#like fuckin cockroaches on the wall

[sailorspica]

hitch is jean in a different font

i might have a new WIP or two cooking, and one of them has me vibrating and combing over canon to make this argument: hitch as jean's shadow, their parallel journeys, her growth only a few months behind his. marlowe as a kind of marco, stohess as her trost.

for me it's all toward a reijean / hitchannie agenda but pray any hitch and jean stans appreciate:

we meet hitch as an almost-jean: well-aware of what the military police actually is. pragmatic. in the anime's expansion of stohess, jean looks at the MPs scrambling and thinks, "i could've actually been one of them too, huh? just how did i end up here instead?"

the scene of marlowe and hitch cleaning up stohess is another anime addition, in the s2 premiere. marlowe is bewildered that titans were in sina to begin with, but hitch's focus is more mundane: "the worst thing about it all is that so many people died for no good reason." the hulu subtitles are more like "there's no official reason all these people died." levi echoes the sentiment in 59 when he bluntly tells them annie was the female titan: "no one knows a damn thing."

levi trusts jean to feel them out for a reason, and i think hitch impressed him way more than marlowe. he respects her disgust for loss of life, and her balls to blame the survey corps for it. she's actually a mini nile dawk there, to me, when nile realizes what erwin is up to in stohess, and it makes me think that jean's pragmatism is a necessary injection of the MPs' better traits into the suicidal SC. that it's in the same chapter as jean and armin recovering from their run-in with the interior squad is telling.

in the 125 hitch/annie date, annie is looking up at the colossals, and hitch literally grounds her. annie is struck by their height, maybe she thinks of bertolt, maybe she's thinking of her mission to prevent this from happening, but hitch doesn't give a shit about the titans themselves, only what they leave in their wake. it feels similar to jean telling eren about marco's death in 22. marco instilled in jean that a leader is honest about what they ask people to die for; hitch is disgusted by the senselessness of the death her whole career has been about cleaning up.

i think it's easy to look at hitch yawning among the jaegerists in 139 as a bit of her cockroach quality—keeping her head down and saluting along for her survival among fascists, like shadis advises the recruits who beat him (also in 125). but we have seen her demonstrate such kindness, and mourn. practically, she must be pissed that the junta she and marlowe risked themselves to install has been totally upended; she stands by her actions in the uprising arc, look at how she and armin witness zackly's assassination. but beyond that, she hates death more than anything. she could reason that marlowe's death was toward something tangible, the truth of their world, but that it snowballed into the death of most of the world? the rumbling is probably a national holiday to those freaks. it's ghoulish to her.

for my ship agenda (even if you're into these relationships only platonically):

hitch talking to annie's crystal feels like jean saving reiner in shiganshina. everyone else was ready to discard or forget about these traitors, but hitch, jean, and armin all cling to the softness they couldn't reconcile with annie and reiner's titan forms. with what he thought were his dying breaths, reiner delivered ymir's letter. on her day off, in Wall Sina, Goodbye, annie kept her word, and tried to reunite a father and daughter. hitch might have negged her for it, seen it as busy work, but it's the same kindness she bullied marlowe for, if carefully buried under annie's insistence that it was just the quid pro quo between them.

idc that armin talked to her, too, or he knew her longer. hitch fuckin mourned her!! and i think being angry with annie, questioning her for four years, is way, way more humanizing than armin basically monologuing at her while feeling sorry for himself and bertolt and titan shifters generally. (this sounds like i hate armin but swear i love him; i just think aruani is most interesting when bertolt is involved.)

hitch accurately clocks that annie seemed afraid of getting close to people. her own fellow cadets just thought of her as distant, bored; when hange asks the scouts in the 104th about RBA's interactions as cadets, they're at a loss, even armin. even her fellow warriors didn't really see her. annie's distance was a kindness, and her own armor. she sees reibert's deep cover as a waste of time, but i think she also sees they're bound to hurt themselves and their mission in the long run. even though everyone felt betrayed after stohess, reiner was a greater shock, a deeper wound. i think annie wanted to minimize hurt on all fronts. (look how she dips out of the alliance, it's because she's tired, and doesn't want to kill eren, or anyone.)

jean comes to understand reiner only after he and connie and armin have to kill their 104th classmates at the pier. hitch can't fully fathom annie's circumstances or pain, especially not annie saying she'd do it all again, but hitch listens to it all and thanks her for the vulnerability, for softening, which is more compassion than most of the paradis side of the alliance has managed so far. she has a head start on the emotional strides jean makes in between 127 and 133, maybe because she got a bit of catharsis beating her fists against annie's crystal for four years.

they're both sick of their shit

#hitchannie #hitch dreyse #jean kirchstein #hitch x annie #reiner x jean #aot meta #hitch is levi's favorite MP #♃ #aottxt #reijean #jeanbo #snk 125 #snk 59

[storiesbyrhi]

Bones and All - Chapter 15: Digestive Tract

Eddie Munson/Reader Series Masterlist

Warnings: canon typical violence/gore, swearing, abusive parents, animal farming/slaughterhouse setting (1 scene only); psychiatric hospital setting (1 scene only); discussion of religion; suicidal ideation/thoughts; murder; mid-level smut; no beta; updated each chapter

Synopsis: A Bones and All AU. What do you hunger for?

Chapter Summary: The aftermath. 3048 words.

A cockroach crawled out from under the vending machine. It scurried aimless patterns around the floor, stopping randomly, its antenna twitching. You had been here before - been lost in the feeling of hopelessness watching a brown little bug crawl across linoleum.

“You might wanna start talking now,” the cop said. He’d said it a few times though and you’d not heeded the warning.

The police station was cold. The wet blood soaked into your clothes was making you shiver, but nobody had offered you a change of wardrobe. They’d not even offered a cup of shitty coffee.

“Who’s the dead guy?”

“Where’s Bert Townsman?”

“What’s with the hair? Whose is it?”

Question after question but you were blinking long and slow, moving slower, not really there at all.

“Where’s your ID?”

“What’s your name?”

Briefly, you glanced at the cop. He had an unremarkable face and as soon as you went back to the cockroach, you’d forgotten it entirely.

…

“Jesus Christ! You couldn’t find a shirt for her to wear?!”

“It’s evidence!”

“Then put it in a fuckin’ evidence bag!”

Hopper’s voice boomed across the precinct. The police weren’t taking too kindly to a small town chief knocking down their door, but he wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer.

“Come on, kid,” he said to you, pulling you up by the arm and taking you into the toilets.

You were weak on your feet, but Hopper stood you in front of the sink and turned the water on. He grabbed an excessive amount of paper towels from the holder and piled them next to you.

“I’ll go find a shirt.”

You didn’t want to see your reflection. Too many times you had stood in front of a mirror with blood smeared across your face. So, you used the towels to clean yourself keeping your head low.

Hopper returned quickly, a woman cop in tow. You pulled your t-shirt off and dropped it into the plastic bag ziplock bag she held out, then took the old, oversized Notre Damn hoodie she offered. She’d picked it out of the lost and found.

“Thanks,” Hopper mumbled to her as she left.

“Y/N. What the hell happened?”

“Is he okay?”

“He’s still in surgery. What happened?”

“Is he gonna be okay? What did they say?”

Hopper could hear the desperation in your voice. He knew what it felt like to wait in limbo. He knew what it felt like to lose and grieve. “I don’t know… They haven’t said anything yet… Wayne’s on his way up. He’ll get there soon and give us a call here when they know anything.”

You nodded and took some shaky steps backward. Once against the wall, you slid down to the ground, pulling your legs up to your chest and holding on to yourself.

With his hands on his hips, Hopper sighed, almost wincing at having to watch you. “Look, I know this is hard. But if you don’t say something, they’re gonna start telling the story their way.”

When you looked up at the man, there was something in his eyes that made you wonder what he knew.

After following Hopper out of the bathroom and into an interview room, you gave a poised and clear statement. Sully was someone who gave you a ride when you were hitching. Then, he attacked you in a library in Muncie. Now, he’d stalked you to Notre Dame. No, you didn’t know who he was. No, you didn’t know what the rope made of hair was all about.

You described the way he wielded both a knife and his mouth as weapons. How he was like a wild animal, biting and ripping in some inhuman and ungodly way. It was all so very overwhelming and downright terrifying, you said.

“And what about Bert? Why have you been living in his place?”

In the first few days you and Eddie had taken Bert’s apartment and job, you laid the breadcrumbs out. Just in case. Wove a narrative about him taking off after some shady deals at a poker table. It was in character and the students you or Eddie told about it entirely brought it. In theory, a cop should be a more critical consumer of information, but as you told the story to the one sitting opposite you, he seemed to accept it.

“We found the deceased’s car a couple blocks down from the apartment,” he said as he closed his notebook and pushed away from the table a little.

The tone had shifted; you’d become a victim in his eyes.

“There’s a lot of stuff in there of interest… Might lead to more questions for you. Don’t go too far,”

“She’ll be coming back to Hawkins,” Hopper asserted before you could answer.

“No, I want to see Eddie,”

“Yeah, after that. Come on. Let’s go.”

…

The number of machines surrounding Eddie’s bed was upsetting. There were a lot of upsetting things happening all at once. As soon as you walked into the room, Wayne stood from where he was holding vigil at Eddie’s bedside.

“I’m sorry!” you started to cry to him. “I’m so sorry!”

Wayne caught you in a hug. “Hey. Hey. Calm down. Nothing to be sorry for,”

“But he-he-”

“I know. Hop filled me in. Eddie’s always been protective of family. He loves you, kid. He protected you. Don’t be sorry for him loving you.”

Wayne held you, rocked you on the spot, something you realised Eddie must have learnt from him. After giving you a moment, he let go and told you to go sit with Eddie while he spoke to Hopper outside.

In the hospital hallway, Hopper told Wayne that the cops believed your version of events. Some of the cops first on scene reported that some of Eddie wounds were more akin to a dog attack than knife, but there was no proof of that now. Sully’s identity would be discovered and he would be recorded as the perpetrator of one count of break and entering, two counts of assault with the intent to cause harm, and one final count of causing grievous bodily harm.

