secondary control room might be. In the meantime, the rest of us will conduct a physical search. I’ll take top floor, Wrecker, take this floor, Dara and Echo, check the basement,” he ordered.

The team set off to their tasks, leaving Tech alone. As he looked closely through the building schematics, trying to identify any areas that seemed architecturally inconsistent, where a space large enough for a concealed room might be located, he wondered exactly why Prium had such a deep distrust of droids. Echo would have been able to make much shorter work than himself of scanning through the camera feeds for clues, but the array here didn’t even have a scomp port. As such, he doubted that Echo would be able to help them access the lab or counter any further security measures. Hopefully the keycard that Dara had stolen would be enough to gain them access.

Fully capable of multitasking, Tech switched to a private comm channel with Crosshair to check in while he continued his work.

“What?” his brother drawled in answer.

Like usual, Tech chose to ignore Crosshair’s rudeness. “How are things outside?”

“Boring.”

“I am serious,” Tech chastised. “I am beginning to think that this may require more time than we have allotted ourselves.”

Crosshair sighed over the line. Tech could imagine him rolling his eyes.

“Guard is a bit antsy. He keeps testing to see if comms are operational again. Perimeter patrol just checked in with him. They seem relaxed.”

“And you?” Tech pressed.

“Just peachy.”

It was no surprise that Crosshair was being as taciturn as always. No matter—Tech had no trouble getting to the point.

“Are you concerned about Dara?” he asked.

Silence on the line. Then, “I don’t see how she could get away with betraying us here. Or what the point would be.”

“Ah,” Tech replied. “That is not what I meant. Are you concerned for her safety on this mission?”

More silence, silence that went on so long that Tech briefly thought that Crosshair may have gotten annoyed and disconnected. Finally, Crosshair asked, every word dripping with disdain, “Why would I care about that?”

The corners of Tech’s mouth twitched. “Well, I had presumed that perhaps your opinion of her had changed as a result of whatever events led to your giving her that hickey.”

Another pause. “That didn’t mean anything. Besides, she’s with Echo—there’s nothing to be concerned about.”

“Mmm,” Tech mused. “Yes, Echo will ensure that nothing happens to her. And I presume that you are tracking their progress through your infrared scope.”

Crosshair muttered something unintelligible that Tech, with a sense of smug satisfaction, could rightfully assume was a rude comment about him, before raising his voice again. “Aren’t you supposed to be doing something important right now?”

“I am, and I have successfully achieved it while simultaneously carrying on this conversation.” Tech switched to the open comm channel to inform the rest of the team. “I have pinpointed the location of the secondary control room. It is in the basement, two corridors away from the entrance to the laboratory.”

“Great work, Tech,” Hunter acknowledged. “We’ll meet up there.”

***

Echo and Dara’s search had begun at the lab, where they were able to confirm their assumption that the absence of a scomp port meant the cyborg would be unable to unlock the door himself. The basement was significantly more utilitarian than the rest of the villa. Gone were the lavish trappings of wealth; white tiles and gray durasteel replaced velvety red carpets and elaborate wall hangings, while functional, stark lighting panels stood in for warm wall sconces and crystal chandeliers.

As they combed the rooms and corridors, Echo examined Dara closely. It was the first time he’d seen her with her weapon drawn. She had a DH-16 blaster pistol—her small hold-out blaster, a CS14, remained safely hidden under her poncho—and was holding it correctly, with a secure, two-handed grip and good trigger discipline. That was a good sign that her skill in taking down the troopers the first day she had encountered the Batch was more than a fluke, which was something of a relief for Echo. While they rarely planned on getting caught in a shoot-out, every job the Batch took on for Cid did seem to have odds that leaned that way. He knew he’d be able to protect Dara if it came down to it, but he preferred her being able to defend herself.

Dara opened a door, letting Echo take point to clear the room. It was an industrial kitchen with gleaming appliances, completely empty. He motioned to her to enter so that they could check out another door leading off of the main area—likely a pantry and not the control room they were looking for, but Echo was always thorough.

“So,” he began, nodding toward Dara’s outstretched weapon as they carried on with their task. “You have some training on how to use that?”

The woman was aghast. “Of course. How irresponsible would it be to carry a blaster and not know anything about it?”

The cyborg chuckled. “You’d be surprised what you see with civilians. Where’d you learn?”

Dara relaxed, giving him a wry smile. “My fieldwork took me to some pretty hostile planets. The people I worked with were always agreeable. The fauna, less so. I took a training course.”

Echo nodded, satisfied with the explanation. He didn’t have Hunter’s ability to hear someone’s pulse jump when they were lying, but her story had a ring of truth to it. He was relieved; he had put himself on the line advocating for Dara to stick around, and so far it was paying off. Once they’d gained her trust enough, he was sure that she would come clean about the parts of her backstory that she was keeping quiet. And maybe then she would even be willing to help out with a few missions for Rex’s clone network. The clones couldn’t help having the most recognizable face in the galaxy, and they were all terrible liars as a general rule. They could use someone who could go where they couldn’t, blend in where they stuck out.

“Glad to hear it,” he replied. “Makes me feel better to know you won’t accidentally blast me.”

She laughed. “No. If I shoot you, it’ll be on purpose.”

“Well, that’s a comfort.” They exchanged grins as they exited the kitchen and moved on to the corridor. Echo decided to test out a more difficult subject. “Luckily for me, I don’t think I’m at the top of your list of people to shoot right now,” he continued.

Dara rolled her eyes. “Yeah. I don’t know if you’ve realized this, but your brother’s a bit of an asshole.”

