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stick ‘n poke | e.w

summary: it’s the first day of the campers arriving and you have a discussion with ellie about tattoos. during the supervised session of the campers doing arts & crafts, she mentions that she knows how to stick ‘n poke and you take her up on the offer. late night tattooing and exposing questions ensue.
pairing: ellie williams x fem!reader
contains: even more flirty!ellie, oblivious!reader, needles and slight bleeding so tw for that, steve being a himbo ally.
word count: 3.6K
a/n: maybe i love this series. comments & reblogs are much much appreciated lovelies <33
under the summer stars masterlist
The first day of the children arriving was more than hectic. More of the staff came the day after everyone else had arrived like the chefs and security for the grounds. Now, the seven camp counselors, including you, stood in a row outside of the main office on the opposite side waiting for the children to come out one by one to sign in with their parents. You recognized a few familiar parents and children but there were always new faces which you loved to see.
Ellie stood on your left while Steve was on your right. The group wore white baseball short-sleeve shirts in blue, green, and red blocking with block letters reading ‘STAFF’ on the back those coordinating colors. You thought they were insanely cute compared to the years before; it was strictly neon but Dina and you begged for something less bright and more flattering.
Thankfully, Tommy, Joel’s brother, and owner of the campgrounds, heard the complaints and had the dress code changed. You forgot every year how exhausting it was trying to reassure sketchy or overprotective parents that their children are safe and are never going to be alone. Etc. You could never blame them considering what people hear a lot about summer camps: specifically slasher-type movies based around the isolation of camps.
There were a lot of kids you recognized from the summers prior, making sure to let them know it, especially the ones that recognized you first.
Once the early crowd came by and huddled into your cafeteria for a complimentary lunch before the parents headed off home, you finally were able to take a breath, turning to the auburn-haired girl with a smile.
“Jesus, I always forget how overstimulating that is. How many parents asked if I was thoroughly CPR trained?” You exasperated to which Ellie threw her arm over your clothed shoulders, tugging you in for a moment.
“Trust me, I get it. Almost every parent asks if I’m even allowed to work here because of my tattoos.” Ellie rolled her eyes and held her arm up to you, turning her wrist from side to side to show you the tattoo. “Like do they think I’m gonna just grab their kid and shove a needle into them?”
You simply chuckle, resting your head on hers. Her thumb rubbed at your shoulder through the fabric causing you to slowly close your eyes with a hum. Every touch from her felt like a stress relief.
“Definitely. They saw tattoos and thought ‘she can definitely do a stick and poke on my child.’” You hum.
“You don’t have any tattoos right?” Ellie questions as her hand moves from your shoulder to your upper back.
You shake your head with a disapproving sigh, trying not to think about how her thumb was now massaging into your tense upper muscles. What the hell was she doing? Trying to send you into a coma?
“I do want some though. They’re just expensive as hell,” you lowered your voice which Ellie hummed in agreement.
“Well, I’m sure when you do you’ll look even better than you already do,” Elise raised her eyebrows at you with a cheeky smirk.
You shrugged her arm off your shoulder and shook your head.
“Shut up,” was the only argument you could come up with as you felt flustered at her comment.
Ellie merely chuckled and held her hands out in defense. “What? You want me to lie and say you’ll look like shit?”
“I didn’t say that, Els,” you look around as she openly cusses without thinking, hoping none of the helicopter parents heard her.
Before Ellie could retort something back, the two of you heard Joel calling the whole group of counselors over. You give her a pointed look before she playfully pushes you along as you walk, making you giggle like an idiot. When you get to where Joel is standing, Ellie��s hand lingers on the middle of your back as he speaks to the entire group.
You couldn’t believe how touchy she was being. Not that you were complaining but you swore years prior she had never been as lingering with her touches with you.
“After everyone is done in the cafeteria, gather your groups so that y’all can go to the cabins and help them unpack. After that, take them to the arts cabin to make their name tags for their bunks and tie-dye their shirts for next Wednesday for the field trip to the Botanical Garden,” Joel reads off his see-through red clipboard.
The group nods as they agree to the set schedule for the day. Once every single parent had said tearful ‘goodbyes’ and ‘love you’s’, your friends began to round up their troopers for their cabin. This was arguably one of your favorite parts of camp; getting to know these adorable children.
One by one, each of the counselors called the names of all 12 of the campers for their assigned cabins. You introduced yourself to the children, smiling at them kindly in hopes they would become comfortable with you. Some of them were more shy than others but that’s usually the case.
“Okay guys, you’re just going to follow me to the cabin where everyone will put your bags down before we head on over to the art cabin. If you have any questions, any at all, do not be afraid to ask me, okay?” You look at the wide-eyed and curious faces before they all agree to your statement.
You reluctantly had to walk away from Ellie and made your way to the cabin, checking to make sure every child was accounted for once you arrived. After about half an hour passed where you explained the basic rules for camp to all the kids, you gathered them to make their way over to the art cabin.
You felt more at ease when you entered the much larger cabin to see the rest of your friend group already having the kids make the name tags. Your campers dispersed once you gave them the ‘okay’ to go and color.
Ellie gradually made her way over to where you were standing, watching over the kids to make sure they weren’t drawing anything inappropriate on their name tags. Her shoulder bumped your own, a brazen grin on her face. Your brows set in a furrow at her fidgety manner.
“What’s up, Els?” You question, turning to her.
“I may or may not have gotten stuff to do stick and pokes,” she lowered her voice, making eye contact with you.
Your eyes nearly bugged out of your head at her words. The children were thankfully distracted by the rest of your friends to even listen to what you two were talking about.
“Where the hell did you get the materials for a stick and poke?” You asked in disbelief.
“Gave Tommy 50 bucks to go and get everything from the grocery store down the street.” Ellie shrugged nonchalantly.
You couldn’t believe your ears.
“I could give you one, you know. Free of charge, of course, since it’s your first one.” Ellie added on which really spiked your attention.
The offer was tempting if you were being completely honest with yourself. It wasn’t as if Ellie was a terrible artist; she actually had a bit of talent in that department. She was pretty much the only person here you would trust to do such a thing. On the more selfish side, you could be alone with Ellie.
“Miss Ellie! I need help!” A young boy shouted from across the room.
“Alright, buddy. I’ll be right there,” she called back before turning to you to point a finger in your direction. “Think about it, okay?”
You nod slowly. “I will.”
Content with your response, Ellie jogged over to the boy who had gotten the glue on his face. You internally freak out as your eyes dart around the room. All of your campers were doodling away, chatting amongst each other while you were having a crisis.
You had zoned out so bad, that you didn’t even realize that Steve was now standing next to you.
“Oh, Steve, hi.” You greeted him with a small smile.
“Hey, um,” he cleared his throat, hands clasped behind his back, “I don’t want to seem nosy but is there something going on between you and Ellie?”
You snap your neck before shaking your head furiously, a weird chuckle leaving your lips.
“No! No, absolutely not.” You persisted.
“Okay,” Steve trailed off, “you… like her, though, right?”
You looked at Ellie who was leaning over all of the kids' drawings, commenting on how all of them were ‘sick’ or ‘cool’. It was undeniable.
“Yeah, why?” You raised your brows at him.
“Damn. I owe Robs 20 bucks.” He sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. You mouth ‘what?’ to yourself before Steve continued with: “She thought you just liked her and hadn’t told her yet and I thought you two were screwing in secret.”
“And you placed a 20-dollar bet on that?” You narrowed your eyes.
“Yeah,” Steve said ashamedly. “Robin went on and on about how ‘not everyone is hooking up just because I do’ and how ‘it’s different because it’s two girls’. I understand that but it doesn't mean, you know, two consenting adult women can’t be hooking up too.”
You blink at the flawless-haired man, listening to him ramble. Robin and he had very valid points.
“Well, it doesn’t matter anyways because I’m never going to tell her,” you added, shrugging your shoulders as you scanned over the area to see if any of your campers needed help.
This time Steve whipped his head to stare at you.
“Why not?”
“Uh, because I could humiliate myself and lose her as a friend. I know our relationship wouldn’t be the same if I did,” you explained with a long sigh. “She’s not making it any easier either. She asked me if I wanted her to give me a stick and poke tonight.”
Steve whistled playfully before you bumped his shoulder. He scoffed at your annoyed expression before putting his hand up in defense.
“I’m just saying if I know flirting,” he leaned down to mutter to you, “and I think I do, she wants you just as badly as you want her. My personal opinion is to go for it.”
You shake your head at his words but don’t necessarily push the thought away. Out of the corner of your eye, you notice Robin and Abby whispering amongst each other. Robin glanced over to where you and Steve were standing before nudging the taller woman.
“You know what’s going on over there?” You lean into Steve with furrowed brows.
“No clue but I think I gotta go. One of my kids just shoved a googly eye up his nose.” Steve patted a hand on your shoulder before speed-walking over to this table full of campers.
To your surprise, none of your children had spoken up once. You jinxed yourself almost immediately as a little girl with dark coily hair pulled into two ponytails raised her hand and waved it around to get your attention.
You make your way over to her, leaning over to lean over her small shoulder.
“Hi, Vanessa. What did you need help on, sweetheart?” You tilt your head and look at her name tag.
“Oh. No, I didn’t need any help. I have a question though,” Vanessa turned in her chair, looking up at you.
“What is it?”
“Are you and Mr. Steve boyfriend-girlfriend?” She pointed her little finger in the direction of Steve tilting the child’s head back to see if he could get the googly eye out.
You awkwardly laughed at her question, scratching underneath your jaw. Kids, from what you’ve learned working at this summer camp, are extremely nosy and have zero filter with their questions. You remember just last summer when a little boy asked you what were the dots on your face: you were breaking out the first week. He was talking about your acne.
“Uh, no. Mr.Steve and I are good friends.” You said slowly. “Boys and girls can be just friends, you know?”
“Oh, well, he’s super cute,” she giggled as she covered her mouth like it was a secret.
The girl had taste but you just didn’t swing that way. You didn’t know what else to say but thankfully, Abby shouted over the conversations to turn in your name tags to their designated counselors so that they could get started on the tie-dye shirts.
You retrieve the hard stock paper from all twelve of your campers before tucking them underneath your clipboard.
“When your group is called, carefully walk up to the front table to grab a white shirt. If you need help picking out a size, ask for help from any of the counselors.” Abby grinned before making her way over to you.
You turn to her with a small smile, nodding your head over to her group of children.
“You doing okay with your kids?” You question, tilting your head up at her.
“Yeah, they’re not too bad but I give it a few days before they start pulling pranks on us.” Abby sighs with a shrug.
You nod sadly, knowing how truly creative these children can get when it comes to pranking. You still can’t stand the smell of a bubble bath.
“Well, you promised to help me prank Ellie so you’re really one to talk,” you raised your brows at her with a soft chuckle.
Abby couldn’t even say anything to you as you were right.
“I meant that, too. I got a few ideas for her.”
A part of you tried to ignore the quite obvious disliking Abby held for Ellie. Her tone triggered you from the first day and their little tense bicker.
“I will, Abs.”
Abby simply smiled before patting your shoulder with her own clipboard. You rolled your eyes playfully as she walked away from you. You catch Robin’s eye and she avoids your gaze almost immediately.
Weird.
“You sure this is safe?” You question for probably the tenth time that night as Ellie dipped the needle into the little plastic cup of ink.
Ellie let out a soft chuckle at your antsiness, reaching over to place a hand on your fidgeting one. You, after a lot of second-guessing, made your way to the cabin next door, making sure to only knock on the counselors’ side to not wake up the children. Every single voice in your head was telling you that you were betraying your one goal you had for this summer but your heart was telling you to spend as much time alone with her as possible.
Your mental and emotional state often collided with one another.
Now here you were in your oversized gray tee and a pair of green pajama shorts that had white shamrocks on them, sitting on her springy mattress as she dipped the disinfected needle into the tattoo ink. Ellie had on her signature black wife pleaser and a pair of boxer-briefs, one singular black glove on her right hand. The dim yellow of the lamp on the small desk was the only source of light in the small room.
“It’ll be okay. Now, it will sting a little bit because, well, it’s ink going into your skin but let me know if you need a break.” Ellie gave you a heads up, scooting in closer to you on her swivel barstool. “You said you just wanted a sun with a swirl in the middle?”
You nod as you watch her place a hand on your knee to steady your shakiness. You were nervous but excited for doing something like this. Outside of the camp, you weren’t someone who left their house often unless it was to eat, for school or when one of your three friends invited you out which you declined most of the time.
“Can we talk about something so that I don’t move a lot and fuck it up?” You nervously chuckle.
Ellie sucked in a deep breath as she began to poke the needle into your skin, causing you to scrunch up your nose at the pain.
“How about you tell me about life back at home? Just tell me everything, you know.” Ellie looked up for a second to give you a reassuring smile.
You mutter a soft ‘okay’ as you close your eyes, gripping onto the thin sheets on the bed.
“I don’t really do much. It’s not that I don’t get opportunities to. I just never have the courage to do a lot in my life so that gives me a lot of free time to read romances even though they make me feel extremely lonely. It’s annoying but I guess I kind of did that to myself,” you sucked in a deep breath when the pressure grew stronger on your upper thigh.
“You’re doing good,” Ellie whispered as she dipped the needle back into the ink cup. Her thumb was gently rubbing underneath the skin where she was placing the tattoo.
Great. Now you’re getting aroused and you’re in pain. A dangerous combination.
“Um, oh, I tried dragon fruit and kiwi for the first time last week. It was in a really big fruit bowl with melon, strawberry, mango, green grapes and pineapple.” You blurt out as you remember how delicious the refreshing bowl was.
“Very summer-y,” Ellie hummed with a cheeky smile as she was finishing up the spiral in the middle.
“I thought so,” you hum, sucking in a deep breath as she wiped a disinfectant wipe over the finished swirl portion to clean up some of the dots of ink and blood resting on your skin.
Ellie sat upright to stretch out her hunched over position, looking at you with a gentle smile. You weakly smiled back as you looked at the swirl, tempted to ask her to just finish there but that would mean going back to your cabin which you really didn’t want to do.
“How’s it looking?” Ellie cleared her throat, twiddling the makeshift ink pen around her fingers.
“It’s so clean. How did you do that?” You ask in genuine shock.
Ellie sheepishly shrugged her shoulders as she scratched at the space behind her ear. You let yourself take a few breaths as you brace yourself for the last bit of the tattoo.
“Okay, I’m good now,” you grin as your hand finds itself gripping onto the sheets once again.
Ellie nodded at your ‘okay’ but her eyes locked on your tight-knuckled hand. She clears her throat before motioning to her knee that was pressing into the metal bed frame.
“You can… put your hand on my knee. Just so you don’t screw up my sheets,” she teases as her eyes flicker to her exposed knee.
You hesitantly release the nylon sheets before carefully placing your hand down on her protruding bone. You held back every urge to rub your thumb on her pale skin just as she had been doing to you this entire time. You did, however, feel the little pricks of hairs that Ellie missed on her knee. You weren’t going to judge her, of course. It was comforting knowing how human she was.
“Is there anyone special back home?” Ellie hummed as she dotted the sunbeams.
Your eyes bulged out of your head. How fucking ironic the girl you had been head over heels for is asking you this question.
“Uh, no, not back home,” you shake your head at her question.
You weren’t technically lying. There was nothing waiting for you at home other than your dads.
“So you don’t have feelings for… anyone at all?” Ellie sounded almost nervous asking you the question.
Suddenly your palm grew hot and sweaty at the on-the-nose question. You could lie and say ‘no’ but your lack of immediate response captured Ellie’s attention. Ellie’s eyes flickered up to you with a shit-eating grin on her pink lips.
“I-I don’t.” You accidentally stutter, making you want to wring your neck right then and there.
“You’re a shit liar,” Ellie scoffed as she wiped off the excess blood and ink. “Who is it?”
“No one. Seriously don’t start,” you let out a strained chuckle.
“Why did you get so tense all of a sudden then?” Ellie quipped.
Well part of it has to do with the fact that I would give anything to have your tongue down my throat, you thought to yourself.
“Nothing. It’s no one and nothing, Els.” You shake your head before motioning to your tattoo. “Aren’t you supposed to be tattooing not being nosy?”
Ellie shook her head with a raise of her eyebrows. “So it is someone?”
You mutter an ‘oh my god’ to yourself before she continues to speak. “If it was really no one, you wouldn’t have called me nosy. I’m just saying.”
God, her sarcastic tone both irritated and comforted you.
“I don’t know. Abby is pretty… cool and sweet.” You blubber out, your word vomit causing your head to ache.
Ellie’s features dropped for a moment at the name. You even felt a nerve in her knee twitch. Why did you say Abby of all people? She pursed her lips before going back to the task at hand.
“Abby?” Ellie hummed. “Really?”
No.
“Yeah. What’s wrong with Abby?” You question the freckled girl, eyes flickering to her furrowed brows.
Ellie sucked in a deep breath, shaking her head. You wanted to scoff at her reaction but you simply kept your hand on her knee, allowing her to finish what she started.
“What about…you?” You carefully ask.
“What about me?” Ellie raised her brows.
You sigh. “Do you have anyone special?”
Ellie’s soft green eyes followed up your body to your lips before shaking her head, dismissive of your question.
“No one you know of.”
This needle is digging into your skin and your blood is seeping to the surface but Ellie’s words hurt the most tonight.
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Kind of a fuck customers but also a satisfying story at the same time.
My role in the call center I work in involves taking specifically corporate calls, which means I spend all day talking to “business professionals” (and I use that term loosely) including CEOs. As you can imagine, over 90% of these CEOs are the scum of the earth and the most entitled assfaces on the planet.
A week or so ago, I took a call and went through my usual routine of greeting the cardholder and then began going over verification questions. Since we’re A.) a bank and B.) a bank that handles corporate and government credit cards, we take security seriously and require a caller to be able to verify 3 pieces of information based on what the person responsible for their credit cards put on the account. If they don’t pass, we refer them to their company to get the right details.
So as I’m doing this, the guy on the phone is getting increasingly irritated as he keeps getting the security questions wrong. I’m calm and professional the entire time but firm. Eventually I run out of things to verify with him and tell him that we won’t be able to assist and that he needs to contact his administrator. This is apparently where I went wrong.
“LADY I AM THE ADMINISTRATOR!!” He screeches. Ok, great. I look him up and that’s true but there’s a second admin listed, so I ask him to check in with him. He then yells “THERE IS NO OTHER ADMIN! I’M THE CEO OF THIS COMPANY FOR CHRIST’S SAKE!!”
I apologize and tell him while that may be true, he still got his security questions wrong and needs to reach out to his account coordinator then. This man then proceeds to scream at me for the next minute or so saying how we’re an awful bank, how he’s had problems with us for years, blah blah and how we have the worst customer service ever. Keep in mind, I’ve been nice and empathetic this entire time but also I’m not gonna lose my fucking job just because a guy in a suit doesn’t know his shit. I give him the email to his account coordinator and stress again that he needs to talk to them. Then this exchange happens:
Him: “So let me get this straight. You are saying you are REFUSING and UNWILLING to help me, right?
Me: “No, actually I’d love to help you, however we have these security procedures in place for yours and your company’s protection and cannot make exceptions for anyone.”
Him: “This is fucking UNBELIEVABLE! I’ve HAD IT with this bank!!”
Me: “Ok, I’m sorry to hear that. Anything else I can do for you before we disconnect?”
Him: “WHAT IS YOUR NAME? I NEED YOUR NAME. NOW.”
Me: *gives my first name and spells it for him even though it’s a very basic 4 letter name because I’m a bitch*
Him: YOUR LAST NAME.
Me: “We don’t give out anything but our first name for the safety of our employees.”
Him: *insert that condescending, pissed off chuckle middle aged men do when they’re mad here* “Well I’ll tell you what (My Name), when I close this account and pull my MILLIONS OF DOLLARS out of (bank name) and they ask me why, I’ll make sure to tell them that it’s (My Name)’s fault. And I will see to it that you won’t be able to get another job outside of the minimum wage fast food job or whatever you had before this. How does that sound?”
Me: “Sounds great. Now seeing as how this conversation is no longer productive or professional and threats are being made, I’ll be terminating the call, have a nice day.”
Him: “DO NOT HANG UP O-“
Me: *click*
And that’s how making rich, powerful men rage-cry became my new favorite hobby. Thankfully, I haven’t gotten any feedback on that call; not that I would, seeing as how I did my job exactly how I was supposed to. Anyways I hope I’m his 13th reason. ❤️
Posted by admin Rodney.
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Welcome To The Sanctuary
Negan x Reader (Rick’s Daughter)
Chapter 1: Something Eerie
Chapter Summary: It was supposed to be just another pickup day - not a nightmare. Rick is ready to strike against Negan, but all war efforts come to a complete stop, when the life of the woman both men care about the most is on the line.
Wordcount: 2157
Era: Season 7
- Part 5 of the The One And Only Series -
Chapter Index: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 - COMING SOON!
Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series
It’s late in the morning, when a small convoy of trucks makes its way down the deserted roads.
The Saviors are heading to their bosses favorite community. Negan is almost mindlessly driving behind one of the trucks, watching the all too familiar suburb passing by his windows. Today is pickup day for Alexandria and he can’t wait to see what Prick’s people got him this time. It better be good after all the trouble his son caused last week.
It probably won't be much, he muses. Not that he cares too much about it but the town is now short of three more people. It certainly has to put their scavengers under even more pressure. But then again, Rick and especially his Sweet-Thing had to deal with even worse conditions in the past, when coordinating their teams and if anyone can get shit done, it’s her.
After the events of last week's pickup, Negan had to think of her constantly. She must have known about Spencer's plans or at least had to have a suspicion, given how stressed she was, when he first approached them. What a slimy asshole and a coward on top. There is no doubt in his mind his Sunshine would have killed him for what he tried to do. Luckily she didn’t have to lift a finger, she is already close enough to getting exiled as it is and also Negan was more than willing to lend a hand in that matter.
As much as he can't stand Rick, he's got to admit that he's doing a good job - that is keeping his people alive and scavenging good stuff. Also he is well experienced from his years outside of that town and kept so many people alive during that time. That knowledge is priceless in times like this and Negan actually respects him for it. That Spencer really thought he'd not just be as good but even better than Rick as a leader is not only astonishing but also downright pathetic. That asshole got what he deserved.
Still, there is one thing from this whole ordeal that’s still leaving a bitter taste in Negan's mouth and that is the death of the fat woman. He disliked her and was never subtle about it but he knew she was somewhat close to his Sunshine and although it was Arat’s decision to take her out, he still feels sorry for Y/N.
He can’t forget that burning anger in her eyes, when she glared at that bitch that tried to shoot him. He'd be lying if he said he wasn’t at least a little bit turned on by the sight of it, as out of place as it was. After all his Sweet-Thing is hot as hell when she’s pissed and she’s been seething.
Negan can’t help but smile at that memory. He’s so excited to see her again. It surprised him how much he actually enjoyed their little game of hide and seek. It made the whole affair even more enticing. Still he’s glad people somehow found out eventually. Hopefully this will result in more time with her than rushed quickies every now and then. Given the new circumstances, Negan decided to retire his RV for the time being and left it in The Sanctuary. There is no need for it anymore and her bedroom will do just fine. He really can’t wait to take his time with her.