“Nothing they can do about it, now he’s dead. If Eddie makes-” Hopper stopped mid-sentence to correct himself. “When Eddie makes it out the woods, he can file as a victim of crime though. Might be entitled to a pay out,” Hopper told Wayne. “But if he wants that, then Y/N might need to provide some legal identification… And maybe things get dragged up that none of you want,”

“I hear ya, Hop. Government ain’t parting with any money if they don’t have it,”

“Yeah… I know they were trying to make a life up here, but it might be best for them to come home to Hawkins. Let things settle. Then try again somewhere else.”

Hopper looked at you through the open doorway one last time before leaving. He didn’t know what he didn’t know, but he was sure Wayne and Eddie were inherently good. That was enough for him.

Wayne came back into the room and pulled a chair up on the other side of Eddie’s bed.

You’d not moved, only placed your hand over Eddie’s and stared at his peaceful face. Listened to the beeping of the heart monitor, and the pump and whoosh of the ventilator.

“You’re like him, aren’t you?” Wayne asked, voice quiet.

Too tired to think, you just nodded.

“And the man?”

A nod.

Wayne didn’t know what Eddie was. Human, he was sure. He was there when Eddie was born. But something else too. He could make people disappear. That’s as far as his knowledge extended.

“You two have anything to do with Ted Wheeler going missing?” Wayne asked then.

The question caught you off guard, you looked over at the man wide-eyed. Your reaction alone gave you away. Wayne made a sad sort of face and looked down.

“It wasn’t Eddie. It was me. It was an accident. I-I didn’t pick him out or anything. Um. Wrong place, wrong time. I didn’t mean to. I don’t do… do that. I’m not like that. Eddie’s not like that.”

Wayne nodded once, still looking into his lap. “Ted Wheeler always was a bit of an asshole.”

…

They kept Eddie in a medically induced coma for four days. Although they’d been able to stitch him together, he was so fragile. His organs needed time to come back from the swelling, and his lungs were weak.

You and Wayne took turns being at the hospital. One of you would be there, while the other took the truck and got some sleep.

Max, Dustin, and all the others came to visit. Some brought meals for you and Wayne from their mothers. Some brought little tokens of their love for Eddie, leaving DnD figurines and guitar picks on the bedside table.

It was a Thursday morning when Eddie’s primary doctor made the call. “The scans show that the sutures have sat well. Most of the internal swelling has gone down enough to see there’s no major causes of concern at this point. And the skin graphs aren’t showing any signs of rejection,”

“That’s all good,” you said hopefully.

“Yes, it is, but he still needs to be able to breathe on his own. So, today we’re taking him off the ventilator this afternoon to see how he’ll do,”

“But he should be fine. Nothing says he shouldn’t be able to breathe,” Wayne clarified.

The doctor nodded. “I’d be surprised if he can’t, but then again, a wound that… messy… A lot needed to be improvised in the E.R. Hiccups along the road to recovery are to be expected.”

The day ticked by at an agonising snail’s pace. Each time you went for a walk, you’d return in ten minutes thinking you’d killed an hour. Wayne smoked his way through almost an entire carton. Finally, at 3:00 pm, the doctor returned.

…

Three Weeks Later

Everything was quiet. No music. No television. Even Forest Hills seemed uncharacteristically placid, so much so that you had to keep checking out the windows to make sure it was still there. And, it was. Your neighbour was out hanging her washing on the line. There were kids riding their bikes down the road. You even caught Wayne just as he was leaving for work.

As he came down the front step of the Munson trailer, he glanced over at where the small pull-along caravan his work friend loaned him was situated. He smiled at the sight of you looking wistfully out the window. You waved back when he raised his hand.

Eddie needed more than a fold out bed to recover in, but he refused to take his uncles in the trailer. The caravan was offered; a good solution that was working out well, even if it was only a little bit bigger than living out of a car.

You moved away from the window and went back to where you were making chicken soup. The monotony of stirring caught you in a trance, letting your mind go blank for a few beautiful seconds.

“Let me guess… Soup.”

Spinning on the spot, you grinned. “Hi,”

“Hi, baby.”

Eddie was sitting up in bed. You walked to him and inspected his torso. The skin graphs were healing well. He’d be a patchwork of scars, but he’d live.

“I know you’re hungry, but it’s too risky,” you told him.

Eddie nodded. “I know. Just feels like I’d be getting stronger faster if I wasn’t stuck on a liquid diet,”

“Hey! I made toasties yesterday! ... Look, I’m on it, okay. But we got through this because we were smart before. We gotta keep being smart.”

As well as crafting the story of runaway Bert and the legitimate reason for you and Eddie being in his apartment, you sorted through all the possessions you’d both accumulated during your time on the road. Anything that was… borrowed… from someone you ate was burned. It had felt good, really. Cowboy Cook’s hat. Steve’s wallet. Necklaces and books.

There was nothing left but proof of two semi-nomadic kids from small town America looking to start a life together.

“I know, I know. Sorry. I like your soups. I swear.”

You snorted and shook your head at him. “Get up and go sit. We’ll eat.”

The pull-along caravan’s layout was functional. Upon entering, immediately to the right was a dining booth. The table in the center could pop down to create a flat surface for a second single bed, but you and Eddie left it up. Along the far wall was the smallest kitchenette, the left side top corner cut off by a toilet/shower wet room. You couldn’t use the shower at the same time as each other, Eddie barely fitting in there alone. The lefthand side wall was occupied by part of the wet room, and then the double bed, which ran longways all the way up to the door.

When you slid into the booth opposite Eddie, putting two bowls down as you went, he grinned at you. The meal was void of conversation, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. You finished first, and watched as Eddie slowly taught himself how to exist with one less finger.

Sully had bitten it clean off. It was in your statement and Eddie’s. The finger was in Sully’s digestive tract, found during the autopsy.

You considered the empty space between Eddie’s left hand little and middle finger. Was it a bad omen that the place a wedding ring should sit was gone? Had he thought of that too?

There had not been a lot of discussion about Notre Dame. You thought about it all the time. It replayed vividly on a loop behind your eyes. Not Sully. Not the knife or the rope of hair. No, not that. It was the image of you lowering your mouth to Eddie and eating. It was the knowledge that you’d consumed part of him. That you knew what Eddie tasted like. That he was a part of you in that brutal and intimate way forever. That it left the dynamic between you so uneven.

Eddie finished his soup and looked up. Your gaze was fixed on his hand. He wriggled his fingers at you, bringing you out of your heavy thoughts.

“Lucky it wasn’t my right hand,” he said. You just nodded, smiled softly. “Can I ask you something?”

Figuring it was something small, maybe inconsequential, you nodded again.

“Why didn’t you do it?”

“Do what?” you replied.

“You know… Finish the job.”

You studied Eddie’s expression, lost for a moment until – “You mean eat you?! What the fuck, Eddie?”

“Wait, no, listen… I don’t mean ‘I wish you did,’ I mean… How did you stop yourself?”

Grabbing your empty bowl and his, you left the booth and dumped the dishes in the sink loudly. He’d hit a nerve; what the nerve was attached to, you weren’t sure.

Eddie stood but didn’t need to follow you. The caravan was small enough that there was no place to hide. “I mean, I don’t know if I could have,”

“Eddie, I don’t want to talk about it,”

“Why?”

“I just… I just don’t, okay?”

Eddie’s gaze burned through you, but he let it go, waving his hand dismissively and moving to get back in bed. For the rest of the night, he tried to figure you out.

…

The caravan windows were covered in condensation when Eddie woke. He drew shapes into it like a child with a magic slate toy. While he worked and listened to your sleeping sounds, he wondered how he had tasted to you. What did it feel like to eat someone willing? Someone who loved you? Who you loved? What was it like to have him as part of you?

It occurred to Eddie that he was jealous of something you seemed to be all fucked up about.

Eddie burrowed back under the covers with you, pulling you closer to him. You stirred, making little grumbling sounds that caused butterflies to unfurl from cocoons in Eddie’s belly. He pressed his forehead to yours, then pushed kisses against your lips.

“I love you,” he whispered into your mouth.

You lifted your leg to hoist over Eddie’s frame, and he held you in place. Burying your face in his neck, you kissed and sucked little bruises into his flesh. His fingers roamed, explored, eventually finding their way below the elastic of your underwear.

“Do you love me?” he asked. You nodded, lifting your head to meet his gaze. “Do you trust me? ‘Cause I can fix this. For you. For us.”

Eddie watched your eyebrows pull together in confusion; you were searching his face for ideas. He kissed you again, and again, and again.

“You need it to be even, right?” His voice was low, and the pain and ecstasy of him knowing you and understanding you caused you to hide your face back in the crook of his head. You nodded though. “Yeah? That’s okay. That’s okay, baby. ‘Cause I… I need to know what you know. I wanna… Taste… Need you to be part of me too.”

There was a very precise meaning to Eddie’s words and you did not misinterpret them.

He still had one hand in your underwear, slowly and gently teasing you. With his other, he found your left hand and brought it to his mouth, kissing each fingertip lightly.

“We can be the same,” he breathed out.

Tears started to roll down your cheeks as you whimpered and nodded. It felt like you were drowning. He had you pinned in every way. Mind. Body. Soul.

Eddie nudged your head up with the tip of his nose so you could watch. Your eyes grew wide and unblinking. He folded all your fingers down bar the ring finger. Again, he kissed the tip of it, then sucked it into his mouth and closed his eyes.

You took a deep breath in and held it steady. Grinding your hips into Eddie’s hand hard, you listened as Eddie’s teeth crunched through tendon and bone, watched as blood spilled out from between his lips and began to soak into the bed. Finally, you were happy.

End Note: Well, that's it folks! I would LOVE to hear your thoughts, especially if you've seen/read the originals. Thank you for coming on this cannibalistic journey of love and identity and belonging. It's been fun.