The cyborg raised an eyebrow. “Which one of those assholes do you mean?” When Dara smirked at the joke, he gave a knowing shrug. “Listen, I can’t exactly say Crosshair means well. He can be pretty harsh, and he doesn’t let many people in. But for those he does, you won’t find a more protective or loyal clone anywhere. And that’s saying a lot—loyalty is what clones are all about.”

The woman looked like she was considering his words. She sighed and opened her mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the comm from Tech, announcing that he’d found what they were looking for. They were only a corridor away, and so Echo led them down the hall to wait silently for the others outside the secondary control room.

Only minutes later, they were joined by Hunter, Wrecker, and Tech. Hunter signaled to the squad, who lined up on either side of the door as he took point. When it opened, a solitary, bored-looking worker with his back to them was staring, chin in his hand, at a datapad, ignoring the camera monitors on the wall in front of him completely. The Sergeant stunned him.

“Come on. That was too easy,” Wrecker lamented as he gently lifted the worker from his chair and tied him up in a corner.

“You just had to say that, didn’t you, Wrecker,” Hunter complained while Tech took the man’s place at the controls and set to work.

“This will take a few moments,” Tech informed them. “The rest of you should go and prepare to enter the laboratory. I will join you shortly.”

While Echo remained in the control room to watch Tech’s back, the others approached the door to the lab in the next corridor. Dara fished Raab’s keycard out of her pocket and waited. A few minutes later, the comm crackled to life with Tech’s voice.

“Security for the laboratory has been disabled. You may proceed.”

Dara swiped the card. The sensor blinked once, twice. For a long, tense moment, nothing happened. Then, suddenly, a blast door closed, hiding the entrance to the laboratory behind a thick wall of durasteel.

“Tech, what is happening,” Hunter growled over the comms.

The genius’s voice wasn’t exactly panicked, but it had lost its calm assuredness. “It appears that Raab does not have the type of access that he led Dara to believe. An alert has been triggered.”

Tech was no longer pleased with how things were going.

Next chapter

Tag List: @stardusthuntress @skellymom @megmegalodondon

[theology101]

A Brief Explanation of Super Mutants, The Master and Harold for the Unititaed

In 2163, the super mutants tried to take over over - and they almost won. Decades prior, a man named Harold and Richard Grey were exploring the Mariposa military base (A west-tek facility where the Brotherhood of Steel was founded after learning about unethical experiments, though since abandoned) about 50 years after the bombs dropped looking to deal with some random murants. Harold was exposed to the Forced Evolutionary Virus (FEV) through a splash but Richard Grey was knocked unconscious and fell into a vat. When he emerged he was a shambling, ever expanding mess of organic material that spread throughout the base.

He repeatedly reintroduced FEV to his body in order to “grow” it, including incorporating most of the bases automated systems and computer control into his own body. He eventually got to the point where he could communicate via radio waves into the minds of anyone close enough to either himself or one of his sensors

He believed that Humanity was fundamentally doomed and that, after a few years of experimenting, his perfected “Super Mutants” would reclaim the wasteland all under his control. Not wars, no conflict, only the Unity under the Master. The Master, as Richard now went by, began a mass campaign of kidnapping and infecting un irradiated people (as they had the best chance of gaining psychological/intellectual positives in addition to being super big and strong), before threatening the Village of Shady Sands and Vault 13 - the home vault of the very first Main Character in the fallout series. Since the Vault was filled with unirradiated people, the Vault Dweller, who has repeated contact with Super Mutants during their quest to find a Water Chip, was forced to take down the Master in order to save their home by the corrupt overseer Jacoren. Through an alliance of the Brotherhood of Steel, a humanitarian organization called the Followers of the Apocalypse, and a bunch of villages in the proto-New California Republic were able to band together and attack the Master’s two forts

while the games dont say officially what happened either way, the story hints in fallout 2 that the Master committed suicide. After revealing that Super Mutants are infertile and instead of being a continuation of a New Species, they would actually just lead to the slow and inevitable end of all intelligent life as they died off without replacement. So, the Master after realizing his goal to save humanity and the world instead caused suffering en mass, explodes himself and the Cathedral - his new base of Operations

Ironically, Harold sticks around all the up up until Fallout 3, a full hundred and thiry years later. He followed the Brotherhood out east leading a merchant caravan before Bob, a tree that was growing out of his head, eventually started going haywire. After making it to DC, the FEV and Bob finally overwhelmed Harold, turning him into a stationary Tree God, able to sense and communicate through all organic life that Bob’s spores interact with. With project purity cleaning the potomac, theres a very real chance that Harold and Bob might bring about that renewal and regrowth that his old friend Richard always dreamed of

he’s similarly inhuman - his organs are seperated by several meters and are all connected through a root system and, facilitating them swelling to tremendous size. But Old Harold is always content to listen to and talk to travelers that come to his Oasis. He was a close friend the protagonist of Fallouts 1 and 2 before appearing in 3, and was involved with pretty much every major event in California prior to 2255 when he went to DC

[absolxguardian]

FNaF Fanfiction The Hand That Feeds: Chapter 4: Night 1/Night 2

Chapter word count: 9k Total Words: 30k Chapters: 4/6

Summary: A pitch feels more suitable than a description that matches it in tone: Coppelia is a trans dude, and has grown up obsessed with figuring out the truth about Fazbear Entertainment and his father’s death. Against his father’s dying wish, when Fazbear Entertainment puts out a job listing for a retrieval specialist to find artifacts for their new Fazbear’s Fright Horror Attraction, he takes the job. This story also gives closure to the spirits of Ralph and Bronwen.

Chapter 4: Night 1/Night 2: Nate meets someone from his father's past, and he leads Nate to a hidden saferoom inside Freddy's. Inside, he finds something beyond his understanding.

