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pprodsuga · 7 months

Text

wrong number | sunghoon

thirteen: charlie, linus, and franklin

summary: when a barista of the cafe sunghoon frequents gives him her phone number, he decides to try his luck and texts her. problem is, it seems as though he’s got it all wrong and texts you instead.

notes: ayo written chapter <3 she’s a shortie but that’s okay! btw you will need to read this part first for this chapter to make sense.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

This particular weekend feels silent and tranquil amidst the chaotic week of responsibilities and obligations. Sunoo, Jungwon, and Riki have promised to let you recharge over the course of the next two days before they bother you again, business as usual. You’ve spent the better part of your evening eating a home cooked meal and cleaning your skin until it’s fresh and moisturized. Today feels like a well-deserved Friday and you don’t imagine it can get any better than this.

It's relatively quiet tonight, the soft sound of wind rustling through the trees being the only thing keeping you company at such a late hour. In addition, the moon is full and bright, reflecting off of the window pane and it leaves a small sliver of light amongst the darkness of your room. You reckon the stars are shining extra bright tonight.

Sunghoon’s been a fixture in your life for a short while but it feels like you’ve met your twin flame. A fire erupts within your chest when you see his contact name on your display screen. Your cheeks flush and you feel the childish need to prevent anyone from seeing the message no matter how mundane or boring it may be. Still, you revel in the feeling of first crushes and the cliche kind of romance you only see in movies.

Another text from Sunghoon comes through.

sunghoon <3: don’t sleep on me, pretty girl

sunghoon <3: can i call you?

You throw your phone until it lands with a soft thud on top of your mattress.

It might be embarrassing, the way you gasp at his question. Sending voice notes back and forth is one thing. Neither of you are obligated to be available at the same time and there aren’t awkward pauses like two people trying to think of what to say next. Voice notes are mini conversations where it’s acceptable to jump from topic to topic, straying so far from the original point that you rarely find your way back. Phone calls are new, uncharted territory.

You briefly think about whether or not you should freshen up until you realize it wouldn’t involve your video camera. Sunghoon knows you're tucked in bed with the blankets by your chin, so he must understand you’re in a dark room and presumably in pajamas (you are).

After deliberating for three and a half minutes on Twitter, you respond.

you: i would love that

Your fingers burn as you press send. It feels like a risky text, one that you immediately regret sending. What if Sunghoon doesn’t find you interesting since your conversation isn’t over messages? What if he doesn't like your voice? What if you say something wrong and he decides to never text you again?

“I, um,” you stutter, not used to the feeling of flirting over the phone. Or, at least you think Sunghoon’s flirting. He wouldn’t say your voice was cute if he meant that to be friendly, right? “W-Wow it’s so different hearing your voice on a phone call.”

You wear, you ascend when he laughs again.

“You’re funny, you know that?” You try to think of a response but he beats you to it. “Are you really tucked underneath your blankets?”

“I would not lie about sleeping underneath very comfortable sheets.” You ruffle the comforter for good measure. “See? Definitely not lying.”

“I’m trying to imagine your room. I’m thinking of pink sheets and pillows.”

“Wrong,” you chuckle. “Lavender.”

“Purple, I see.” Sunghoon says this like he’s pretending to contemplate. “Can you guess what mine are?”

“I dunno, something super stereotypical for a guy. Like navy blue.”

He goes quiet. “Wow, I’m actually surprised that you got it right.”

“There’s something about men and their bond to navy blue bedding, Hoonie. What can I say?”

That boyish laugh of his will be the death of you. “I guess you’re right. Now that I think about it, there’s only one person in my apartment who doesn’t have navy sheets.”

“Unlike you, they’re original.” You hope the joke lands through your voice but a small part in the back of your brain tells you that you might’ve gone too far.

“I guess all men really are the same,” he sighs dramatically.

“Do you think it’s a little weird that we’ve been talking for a month and we’ve never met before?” you ask.

“Honestly? Not really. It was at first, considering you’re not the person who originally gave me their phone number.”

You nod despite the fact that he can’t see you do it. “It’s weird that the barista would give you a fake number even though she wanted to give it to you.”

Perhaps it’s your affinity to believe the good in people or your own naivety, but you’d love to believe that meeting Sunghoon the way you did was pure fate. Your friends know you question where you stand in life and if you’ll ever experience those wondrous ‘firsts’ when it comes to dating and relationships, since it seems as if the people in your life have been. While you’re happy for them, it makes conversations awkward when you have nothing to contribute.

“I’m glad I ended up texting you, if I’m being honest,” he admits from the other side of the phone. “I don’t…date, really. I’m not the type of person to hook up with random girls all the time either, or anything. But after what my ex did, it left a weird taste in my mouth.

“I can understand that. Even though that happened years ago, it’s still a traumatic thing to experience.”

“My roommates tell me that all the time. It’s just hard, you know? I felt weird telling you about it considering one shouldn’t talk about their exes to people they’re talking to.”

Sunghoon confirming the fact that you two are indeed in the talking stage makes your heart flutter.

“I understand that too,” you agree. “But it’s important to know, I think. As long as you’re willing to share? I mean, asking people what their favorite color is or their go-to ramen order is so overrated. I want to know the nitty gritty.”

“Including the fact that I have navy blue bedding?” he jokes.

“Exactly that,” you joke back. “I don’t have many stories to tell. No evil exes to fight on this end.”

“Well there’s one evil ex and one short-lived relationship, but I hardly think a middle school romance counts for anything.”

“No, I don’t think it does.”

With the initial awkwardness of a first phone call out of the way, the conversation between you and Sunghoon flows like a natural waterstream. It seems as though every topic is on the table, as you both start discussing your everyday habits to what your respective families are like back at home. You tell him about your parents and he tells you about his sister. Sunghoon opens up about living with four other guys and you’re sure he can hear your shock when he tells you the things he puts up with. It’s moments like this where you’re grateful to live alone, even if three of your closest friends stop by more often than not.

Talking to Sunghoon makes you feel like you’re completely and utterly seen. You understand, now, why people talk about the difference between being acknowledged by your friends and having someone see you for who you are as they get to know you. Sunghoon doesn’t have any precursor as to who you are because the person he’s getting to know is the person you present to him without any past judgment or assumptions. It feels nice.

“You hang out with some of the same people every week, right?” Sunghoon asks. It warms your heart to know he pays attention. “The ones who like shrimp chips.”

“That’s Charlie,” you lie. Jungwon’s advice of omitting your names in favor of replacing them with the characters in the Peanuts comics asserts itself and the name ‘Charlie’ comes out faster than you intended. “Yeah, he loves those. I buy extra for him because he keeps finishing mine.”

“That doesn’t seem fair.”

“Well, he pays for other things for me too sometimes. I see it as a bargain.”

“And your other friends?”

The guilt inside of you has dropped to your stomach.

“There’s Franklin. He’s a sweetheart, really. Very sassy too but I think he only gets like that when you get to know him. When we first met, he was so quiet and I thought he didn’t like me at first.”

“Can’t imagine someone not liking you.”

You’re quiet for a moment. “Now you’re just making me blush.”

“I’d like to see how many times I can do that on this phone call.” You pay no mind to the phone and shove your face into your pillows to let out a short-lived squeal, hoping that the sound muffles your noise. Did you put your phone on mute?

You can hear Sunghoon chuckling as you pick your phone back up. “What about your other friend?”