Fic Taglist: @azydrateanatomy @pussy-drunk @mrsdollardog @akiratoro420 @thatsbunnysmind

Eddie Taglist: @solomons-finest-rum @ruinedbythehobbit @munsonlives @sweetpeapod @depressooo-expressooo-blog @thorfemmes @hawkins-high @corrodedhawkins @grungegrrrl @lilzabob @mymoonisalways-in-scorpio @averagemisfit03 @ches-86 @ilovecupcakesandtea @onehotgreasymechanic @hazydespair @lacrymosa-24 @mel-the-fangirl

#Eddie Munson #Bones and All #Eddie Munson x Reader #Eddie Munson x You

[fix-the-broken-pieces]

Sure sounds like how things work up beyond that wall! We're fuckin cockroaches, one or two and then BAM, there's a fuckton

❤"Maybe, but you're not all bad."

*She pauses.

❤"Maybe I should be careful with assuming cockroaches are bad. I know at least one of the new residents has some pet cockroaches."

#emotionally determined | friska #sixsoulssnuffed

[honeysucklethornsandalligtrhorns]

TSP Character Headcanons!!

these are just personal headcanons of mine- you are not obliged to agree :]]

btw this will be a long long post so im putting the cut here lmao

𝕋𝕙𝕖 ℕ𝕒𝕣𝕣𝕒𝕥𝕠𝕣:

-demisexual af. like he sees absolutely no appeal in ANYONE unless he's hardcore bonded with em (cough cough Stanley)

-ik this one is common but he absolutely talks with his hands, like, to the point where you have to stand further back because they're gesturing so much

-cannot STAND anything scented. scented candles, soap, even certain foods (hm? projecting onto characters who?)

-He could change his voice to sound like anything (like with the mannequin wife) they just went with a british accent since it thought it made them sound 'smart and sophisticated'.

-germophobe to the max- always washing his hands, wiping stuff down, etc.. it wears gloves often in order to keep itself clean (and sane)

-only ever eats dark chocolate (FOR THE RECORD I FUCKIN HATE DARK CHOCOLATE)

-he loaded in his human avatar once and hit their funny bone/ulnar nerve HARD against a desk, and proceeded to sob for an hour while Stanley calmed him down

-he/they/it pronouns babyyy

-will often show Stanley the dumbest most grandma/white mom-eqsue facebook memes (he thinks its comedy gold and Stanley never has the heart to tell it that they're oh so painfully unfunny)

-when it realised he had feelings for Stanley he immediately reset out of surprise and fear (stanley was three hours into the baby game and wanted to strangle them afterwards)

𝕊𝕥𝕒𝕟𝕝𝕖𝕪:

-before the Parable he'd use almost an entire bottle of hair gel every day to keep his hair flat (he honestly prefers it natural)

-this guy is the biggest fucking fan of fidget toys. buttons especially.

-pansexual but demiromantic babyyyy

-has in fact eaten several bugs, the current running list including a cockroach, a mealworm, and a surprising number of ants and flies (a lot of them by accident)

-has also eaten dirt, mud, and candy wrappers- he was the type of kid who just put everything in his mouth lmao

-uses 5 million emojis/tone indicators when he texts, it started out as a joke but now he genuinely feels like he can't get his point across without them

-instead of scented things, he can't stand bad textures- the feeling of stucco walls, rubbing your fingernail wrong etc.. it's one of the reasons he's not the biggest fan of slime- he hates the feeling of it sticking to your fingers.

-he fuckin loves citrus. the fruits, the scent, etc..

-when he realised he had feelings for the Narrator he just. locked himself in the broom closet with the bucket for a couple hours.

𝕄𝕒𝕣𝕚𝕖𝕝𝕝𝕒:

-demigirl AND a lesbian babyyy

-she loves berries. blueberries especially.

-yes, she can backflip. she learned how back in high school, trying out for cheer (their crush was on the team and they wanted to impress her).

-has a hard time letting go of things- gets attached very easily lmao. She has a ton of burnt-out candles and broken mugs still sitting around their apartment.

-has punched multiple people in the face and... other places, in defense of her friends- loyal af

-likes to sing but is mediocre at best; they're really into showtunes and 70s 'hippie music'. she got to see stevie nicks in concert, and considers it one of her highest achievements. also partial to heavier stuff like rock and roll

-has a really close relationship with their dad- he helped her a lot growing up and he was so supportive of them when she came out (projecting again?? ME???)

-she has a 14-year-old pet cockatoo named Alfred (idk why im including this it's just something i believe in)

this post is getting so long but i just had to include my favorites, part 2 later!!

#tsp #the stanley parable #tsp narrator #tsp stanley #tsp mariella #tsp headcanon #im having too much fun #hrrgh gay ppl...

[heartlessfujoshi]

the horndog and the prince(ss) - a rufusreno multichapter fic

Title: The Horndog and the Prince(ss) Chapter: 8 of 10 Fandom: FFVII Compilation Pairing: RufusReno (Rufus Shinra x Reno) Rating: Explicit (Explicit Sexual Content - Timeline what Timeline - Corruption Kink - Drug Use) Word Count: ~3,450

Ch 1 Ch 2 Ch 3 Ch 4 Ch 5 Ch 6 Ch 7

---

Rufus threw four reports down onto the conference room table, the packets slipping and sliding as they made their way to their respective new owner. Rufus turned on the projection, then turned his back to his Turks and looked at what was now displayed on the wall. “There are rumblings of a group of traitors to our organization that are currently holed up at Icicle Inn, as if we don’t exist out there.” 

“Please tell me we’re going to go and fight some assholes.” Elena’s quip had Rufus raising his eyebrow, turning back around to look at her. “Sorry, sir.” She bowed her head, looking embarrassed by her own outburst. 

“Nah, yo. Don’t apologize fer that shit, Elena. Yer right, we need ta go kick some fuckin’ ass, as we don’t deal with traitors.” Reno came to her rescue, as he did quite often. 

Rolling his eyes, Rufus turned back towards the projection and moved on to the next slide. “We’re going to set up our base at this cabin in the woods.” He tapped the location on the wall, as the cabin was barely visible. “We will work in shifts. If you’re not scheduled to be in the cabin, then you will be patrolling the area - both the village and the motel.” 

“Isn’t this overkill, Rufus?” Tseng asked, looking at the report in his hands. “For a few people wishing to turn against us?” 

“That isn’t the point, Tseng.” Rufus had prepared for his own bodyguard to have his say about this assignment. “We need them all to see that we’re not playing games. Not anymore. Things may have seemed like they were lax when it comes to our corporation, but not anymore. Shinra is a name to be respected, as well as it should be feared.” 

Rude nodded his head, his sunglasses barely moving on his face. “Sounds good, sir.” 

“We’ll head up there after lunch. Get up there around dinner.” Rufus turned the projector off, and flipped the lights back on. “First shift in the cabin will be determined when we arrive. It will be twelve hour shifts. The group has a base only a few hundred meters away, which we can easily see from our cabin, but they cannot.” He opened his own report, and pushed his finger against the picture of where the group was holed up. “The plan is to observe them for two days, and then make our moves.” 

“What if they make it first, yo?” 

He shot a glare at Reno, who held up his hands as if in apology. “Then we go in with guns blazing.” 

“Very well.” Tseng stood up, and adjusted the gloves on his hands. “You heard him. Be on the helipad at fourteen hundred hours. Pack only what you need for five days.” 

“Yes, sir.” The three Turks answered in response, then all left the conference together in a group. 

Rufus turned to his personal bodyguard, and saw him still flipping through the report. “You know this is the right way of doing things, Tseng.” 

“If you wish to show force with them, then I don’t think this is the best way to do it. I think we should go in and assassinate their leader, and then watch as the cockroaches try and scatter, then shoot them one by one as they fail to leave.” 

“Wouldn’t you be interested in finding out if there were more of them, though?” Rufus pointed to the report. “It’s a handful of people. But with that many, their rhetoric has no doubt already spread. We need to show force.” 

“Very well.” Tseng sighed. “I think that you and Reno should take the first shift at the cabin. His reconnaissance skills are unmatched, and would be of use if we can find patterns immediately than wait for them to appear.” 

He felt his stomach dip at the mention of his lover. Rufus had already planned on them being paired up at some point over the duration of this mission, but never would have expected Tseng to suggest it so readily. “If that’s what you think is best.” 

The Turk nodded his head. “I do. I don’t want you to be wandering around without one of us around, and Reno is the best to keep you safe.” 

“You want to shoot people.” 

Tseng smirked, then shrugged his shoulders. “If that is what is necessary to let these traitors know that Shinra doesn’t tolerate rats.” 

“I’m glad you’re on our side.” Rufus grinned, then picked up his report. “See you on the helipad in a few hours.” 

“Yes, sir.” 

He left the conference room and returned to his own apartment. Rufus leaned against his kitchen counter and exhaled a deep, long breath. He was thankful that he didn’t have to make that decision, and was glad that Tseng was starting to see that Reno was his best option. He wondered how the redhead was going to take to the knowledge that they were going to be paired together for the duration of the assignment. 

***

“Are ya fuckin’ jokin’??” Reno stared at him, his green eyes ablaze with annoyance. “No fuckin’ way. Yer stayin’ here. I ain’t allowin’ ya ta go out there, sir.” 

Well, that was surprising. “Excuse me?” Rufus returned his glare, staring back at him. “You don’t tell me what to do, Turk. You listen to what I say, not what you prefer.” He looked at Tseng, who was ignoring the both of them in favor of discussing something with Elena. “Would you rather Rude go with you?” 

“Yeah!” The redhead shouted. 

“Too fucking bad.” Rufus kept his eyes narrowed. “He’s already on his way to his own separate mission.” 

“Fuck!” 

They’d set the chopper down about a mile away from where the cabin was, which made it two miles to the village. Tseng had just informed them that Rufus and Reno would be taking the first shift, and then Tseng and Rude would relieve them at eight am the following morning. Elena would keep watch in the village, then would take the following shift with Reno at eight the next evening. 