Finally the high walls of Alexandria are slowly coming into view and the head of the Saviors focuses back onto the road ahead of him. Slowly the gate opens up, making way for the convoy. Negan scans the guards standing on the wall but his Sunshine is nowhere to be seen. She’s not on duty right now it seems.
The trucks drive through the gate onto the parking lot and Negan stops his car right on top of the convoy. The Saviors gather around their vehicles, ready to go through today's pickup. Negan jumps out of his car, shutting the door shut.
Uncomfortableness is creeping up his spine immediately - Something is wrong.
Somehow he has the feeling that something is off but Negan just can’t put his finger on it and it's making him feel quite uneasy. Suddenly on high alert, he's looking around the area. Usually around this time Alexandrians would roam the street, watching the activities but the streets are empty.
Except for one person.
“Ah, Rick!” Negan calls the approaching man with a bright smile that quickly dies again. The closer Rick gets, the more his sorry state becomes visible. The man looks like he’s seen a ghost. His skin is pale, only accentuating the redness of his sunken eyes. The hell happened to him?
Once he’s reached the Saviors, Rick greets them with a weak nod of his head. “Negan. Your stuff’s at the pantry.”
A frown settles on Negan's face. Rick’s not meeting his eyes and while that’s nothing out of the ordinary, in fact it’s quite welcome, it still seems off. The other man’s not avoiding his gaze like he used to but is just staring into the void. What the hell is going on here? After another quick glance around the area, still not seeing his Sweet-Thing, Negan asks, “Where’s Y/N?”
Rick swallows hard. After a moment, he states. “She’s out scouting.”
This statement only adds to the distressing feeling in Negan’s gut. Rick is so obviously lying. She would never go out scouting with a different car than her stupid Mini. The Mini that is clearly sitting in the far corner of the parking lot.
Negan takes one step closer to Rick, his eyes narrowing. But before he can confront Rick about his observations, he sees a woman appearing in the corner of his eye. She’s stepping out of the infirmary. That’s one of Sunshine’s team, he realizes. The woman is crying and wiping her tears. Blood is dripping from her hands.
Negan’s eyes switch between her and Rick. Something is going on. After one final glance at the other man who’s still not meeting his eyes, Negan gets moving. He pushes himself past Rick without a word, heading for the infirmary. Rick’s about to say something but when he sees Sasha standing on the porch, he keeps his mouth shut, following Negan with his head down.
Knots tighten in Negan's chest. The air feels tense, almost eerie. There is not a single person in sight and the whole town is silent. Only the sound of boots moving over the gravel can be heard. It’s quite goosebumps inducing. The head of the Saviors tries to calm himself down, he can’t have his nerves get the better of him.
When they reach the porch, Sasha moves out of their way to the side. She looks at Rick, even more tears are running down her cheeks when she slowly shakes her head at him. Negan can’t see Rick's reaction but at the moment he doesn’t care. All he wants is to find out what’s going on. With the unpleasant feeling in his gut quickly growing, he opens the door and moves inside.
Once through the door, the man is being hit with the pungent smell of blood. His nose crinkles to its own accord and he is met with another puffy red eye. Rick's boy is sitting on a chair next to a cot, looking up at him with a tear stained face, holding the hand of the person lying there.
When Negan's eyes eventually wander to the cot, he stops dead in his tracks. Sunshine. Negan almost forgot how to breathe. There is so much blood.
"It's been an accident." Rick's small voice sounds behind the boss, but he barely registers the other man. Negan moves forward, coming to stand right next to Carl. The boy doesn’t say a word, only holding the hand of his sister in silence.
Negan’s eyes roam over her. His Sunshine is almost unrecognizable, the way she's lying there, completely still, unconscious. Her skin is so pale, almost gray. Bandages are wrapped around her exposed middle but there is still so much blood on her, the cot, the equipment. A rusty metal rod on the cart catches Negan's attention briefly but he quickly moves his eyes back to the big crimson red spot on her belly.
"It happened so fast." Rick tries to explain, "We couldn't-"
"Got a doc or something?" Negan cuts him off immediately, his eyes not leaving her.
Rick’s just looking at his daughter. "She's… she’s our medic.”
Negan’s clenching his jaw. A quiet fuck is leaving his lips as he’s running his ungloved hand through his hair, still taking all of this in.
She’s dying.
Once that thought passes his mind, Negan snaps back from his spinning mind. He moves his attention back to her father, “Prepare her for transport. I’m taking her with us.”
“No-” Rick is about to argue, but there is no room nor time for a debate right now.
“I see you still don't understand what your daughter means to me, Rick.” Negan states in a serious tone, towering over the other man. “I’ve got a doc and a clinic. She’s coming with me.”
“I'm coming with you.” Surprised, both men look at the boy. “So she won't be alone.”
After a short moment of consideration, Negan agrees and nods at him. “Fine. Pack her some things.” Carl carefully places his sister's hand on the cot again, before quickly rushing out of the room. Negan turns his head back towards Rick again. “You get her ready,” he orders, before brushing past him, getting his car.
Rick watches him leave before moving his attention back to his daughter again. Slowly he comes closer, taking her hand in his. His eyes well up again as he looks at her. He raises her hand to his lips, praying to any God who cares to listen, to make her stay, to not take her away. “I love you so much,” he whispers against her skin. It pains him so much to see her like that.
After a new wave of tears are threatening to stream down his face, Rick realizes he has to get going. With as much care as he can muster, he puts a blanket around his daughter, wrapping her up into a cocoon before slowly lifting her up into his arms. Cautiously he hugs her against his chest. “Please don't leave us, Y/N.”
Eventually Rick starts moving, bringing his daughter outside. Sasha is sitting on the railing, still fighting the tears, trying to take a breath and calm down. She offers to help him but Rick doesn't seem to notice her as he’s passing her by without a word. Negan parked his car right in front of the house, Carl is already waiting next to it with a duffel bag in his hand.
Rick walks down the steps attentively, going towards the car. Negan, who just finished instructing Simon to carry on with the pickup, comes closer, ready to take over but Rick moves past him. Carl quickly opens the door before helping his father to slowly and carefully lay his sister down onto the back seat of the car. Rick tugs her in one more time, whispering to her to keep fighting, to please wake up again, before he has to reluctantly let go of her.
As much as he hates Negan and as much as he distrusts him with every fiber of his being, if that man can save her, he will swallow all his hatred up. He’d do everything in and beyond his power for her. All he wants is for his daughter to open her eyes again.
Negan comes to stand next to Rick, looking at him with something close to compassion in his features, “Whatever happens, either way, I’ll let you know.” He's reaching out his hand, offering the other man a two-way radio.
Rick only nods silently, taking it. After one final look at his daughter, he's moving away. Negan lets out a sharp whistle, gaining Carl's attention. “Jump in.” The boy does as he’s been told, hopping into the passenger seat while Negan hurries onto his.
The engine roars to life as they quickly take off and hit the road. Rick watches them drive out of the gate. His heart is shattering into a million pieces. This feels way too much like a last goodbye.
Sasha’s slowly approaching him. She puts her hand on his shoulder in a comforting gesture, but there is nothing that can console him.
Negan is racing down the streets as fast as he can. Adrenaline is rushing through his veins. Please, let it not be too late. It’s dead silent in the car. Now more than ever is he afraid of noises.
Dreading to hear the tell-tale sound of quiet groaning.
Chapter Index: Chapter 1 / Chapter 2 / Chapter 3 / Chapter 4 / Chapter 5 - COMING SOON!
Masterlist / Negan x Rick's Daughter Series
Taglist: @starry-night-20 / @joceymoo / @srhxpci / @ladykxxx08 / @sunneeflower / @frombloodandflesh / @aleeeesa /@lanamiller / @fanfic-n-tabulous / @noirfan12 / @abbiesxox / @elinafresk / @obsessiveformiyatwins / @kokushibosgirl / @syrma-sensei / @oceandolores
#ao3#fanfic#fanfiction#the walking dead#negan / reader#negan smith#negan x reader#twd#negan#rick grimes#Carl Grimes#jdm#jeffrey dean morgan#The Walking Dead#negan x oc#twd negan#carl grimes#daryl#daryl dixon#twd fanfiction#sasha williams
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Retirement Plan
Summary: After Six rescues Claire, there are no mission details to follow, no designated escape route, and no arranged extraction. However, Donald planned for the day Six would learn there is more to the Sierra Program than dangerous operations and battle scars.
Warnings/Genres/Troupes: angst, drink spiking, canon-type violence, flirting, murder, flashbacks.
W/C: 8.5k
Characters: Sierra Six, OFC, Claire Fitzroy, Lloyd Hansen, Donald Fitzroy.
Pairing: none. Platonic friendships.
A/N: first time writing for this fandom, please be kind. I know this is long but I didn't feel there was no good place to split it. I had to post before I lost the courage and decided I hated the whole thing.
Beta(s): @deanwinchesterswitch
Graphics: made by me on Canva// @slytherkins created the OFC image.
Master Lists: Main // Other Fandoms
2021
The multiple yellow warning triangles that line the road should be redundant after the big, bold, capitalized lettering warning of RADIATION RISK. PRIVATE PROPERTY. DO NOT ENTER. TRESPASSERS WILL BE SHOT THEN PROSECUTED (if you survive). Yet Six continues to drive. He hopes the warnings are an attempt to keep people out because he has little in the way of choices. It’s either risk radiation poisoning or…well, he doesn’t know what other option they have at the moment.
The alarm sounds, pulling Carmen’s attention from her task of scrubbing the internet of any trace of the man who just trespassed on her land. The screen switches from the split view to track the vehicle as it crosses the property line. Shit.
Six wonders if Claire got the coordinates wrong. He’s been driving on an uneven dirt road for well over a mile, surrounded by nothing but trees to the right and chest-high grass to the left. He can’t blame the kid, Donald made her memorize coordinates and a random password during a stressful situation. He’d understand if she got confused or misheard him. But Six is not about to wake her to check the intel for the hundredth time.
The car isn’t speeding, so it’s not an emergency, but its occupant still shouldn’t be here. She rushes up the basement stairs, unclipping the safety button on the sheath holding the knife on her hip. The stairs lead directly into the sitting room, and she grabs the gun from under the couch, checking the magazine as she walks toward the front door. Before stepping outside, she plucks the baseball cap off the hook in the entryway. The car is on the horizon, a quarter mile out, and she tucks the gun into the back waistband of her jeans, making sure her oversized shirt covers it.
The sun is quickly descending, and Six doesn’t want to drive this uneven path in the dark. The dirt road finally gives way to gravel, and Six sees the house. A figure steps out onto the porch, watching his arrival. He didn’t see any cameras, but there must be surveillance because how else would they know he was coming?
Gravel crunches beneath the tire, kicking up a cloud of white dust as the car pulls to a stop a little too close to the porch steps.
The engine cuts off, and Carmen cautiously waits for the occupier to step out, wondering how he knows about this place. Fitz would have called if there was trouble because no one else knew of her existence here.
Six looks at the woman through the window. Her long brunette hair fans out from under a navy blue baseball cap, concealing most of the right side of her face. Suspicious in itself but not cause for concern. Yet.
The tall blond man, who she knows only as Six, steps out of the car and eyes her suspiciously before uttering, “Password: Portal to another world.”
Fuck. Her throat tightens, and her chest constricts, feeling heavy with pain. The spoken words mean one thing. But still, she asks, “Fitz is dead?”
She sucks in a deep breath and waits for his reply. That she had a relationship with Donald is apparent from her reaction. He hates being the bearer of bad news, but he has to deliver it and nods once.
She knew this day was coming. It was only a matter of time. Fitz got too close to the kid - well, man now - and it wasn’t ever going to end well. She’d told Fitz as much on one of their many - almost daily - phone calls, and he always told her to stop worrying so much. Maybe she was too close to Fitz, too, because she constantly worried about the man.
A fat lot of good that did. He’s dead. And his protege/son/weapon is staring at her. She lets him stare. Everyone does. It’s human nature. She pushes back her shoulders, slipping off her baseball cap, and shakes her hair off her face as best she can without lifting her hands to aid the process. He’ll see that as a threat.
Six keeps his eyes on hers for a second, beautiful amber eyes that wouldn’t look out of place on a Hollywood star. His eyes fall to her nose and trace the deep scar, made by a sharp blade, running from the bridge of her nose, curling around her right cheek and up into her bottom lip.
He traces it twice before meeting her eyes again, and she returns the cap to her head. “Got somewhere for the kid?”
“Claire?” she asks, dipping to look into the car's window.
He nods again.
“Through the living room, upstairs, second door on the left.”
Carmen watches him gently rouse the girl, enough to get her to release the seat belt and allow him to scoop her up. Six winces as he stands, but he doesn’t let whatever pain it is stop him from carrying her into the house.
The walk to the stairs is painful. He’s probably popped some stitches by carrying her, but he doesn’t care. He grunts and groans as he climbs each step and pauses to catch his breath at the top. Thankfully, the corridor is short, and the door to the room is slightly ajar, allowing him to kick it open and shuffle in sideways.
“Six,” Claire groggily says as he places her on the bed. “Where’re we?”
He wants to let her rest some more, so he tells a white lie, “We’re safe,” because he’ll be damned if anything happens to her. He waits for her to settle again, rolling onto her side. To back up his statement, he does a bit of recon.
Carmen hears Six moving around while she waits for the coffee to brew. She can’t blame him for checking out the place. He’s never been here, doesn’t know her, and now Donald is gone. There’s one less person on the planet that he trusts. He’ll fall back on his extensive training and try to use whatever he can to his advantage.
Six doesn’t care about manners today. He doesn’t know this scarred woman even though she apparently knows Donald, so he searches the house and is not quiet about it either. There are weapons stashed in obvious places, and the hum of computers draws him down the open door at the bottom of the stairs. Eight steps lead to a concrete floor. Cautiously he walks down, and if he weren’t so damn tired, he’d probably have let out an appreciative whistle.
The place looks like a NASA command center, with four monitors, multiple tower systems, a large-screen TV, and Six’s photo on the middle screen. A program is running at speed, a jumble of white numbers and letters scrolling over a black box, and occasionally, images of the mess in Berlin pop up and then disappear. Why is she looking for him?
Carmen knows Six will find all of her weapon’s stashes. They aren’t that hard to find, and if he’s bold enough - which he is - he’ll walk down the stairs disguised as a linen closet that leads to the basement and see her computer system. He’ll make his own assumptions as to who she is.
Apparently, having decided to switch tactics, he sneaks up on her. She hears him just before he reaches for the gun in her waistband. As he pulls it free, she turns to face him. Using his lower body to pin her between him and the edge of the counter, he wraps a hand around her throat, cutting off her air. She hadn’t expected his assumption that she’s an enemy to hurt as much as it does, but he’s had a shitty few days, so she forgives his behavior. Although, she’s not going to go down without defending herself.
Raising the gun to her temple, his deceptively calm voice demands, “Who are you? Why is my face streaming on your monitors?”
Carmen doesn’t fight back, though she could if she wanted to. She’s as skilled as he is. One arm is trapped between their bodies, and the other rests on the marble countertop near the coffee pot. While he obviously doesn’t feel it, the small knife she pulled from the sheath as she turned is resting on the inside of his thigh.
When she doesn’t attempt to answer, he forces the heel of his palm into her larynx, compelling her to bend further backward to keep from passing out. She could grab the carafe and drench his face in scalding hot coffee, but it would only escalate the situation. Instead, her solution is to tap the hand wrapped around her throat three times, conceding.
He loosens his grip but doesn’t move. She gasps, sucking in much-needed air, and he allows her three deep breaths before he asks again.
“I just told that girl she’s safe. Are you gonna make me a liar?! Who are you?”
“I’m Sierra.” the pressure on her neck lightens further but doesn’t disappear. “Donald gave me strict instructions: if he doesn’t check in every two days, I’m to scrub the internet of any mention of you or anyone matching your description.” she pauses, giving him a second to process, but he’s still as a stone. “The agency has done their part, the news outlets have stopped running the story, but your little escapade in Berlin is still doing the rounds on the internet.”
Six remains in place, gun grinding into her temple, strained muscles fighting against the burn of fatigue, as he debates what to believe. It’s plausible but still doesn't answer his question.
“Do you work for the agency?”
“No. I work for Fitz. Off the books. Or at least I did.”
The coffee finishes brewing, and their labored breathing is the only sound for a tense moment. “Six,” she says, as softly as she can with his hand so close to being able to crush her windpipe.
He does not react, so she taps the blade resting on the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to his femoral artery, to make him aware of its presence.
“Let me go,” she demands.
He’s not ready to trust her or at least be calm enough for a rational conversation, so he keeps her pressed against the countertop.
As best she can, in her most professional voice, she utters the sentence she hopes will make him recognize her. “Oscar One to Sierra Six. Safe to talk.”
“Star,” he murmurs, letting his hand fall away and taking a half step back after putting the gun on the countertop beside her.
Cautiously eyeing him, she rubs her neck, greedily inhaling the oxygen he deprived her of. “Star?”
He’s not willing to explain and instead apologizes. “Sorry. I always imagined you as a short, rotund woman with glasses on the tip of her nose like a librarian.”
That’s a lie. He had never seen a picture of her, so all he had was imagination, and though librarians often came up, she was never short and rotund in his vision.
Carmen chuckles, rolling her eyes, “Yet you still flirted with me.”
He did flirt, and not because it gained him perks; fancier hotels, restaurant recommendations, a rush on an evac team when needed, but because it was nice to have someone to talk to who knew the job and, in a way, knew him. He shrugs with the smallest of smirks, denying nothing.
“Disappointed?” She asks, gesturing up and down her body.
His eyes travel the length of her body and back up to her eyes. “No. I’ve always had a thing for librarians.”
She laughs out loud, shying away from his gaze and turning back to pour the coffee. She’s not so sure he’d have flirted had he known what she looked like. “Are you hungry? I can make you a sandwich.”
“Starving,” he says. The danger has passed, and now Six understands why Donald sent them here. Oscar One is a friend. Donald trusted her, and Six does, too.
The enormity of the realization hits him hard, and suddenly, his whole body aches. “Got somewhere I can freshen up?”
“Yeah, bathroom upstairs. Everything you need is in the closet in the bedroom, third door on the left.”
He leans around her, picks up the fresh mug of coffee, and smiles, but she doesn’t see it. Stirring sugar into her coffee, she uses it as a pretense to keep her face averted, but he senses it’s because he’s on the side with her scar. “Thank you.”
2019
The park had been relatively empty, but it’s growing in popularity as the proverbial lunch bell sounds at the bordering businesses. The benches surrounding the central attraction, a lake containing a large floating fountain, quickly become occupied with people reading newspapers, eating lunch, meeting friends, and scrolling their phones. Ducks, swans, a few geese, and greedy seagulls all vie for the spoils of the humans offering bread and seeds.
Six leisurely jogs laps around the lake. He’s not working on his cardio, which is good because he keeps having to slow down and dodge around people, but he is working.
The women, with babies in strollers, track his movement, whispering to one another and giggling whenever he passes and nods a polite greeting. They think he can’t hear their lewd comments and salacious musings, but the AirPods aren’t piping music. They’re providing a connection to his operation specialist.
At a safe distance from prying ears, he pulls his phone from his pocket. Pretending to press the screen as if making a call, he says, “Sierra Six to Oscar One, safe to talk.”
The voice comes back almost immediately. “Oscar One to Sierra Six confirmed, safe to talk.”
Translation: secure line. No one else, including top brass, is listening.
He heads toward a tree, making the most of the shade to unnecessarily stretch because he’s barely broken a sweat. He looks up at the blue sky, with no clouds in sight, and knows Oscar One can see him via satellite and the cameras located around the park. Though he has no idea as to her location, she is his eyes and ears. Essentially, she holds his life in her hands. If he needs a quick escape, he relies on her to provide the safest route.
“What’re you doing after this?”
She sighs dreamily, “There’s a bottle of red cooling in the fridge and a pizza with my name on it somewhere.”
“Want some company?”
“I’d love some,” she says wistfully, then chuckles it away, “but it might take you a while to get here.”
He sighs at the thought. Wine and pizza sound like a fun night to him, and it’d be nice to put a face to the name Oscar One. He knows that’s not her name, just like Six isn’t his name, though he much prefers Six to the name his father gave him.
He starts up a light jog again, going in the opposite direction around the lake, just to change things up a bit. “Where is here?”
“If I could tell you, I would.”
She means it, too. It would be nice to have company. She’s been alone for so long she’s acclimatized to the solace, but she was supposed to be a field agent and craves to be where the action is. But she lives vicariously through Six and makes the most of being able to take control of cameras around the globe to see what’s going on in the world.
Six believes her. They’ve established a good relationship over the sixteen years she’s been his Northern Star, as he likes to think of her. She’s helped him out of multiple sticky situations - she’s smart, calm in a crisis, and possesses great communication and observational skills - she’d be excellent in the field. Still, he’s glad she isn’t because he relies on her to be a guiding light to safety when he needs it.
Fitz speaks highly of her, sometimes too much, and Six believes him to be the reason they are paired together more often than not. It’s rare that he gets an assignment where she is not his partner, and he questions it whenever she isn’t. However, he still finds it inequitable that he has no idea what she looks like, yet she can probably see the mole below his left temple.
“It is unfair, you know.” he swerves around a businessman shouting into his phone. “That you know what I look like and where I am at any given moment.”
“It’s part of the job,” she reminds him, not for the first time. “I promise, one day, we’ll meet and share a pizza.”
“I’m holding you to that.”
Six continues his jog and listens to One tapping keys and humming along to the radio. He contemplates asking her real name, but a part of him likes the mystery of it. The story and images of her he creates in his mind are far more fanciable than the truth. Their stories are morbidly similar.
The lunch crowd dissipates, and Six completes twelve more laps before One pipes up again.
“Target identified,” One says at the same time Six spots him. “Southwest entrance, heading your way.”
With a light tone, “Bad guy identified,” Six confirms, returning to the tree to do some stretches, a little necessary this time.
The target doesn’t look like a typical bad guy. He’s clean-shaven with slicked-back hair and wearing an immaculately tailored suit and expensive shoes. He looks like a banker. Arguably, he’s probably as much of a crook as any easily identified ‘bad guy’.
“Is he a bad guy?” One wonders ruefully. “He’s just a whistleblower.”
Six isn’t one to get mixed up in feelings or emotions. He’s here to do a job. The assignment is basic: collect a document dropped ‘anonymously’ and then follow the mark.
One is accustomed to Six’s indifference when the conversation gets deeper or potentially contentious, so she provides her own answer. “It helps me to think of them as bad guys that deserve whatever the agency is going to do to them rather than potential good guys that are in the way of someone's agenda.”
Six understands the logic, but he’s never had much of a problem with it because whatever he’s tasked with is better than the alternative.
“He’s made the drop,” One informs him. “On the bench a hundred yards…”
A loud pop echoes around the park, and the smartly dressed man is no longer so well put together. A red dot blooms on his chest, and he falls to his knees. Someone screams, and Six takes a step to go after the file to complete the mission.
“HOLD!” One yells in his ear. It’s as frantic as he’s ever heard her, and he freezes. “I can’t see the shooter. I don’t have eyes.”