“Oh, that’s Linus.” The lie comes out easier and you can’t tell if it’s because he’s just complimented you or if it’s because you’ve been lying this entire time. “He’s a real sweetheart. He comes off as very boyish, you know? Hard and strong, that kind of thing. I’ve known him since we were kids and he’s my longest friend. He’s the type of person I can really depend on and someone I trust with my whole heart, even if he is a little shit sometimes.”

“I can relate. One of my best friends, Jake, who also happens to be my roommate, is like that too. He definitely looks like the kind of guy who sleeps around. You know the type; cocky smile who looks like he works out a ton. But he’s a real sweetheart and can crack a joke like it’s nothing. Girls always assume he’s got so many people under his belt but the poor guy is a hopeless romantic.”

“That’s so sweet,” you say with a frown. “I hope he’s able to find someone really soon.”

“You and I both,” Sunghoon sighs. “I cannot handle his dumbass comments about us every time I tell him about you.”

“Let him be,” you chide. “If he wants to say we’re fated, let him.”

Sunghoon is silent on the other line.

“You’re so,” Sunghoon begins to say before cutting himself off to chuckle. “You’re just so bold. I have never met anyone so straightforward before. You’re flirting with me and aren’t shy to do it.”

“Me?” you feign innocence, a giggle threatening to spill from your lips. “Flirting? I don’t flirt. I don’t know how to flirt. Maybe you should teach me some time.”

You swear that you can hear a small grunt from the other end of the line and mentally pat yourself on the back for your ingenious thinking.

“Enough,” says Sunghoon. “You’re trouble.”

“Don’t you have any guilty pleasures?”

On the opposite end of the phone line, that one question alone makes Sunghoon bite his lip and shut his eyes. He’s glad you aren’t there to witness him do it.

“Cute isn’t the word I’d use for you right now,” he finally says.

The rest of the night is spent on the phone with Sunghoon, so much so that you forget about your white lie and the guilt that sits in the back of your mind. It feels too good to be seen by somebody who doesn’t hold any expectations over your head. You’re just you, the person who hides her romantic tendencies by cracking jokes about how love isn’t all it’s supposed to be. But Sunghoon allows you to tear that down and discover what having a crush might just feel like.

Instead, you fall asleep on the phone and are pleasantly surprised to wake up and find that he didn’t end the phone call while you were sleeping.

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

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series masterlist

*✧･ﾟ─────────── *✧･ﾟ

taglist: @enha-stars @karinasbaby @baevsxii @lillotus17 @syzavxy @mrmld @nikilvrfvr @luvyev @notevenheretbh1 @wvnkoi @seungiesgf @kgneptun @judeduartewannabe @iheartjayke @wonsbubble @ilyjxdz @foggysfrog @oddracha @haechansbbg @tobiosbbyghorl @ryunjin0 @sharksandminhos @hoondiors @seunnimg @erehkinnie30 @junsflow @jeongintwt @fantastichoagieuniversityhairdo @h4918ymc @justletmereadokay @makiswrld @who-tf-soddhi @en-dream @strawberrysavi @cloudyseokjinx @winuvs @2interrwonw @222.palesa @bubblytaetae @ariadores @shu-aa @Enhypensbestie @hyunjisungct @nxzz-skz @thea-herondale @eclipse-777 @kwiwin @nottkwiwin @n-eetune @jwnghyuns @soobs-things @sunghoonnsupremacy @eyyylesgewcleuwwt @tinie03 @spookyrule @mamuljji.

apologies to all tumblr wouldn't tag!

#enhypen x reader #park sunghoon x reader #park sunghoon x you #park sunghoon smau #park sunghoon fluff #park sunghoon x oc #enhypen imagines #park sunghoon imagines #park sunghoon scenarios #enhypen scenario #enhypen sunghoon #kpop smau #kpop x reader #wrong number #sunghoon x reader #sunghoon

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mikasa-imadebiscults · 1 year

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-When You Die Too Soon-

100 Followers Event: 14/31

(Characters Included- All the Hashira except Obanai, Gyomei, and Muichiro)

(Warning: Self-harm, causes of death such as Suicide, illness, demons, failed surgery, fire, and seizures)

💨Sanemi Shinazugawa💨

(You got slaughtered by a demon)

- If you got killed by a demon he would be enraged at the demons even more. He hatred for demons would increase tremendously. When he’s alone in his room, he will mourn your death and cry when remembering the good times with you.

🦋Shinobu Kocho🦋

(You died from loss of blood during surgery)

- She tried so hard to save you..she was calm at first while she was preforming the surgery but then you started to lose a lot of blood quickly. Then you died, she was very upset and started overthinking everything that has happened that day. She has a shrine of your belongings in a corner next to Kanae’s.

🔥Kyojuro Rengoku🔥

(You died from a illness)

- He would try to keep his head up and keep his heart ablaze, even though he would be deeply saddened by your death. Your cause of death made him remember his mother’s passing, since you both passed away from illness. He will probably focus on training his younger brother on how to swing a sword to distract himself.

🍡Kanroji Mitsuri🍡

(You committed suicide)

- She would be absolutely heartbroken. When you were alive, she caught you self-harming and she tried her best to comfort you and reassure you but unfortunately it wasn’t enough to keep you alive. A part of her blames herself for your death and she also gets severe recurring nightmares about seeing your dead corpse.

📢Tengen Uzui📢

(You had a seizure and hit your head really hard and your memory deteriorated slowly)

- He sits on a chair next to you, watching your relaxed body. It’s a different kind of pain when your own partner can’t even remember you. When you died he couldn’t even look at you, it was way too painful. He recovers somewhat quickly thanks to his wives being there for him though out it all.

🌊Giyuu Tomioka🌊

(You died from a fire)

- When he heard about the fire he didn’t think that much of it, that was until he found out that you were in the fire. He was in disbelief when he saw you. He ran to your burned body and held you close while telling you about how much he loves you. Shorty after, you died in his arms. “How many people do I have to lose?” He repeats that in his head everyday.

Masterlist

In the Masterlist there’s a link to make requests

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twola · 1 year

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that last anon's request was Big Brain and i wanna jump off it to request the opposite scenario: F!reader is sick with some sort of illness, perhaps not terminal like TB but definitely debilitating for however long she has it. she still wants to be intimate with HH!Arthur and Arthur is just worried about nursing her back to health, but does miss her too, you know... could make for some cute NSFW comfort. if you do this request, ty!!! 🤭

Ah! Caring Arthur. What a nursemaid. I volunteer to be sick. Here’s a shorty for you!

I am still working on four more requests, so if you have one pending, fear not, I haven't forgotten about you!

In Sickness

Arthur Morgan x F!Reader Smut (18+), MDNI

➵ Fic Masterlist ➵ AO3 Link

In which the trip up to Ambarino does not quite go as planned.

The cold winds rolled down the mountain’s face, clouds so dark it seemed like the dusk had already fallen in the midafternoon, the snowbanks growing by the moment as the horses trudge on.

“C’mon - no use in going on - we gotta set up a tent,” Arthur yells over the wind, his face tucked into the tall collar of his coat.

You nod, pulling the scarf wrapped around your head to cover the lower half of your face, holding on tightly to the reins of your horse, but it is getting harder by the minute to stay upright. You knew you should haven’t come with him when he asked to you to come up to Ambarino on a hunt: you had already not been feeling great.

Now even as you try to wrap yourself closer against the wind and snow, you burn underneath your layers, feeling weaker and weaker as time ticks by. Arthur brings his horse to a stop amongst a grove of snow covered pines, bearing a small refuge from the howling wind.

He slides off his saddle and immediately starts to unpack the tent in his saddle bags, positioning the tent just out of range of the weighed-down boughs of the trees.