“Communicate through texts.” Tseng had instructed them all. “You’re dismissed.” 

Reno said nothing to him as the two of them made their way up to the cabin. When they got inside, he saw that the fire was already roaring, the cabin pleasantly heated. Thank goodness for people who actually gave a damn about them. Reno pulled out his binoculars and went to the window, completely ignoring Rufus. If he wasn’t so cold, he would have been mildly upset at the way Reno was behaving. 

Standing in front of the fire, Rufus warmed himself up and saw that Reno was still staring out the window. “Are you going to be an asshole until the morning?” Rufus asked, as he sat down on the couch, now sufficiently warm. 

“Don’t talk ta me.” 

He raised his eyebrow up. “What did you say?�� 

“If ya want this ta look legit, I gotta fuckin’ work wit’out any interruptions, yo.” Reno sat perched, looking at the cabin down the way. “Ya fucked up, Princess.” 

“How so?” 

“Ya should have let someone else take th’ first shift. Cuz this is yer doin’, ain’t it?” 

“You’re wrong.” Rufus didn’t bother to hide his smirk as Reno turned around and stared at him, clearly gobsmacked by the information. “Tseng was the one to determine the set up.” 

“Ya mean ta tell me that he thought ye and I should be together?” 

Rufus nodded his head. “That is exactly what I’m saying. He said, and I quote, “Reno is excellent at reconnaissance. You two should stick together.’”

“No fuckin’ way.” 

“Do you really think you’re that bad at your job?” Rufus tilted his head and looked at the redhead. “You do.” 

“Shut up.” Reno turned away, then brought the binoculars back to his eyes. “We can’t fool around.” 

“Why not?” He hated being told no, especially when it came to sex. And he and Reno hadn’t been together for a bit, and he was jonesing for some time alone with the redhead, preferably in a bed without any sort of clothes on. Which, honestly, should be right now but apparently the fucking idiot has decided that he had to work. 

“Because I need ta concentrate.” 

“And me being here is a distraction?” 

“Course it is! All I wanna do is fuckin’ take ya ta bed, and fuck yer brains out until yer fuckin’ stupid.” 

Rufus shifted on the couch. Why was he finding the way that Reno spoke to him so erotic? It was such a mystery to him, as his cock began to grow hard. Staring at the way the muscles in Reno’s back became present as he took a deep breath, Rufus stayed put on the couch, almost too afraid to move. “Empty promises.” 

“Ye’ll fuckin’ see.” Reno grabbed a smoke from his pack of cigarettes, and put it into his mouth. “But I gotta make this look legit, otherwise there will be questions.” 

“I’ve got some questions myself.” Rufus commented. 

“Shut th’ fuck up, Princess.” 

He relaxed against the couch, the smirk returning to his lips. “Very well. I will leave you alone. But only for a few hours. And once those few hours are done, then we’re going to do what you said.” 

“Yer fuckin’ right, we are.”

The clock struck nine, exactly three hours later after they had arrived at the cabin. Reno set the binoculars down, shutting his notebook where he’d been taking notes on whatever it was the traitors were doing in their cabin down the way, then stood up and stretched. Rufus had stayed on the couch, refusing to make too much noise as he didn’t want to piss the redhead off. Which shocked him to his core, because he would normally not give a fuck, but there was something about the way Reno was acting that he couldn’t help but be a little intimidated by it. 

“Ya ever smoke this shit?” Reno pulled out a baggie that had rolling papers, along with something that smelled very pungent. 

“No.” Rufus shook his head, as he watched as Reno came over to the couch, and sat down next to him. “I don’t have any use for mind-altering substances.” 

“But ya drink liquor.” Reno started to roll a joint, taking some of the very aromatic herbs and stuffing them into the paper. “This ain’t that different, yo.” 

“Do you get high often?” Reno shrugged, making Rufus relax a little. “Why do it now?” 

“Cuz I had a feelin’ ya’ve never done it before.” 

“And that makes you want to smoke it because why?” 

The smirk on Reno’s face made his eyes light up with mischief. “Cuz I wanna make ya do somethin’ ye’ve never done before.” 

“There are plenty of things I’ve never done before.” Rufus hated that he was suddenly feeling very nervous. “We could do one of those things.” 

“Nah, it won’t be th’ same.” Reno brought the joint to his lips, and lit it with his lighter. Rufus watched as he smoked a few deep puffs on it, and then held his breath, only to exhale a large plume of smoke ten seconds later. “Want ta try it on yer own?” 

He blinked. “Is there another way to try it?” 

“Sure, beautiful.” Reno patted his lap, and Rufus got up and sat down on it without any sort of complaint. Reno was looking at him with a relaxed smile on his face, the joint hanging off his bottom lip, much like a cigarette would. “Ya trust me, dontcha, Ruf’?” 

“I do.” Rufus nodded his head. “With my life.” 

“Yeah yeah. Close yer eyes, and open yer mouth.” 

Rufus closed his eyes, and did as he was told, opening his mouth for Reno. He groaned as he felt his lips touch his, and then his eyelids flew up as he felt smoke being passed into his mouth. Reno pulled away, and kept his hand over his mouth, Rufus’ eyes widening in panic. “Relax. Keep it in yer lungs. When I tell ya ta exhale, do it.” Reno dropped his hand five seconds later. “Breathe out.” 

A plume of smoke left his own mouth as he exhaled the breath he’d been holding. Reno chuckled, Rufus staring at him as if he’d gone mad. But, he wasn’t really upset. He was more in shock of what had just happened. Now that he knew what to expect, he was ready to do it again. “Again.” He looked into Reno’s eyes, and saw him nod his head. 

This time, he was ready for the smoke that was breathed into his mouth. He inhaled and kept it there for longer this time, then exhaled as soon as Reno’s lips were gone from his. Rufus felt the room getting a little hazier - whether that was from his vision, or because of the smoke, he had no idea. But he knew that if he were to take another hit, that he would be in a place he’d never really been before. 

“One more, baby?” Reno asked, as he brought the joint to Rufus’ lips. “Ya got this.” 

He sucked on the wet tip, letting the warm smoke fill his mouth before he inhaled it. Reno pulled the joint away, and he counted until fourteen before he exhaled the smoke. Rufus felt himself sinking down, a grin slipping onto his face as he could feel the effects of the drug finally beginning to hit him. 

“Yer good, ain’t ya?” The redhead took another long hit off the joint, then blew the smoke up and away from Rufus’ face. “Ya want one more?” 

Rufus nodded his head slowly, his reactions now becoming more lethargic. His reaction time was much slower, but it was fine. He was fine. Nothing strange was going on. Reno put the joint back between his lips, and he took another deep inhale, then held it even longer before exhaling the very large plume of smoke from out of his lungs. 

Something warm was touching him, and he looked down and saw that it was Reno’s hand. “A-Are you going to play with me now?” Rufus asked, his words slightly slurred as he felt like he was drifting up in the clouds without a care in the world. 

“I sure am, beautiful.” Reno’s hands undid the belt on his waist, and then he saw his hard flesh now resting against his beautiful long fingers. “It’s gonna feel so good.” 

He moaned low, tilting his head back as he brought his hands to rest on Reno’s knees. Rolling his hips, he felt the redhead’s hand glide against the ridges of his cock, the stimulation unlike anything he’d felt before. He moaned again, his own ears ringing with the sound of it as Reno’s hand pleasured him in a way that was new. “W-What are you doing to me?” He asked, his voice breathless as he rocked his hips back and forth, keeping his hands planted on Reno’s knees. 

“Same thing I do ta ya every time, Ruf’.” Reno stroked his cock, and all Rufus could do was moan in response. “It’s the weed.” Reno’s hand gripped him a little tighter, causing him to pitch forward as he wasn’t expecting it. “It makes everything feel real good.” 

“I want more.” Rufus moaned low, his lower belly beginning to burn. “Can we fuck now, Reno?” 

A deep chuckle rumbled against his chest, as he felt Reno’s hand tug on his cock a few more times. “How can I say no ta ya?” 

Rufus slid off of his lap, and then practically tore off his own clothes as they crossed the cabin to where the bed was. He fell back on it, uncontrollable laughter now spilling from his lips as he found every single thing that he did hilarious. Reno crawled on top of him, his long hair falling over his shoulder as he looked down at him with a goofy smile on his face. 

“I love you.” Rufus blurted out, his cheeks growing warm as he realized what he’d just said. 

“I love ya too, baby.” Reno kept his eyes on him, as he pushed the tip of his cock against Rufus’ ass. “Lemme tease ya a little bit, and then I promise ta make ya feel real good.” 

He groaned, feeling that wet tip pushing up against him was making him horny and needy. But it only lasted for a few minutes before Reno was pulling it away. Rufus moaned low as Reno’s fingers began to spread him open, the touch of lube to his inner walls one he’d been missing and was glad it was now back. 

The fingers inside of him spread him wide, Rufus’ moans happening more and more frequently as the redhead’s fingers kept torturing him. As soon as Reno’s mouth touched his cock, though - that was when the world stopped, and he left Gaia for the lifestream. 

Everything came alive as he began to come, shooting his spunk down Reno’s throat as he rode the wave of this intense high. He’d never felt like this before, and it rocked him to his core. All he could do was moan through it, gasping Reno’s name as he felt his lips starting to touch his face with wet, sloppy kisses. He wasn’t even through with his orgasm when the tip of Reno’s cock was now pushing up against his spread hole, and it pushed him flying back over as his cock sunk into his body. 

“Oh, Gods!” He cried, clinging to Reno as he was put through another full body orgasm. His cum splashed onto his stomach, covering him in his own filth as he rocked his hips down with an urgency he felt in his soul. “R-Reno!” 

“That’s it, Rufus…” Reno moaned his name into his ear, making him shake and shiver in delight. “Go ahead and keep comin’, baby. Let it feel good.” 