Characters: Phone Guy | Ralph (Five Nights at Freddy's: The Week Before), Coppelia (Five Nights at Freddy's), Phone Dude (Five Nights at Freddy's 3), Bronwen Light, Michael Afton, Dave from Maintenance (NOT William Afton), Springtrap (Five Nights at Freddy's), Phantom Freddy (Five Nights at Freddy's), Golden Freddy (Five Nights at Freddy's), Phone Guy (Five Nights at Freddy's), Assorted OCs, Brock Edwards (Five Nights at Freddy's)

Additional Tags: Tags are reflective of planned content not just chapters currently published, Five Nights at Freddy's: The Week Before, Five Night's at Freddy's 3, Loop Theory (The Week Before), The real villian is Fazbear Entertainment, Trans character with gender different from canon, Coppelia is Phone Dude, Angst, references to child neglect, References to Transphobia, Heavy themes of grief for a parent, No beta we die like phone guy, How all the stuff in the fnaf plot has effected regular people, Micheal Afton as a walking corpse, this engages with the real world as a setting a lot harder than fnaf usually does, (not quite sure how to phrase that), mentions of vechicular manslaughter, contains sections written in second person POV, but mostly in third person POV, canon typical workplace safety violations, choose not to warn for death being a fluid concept in fnaf, and semi fantastical graphic violence, however this violence is a good bit from the upper limit of what can be depicted in tales/ff, fnaf3 dayshift

Relationships: Coppelia & Phone Guy | Ralph (Five Nights at Freddy's: The Week Before), Coppelia & Micheal Afton, Micheal Afton & Phone Dude, Phone Guy | Ralph / Dave from Maintenance

St. George, Utah

September 2017

Nate sat on the uncomfortable auto-shop waiting room chair, mindlessly scrolling through his social media feed without really reading it. Yesterday, after he had composed himself, he had taken all of his finds to his van and drove to Henderson. When he texted the news to his co-workers, he discovered that they were actually hourly workers who did get overtime, and they wanted to make up the hours they missed with the short work day on Friday. He helped Barry and Hudson install the carbon monoxide and carbon dioxide sensors in the building. Hudson’s familiarity with the system even let him set up an automated alarm system that flashed the show lights red when one of the alarms went off. Nate worried that guests would just think it was part of the show, but at least it was impossible to ignore.

Faith managed to glue Freddy’s skin back to its skull, although she had to tear out the added ears for it to fit. For it and Bonnie, they set them up on stands to display both the head and body piece. The original haunted house had stands that used to hold costumes. They were being kept in storage on site, and the manager on duty then was able to let them in. From Nate’s brief interactions with the park employees, he got the sense that they didn’t like the Frights staff, probably some combination not liking having another company’s employees invading their domain and (at least Nate hoped) ethical objection to the attraction. For Chica, Duane had the idea to set one of their floor strobe lights to always on and use it to turn the head into a lamp.

Without Foxy’s original casing, Nate wasn’t sure what they could do with its skin, but Faith got really excited with the idea of using a bowl and cosplay foam to recreate the skull, and then mounting it on the wall as a lamp, similar to Chica. Nate’s first thought was to tell her she didn’t have to go to all the effort, but her enthusiasm was infectious. Around other people who didn’t have any ulterior motives, it was even harder to remember not to give Fazbear Entertainment his best. So, he simply told her to make sure she recorded her hours and not neglect her schoolwork.

Nate was also vaguely worried about the strange clear residue that covered his co-workers’ hands after handling the animatronic heads. He had no idea what it could be, although all the heads were quite filthy. He knew telling them all to wear gloves wouldn’t be listened to, so he just told them to always wash their hands in the park bathroom after working with the heads. Once they were all set up, hopefully no one would have any reason to touch them. Interestingly, none of it got on Nate’s insulating gloves.

Today began with Nate bolting awake, albeit at a reasonable hour, in his usual motel in Henderson realizing that he still had a handful of files from the archive to catalog. He was suddenly very worried that since he had explored the Hurricane location, Mr. Edwards would tell him to focus entirely on managing the attraction. Even though he wasn’t deluding himself about finding some big clue, he was still going to do what he told Miranda and start publishing his research when he got back. He already had ideas many of the documents he had copied would help him with, and the folders he still needed to catalog could still hold important building blocks. So, he texted Ashleigh about getting access to the office so he could work on Sunday, phrasing it like he was just so productive and wanted to finish the project he was originally hired so he could focus entirely on managing. She texted back to go ahead and that there was a spare key hidden in one of the potted plants in the hallway near the office.

That was the plan, but Nate’s van died just inside the Utah border. Thankfully he was a Triple A member and was able to get towed to an auto shop in the western outskirts of St. George. He had refurbished the van over the years, but it was with the help of a friend who was really into cars. Especially without equipment, he was completely dependent on this place. As he sat there, he desperately tried not to start attempting to estimate how many excess miles he had driven thanks to this stupid job, and thus when his car really should have broken down. And how much more money he would have had at that point, having worked a much better paying job the entire time. As it was, he would likely have to dip into his savings to pay for repairs.

When Nate leaned back to stretch, he realized that one of the mechanics working on his car was staring at him. It was an older man, in his 60s. Nate returned the eye contact, and watched as he spoke to one of his younger co-workers before leaving the shop floor to approach him. As they stared at each other, Nate couldn’t help but clench his keys in his jean pocket.

“Excuse me,” the mechanic said, bluntly, “are you related to someone named Ralph Guy? You look a lot like him.”