The first echo dies down, but another quickly follows. The already downed whistleblower takes a kill shot to his head. People begin to scatter in every direction except Six. He waits under the tree, hopefully out of sight of the killer, deciding on his next move.
“Six,” One impassively states. “I need you to be a civilian. Run.”
“The file.”
“Forget the file,” she grits. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.”
“I need you to run, please,” she begs. “If you ever want to meet me for that pizza and wine, I need you to run.”
His Northern Star has never steered him wrong, so he doesn’t protest. He turns away from the bloody murder and runs in the opposite direction, following the crowd of scared civilians.
One is strictly professional, but the relief is in her tone. “I’m hacking the target’s phone. He took photos. I have the files.”
“Thanks for the save.”
“Always.”
2021
Carmen sits on the porch, wrapped in a blanket, listening to the running water upstairs. It’s odd to have a guest, let alone two, but she’s thankful for the company. She figures that now that Donald is gone, like Six and Claire, she doesn’t really have anybody left. Tears prick the corner of her eyes, but she dilutes them with a sip of scotch. It’s horrible stuff, something Fitz left behind, but she’s drinking it in his honor.
As Oscar One said he would, Six finds all he needs in the bedroom next door to where he set Claire down, including clothes and bandages. It’s been a long, stressful couple of days, and it’s not until he steps into the shower that he realizes he hasn’t asked her real name. Once he’s ready, in clean sweatpants that fit and a fresh white tee thrown over his shoulder that’s also his size, he seeks to remedy that situation.
The half-nakedness isn’t to show off his physique or to reassure Oscar One that they both have scars. It’s to let his freshly dressed wounds air dry. Luckily, he didn’t pull any stitches while carrying Claire.
The smell of bacon hits Six as he steps into the kitchen, mouth watering at the sight of the film-wrapped sandwich on the countertop. The whole thing is about two inches deep. Fluffy white bread holds chunks of white chicken mixed with salty bacon, sliced tomato, and the greenest lettuce he’s ever seen. Once he unwraps it and lifts a corner of the bread, he finds a healthy serving of mayonnaise.
Living alone is something Carmen is used to. Sometimes, she thinks the solitude surrounding her has helped fine-tune her hearing because she hears Six remove the film wrap from the sandwich and sniff it. “There’s chips in the pantry,” she calls from the porch.
The sandwich looks plentiful, so he takes it out to the porch sans chips. Crickets chirp, a distant bird sings as the night draws in, and Six walks to the edge of the porch, taking time to appreciate the spectacular view — trees and green as far as the eye can see. The world could end, and they’d never know.
“Find everything you need?” she asks.
“Yeah, thanks. How’d you know my size?”
“Donald Fitzroy,” she says, fondness and grief coating his name as she raises a glass of mahogany liquid to the fading sun. “He’d visit every couple of months, always had a suitcase of crap with him.”
Six walks across the porch, hoisting himself and his sandwich, to sit on the wide brick wall. “He knew I’d come here,” he concludes, looking out at the forest and the dirt road he drove up.
“He had a plan for everything.” She explains, “That was part of my deal, to stay on this side of the bars.”
Six turns to look at her again. Although she said she was Sierra, it hadn't occurred to him that Fitzroy could have found her the same way he found Six, on the wrong side of the law, rotting in a jail cell.
She continues, “I had to take you in if you ever needed it,” motioning with her half-empty glass to indicate all of his wounds and bruises, “and it definitely looks like you need it.”
She’s right. He had no plan other than rescuing Claire. After that, he had no idea what he was going to do. They drove as far as a full tank of gas took them, and when Claire fearfully asked him what they were going to do next, he had no answer. Claire was the one to offer the solution, and honestly, they had nothing to lose.
“I’m guessing you know my story,” Six states rather than asks, and she gives a slight nod. “How did Fitz recruit you?” He takes a huge bite of the sandwich and hums appreciatively around a half smile.
2000
Carmen shuffles inside the interrogation room, cuffs on her ankles and wrists. She understands the precaution, but it's ridiculous. Despite her crime, which she has never denied, she has no ill intentions against anyone.
Donald sits at the desk, laptop open, an official brown document folder beside it. He nods to the guard, who then backs out, closing the door behind him once she’s taken her seat.
“Hi,” he says with a gentle smile. “I’m Donald Fitzroy. I’m going to cut right to the chase.” He turns the laptop around, pulls a slip of paper out of the document wallet, and slides them both over to her. He watches her eyes flick over the instructions on the page and expects the cocked brow she gives him. “I need you to get me access to that.”
She doesn’t ask why. It’s not the first time an unidentified or lettered government agency has asked her to do such a thing, and she doubts it’ll be the last. She taps a few keys and bypasses the government’s supposed firewall - they really should find someone better equipped to build the thing - in forty-five seconds. If her hands weren’t cuffed, she’d pat herself on the back. It’s nice to know she hasn’t lost her touch during her incarceration. “What kind of access do you need?”
“View only is fine.”
Donald waits for her to ask what’s in it for her or why he wants it done. But she taps away at the keys. His eyes flick to the clock, and he waits a full five minutes before interrupting her concentration.
“It’s a tough one, huh?”
She shrugs, “Not really. I got in three minutes ago. I’ve been playing solitaire.” She turns the computer back to him with a playful smirk.
The screen shows him exactly what he expected it to show him, but regardless, he smiles. He knows he has the right person for the job and loves being right. He opens the document folder again. “Carmody, initial H, born nineteen eighty. Got your first taste of the correctional system in nineteen ninety-four, juvenile prison for cybercrimes, before we really understood what cybercrime was and hit the big leagues in nineteen ninety-eight, life without the possibility of parole for first-degree murder.”
She rolls her hands as best she can and bows her head as if thanking the audience. “At your service.”
“You're wasted here.”
“I do my part,” she argues, “I teach women who wouldn’t otherwise have a chance how to use a computer and software to give them better options when they get out. But seeing as you addressed me by my surname leads me to believe you know I take great offense to being called by my given name, which means you know more than you’d like me to know that you know, and all this,” the chains rattle as she motions toward the computer, “was a test.”
“Like I said, wasted.” Donald smiles. “You're two years in and never appealed the decision.”
She looks decidedly bored. After all, he’s only telling her things she already knows. She was there, she lived it, and she suspects he knows she didn’t appeal because it would have been a waste of everyone’s time and money.
Though, there is one thing he doesn’t know, so he asks, “Still think it was worth it?”
“Every goddamn day. I go to bed with a smile on my face and sleep like a baby.”
“Fair enough,” Donald nods, “I’d be the same. He deserved everything he got.”
“Actually, he deserved a slow, agonizingly painful death, but y’know,” she shrugs, “I was pressed for time.”
She’s deathly serious - excuse the pun - and Donald sees why the judge threw the proverbial book at her. She has no remorse, and in his opinion, rightfully so, but life imprisonment is a waste of her talent, talents of which he thinks can be adapted and grown.
“What would you say if I told you I could get you out of here and you wouldn’t be pressed for time should you encounter a similar monster?”
“I’d say tell me what I have to do.”
2021
It feels like a lifetime ago, the day Donald changed her life, and while Carmen talks about it, she gets lost in the memory. It’s bittersweet. She owes a lot to Donald Fitzroy and will do all she can to pay it back.
“I was in the field for just over a year before this,” she points at her face. Her pause is born of grief, a reminder of the life before she was mutilated.
There is and will forever be a before and after, like how people treated her or how she felt about herself. Society treats beautiful people differently. It isn’t, nor has it ever been right, but it was the way of the world, and as Sierra, she used it to her advantage. She’d never been exceptionally vain, but still, some days, she found it hard to look at herself. Even now, she has days when she’s bitterly angry about it.
Six recognizes her beauty, scars and all. She doesn’t strike him as a vain person, but he can understand how it must have affected her life. Sometimes, he’d get a glimpse of himself, passing a window or the stupid front-facing camera on his phone, and it’d take his breath away because he’d see his father.
Mirthlessly, she smiles, and a hint of bitterness seeps into her tone. “Can’t be inconspicuous with such a recognizable face, and I, for sure, thought they’d dump me back inside.”
“But Fitz kept you on.”
“I don’t know what story he fed the agency, but for all intents and purposes, I was gone, wiped off the grid. He set me up here, checked in almost every day, visited once every couple of months, and now I think I understand why.”
Six nods, agreeing with her line of thought. “He was building his retirement plan.”
“Not his,” Carmen corrects.
The scenery is no longer interesting and Six pulls his attention away from it to look at her because now he doesn’t understand her thought process.
“He was ensuring your retirement,” she says softly as if that will make the realization sting less. “There’s nothing in those wardrobes,” she points back inside the house, "that would fit Donald. They are all in your and Claire’s sizes. He’s been doing it for years, bringing new stuff and taking stuff that would be too small for her as she grew. Donald was never going to retire here, Six, or he never thought he’d get the chance, but he planned for you to be here.”
Sierras aren’t known for riding off into the sunset or surviving to the point of retirement age, but her assumptions and the evidence to back up her claims seem correct.
Six scoffs, the idea almost laughable. He doesn’t quite believe it was a plan, more of a fail-safe, to keep Claire protected should Donald ever meet his maker. Then again, why would Fitz bring clothes for Six if he didn’t expect Six to be Claire’s savior or perhaps guardian?
Contemplative silence lingers for a while, and the birds fall silent as the sun disappears and the nocturnal creatures begin to wake.
As with most Sierra operations, there’s never a paper trail. Most of it gets swept under the rug, so Carmen isn’t aware of the circumstances surrounding Donald’s death. Perhaps she’s better off not knowing. Ignorance is bliss, so they say. Six won’t offer the information without prompting, but in the twilight, she decides she’s not ready to hear it.
Eventually, the questions and quest for knowledge interrupt the thoughtful reminiscing, and Six has to ask, “How do you survive out here?”
“There’s a Walmart a couple of hours from here and a small town with a Farmer’s Market not too far from that. I do a monthly run, two if I can stretch it.”
“And no one knows you're here?” he questions skeptically.
“As far as I know, only Fitz,” she says, sipping her drink to douse the grief in her tone. “The only people who know I’m here now are you and Claire. There’s no family or friends.” She’s not bitter about the fact. Carmen smirks, “So if you want to off me and seize the place, it’s yours for the taking.”
“Maybe when I’m feeling better,” Six deadpans.
All joking aside, she looks somber. He's hiding it well, but there’s a slight wince to every movement, a noticeable slower pace for a man his size. “Last couple of days are starting to take their toll, huh?”
It’s a segue to, hopefully, get him to tell her what happened, but he’s not easily swayed.
He grumbles as he slowly pulls himself to the edge of the wall and takes his time to stand up. He stretches his arms high above his head, and Carmen watches until she realizes it could be misconstrued as checking him out and averts her eyes.
“Last couple of days or years,” he says, mid-stretch adding, “and Lloyd fucking Hansen.” as he drops his arms again.
Carmen's reaction is immediate. She shoots to the edge of her seat, distaste and hatred sneering at her lips. “Wait, Hansen was involved?”
The reaction isn’t surprising. Lloyd usually has that effect on people, but Six recognizes that it’s something deeper than having a run-in with the guy. “Yes,” Six tells her.
“Of course he was,” she snaps, lips tight with agitation. “I should have known, this shitshow has his fingerprints all over it!”
Her chest heaves with simmering anger while she fits the pieces together in her head. The CIA keeps Sierra-involved missions close to their chest, strictly off-book, so she hadn’t been able to garner sufficient information to understand precisely what happened.
“Was it…. Was he….” she can’t find the words because she already knows the answer. She’d always thought it inevitable that Lloyd would be involved in her grief again someday. “Donald,” she starts again, clearing her throat of emotion, “it was Hansen, wasn’t it?”
Six nods and chews his bottom lip before elaborating, “Fitz got shot in the escape. He wasn’t going to make it. He knew he was slowing us down. He cornered Hansen and some of his guys, then pulled a pin off a grenade.”
The anger yields to a mild hopefulness. “So Hansen is dead?”
Six nods, “The trash ‘stache is no more.”
Carmen smiles, satisfied. “That was too quick a death, but I’m glad it was Donald.”
“That’s not how he died,” Six explains.
The anger returns in the form of her hand gripping the chair's arm tightly, knuckles turning white. “What happened?”
Six recounts events from the takedown of Four to his rescue of Claire and Donald from the house in Croatia, taking them through a quarter bottle of scotch and three beers each. Carmen asks questions, and he answers them as best he can. She fills in some blanks on the Carmichael side, and it all helps to get Six’s thoughts in order and clarify a few murky details.
“Clarie blew off a few of Lloyd’s fingers. He burnt her face with a flare gun, and of course, if you know Lloyd and from your reaction, I assume you're acquainted, he tried to prove he was better than me. I beat him pretty good, but then Suzanne Brewer put one in his chest.”
“Fuck,” Carmen gripes, “he should have fucking suffered.”
“So you’ve definitely met the guy,” Six notes flatly.
She meets his gaze with a heavy sigh. “I had the displeasure a few times.”
Six isn’t one to pry, but he’s shared details about himself, okay, more so about the mission he was involved in, but he put everything on the line to save Claire and Donald, though he failed the latter. He knows that tells Carmen a lot about him, more than he’d willingly share with most people.
He isn’t staring at her scar. He’s mesmerized by her eyes, momentarily lost in trying to figure out if they are amber in color or if the orange-tinged sky reflects in them. She gives him little time to decide, shying away, but he uses a gentle finger beneath her chin to bring her gaze back to his. “Is Hansen the one who did that?”
She doesn’t need to answer. The wriggling out of his grip and avoiding eye contact to look at her fidgeting hands in her lap is enough confirmation, but she takes a deep breath and gives him a half smile. “If you wanna hear about it, we’re gonna need more booze.”
2003
Being a cog in the Sierra machine has its perks. Not being stuck in an eight-by-eight cell is an obvious one, but seeing different corners of the world, having fun pretending to be someone else, fine dining, and luxury hotels were top of the list. There were drawbacks, too. Having to be incognito and traveling to distant places usually meant cargo planes, which weren’t exactly first-class service, but Carmen never complained. Donald had given her a second chance, and she’d never take it for granted.
Except when she had to team up with Lloyd Hansen.
“Fitz, c’mon! Why am I here?” she whines into the phone. The fact that she’s lying in the middle of a queen-size bed staring up at a half-million dollar chandelier in the penthouse suite of a hotel in Dubai isn’t lost on her. She’s grateful for the opportunity but sick of being Lloyd’s maid.
“He asked for you.”
“He asked for me? That means he’s already screwed it up, and I’m here to clean up his mess. Again! Isn’t it about time you locked him up and threw away the key?” she asks, already knowing the answer. He’s a sociopath, psychotic at times, but nine times out of ten, he’s effective - until he isn’t. “This is the third time I’m cleaning up his mess, and the last time he almost blew my cover acting like a petulant child ‘cause he didn’t get his own way.”
“He’s a petulant child because he likes you,” Fitzroy tells her, not for the first time.
The idea of having Lloyd’s affection makes her skin crawl. He’s all mustache and sharp edges. “That’s not a compliment,” she says.
Fitzroy sighs, and she imagines him running a hand down his face. “Don’t worry, this will be the last time, I swear. I have his replacement ready to go,” he explains in a hushed whisper, not wanting to be overheard from his office.
Curiosity peeks, and though she knows he won’t give her concrete details, she asks, “Sierra?” Lloyd isn’t technically part of the Sierra program. He was kicked out pretty early during the process, but he has friends high on the food chain.
“Uh-huh,” he confirms. “Six. He’s excelling in the program. Almost better than you.” The teasing smile filters into his tone. “I just need to get him on a few smaller missions before I set him loose. And he has a full beard, like a real man.”
Carmen chuckles. She forgets how much Donald pays attention. She’s complained about the mustache before, so he knows that's ten percent of her issue with Hansen. “Fine, he better be cute,” she concedes. “And if Hansen happens to be collateral damage during this mission, there’s to be no questions asked.”
Fitz heartily laughs, “Deal.”
The mission is a success, despite Lloyd’s involvement, and unfortunately, for Carmen at least, he survives without a scratch.
“Come on, one drink,” Lloyd insists. “We’ve got the night to ourselves. Fitzroy put you up in this beautiful hotel…”
Yes, Fitzroy did put her in a different hotel from him, on purpose, to avoid this very situation.
“...What’re you gonna do instead,” he snarks, “go crochet a sweater for Donald?” His declared, “Boring!” echoes around the marble reception area, and she silently apologizes to the few guests who turn to look.
The implication of a close relationship with her handler is nothing new, so she doesn’t bother responding. But Lloyd isn’t a man who gives up easily.
“One drink,” he repeats, walking beside her toward the elevators.
The last thing she wants is to spend any time with him and his molester-esque mustache on a professional or a social level, but Lloyd is a persistent fuck, and she has no doubt he’d likely follow her to her room and push his way inside. At least if she sits at the bar with him, she’ll have somewhere to escape.
“Fine,” she sighs, rolling her eyes, “I’m going to the bathroom. Get me a Cosmo.”
“What room number? I’ll put it on the tab.”
She rolls her eyes. He asks her to go for a drink, but apparently, the agency is paying for it. Such a gentleman. “Penthouse.”
His positively disgruntled scowl makes her day, and she kind of wishes she’d invited him up to see it. She manages to hide her laugh until she’s in the bathroom.
The Cosmo is one of the best she’s ever had, and if she doesn’t look directly at him, he’s not that bad of a conversationalist. Unless that’s the booze talking. She’s only had two, yet her head is swimming. Something’s not right. Was there something in the drink? Is their cover blown?
Lloyd seems fine, but she’s having trouble focusing, so it’s hard to tell. He’s droning on about some ‘dipshit’ he had to deal with on his last mission, so she eyes the bartender. He doesn’t appear interested in them. There are no surreptitious glances their way or feigned ignorance of their conversation. He probably can’t even hear them as he’s at the other end of the bar, slicing lemons and restocking his condiment tray.
“I don’t feel too good.” she twists the stool to face away from the bar, needing to see who’s around.
Two other couples are in the bar, but they are too far away for drink spiking to be an effective plan. She looks back to Lloyd, and his twisted smile makes her realize the error she made in trusting him.
The floor seems to be getting awfully close. “Woooo, there,” Lloyd says, wrapping an arm around her to keep her from face-planting on the tile. Her head lulls against his shoulder, tilted far enough to see the bartender is now across from them.
“Sir, is everything okay?” The bartender asks, but it sounds so far away. She tries to form words to ask for help, but her tongue feels heavy and thick. “Please-"
Lloyd preempts any further response from her. “Everything’s fine. We’re celebrating our engagement. A little too much excitement and too much alcohol… Put the drinks on the penthouse tab, please.”
She’d never heard him be so polite or sound so…human. That’s the last thought she has before her world goes black.
Carmen’s eyes flutter open, adjusting to the dusky light of the room. They focus on the ridiculously priced chandelier above her. She wonders how the hotel installed it. It’s big and looks heavy. It must be a bitch to clean!
Her thought process is murky, and she tries to lift her arm to push the hair off her face. It’s tickling her cheek, but her limb doesn’t move. She tries to sit up, but none of her limbs respond. Her chest rises and falls, but she only knows that from the panic-filled breaths she hears exiting her lips.
“Finally,” Lloyd huffs from somewhere in the room. “I thought you were never going to wake up.”
She turns her head, and to her surprise, it moves. Lloyd sits on a plush chair beside the bed, looking bored and agitated at having to wait for her to come around.
“There she is,” he sighs, almost wistfully, and if it weren’t for the flick knife he’s expertly twirling in his hand, she might have thought he was genuinely concerned.
“Lloyd,” she mumbles, “what’s going on?”
He continues to expertly twirl the knife, ignoring her question. “You know I really did like you. You’re smart, formidable, and a pleasure to work with when you aren’t being a complete bitch.” Venom laces the word, but he keeps his face void of emotion. “You are beautiful. It’s almost sickening that they locked up such beauty. Maybe that’s why Fitzroy recruited you. Too wasteful to spend your youthful years in a cell and not seducing people for your country's benefit.”
“Geez, you like the sound of your own voice.” It’s too slurred to portray her boredom as effectively as she’d like.
“Because I’m the only one that makes sense,” he shrugs, smiling smugly, underlining the arrogance of his belief in that statement.
Carmen rolls her eyes, along with her head, to look away from him. She’s bored of this already. The disrespect angers him, and he reaches over, grabs her chin, and violently jerks her head to face him again. “Those eyes,” he grits his teeth, “those damn fuckin’ eyes that do nothing but look at me with repulsion.” Elation and admiration cement his tone, “WOW, mesmerizing!”
She could get whiplash from listening to him. “Just do whatever you're going to do,” she growls, wincing when he pinches harder, putting almost unbearable pressure on her jaw and teeth. “Save me the monologuing.”
“Fine,” he leers, sinister and taunting. “Carmichael showed me the report from the last mission. What was I? Unhinged, chaotic, reckless, and dangerous.”
Through gritted teeth, she snarls, “There’s only so many professional ways to say bat shit crazy.” She manages to wriggle her face free and turns away, looking back up at the ceiling.
Before her mind wanders back to the chandelier because it's way more interesting than Lloyd, the bed bounces, and he's on top of her, straddling her hips. If she weren’t numb from the neck down, she’d feel where his knees crush her hands against the bed. “We could have been a team.”
She scoffs, using the fear as fake bravado, “I’d rather go back to prison.” Tears spill, and she feels them drip down her ears. Instinctively, she tries to lift her arm to wipe them away but it’s as unresponsive as the first time she tried.
“Oh, that’s where they’ll send you,” Lloyd smiles, genuinely happy, “because you’ll be no good to the agency anymore.”
“Whatever you do to me will be the end for you.”
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he admits, “I’m so sick of Fitzroy and all his bullshit. But what you fail to realize is that Fitzroy won’t be in charge forever!” Gently running the cold blade down around her cheek, almost like a lover’s caress. He continues, “Don’t worry. I’m gonna spare your eyes. I want you to see how everyone reacts to your new face.”
“You're proving I was right, Lloyd!” Carmen snarls and works up a wad of saliva to spit it in his face.
The consequence of the action is immediate, and Lloyd doesn’t bother wiping it away. He presses the blade to the bridge of her nose, “every time you look in the mirror, you’ll remember me.”
2021
Carmen wipes away a tear, and Six is polite enough to look away to give her a little privacy to reign in her emotions.
It’s funny that she didn’t cry or scream when it happened. She wouldn’t give Lloyd the satisfaction, but now, whenever she recounts the event, she can’t stop the tears from falling. She’s never really processed it, at least not in a healthy way, and having to relive it every time she looks in the mirror, as Lloyd promised, she feels it all over again.
“Sorry,” she apologizes to Six, who’s clearly uncomfortable at the show of emotion.
There’s nothing to be sorry for, so Six doesn’t acknowledge the apology, and Carmen doesn’t really know why she offered it.
As the conversation and drinks flow, so does the night. It doesn’t feel like they have been talking all that long, but when Six checks his watch, he realizes it’s been a long while. “Sun will be up soon.”