Reno hadn’t been kidding, when he said he was going to fuck him until he was delirious, because by the end of their session, he was all but spent and thoroughly satiated. And incredibly thirsty as his mouth felt drier than dry. He was in Reno’s arms, his high dissipating after a few hours of not smoking any more. “You are fired.” He mumbled against Reno’s chest, too tired to move as he listened to the redhead laugh. 

“That good, huh? Ya tellin’ me ya wanna smoke some more?” 

“Maybe.” Rufus blushed, hating that Reno knew him so well. “I didn’t say anything weird, did I?” He felt like he’d said something that he shouldn’t have, but he couldn’t quite place what it had been. Lifting his head, he saw Reno gazing down at him. “I didn’t, right?” 

“Nah, babe. Yer good. Nothin’ out of th’ ordinary.” 

“Okay, good.” 

But there was this nagging feeling in the back of his head that maybe that wasn’t exactly true. Reno, however, took away that itch by blowing more smoke into his mouth, and he returned the favor to him, getting this joint smoking down to a science. And once they were high again, he crawled on top of Reno and rode his cock until he was thoroughly drunk on the sex, which made for one magnificent high. 

In the morning, Reno stayed perched at the window, having gone back to his post before dawn, giving Rufus plenty of time to sleep alone. He put his clothes back on, and when the door opened, they weren’t caught unaware by the two Turks that were coming in to replace them. 

“Any suspicious activity?” Tseng asked Reno, who was giving instructions to Rude as he sat down at the window to take over for the redhead. 

“None that we didn’t already know. Same number of people, yo.” 

“One small blessing.” Rufus saw Tseng turn towards him. “The suite is ready for you at the inn, sir.” 

“Thank you.” He looked at Reno. “Are you ready to escort me up to the Inn?” 

“No problem, sir.” 

Back up in his suite, Reno looked at him like a cuahl looked at its prey. “We got some time before I gotta start makin’ my rounds. Ya fancy another go, Ruf’?” 

“I would be disappointed if you didn’t suggest it.” 

That’s how the two of them wound up in his shower, where Reno pounded into him hard. The sex was good - it was nice to be in charge of his mind as he got to experience Reno’s expertise on his body. There would be another time when he’d be okay to dabble in smoking again, but for now - this was perfect. 

---

Cross-posted to AO3

#rufusreno #my writing #fanfic

[mercysought]

❝ that was a close call, wasn’t it? ❞   [ to viv! ]

@valheri . our flag means death . selectively accepting 

Val's message registers briefly the message, flickering the ash from the lit cigarette. Doing reckon for the next job after havin' gotten the eddies from Regina for the last gig with Val. It was fuckin' crazy how she felt like every job was gettin' to the point where one thing went tits up and the consequences ended up being just so much worse. Vivian was more worried that she was losin' her edge, that this catastrophizing would just end up fulfilling this prophecy that no one had uttered or heard other than herself.

It scared her to shit.

  "Every call's been feelin' like that, to be honest."

They couldn't really be playing around like that, especially not after having bombed the heist like that. Truth be told Vivian was still feeling rattled from knowin' she had survived a bullet to the head. More, she was angry, angry that she couldn't punch Dex' ugly face with the sharp bit of her blades. And that was the problem, she was fucking angry and that was clouding her judgement. The thing was that meditating, doing any of the exercises, and practising, made her feel better. Any time she sat down in the quiet moments she started feelin' like she was listening to the same music that she had heard when first entering Johnny's memories. Apart from pushing it to the side - because she didn't really have the time to fully unpack that shit right now - she just knew she had to get right back to work.

And make sure that no other fixer or shithead ever got the fuckin' idea of tryin' that shit again. She'd make sure to paint this fucking city in red.

She didn't know what it had been, (apart from this stupid impatience). Truth be told she didn't even remember the name of the cop - only that she really wanted to punch him. After Val had cracked the video that he wanted to erase so much, she just felt angry that more of these shitheads were so ready to just wipe people clean without so much of a thought if it fuckin' meant they could get to their bottom lines.

Vivian had wanted to punch his teeth in. And then Johnny's for being such an absolute cunt.

She stops fidgeting, takes a deep breath and taking a deep breath and pull from the cigarette before flattening it against the wall and dropping the butt. She watches the Maelstrom continue moving their merch.

  "Guess that's what gets us, havin' more eyes on us, hm?" which, for a fuckin' thief, was not the best. But she made do - you always did when you were great at what you did. She held onto that belief, especially after five days without trainin' outside of the jobs, like a five-year-old held tightly into their safety blanket. "Definitely can't complain about the eddies. I bought a set of baby blue kicks yesterday? They are bea-uti-ful."

V. smiles, what's the worse that can happen? She'd already died once. And guess who was still kickin' while Saburo was six feet under? This bitch.

Worse than a cockroach, baby.

  "D'you know if there's been any new noise about?… y'know."

#valheri #v. ( muses ) #raven received ( meme replies ) #( really early when the struggle train was still trucking along 8) ) #gendered slurs tw

[jangofctts]

Sweetest Touch (Adrian Chase/Vigilante x fem!reader) PART ONE

Rated: Mature, Explicit 18+

Word Count: 6k

Warnings: smut, unprotected sex (be neat, wrap that schmeat!), explicit language, doggy style, multiple orgasms, yall fuck in the van, grinding, cum play, a little hint of edging, mentions of voyeurism, mild verbal teasing/degradation, Adrian also has a praise kink agAIN, hickies/biting, mentions of blood/injury, violence and descriptions of murder, vaginal fingering, a LITTLE bit of anal fingering, (lmk if I missed anything please!!)

a/n: ok HERE YALL GO THANK YOU SM FOR WAITING I KNOW IT TOOK A WHILE AHHHH. (also there is like hardly any plot and im sorry that the plot that I did write sucks so im ejhrkejhr)

He won’t quit staring.

Yes, he has his mask on but you can feel his eyes. Lurking, sitting right there across from you in the van. Like an itch on the back of your spine. 

You don’t…really mind. You just, well you hate when people stare. Makes your skin crawl, and while you know Adrian’s gaze is all lovesick and puppy-eyed under that mask, it still gives you the heebie-jeebies.  

Adrian has no qualms or guilt whatsoever when his attention is grabbed. Like one of those random babies you encounter on public transportation—thousand yard stare, all up in your business. What’s up with that? It’s fuckin’ weird.

Your knee bounces, Harcourt side eyes you. Just like the transportation babies, she too, is always up in your business. A brief spell of paranoia bites at your insides—there’s no way she’d know. No, no. That’d be crazy.  

Not all suspicious—not even an inkling on the fact you spent nearly two whole days in Adrian Chase’s bed. That you were late for work, covered in the evidence of his affections and struggling to keep your head free of his goofy, dimpled smile. Motherfucker is the most touch starved guy you’ve ever encountered (not that you’re any better). Your attempts of scrubbing your mind clean failed—you have the blistered skin from leaving your hand too long on the espresso machine to prove it.  

She leans close in order to be heard over the raging music of some older rock band you don’t recognize. “You’re twitchy today.” 

You clench your jaw as she nudges your bad shoulder, still stitched up and horribly tender. “M’fine. I just don’t wanna run into Judomaster again.”   

“I’m sure he won’t be a problem,” Adebayo chimes in. “At least for you—I don’t know about us. He just keeps popping up at the worst times.” 

“Like a weed,” Adrian points out. “Why don’t we just step on him?”

Peacemaker throws up his hands. He aggressively points to himself. “Bro, I’ve tried—he’s a fucking cockroach. You spray him with Raid and he just gets even more invincible.” He leans back against the seat that’s far too little to hold the sheer mass of him. “There’s so much rage compacted into that little body—that can’t be healthy.” 

“I’m going to stab him,” you mutter. 

“Call that Judo-kebab,” Vigilante snickers.       

Adebayo blinks and rubs at her temple. “We’re just checking out some intel. Should be easy enough.” 

“Still need to keep our guard up,” Harcourt says. “We’re working with Butterflies here. Who knows how many numbers they got once we get there.” 

Adebayo nods. “Which is why we need to work in pairs this time. Me and Harcourt, Mern and Economos—” 

“Why the hell do I have to go in? I’m just the computer guy,” Economos whines from the front seat.  

“Get over it, dye-beard.”

“Sick burn, man,” Adrian and Chris high-five. 

“We need you to access whatever technology they have in there, John,” Mern explains.   

Adebayo nods and then gestures to you. “Right. Ghost and Chris will then—”

“What? No! I’m not working with her, dude,” Chris says, crossing his arms and shrugging into himself. “She’s fucking creepy.” 

Adebayo makes a noise of frustration and slaps her palm over her thigh as she’s once again interrupted.  

You quirk your head. 

“Don’t be rude, Chris,” Adebayo snorts. “Just because she can walk through walls doesn’t mean she’s scary.”

“And the whole invisibility thing—don’t forget that.” Economos adds. “And the time she ripped that dude’s heart out in Corto Maltese.” 

“Bro, that’s fucking epic!” Adrian cheers, fisting pumping the air. 

Your lips pull into a little smile. 

The bright blue latex gloves squeak as Chris jabs an accusing finger at you. “She ripped a dude’s fucking heart out, Adebayo. That’s messed up.” 

Adebayo rolls her eyes and mutters something under her breath. She holds up both her hands in defeat and shakes her head. “Fine—Vigilante—”

“Hell yeah! Dream team for the win!”   

“All you’d be doing is securing the perimeter while we go in and deal with the Butterflies.”

Mern casts a brief, accusatory glance over his shoulder then returns his eyes to the road. “Nothing of the dramatic sort, please. It is only perimeter security. And no guns.” 

“Aw,” Adrian pouts, slumping into his seat. “I’ll never get to rip someone’s heart out like Ghost did. Or kill a guy with a chainsaw. Totally unfair, man.”

It was pretty cool, you admit. 

The rest of the plan and the team’s tactic is divulged once the van is parked on the edge of some fancy estate. The property is swaddled in dark trees, and hosts a singular, paved road leading to and from the house. Kinda boring, if you’re being honest.  