[Keep Reading on ao3]

[coulsonlives]

With all the reddit hate going around now, we also gotta talk about how reddit is probably using an ai/automated system to handle their reports.

It's causing users (including moderators!) to get brief or permanent suspensions for filing totally legit reports:

Recent uptick in being falsely suspended for report abuse?

I got suspended twice in the past month, while acting as a moderator. Reddit admins ignored all my requests for appeal or review. I am beyond furious.

Reddit's site-wide ban & appeal system is a joke. It encourages and supports trolls, and makes it very risky to use reddit as a platform for your community, business, etc..

Most of my moderation team has been banned site-wide at least once in the past few months, including myself. Morale has hit rock bottom. What exactly is Reddit's end-game here?

It gets worse: for many posts, if one user reports a post wrongly and abusively, and a handful of other people report it correctly, and the abusive user is punished for 'report abuse', all the other users who also reported it, but correctly, also get carpet-bombed with the punishment for no reason!

I'm seeing a lot of users getting warned for report abuse because they were also reported the content the actual report abuser did.

Some users have claimed the company Hive Moderation is behind this, because they list reddit as one of their clients (confirmed in this older article)! These guys advertise 'automated content moderation tools' which I wouldn't put past reddit to use..

So not only is reddit pissing off people with the API trash, but they're using an AI system to handle reports that should obviously be seen by humans. And otherwise automating things that obviously should not be automated.

[dilf-rights-activist]

Another Life: part 4

Pairing: Miguel O’Hara x gender neutral reader

Summary: Miguel brings himself out from the four cozy walls of a little cafe and into the shaded canopy of the large trees in a local city park. Here, he learns about the dangers of parasitic fungi and, more importantly, about the cute barista that has somehow tumbled their way into his life. Or, the one where you run into Miguel after a grocery run and you go for a walk in the park together.

Word Count: 2.9k

Content: eventual sugar daddy AU, coffee shop AU, no use of (y/n), slow burn (we’re gathering the sticks now), sfw, swearing, a brief history lesson about a tree

AO3 part 1 part 2 part 3

New York’s cool autumn breeze wafted through the air as you made your way out of the market, two grocery totes in tow. You adjusted the heavy straps on your shoulders and began your commute back to your apartment to show Hobie the fruits of your labor (some of which were actual fruits!).

Commuters and pigeons milled about the busy sidewalk before collectively coming to a stop at a crosswalk, a rhythmic ticking crackling through the old speaker as everyone waited for their chance to cross the street. You nodded your head along to the automated beat before a colorful sign caught your periphery.

You turned (mindful to keep your baggage from smacking unsuspecting onlookers) to face a small shop that sold an array of teas and smoothies. Your eyes lingered on the shop’s colorful widow, and you allowed yourself to take the smallest step in its direction. The bags hanging from your shoulders suddenly suddenly seemed much heavier, and you wanted nothing more than to sit at the cute shop and enjoy a fun little beverage.

And why shouldn’t you! Why not enjoy a little treat?

Reality hit you like a freight train as you recalled how you had barely stayed within your budget during your grocery run and groaned. Right, that’s why not.

Before long, the crosswalks’ crackly speakers notified you that it was time to make your way across the road, and you reluctantly turned away from the cute cafe. You sighed through your nose as you felt your phone vibrate in your back pocket.

You jogged down the remainder of the cross walk and adjusted the heavy grocery bags that were (painfully) digging into both of your shoulders. The cracked screen of your phone lit up to greet you as you opened a text from Peter, a photo of him posing playfully with your water bottle (and a smiling May in the background).

Stop leaving personal items at work, he texted jokingly.

“That’s where I left that,” You chuckled and stepped to the side of the sidewalk as you worked to reply to his message.

I’ve been looking everywhere for that lmao im omw

You looked down the horizon and swiftly pivoted to change your course from your apartment to the cafe, eager to see your boss and to retrieve your water bottle (while secretly hoping that May will offer you a croissant for your troubles).

—-

It wasn’t long before you heaved your bags through the heavy metal door of Cafe May, the groceries having placed a strain on your sore shoulders that was too great for you to bear (you had resorted to hauling each one in your hands, the bottom of the canvas totes just barely scraping the dirty asphalt). Peter waved you and and you made a beeline for the counter, walking right past a large man who was quietly hunched over his charging laptop.

“Hey, you.” Peter smiled before bending down to pick up your water bottle from the back of the register. He patted the lid lovingly before sliding it over the counter. “She missed you.” He said playfully.

“And I missed her.” You smiled up at him as you wrapped your hands around the cool metal surface of the bottle, placing it securely in your tote. “Has it been busy?”

“No more than the usual rush,” May said from behind Peter, smiling warmly at you.

“You doing okay in the cold, hon? Would you like a cookie to go?”

Your eyes lit up at the thought of finally, finally getting a little treat before nodding and thanking May enthusiastically. Her gentle face smiled at you, just as she has hundreds of times before, and she turned your blue eyes towards her dessert case to pick something out for you.

Little beeps rang through the air as May preheated the oven and you allowed your eyes to wander around the familiar cafe, looking to see if any tables needed to be cleared. Your gaze bounced from table to table, and were pleased to see that every surface was clear of excess clutter (Of course May and Peter had been on top of it. You didn’t expect any less of them). You lingered on a familiar looking mess of curly brown hair and a pair of obscenely broad shoulders.

“Miguel?” You thought quietly to yourself. The brunette looked comically large at the small table he was seated at, hunched over his (also small) laptop as he furiously typed…whatever he was typing, an (even smaller) espresso cup lying empty and cold to his side. You blinked as you stared at him before turning to face May once more.