“You should get some rest,” she says. “Can’t imagine you’ve slept much lately.”
That is the understatement of the century. Except for his drug-addled sleep in Miranda’s trunk, he doesn’t remember his last full night's sleep. He stands and stretches his arms over his head, feeling his muscles and bones pop.
Six thinks of wishing her a good night but realizes he didn’t remedy the situation as he had set out to do earlier. He’d been distracted by the delicious sandwich. “This is awkward. We’ve been talking for a few hours, but what’s your name?”
She looks up at him, the porch light highlighting her amusement. “It’s not Oscar One.” She chuckles, “It’s Carmody. But Carmen is fine.”
“Carmody,” he repeats, “sounds more like a surname.”
“It is. My first name is Haven.”
He stares for twenty seconds, waiting for her to laugh or deliver a punchline, but she stares back. It isn’t a joke.
“I wish I were making it up,” she says finally. “It’s stupid and ironic, and I hate it because of who gave it to me. So I’d appreciate it if you don’t use it.”
He nods solemnly. He understands more than she realizes. He hates his name simply because of the man who gave it to him. He much prefers Six and the man who gave it to him.
To be a good guest, he collects their empty beer bottles and takes them inside. Following Carmen’s instructions on where to put them, Six deposits them in a bin labeled ‘Glass’. She does her part to help the environment, so her monthly supply run includes disposing of any recyclable materials.
Six notices the wine glass turned upside down on the drainer, and he remembers a conversation from long ago.
“Carmen,” he calls softly through the house, knowing the breeze will take it to her through the open doors and windows.
A few short seconds later, she steps through the backdoor, a crease of concern in her brow that he may need something. “Yeah.”
“What’re you doing after this?” he asks, unable to keep from smiling.
It takes her a half second to remember. She shrugs, matching his joyful smile. “There’s a bottle of red cooling in the fridge and a pizza with my name on it somewhere.”
“Want some company?”
“I’d love some.” She shies away for a millisecond before her smile turns to a devilish grin, and she jokes, “But I never said I’d share either.”
Six huffs a laugh through his nose, slowly continuing his path through the house. “Goodnight, Carmen.”
A/N (2): okay, I read it through again before clicking post and I absolutely love it and if you made it this far I hope you did too.💜
Feedback is soul food and I appreciate it more than you will ever know 💜
Master Lists: Main // Other Fandoms
#Sierra Six#Lloyd Hansen#sierra six#lloyd hansen fic#courtland gentry#The Gray Man fic#fanfic#The Gray Man#the gray man fanfiction#the gray man fic#sierra six fic#Courtland Gentry
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Chapter XXVI: Chaos
(Music: "Headlock", by Imogen Heap)
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The journey to Inferis Station was almost complete. The Argonaut II and its fleets were at the final stop before they arrived- and it would be in the nick of time as well, as the Remnant heading for Inferis was nearly there. Hawkes was in a short pre-check meeting with Elise, Sammy, Danny, Lonnes (his chief Cartographer, rarely seen outside his office), Faulkner, Annie, and Garrison Captain Chevalier. The round table meeting was a final briefing on everyone's roles once they went to battle against the Remnant.
Lilia, due to the immense stress she suffered and being reunited with her family, was permitted to sit out this mission and stay in the Panic Room with the other families. Hawkes looked around the table of long-familiar faces, resting on Faulkner in irritation as he noticed the old man was still reveling in his revitalized body; flexing his musculature to enjoy the sight of it.
"Hey, Narcissus. Pay attention, you have a pretty integral damn role, here."
"Of course, of course, Admiral. But surely you'll let me get in just one more flex."
Hawkes groaned, still immensely irritated at Faulkner for having helped Jimmy escape his grasp. Still, at the end of the day, he was thankful that his friend was still alive- though when Hawkes found Jimmy again, Faulkner would be shot in the face and thrown into space if he tried to pull the same shit twice.
"Let's rehash the basic summary. Sammy, Danny, you two will be operating the Argonaut while firing on the horde. I'll be boarding with the EVA team and using the floppy disk with override codes to activate the P-1 War Machine once we reach it. Elise will be using her French drones-"
"When did my drones become French, Captain?"
"-to distract and taunt the Gaiters around the station instead of through it. We'll be evacuating the personnel on-station with small transport vessels, because as you know, if we try to dock the Argonaut and evacuate them we'll just end up drawing all the Gaiters straight into the evacuees. Lonnes will be coordinating the transport vessels, Faulkner and Annie will be on triage standby while Captain Chevalier's officers fortify themselves across the ship. We all clear here?"
"Captain," Elise asked. "Are you sure you have to board? The Magna Caedes is already boarding separately, that alone seems enough to-"
"I do have to, Elise. I'll be frank, I don't trust anyone but myself to get that War Machine started up. It's our only chance of decisively beating the Remnant hordes without risking our annihilation or the wholesale destruction of the station. If I send someone else, no matter how capable, and they fail? We're completely fucked. I can't have that playing on my conscience. So yes, I'm heading on."
"In your Ryn-Hague Chassis, I assume?" Sammy muttered- which prompted Hawkes to turn and stare questioningly at Sammy.
"No, Sammy, I was planning to run in buck-naked and kill the Gaiters with my swinging ballsack."
"Alright, noted."
"Is it true they really stripped their evacuation ships for extra scrap metal?" Lonne muttered. "And that's why we have to send in our own rescue vessels?"
"Yes. And I will be kicking the whole ass of the people who did that shit once all this comes to an end."
"Captain Hawkes." Chevalier suddenly chimed in assertedly; and Hawkes turned his gaze to meet hers. Eyes full of die-hard loyalty, yet creeping skepticism at his intentions. "I understand-"
Chevalier suddenly just stopped speaking, instead electing to simply stare at the Captain; which immediately threw him off his kilter in confusion.
"Wh.... uh, okay? Alright... just gonna... brush past whatever the fuck that was..."
Hawkes looked around the table once more.
"Are we clear now on the brief, everyone?"
Everyone nodded in unison. Hawkes returned the nod, standing up from his chair.
"Meeting adjourned, it's go-time."
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(Music: "Knee Deep", by Jason Graves)
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The Argonaut II and its fleet entered Inferis Station space. In the far, far distance opposite where the Argonaut was located, the Remnant horde and its dozens of city-sized space sacs (known as Predator Moons) were slowly wandering toward Inferis like malevolent, fleshy, mammothian marbles. Remnant hordes were break-offs from the Terror that had pollinated throughout the galaxy after its defeat at the hands of the Omerta Squadron. Nobody knew how many of these Remnants were out there, pollinating- procreating- multiplying.
"Such crude fucking creatures..." Hawkes muttered, staring with disgust out the bridge window. All Canari-born citizens were taught deeply on knowledge about the Gaiters and the Terror's Remnants- the entire planet of Canaris, after all, had initially been turned into a Fortress World when it seemed the Terror was going to bring an end to humanity violently.
Haxel and Sal, who had been permitted onto the bridge to gauge the situation for the scenario they had to flee, were less aware of the intricacies of Remnants and Gaiters. Sal craned his head towards Hawkes in curiosity as the crude comment was muttered about Gaiters.
"I mean, crude sure, but there's a number of other words that come to mind when I see that horrible sight and hear about those demons."
Hawkes giggled, a reaction which unsettled both Haxel and Sal- it was not often they heard people, even battle-hardened veterans, laughing so casually at the atrociously terrifying sight before them.
"Did you know? When Gaiters are released from those bulbous sacs through space to land on planets or stations, they excrete hydrogen and ignite the gas with an internal ignition gland for short, intense bursts of speed across small oceans of space. They literally shit to fly. It's. Fucking. Gross."
Sal keeled over, laughing until his face turned red- while Haxel looked more disgusted and horrified at the same time.
"The fuck?!" Haxel muttered with a shaky voice. Hawkes grinned bitterly; only now noticing that he could see a visible trauma in Haxel and Sal's eyes, the same as the Tulpar crew. Hawkes had a small, terrible epiphany- why was he continually being forced to send these souls into further hell, when they were already trying to cope with their past ordeals? Why was he putting them through what had been done to him? Why did this cycle of abuse-
SHUT THE FUCK UP. THERE IS A MISSION TO EXECUTE.
"So yeah, crude fucking creatures." Hawkes growled, the anger more directed at himself than anyone else; yet being noticed with slight fear by the two Numia crewmates to his side.
"This universe..." Haxel muttered, staring back towards the Remnant hordes across the vast distance. "It's... mankind has been so ignorant to so many things... our conception of God, our understanding of the universe... I ask myself... why did God create those things? Were they created by Him, or is evolution truly the defining marker for the free will He is granting to all sentient beings?"
Hawkes stared with dead eyes at Haxel; no longer feeling bad for shoving this dope into the fray. "Great question- can you save that for after we win? I'd prefer not to have the last thing I talk about be a comparison between humans and those antique farting lizards. I'm heading down, you should head to your stations, as well."
Haxel and Sal nodded with nerves on edge, leaving the Bridge with Hawkes; who was practically rushing to his quarters to put on his armor set before stomping toward the Hangar Bay; where transport vessels were preparing to evacuate the residents of Inferis Station, and gunships were loading their ammunition for a massive fight against their antediluvian mortal enemy. Hawkes spotted his EVA crew, then noticed the Magna Caedes was nowhere to be seen.
"Where's Theseus?" Hawkes asked Wally, his EVA leader. "Did he already head over to board?"
Wally nodded, reaffirming his gear as he responded. "He said he had a really bad feeling and decided to make a quicker exit."
Hawkes sighed; this sounded in-line with the characteristically impatient Magna Caedes, who were practically their own free agents when issued on missions alone and without being attached to a leadership hierarchy. He felt a bit bad for the people onboard the station who'd be seeing that hulk walking around for the first time in their lives without warning.
"Well, he might have the right idea," Hawkes stated through his helmet. "Keep your cutters ready, it's likely we'll be facing some structural problems once those Gaiters arrive. Let's get moving!"
Hawkes and the EVA team boarded the transport vessel, its doors closing with a hiss as it levitated into the air and shot out of the Hangar Bay, rocketing toward Inferis Station with urgency. Sammy and Danny, meanwhile, were watching the lone vessel heading for the station's docking entries- having already witnessed Theseus' ride carry him toward the station's right side.
"I'm starting to think the Admiral has a death wish," Sammy muttered. Danny hardly responded, extremely nervous over this upcoming battle; the very few times he'd faced Remnants onboard this vessel, he never wished for such encounters again. Facing hundred-million-year-old creatures that varied in size from cars to tanks, with different adaptations and semi-sentient leaders directing them- again, there was only so much any human could realistically bear in terms of horror. And these creatures checked every box for him.
"I'd agree," Danny mumbled. "He's braver than me, at least."
Sammy chuckled nervously. "Do you think this Remnant will have bio-artillery? I read about one in the history books that did."
"Is that really something you want to discuss?"
"...Yeah. Kind of."
The two of them fell silent and continued staring out the window, nervous as their eyes strained to focus on the Remnant thousands of miles away.
...
...
...
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(Music: "The Hive Mind", by Trevor Gureckis)
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FWWWWWWWW-BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
"WHAT THE FUCK?!"
"HOLY SHIIIT!"
Sammy and Danny stumbled and crumpled back in visceral horror as they blinked their eyes and the Remnant hordes had immediately short-warped the vast distance, appearing only a few hundred miles before Inferis Station; the Predator Moons overshadowing and dwarfing the research station by at least twice its immense architecture.
They were frozen, for several seconds, along with the rest of the bridge officers paling in horror; they had never seen this happen before- FTL short-warping at this distance was unheard of, and yet their mortal enemy had just pulled it off as if it was natural. It shouldn't have even been theoretically possible because of the temporal contortion and gravitational distortions that would likely occur in such a small area of space... how had they done it?!
"P-P-!" Danny stumbled and stuttered; his mind frozen in dread and horror for even more precious seconds, before he finally surfaced words to his quivering mouth. "P-PAGE HAWKES, ALL CANNONS BROADSIDE FIRE NOOOOW!!!!"
As he and Sammy stood up in horrible fear from the event, they could see the sacs begin to open up their thousands of highway-sized fleshy slits; allowing Gaiters to pour out and accelerate in short bursts through the outstretched cosmic proving grounds, several thousands of them unavoidably slamming into the station in their pathway and burrowing through to unknowable havoc, the rest of their millions-strong-mass rocketing towards the Argonaut II and its fleet with terrible fervor. And with a singular, furtive command from the second-most influential individual in this entire armada- the cannons opened fire.
The void erupted.
KRA-A-A-ACK! KRA-A-A-A-ACK! THWIP! THWIP! KRA-A-A-ACK! V-WOOOOOOOM! VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BOOOOOOM-BOOM-BOOM! B-WOOOOOOOOOOM! D-HKHKHKHKHKHKHKHK! BWOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! KRACK-AKAKAKAKAKAK! DW-WOOOOOOOOSH! VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BZZZZZ-BWOMMM!!! D-ACKAKAKAKAKAK! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! SZW-VSHHHHHHHHHH!!! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! KRA-A-A-A-ACK! THWIP! THWIP! KRA-A-A-ACK! V-WOOOOOOOM! VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BOOOOOOM-BOOM-BOOM! B-WOOOOOOOOOOM! D-HKHKHKHKHKHKHKHK! BWOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! KRACK-AKAKAKAKAKAK! DW-WOOOOOOOOSH! VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BZZZZZ-BWOMMM!!! D-ACKAKAKAKAKAK! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! SZW-VSHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Three hundred battle cruisers—each a hamlet of steel, rage and fire—turned their decades-bred wrath upon the abyss. Gun decks ignited in grotesque yet brutal sequence, a muted symphony of annihilation, millions of armaments cycling, locking, firing, and rapidly transforming the blackness of space into a kaleidoscope of mind-rending devastation.
**Missiles, gauss rounds, plasma lances, rail slugs, graviton torpedoes—**every conceivable super-weapon in human history, every machined nightmare war had ever wrathfully birthed, was being unleashed in a single, blinding, blackening, sun-blotting mass-coordinated volley of pure and unfettered hellfire.
The darkness bloomed with a thousand newborn stars.
And still, the Gaiters came.
The horde stretched beyond eyesight as they came in range, an endless tide spilling from the Predator Moons and their immense hovels, grotesque forms slithering and twitching in the void. To the mere bystander, they did not fly—they crawled through space, some massive, armored flesh-things moving like celestial horrors beyond imagination; others small, squirming and devilishly-fast hissing nightmares that twisted through the chaos like swarming insects.
They felt no fear. They held no hesitation. It was nothing but pure instinct which drove them.
THWIP! KRA-A-A-A-ACK! THWIP! THWIP! KRA-A-A-ACK! V-WOOOOOOOM! VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BOOOOOOM-BOOM-BOOM! B-WOOOOOOOOOOM! D-HKHKHKHKHKHKHKHK! BWOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! KRACK-AKAKAKAKAKAK! DW-WOOOOOOOOSH! VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BZZZZZ-BWOMMM!!! D-ACKAKAKAKAKAK! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! SZW-VSHHHHHHHHHH!!! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! KRA-A-A-A-ACK! THWIP! THWIP! KRA-A-A-ACK! V-WOOOOOOOM! VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BOOOOOOM-BOOM-BOOM! B-WOOOOOOOOOOM! D-HKHKHKHKHKHKHKHK! BWOOOOOOOOOOOM! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! KRACK-AKAKAKAKAKAK! DW-WOOOOOOOOSH! VRMMMMMM-BWOM-PWSH!! BZZZZZ-BWOMMM!!! D-ACKAKAKAKAKAK! BOOM-BOOM-BOOM! SZW-VSHHHHHHHHHH!!!
Their flesh boiled, ruptured, vaporized under the onslaught, entire swathes of the swarm reduced to molten ruin—but the horde did not thin.
For every Gaiter torn asunder, a hundred more surged forward.
The first kinetic impact alarms blared across the fleet. They were closing within boarding range.
Canaris had thrown its greatest weight, its technology, its sheer military excess at them. And it was not enough. It had vastly under-anticipated the rapid evolution of these individual Remnants. And it was going to cost them dearly.
Because this was not a battle.
This was a collision of whole species.
A war which never found end, a reckoning measured in billions of body counts and cosmic gravesites.
And this night, as these three hundred battle cruisers filled the void with their fomented, generational hatred—
The Terror watched.
The horde did not stop.
Hawkes, standing in the transport vessel that carried him and his team to the station, was bearing horrible witness to the apocalyptic calamities unfolding before his very eyes, along with the rest of his team; suddenly heard his receiver buzzing and slamming it on with utter desperation.
"SAMMY, WHAT THE F-"
"HAAAAWKKESS!! THEY'VE FUCKING SHORT-WARPED!"
Hawkes felt his face pale- WHAT THE FUCK?! This went from dangerous to "Fucked Up Beyond All Repair" in an instant. Panicked and horrified to waste any further time, he responded aptly with a strained and urgent intonation.
"START DIRECTING THE FLEET TO SPREAD OUT AND ENCIRCLE THE REMNANT!"
"YES SIR! AAAAAAAAAAA-"
Hawkes felt beads of sweat dripping down his face as everyone in the transport vessel overheard his receiver, and simultaneously witnessed the events unfolding through the glass port-windows. In little time, they immediately shat their pants in pure terror, muttering or silently sobbing to themselves, praying or panicking in expectation of sudden death; only the enemy of mankind could produce this form of horror in those who'd remained undaunted by man-made atrocities for years upon years of their tenure to the Argonaut.
"THEY WHAT?!" Wally shouted, losing his composure over the realization that-
ZZZIIPPPP!!!
"WOAH!" "FUCK!"
The transport vessel veered hard to the left, narrowly dodging a massive bone quill shot by one of the Remnant Sacs, half the size of the vessel carrying Hawkes and his team; and immediately everyone was officially in PANIC mode.
"AND ARTILLERY!!!!!" One of the EVA team cried out in horror. "WE'RE SO FUCKING DEAD!"
"SHUT UP!" Hawkes chastised the junior EVA member. "STICK BY ME, GOT?!"
"Very encouraging, Admiral!" Wally muttered in abject fear. "Very encouraging, FUCKING hell!"
"I get it, but we have a job to do!" Hawkes insisted, trying to downplay his own raised fears over the deluge of awful events unfolding one after another. "Stick by me and we're gunning it for the Head Researcher's office!"
The transport vessel continued to dodge a number of bone quills launched by the Remnant Sacs, swiveling and swerving to and fro as the artillery projectiles narrowly missed the vessel and throwing everyone onboard into a frenzy of pure panic, before eventually arriving hastily at the port entry of the station and docking with great urgency. Hawkes and his team rapidly stepped into the pressurization chamber.
How the fuck are the transport vessels going to keep a steady chain of evacuation going, Hawkes thought nervously. When they have to deal with an accelerated timetable and ENEMY ARTILLERY?! Fuck that, we can't risk evacuating these people until that War Machine is activated! It's THEIR FAULT they scrapped their own damn rescue vessels, so FUCK 'EM!
"Pressurizing," A robotic voice said over the speakers, hissing harshly as the room filled with pressure and oxygen.
Worse yet, even though the Remnant would be focused on the Argonaut fleet, the Inferis Station was still in between the two like a billion rocks and a 300-cruiser-strong hard place. It was going to be inevitable that the station itself would receive a large brunt of collateral damage as a result of this eye-boggling battlefield.
Ssssstt!
As the doors to the inside of the station hissed open, Hawkes stormed inside, barely being followed by sprinting EVA members as Hawkes was immensely faster than them and was almost forgetting to let them keep up, alarmingly urgent to find the Head Researcher to lead them to the War Machine.
They had entered a grand departures and arrivals area, where several scientists, researchers, roboticists, and station personnel were running around screaming for their lives, hiding, looking for people to help, or generally doing their own things during this crisis situation. As badly as Hawkes wanted to help these poor citizens out, he had to focus on getting the War Machine activated- every wasted second was another small victory for the Remnant as they wreaked havoc across the epic cosmic battlegrounds.
BSSSSHHH!!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!
RUMMMBBBBBLLLEEEEE!!
BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOM!!!!!
The station began to shake and quake violently as Gaiters and artillery slammed into the back of the station, tearing apart infrastructure with wild ferocity, creating pandemonium throughout the massive complex and obliterating several key operating systems within minutes.
Hawkes, by this point, was running and stopping at random points through the hallways and corridors, checking for Gaiters while waiting up for the EVA team to catch up.
BWOOOOOSH- "HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH...."
As if on queue, a Gaiter burrowed and blasted through several layers of metal, bursting into the hallway where Hawkes and his team was, leaving a massive hole in the station that created a momentary vacuum into the emptiness of space, before it was cut off by metal frames shuttering across the exposed opening. The Gaiter quickly recovered from its landing, hissing like a primordial, cosmically-colored alien reptile from its snub archosaurian jaw and stumbling with webbed feet, long clawed fingers, and two bone impalers jutting out of its midriff, its face covered by two chitin folds that resembled the vertical, slit-shaped pupils of a crocodile.
"GET BEHIND ME!" Hawkes ordered his team, unhooking his Riveter and blasting the Gaiter's limbs off -KRAK! KRAK!-; shooting its legs off and hindering its movement (its head was highly resistant against projectiles), watching the Gaiter crash to the ground before unsheathing his blade and stabbing the point through its skull. SHCK! As the Gaiter fell limp, Hawkes escorted the team forward, continuing to look around in watchful readiness as they moved toward the department where the Head Researcher would be located.
"HHHHHHH..." "AAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!"
Hawkes noticed a Gaiter as he passed by a cafe, which was grabbing station personnel, dragging them in range, and stabbing them repeatedly with their bone impalers whilst tearing chunks out of them with their maws. KRAK! KRAK! Hawkes swiftly dispatched the Gaiter's legs, running over and stomping on its bone impalers before executing it in the same fashion as the last one.
"Fuck, we can't delay anymore!" Hawkes muttered, utterly despairing that he was going to have to pass by several more people who'd die horribly so he could accomplish his task. "I swear, I'll revive all of you once we get this shit dealt with! Except maybe the JACKASSES THAT STRIPPED THE FUCKING EVACUATION SHIPS DOWN TO NUTS AND BOLTS! YOU DUMB FUCKS TRAPPED YOURSELVES!"
DOOOOSH. DOOSH. DOOSH.
Hawkes and his team suddenly stumbled as heavy, monstrous footsteps resounded deafeningly from around the corridor that led into a wider lobby area; and as they comprehended the threat their ears were communicating, it was too late- they rounded the corner.
"Oh..." "Oh FUCK!" "Naw, we're cooked."
The EVA crew made their final comments in despair as a fifteen-foot-tall, muscle-bound Gaiter hissed from its armored maw, wreaking horrific pandemonium throughout the lobby as it stampeded, crushed, and slammed furniture and station workers alike; built with the arms of a gorilla and the back legs of a rhinoceros, it was akin to an armored, story-tall deranged gorilla being thrown into a china shop. Hawkes, foreseeing death in the chaos of this atmosphere, immediately waved back the EVA crewmates.
"I'LL HANDLE HIM!"