The team runs through the plan once more, gearing up and then setting off towards the estate. And just like last time, you are left a lone with Adrian. The both of you split and cover the perimeter. Two guards circle they house—it’s easy to subdue them. After the area is secured, both you and Adrian rendezvous back at the van. 

Blood is splattered over his chest plate. He wiggles his fingers in hello. “Long time no see, Ghostie! How many did you take out? I didn’t know if we were competing, but I just assumed, and—” 

A bullet ricochets off the side of the van. You both duck, dodging for cover. How the fuck did you both miss these guys? “Goddamnit.”  

At least it’s not Judomaster, thank fuck. Vigilante quirks his head, and taps your arm as you draw a shorthanded blade. Close range blade fights aren’t your forte, but you’ll make do. “Can I just say, before we slice these bitches up—you look absolutely stellar tonight.” 

“Adrian—”

The workbook of a Butterfly dressed in a security officer’s suit steps around the tire of the truck. You launch yourself forward as Adrain rolls the other way to cover your flank. You disarm the gun and drive your knee into the man’s stomach. He crumples to one knee. You shove the blade through his skull—you wince beneath your mask. So messy—

Usually, when doing stealth operations, one knows exactly how many people they are up against—knows the exact locations and how not to get tied up in a situation like this. Oh, well. 

Adrian fends off his assailant, sliding through their guard with practiced ease. Adrian’s cheery mood clashes with his deadly composure—it’s a game to him. It’s kinda…hot, in some weird screwed up way. “Hey, Ghost!”

“What?” You snarl, sidestepping the punch thrown at by yet another Butterfly. You snatch his wrist and yank outwards. Bones snap. “I’m busy.”

“You and I are like nachos with jalapeños,” Adrian announces over the sound of a body connecting with asphalt. “I'm super cheesy, you're super hot, and we belong together.” 

Is this fucker really trying to use shitty pickup lines on you right now? You attention wavers. You turn your back to the open road and glare daggers through your mask, bloodied gloves curling into fists. This isn’t funny—you’re on a world-ending sensitve mission for—

“The sun might be shinning but nothing’s brighter than you, babe,” Adrian chirps, launching a throwing knife into the skull of an older man that appears on your left. He falls dead. 

“Viggy, it is night,” you say tersely, brushing aside the fact he just saved your life. You’ll take the shame of it to your grave. Lucky bastard multitasks too well. A small bodied woman, a deputy by the looks of it, claws at your arm. You throw your boot into her stomach, block her hands reaching for her gun and dig the point of a throwing blade into the underside of her jaw. 

“Sun’s a star—checkmate.”

You don’t even want to dispute his logic right now. You can’t really—the last enemy steps out from around the van. How nice of them to stagger their attacks for you, you think grimly. 

You plant you feet and hold up your blade. It’s a big motherfucker—well above six foot and heavy, fists the size of Christmas hams, meaty face drawn into a furious rage. He drops his jaw and lets out an earsplitting roar. He charges. 

Sometimes it’s nice being a freak of nature—you can just render yourself intangible in situations like this. The man passes right through you, stumbles and leaves his back open for attack. You thrust the point of your elbow into the back of his neck—it doesn’t do much—the neck rolls provide excellent armor. He gets a hand under your armpit and flings you backwards—you rolls away just in time to avoid his boot curb stomping your ass. Even as exhaustion begins to wear your splurge of energy out, you have speed to your advantage. 

One false step and you swing one leg through his stance. The man stumbles forward, you throw your other leg around his neck and gator-roll him to the ground. He sputters for air, neck trapped between the muscles of your thighs. With one sharp movement and with the aide of your hands under his jaw, you break his neck. The Butterfly goes lax, you kick the body away as your lungs burn to recover oxygen.         

Slow clapping fills the air. 

You turn your head sharply. Adrian is propped against the van, one leg cross over the other, hip cocked out. “Beautiful performance. The blood is also a nice touch—Pollock vibes. Totally poggers.” 

You rock to your feet, surveying the carnage laid out before you. Guilt and anger taste the same on your tongue—you can never remember which is meant to be virtuous. It doesn’t really matter, you figure. They aren’t people anymore���

“Some help would’ve been nice,” you snip, brushing off the excess dirt that sticks to your suit. 

Adrian waves his hand in dismissal. “Pfft—nah. You totally had it covered, babe.” 

Irritation flares under your skin. The heat and adrenaline of battle are a cross-stitch away from irascibility. “Don’t call me that.” 

Vigilante pushes himself off the van and skips into your space bubble. “Or what? You gonna hit me?” He raises his hands and throws mock punches that barely tap your unwavering face. You grunt and bat away his hands. 

“Seriously, layoff, man,” you bite, stepping away to create space. Adrian just steps right back into it. He’s pushing your buttons on purpose. Adrian snickers and reaches out, gloves fingers finding the edge of your mask. He lifts it up—you snap. “I’m going to kick your fucking ass.” 

Adrian’s laugh is unhinged. He blocks your first punch and grunts as the second glances his side. “You’re going down, baby!”

“Oh yeah?” You hiss, drawing your fists up to your chin. You circle each other, waiting for the other to step or draw away like a practiced dance. “Wait ‘till I stick my tongue down your throat.” 

“I’ll slap your butt so hard.”

This is, in all sense of the word, ridiculous. Curious how your irritation can flip at the drop of hat when it comes to Adrian. He moves first, striking with a kick first—you avoid it easily. Neither of you are trying to maim.

You lead Adrain to the back of the van and hook your hands under the handle. You wrench open the door. He curses as it collides into his face—knocking him flat onto his behind. You launch yourself into the van and spring to your feet. Adrian rubs the outline of his nose. “I’ve got the high ground, Adrian—you’ve lost.” 

Adrian’s hand hooks around your ankle and yanks. You cry out and fall flat onto your back—Adrain pounces atop you, grunting as your heels kick into his hipbones. “I’m still winning—nice try though.” 

Adrain surges forward, you twist and roll to your stomach. Why you thought crawling to escape him would work—you have no fucking clue. You wheeze as his knee digs into the back of your calf, one arm looping under your shoulder while the other drags your wrist and arm across your back. The joints and tendons prickle at the unnatural angles. You sigh and relax, conceding to your defeat. You could easily disappear—but what’s the fun in that? You’re not one to back out of a challenge.  

Adrian’s breath comes out in short puffs. He laughs. He knows just as well as you do that you’re allowing him this control. The image of his smirk shines crystal clear in your mind. “You’re just horny, right? That’s why you’ve been so grouchy,” Adrian goads. “All worked up, huh, Ghostie?”

He’s an addiction—

Your mouth gravitates to the shape of his name every moment of the day, and yes, maybe whatever this is, is doomed for failure. A brilliant show of flames and fire, streaking across the sky, intertwined into the incandescence of a shooting star. You have never quite understood the kinesthetics of your own heart, how it twists and fires pure ache to the tips of your fingertips, and settles like a calcified bone within your chest. A conundrum neither of you can put your thumb on.   

“Then do something about it,” you urge, wiggling in his grip. “This is your fault.”

Dancing through the air on wings spun from freedom and risk. There’s always a chance that when you reach for him, you will only find thinning oxygen instead of his hand. When it is your love that kills you, destruction is more lovely than that of the self.  

His impish giggle causes your heart to flutter. “I always wanted to have car sex—or van sex—whatever.” 

Adrian, still keeping your arm pinned against your back, hastily searches for the zipper to the front of your suit. Once he finds it, he roughly wrestles it down your legs enough to expose your lower half. “No panties? How scandalous.”

You huff and roll your eyes. “They’re uncomfortable with the suit.” 

The metal flooring is frigid against your burning skin. Your body is pulled taught, veins still pumping with adrenaline—you hope Adrian will ignore the tremble in your limbs and the shaky inhales you draw into your lungs. Using his free hand, Adrian drags his gloved fingers down the outside of your thigh. Adrian mutters something filthy, muffled by his mask, as he skates his hand to the back of your thigh. His large hands spread over the muscle of your leg as his thumb slots right under the crease of where your asscheek meets your thigh. 

“On God, you’ve got the fattest ass I’ve ever seen,” Adrian comments, sacrificing the hold on your pinned arm in favor of grabbing two handfuls of your ass. He squeezes hard enough to make you bite back a gasp.  “I fucking love your suit—distracting though. I get rock hard if I look at you too long.”

It’s true. Your ass looks fantastic in the skin-tight material. Downside is, it doesn’t just attract Adrian’s wandering eyes. His thumb dips a bit lower and pulls the flesh of your inner thigh up, easily finding the marred skin in the shape of his teeth. It’s only been a couple days since he’s bitten you there—the marks will take weeks to fully disappear. You jolt as he presses his thumb into the bruise, a dull rush of tender nerves flooding out from the area. “Fuck, that’s hot.”  

Adrian’s praise earns him a quiet whine as you spread your knees even further, dropping your hips down until the front of his tented tactical pants press up tight against your aching pussy. You arch your back and slowly rock your hips back and forth. You don’t give a flying fuck that your arousal is soaking through Adrian’s pants, and neither does he. 

“Shit,” you whisper, head tipping back while you drag your cunt against his pulsing erection. It takes a moment for your hazy thoughts to conclude that Adrian is rocking it commando style tonight too. Prick—it’s like he knew something like this would happen. Your more coherent thoughts melt away once more as Adrian’s hands briefly leave your body to yank off his gloves, landing by your sides. His hands, rough and warm return to their previous spot, kneading the globes of your ass. “I thought—thought you were a tits kinda man.”

Adrian hums in contemplation. You hear fabric rustle as he shrugs. “I’m a versatile guy—your tits are great, but hot damn,” Adrian whistles, “This view is hella sweet—it’s like Niagara Falls back here.”

“Adrian—” Your sharp hiss and urge to slap the shit out of him, dies upon your tongue as he runs two fingers from your throbbing clit to your aching cunt. You moan and crumple into his touch, devastated as his fingers leave as quick as they appeared. He’s right though—your arousal has already smeared over your lips and threatens to drip onto the floor. 