“C’n’ you start a fire?” He has to yell above the wind, and you nod, moving to climb down from the horse. A bout of lightheadedness hits you, and your coming down is far less graceful than usual.

Actually, you land on your back in the snow, moaning out in pain and exhaustion, and your horse, your young mare, whinnies, and rears in agitation.

Arthur looks up and curses, immediately leaping up and trudging quickly through the snow, up to his boots, to where you landed.

“Shit - Darlin’, took a tumble there.” He says as he stoops over you, leaning over to help you up.

That’s when he sees your flushed face, your labored breathing. “Hey, hey - sweetheart, you feelin’ alright?”

A weak moan is all you can muster.

Arthur looks around, mumbling to himself. He steps closer to you and immediately hoists you up with a strong arm behind your back and the other under your knees, and carries you toward the trees, placing you gently on the ground against one of the large trunks. He stoops down on one knee in front of you, his gloved hands cupping both cheeks as you struggle to keep your eyes open.

“I’m gonna get the tent up, then we’ll getcha nice and warm, alright there, darlin’?”

You nod, and he leans over and presses his warm lips to your forehead before standing back up and moving toward the tent, working quickly to get it pitched. He grabs the bedroll from his saddle, yours as well, laying them out beneath the canvas. You stumble up, trying to show that you’re not completely useless and wade through the snowbank toward him as he finishes up the tent.

“C’mere,” Arthur reaches for you and you nearly fall into his embrace, he pulls you into the tent, maneuvering your body with ease onto one of the bedrolls before crawling inside himself. He pulls down the canvas flap to keep out the cold, before pulling a blanket over you as he lays on his side next to you.

You want to cry. This was supposed to be an escape for the two of you - some hunting, maybe a lot of time spent in a tent… and now it's all wasted.

“M’ sorry I’m ruining our outing.” You sigh, eyes glassy looking up at him.

“You ain’t ruining nothin’ there, sweetheart. If you haven’t noticed, it's stormy as hell outside. Even if you was right as rain, we’d probably still be doin’ the same thing just sittin’ in this tent.” Arthur shakes his head as he pats his bandana on your forehead, wiping away the sweat dotting from your clammy skin.

You frown, blinking away tears. “Not uh, we wouldn’t be wasting time away from camp when you’ve been gone for so long.” You add a piteous tone to the last words.

He snorts lightly, understanding your innuendo. “Darlin’, I don’t think you’re up to that now.”

You huff, your red-tinged cheeks betraying how right he actually is. “But I’ve missed you. So much, Arthur.”

“ ‘nd I’ve missed you, sweetheart.”

You pout your lips out slightly, knowing that the man had a hard time saying no to you.

“Arthur…”

“Darlin’.”

“Please?”

He sighs. He pulls his hat off, placing it on the ground next to him. “You know you’re a minx, little miss.” He wriggles off his blue fur-trimmed coat, placing it over your body atop the bedroll. He sheds his boots, leaving them beside the canvas flap tied shut to keep the wind out. The cowboy scoots - a funny sight, considering how large he is inside this little tent - completely next to you, placing his lips softly on your forehead before moving to the back of the tent, behind the bedroll.

Arthur moves to sit behind you, pulling you gently to recline on him between his legs. He presses another kiss against your temples, one of his hands moving slowly toward your lap.

You let out a deep breath as he draws up the blanket covering your lower half, then pulls at your skirts so that they bunch up around your hips.

You give a weak moan as his rough knuckles brush against the soft skin of your inner thighs.

“I’m here, sweetheart, I’m here. Gonna make you feel so good.” He murmurs against your temple as his hand pushes your legs apart.

He trails up, up, to the waistband of your bloomers, and slides his hand underneath the fabric as you gasp, his fingers trailing downward once more, through the thatch of hair over your cunt to the apex of your thighs as you close your eyes, your hands clenching against his knees on either side of you.

He rubs, deliciously slow, at your folds, his pointer finger parting them and pressing gently at your weeping entrance before moving back upwards toward the little nub of nerves. You whine, leaning back against him with your head on his shoulder.

After several moments of gently circling that hooded skin, he kisses your forehead as he presses his hand back downward, and dips his pointer finger inside your entrance.

“Oh -” You stutter as your hips buck toward his touch, and he chuckles softly as he presses his finger in further, pressing against your wet, warm inner walls.

You whine, as he pulls his finger from you and pushes back in, a torturously slow rhythm as he works you open.

A gasp bursts from your throat as he adds a second finger, his middle one, thick and long, as he continues his ministrations.

“There we go, I’ve got you, sweet girl, I’ve got you.”

His thumb presses against that hooded skin above your entrance as his middle and pointer fingers crook within your cunt. Your spread legs shake as he slowly works you, as you pant and gasp, finally looking up at him with lust-blown eyes. Your mouth hangs open as your fingers clutch at the blanket.

“I-I’m gonna-” You choke out before he pushes his fingers all the way to the knuckle.

“Come for me, darlin’ girl.” He whispers roughly into your hair, and you do, oh, you do.

You mewl, high-pitched and needy, as you clench around his fingers, a small gush of your arousal dripping from your cunt, down his palm to his wrists.

He pulls you closer, kissing your forehead as he slowly retracts his fingers. He rights the disheveled waistband of your bloomers, pulling them back into place.

“What - what about you?” You breathe heavily, trying to stay awake.

“ ‘M fine, sweetheart.” He replies, pulling the hem of your skirt down and pulling the blanket up over your form as he adjusts you in his arms.

“But - ”

Arthur lays down atop the bedroll, pulling you over his chest, so that your head is pillowed softly on him. He winds his arms around you and kisses the top of your forehead.

“We can see in the morning, if you’re feelin’ better.”

#red dead redemption 2 #arthur morgan #red dead redemption #red dead fanfic #red dead fandom #arthur morgan smut #arthur morgan x female reader #rdr #rdr2 #rdr2 fanfic #arthur morgan x reader #tumblr prompt #twolafic #voluptatem

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ave09 · 1 year

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wake up

indiana jones x wife!reader

note: the chokehold this man has on me. i watched all of the movies recently for the first time and i’m obsessed. and i’m also going through lots of personal issues and what better way to escape then to write about my new comfort character? and i will most likely write a whole heck of a lot more about my main man indy, also; this is set during temple of doom.

anxiety clawed at you.

this couldn’t be happening. it just couldn’t.

the thugees had stripped you of everything. they’d taken away your freedom, the boy who was like a son to you, and your husband.

your indy.

this wasn’t how it was supposed to go. you, indiana, and short round were to go on this adventure, retrieve the sankara stone, and return to shang hai.

and yet here you were, about to be sacrificed to a god who went by the name of kali.

clad in a white gown, you were wheeled off, where your untimely death would await.

imagine your surprise when you spotted your husband, standing tall alongside the thugees. your eyes widened at the sight.

indiana’s shirt had been removed, his back littered with wounds, no doubt from a lashing. but instead of his normal self, where he always seemed to have something up his sleeve, he seemed calm.

too calm.

what had they done to him?

“indy!” you shouted. at any sign of his wife’s distress, he’d have leapt into action immediately, taking out anyone who got in his way.

but he did nothing. absolutely nothing.

“indiana!” you were silenced by a deadly glare sent by mola ram. he was quite the scary man, and you wished to delay your death for as long as possible. the evil

man then gestured to indiana, a grin upon his face.

“come.”

you froze, panic taking over.

no.

you watched in horror as your husband obeyed, moving towards you, almost lifelessly. “indiana..” he didn’t acknowledge you, but he now stood before you, mindlessly chanting as he made sure the chains wrapped around your wrists were secure.