His sword is steadied, held diagonally to the ground as he readied himself to launch upon the behemoth that tore across the wide and vast metroplex lobby with indiscriminate violence. Hawkes lowered his stature, grounding his feet and using his superhuman agility to pounce several feet into the air, stabbing his sword through one of the Gaiter's hulkish arms and activating the hilt, which extended four sharp proboscises and drilled into the exposed flesh to anchor the blade to flesh.
"HHHHHHHH!!!!" The Hulk Gaiter roared, swinging its mass around and decimating through infrastructure, sending debris flying across the expansive metroplex while Hawkes swung around like a ragdoll in the air, holding on with great might onto his greatsword while unhooking his Riveter with his other hand, leveling it at the roaring Gaiter's armored face and unloading upon it.
KRAK-KRAK-KRAK-KRAK-KRAK-KRAK-KRAK-KRAK!
The barrage of massive shells slammed into the Gaiter's features with the force of a propelled sledgehammer, cracking apart the armor and eventually penetrating into squishy flesh. The Gaiter fell onto its side as the shells delivered a near-fatal concussion to its skull, causing it to fall unconscious and stumble-crash to the ground. Hawkes unlatched his sword, hopping onto the Gaiter's massive face and slamming the tip of the blade through its exterior.
SCHHHHCK!
The Hulk Gaiter was dead, right as more lesser Gaiters arrived with stumbling gaits, hissing and seeking after defenseless station crewmembers. Hawkes grimaced atop the Hulk Gaiter's corpse, looking back and gesturing for the EVA team to follow whilst taking pot-shots at approaching Xenos.
"WE HAVE MORE WORK TO DO! MOVE IT!"
---------------------------------------------------
Swansea, Daisuke, Theseus, and the Patriarch's Agents, termed 'Praetores', had just exited their transport vessel and were hurrying through the ominously silent and empty departures/arrivals area they had entered; and within minutes of navigating through the station-
BWOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOSHHHHHH!! BOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOMMMMM!!!
The station was slammed into by hundreds of Gaiters and bone quills, sending electrical power surges across the station's infrastructure before thousands of bulbs exploded from over-surges; then followed darkness, then emergency lighting as the backup generators kicked on. Alarm sirens rang ominously throughout the station, and distant screams could be heard echoing throughout the complex from ventilation ducts and long corridors leading into pitch-black hallways. Theseus and his team had docked at the opposite side of the station, where there was less human traffic and thus a less-crowded path to zero in on the Head Researcher's office.
"I'm regretting agreeing to this fucking bullshit!" Swansea cursed plentifully through his helmet, in a constant state of horror as Infantriere Theseus led Daisuke, Swansea and the Praetores through the eery and grim environment that was rapidly descending into chaos the further they headed into the massive space station. Daisuke, who had been given a serious amount of mental training and fortitude lessons from Theseus himself (Swansea refused the training), was steeling his mindset and locking in with the narrowed eyes of a hunter.
"This way." Theseus muttered laconically, using his internal mapping routes to lead the flock to the Head Researcher's office.
"We'll get through this." Daisuke said with confident affirmation, receiving a temporary look back of approval from Theseus. "The Achilles Series was made from researching the armor of Xenos scum, and these EXOVA suits were created from the adaptive, bio-metallic chitin of those Hive Leaders and their armored exteriors. We are merely fighting fire with fire. We will cleanse this station, without a doubt in my mind."
Swansea's helmet craned back, very slowly, with nonverbal and intense worry and dread; the complex diction and serious attitude simultaneously assuaged Swansea's concerns and frightened the hell out of him- what exactly had Theseus been putting in this kid's head?!
"When we return, I'm unwinding you by about a thousand."
"W-What?"
"WHAT DO YOU MEAN, 'W-What??'?! HAVE YOU HEARD YOURSELF, SHRIMP?!"
"I see no issue," Theseus muttered to himself, stomping along as he led the path to their objective with his hulking demeanor and looming, completely awe-inspiring presence.
---------------------------------------------------
(Music: "The Corrupted", by The Day We Died)
---------------------------------------------------
It wasn't long before their trek through the barely-lit hallways and increasingly blood-filled corridors led up a set of stairs to a wide and expansive room filled with botany and fauna, held behind reinforced glass frames and hued with underframed lighting— the Hydroponics Deck, where food was grown, harvested, and fed to the station's attendants.
Several hydroponics workers suddenly flooded through the room from the rightmost entrance, screaming bloody murder as a swarm of Gaiters followed behind them and tore into a few of the laggards; and without a further iota of hesitation, Theseus bolted into action. The ensuing scenes of pure carnage and slaughter were nothing short of the art of war; the apex of martial prowess darted into the fray as if it called to him instinctively; his next actions the very embodiment of DEATH FORGED INTO MAN.
KRAK-KRAK! KRAK-KRAK! KRAK-KRAK! KRAK-KRAK! CRA-A-ACK!
Without wasting a breath, he unhooked and leveled his Riveter with his left hand, aiming instinctively at the legs of the nearest Gaiters and blew them off with apex precision whilst palming the frontal skull portion of an ambushing Gaiter, wrenching his fist inward and crushing its cranium completely; then launching forward with such force that a massive gust of air caused several of the crewmates to stumble backward; accelerating at near-terminal horizontal velocity, he lowered his shoulder plate at the incoming Gaiters-
CRHHHHCCCHCHCHCCKKKK!!!!
-At the point of contact between armor and Gaiter flesh, their bodies exploded outward as Theseus SLAMMED through them, splattering several parts of the room, crewmates, and other Gaiters with the gore of Xenos. Whilst three Gaiters stumble-sprinted towards him, he unholstered the monstrously sized double-edged battleaxe magnetically attached to his back with his right arm, bringing it up and over his head, rotating his torso to gather greater torque, waiting with refined calmness until the tip of the shaft had reached the very edge of the maximum reach of his arm's length, before unwinding leftwards and whipping the plasma-rimmed blade like a whip-
VVVRRRRRRRRRRRR-M!
-Not so much slashing, but utterly d-e-c-i-m-a-t-i-n-g with a cut condensed into precise nonexistence; its blade cut like melted butter through limb-head-limb-limb-head-limb-limb-head-limb. The solid core beneath the plasma-rimmed edge created an immense kinetic force that, when wielded by a hulking superhuman like a Magna Caedes, ended up imparting the effect of a small meteoric impact.
CRRSHHHCCCCKKSKSSSHCCHCHHKK-SPLAT-SPLAT-SPLAT!
As the cleave swung clean through the upper torso section of the three Gaiters, their lower bodies crumpled lifelessly to the ground as their heads and uppermost limbs flung through the air and rolled across the ground. As another Gaiter lunged for Theseus, he jabbed the blunt edge of the pommel into its throat -CCHKKCK!!- impaling it mid-air before letting the handle slide through his gauntlet and slamming the Gaiter onto the ground, right as Theseus' boot raised over its face and -SQUELCH!- crushed its skull inwards, sending gore spewing out from the underside of his boot.
I am extremely sorry for all the crass comments I made behind your back, Swansea thought in pure dread- now realizing why the Patriarch was so confident in allowing Swansea and Daisuke to simply 'stick' with Theseus if they chose not to fight. A one-man army that drilled through the terrifying car-sized Gaiters like it was nothing- an absolute beast that operated with the same force of nature as solar flares, tornados, and hurricanes.
"WATCH OUT!" Daisuke called out, seeing a pack of Gaiters creep up to ambush Theseus from behind-
SMACK- Theseus rotated on his heel and delivered a fatal blow to the nearest Gaiter's thorax, blasting his gauntlet clean through and sending its innards spraying through the air, before wrenching -SCHGLB!- his way -CCKCKSS!- through its upper cavity, shoving his massive gauntlet up the esophagus, until his plated digits used the Gaiter's crocodilic maw as a deadly close-weapon accessory. As a swarm of five Gaiters, along with the two earlier, closed in on and surrounded Theseus, he wrenched his arm upward to tear the corpse's head and spine from the rest of its mutilated body, sending gore and offal in every conceivable direction, before immediately swinging around and slamming the flat end of the axe horizontally into three of the monsters, then used his makeshift Gaiter maw fist to clamp down on an approaching Gaiter's head and crushed it inward; their teeth able to chew through steel and their own reinforced bone, as Theseus had just discovered whilst he gripped his gauntlet so viciously against the Gaiter's skull that it slowly cracked inward, shredding brain matter and causing the Gaiter to spasm horribly with flailing limbs and twitching bones until the -CHRCK!- head was crushed completely. The body fell from his gauntlet in its semi-obliterated state, and such a disturbing death had phased even the collective conscience of the flooding, stumbling Gaiter hordes for a few moments- granting ample time for station crewmates to flee and Theseus' team to move away and pursue their goal even while the Gaiter hordes snapped out of their dread and continued their attempted blood-making.
Daisuke and Swansea, meanwhile, were being led through the Hydroponics Deck by the Praetores leader, Spartacus, as the other squadmates tore, with great delight, through the rapid swarm of Gaiters attempting to pursue the vulnerable station residents and their own assets from behind.
BRRRSSSCCHHH!!!
A Gaiter crashed down from the ceiling and slammed directly into Spartacus, its metal fragments and debris immediately being sucked back upward toward the opening into outer space, until the dynamic nano-insulation plates shuttered over the perforation, leaving a hissing Gaiter standing atop a dazed Spartacus and directly staring down Swansea and Daisuke. As Daisuke expressed sheer horror at the daunting size of the Gaiter (vehicle-sized) and its horrific look-
PWW! PWW!
Swansea fired the Plasma Cutter at the Gaiter's legs, sending it falling and slamming into Spartacus a second time as gravity delivered another punishment onto his bruised body. The Gaiter hissed, having no interest in Spartacus and instead clawing its way over toward Swansea in a fit of barely sentient rage. As it propped itself up from the ground and pounced at him, he felt a moment where his vision tunneled- as if he was tapping into that same rage and deathly readiness he'd first experienced aboard the Tulpar in his attempt to kill the b-a-s-t-a-r-d himself.
With his free hand, he launched forward to meet the Gaiter in close combat, managing to slam the palm of his hand into the Gaiter's neck and digging his sharpened plated fingers into its armored skin, before slamming it into the ground and raising his magnetic boot to -STOMP! STOMP! STOMP!- until its head was mush and half-developed brain matter.
"That..." Daisuke muttered, viewing the now head-mushed corpse of the Gaiter. "Was... Fucking... SIICK!"
"CAN YOU LOCK THE FUCK IN AND MOVE?!"
As they helped Spartacus back up onto his feet and lent him to one of the other Praetores for medical aid, Swansea vocally spoke his intent to lead the way with his holo-map, practically jog-running with Daisuke at his side and the rest of the group in tow, the Praetores directing the surviving station residents into a nearby safe room and closely following the Tulpar crewmates, blasting and slicing away at the approaching hordes of Gaiters tearing through the hallways.
As they were running, Daisuke took a moment to glance out the long port windows allowing exterior view of the cosmos, and noticed something quite leviathan in nature looming over the station and nearing closer, raising some inconceivably massive tendril over the corridor they were sprinting through-
"Uh, Swansea, what is that?" Daisuke asked, much to Swansea's irate irritation.
"CAN'T YOU SEE I'M BUSY?!" Swansea shouted with adrenaline pumping through his head, glancing in mere curiosity to see what Daisuke was referring to. "WE CAN'T- ah fuck."
BWSH------!
As the tendril came bearing down on the station infrastructure, it completely split the hallway in two and almost immediately drained the sound from their environment, sending Swansea and Daisuke flying toward the opening until the dynamic insulation plates shuttered rapidly over the gashes; and the two of them slammed into the repaired wall, falling to the floor in a daze; cut off from the rest of the team.
---------------------------------------------------
As he stood up groggily from the brunt impact, Swansea panicked as he began to realize they were, in fact, stranded by their lonesomes in this Xenos hell carnival; left in a barely-lit hallway with occasionally beaming, orange-hued emergency lights blaring from the small entrenched horizontal slits inlaid within the heavily damaged corridor infrastructure.
"Fuck! FUUUCK!" Swansea whisper-screamed in undeniable horror, realizing that he and Daisuke were suddenly cut off from their only source of protection and guaranteed safety from this absolute horrorshow they'd been launched into. With quickening awareness, he steered to Daisuke, gripping his Plasma Cutter in the right hand while gripping Daisuke's gauntlet with his other hand. Even if he'd rejected the mental 'training', he'd still undergone the loathsomely fatiguing yet enlightening and useful combat regimes Theseus forced them to take on.
"Daisuke, you're gonna stick by me. This is a horror movie, and we're prime rib for the Gaiters. Keep your eyes up and around. I'll take the vanguard, you take the rearguard. Don't stray."
Daisuke nodded, and the two of them slowly proceeded down the hallway, their boots heavily echoing against the haunting and pitch-dark passageways fraught with the derelict debris inflicted by the Xenos menace.
"You remember how we shoot their limbs, right?" Daisuke muttered hauntingly to Swansea, who leered as if he'd been slapped in the back of the head.
"Are you MOCKING me, you little shit?!"
"Wh-What do you mean, boss?!"
"NO SHIT, I KNOW HOW TO USE A FUCKING PLASMA CUTTER! JUST BECAUSE IT'S SPRUCED UP DOESN'T MEAN IT'S-!"
DDDDD-RK!
A Gaiter burst through the upper ventilation, falling onto the alloyed floor and groaning in a daze as it had slammed head-first from the crawl-space above. Watching the Gaiter struggle to get up, Swansea craned his head to Daisuke; almost as if defying the sanity of the situation to make a viscerally-Swansea-like point to him.
"Well, go ahead, bopper," Swansea snickered through the armored helmet. "Show me your expertise."
BSH! BSH! BSH!
Swansea, in fact, watched the expertise of Daisuke as he aimed his Plasma Cutter and shot three beams at the legs and head of the Gaiter, executing it entirely, before proceeding to walk down the hallway. Swansea clicked his tongue, groaning internally before begrudgingly following behind.
"Fuckin' showoff."
As Daisuke proceeded monotonously along the bloodied and battered corridors, Swansea regularly checked his holo-map to ensure the coordinates kept them on the right track, their magnetic-soled boots trodding along with the auditory impact of an artillery shell being loaded into a Howitzer. The atmosphere crept up on them slowly, attempting to pinch away at their psyche the same as it did upon the Tulpar; and the familiar engineering and infrastructure of the outdated station did not assuage the concerns or traumatic revisitings happening to each of them at this point in time.
Yet still, they plowed on. Undeterred by mere existential horror (somehow), and with the sheer confidence to trust in one another after all the previous hardship they'd endured, it felt to each of them that they had a duty to deliver-
CLANG-CLANG-CLANG!
The lights affixed to their plasma cutters suddenly jolted in pulsating terror as the sounds of metal clashing against the ground rang out through the empty, haunting corridors; with recovering conviction, Daisuke and Swansea turned their lights upon-
"H-huh?!" "CKREIST OHN AN' 'ATCHET!"
The boarish, swarthy Scotsman cried out in terror as their lights shone across his demeanor, seeing a number of wounds, stains, and other detritus amalgamating his unkempt, blonde, and wild-eyed appearance.
"Nearly blew mah fookin' 'ead off, fer fook's sake!" The Scotsman cried out, pushing himself back onto his feet and dusting himself off, his eyes darting around in subtle dread. "Can't geht the fookin' lecky to work, so now we're skulkin in the fookin' shadows with the Gai'ers!"
Swansea stared in utter disgust, realizing he was now forced to try and reconcile the words of a Scot amid an absolute hell-swarm of Gaiters. "Shut the fuck up and follow us!"
The Scot, in clear dread and trepidation, shook his head and clutched the monkey-wrench in his hand until his knuckles were white. "Nae, ah can't, ya fook! Nee'ta find mah cú, Rex, or t'ere ain't a point in livin', damn it!" He sobbed, seeming determined to charge past Swansea and Daisuke.
"Alright, enjoy that," Swansea remarked rather uncaringly, much to Daisuke's horror.
"Swansea, why would you say that?!" Daisuke implored naively. "We have to help him out!"
"Are you, perhaps, just a little dense, Daisuke? If we don't activate this K-5 thing to kill the Gaiters, it is GAME OVER. I am NOT risking that any further than needed for this shitfest!"
Swansea straightened his shoulders and growled as he tromped forward, with Daisuke following closely behind him in deep disappointment as they both watched the Scot traversing along in search of his pet. P-1 was within short distance from here, and Swansea had every intent to activate it before the whole station collapsed into calamitous, fiery brimstone.
------------------------------------------------- Read the whole story here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/60303202/chapters/153895822
#mouthwashing#oc#curly mouthwashing#daisuke mouthwashing#original character#anya mouthwashing#swansea mouthwashing#writing#nurse anya#science fiction#scifi#mouthwashing game#mouthwashing au#grant curly#alien species
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love ur roommate Eddie but also all the time spent together between sexy times stresses me out
at least with husky neighbor Eddie he's across the hall and if you're not in the mood to see him, then you don't have to
but roommate Eddie is literally in. your. walls.
what about when you just have ugly days when your hair is a mess and you walk around the apartment smelling a lil before you hop in the shower
what about when either of you get sick and it's real nasty?
is there only one bathroom?? do y'all gotta coordinate times???
what if he insists on putting the toilet paper the wrong way around???!!! what about the hair clogged in the shower drain!!
what about the arguing and the tension and the resentment that arises from sharing a space with someone on the worst of days??
like maybe Eddie is the best roommate to ever fictionally exist ever but I can only imagine that there's gotta be some issues that arise especially when they're blurring the boundaries
and roommate!reader seems really strict and anal (same) with her rules so I figure that also extends to sharing a space
I know it's normally default to want to imagine that they figure everything out and live happily ever after, but do you see roommate!Eddie and reader being long term? how do they work out their issues with both sharing a space and finding footing with their agreement? what's the first problem to arise? and if they don't work out, what to do think is the largest issue/ what finally breaks them apart?
anon I love love love this. thanks for asking the nitty gritty questions they are so IMPORTANT!!
okay full transparency, when I started writing for roommate!Eddie I absolutely used the fic logic of “everything is perfect here” because I wanted to focus more on the relational/emotional aspect of two people who have already learned how to share a space. at the time, I think the first meeting/time it took to iron out issues were less interesting to me from a writing standpoint. however, I certainly had the framework for their backstories in the back of my head while i wrote!
I’ll share my thoughts below for those who are interested in the roommate!Eddie+roommate!Reader story. but also don’t hold me to anything I say here for future stories bc my personal canon is subject to change. lol.
in this no-magic Big City AU of mine, I imagined reader and Robin meeting in college and becoming good friends. you were in a horrifically boring history class together (Robin for her smarty-pants Psych/Art double degree and you for a Literature degree) and started hanging out outside of school. by proxy, you also hang out with Steve, Robin’s roommate, and by the time the three of you graduate you’re all good friends.
and then you’re staring down the barrel of a mostly useless degree, a shit ton of college debt, and nowhere to go. you land a job at a local publishing company, but it’s mostly boring and corporate and doesn’t pay for a two-room apartment in the heart of the city. which is unfortunate, because your last roommate (a nightmare by all accounts. quite literally never learned how to clean up after herself) moved out a month ago and you need the extra income to keep the space.
enter Steve’s mysterious friend Eddie. whom you’ve only heard wild stories about. apparently, he’s looking for a room- and according to Robin, he’s “well-mannered for a boy”. you ask a million questions before agreeing to meet with him (neither Steve or Robin gave you a straight answer as to the guy’s career which is weird…), and you make it really clear you’re not in the mood to be screwed over. or stuck with an unlivable situation.
but your friends assure you it’ll be a good fit. and when you meet for drinks later that week, Eddie is extremely charming and honest. tells you he is, in fact, in the drugs business, but promises it never follows him home. he agrees to all your house rules. he also flirts a lot. but you learn to take that with a grain of salt.
so Eddie moves in and yeah, absolutely there’s an adjustment period. learning the rhythms of each other’s days and nights, figuring out how to split household duties, all the mundane shit that comes w/ a new roommate. there’s an awful first winter where the heat goes out; you two alternate getting colds and stomach flus, multiple nights spent sweating over the toilet or kitchen sink (one bathroom is a KILLER for the sick season).
there’s a camaraderie that forms after those sucky cold months. you absorb into each other’s lives, friend groups, spaces that extend outside of your apartment. you become real, actual friends who enjoy each other’s company.
and also? Eddie is happy to appease. he’s not a pushover, but he is really respectful of you and your space. he puts effort into learning your little quirks, or things that tick you off (there are a lot). you both figure out early on that open communication is the best policy. Eddie’s the type to tell you if there’s something he doesn’t like or wants to change, so neither of you end up holding secret quiet grudges.
which is why I think reader finds this whole attraction thing so scary (and uses rules as a defense mechanism sorry I wrote my own OCD into this!! lmao) like Oh, fuck. if this goes sideways, if we have a big fight or fall in and out of love and can’t be in the same room anymore… we’d have to move. I’d have to say goodbye to the best roommate I’ve ever had. our shared friend groups would be dispersed. it would be devastating on so many levels.
anyways. here’s the masterlist if u read this far and want it ;)
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Whumptober day 9: Alternate prompt prompt 11: Survivors Guilt
Read on Ao3 (registered users only) | Day 8 | Day 10 | Whumptober masterpost
CW: off-screen character death. And also some early game Subnautica spoilers
Technically posting this a day late, but there are no rules against posting on different days so I’m still happy with this. In typical me fashion I procrastinated writing this until like 9pm, then speedran it for a couple hours only to not be done when midnight ticked over, and decided actually I like sleep more than a posting schedule only to not fall asleep even once for MORE THAN FOUR HOURS. Is this karma for procrastinating? I’ve learnt my lesson.
Either way I’m really happy with this fic. I started playing Subnautica again recently and I’m kind of hyperfixating. Naturally, that meant I need to combine it with my other hyperfixation, Batfam. Strictly speaking Tim Drake is the POV character but you can easily read it as just being the player character.
Watching the radio light up as soon as Tim fixes it, indicating a received message, is both a proud moment and a stress inducing one. He just stands there and stares for a long moment. Dreading what news could be waiting for him. Then it sets in that it could be a distress signal from one of the other lifepods, from another survivor, and he slams his hand into the button before he loses his nerve.
It isn’t another survivor that speaks to him, it’s the Aurora’s AI. “This is Aurora. Distress signal received. Rescue operation will be dispatched to your location in 9…9…9…9…9… hours. Continue to monitor for emergency transmissions from other Lifepods.”
Tim exhales heavily, and resolves to do just that.
-
That night, as he’s struggling to catch more bladderfish and peepers, his PDA speaks up:
“Emergency: A quantum detonation has occurred in the Aurora’s drive core.”
Oh shit.
Tim watches in a daze, as if from outside his body, as he swims to the surface. Maybe twenty metres up. His gaze locks on the downed monolith of a ship immediately.
The AI keeps speaking. “The reactor will reach a super critical state in T-10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1—“
The explosion is even bigger and louder and scarier than he expected. Tim feels it in his bones when the shockwave slams into him. It feels like the world is falling apart. Not just physically.
So much for that rescue operation.
“For your convenience the radiation suit has been added to your blueprint database.”
-
The next day, just as he feeds the fabricator the ingredients for a radiation suit, the radio lights up.