Adrian snickers and leans his groin into your ass. “Sorry, what was that?” 

Your heart slams against your sternum, your clit pulsing against the hard ridge of his cock. Fuck you crave relief. His hands over your ass, an inch away from your swollen pussy, are taunting to say the least. Like holding garden shears to the end of the tightrope of your pride and carnal need. Your stubbornness works as a barrier to your tongue—begging isn’t in your nature.  

On hand digs into your hip, pulling your ass flush against his crotch while the line of Adrian’s body folds over yours. His visor clinks against the hard material of your own mask as nuzzles his head into the crook of your shoulder. “C’mon, Ghostie—the Scooby gang could come back any minute,” Adrian pauses for a moment, “unless…ohoho—you want to get caught? I don’t mind an audience.”

A rush of icy cold anxiety floods through your chest. Your gloved fingers clench into fists. Your reputation as a cold-hearted warrior would go straight down the drain. “No—fuck no.”

Adrian lifts off your back with a groan, sounding painfully aroused as his cock twitches against your clit. Two fingers, without warning, bury themselves into your soaking cunt without resistance. The air in your diaphragm is punched out of you as you grapple with the hot wave of pleasure surging through your body. Adrian buries his long fingers all the way down to his third knuckle then back out, slipping into a disgustingly slow pace that does nothing to satisfy. Adrian curses. “How’d you think they’d react seeing me balls deep in your pussy?” 

Your cunt seizes up tight around his fingers—that shouldn’t sound hot. Christ that’s fucking gross—he’s gross. Adrian laughs and curls his fingers down against a delicious patch of nerves inside of you. “You liked that, huh? Oh, dangit—I forgot! You get off hearing me talk to you like this.” 

“Shut up,” you whine, breathless and pathetic as your hips start grinding back against Adrian’s fingers. A red hot flush of embarrassment collects under your cheeks—you’re glad your mask hides away your face of shame. “Maybe.”

The admittance is quiet, but Adrian hears it nonetheless. You ignore his prideful croon, bitting your lip and closing your eyes as the swirling ecstasy spreads hot through your body. The raging heat burns you alive as Adrian starts to lose himself in pleasure, his purpose of teasing you—being in control as Vigilante, waning with every passing moment.

Adrian’s muffled groan is a delicious scrape against your ears and his cock pulses hard against your cunt through the fabric of his pants, making you spasm in delight. Fuck—this is taking too long—you’re gonna get caught. You drop your head against the floor and drag your core up and down, chasing your orgasm like this. You’re too impatient to wait for him to snap back into a coherent headspace to fuck you properly.  Shameless and scrabbling for a taste of release, your ass flexes with every roll of your hips, your lower muscles fluttering with every drag against his clothed cock.

“Let me fuck your ass,” Adrian abruptly stutters, spreading one of your cheeks up and to the side. “You can even fuck mine after—you’d look so hot doing it. Like Beatrix Kiddo.”

Your tummy flutters. “Viggy, we—”  

“N-not now—fuck we don’t have time,” Adrian pants. “Or lube. Shit, you’re almost wet enough to take me, though.” 

The the pad of his thumb carefully brushes over the tight ring of muscle flexing for him. You inhale sharply at the brazen touch and shy away. “Oh, Christ—”

“Geez, you’re sensitive, Ghost,” Adrian teases as you let out a strangled whimper, trying your best not to flinch under the bold touches. “You haven’t had anyone fuck you here, have you?” 

The shake of your head is too weak for him to catch. That and his other set of fingers dipping under you body to slide your clit between two digits. Your arousal flares up hot and bright, and orgasm right within reach—teetering over that edge. Fuck it feels so goddamn good. Everything seizes up, throbbing and left hanging, near painful as Adrian pulls his fingers from your soaking cunt. You snarl and bite out profanities that would make even Harcourt blush. Motherfucker is edging you.   

Before you can twist around and latch your teeth into his flesh, the flat of his palm swings down to crack hard against your ass. You gasp and instantly still, stinging nerves echoing from the point of contact. “C’mon, babe—it’s a give and take kinda deal—tell me what you want.”

The taste of blood fills your mouth as you bite down on your bottom lip, spine going rigid as Adrian touches his fingers to your clit once again, drawing sickening slow circles around the throbbing bundle of nerves. Yet again you’re affronted with the idea that maybe, it’s not so bad falling apart. Giving yourself up like martyrs give their hearts to the sky. Ache, fear, want, somehow right even in its cataclysmic end. A way that tastes of blood and ash, gunpowder and the lingering scent of Adrian’s bubblegum chap stick. He prefers grape, you don’t know why you know this, but you do.  

Your heartstrings are far more intertwined than you care to acknowledge.

You crack.

“A-anything you want. Fuck, you can put your thumb in. Just please—please touch me. Let me cum, Adrian,” you beg to the uncaring floor of the van, choking back a sudden wave of frustrated tears. “Please.”

There’s a brief spell of silence and then a river of overexcited half sentences spill from his quick talking mouth. Another sharp smack connects with your ass—you wouldn’t be surprised to find his handprint there tomorrow. Adrian’s thumb then rubs against your vulnerable entrance with a purpose. His cock twitches, still confined by his trousers. “Fuck! Fuck, you’re gonna make me cream my pants. It’s so fuckin’ hot, hearing you beg. That’s going right into the spank bank.”

A keening moan slips past your lips, back arching as the time of his thumb gently pushes past the tight ring of muscle of your ass in the same moment his other hand reaches for your dripping center. His calloused digits start to run tight, even circles over your clit. The foreign sensation of his thumb gently breaching your asshole, only up to his first knuckle sends you flying towards your high. Fuck—you’re done for.    

You gasp out Adrian’s name as everything surges up, searing hot and wet as you go rigid, shuddering your way through debilitating bliss as it crackles up and down your vertebrae. Through the fog that clouds your mind, body steel reeling with the aftershocks of your orgasm, Adrian retracts both his hands and fiddle with his pants. His tactical belt falls to the floor with a thunk, him yanking his zipper down comes next. A fresh wave of need rears its ugly head hearing Adrian’s desperate plea to fuck you.

“Yes—fuck me,” you huff, throwing a wild hand back to latch onto anything you can grab as his fingers dip into your swollen cunt and gather the obscene amount of wetness leaking from your entrance with his hand. “Need it—” 

“Yeah you do,” Adrian laughs, taking himself in hand and slowly jerking himself off with your wetness. He gives your ass a lecherous squeeze. You can’t even get a single sharp retort out as Adrain hooks his hands over your hips and roughly jerks your closer. The blunt head of his cock, throbbing and searing to the touch presses between the apex of your thighs. His hand leaves your hip to guide himself into your wet folds. Adrian pushes forward, and holy fucking hell—

You’re once again humbled by his size. It’s not like you forgot he’s big—you’re still sore from the first time—it’s just…fuck it’s a lot.

You cry out as Adrian slams full force into you, knees scrapping against the gridded flooring as he sheathes himself in your slick warmth all the way to the base. You feel Adrian shutter. “Your pussy is fuckin’ made for me. Think we’re soulmates, Ghostie?” 

You claw your fingers over the floor and try to ground yourself, but there’s nothing to hold onto. Shit—your head his spinning—you throb around his thickness. You fucking might be soulmates for all you care as you yield to his hardness, the grip on your hips keeping you stationary. “Like Leia and Han Solo,” you breathe.

“I’m Leia. Obviously,” Adrian states, and then he pulls out and slams back in. His jumps into a merciless pace, driving into you and using your body as a counterweight to thrust himself deeper. You hiccup with every thrust, unable to fully inhale. Adrian’s babbling praise blazes through you like a wildfire, shredding your lungs and setting your body alight with the red-hot embers of a bonfire. He dips forward and anchors a hand down over the slope of your shoulder, pushing you lower onto the floor until your chest is flat agains it. His cock now pounds down into you your cunt. Your eyes roll back as stars explode behind your vision as his thrusts zero into that one mouthwatering spot, over and over and over again.  

“Fuck, Viggy—youre gonna kill me,” you gasp, ragged and desperate. You’re rocking back into him as much as he allows, scrabbling dangerously close to another orgasm. “You feel fucking good.” 

“Never,” Adrian pants, “I like you too much—shit, I think I’m in love with you, actually. Yeah—yeah that sounds right.”

Your heart skips into an uneven beat. Adrian’s hand shoots out to find the underside of your mask. It pulls up with ease and clatters to the floor. You whine as his fingers twist into your hair, yanking you to the side to expose the now exposed column of your neck. The soft touch of his lips send sparks through your entire body. He’s rolled his mask up just enough for his teeth to sink into the delicate flesh of your neck. Adrian’s wrecked, muffled, moan is heaven to your ears. 

Suddenly, and without warning, you seize up and you’re cumming hard. Everything below your waist locks down tighter than a steel jaw trap—bursting hot and wet around his cock, squeezing him and spasming through each rough, steady thrust. God this is fucking heaven—

“Holy balls,” he grunts into your neck, pace kicking up as he chases his own end. His fingers, knotted in your hair twitch as he tugs on the strands. Over sensitive and still spasming around him, he wrings a sharp, haggard cry from your throat.  Your face screws up, biting your tongue to keep your noises at bay. You know for a fact there’s more Butterflies lurking in the dark. Or Lord forbid the team hears you and comes running to save you. “You—your cunt gets so fucking tight when you cum.”

You whimper pathetically, listening to the vulgar sounds of him fucking into you as he keeps rocking mercilessly deep.

“You’re never…never getting rid of me,” Adrian slurs, dropping his head to rest between your shoulder blades.  “Never—”

“Adrian,” you gasp, closing your eyes and trying to wrangle that familiar spark deep inside your core. 

Whatever you were going to say is rudely interrupted as Adrian licks a slow, warm line up the curve of your throat and over the shell of your ear. You spasm and arch under him, squeezing down on his thick cock and trying not to sob. Suddenly, Adrian’s hands find your hips and flip you around with ease. You choke as your back meets the ground harshly, but Adrian’s throwing himself forward before you can beg for mercy. 