“Actually, May. Would you mind if I had that cookie for here?” You smiled. “Please?”

She nodded as she moved to get a small ceramic plate for your pastry. She plated your cookie and gave it to you with a soft “There you go, hon.” And you smiled warmly at her before turning towards Miguel. You walked briskly across the laminated floors of the cafe (eager to relieve yourself of your groceries) before reaching his table and shuffling your bags to the ground, he hadn’t even looked up. You kneeled down next to him and cleared your throat, holding in a laugh when he blinked and abruptly straightened to look down at you, glasses slightly askew.

“Hi,” you grinned up at him. “I’ll trade you those empty plates for this warm cookie.” You smiled warmly at him while presenting a small plate with the fresh pastry. “I know it’ll be hard to let them go, I really need them back. Deal?”

Miguel blinked a couple of times before pushing his glasses up his nose with a strong finger. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” He smiled lightly.

You placed the cookie on the table before picking up his old cup and plate. “What? I’m not always working.” You laughed a little mirthlessly, because you were. You literally always were.

“One sec,” you said before bringing his dirty dishes to the bar, and May took them with a hasty “Stop working off the clock!”. You walked back to Miguel and gestured at the empty chair in front of him. “Could I…?”

“No.” he said definitively as he looked up at you. You froze as you fell silent before him. “Oh, shit.” You thought “Did I interrupt his work just now? Does he hate cookies? I should’ve just left-“ your mind ran a mile a minute as you mentally berated yourself for being stranded in such an unfortunate situation. You looked over to May and Peter, who had stopped what they were doing to watch your awkward exchange.

Miguel could see the distress on your face and decided to step in before you busted a vessel.

“I mean,” he smiled. “I’ve been here for a couple of hours and my ass is starting to go numb from sitting for so long.” He chuckled.

“I’m actually about to go on a walk. Got any frozens?” He asked, gesturing to your grocery bags that were slumped against the wall. You looked down at the damp tote bags and thought of the frozen dumplings you had picked up from Fu Zhou Wei Zheng Wei earlier, and just knew they were getting sweaty.

“Oh…” you began, getting ready to turn him down. “I-“

“They have it covered.” May said as she stepped behind you. You nearly broke your neck as you turned to look at her, where did she come from? Peter gave you a wide grin as he bent down and picked your groceries.

“We’ll keep these in the fridge for you!” He said brightly. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Wait-“ you started, but Peter was already hauling your bags to the back. You looked at the woman beside you. “May-“

“Aunt May.” She said firmly.

“Aunt May,” you started. “It’s alright, I don’t want to trouble you. I can just-“

“It’s no trouble.” She said with a sweet smile and fierce eyes. “Go. Have fun with your…friend.”

You blinked, not quite liking how she said that. You looked to Miguel, who had already packed up his things and was waiting for you with an amused grin on his face. He got up and pushed his chair in politely while you turned to face the older woman in front of you. You whispered a quiet “thank you,” before facing him once again.

“So…a walk?”

—-

Miguel blew out a deep breath of fresh autumn air as he looked up at the tall American Elm trees of Tompkins Square Park. It had been nice to get himself out from underneath the high ceilings of his apartment and into the warm colors of the New York sky, he couldn’t remember the last time he had stepped into this park. Central Park was his usual choice, as it was the closest one to him in the Upper East Side, but you were clearly more familiar with this area. You ran your hand along the worn, black railing that lined the park’s walkway as you strolled down its old cobblestone path, and you smiled.

You had a cute smile.

So cute, in fact, that he hadn’t noticed you asked him a question until you were staring at him expectedly for a few moments too many, your eyes shifting to the side awkwardly.

“What?” He asked dumbly.

“I said, ‘did you get your work done?’” You grinned politely at him, not minding that his head was lost in the pink clouds of the sunset.

He smiled grimly. “I’m never done with work.” You looked up at him and frowned before nodding to yourself.

“I understand,” you sighed and he pursed his lips. Miguel knew you were busy as well, with your two jobs and heavy schooling that you had to tend to. He hoped you were remembering to take care of yourself. His mind wandered to the cafe, and how both of your coworkers were eager to help you spend time with him; he was glad you had someone looking out for you.

Your shoes crushed the dry, crisp leaves that decorated the cobblestone path before you as you both approached your favorite part of the park.

“Could we stop by the dog park?” You looked up excitedly, and who was Miguel to say no to a face like that?

“Of course.” He smiled before pivoting off course to visit the lush patch of grass in the middle of the park. You half jogged ahead of him, excited to see what dogs were at the park today. Miguel watched you fawn over the animals before you, your eyes lit up as you cooed down at them, and your smile somehow got even bigger when their owners gave you the okay to pet them. The larger man came up behind you and kneeled down, his broad body shielding you almost entirely.

“Do you like dogs?” You asked as you gleefully gave a belly rub to a senior pitbull mix that happily rolled over in front of you.

“Love ‘em.” He said, and you looked up at him then.

“Switch with me.” You said before grabbing his hand and placing it on the elated dog. He blinked at the sudden contact and tried to focus on the dog’s wide smile as it panted on the ground in front of him. You rummaged in your bag for a while before producing a small zip-lock baggie filled with…biscuits?

“Are those dog treats?” He asked.

“Yeah!” You smiled. “You never know, right? Right, buddy? Huh?” You cooed at the dog below the two of you, and smiled happily as its tail wagged excitedly. You handed him a treat, pressing it into the warm palm of his hand with more tenderness than you had any right to.

“Here, old girl.” He said softly as he brought the treat up to her snout. The dog happily took the treat from him, making sure to lick his fingers for any remaining crumbs.