Tim stares at it, feeling that same sense of apprehension. As if the state he spends his next few weeks weighs entirely on one recorded message.
He presses the button.
“Receiving pre-recorded distress signal. Playing back…” The next speaker is younger, female, accented: “This is Lifepod 3, uploading our coordinates. We’re plugging some holes in our emergency Seaglide, so if we’re late for the rendezvous, don’t panic. Also, don’t go home without us. Seriously. 3, out.”
She sounds strangely calm about the situation. Tim opens his tablet once he’s finished changing into his new suit, and opens the new coordinates. Also in the Shallows, 18 metres underwater. Tim wonders if their floatation systems never deployed or were damaged by something in the water. Maybe it was the shockwave.
Tim cooks some distressingly large eyeballs, drinks some not-vegan water, and heads out for Lifepod 3 within the hour. It takes him about 50 minutes to reach the Lifepod, and what he finds isn’t pretty.
It’s sunk to the bottom of a kept forest. It looks, perhaps at first glance, in decent condition. But circling it is enough to discover what went wrong. There’s a giant hole blown in the side of the pod. There are scorch marks on the walls inside and out, with sparking wires and dented electronics.
There is the ruined remains of a Seaglide barely two metres away. Scorched. Melted. Incomplete.
They tried to fix it and it cost them their Lifepod, and almost certainly their lives. Tim doesn’t try to keep his hold on the fragile faith in his chest. He scans the ruined device, collects a data box, and lets the dark, ugly, twisted thing in his chest grow a little bigger.
He sees no sign of any bodies.
Actually. The stalkers are acting docile. They’re not hungry.
He takes that as a sign to leave.
-
The next two signals are received minutes apart. He’s out exploring when they’re collected, and once he’s back in Lifepod 5 he hits play before turning to the fabricator.
“Playing pre-recorded distress call…”
“This is Ozzy from the cafeteria, what the hell guys?!”
Tim’s hands stutter and he nearly drops his copper.
“They didn’t warn us this might happen! Our pod was almost crushed by the Seamoth bay on the way down, now we’re hanging on the edge of a cave system and this grim-looking snake-thing’s trying to eat through the hull! Come get us already!”
Tim tries not to drown in the ugly-painful feeling of knowing that person, Ozzy, even if they only exchanged glances and the odd word or two. Ozzy was—is someone he knows. And by the sounds of it—
Maybe they’re fine. Ozzy and whoever else is in his pod are fine, and once Tim finds them they can all have a laugh before setting off the help the next survivor.
He wonders what the ‘grim-looking snake-thing’ is, if it’ll still be trying to eat the pod when Tim reaches it.
Tim plays the next recording while opening his tablet to find the Lifepod’s signal.
“This is Avery Quinn, of trading ship Sunbeam. Aurora, do you read? Over.”
A slight pause. Tim absently shoves a peeper at the fabricator.
“Nothing but vacuum. These damn Alterra ships. They run low on engine grease, they send an SOS; you offer help, they don’t pick up. Aurora, I’m out on the far side of the system, it’s going to take more than a week to reach your position, do you still need assistance? Over.”
Tim has no other word for the emotion he feels than indignant.
“I’ll try them again tomorrow. Damn charter’s going to have us blowing our credits running errands for Alterra. See what the long-range scans pick up in the meantime.”
Tim… decides, for now, that the best course of action is to shove his emotions in a box and focus on hope. Hope that the long-range scan is enough to rally their assistance, that Ozzy will still be alive when Tim reaches him.
The signal’s origin is more than 350 metres away. Depth of 100.
Tim studies the supplies he has on hand, debates how hungry and thirsty he is, and grabs the Grav Trap. Once he’s stocked with food and water he sets off with his new Seaglide.
He closes the distance in record time. It’s exhilarating, flying along past schools of fish and alien coral. If he didn’t feel the weight of peoples lives hanging on his shoulders he would waste his time swimming with the fishes and reefbacks. It’s… disarming, how pretty this alien world can be, knowing most of the creatures on it want to kill him.
It isn’t too difficult to find Lifepod 17. It’s lying on a sandbank next to a cave, one wall peeled back like the lid of a tuna can.
Tim spends a moment staring, then has to speed to the surface to take a breath. He stays there for a few minutes and tries not to cry. Then he glides back down.
The Lifepod hull is peeled back and torn open, visible teeth and scratch marks marring the metal. No blood, no signs of life. There’s the arm of a Seamoth lying nearby.
No alien sea snakes either. Tim wonders if that’s because it’s daytime. Either way, part of him is glad.
Tim downloads the data and heads back.
-
“Aurora, this is Sunbeam again. We picked up a massive debris field at your location. I didn’t know how bad… how many of you… I didn’t know. We are now en route to your location. We’re going to bring you home. Sunbeam out.
“What else can I say? The only time I parked a rig this big on a rock that small was in VR, and I blew it. Oh, it’s a bad option alright, but so are all the others.”
-
Tim throws an armful of rocks at the fabricator to figure out then slams the button on the radio. He lowers himself onto the storage cabinet and retrieves bandages from the medkit fabricator, trying not to shake as he peels back his suit and cleans the wounds across his legs.
“Playing pre-recorded distress call…”
“This is Officer Keen in lifepod 19! The captain is gone. I have assumed command. The last thing the captain did was give me coordinates for dry land. We regroup one and a half kilometres south-west of the crashsight. Stay together, and good luck. This message will now repeat.”
His PDA spoke up: “Rendezvous coordinates corrupted. Transmission origin coordinates downloaded.”
Once Tim is done patching himself back together, he collects his freshly-crafted supplies and stashes most of them in the storage box. He opens his PDA to glance at the new coordinates, feeling confident he can find the rendezvous without coordinates, and giddy with the knowledge that there are others survivors out there, only to pause.
Officer Keen’s last broadcast location is 300 metres below the water’s surface.
-
Just hours later, the next time Tim goes out for a scavenge and returns thankfully in one piece, there is a message waiting for him.
“High priority automated message from Aurora Lifepod 13. Coordinates attached.”
“Lifepod is carrying high priority passenger Jochi Khasar. I said Khasar! Why do I have to record this anyway?”
“Send immediate burial detail.”
Tim pauses, and looks at the radio. Burial details?
-
12 days after the Aurora first crash landed on this ocean planet, Tim receives the call he’s been hoping for.
“Aurora, we’re approaching the planet now, and we have a landing site for you that’s… well, it’s better than the alternatives. We’ve sent you the coordinates.
“It’ll take us a couple of days to align our orbit, we should be able to establish direct contact with you during that time, then we’re coming to get you. Cross your fingers the weather holds, and don’t leave us waiting. Sunbeam out.”
The Sunbeam is on its way. They send him coordinates for the landing sight. It’s over a thousand metres away, but with his Seaglide Tim can get there in just an hour or two.
He spends the next day and a half more or less gathering materials, knowing he won’t need them soon, but wanting something to do with himself. He sleeps, as usual, on the floor of his Lifepod.
The next morning he fabricates some cured fish and clean water, makes a spare battery for his Seaglide, and swaps the battery in his flashlight. Then, just as sunrise begins painting the sky, he sets out for the landing sight.
His imagination runs rampant as he starts the journey. He wonders what the landing sight will look like. He wonders how many other survivors will be there. He wonders if Officer Keen has been able to swim to the surface. He wonders how much time he’ll have to spare—the Sunbeam won’t land for another 90 minutes at least, and he’s already nearly halfway there. He wonders if he’ll find new creatures around the island, new plants and environments. So far it’s mostly kelp forests—he’s getting sick of stalkers.
He busies himself with questions as the Seaglide carries him. He listens to the reefback leviathans, and wonders briefly what other types of leviathan there are, before deciding he doesn’t want to know. He wants to go home. And thankfully, he is. Pretty soon he’ll be safe and secure on the Sunbeam and saying goodbye to this hellhole of an ocean.
Tim finally steps foot on the island 80 minutes after he set off, hoping and praying that there will be other survivors to meet here, and that he’ll never have to see another stalker or drink another fish ever again.
He has no idea just how wrong he is on both accounts.
#whumptober 2024#no.9#survivors guilt#altprompt#subnautica#robin iii#fan fiction#tim drake#batman fanfic#my writing#dual post#dc fanfic#I’m actively fighting against my sleep schedule rn#even posting this my brain is like. what if we didn’t
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Chapter_07 : "A Brief Reprieve" ━━━━━━━━━━━━━
CW: previous chapter | beginning | masterlist | archive masterlist
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The station was quiet for a Friday. Alph had been playing Uno with their dad’s coworkers, still hearing about Hayton Deposits and all of the shit circling around.
There had, apparently, been an incredibly detailed investigation regarding the matter. That also conveniently happened to turn up nothing regarding who Urban had been fighting or who really owned the bank. According to Cinder’s claims at who ran it anyway.
“I’m telling you, they left that last one behind.” Kepler, the chief of the region’s police branches, surprisingly chill, squinted down at his cards.
“They could have been the other TE/TK there to assist in rapid coordinate information,” replied Alph’s dad, Garry Roy. “It could be them trying to mess with us and lead us down the wrong road on purpose, wasting our time while they cover up the rest.”
Murphy, the front desk guy on their phone at the moment, decided to butt in. “Far too intricate.”
“You’ve haven’t been on the field for the last ten years. Maybe they were crafty back then, but the generations are getting dumber,” Kepler said, lightheartedly, as Alph laid down their final card after a long row of plus-fours.
Alph could feel the tension that would rack their voice if they tried talking about the incident, thinking again about the way Liam had really just left Urban to be dragged back to rehab like some sort of rabid animal.
It still pissed them off.
Murphy picked up the lobby’s phone before looking at Alph’s dad. “Longport Elementary School. Electrokinetic.”
Alph’s dad stood up, flopping their twenty-seven cards down onto the table. Alph, in turn, shot up to follow. Opportunities to help calm down electrokinetics were rare, and practice for different kinetics came by only as chance.
Getting out of the car again at the scene, Alph’s dad stopped Alph before they rushed in. “Remember, the goal is to stop the crisis as soon as possible.”
“I know,” Alph said before rushing in. They recognized their elementary school anywhere, same place they themselves had awakened their kinetic. Except they’d also been right next to the fire alarm and yanked it out of panic, and no one had realized until Alph had gotten home and security footage had been recovered.
They’d been painfully lucky, and they knew it.
This electrokinetic, on the other hand, wasn’t.
There were hundreds of kids standing outside in the lot, terrified. They had a right to be, there was a kid that had just found out they could shoot lightning from their fingertips at will. A will they couldn’t quite control. Alph’s dad was being helped into a rubber suit, and Alph took only a moment before they rushed in. Throwing personal precaution out the window.
Last electrokinetic Alph had been on apprenticeship for had been Ty, their adoptive little brother. Guardians had been temporary, from the foster system. Alph had begged and pleaded with their dad not to do that to the kid after something like this. Alph had gotten decently shocked from it, in the physical way. It had hurt a shit ton, and scared the kid. They had learned a little more about electrokinetics by now, though.
“Stay away!” the kid cried, tears streaming down their cheeks. “I’m gonna hurt you!”
“It’s alright. You’re gonna be okay,” Alph reassured, approaching slowly.
Alph had been unable to prevent it. Again.
Another kid stuck in fucking hand binders. It made them sick.
“It’s about speed, Al,” their dad said, watching the doctors haul the kid to the kinetic injuries department. “That’s how you save as many people as you can. You can’t keep stalling on the scene.”
Alph had been so close.
“Calmest I’ve seen one in a while, though. What do you say we stop at Jerry’s on the way home?” Their dad nudged them, but Alph barely budged, absently nodding.
“We can get the kid some, right?”
“I can’t deny a stressed out kid ice cream.”
Alph’s phone buzzed in their pocket, and they reached back to stare at it. They’d turned the ringer noises off so it didn’t interfere with their apprenticeship. Their dad stared at them, at the phone. Concerned.
“It’s Mum. Should go see what she wants.”
“You know you don’t have to do what she wants, right?”
“I get the feeling she’ll find a way to make me.”
Their dad set a hand on their shoulder after a moment, lightly shaking it. “You’ll always be welcome home for dinner, hey?”
next chapter
━━━━━━━━━━━━ ▲ missing a content warning? let me know
man i need to learn to write again, too much shit's happening
#FLASH/BURN ARCHIVE#fiction#original story#science fantasy#original character#magic#fantasy#dystopian#sci fi#here comes the unnecessary tags#science fiction#story#stories#storytelling#creative writing#creative inspiration#writing#writeblr#writing on tumblr#writers#writers community#writing community#writers on tumblr#reading#literature#original post#spilled ink#spilled writing#angst#inspo
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I did not have a good time today. I was hoping it would be easier but I was wrong about that again. The morning team lead was in a shitty mood. He was yelling at me about his frustrations as soon as I got there. I know he was venting but it feels like he is taking out his anger on me when he talks to me that way. He was getting in my face a little bit and I didn't like that. I'm not sure if he was even aware that he was acting unprofessional. That is not a good way to start the morning and he acted like that all day. It stressed everyone out. He also stayed late, which was nice of him to do but he really didn't have to. We were busy but it wasn't so bad that we couldn't manage it without his help. He has a habit of staying late during the week so that he can leave early every Friday. He didn't go home until 4:30 even though he is supposed to leave at 2:30. He was driving me nuts even when he was working on the other side of the room.
I got done with my cases at 12:30 but then I had to spend over an hour peel packing instruments. I was mad about it because I thought the reason that I had to do it was stupid. One of the eye doctors is on vacation for the next 2 weeks and the eye coordinator told me to take all of his instruments out of the cataract pans and peel pack them all. We are going to put them back in there when he gets back so all of that work seems pointless. She thinks it will save us money but I think she's wrong. Having those instruments in the pan doesn't slow me down at all and they don't move as much when they are being reprocessed so there are less chances for them to get damaged. I think they are more likely to get damaged now when there are tons of peel packs crammed into small bins. They are safer in the metal pans. They had to pay me for taking all of them out and repackaging them. The peel packs and instrument protectors are expensive but she didn't seem to care when I explained that to her. I had to run an extra cycle in the autoclave for all of those instruments and our autoclaves use a lot of energy so that isn't cheap. Everyone else thought it was a bad idea too but I had to do it anyway. I think she likes finding me more work to do because she drops stuff a lot and opens shit for dumb reasons so I have to redo it. She will see me drowning in work and she will dump more on me. She has texted and called me outside of work asking me questions about stuff. She doesn't trust me even though I have proven that I can get everything done. It also upset me that she didn't consult with anybody or tell the other eye coordinator about the changes so everyone was confused earlier. She is getting on my nerves and I think she can tell that I'm getting fed up. I'm trying not to show it but it was difficult for me to maintain my composure earlier. I wanted to talk to the director about what was going on but he couldn't make time for me today. Sometimes I feel like I am annoying him now. I haven't gotten to talk to my boss about anything either. I suppose I will just have to put up with it.
I ate breakfast and lunch today. I wanted to go outside at lunch just because I felt like I needed to leave the building to decompress. Unfortunately I don't have enough time to go somewhere else to get food. I was hangry so I didn't go anywhere. I got a salad because nothing else they had looked good. It wasn't enough but it was better than nothing. I was upset because I really just wanted to go get a burrito or something.
I lifted too much today so my body isn't very happy with me. I haven't had any more heart issues so that's good. My rib wasn't bothering me either so I'm glad I don't have to worry about that so much anymore. I am very tired though.
I was hoping I wouldn't have to stay my full shift but I did anyway. I really wanted to leave early today because I know I probably won't be able to tomorrow. Tomorrow is going to be busier for me and I'm not looking forward to it. I was thinking about calling in tomorrow because I have 15 hours of PTO available but I don't think I will. I should save it. I am going to have a lot to do. I just don't feel like getting yelled at in the morning but I have to deal with it and try not to let him get to me.
I think I need to try to relax now and stop thinking about work so much. It is sort of hard for me to calm down because I saw a spider in my room when I got home. I don't know where it went. I am sure there are probably more. I don't have a problem with bugs but I hate it when they are in my room. I used to have an extreme phobia of spiders but it isn't as bad now. I am still not happy that I saw one. I'm not going to try to search for it right now because I don't have the energy at the moment. I will be ok as long as I don't wake up to it crawling on me. I am going to do my best to stop thinking about that too. I don't have much else to say. I wish I had more positive things to talk about. I really hope I sleep better tonight.
I hope everyone else has a good day tomorrow too. Thanks for listening to me. :) 💖💖💖
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22.08.23
Well well well
I'm 2 weeks into 2.5 weeks of stress leave from the office while I try and get myself together again and man has it been a super needed break from the office and all its toxicity. It's been so good to be able to catch up on sleep and have some slow days and have some super good girlfriend time which has been sorely lacking as of late.
I spent all of Saturday catching up with Freya who is the queen of reinvention and so good to talk to and so reassuring Her and Laurence have lived so many lives and careers paths and its so nice to hear from people who have done it and what's been good and what's been bad and how she's navigated it and for someone who really struggles with being decisive in this kind of stuff it was just great to catch up.
I caught up with Lynaire briefly on Sunday and went and saw an open home as well which was fun. house was terrible but it's nice to be like, poking around the edges and seeing what might be out there for when we move I guess. Still don't know how finances are going to work out for everything but we'll see as time goes on I guess.
I spent this morning in bed brainstorming all the big questions that I have that are just sitting out there and stressing me out and emptied them onto a page. I linked together the common themes ones into to do lists and health and money and tomorrow I need to tackle the work stuff as well and come up with a bit of a plan there about how things are going to change when I go back and where other people need to step in to help and step up and do their jobs so I'm not covering everything while they're being shit.
I came up with a mini to do list under each of the headings so I know what my next little baby steps are and then wrote a list of all the things that are outside of my control as well - what I can't control, what I can influence but not decide and what is just going to have to wait as well so there's that.
I've set up a couple of APs into different bank accounts to save me some money for an emergency fund (somehow I'm 33 and still never had one) and I'll rebuild all my holiday savings budgets and our mortgage account budget and write them down so I can be confident in them and start tracking against them. I know this is probably a double up with YNAB anyway but I'll feel better about it so I'm gunna do it anyway. I need to go to the bank to set up some more accounts in our joint account for stuff as well so I'll get that sorted too. Need to pay the truck registration and get a new headlamp put in it as well (snore). adulthood man.
I've also deleted instagram off my phone to try and curb the time wastage and scrolling. Likely just means I'm gunna read more smutty novels on kindle unlimited but oh well LOOOOOLLLLLL.
I've been seeing a different counsellor as well who I don't love but has been useful. I know I need to work on setting better boundaries in just about every aspect of my life so I need to clock on and do that. Classic me I got a couple of books to read on the topic so we'll see how those go.
One of the really nagging questions that keeps hanging round and I keep circling back to is 'When is it all enough?'. and Enough in everything - when have I earnt enough money, when have I climbed the career ladder enough, when have I delivered enough, when will I ever be enough. So that's one of the things I really need to work my way through. I spent some time this morning writing down all the ways that I have enough already - and it just became a really nice gratitude list so I'm going to keep doing that a bit more often I think. and try and remember to build in some little celebrations at work as well for things that I've covered.
Contemplating quitting the current job to go and be a programme coordinator with my friend Katherine. Would be the same money mostly but way less responsibility and more flexibility. I feel bad ditching work when the boss has been good to me but also, if nothing changes then nothing changes and I'll be back to being a burnt out mess pretty quickly tbh. Unideal. I think we'll just have to see how we go overall once I'm back. September is going to be an interesting month I think.
Ok that's enough of a brain dump for now I think byeeeeeeeeee
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hai star, how are you?
ughh! i’m so so sorry your sister had to go through that :((( it really is so frustrating. i also haven’t been able to fully enjoy my vacation (or anticipating lolla peacefully either) bc even if i didn’t fully work things out, i was still stressing. i’m just frustrated bc nobody organized this well. i have a lil fault bc i could’ve reached out earlier but my professors or the program coordinators or whatever could’ve reached out to the supervisors and gathered all the info before just saying i was assigned to the center. they said there’d be other people but they didn’t tell me i was competing (they probs didn’t even know cuz they didn’t even communicate with the supervisors). idk, it’s a super red flag imo from all parts. i hope things do work out in the end. at least my professor said that if we can’t talk it out she’ll find me a new center (bc like i wanna leave so badly but i want my master’s bc if not all this suffering would have been for nothing🥲).
nonetheless, im so so so glad your sister’s internship came through but they handled it sooooo terribly. i feel for her so much. idk why people (especially if they take internships/practicums like wtf) don’t organize their shit!! but whatever, we ball. but it’s been so crazy lately. grad school has been too intense, where can i apply to place lip balm upon the lips of lee know? pls lmk
the move has been kinda stressy bc it’s been raining so badly here and we haven’t been able to clean the outside of the apartment 🥲 but we ballin too.
in terrible news, as we talk about lack of competence, tw: pet loss. as i was writing this message my bf said that the vet told him today that his senior family dog who was in surgery and had a leg amputation due to cancer had to be revived and was at the verge of death. which is so so so sad in itself. as a person that loves my animals more than anything, i would’ve taken the decision to put her down before the surgery but to each their own. but what really pisses me off is that the vet didn’t even do (or offer, in fact) to get her bloodwork done, knowing that she was high risk due to her age, condition and weight. the vet didn’t even do checked if she could survive before scheduling the surgery. and my bf’s parents were very naive and didn’t question it. and man, hate people that have lives in their hands and only care about money. this poor baby is still suffering there as of right now and it absolutely breaks my heart.
on a brighter note, my bf and i have a vinyl collection and i just ordered ateez’s the world ep.fin:will a few days ago. i’m really excited to get it. i’ve never seen a kpop vinyl irl and im really really interested in how it’ll look.
that is my life update of the day. i love you sm. thanks for giving me space to vent and im so sorry for always venting here </333 i hope you’re having a good time nonetheless, you genuinely deserve all that is good in life <3

(this is me btw)
-🐈⬛
THI WOOYOUNG PIC CRYINGGGGG why is he so cutie…….. 😔😔😔😔😔😔😔😔
I’m still just so frustrated that you have to be dealing with this :( and even if you feel like you should have reached out earlier, I feel like it was still on THEM to communicate that to you. Like how are you just supposed to magically know what to do considering it’s your FIRST TIME doing this…. it doesn’t add up !!!! it’s almost like radio silence leads to miscommunication and misdirection 🤔 hmmmm
anyways. let me know how it all comes along and I’m rooting sooo hard for you in the meanwhile 🙂↕️🫶 you got this bby you’re SO smart and capable and I know you’ll get there !