“indiana, wake up. wake up!” you begged, trying to keep the tears from spilling. you felt so helpless, you should be trying to save him, not be tied up.

“look at me, i am your wife. your wife! i need you to wake up now!”

and yet there was no emotion, absolutely nothing.

“indiana! please! indy! henry! junior!” you tried everything, anything to get him to respond but to no avail.

you couldn’t help the tears that slid down your cheeks. “please.. wake up.” the man before you lifted a large hand, placing it upon the side of your face. you felt a calloused thumb caress the tears away, and for a moment you wondered if he was somehow still there.

“indy?”

his hand became slack, falling to his side. he then moved away and rejoined the thugees.

panic seized you as you felt the care you were trapped in began to rise. “no! no no, please!” but it was too late.

it had begun.

you were suspended in the air, facing the floor as it opened, revealing a pit of lava. this was it. you were really going to die. you’d had so many close calls in the past, but never had you thought of this being the way you went out.

“oh God, please forgive me.” you muttered, the heat of the lava burning your skin the lower you sank. “watch over shorty, let him live.” you pleaded, squeezing your eyes shut.

but then suddenly, you stopped. you only assumed that something had happened up top. the only sound you could hear was the loud crackling of the fire below.

you could only hope that something good was happening up there.

it felt like ages had passed before you started to rise. a wave of relief washed over you. it wasn’t long before you were out, never feeling more relieved in your life. you glanced at indiana, who was waiting, short round beside him.

“indy? is it really you?” you asked as the man quickly unchained you, not hesitating to pull you into a tight embrace, “it’s me.” he whispered breathlessly, pecking your cheek lightly before placing a kiss to your lips, “don’t ever call me junior again.” he scolded before turning to shorty, “thanks for everything kid.”

of course it was shorty who had saved indiana. “your welcome dr. jones. i had to save you or the missus would be very upset.”

“damn right, shorty.” you replied with a grin. “now, as much i love reunions, we gotta get out of here, all of us.” indiana said. you nodded in agreement as your husband placed shorty’s hat upon his head, “let’s go dr. jones and missus!”

and off you all went, determined to escape this temple of doom.

#indiana jones #indiana jones and the temple of doom #indiana jones x reader #indy x reader #short round #harrison ford #harrison ford x reader #temple of doom #this ain’t my best work but it’s also my first time writing for indy so whateves

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bee6r · 1 year

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How Could I Ever Stop Loving You

A/N: A short Carl fic for a nice sunny day 🌻 how could *eye* ~ get it?

Summary: You see Carl for the first time after he gets his eye shot out.

Warnings: Normal TWD gore/violence, angst with fluff at the end

~ !gn reader! ~

---------------------------------------------

Abraham had told you to stay in the car when he, Sasha, and Daryl had begun shooting the walkers from the fence. So, laying on the floor of the old, rusted truck is where you stayed, fiddling with your hair and fingers, thinking about what was going on outside, and listening to the gunshots that were echoing around your head.

You hear the others yelling over the noise but can't understand what they are saying. You want to be a part of it, because you know that you are strong enough to, and that, knowing him, Carl would be at the center of it all.

And so, after a few more moments of listening to the gunshots ring out from outside the truck, you decide that outside the truck is where you should be.

The sun hits you almost immediately, and it takes you a moment to adjust after hiding yourself in the darkness. After looking around and narrowing avoiding a walker that had its eyes set on your neck, you spot Abraham and Sasha up in one of the watch towers.

Creeping closer to the fence only enhances every shot from the large guns that the others were using, and you fight the urge to cover your ears with your hands or shoulders and you climb up a tree on the edge of the fence.

"Sasha!" You call out, once you are within shouting distance. "Help me over!" She looks back, startled at first, but her face relaxes.

"Didn't want to miss the action huh?"

"Never," you respond, and she grabs your arms, allowing you safety as you push off the tree and onto the guard tower with her and Abraham.

"Hey shortie," Abraham greets you, not taking his eyes off the houses. As you follow his gaze, you notice just how many walkers had gotten through the fence. Most lay motionless on the ground, but clusters of them still roamed through the streets of the once spotless Alexandria, groaning and dragging their broken feet as they did so. You scrunch your nose, the smell hitting you abruptly. "Pretty nasty huh?" You nod,

"Unbearable."

***

After Daryl sets the lake on fire (I'm sorry I feel like that was so casual), it didn't take long for the rest of the walkers to die, their bodies decomposing before they hit the pavement.

You walk with the others through the gates, and as you look around the burning, but still intact, Alexandria, you feel at home again. Thats when you begin looking for HIM. You had expected him to meet you at the gate like he always did when you went on runs without him, but he was nowhere to be found. Rick is standing with Michonne, and the others are spread out around the town square, catching their breath and talking amongst themselves.

After a few minutes, Sasha goes to Tara, Daryl to Carol, and Abraham to Rosita, which leaves you alone. You walk over to Rick and Michonne, and as you near them, you cock your head to the side, signaling that you want to know where Carl is, but when Rick can't meet your eyes, your stomach drops.

"Where is he?" You ask, you voice faltering and low, "is he okay?" Michonne steps away from Rick, giving him a small nod, and turning towards you, pulling you by the shoulder so that the two of you can talk in private.

"He was-" she pauses, "shot." A cry escapes your lips, which you just barely manage to catch with your hand, muffling it.

"What?"

***

You wake up on the porch swing outside Denise's office, tired and your cheeks stained with tears. Denise had told you to wait until he was awake to see him, because he wasn't stable yet, which only made the pit in your stomach worse. And so, you had waited through the evening until you fell asleep, hoping that you would be able to see him in the morning, but as Denise walks across the porch towards you, you know that you won't be able to.

"Come back tonight," she says, "he should be awake by then." You nod, standing up.

"I'll be back."

---

You busy yourself with mindless activities throughout the day. Shower, eat, wash the dishes, play with Judith, go for a walk, clear the walkers, shower again. By the time evening rolls around, and Michonne forces you to eat something for dinner, you feel as if you have lived a hundred years, just waiting for something to happen.

You almost run to Denise's house, knocking quietly at the door, and waiting very impatiently for her to open it. When she finally does, you notice she has a smile growing on her face.

"He's awake," she says simply, opening the door wider, so that you may come in. "And he's been asking for you." You cross the threshold slowly, and round the corner to see him, sitting upright in bed, a bandage wrapped around his forehead and right eye. When he notices you, a smile lights up on his face, and you almost sprint towards him, leaping onto his bed and burying your face in his chest.

"Hi baby," he says, the smile still on his face.

"Hi," you whimper, "I missed you." He chuckles,

"I missed you too." Crawling completely onto his bed, you straddle him, finally pulling away from his chest, only to cup his face and kiss him. He kisses you back, gently at first, but then passionately, only breaking apart a minute later for air.

"Don't ever leave me like that again; promise?" He smiles, kissing you gently again and smiling contentedly into the kiss.

"I promise."

----------------------------------------------------

A/N: ❤❤❤ Let me know if you have any requests! (No promises I will finish them but...)

Also... go give my ao3 acc some love >>> bee_died | Archive of Our Own

#carl grimes #twd #twd x reader #carl grimes x reader #fanfic #ao3 #carl twd #twd carl

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kemetic-dreams · 3 months

Text

Go-go is a subgenre of funk music with an emphasis on specific rhythmic patterns, and live audience call and response.