The two of you spent some more time in the dog park before eventually leaving and making your way down your original path. The conversation that flowed between the two of you went on naturally, as if you had known each other for years.

“What do you like to do in your free time?” You asked as you sat beneath the large Hare Krishna Tree in the center of the park. Miguel sat next to you, his large shoulder so very close to brushing against yours.

“I like to work out,” he began.

“And?”

“And…” he trailed off before falling silent. He blinked to himself, what did he like to do in his free time? He worked a lot…but that wasn’t really “free” time, was it?

“Uh…exercise.” He finished lamely. You playfully shoved him then.

“Exercising is the same thing as working out. Try again.”

“Sports?”

“Sports are competitive exercise!” You laughed. “Fine. What sports do you do?”

“This and that.” He sniffed. “Baseball, weight lifting, Judo…”

“Wow, that’s a lot.” You said, impressed with his athleticism.

He also did kickboxing, gymnastics, rock climbing, tae kwon do, soccer, cross country, and swimming, but who’s counting?

“You don’t have any other hobbies?” You asked him, a small, worried crease appearing between your brows.

Truthfully, he occasionally allowed himself to binge watch old telenovelas while eating more chicharones than he’d care to admit. In years past, he watched the cheesy soap operas with his daughter, her favorite being El Secreto de Selena. Now, he watches them alone when he can do nothing else but think of the life that he used to have, of the man that he used to be (but you didn’t need to know that).

“Not…really.” He murmured as he rubbed the back of his neck.

“We gotta change that.” You said before looking up at the large canopy of leaves above you. “You gotta be like this tree.” You said.

He looked at you then, because what the hell.

“Sorry?” He asked.

“This tree.” You kept your eyes upwards. “It’s an American Elm. The park is full of them, actually.” You gestured around you.

“It’s pretty rare to have so many of them in one place. A lot of the American Elms were killed off by fungus.” You continued. “Not this one though, the Hare Krishna Tree. Back in the sixties, an Indian spiritual leader founded the Hare Krishna religion in the United States, right where we’re sitting.” You gestured to him. “And now, it’s a protected piece of nature that’s recognized as a historical site. None of that would have happened if it were killed by a fungus.” Your eyes fell from the tree line and onto his face. “Don’t let yourself get killed by fungus.”

He blinked at you, in awe at the sudden profundity.

“Que maravilla…how did you know all that?”

“A friend taught me.” You smiled. “And also, I read the plaque that’s right over there.” You pointed to a chain link fence that held a metal sign that detailed the Hare Krishna Tree’s significance and laughed. You pulled out your phone to check the time and frowned before looking up at him.

“I should get going, my roommate is expecting me with groceries.” You said a little dejectedly.

“Oh,” he said quietly, a little disappointed that your date day had come to an end so soon.

“Here,” you held up your phone and opened the phone app. Or you tried to, at least, as the poor thing was unresponsive to your touch.

Jesus, he thought. This thing’s gotta be at least 4 iterations behind.

“Sorry, it uh…it takes a while.” You lightly smacked the side of your phone in an attempt to speed up its processing.

Maybe 5 iterations.

“Here!” You said excitedly once the cracked screen had finally displayed the number pad. You handed him your phone, prompting him to put his number in. He obliged, adeptly entering in the 10 digits that would allow you to keep him in your life. He handed the device back to you with a smile.

“Text me when you get home.” He said before getting up.

“Sure,” you dusted your clothes off. You appreciated his concern for your safety, and only barely resisted the urge to playfully call him dad.

Miguel watched as you turned and made your way down the old park’s path and back to the cafe. You pulled out a (tangled) pair of wired earphones and plugged them into your phone, your stride slowing as you scrolled on your device to pick out a song (or maybe a podcast). He looked on as you came to a stop at the crosswalk and startled as you suddenly turned on your heel to look at him.

“Mierda,” he thought, sure that you caught his staring. His concerns were quickly quelled when you smiled (that damn cute smile) and waved at him. Miguel couldn’t help the small grin that appeared on his face as he held his hand up in acknowledgement. You gave him one last wave before turning to cross the street, and his eyes followed your receding form before you turned the corner, out of sight.

Miguel placed his hands on his waist and blew out a deep sigh, not noticing how the flush in his cheeks wasn’t caused by the frigid evening air, but by something different.

Something else entirely.

Notes: i was lowkey cringing when i wrote about the tree and dog treats i hope it didn’t come off to manic pixie dream girl-y lol (or the Absolutely Insufferable Lead In An Indie Film who says people are like a bag of chips)

the ooc miguel o’hara allegations are beating my ASS lmao i watched his whole 8 minutes of screen time and he is a vile, putrid man in each and every one of them. how can i write him as a person who asks someone to text him when they get home when in he is fully choke slamming children on the subway i am a sham

Tag! @deputy-videogamer

[atinyjules]

Dear You Ft. Jung Sungchan {ch-1}

A/n: DONT WORRY. I'll still update the Jisung fic 🥹 I just couldn't help writing for my baby Sungchanie. I love him so much, y'all, and I miss him as an nct member, so to pay homage to his last day of work. ICE HOCKEY PLAYER SUNGCHAN!

(This was two weeks ago) Omg, today was the departmental orientation of my college, and I wanted to cry so bad! Everyone enrolled with their friends, so they sat in groups, and I was the only person who sat alone. My cousin tried cheering me up by saying that I was giving mysterious girl vibes, but yeah, enough yapping.

Here it iss

The mini masterlist for this series can be found here

Genre: coming of age au, college au, fluff, romance, crack, angst, friends-to-lovers, humor

Pairings: Jung Sungchan x Osaki Seira

Warnings: strong language, brief nut mention, learning to become an adult (because it's scary)

"Attention passengers, we will be arriving at Seoul station shortly." The automated voice in the train announced.