Oh my god :( I am so so so sorry to hear about your bf’s senior family dog :( it is so VILE that they wouldn’t communicate the risks or offer to get bloodwork done first. Of COURSE all they would care about is rushing a pet into surgery as fast as possible for a big check :( how’s she doing now? Was she sent home? And does she seem to be having any adverse effects from being revived? I am so so so sorry again bby that is so unfortunate and my heart breaks at the idea of a dog going through that much suffering 💔💔 me & momo are sending all our love & prayers your way, I hope she’s able to recover okay and have some more years ahead of her still :(
ON that brighter note, let me know how the vinyl looks !! That is so exciting! I own RM’s Indigo and BTS Love Yourself on vinyl and I’d love to buy more, but my record player broke (it’s just a cheap ass crosley soooo… no surprise lmao) but when I get another one I definitely want to get a few more good ones! My sister’s always dreamed of having Key’s Bad Love on vinyl so I’ll probably snag that for her. And then some Ateez and probably Shinee 🤲 I feel like onew vinyl probably sounds so heavenly frfr
I love you so so much bby and I promise to send all the San & Yeosang pics when I get them this week !! Sending you all my love, hang in there 🫶💖 I love you so so much 🫶💓💖💘❤️🩷 (hello kitty Wooyoung and Hongjoong sooo real)

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office au time!
missed my work-related emotional support aus so posting some staff profiles here so i hopefully remember to continue...
norway, russia and bulgaria under the cut and open to requests!
HETATECH HUB Staff Profiles
🇳🇴 Name: Lukas Harald Kristiansen 🇳🇴
Age: 33
Pronouns: he/him
Job: Research and Development Coordinator
Height: 5'7
How do they take their coffee: black, blistering hot and strong enough to strip the paint off a bus
Extra:
- very unfazed attitude towards work. praise and criticism and extra deadlines all get much the same response from him: 'mm.' some people hate it; others find him very easy to work with.
- so deadpan and dry that people have questioned if he actually experiences human emotions.
🇷🇺 Name: Ivan Rurikovitch Braginsky 🇷🇺
- leaves things til the last minute and always manages to pull the work out his arse, much to the frustration of everyone he's working with. extremely laissez faire in his approach, it doesn't really matter how it gets done as long as it gets done.
- brings the worst smelling food to the break room and eats it with impunity; accuses people of cultural insensitivity if they complain and no one knows if he's joking about it or not.
- good friend of fellow nordic emil who works on reception. they're not related but lukas pretends they are to wind him up and confuse other people.
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Age: 45
Pronouns: he/him
Job: Head of HR (yeah really)
Height: 6'7
How do they take their coffee: Milky with three sugars; sometimes a cappuccino with vanilla syrup as a little treat.
Extra:
- gets a lot of gentle ribbing from the younger members of staff which he takes in good humour. also no one ever goes too far because there are rumours he's ex kgb (he's not).
- he is surprisingly a very patient and kind manager, but he's also naturally awkward and puts his foot in his mouth more than he means to. he also has favourites.
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- notorious for being a soft touch when it comes to requests - head of finance Yao is always tearing his hair out because if he says no to something, Ivan will say yes two minutes later. very susceptible to flattery and bribes. not monetary ones but if you offer to make him a brew or share your chocolate it goes a long way.
- fond of posting on the staff bulletin board and sending round friendly emails. prides himself on creating a supportive work environment. will occasionally drop by people's desks for a chat and ends up knocking something over, distracting them from their work, or saying something unintentionally hilarious/rude.
🇧🇬 Name: Boris Goranov 🇧🇬
Age: 32
Pronouns: he/him
Job: Customer Support Associate
Height: 5'10
How do they take their coffee: two tablespoons of instant coffee + boiling water, drink mostly cold when you eventually get round to this
Extra:
-boris' job means he gets shit on by customers and staff alike because he has to be a go between.
- He has the worst luck in the universe. This isn't a good match.
- always looks a bit sweaty and rumpled like somethings chasing him (deadlines)
- actually a really good laugh outside of work! just doesn't deal with stress very well.
- gets serious cases of the nervous shits and due to his diet of whatever he can heat up and bolt down in his spare time, his bathroom issues are famous among staff
#hws norway#hws russia#hws bulgaria#making ivan the hr manager is so funny to me#hetatech hub#office au
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Finally... we’ve waited for so long
synopsis: tempting images fill your husband’s mind, when after yet another long day he is relaxing in hot water. He is aching and yerning for your caress, but instead it’s his hand reaching down, because he cares for your your well-being too much.
pairing: Diluc x fem!reader
tw: nsfw, established relationship, masturbating, fingering, bath sex
word count: 3.1k+ words
Diluc sighs in frustration, resting his chin in his open palm, elbow firmly planted on the side of a bathtub. He can faintly hear you right outside the door - moving around your shared bedroom, surely tending to his discarded clothes, sorting through what should be left for maids to wash, what can stay, and what will end up stored away in a jewelry box. Only the golden band around his ring finger is shining brightly, and upon catching how lights reflect in the metal, the guilt twists the heart in the man's chest.
He feels like he is failing you as a husband. Admittedly, it was a horrible couple of weeks, too much happening, with preparation for the festival weighing on his shoulders as well, and he was rightfully exhausted to even talk when his head hit the pillow far later than acceptable. But so were you. You were involved in all these business and preparation things because of him, coordinating and being a mediator in conflict arising situations, which wore you out mentally as much as it did him physically. Many nights only one of you made it to the Winery, the other staying behind in the city and crashing to the hotel room. Maybe you really should consider getting an apartment within the city walls for such occasions. Something small and comfy, enough for two people to spend the night. He'll need to discuss it with you.
Not today though. He groans, straightening his back and realizing how full of pent up stress his body is. Usually he'd ask you for a massage, not forgetting to give one in return, but right now he can do as much as finish bathing to get himself in an appropriate form and get in bed with you to cuddle.
Diluc's fingers twitch at the thought of wrapping his arms around your soft and warm body, burying his face in your neck, inhaling that ever-present scent of fresh fruits that sings of summer, so full and juicy, that one bite can make them leak. A sweet sugary droplet would run down your chin, your bobbing throat and maybe he could catch it on his tongue before it reaches your plump breasts-
Fiery eyes snap open. He didn't realize it but his breathing suddenly became labored, his lungs got into a frenzy, hungrily inhaling the air and almost choking on the bath products' aroma swirling in the air. Why would he have such impure thoughts about you? Of course you are his wife, his lover, the woman whom he's seen in her best and worst, and also neediest, whose body he wants to worship till the rest of his life and whose voice fills him with thrill every time your beautiful lips part open. But…why? Why now? Shouldn't he be too exhausted to even think of your bare skin, of how you'd prettily lay sprawled under him, back arched and fingers buried in his hair? Oh, the sinfully clear details of his thoughts.
The gaze shamefully falls down to the still hot water, temperature unchanged, due to how warm his pyro vision is making his body, and then crimson orbs widen. Shit, maybe those really were long two weeks, with not much but a brief kiss here and there, and even rarer hugs, replaced by holding hands for a few minutes when things got too overwhelming.
Just mere thoughts are making him hard, and it seems like his mind doesn't want to stop fantasizing about you. It's been awhile, he admits, he probably hasn't touched you intimately in a whole month, and it fired back at him with a hard on at the slightest image of your gorgeous body imprinted into his brain.
It wasn't fair to you either, but he wasn't going to ask you to help him now. You've already done so much, and the least he could do is let you rest properly.
Maybe if he pictures more scenes of when you rocked your bed, it'll bring him to relief in a matter of time, to get out and let you use the bathroom for your own relaxation.
He could keep quiet. It will be quick.
His back meets the tub's edge. Hand immediately goes for the half-hard cock, grasping the pulsing length and applying the pressure. Diluc curses under his breath, when his thumb swiftly swipes over the sensitive slit and sends a jolt through his body. Archons, he is aching, stomach muscles immediately flexing when he moves his palm up and down, pushing the foreskin away, revealing a flushed head.
Another memory resurfaces of when you were helping him relieve stress after a long night at the tavern, kissing his lips and letting your hand play with his leaking length. He traces the starting to bulge veins the same way you did, and even if it's hard to replicate your godsent touch Diluc still shudders again. Flaming gaze turns hazy, glazed over, overtaken by the image of your pretty fingers drawing hearts on his pectorals while your hand never ceased moving, gripping and teasing the hell out of your husband, and the Dawn Winery owner tries his hardest to do the same. But it doesn't feel the same, not with his hand being so rough and calloused that it actually feels a bit uncomfortable without lube - no amount of hot water can soften the scarred palms toughened by hardships. You like them though. You like to hold them, kiss them, have them plunging and curling deep inside of you, soaked in your juices, rubbing again those spongy walls, fuck…
He has to lift his hips a little to let the precum run down his fully erect cock, to have at least some form of lubricant. Oh, if only you were here…
No, he has to remind himself, you are tired, you deserve a break, not another hour of pushing yourself beyond your limits to deal with his aroused state.
Just to cum once, he repeats in his head, speeding up the stroking, come once and get out. Just one release, and the bath is all yours, he'll pour new water for you while you take off all your clothes and when he turns around, you'll be standing there in all your naked beauty, folding the garments, hair undone and those plush thighs pressed together, ngh-
Diluc doesn't hear the door open. He doesn't see another person stepping inside, doesn't feel a slight chill entering the bathroom from a window cracked open in the bedroom. His long lashes are kissing the apples of his cheeks, his pants and quiet moans escape those glistening pink lips, and skin too hot with need to be bothered with a meaningless breeze.
He is so close, just a little more-
"Love, you forgot to bring a fresh towel with y-oooooh," your sweet voice and a loud gasp are like a bucket of cold water, making him choke on another prayer of your name. Flaming eyes are wild when they snap open and stare at you, cheeks heating up upon seeing the stunned look on your lovely face. The raging blush coating Diluc's cheeks is apparent on his milky skin, and yours are pink too, but not even coming close to the richest red taking over his face.
The hand, which just moments ago was roughly pumping his thick aching cock, is ripped away by its own owner, previously raised hips hiding under the water, and the big muscular body curling over in embarrassment.
"My flame, I-" it's not even his voice, so hoarse and laced with desire, having dropped half an octave lower. Your husband doesn't even have an explanation for this unbecoming behavior of this. Ah, how much he wishes to sink under this water and die.
"Did you touch yourself thinking about me?"
Diluc Ragnvindr, the sole nightly protector of Mondstadt, the businessman who monopolized the wine industry not only in his homeland but the whole world, almost cries out loud because of your bold question. Guilt infiltrates his body and soul, chewing at his mind, which is spiraling with thoughts of you thinking what a dirty pervert he must be. You've never caught him touching himself before alone, not like he did it often anyway.
He truly is an awful husband.
All he can do is nod, because he would never lie to the woman he holds dear in his heart, and prepare himself for the disappointment in your voice. But what you say next catches him completely off guard.
"Finally."
Diluc turns his head just in time to see you tossing the towel on the vanity and turning around to close the door. When you return and get closer to him, the man is surprised to find your tired expression from half an hour ago being replaced by excitement, desire dancing in your previously droopy eyes and hands feverishly tugging on your clothes to get it off.
Almost in awe he watches your soft breasts bounce, not longer constricted by fabric. Your thighs are pressed together, just like he imagined, when you drag more clothes off, becoming completely naked in a matter of seconds. Archons he thinks with a lovesick look in his swirling eyes, she is a goddess. My goddess.
The love-stricken stupor ends only when you climb into the tub and in his lap, knees pressed to the white porcelain bottom on either side of his strong hips, arms wrapped around his neck and chests pushing impossibly close.
"Archons I missed you too…" You confess, pressing a searing kiss to the corner of his lips, and Diluc believes you. Muscular arms wrap around your waist almost desperately, drawing your body even closer. The low groan finds its way out of his strained throat when your pussy drags against his cock in the process, and is then swallowed by your eager lips, pressing against his.
Diluc keens on the feeling, immediately lost in it, throwing all the thoughts about letting you rest out of the window. Kissing you again and again, he can only wish for feeding both of your desires, giving you the satisfaction that was ripped away from you because of work.
When you gently tug on the roots of his hair, the man quietly moans, cock twitching against you, making you bite your lip and stop devouring his mouth momentarily, instead focusing on rocking your hips, riling not only your lover but yourself up.
This little pause gives you both an opportunity to catch your breaths. Diluc looks down to take in your shuddering form. From the waist down your skin has turned red from how hot the water is but you seem to ignore it, blissfully mewling and moaning, when the cockhead catches against your swollen clit.
"You are not ngh repulsed?" His question makes you tear your gaze from where you soon will be connected and look back at his face. There is clearly worry etched in his features and still some guilt hiding behind the crimson of his eyes. The strong urge to reassure him quickly blooms in your heart.
"Because you were masturbating while imagining me?" He nods, blush bursting onto his cheeks with new brightness. "Oh, firefly," you breathlessly giggle, cupping the side of his face and making him look right into your eyes, "if anything I am happy to know it's me you think of in the moment of pleasure. I am your wife, am I not? I'd take your horny state as a compliment, it is nice to know you are yearning for me. So don't stress yourself over it, okay? Besides…" your voice turns sultry and the smile seductive. "I didn't lie when I said I missed you much. I too did touch myself at the thought of you."
Something in Diluc snaps. Maybe it's the fact he was too stupid not to think that you are married and it's okay to imagine your partner while jerking off, or maybe it's you admitting he's been on your mind in your neediest times as well, or the notion he wasn't there to properly please you, but all his self-restraint is forgotten.
He kisses you again, this time with more vigor and persistence. Hands are all over each other, touching, caressing, groping, carefully scratching, digging nails in the skin of your thighs and his shoulders.
You don't think you can take it any longer.
"Stretch me, love, please" you murmur between kisses and before Diluc knows it a big hand on your hip pushes you up onto your knees, making you stick your ass out, and two of his fingers are already sliding into your hole. Celestia above you are tight. So neglected and horny, closing onto him with a vice grip, walls velvety under the pads of his long fingers, so warm and slick.
Your sounds though… Diluc thinks he is going to come undone just because of them. He picks a pace to thrust his fingers properly.
"I've waited for so lo-ooh, mmm to make love to you, but couldn't find a moment to initiate any-thi-," you shudder when he curls his fingers against that special spot. You almost collapse on top of him, burying your face in his neck and clinging to his back for dear life. "Didn't want work to interfere in an unfortunate moment. But fuck!" Your voice rings, jumping a few tones higher, sounding so much needier. "I wanted you to take me!"
"I will, my flame," he hurriedly promises you, kissing your temple and pressing a thumb to rub your clit. "I will make you feel so good, I will take care of you…"
"You are already doing it," your muffled cry and how your thighs clench together, sandwiching his hand tell Diluc that you are close. "One more finger, please, please, please, please-"
And he complies, adding one more, pumping three digits in and out, in and out, not forgetting about the sensitive nub. You kiss him again, burying fingers in his disheveled hair, wet strands streaming through your fingers like a river of fire, and Diluc feels that it's him who is being swallowed by the flames of temptation, but if you are the cause - so be it.
Just don't stop wanting him.
"Come on, dear," he whispers, taking his hand off of your hip and bringing it to hold the side of your face, "I need you to cum for me. Get all wet and slick for my cock, right?"
Your jaw goes slack at how fast he starts to fuck your pussy, eyes blown wide and cheeks red in response to his bold words. You might have initiated it, but Diluc is sure to finish it.
One last rough press to your clit and you burst, crying his name and convulsing around his fingers. Juices of your relief immediately coat them, making your pussy squelch as you are guided through your orgasm. Your husband gently shushes you, littering your face with sweet kisses, and carefully working the digits out of your gaping, gushing cunt. You tremble and whine quietly when he helps you lower yourself back in the water, head pressed to his chest and eyes closed, going a bit limp on top of him.
The room grows quiet, save for your shared heavy breaths, and Diluc hugs you tightly, kissing the top of your head. The small heart you draw on his shoulder, too breathless to speak just yet, fills his calming heart with pride and joy. There is no more worry in him over the unholy act you caught him in, not after you took his fingering so eagerly, reassuring him your want for him is just as strong.
Speaking of his want…
He was still painfully hard.
"My flame…" Your lashes tremble before you hum and shift yourself to be able to look up at him. The pretty gems of your eyes shine brightly as you gaze lovingly at the man who's just given you the best orgasm in the last month.
"Yes, 'luc?"
He clears his throat, reaching to brush a wet strand of hair away from your face. You turn your head and playfully catch his thumb between your teeth, softly nibbling the digit. A smirk appears on Diluc's face. He pries his thumb out of your mouth and instead press with it on your swollen lower lip, locking the rest of his fingers under your chin and tilting your head back.
"Do you think…" he wonders, lowering his head to brush his equally swollen lips against the side of your neck, "...you could help me out?"
And with that he rocks his hips, making you aware of the still remaining problem.
This seems to sober you up, as you are suddenly pushing your body off of him.
"Of course, 'luc, I am sorry, I was so caught up in the moment," you sheepishly chuckle, grabbing the hand that was holding your chin seconds ago, and kissing the wide palm. "Your fingers are just that good."
"I am glad," he smiles, content with your praise and knowledge that he makes you feel this way. He lets you straighten up, wondering what you are going to do next. You wink at him, moving away and to the other end of the tub. He cocks his head in confusion, but it quickly dawns on him, when you turn around to face away from him and grasp the edge with both of your hands, bending your body in a delicious manner. His gaze turns hungry, when he sees your compromising position - legs spread the best the width of the tub allows, back arched, ass raised and lower lips shyly peeking from between your thighs and above the water surface.
"What are you waiting for, Diluc~? Why don't you put it in?" Your teasing voice and a wiggle of your hips spur him into action.
A soft gasp leaves your lips when a big hand slams on the edge near your own and hot lips latch onto your shoulder, sucking the very first mark tonight on your skin.
"Oh, Y/n..." You feel him smirk, clenching around nothing at the way he drags out your name in a rumbling growl. "I am going to take such good care of you… And don't you dare hide your sweet sounds from me."
"Only if- oh yes," you arch even more when a thick head pushes between the lips and nudges your hole.
"Only if what?" Diluc presses, grasping the base of his cock, and pushing the head past your rim, cursing under his breath something along the lines of how tight you are.
"If you promise me to not hold back anything you've got either," you turn your head to glance back at him, but he beats you to it, sliding the hand over your smaller one and threading his fingers between yours, leaning forward and indulging you in a kiss, which ultimately seals your deal.
"Never from you."
And he thrusts his hips forward.
#genshin impact#genshin impact x reader#diluc ragnvindr#diluc x reader#diluc x fem!reader#diluc ragnvindr x reader#genshin impact smut#moonlit pearl stories
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## college au!park jongseong x reader, YOU SING PRETTY

summary: you start to crush on a mysterious person with a guitar and a heavenly voice and bff!jungwon does something about it (meet cute edition)
genre: fluff
content warnings: academic stress, mentions of oral sex in a joke
wc: .5k
You needed a room to scream in. Desperately.
Your asshole Music Theory professor flunked the composition you pulled an all-nighter for. It just seemed like your college experience was getting worse and worse because of this little twat with a PhD. And Jungwon, your most favorite person on this entire planet, just had to hear about it.
With furious speedwalking, you found your target in the back corner of the music building. A perfect spot to shit talk uninterrupted for a while (and actually be a music major, but that was beside the point). A victorious smirk played at your lips.
And suddenly, a soft cadence of notes trickled out of an open practice room. God, people really need to learn how to reduce noise pollution in this damn institution (you were mainly talking about your professor). You went to go tell the instrumentalist that they were being a prick and–
You realized it was a guitar, and whoever was playing it was caressing out gorgeous melodies from its body. The feet that once stomped your way over to their practice room halted right in its place.
Then they started singing. Their voice held such brass, yet remained so sweetly honeyed.
“Y/N?” Said another, much more familiar voice.
Jungwon stood next to you, catching you mere feet away from the entrance of the mysterious and talented musicians’ practice room. In his hands was a pristine Music Theory textbook. “Why are you standing outside of Jay’s room?”
You flushed, heat radiating from your cheeks. A boy with black hair stepped out of the practice room, taking the textbook from Jungwon and swearing never to forget it ever again. He was plenty gorgeous, with that defined jawline and thoughtfully coordinated outfit.
You needed a response. “I was trying to,” Words started to jumble just on the tip of your tongue. “I was trying to tell him… he sings pretty?”
The quirk of Jungwon’s eyebrow told you everything you needed to know. You fucked up. What sort of creep calls a stranger’s singing pretty when they first meet?
“Oh, thanks.” Jay replied with a small grin. My goodness, his smile was beautiful.
Jungwon, ever the little devil, took one glance at your flustered state and put two-and-two together. “Y/N thinks you’re pretty too. In general.”
You shot him a hellishly fiery glare. “What the-”
Jay shrugged. “I think you’re pretty too.” And with that, Jay swung his guitar case over his shoulder and departed.
Your jaw slacked. What sort of nonsensical series of events did you just witness? You were going to beat up Yang Jungwon later, but Jay… Jay thought you were pretty?
Jungwon rolled his eyes at you and ruffled your hair. “Love, Jay sits behind us in class. He’s always staring at you from afar. You’re a little airhead and never realized it.”
You sputtered incoherently.
“Go get yourself a boyfriend and some sort of head, please. All music majors should get head for free since we’re all so stressed from Intro to Theory.”
#jay imagines#jay x reader#enhypen oneshot#kpop meet cute#enhypen college au#kpop college au#enhypen x reader#enhypen imagines#jay oneshot#jongseong imagines#enhypen fluff#! 💬. ⋆。𖦹 °✩ minis
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Olivia felt like the air was vacuumed from her lungs. Every muscle in her body went stiff. “Who is this?” she demanded.
The man on the line laughed. “Oh, shit! Is that Detective Benson?” He spoke like they were old friends, adding to their infuriation. “Wait, no. Lieutenant Benson. That’s right, it’s been a while since we last spoke. You really climbed those ranks, didn’t you?”
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Monday, October 31st, 7:15PM
Valeria was fifteen minutes early. She thought the traffic would be worse getting back. Would showing up at his door now make her look too eager? Should she wait at her apartment and be fifteen minutes late, or would that make her seem disregarding? If she was on time, it might make it seem like she was too coordinated for this.
At the end of it, she decided she was overthinking it, as she usually did, and went into her apartment to try to mask the stress of the day before heading to Rafael’s. And if Isabella was back home, give her a piece of her mind. But she wasn’t, and that gave Valeria the chance to put on her best cool demeanor while she changed into cleaner, more casual clothes. This was her first real date in over a decade. Rationality said there would be no date if Rafael didn’t already see something in her, but realism reminded her that he didn’t see it all. He saw what Valeria showed him, what she deemed safe to be seen. And it wasn’t much…
Valeria finished off her refresh with dry shampoo, her leather jacket in place of her blazer and jeans in place of slacks. She wasn’t a fan of the “professional” attire rule Liv had in place, but she also wasn’t in a place to question it or fight it. It really wasn’t a huge deal at the end of the day. What was a huge deal, was this first date. She’d almost forgotten it was her birthday until she walked into Rafael’s apartment and smelled the fresh meal he’d prepared.
Rafael poked his head from the kitchen, his smile the brightest thing in the room when he saw Valeria setting her bag next to the door. “Well, shit. You actually came,” he teased.
“Okay, well, if you’re gonna be an ass right off the bat, I can just go and have dinner with Liv and Noah.” She picked up her bag again.
Rafael laughed, setting the food to warm as he went to greet Val at the door with a glass of wine. “Put the bag down, and leave your attitude with it.” He placed a glass in one hand and took the purse from the other. “Leonetti Merlot, 2015.”
She hummed, taking a quick sniff before a sip. “Sounds expensive.”