Go-go was originated by African-American musicians in Washington, D.C., during the mid-60s to late-70s. Go-go has limited popularity in other areas, but maintains a devoted audience in the Washington metropolitan area as a uniquely regional music style and was named the official music of Washington, D.C., in February 2020.

Performers associated with the development of the style include Rare Essence, EU, Trouble Funk, and singer-guitarist Chuck Brown. Modern artists like Charles "Shorty Corleone" Garris continue the go-go tradition in D.C.

Origins

Although Chuck Brown is known as "the Godfather of Go-Go", go-go is a musical movement that cannot be traced back to one single person, as there were so many bands that flourished during the beginning of this era that they collectively created the sound that is recognized as go-go of today. Artists such as Marvin Gaye, Van McCoy, Billy Stewart, Peaches & Herb, Black Heat,Experience Unlimited (E.U.), Vernon Burch, Sir Joe Quarterman & the Free Soul, the Moments, Ray, Goodman & Brown, True Reflection, the Unifics, Terry Huff & Special Delivery, Act 1, the Dynamic Superiors, Skip Mahoney & the Casuals, the Choice Four, and the Fuzz that played soul music during pre-go-go era.

The term "gogo" (as it applies to a music venue) originated in France in the early 1960s, at the Whiskyagogo nightclub, named after the French title for the British comedy "Whisky Galore!".The club also featured go-go dancers. In January 1964, capitalizing on the emerging popularity of "go-go dancers", the name was licensed to a Los Angeles club, the Whisky a Go Go, and from there the term "go-go" spread nationwideThe Cafe Au Go Go in NYC was also in business during that time, gaining notoriety when Lenny Bruce was arrested there in April 1964. By 1965, "go-go" was a recognized word for a music club, as evidenced by the TV show Hollywood A Go-Go (march 1965-1966), or the song title of that year's hit Going to a Go-Go by Smokey Robinson & the Miracles (released November 1965). At a go-go club, dancers could expect to hear the latest top 40 hits, performed by local bands and DJ's. (The French Whiskyagogo had been one of the first venues in the world to replace live music with records selected by a disc jockey.)

In Washington D.C., minor group Wornell Jones and the Young Senators were formed in 1965, beginning a fierce competition with Chuck Brown and Black Heat on the local club circuit. The Young Senators later became known for their song "Jungle" released in 1970 by Innovation Records. Guitarist and bandleader Chuck Brown is widely regarded as "the Godfather of Go-Go".

Chuck Brown was a fixture on Washington and Maryland music scene with his band Los Lotinos as far back as 1966. By the mid-1970s, he had changed the group's name to The Soul Searchers, and developed a laid-back, rhythm-heavy style of funk performed with one song blending into the next (in order to keep people on the dance floor). The beat was based on Grover Washington Jr.'s song "Mr. Magic," though Brown has said in interviews that both he and Washington had adapted the beat from a gospel music beat found in African churches.

Washington, D.C., funk's early national chart action came when Black Heat (the first D.C. go-go band to be signed by a major record label) released their Billboard top 100 hit "No Time To Burn" from their second album on Atlantic Records in 1974. They then toured with such national acts as Earth Wind & Fire, Parliament Funkadelic, Ohio Players, The Commodores, and others. In 1976, James Funk, a young DJ who spun at clubs in between Soul Searchers sets, was inspired (and encouraged by Brown himself) to start a band—called Rare Essence (originally the Young Dynamos)—that played the same kind of music.

#african #afrakan #kemetic dreams #africans #brownskin #brown skin #afrakans #african culture #afrakan spirituality #go go music #gogo music #african music #washington dc #funk music #funk #african american #african american music

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paintyoureyeswithavividmind · 1 year

Text

close to home | chapter fifty nine

plot: the reader loses a loved one

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 593 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd, character death (ya'll know what time it is) A/N: thank you for reading!!! It's a shortie so I'm gonna try and update twice, but fumigating my house is taking up a lot of my time so fingers crossed. If not today, then tomorrow! I know ya'll are anxious about what's coming 😏

Later that day, Rick got a call about Maggie going off to Alexandria, and Daryl offered him a ride. They left together, and you hadn’t seen either in a few hours. With over half the workforce gone, Carol told you she was taking her people home. She offered you a place in the Kingdom whenever you wanted, and you thanked her but wanted to discuss it with Daryl.

Then, a savior group came, and a gunfight ensued. You got clipped by one of the bullets, and it stung like hell, but it was just a graze on your arm. Another scar to add to your collection, and your face hadn’t yet healed.

Most of the saviors had since run off, and Carol was working at patching you up when you heard a motorcycle and knew Daryl was back.

“The hell happen’?” Daryl yelled as he approached you and saw your arm.

“Saviors. It’s just a graze. I’m fine.” You said.

“Don’t have a heart attack.” Carol said.

“Well, ya ‘bout to. Herd’s headin’ our way ‘cause of the gun fire.”

“Where’s Rick?” You asked.

“Leadin’ ‘em away.”

As soon as Carol finished, you were up and grabbing your weapons. You didn’t have time to grab everything, and Daryl wouldn’t have let you anyway. He was yellin’ at you to get to the bike every two seconds. But you had to work with Carol and get everyone out of the camp, which took longer than expected.

Finally, Daryl got tired of waiting for you and dragged you to the bike, forcing you on it. You couldn’t get a word in before he took off, and you had no choice but to hope that Carol got everyone out in time.

You’d only just made it to the rendezvous point that had been determined over a month ago when you got the call. Rick was in trouble.

***

As soon as you got off the bike, you ran like hell. You could hear the horde of walkers, but you didn’t care. Rick was in trouble; he needed help. Everyone was on your trail, and you skidded to a stop when you got to the water’s edge.

You finally spotted Rick limping, and you could see a mass amount of blood on the left side of his body. You covered your mouth with your hand.

“What is he doing?” Maggie yelled.

“He’s hurt!”

“That herd will run right through Hilltop. He’s trying to bring down the bridge.”

You shook your head and grabbed your gun as you heard Maggie yelling to turn the herd. You followed her lead through the trees and toward the road. You stood in a row with your family, firing every last bullet you had to get the herd to run, but it wasn’t working.

An explosion shook the ground, and you felt the wave of heat. You stumbled into Maggie and watched as fire burned high through the tree line.

“No,” You mumbled and shook your head. “No.”

Michonne started screaming, and you stumbled backward, dropping your gun as tears fell. You were vaguely aware of Carol and Maggie holding Michonne, and you looked around for Daryl, but he wasn’t there. You could hear words of anguish and cries, but you ignored them all as you retraced your steps.

You finally spotted Daryl, the crossbow hanging low. You choked out a sob that resembled his name, and he turned to you. You ran into his arms, and he dropped the crossbow, hugging you tightly as you both sobbed.

Rick Grimes, your brother, family, and one of your biggest protectors, was dead.

#daryl x y/n #daryl dixion x reader #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon #daryl twd #twd #daryl x reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl x you

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babybluebex · 6 months

Note

letting dom on the aux seems fucking dangerous at this point

i mean, the wonderland playlist is a DECENT playlist, it’s good choices, i’m just confused about the vibe?? like indie rock classics into old country into…. gucci mane?? honey. what are you doing.

but also thinking about an experience in my real life i just had, being in dom’s car with him and he turns on his music and “fire burning” by sean kingston starts playing, and he’s singing AT you the whole time, as if YOU are the shorty who’s fire be burnin, and you’re just giggling and telling him to stop, and he’s like “babe, i can’t stop, i’m being possessed to compliment you”

#bex answers #anon ask #dominic sessa x reader

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morbidology · 6 months

Text

In the early morning hours of the 13th of April, 1986, Aurora, Missouri, firefighters were called to a burning home. When the blaze was extinguished, firefighters were met by a gruesome scene: the deceased body of 79-year-old widow, Pauline Martz. The elderly lady was well known in Aurora and could often be seen driving her powder blue Corvette. Before her husband, Charles, died, he built an international reputation as a developer of photo equipment used in newspaper composing rooms.