As all the people who were getting down at Seoul get ready, a particular person was still snoozing away. Leaning asleep on his duffle bag,Jung Sungchan, who was moving to Seoul after graduating high school, was still unaware of the arriving station.

That was until he got a call jolting him awake from his sleep.

"W-what? Huh...oh... mom." Sungchan mumbled before picking up the call.

"Oh, mom-huh? No! I didn't fall asleep...of course I knew the station was arriving. Uh-okay then." After ending the call, Sungchan quickly got up and pulled down his bag from the overhead rack and fixed his hair to avoid getting nagged on by his mom for sleeping.

Sungchan's family moved to Seoul way before he graduated. He lived in the dorms until he graduated, but now, after getting accepted into Kwangya University of Arts and Sports, he's gonna be living with his family again. Which was why he was panicking cause he almost missed his stop.

Getting out of the train with his things, Sungchan looked around in search of his family, who came to pick him up.

"Sungchan!" Sungchan turned around to see his family waving at him, their figures bringing a smile to his face.

"Yooo!" Sungchan exclaimed as he hugged his mom tightly and twirled her before putting her down and hugging his dad and elder brother.

"I was closest to you!" Sungchan chuckled as he looked down at his little brother, who he picked up easily and spun him around.

After the sweet reunion, the Jung family headed back home, Sungchan plopping on the bed almost instantly.

"At least wash up, will you?" His mother nagged, making him groan.

"Your son took the earliest train to come back to you. Let him sleep." Sungchan said, earning a sigh from his mother as she chuckled and went down to cook him some food.

"Don't sleep too long, though." Sungchan's mom reminded as he hummed in response. Tired from the journey, Sungchan sighed in content as he began drifting off to sleep.

Unfortunately, he could only get 10 seconds of shut eye before being attacked by a little firecracker.

"BYUNGCHAN." Sungchan called out in a warning tone as his younger brother sat on his back.

"Hyung, let's go to the ice arena! I wanna play hockey with you!" Byungchan exclaimed, making Sungchan groan.

"I don't wanna play right now. Go to your room! I'm tired." Sungchan complained making his brother pout.

"You never wanna play with me! Even when we were living back at home, you never played with me! It's not fair, it's not fair, it's not fair!" Byungchan whined, making Sungchan groan and roll around in his bed before getting up.

"ALRIGHT! Alright! Now shut up and go get ready!" Sungchan exclaimed, making Byungchan cheer before running off to get ready.

Sungchan sighed before rolling in his bed in frustration and getting up, accepting his fate.

Sungchan's

"Hyung, are you part of an ice hockey team?" Byungchan asked me as I sighed. Me and Byungchan were headed to the local ice arena to practice... more like playing a little bit of ice hockey.

"No, I was too busy. But I did play for the school team." I said, making Byungchan marvel.

"You're so cool!" Byungchan said, making me laugh before running my fingers through my hair in pride.

"Took you long enough to realise." I said before we reached the ice arena.

"Now, there's some people skating, so don't hit too hard. We'll only occupy half of the rink." I making Byungchan nod. After we put on our skates, I took out my hockey stick and puck.

"Hyung, are you excited for college?" Byungchan suddenly asked, making me trip and fall on the ice.

"Ouch- what?" I asked again making him roll his eyes.

"Yeah, I totally can't see that you're scared hyung." Byungchan said making me flick his forehead

"I'M NOT."

After a while, I watched Byungchan just play around with the hockey stick and the puck... as expected from a 7 year old.

I sighed before deciding to practice a little myself. I glided through the ice before getting in position and shooting the puck straight in the net.

Soon, I was practicing like how I usually train with coach. After gliding through the ice, I hit my puck towards the net but before the puck could reach the net a dude came in frontvmaking the puck hit his skates causing him to fall face flat on the ice.

"Oh shoot-" I quickly skated to the guy's side and helped him up.

"I am so sorry, I wasn't paying attention to my surroundings." I apologized making the guy chuckle before looking up at me.

"It's alright, I'm really careless-" the guy cut his own words before pointing at me.

"Shotaro?" I said, making him nod.

"Sungchan?" He said, making me nod before he broke into a smile and pulled me in for a hug.

"Brooo! How long has it been?!" Shotaro exclaimed making me smile.

"5 or 6 years, what are you doing here? I thought you guys moved back to Japan!" I questioned as Shotaro chuckled.

"We did, but I got into KUAS and moved back here a year ago. Seira's gonna be attending KUAS, too." Shotaro said, making my eyes widen.

"I'm going there too..." I mumbled, making Shotaro cheer.

"That's great! We can attend classes again like the good old times!" Shotaro said making me smile.

"Did Seira not come with you?" Sungchan asked, making Shotaro snort.

"It's her turn to do groceries, so I just came here to kill time." Shotaro said, making me furrow my brows.

"Why, though? Don't you guys live separately in the dorms?" I asked, making Shotaro shake his head.

"I used to, but since Seira is going to KUAS as well, mom and dad got us an apartment near the university." Shotaro said with a smile when Byungchan came over.

"Hyung! Who's this?" He asked making me widen my eyes.

"Don't talk like that, he's my friend." I said making Byungchan look up at Shotaro.

"Oh... is this Byungchan?? You grew up so much! Last time I saw you, you were around 1 or 2!" Shotaro said, making Byungchan hide behind me.

"Why are you suddenly so shy?" I said, making Byungchan pop his head from behind me.

"He's weird."