He raised a brow. “And if it was?”
“I’d complain. A lot.”
“So, what I’m hearing is, never let you find gift receipts,” he summarized. “Thanks for the heads up.” Rafael chuckled as she rolled her eyes and brushed past him, watching her walk toward the kitchen. She moved more gracefully when she wasn’t drunk. Straighter, stronger. It formed a familiar knot in his lower belly. One that he had to actively remind himself to ignore, to not act upon. At least for now. “Arroz con gandules y lechón,” he explained the smell, following her into the kitchen. “Pasteles are still heating up in the pot.”
Valeria’s eyes widened as she looked back at him, her chest feeling warm as the swarm of butterflies got feistier in her belly. “You actually took the time to make pasteles?” That expectation wasn’t even close to being on her mind. At least not this soon into their… whatever they were doing.
Rafael walked past her with a guilty expression, grabbing the wine to top off her already almost empty glass. “For the sake of keeping you impressed and not tarnishing my reputation as an overachiever, we’ll say yes.” Store bought, but still quality made, in his opinion. He would have made them himself if he had the time, but he truthfully hadn’t expected her to accept his invitation to dinner, let alone agree to a relationship with him. He seemed confident on the outside, but honestly? He was freaking out just as much as she was. All of this was almost brand new, and he didn’t want to ruin it.
Valeria chuckled. “Trust me, your effort at all is impressive enough,” she assured, leaning back against the counter. Her stance changed, shoulders shrugging up as if she was trying to hide. She was timid, glancing down into the glass. “You really want to give this a shot, huh?” God fuck— Why did she ask? Why couldn’t she just let it be? Was it really that unbelievable that she could have something good?
It honestly almost broke Rafael’s heart that she had such a hard time accepting that she was worth the effort, but he understood how that doubt came to be. “I do,” he confirmed. “I don’t have a clue what I’m doing, but I’m willing to figure it out as I go, if you’re willing to be patient with me.”
Her smile grew gently. “I’m raising a teenager,” she reminded jokingly. “My patience isn’t a problem, it’s my sanity.”
“I’m guessing Isa finally got back to you?” He sipped his wine before setting it down to tend to the food being prepared.
“Nope, but we traced her phone. She’s at her crush’s house.” She fully expected the concerned looked Rafael gave her, sharing the same sentiment. “I know, but I also know Isa. She’s not gonna do anything stupid. Er… Well… Not anything stupider than what she’s already done.”
“As long as you’re sure,” Rafael encouraged, pulling open a cabinet for plates.
Valeria watched as he plated and served their dinner. How the fabric of his polo moved with his muscles, fitted to his contours. His grip tightening on the plate as it started to weigh heavier when more food filled it. And when he walked to the table… Lord, save Val from these sinful thoughts. Or don’t. “Fucking wild,” she thought out loud, biting her lip.
He glanced back, setting the plates down. “What is?”
“Hm?”
He noticed her eyes cast up to his from his hip region, grinning slowly. “You said ‘fucking wild’. What’s fucking wild?”
She shook her head, sipping her wine. “How when we first met, I wanted nothing more than to beat your ass,” she indulged, grabbing his glass and bringing it to the table. “You were just… so fucking arrogant and snide, walking around like you owned shit just because you’re good in the courtroom.”
“You know, when you talk like that, I get the feeling you still hate me,” he chuckled. Although, it was a very real concern he had, but tried to bury.
“I never hated you,” she admitted. “You just frustrated me. Still do, but for different reasons.”
Curious. “And what are those reasons?”
Valeria finished her second glass, setting it empty on the table before turning toward Rafael. One hand propped against the table while the other rest on her hip. “You’re still arrogant and a pain in my ass,” she said, though voice held a… certain undertone. Her eyes wandered over the features of his face. The hints of silver in his hair and beard, the tired lines from years of fighting in court. Seasoned, but refined. She inhaled a subtly shaky breath in an attempt to settle herself, her hand lifting from the table to straighten the collar of his polo. “But now it adds to your charm. I don’t want to fight you as much as I would rather…” A pause. Valeria bit her lip with a sultry grin. “Something else that starts with an ‘f’.” A quick little tug at his collar undid the loose top button. She left him with that, grabbing her glass as she went back to the kitchen to refill it.
Jesus fucking Christ. Valeria made it harder and harder for him to keep his hands to himself. No matter how much he tried to tell himself to keep it together, his body did the opposite, following her into the kitchen. He stood directly behind her, smirking when her breath hitched at his hands on her hips. “Are you trying to seduce me, Detective?” he asked quietly, lips brushing against her ear.
Valeria tried to keep her composure, but her hair standing on end gave her away. “Depends.” She leaned back against his chest, turning her face slightly toward his. “Is it working?”
She gasped in surprise when he squeezed her hips and turned her, backing her against the counter. The involuntary moan as he pressed his hips against hers deepened a blush on her cheeks. “You tell me,” he breathed, eyes staring hungrily into hers.
Restraint broken, Rafael gave into temptation, claiming Valeria’s lips with his own. Hardly a risk when she so eagerly returned the kiss, her arms wrapping around his neck, hands pushing through his hair. It was the same intensity as the first time, but they forced themselves to take their time, savor the feeling of each other under their hands, explore each other’s bodies, taste each other. No touch was a bad one, lighting every nerve on fire.
Dinner was long forgotten. The only thing on their mind was lust as they stumbled out of the kitchen and into the living room. “You know, I have a rule about not putting out of the first date,” Rafael teased through kisses, pushing Valeria’s leather jacket off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor.
Valeria chuckled, pulling the bottom of his shirt from the waistband of his slacks. “Well , excuse me, Princess,” she teased back, kicking off her shoes. “Should I stop?” The backs of her knees hit the arm of the couch and she let out a soft yelp as she toppled onto her back. She stared up at him, warmth pooling in her lower belly and between her legs in response to how he looked at her.
“Don’t you fucking dare.” Rafael pounced, laying himself atop Valeria, his hips settled between her legs. He was desperate for friction, grinding the strain in his pants against her, drawing a vulgar moan from deep in his chest as their kisses grew pornographic. This was not in the plan for tonight, but there was no way either of them would stop.
But perhaps they spoke too soon. Valeria’s phone started to ring in her purse, eliciting an irritated groan from her. “Déjalo,” Rafael begged, his lips trailing down her neck.
“No puedo,” she panted, despite her wanting to. His hands tearing off her clothes and his mouth on her skin begged her not to stop. “¿Y si es Olivia?”
“Puedes llamarla más tarde. Puedes culparme.” As enticement, he slipped his hand down the front of her panties, coating his middle and ring finger in her wet before pushing them inside her. “Por favor.”
His fingers inside her and his breathless pleading were electric, ripping a gasping moan from her chest. She drowned out her phone ringing long before it stopped, mind stolen into the moment. “Fuck, Rafa,” she whined, hands gripping tight on his shirt and in his hair. The lower he kissed down her body, the heavier her breaths came. She couldn’t help but watch.
Rafael wasn’t lying when he said this wasn’t something he would do on the first date, but he couldn’t help himself this time around. Every snippy remark Valeria made, every glare she cast toward him, the way she carried herself. The longer it went on since May, the more he wanted her. And the more he wanted her, the more he thought had to push it down. Until that past Friday, at least. He really couldn’t stop thinking about her body on his, her tongue in his mouth. He felt guilty, perverted when he imagined how that night would’ve gone if he hadn’t told her to stop. Even more so when he pleasures himself more than once at the thought.
But he intended to make a dream come true now, his hand leaving her core despite her protesting whines and removing the fabric that covered her. He tossed them onto the floor with her jeans and her shirt, marveling at her statuesque body laid open beneath him. “You’re so beautiful,” he praised, his hands gliding gently over her silky legs. He pushed her knees closer to her chest as he leaned down, laying soft kisses to her thighs, alternating as he dipped lower and lower, closer and closer.
Valeria’s head fell back, eyes shut as she reveled in the expert way his tongue danced over her clit. Sexual partners were far and few between, and when they did happen, it was admittedly nothing memorable. She never experienced what it was like to be pleased like this. They never really cared, but even if they had, she was positive nothing would compare to Rafael. Her hips rolled, begging for more, to which Rafael happily obliged by wrapping his lips around her clit. Valeria’s back arched, her moans louder, surely heard by neighbors through the walls.
Music to his ears. She was so much sweeter than he imagined, so much better. He shifted on his knees to adjust the hardness in the front of his pants. His cock twitched and throbbed, begging to be freed from its confines, pleading for pleasure. If only he cared about his own as much as he cared about hers. Or perhaps it was his name falling from her lips with breathless moans that did it for him, that could easily get him off. He released one of her thighs, slipping his fingers into her again to work in tandem.
The knotting core in her belly burned white hot. “Just like that, baby,” Valeria panted. “Fuck, don’t stop. I’m right there. I—“ Her orgasm cut her words short. She clawed at the couch for dear life as she toppled over the edge, shouting Rafael’s name in euphoric bliss.
It took pure willpower and a half to keep himself from cumming, but holy fuck, was it difficult. Her lust flooded, dripping down his chin and hand as he kept working his fingers, helping her ride out her orgasm. Her legs relaxed, Rafael carefully laying them down as he pressed kisses to her hips. “Good girl,” her purred against her skin, grinning as she twitched from each kiss, every nerve in her body ultra sensitive. “Should’ve figured you’d be a screamer.”
Valeria chuckled between heavy breaths, eyes glazed over with lust as she looked down at him. “Get your clothes off and I’ll show you just how loud I can be,” she challenged, pressing the top of her foot against his cock, strained in his slacked.
She didn’t have to tell him twice. He groaned sharply, his hips involuntary grinding down to add more friction as he sat back on his knees, pulling his shirt off in one fluid motion. “Yes, ma’am,” he rumbled.
•••••••••••••••
8:00PM
Fin had forgotten his phone at his desk, grumbling to himself in irritation as he was now forced to get dressed again to go back to grab it. Phoebe was sure to tease the almighty shit out of him when he got back. He passed by Olivia’s office, attention grabbed when he noticed the lights on. He peeked in to find her at her desk. “Hey,” he greeted in surprise. “What are you doing here?”
Olivia looked up from her computer with a grateful sigh, taking off her glasses. “Dodds needed me to double check that Joshua Fletcher case,” she explained. “Said something about it felt off.” She gave a tired laugh at Fin’s offense. “I assured him you did everything right, but he insisted, so I’m just trying to give him a piece of mind.” But it could wait for now. She had her boy at home and she didn’t want to keep Lucy any longer than she needed to. “What about you? I figured you would’ve been in for the night.”
“I was until Phoebe pointed out that I left my phone,” he retorted, a little embarrassed.
Olivia laughed, standing from her desk to follow Fin out to his. “Fin, if you need a day, all you have to do is say so,” she assured. “You’ve been working your ass off, you deserve it.”
He waved a hand as he grabbed his phone. “Nah, I’m alright. You know me, I get antsy if I’m not doing something.” The phone buzzed in his hand, dropping his jaw just slightly when he read the caller ID. “Well, well, well.” He showed Olivia, who shared the same expression when she read the name. Isabella. Fin shook his head. “She’s got another thing coming if she thinks I’m not telling Val.” He and Olivia scoffed before he answered on speaker, Fin mentally praising God that he didn’t have any teen girls to deal with. “Girl, do you have any idea how bad your sister freaked out about you? First you skip your classes, then you don’t return anyone’s calls? Val’s gonna be pissed. You got a death wish or something?”
“Funny you should say that, Detective Tutuola.” The voice that responded was too deep to be Isabella’s. Too old. Too masculine. It wasn’t entirely familiar, but something about it pierced hard, making the detective’s and lieutenant’s blood run cold.
Olivia felt like the air was vacuumed from her lungs. Every muscle in her body went stiff. “Who is this?” she demanded.
The man on the line laughed. “Oh, shit! Is that Detective Benson?” He spoke like they were old friends, adding to their infuriation. “Wait, no. Lieutenant Benson. That’s right, it’s been a while since we last spoke. You really climbed those ranks, didn’t you?”
She in no mood for games, grabbing Fin’s hand that held the phone. “Answer me,” she demanded. “Who is this?”
He sighed. “I guess I wouldn’t be very memorable to you, huh? Val doesn’t really talk about me, does she? Not that I blame her. We had a… rocky relationship. I tried calling her so we could talk it out, but no answer.”
Connor Davis. If hell was real… Every horrible thought ran through Olivia and Fin’s minds. Isabella’s behavior started to make sense. It didn’t seem like her because it wasn’t her. Davis had her, and it was sickening to think of what could’ve happened to her in the last eight hours. “Where’s Isabella, Connor? Let me talk to her,” Olivia pleaded.
“No.” Venom laced his voice. He had nothing to hide anymore. Thanks to Valeria, the world knew what monstrous things he was capable of. If it was a monster they saw, a monster they’d get. “I have a message for my ex, and you’re going to make sure she gets it.”
•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
A/N: First and foremost, I want to apologize for this chapter being two days late. I have a day job as a hairstylist, and with Thanksgiving being right around the corner, work has slowly been getting busier. On top of that, my creative writing has been lacking. It took me three days since posting Chapter 6 to even start writing Chapter 7, and even when I started, the creative thoughts just weren’t there. But I managed to finish it, and while I worry it’s not up to par with the first half dozen chapters, I hope you all enjoy it anyway.
All this being said, I will be taking a holiday break from writing. I absolutely intend to continue and finish Marked, but for now, I owe it to you all and myself to give you the best writing I have, which means I need to let my mind rest a bit and rejuvenate. The estimated time of my return can be expected on either January 6th, 2023 or January 13th, 2023. Until then, I actually wanna know your thoughts on what I have so far and what you think will happen! In comments, asks, DMs, however you want to make your predictions! This break would also give me a chance to interact with you all like I have really been wanting to.
Until the new year, my friends!
♥️ Georgie
#l&o: marked#fluff#fanfic#oc#smut#angst#amanda rollins#donald cragen#john munch#law and order svu#SVU#special victims unit#olivia benson#odafin tutuola#rafael barba x oc#rafael barba#elliot stabler#sonny carisi#nypd#16th precinct
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Team Tokyo First Years Headcanons
(Ft. Yuji, Megumi, Nobara, Gojo & Sukuna)
Gojo created a group chat with all three students to coordinate things. However, he never knows if Megumi reads the texts because he never says anything (he does), and all Yuji does is send memes, so basically that's its only function now.
Yuji and Nobara created a game: try to take a picture of Gojo with his blindfold off. He takes it off frequently, it's just impossible to catch an image of it. Surprisingly, Megumi of all people has gotten the closest. If you squint, you can see the baby blues.
This escalated into "who can take the ugliest picture of someone without them looking", after capturing an image of Yuji standing next to Gojo's desk with almost four chins. Nobara discovered she has many bad angles and Gojo discovered he's photogenic from ALL angles.
Yuji likes to use Nobara's ugly pictures as reaction images and memes. At first, Nobara beat him up whenever he did, but now as long as they don't leave the first-year chat she doesn't care. She'll even supply them if she's feeling silly.
Gojo started a prank war on accident and it shows no sign of stopping. It started because he enjoys Nobara's over the top reactions. When she found the LIVE snake in her bed (oh boy, everyone's soooo lucky she's good with reptiles), she immediately suspected this was Yuji's doing. She pranked him, he got her back, Megumi walked into a prank on accident, he got them back twice over, and now it just won't stop. Gojo was fully prepared to deal with the consequences, but he isn't complaining.
The First Year prank war is pretty well known around the school, and everyone's learned to stay away from anything that looks suspicious.
Gojo uses this to his advantage too; sometimes he'll pull pranks on the first and even second years just to watch them blame each other. He's even gone as far as pranking Principal Yaga hoping that he would blame the kids, but Yaga knows for a fact it's Gojo. He hasn't done anything about it though. This stresses Gojo.
Most of the time, when they eat out, each student pays for their meal. When Gojo's there he pays for all four of them, and if Yuji tries to use the "I don't have any money" excuse when Nobara decides to stop for a coffee, she'll buy him one too. She holds it against him, though.
If his kids are all craving a certain type of food (i.e. Chinese) Gojo will head out and pick it up and they'll all eat as a family.
Nobara proposed once a month they have a "spa" day. Surprisingly, the other two students agreed. She's allowed to give them manicures and pedicures (so long as she doesn't get carried away), trim and treat their hair, exfoliate their faces, and they help her re-dye her hair. Megumi is a good client, while Yuji gets bitched at a lot for squirming while getting his nails clipped and jerking when he gets his eyebrows plucked.
Yuji also proposed they have a movie night every Friday night. If they're busy, they'll move it to Saturday, or have it earlier in the day during the week. Sometimes the second years will join. Gojo is banned because he's basically seen every movie and always spoils the end. Everyone got mad at Yuji's request to use subtitles but gave up arguing with how loud Yuji chews.
They also have game nights, but they lost the pieces to most board games after Nobara threw them out the window, Megumi is the only one who knows how to play chess and Shogi, and Yuji fears the safety of his controllers after Megumi got dangerously close to beating Nobara in Smash.
Yuji's room is the main hangout joint because of the electronics he owns. Literally, there's a whole ass common/living room for them to use. However, they go to Nobara's room for a spa day, as long as the boys are gone by sundown.
Gojo knows damn good and well his kids don't like each other in that way and would never have sex with each other, but he still feels the need to give them the talk ™. He's literally given each child a free box of condoms just in case.
Gojo bought each student customized "if lost, please return to Jujutsu Tech" shirts. Yuji doesn't mind wearing his because it's just another hoodie to him, and Nobara doesn't mind hers because it's a crop top and it's cute. Megumi burned his in front of Gojo.
Nobara takes the boys shopping a lot. Megumi is surprisingly good at picking out clothes that fit Nobara's physique and taste, and Yuji is there to hype her up when she walks out of the dressing room. He also isn't scared to tell her a dress doesn't look good on her, and she respects that.
Sometimes even Sukuna will pop out and give commentary. He gives really mixed signals, sometimes he tells her how she's not much to look at, sometimes he talks about the things he wants to do to that ass because of how good they look in those jeans. This results in Yuji getting slapped, Nobara yelling something like "Shut it, Fang Face!" And people staring at him funny because of it.
She also buys outfits for the boys and occasionally Gojo, because she's tired of hoodies and black. She was just as shocked as the rest when Megumi walked out in his outfit. He only wore it to shut her up, though, and hasn't worn it since.
No matter what they're doing, Yuji is ALWAYS the DJ. He has playlists for almost every occasion (spa day, sparring practice, car rides, game nights, even the times they just chill in the same room on their phones) and the only person that really complains is Sukuna, but only because he hates the Backstreet Boys.
Yuji bursts out in song a lot. No matter what he's doing, he'll just start singing. If they know it, Nobara and Gojo will join in too. Always ends in a giggle fit.
Sometimes Gojo's hand slips and boom! He has 18 dozen cookies instead of 4. He's been known to wrap the cookies up in nice tins and packages and leave them outside the kid's doors.
Gojo has also been known to cook meals for the kids and drop them off. This helps because Megumi is basically the only one who can actually cook. Yuji thinks instant ramen is okay for every meal, and Nobara burns food in a way it's still edible but you don't really want it.
The kids play wrestle, a lot. Yuji was scared to at first because the only one who really wants to fight is Nobara, but he learned quickly she can both take and deliver a punch just fine. She also isn't one of those girls that gets upset if there's an accidental grope, which is cool.
This is how the others discovered Megumi is ticklish. Yuji probably still has the scar and Nobara doesn't dare try to tickle him again.
Yuji fell asleep once and woke up to Sukuna's mouth on his cheek having a full-blown conversation with Nobara while she was reading a magazine. He swears they were gossiping about boys, but as soon as Yuji was awake enough to pay attention, Sukuna noticed and started bullying him. To this day Nobara still thinks she was talking to Yuji the whole time because she never noticed he fell asleep.
Yuji can fall asleep almost anywhere. Nobara draws on his face a lot. He's spent countless nights on Megumi's floor just because he's too lazy to move literally one room over.
Nobara has a habit of walking into the boys' rooms without knocking. Megumi is usually laying in bed on his phone or sitting at his desk, however, she's walked into Yuji doing some weird shit. Not gross shit, just... Concerning shit.
Once she walked in on him crying and didn't know what to do. She just kinda walked in and sat down with him until he stopped, occasionally rubbing his back. They didn't say a word until Yuji made a joke and Nobara continued with why she even came into his room, to begin with.
The three students are surprisingly supportive of each other like that, it's just kinda awkward and passive-aggressive at times. Sometimes they even confide in Gojo, and he takes it seriously, surprisingly.
Gojo has a Tik Tok account. He participates in every challenge, every dance, every trend, and apparently has a huge following. Yuji gets featured in the videos sometimes when he isn't recording, and he's mostly doing the stupid shit Gojo does, like doing backflips on building ledges.
While Tik Tok is Gojo's forte Yuji has done video game commentary on twitch and yt live. Megumi is quite popular on subreddits about urban legends and related folklore, and Nobara helps maintain blogs about current events, but... It's mostly celebrity gossip and new music.
Every Saturday is chore day and no one's allowed to do leisurely activities or leave until they're done. Rooms and hallways have to be vacuumed, swept, mopped, whatever. Gojo checks that the rooms aren't dirty. He doesn't mind clutter, he just hates wrappers and shit being left around. He especially pays attention to the cleanliness of the bathrooms for some reason. Megumi is good about cleaning his room throughout the week, Nobara usually just has clutter on her nightstand and dresser, and Yuji waits until the last minute to clean.
The first years used to do their laundry separately, but Nobara threw a temper tantrum when she witnessed Yuji just throw all of his clothes in the washer at once and simply turn it on. Now normally, she wouldn't help anyone get out of work, but she also likes things being done the right her way, so she does his laundry for him. Megumi got involved somehow and now they throw all of their clothes in the same basket and divide them by darks, colors, whites, and delicates. She refuses to let any of their overly- soiled clothes touch hers, so those usually get their own wash too. Each student folds and puts away their own clothes.
Most arguments end with rock paper scissors. Pinkie promises are also sacred.
Gojo keeps a sticker board in the classroom. Whenever the kids do something good, they get a star. Whenever they do something bad, one gets taken away. When they get to five stickers they get a prize from the treasure box.
No one has gotten to five stars yet. This is good because there is no treasure box. Gojo is bullshitting everyone.
Yuji likes to steal Megumi's stickers because he thinks Megumi will not notice. He does every time.
Gojo has a stool in the corner of the classroom complete with a horribly cliche dunce cap he calls "the Naughty Corner" for when the kids "act up". Nobara ends up there because she's always on her phone, Megumi mouths off a lot and has days where he doesn't feel like doing work, and poor Yuji ends up in the naughty corner because Sukuna can't behave.
#jjk#jjk spoilers#jujutsu kaisen#jujutsu kaisen spoilers#jjk headcanons#jujutsu kaisen headcanons#jjk fushiguro#jjk gojo#jjk itadori#saturo gojo#gojo satoru#yuji itadori#itadori yuji#megumi fushiguro#fushiguro megumi#sukuna#ryomen sukuna#sukuna ryomen#jjk sukuna#jjk manga#jjk anime#anime headcanons#long post
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