It was evident that the fire wasn’t a tragic accident. Martz had been beaten, bound and gagged. Afterwards, the killer set the house on fire, killing Martz who was unable to free herself from the duct tape. There were also suspicions that Martz had been sexually assaulted.

Several days later, 20-year-old Johnny Lee Wilson was arrested in relation to the murder after a local man, Gary Wall, told police he was guilty. Wilson was developmentally disabled and worked as a school janitor and lived with his mother and grandmother. Initially, Wilson denied any involvement but after four hours of intense interrogation, he confessed to the grim slaying. Due to his disabilities, he was vulnerable to aggressive interrogation and cracked.

Despite the fact there was no direct evidence to connect Wilson to the murder, he was found guilty and sentenced to life without parole. Over the forthcoming years, Wilson filed his appeals - all of which were rejected at every level of the Missouri court system.

However, in 1988, Chris Brownfield, a career criminal serving a life sentence in a Kansas prison, confessed that he and another man had killed Martz, not Wilson. At the time of the murder, Brownfield was a prison escapee. Following the murder of Martz, he murdered another woman in Pittsburg, Kansas, and was finally apprehended. Brownfield was able to provide details into the Martz slaying that were unknown to the public.

Newspapers soon caught wind of the confession and combined with the lack of evidence against Wilson, the story became hot news. Shorty thereafter, Gary Wall, the witness who claimed Wilson was the killer, came forward and said that police had pressured him into saying Wilson was the killer.

Other than Wilson’s confession, this was the only other thing that tied Wilson to the murder. Nevertheless, Wilson would languish in prison for another seven years. Finally, in 1995, following a one-year investigation of the case, Wilson was pardoned and set free. It was the first time in 31 years that a governor freed an inmate from a Missouri prison.

Chris Brownfield was never tried for the murder of Pauline Martz and her murder still remains unsolved.

#Pauline Martz #unsolved #cold case #true crime

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seasidesandstarscapes · 2 months

Text

Bliss

Summary: Bobby gets drunk so Don has to carry him back to the dorms. Piggyback of course.

Rating: G

Genre: Canon Era, Established Relationship, Fluff, Slice of Life, Cuddling

Words: 768

AO3

Don doesn’t move when Bobby slumps against his shoulder.

It’s a bit cold tonight and the fire, as much as it burns, struggles to keep nine boys warm.

“I think Bobby’s had a bit too much,” Jim points and the team has a little laugh.

To be fair, none of them are sober right now. With no races for some time, they’re able to relax a bit, break some rules before practice becomes grueling again.

Bobby mutters something, but Don doesn’t quite catch it. His body is warm with a familiar buzz and he gives little thought as he wraps an arm around Bobby’s shoulders.

The team had him and Bobby figured out before the two ever came close to realizing it themselves. It had been a rocky road, but thanks to some conniving, the guys had locked Bobby and Don in a storage room until they finally walked out hand in hand.

It’s a relief, knowing the team has their back and that Don can touch Bobby like this. Sure, discretion is still needed, but here with the guys, Don can truly let his guard down.

In the fading firelight, the night air begins to bite and the team reluctantly agrees to turn in, heading off in swaying clusters.

“Mind carrying Bobby back for me?” Shorty yawns as he gets to his feet.

Don nods. It’s never a chore to take care of Bobby and he helps him up, guides Bobby to climb onto his back.

Bobby’s head rolls around, his arms hanging down Don’s chest as he still mutters nonsense to himself. His breath is warm against Don’s neck and Don shifts to properly hook his arms under Bobby’s knees.

As the team walks back to the dorms, they sing the school song, stumble against one another down the dark path. It’s moments like these that Don cherishes, where nothing more is expected out of them than to just be.

“I love you, Don,” Bobby murmurs against Don’s skin and Don chuckles at this.

“Yeah?”

“I really mean it,” Bobby slurs with a frown. “I love you with all of my heart.”

“You’re sweet,” Don grins as Bobby hugs his shoulders.

“Yeah, ain’t I just.” It’s then that Bobby kisses Don’s neck and Don nearly drops him. “Careful,” Bobby teases.

Don scoffs at this, readjusts Bobby as they linger behind the rest of the team. “Maybe I should just set you down here, make you walk the rest of the way back.”

Bobby’s grip tightens and Don can feel him shake his head. “You wouldn’t do that to little old me, would you, darling?”

There’s many things Don could say right now but the pet name makes his mind go blank. He shrugs, biting away his smile and this gets a huff from Bobby.

“You’re lucky I love you,” Bobby grumbles, burying his face in the crook of Don’s shoulder.

He really is. Don’s had romantic relationships in the past, but nothing has felt like this. Bobby is down to earth, full of life, and Don can only follow where Bobby dares to go.

When they finally reach the dorms, Don plops Bobby down on his bed and helps him out of his coat and shoes.

“You staying the night, Don?” Shorty asks as he gets himself ready for bed.

Don stares at Shorty, unsure of what to say. On the one hand, he’d never leave Bobby's side if he had his way but he doesn’t want to intrude on Shorty’s space. Not to mention the confusion of how casual Shorty is, unfazed by Don and Bobby’s physical relationship. It’s unfamiliar, to be seen without judgment and Don can’t help but hesitate.

“I mean,” Shorty shrugs as he pulls his blanket over himself, “just don’t be loud, yeah?”

Don blushes at this but is soon distracted by Bobby’s grabbing hands.

“Don’t you dare leave,” Bobby drags Don on top of him and keeps him there with all his might.

It’s easy enough to break Bobby’s hold, but Don has no intention of doing so. Instead, he kicks off his shoes, peels off his coat, before laying back down, his head tucked under Bobby’s.

They rearrange themselves a bit more comfortably now, with Don’s arm around Bobby’s waist and Bobby smothering Don with arms cradling his head.

The room falls into an easy silence, the exhaustion of the day finally catching up. Just before Bobby drifts off, he places a small kiss on Don’s forehead and Don gives Bobby a squeeze.

Tomorrow is another day and Don can’t wait to see Bobby first thing in the morning.

#coxstroke #bobby moch #don hume #bobby moch x don hume #don hume x bobby moch #salix's sideblog escapades

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punchdrunkdoc · 8 months

Text

Part 3, Chapter 8

Summary: After the events of S3, Matt Murdock is trying to once again balance life as a lawyer and a vigilante. But he’s been scarred by loss and betrayal - will a mysterious new neighbour help him heal? Or will her secrets drag him back into the darkness?

Notes: This is a slow burn romance with an original female character, told in 3 (maybe 4??) parts. There is mystery, intrigue, action/violence and angst - all the good stuff!

Also available on AO3 and Wattpad

Masterlist

Reference pics

————–

PART 3

Chapter 8

Calina crouched down, circling the opponent in front of her.

A kick came at her left flank but she rolled to the right, dodging the strike. She sprang back to her feet, her hands up in front of her face in a classic defensive pose. She darted away from another lunge, using her quick, agile grace to duck and dance away from the danger.

That’s when her attacker started to get frustrated. Sloppy. The next punch was so telegraphed that Calina had time to follow up her side-step with a kick of her own. The top of her foot whacked the outer thigh of the woman opposite causing her to stumble back with a muttered oath. “Dammit, Calina.”