"..." Shotaro froze and stood awkwardly, making me flick Byungchan's forehead.

"DON'T. I'm so sorry... he's spoiled. " I said making him chuckle.

"It's fine. He was just a baby back then, so he won't remember me." Shotaro said before his phone beeped.

"Oh... oh. Seira's done, so I gotta go. Are you guys leaving now? If yes, we can walk out together." Shotaro said making me smile and nod.

"Byungchan, let's go." I said making him whine.

"NOOOO!" He exclaimed making me groan.

"I'll get you ice cream!" I said, making him smile and get up at once. After packing our bags, the three of us walked out. My heart was beating like a drum at the fact that I'll be meeting Seira again.

How will she look? Does she still have short hair?

After walking out Shotaro walked front and waved at someone.

"Seira! Over here!" My breath hitched at the sight of a girl wearing a black tracksuit with long jet black hair holding some groceries. Her back was facing us, so I didn't see her face, but I saw it when she heard Shotaro and turned around.

"What took you so long?" Her voice had gotten a little deeper.

I widened my eyes to see her. She still looked the same, except now she had a cooler aura and she has long hair... and she grew taller. But her eyes still had the same sparkle it did like when we were kids.

"Look who I found!" Shotaro exclaimed making her look over at me.

"No... you're kidding. Jung Sungchan?!" She exclaimed, her cool aura breaking almost immediately as a smile graced her lips.

"Hi..." I said awkwardly, not knowing what to say.

"Hii!" She exclaimed and attacked me with a tight hug, making me laugh and break into a smile.

"You're still the same." I said with a chuckle making her smile and slap my arm.

"So are you! Bro, where are you studying? Please say KUAS." She said making me nod.

"Yeah, I'm gonna attend KUAS." I said, making her cheer and slap my arm in happiness, making me wince.

"Great! I am, too... omg we can go together!" She said before her eyes went down to Byungchan.

"Omo... Byungchan!" She squealed and picked him up before hugging him.

"Who are you?!" Byungchan exclaimed in shock, making me widen my eyes but Seira just laughed and put him down.

"I used to bring baby snacks for you when you were a child. Wah, you grew up so well!" She said and patted his head before going through her grocery bag and taking out two ice cream and giving it to Byungchan and me.

"It's fine, Seira-" She cut my words with a slap on my shoulder.

"Stop with the manners! You used to shamelessly devour this back then." She said making me groan at the memory.

"Thank you!" Byungchan said making her smile.

"You're most welcome! So, you in the dorms, or is your whole family living here?" Seira asked making me nod.

"Yeah, my family's here too." I said making Shotaro nod

"I thought I saw your mom once. We should exchange numbers!" Shotaro suggested making my heart swell.

After talking for a while, Shotaro and Seira bid us goodbye and left for their home.

"They're so similar." Byungchan said making me laugh.

"They're siblings, of course they're siblings." I said with a smile as I watched them walk away while bickering in japanese.

"How do they know me?" Byungchan asked making me groan.

"Being a question box is a bad habit. Back in our hometown, you the the house next to ours, right? They used to live there." I said, making him gasp as we made our way home hand in hand.

That night after dinner I looked at the texts they sent me.

✮⋆˙tRiPLe Sss = tRiPLe ThReAt ๋࣭ ⭑⚝๋࣭ ⭑

Shoootarooo: Bro, which bus stop will you wait at? If it's close, we'll wait together!

Sseiraaaa: Idiot, the way to his is opposite from ours.

Shoootarooo: You act like you're such an intelligent person...

Sseiraaaa: That's because I am, unlike someone here. Clearly I'm the one with the brains in the family.

Me: Guys, calm down....

Sseiraaaa: Yeah, Shotaro.

Shoootarooo: he said that for the both of us. So where do you get on?

Me: The stop next to my house. So I guess we won't be able to go together.

Sseiraaaa: Which bus are you?

Me: 4, why?

Shoootarooo: BRO

Sseiraaaa: BRO

Me: What?....WHAT?!

Sseiraaaa:We get up on bus 4 too!

Shoootarooo: The universe wants us to stick together!

Me: yayy, can y'all save me a seat? I feel like I'm one of the last to get on the bus.

Sseiraaaa: No worries! Oh wait, you might wait in the bus stop with Eunseok. He lives in the same neighborhood as you.

Me: Who's Eunseok?

Shoootarooo:He's our friend!

Sseiraaaa: yeee, he's a fun dude.

Me: Wait... how do you know him? Didn't you just move here?

Sseiraaaa: He came for an exchange program to my school back in high school.

Me: Ohhhh

"Dinner is ready!" I heard mom call out from the dining room.

"Coming!" I exclaimed before typing in a message.

Shoootarooo: He's closer to me, tho just like how Sungchan is closer to me.

Sseiraaaa: Oh, shut up! They're closer to me!

Shoootarooo:Nooo!

Sseiraaaa: You're just jealous they're closer to me!

Me: Guysss, I'm gonna have dinner. See y'all later or tomorrow!

Sseiraaaa: Oh! We were about to have dinner too! Byee

Shoootarooo: Think of me when you eat your dinner.

Sseiraaaa: Stop, you sound like a creep.

Shoootarooo: It was not creepy!

Me: I gotta admit it kinda was. Don't do that again.

Sseiraaaa: ㅋㅋㅋㅋㅋ

Shoootarooo: CRINGE

I chuckled at the text messages before charging my phone and heading downstairs for dinner.

That's it for the first chapter. It's quite lighthearted, so you don't really see the main plot now. 💖✨️

I hope you liked it as much as I do!

Chapter 2 can be found here

Likes and rebloggs are appreciated 💖 ✨️