Calina just shrugged.

Katya rubbed at her leg, and turned to complain to the other Widow doing stretches in the training room. “She’s no fun to spar with.”

Yelena raised her eyebrow. “And this is news to you? Its been like this since we were kids. She’s too quick.”

“You always managed to get some hits in,” Katya reminded her.

So did Matt, Calina thought, before banishing the memory of the fun they’d had fighting together in Fogwell’s. She didn’t need a reminder of that place. And she was trying her best to push all thoughts of Matt to the deepest recesses of her mind.

Otherwise she’d curl up on the floor and start crying.

Which she couldn’t afford to do right now. Not when they were so close to finally putting an end to Volkov’s operation.

To keep her self sane, she’d suggested training to Katya...but it wasn’t doing the trick. She needed a better opponent - someone who would keep her mind more engaged. Someone she always had a hard time besting.

She needed Yelena.

“I don’t know,” Calina said to Katya, goading the woman in the corner. “That was a long time ago. Maybe she’s gone soft.”

Yelena took the bait. She sprung up from the floor and strode over to the sparring area. “Be careful what you wish for.”

Calina took up her defensive position again. “Bring it, shorty.”

Katya sucked in a sharp breath. “You’ve done it now, Calina.”

Calina just grinned. She knew what she was doing. Taunting Yelena about her height was a sure fire way to rile up the other woman and bring out her vicious side.

And that’s just what she wanted.

Yelena launched herself at Calina, catching her around the waist and wrestling her to the ground, where she had her pinned in seconds.

Calina shook her head as she got to her feet. It was always the same with Yelena - no preamble, no easing in to a fight. Just straight to brutal offence.

Calina met Yelena’s smirk with a wry smile. “Beginner’s luck,” she commented.

Yelena shook her head. “Nope. I’m just better than you.”

The next round ended when Yelena tumbled to the floor after Calina sweeped her leg. “You were saying?” Calina taunted.

Yelena’s glare signalled a change in the tone of the fight. Banter was replaced by steely-eyed focus. Punches that were pulled now landed with full force. It took all of Calina’s concentration to dodge and evade Yelena’s attacks...and she wasn’t always successful.

There was a reason Yelena was their best fighter.

As Calina took another bruising tumble to the floor, she wondered if this was what she really wanted. Not the distraction from her thoughts, but the pain.

A punishment of sorts, for ruining things between her and Matt.

I’m a good person; I’m worthy of love.

She tried out her mantra as she ducked a left hook from Yelena. But the words crumbled into dust in the face of the truth:

She’d lied to the man she loved, again and again. She’d hurt him with her deceit and her dishonesty.

I’m a shitty person; I’m not worthy of anything.

Her knee exploded with pain as Yelena managed to land another hit while she was busy berating herself. She staggered back on the mat and pressed her gloved hand to the throbbing joint.

“Ouch,” Katya winced.

“Yeah, sorry, Calina,” Yelena said, still bouncing on the spot. “You tapping out?”

Calina shook off the pain and raised her fists again. “No. Let’s go again.”

“You sure?”

Calina just nodded and started circling Yelena. Pain or distraction…it didn’t matter. Either way, she needed this.

As she met Yelena in the centre of the mat for another round, she tried to block out all thoughts of Matt. She focussed all her attention on the attacks coming her way.

And she was oblivious to the silent ringing of her phone…

--------

Matt was pissed.

It was now 48 hours since the fight with Calina, and his emotions had come full circle. The despair and fear were gone, and his hopeful optimism had faded, leaving him boiling with rage again.

Because Calina wasn’t picking up her fucking phone.

It was deja vu all over again. Just like after the aborted kiss in the gym and the misunderstanding in the bar, Calina had disappeared and was ignoring his calls.

Matt hated it.

He didn’t exactly have the best track record when it came to mature, healthy relationships, but even he knew that you needed to actually talk to the person you loved to make things work.

Matt threw the phone on his bed and pulled on his mask. He’d spent all evening dialling her number and listening to it ring incessantly. Now it was time to act.

He didn’t know exactly where the Widows’ hideout was, but he knew where they were planning to be. And if he had to scope out that carpet warehouse for the next six months just to get a glimpse of Calina, so be it.

Determination fuelled his run across the rooftops of the city and across the river into New Jersey. Determination, and frustration. As well as the ever-present simmering anger, and a healthy dose of self-righteous condemnation.

She needed to stop doing this. This…silent treatment, cold shoulder thing. It was driving him crazy. Especially since she had all the power in their current dynamic. She knew where to find him. She knew how to contact him. She could show up to his office or his apartment, or climb into his goddam bedroom window at any time of the day or night…but he couldn’t do the same.

She was off the grid, and he had nothing but a phone number she wouldn’t answer and a vague geographic location.

Which he was approaching now.

He slowed down as he reached the derelict industrial park where she’d found him the other day. He stuck to the shadows as he stalked through the abandoned lots on his way to the warehouse, intent on not giving himself away. He may not agree with the Widows’ plan for Volkov and his men, but he wouldn’t jeopardise it.

He’d come to terms with the fact that this wasn’t his fight. It wasn’t his place to pass judgement on how the Widows’ claimed their freedom and their safety. He wouldn’t interfere. He-

Pop. Pop. Pop.

Matt froze as he picked up the sound of muffled gunfire. He crouched down behind a rusted-out delivery truck and sent his senses out into the night, trying to pinpoint the location.

It was coming from the warehouse.

Pop. Pop.

More gunfire.

And the unmistakeable sound of flesh hitting flesh.

Then shouts in Russian - both male and female.

It looked like tonight was the night the Widows’ took on Volkov.

Matt started running again, heading for the site of the battle.

He wasn’t going to interfere with the Widows’ fight. But he couldn’t just stand idly by while they faced danger.

--------

It happened while Calina was recovering from her fight with Yelena.

The two of them lay side-by-side on the mat, panting as they caught their breath from the exertion.

Yelena tapped her hand against Calina’s thigh - the closest part of her she could reach - and grunted out, “Good match.”

Calina huffed out a laugh. Only Yelena could face off against someone with a deadly look in her eye and fight no-holds-barred, just to turn around afterwards and call it a simple ‘match’ - as if they’d spent the last hour playing tennis or chess instead of pummelling the crap out of each other.

“You too,” Calina replied, not without affection. She and Yelena might butt heads more than any of the other Widows, but she still loved her. In the way you’d love an overbearing, stubborn older sister.

After several minutes of rest, they both clambered to their feet, Calina wincing as her left leg protested the movement - Yelena had walloped her knee again with a hook kick during the third round. Yelena rubbed at her side as she gulped down her water bottle and Calina held back a smile. It looked like she’d done some damage too, which was always cause for gloating when going up against Yelena.

Katya shook her head in exasperation. “Satisfied now?” she asked Calina. “Did you get everything out of your system?”

Calina let her smile loose and rolled her neck. “Yup.”

“I hope it was worth it. The two of you are going to be in pain tomorrow.”

Yelena opened her mouth to reply when Inessa barrelled through the door of the make-shift gym. “Volkov just arrived at the warehouse. He’s here!”

The other three Widows exchanged a look, then they all set off running at once. They sprinted across the hallway, through the main room, to the control centre - which was a fancy term for a few desks and a bank of monitors displaying the feed from the warehouse.

Anya was sitting in front of said screens, barking out information to the rest of the Widows in the room. “…three in the docking bay. Nine more in the room with Volkov. That makes 18 in total.”

“18 men?” Yelena clarified as she leaned over Anya to peer at the footage.

The seated Widow twisted around to greet the team leader. Then did a double-take at the sweat soaking Yelena’s hair and the burgeoning bruise over her left jaw. “What the hell happened to you?”

Yelena waved her hand. “Nothing. Did you say 18?”

“Yes,” Anya replied. “Plus the two lackeys.”

‘Lackeys’ was the term they’d come up with for the scientific staff recruited by Volkov’s team. From what they’d been able to determine from their surveillance, they were little more than broke science majors from the local college looking to make some extra cash by setting up the lab.

“18? That’s Volkov’s entire faction, right?” Katya asked.

Anya nodded. “Based on our intel, yes.”

‘Our’ intel was really Anya’s intel. The tech wizard had spent weeks glued to her laptop, diligently researching every single person captured on the footage from the warehouse. Between her facial recognition software, the information from Ranieri’s laptop, and her illegal backdoors into the databases of the CIA, KGB and Interpol, she’d managed to ID Volkov’s entire gang.

A few were previous operative from the Red Room - part of Volkov’s original team. Some were family members, converted to Volkov’s cause. But most were hired guns - murderers and Bratva mafiosos smuggled out of Russian prisons and onto US soil with the promise of freedom in exchange for a little light kidnapping and brainwashing.

And they were all in the same place, at the same time.

“Volkov’s gotta be either stupid or supremely confident to amass everyone in the same location,” Calina commented.

“I don’t think he has a choice,” Yelena said. “We took out most of his top mercenaries in South Carolina - this is all he has left. And he’s paranoid enough to want as much firepower around him as possible.”

“18 of them against 9 of us? That’s doable,” Katya commented.

“That’s more than doable. Its a cake-walk,” Yelena replied. She straightened up and crossed her arms before addressing the room. “Okay, everyone, it’s go time. We have the chance to end this tonight, and we’re not going to fail. We’ve been training for weeks for this, so you know what to do - tranq and remove the lackeys unharmed, and take out everyone else. Leave Volkov to me. Be ready to move in 5.”

Calina turned to leave with the other Widows but Yelena caught her arm. “You up for this?” she asked.

Calina rolled her eyes. “I’m a little sore, but you didn’t do that much damage, Yelena.”

“I’m not talking about that. I heard you talking to Katya earlier. About your fight with Matt.”

Calina bit her lip. “Oh. That.”

“I know what I said in Maine, but if you want to bail on this, you can. You have nothing to prove to us.”

Calina shook her head. “I’m coming. I can’t just sit here while you guys are out there fighting.”

“Okay then. Go get ready.”

Calina nodded and ran to her bunk. She slithered into her Black Widow suit, zipped up her boots and quickly re-braided her hair. Then she slotted her guns into her thigh holsters…and took a second to breathe.

This was it.

After tonight it would all be over. One way or another.

She glanced around the room and watched as her sisters geared-up and checked their own weapons. A sudden bolt of fear hit her at the thought of one of them being injured.

Or worse.

It never used to be like this in the Red Room. Back then, they’d been teammates in name only. Just individual soldiers going into missions side-by-side. Another pair of hands. Another set of skills. Useful back up…but nothing more.

Now, these women were her friends. Her sisters.

There was Anya, with her logical brain and lack of filter.

Inessa, with her weird sense of humour and bubbly personality.

Viktoria, with her quiet, stoicism.

Yelena, with her fearsome loyalty.

Katya, who she was closest to out of them all. Kind, thoughtful Katya.

She didn’t want to lose any of them.

So she would fight tonight. Not to kill - if she could help it. Not out of vengeance or anger.

She would fight to protect.

She would fight to make sure every single Widow made it back here safe and unharmed.

She would fight for her sisters.

Surely Matt would understand that, she thought. Then she shook her head, trying to quell any further thoughts of Matt. She couldn’t go into this battle with any more fear running through her veins.

Like the fear of never seeing him again. Of leaving things between them in such an ugly, dreadful state.

She didn’t hold out any hope that they could still be together - not after all her lies and with all the blood on her hands - but they deserved some kind of closure, didn’t they? She wanted to see him again, even if it was just to say goodbye.

And that could only happen if she survived tonight.

So she took a deep breath, adjusted the straps on her Widows’ bites and shook out her arms, trying to loosen the tightness in her muscles. As she did, she met Katya’s gaze from across the room. She saw the same hint of fear in the other Widows’ dark brown eyes. Calina smiled to reassure her. “We’ve got this,” she mouthed.

Katya nodded. “We’ve got this,” she mouthed back, and a small smile formed on her lips.

“Hell, yeah, we’ve got this,” Inessa said out loud, having followed the silent conversation. “Do you hear that, everyone? We’ve got this!”

The tension in the air around the Widows’ suddenly transformed into excited anticipation. A few of the others whooped and joined in, “We’ve got this!”

Yelena just shook her head. “Did that really need saying?” She grabbed her rifle and slung it over her shoulder. “Let’s go.”

--------

At first, everything went to plan.

Upon reaching the warehouse, the Widows had split into three teams of three - one group snuck around the back to the delivery bay, the other took up position near the front, and the third scaled up to the roof.

Yelena was on the roof team, and it was her role to snipe Volkov with a tranquilliser dart. The aim was to take him out of the equation early on, but leave him alive for interrogation after the fighting was done.

The other two member of Yelena’s group - Viktoria and Sanvi - had the task of infiltrating the lab and extracting the lackeys.

And that was the part that went to plan - sort of.

“We’re out,” was the whispered status update from Viktoria that came through Calina’s ear piece. “But we were spotted.”

At the same moment, Calina heard shouting from within the warehouse, and the sound of gunfire suddenly pierced the night.

“There goes the element of surprise,” Anya said before rising out of her crouch and racing for the docking bay doors.

Calina just shrugged and followed. It had always been an acceptable risk. From the moment they’d identified the lackeys as innocent pawns, they’d always planned to get them out first, no matter the consequences. It was a line in the sand which separated the Widows from Volkov and his faction - innocent civilians were not going to become collateral damage tonight.

And if that meant they had to go in hot - instead of taking out Volkov’s men with stealth - so be it.

Anya and the rest of their group reached the door first, and Calina cursed her earlier sparring session with Yelena for slowing her down. She gritted her teeth against the pain in her knee and kept running, finding an extra burst of speed when the soft pop-pop-pop of a silenced handgun drifted from the open door. She entered the docking bay moments later to find three guards sprawled on the concrete floor, all felled by single bullets to the head.

“Clear,” Anya reported.

“Clear,” repeated Katya from her section. “Nice of you to join us, Calina.”

Calina rolled her eyes and checked behind her. No one was following. “Clear,” she called out.

“Let’s go,” Anya said, moving further into the building. They could hear the sound of fighting from the main section of the warehouse, so they all picked up the pace.

Calina breathed steadily as they checked and cleared each corridor and room on the way, the four of them working in perfect synchronicity, their movements honed by years of training. Her earlier anxiety was gone, replaced by a calm determination. The muscle memory of countless previous missions guided her actions and she slipped back into ‘solider’ mode seamlessly - like donning an old, worn-in coat.

This was the life she knew best. As much as she struggled against that concept, her ease and composure in this situation proved it.

All thoughts of Matt, and his opinion on this operation, were forced deep into her subconscious. There was no room for moral quandaries here. Self-recrimination and guilt could come later.

Right now, there was only the gun in her hand and the teammate in front of her.

And a plan that was about to go to shit.

————–

Chapter 9

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