His bubblegum flavored lips knock against yours, blood coating your tastebuds as he hoists your legs around his waist, realigns himself, and shoves back into your pussy. Your gloved hands shoot up to cradle his face, dragging him impossibly closer. Adrian pants against your parted moth as you part for precious, squinting, eyebrows drawn together from the change of lighting as you shove his mask up past his aquiline nose and over his forehead. Green eyes swimming with lust—dark and volatile, and clumsy. Tripping into unknown territory in time with your wild heartbeat that will never be truly lassoed and wrangled from the very stars. You’ve never wanted to empty yourself for someone like this before him—a knife to flesh, honey-thick ichor pouring from the wound. You don’t know how he does it—how he finds the soft gaps between your ribs to grasp at your gilded heart without fail. 

Bitchass.     

You grab at his sharp jaw and slide your tongue into his mouth. Adrian moans as he tangles his tongue with yours. He breaks away again, a string of saliva still connecting you both. “I’m close,” he puffs, picking up his speed and hammering into you, smirking at your hoarse squeak at the change of tempo. He buries his face into the crook your neck, high-pitched moans vibrating against your flushed skin.

“S’good,” you slur, cupping the back of his head to grip his soft hair. You don’t care that you’re praying on his blatant cravings for praise, he goes wild for it. “Such a good lover boy for me—fuck, Adrian.”

“Gonna—gonna cum,” his voice is tight, ravaged and shaky. “All yours—I’m yours.”

You turn your head to the side and nip his earlobe as your hand finds purchase on the outside of his thigh. You dig your nails into the hard, flexing muscle. “Good boy—cum for me.”

Adrian’s hips stutter. A long, drawn out wine fills the van as he plows his hips into you, choppy thrust only meant to aide his reach for his end. He grunts and bites down on your neck a second time, grinding his cock as deep inside you as he can go, his lithe body shuddering above you. You hips twitch, feeling Adrian pulsing, throbbing as he whimpers his way through his high, breathing heavy and filling you up with his seed.

You sigh in the afterglow, Adrian’s weight settling atop you, too fatigued to hold himself up. He mouths, sweet, sticky kisses over the hickies he’s left, up the line of your jaw until he finds your lips. “I won by the way,” he mumbles between kisses. 

“What?”

His lips pull into a smug grin. “I obliterated at least five Butterflies and you only got three.”

Your face twists. That’s not even—

“It’s ok, Ghost,” he pats your cheek. "You win some, you lose some, y’know?”

Before you can tell him fuck off and eat shit—your walkie-talkie crackles—you both startle. Adrian whips out a knife from a hidden sheath stitched into his side.  

“Ghost?”   

You both breath a sigh of relief. Neither of you reach to grab the abandoned radio, however. Instead, Adrian sheaths his blade, cups your jaw and rolls his tongue over your parted bottom lip—content with ignoring whoever dared paging you. 

“Vigilante? Do you copy?” It’s Adebayo. 

Adrian wrinkles his nose as you groan and flail your arm to reach for the walkie-talkie. It’s just out of reach and with Adrian’s weight still atop you, you’re pinned. “Shit—a little help?” 

Visibly irked, Adrian pulls out of you. You whine, your entire bottom half aching as exhaustion settles into your bones. You try to move—you should move, but you can’t. You just sprawl here on your back, legs still wide open. You’re positive your hip joints will creak if you try to close your legs. Adrian scoops up the radio. “How can I do ya for?”

He holds it a couple inches away from his ear as a surge of static voices echo back. You flinch as his warm hand smooths from the inside of your knee down to the crux of your legs. Adrian squeezes your inner thigh. He doesn’t do anything more than that, though, just stares at your abused hole as his cum starts to leak from it. A cherry red flush bursts over his angled cheeks and the tips of his ears.

“Where the fuck have you asswipes been? We’ve been trying to call you for the past ten minutes!” Harcourt is pissed.

Adrian licks his lips and spreads your cunt with his thumb. You dip your head back and curse. “Got caught up kicking ass and blowing out Butterfly brains. Take a chill pill, guys—yeesh.” 

“Is Ghost with you?” Adebayo asks.

“She’s out of commission right now,” Adrian smirks, pushing his cum back into your cunt with two fingers. “Took a beating like a champ though—you should’ve seen it—“

“She’s fuckin’ dead?” You hear Chris interject. Your brows furrow as a blush heats the blood under your cheeks. 

You grunt and rip the radio out of Adrian’s hand. You shoot him a half hearted glare. “Sadly, I have yet to pass away—sorry to disappoint.”   

“If she died would her body just, like, disappear?” The distant inquiry of Economos almost makes you laugh. Almost. “Y’know, since she’s got fucked up genes.” 

“I don’t fucking know,” Harcourt sneers, “Shut up—Ghost, Vij, we’ll be back at the van in ten.”

Adrian wrestle back the radio. “Okey-dokey, see you nerds later.” 

The hard plastic of the walkie-talkie skids on the floor as Adrian tosses it aside. His middle and ring fingers bury themselves back into your sore cunt. You choke and claw at his forearm, a shit-eating green plastered across his face. 

“Think I can make you cum again?” 

You’re going to kill him.   

#welp here u go #adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #adrian chase x you #vigilante x you #adrian chase #vigilante #peacemaker #peacemaker show #dc comics #christopher smith #chris smith #leota adebayo #emilia harcourt

[helliontherapscallion]

Stressful Spectres (Sweet Betrayal Part 3)

Part 1     Part 2     Part 4

Spotify Playlist (collaborative)

Warnings: swearing, mentions of abuse/neglect, mentions of death, slight body gore, blood

Word count: 2,873

With hands tightly clasped behind your back, you tensely paced around your office. The Pogtopians were constantly being sighted around the borders of Manberg and it was your job to prevent this. You tried everything; setting up traps, luring mobs around the vicinity, nothing worked. They just kept coming back like pesky cockroaches following pheromones. The only way you’d be able to prevent them from spying into the borders was to rebuild a wall, and Schlatt would turn your idea down the second the word ‘wall’ would leave your mouth. He gave you only two days to completely figure everything out from the last time one of the cowards was spotted running from the borders, and it seems that those two days are nearly up. 

“You should take a break, (y/n).” Without looking at him, you kept pacing and ignored him. “Stop ignoring me, you know I don’t like when you do that… Please, take a break. I’m worried about you,” he sounded just like he did from before. You felt your eye twitch. 

“...(Y/n), remember what I used to sing to you?” He chuckled, the sound being airy and far off, “‘hey hobo man, hey dapper Dan-’”

“Shut the fuck up!” You grabbed your vase and hurled it blindly in his direction. The glass shattered against the wall and you heard nothing else from the teenager. “I don’t need you anymore.” He had been visiting you for the past week or so, ever since Schlatt found out about you taking your birthday off. You were banned from speaking to the Badlanders and got a few physical punishments that would definitely give you more scars on your arms. It was your fault anyways, you were slacking off during a war when you were one of the leaders of this country.

Your door opened when you were mid pace, making you plaster a strained smile on your face and spin around to narrow your eyes at whomever decided to not knock. You were greeted by a slightly buzzed ram hybrid raising an eyebrow at you. He must’ve just started drinking. 

Whenever he was only slightly buzzed or on the very rare chance he was sober, he was the most affectionate with you. It wasn’t much, only small praises and the occasional smile, but by Ender you ate it up like you were a drug addict getting their first hit in months. You craved any type of affection, no matter where it came from or how rarely it came. You were willing to wait for it, even if it was rare. 

His amber gaze flicked around the room before it landed on the ceramic shards embedded into the carpet. He jutted his chin towards it, “fuck happen there?” 

You ran your hand down your face and massaged your aching cheeks, “nothing. Just thought I saw a rat, but my mind was just playing tricks on me.” His calculating gaze pierced through you like a spear before he narrowed his eyes slightly and nodded. He walked over to the window and looked out at the vast city, hands neatly clasped behind his back. “...Have you come up with a solution to our... problem?”

You sighed angrily and resumed your pacing, “I’ve tried everything. They just dismantle the traps I set up, kill the mobs I lure around it, they even killed the iron golems! The only option here is to put up the walls again.” 

“I know you didn’t just say what I thought you fuckin said,” Schlatt hissed out, “there’s no way in hell I’m putting up those walls again.”

“I don’t know what you want me to do then, that’s our only option,” you mumbled under your breath only to freeze when Schlatt stomped up to you. He spun you around and grabbed your shoulders, leaning close to your face. His breath smelled like tobacco and a hint of scotch, “are you questioning my authority?” You shook your head frantically. “Really? Cuz it sure sounds like you’re questioning my authority. You seem to forget that I’m your boss and you will treat me as such. Do you understand me?”

You nodded and he let you go, slightly shoving you off to the side as he walked past you. “I-I’m sorry, Dad.” He paused in your doorway, “don’t call me that. I don’t want to be the father of someone that constantly contradicts me. I’ll be back in an hour, you better have this shit figured out by the time I get back or I swear to Ender I’ll fire your sorry ass. You’re on thin ice, (y/n).” Without a second word he left your office, the sound of his dress shoes clanking against the tile fading down the hallway. 

You could feel your heart break inside of your chest and your lungs get deflated by the shards piercing them. He was the last person that actually loved you, and you fucked it up. You always fuck everything up, you supposed that it was an innate part of you. No matter what you did or what you tried, you’re always going to be a fuck up. 

No, you can’t just sit here and ponder all of your life’s mistakes; you need to be brainstorming before you lose your connection to the person you loved the most. You paced around your office endlessly murmuring to yourself. You knew he was watching you pace again standing off in the corner, the room felt off like it always did whenever he was there. You ignored him and continued your pacing. 

Just as you came up with a solution, your door was opened and Schlatt stepped into your office once more. He was swaying slightly on his feet and his suit jacket was unbuttoned. “You figure something out?” 

You put a confident smile on your face, “yes. I think we should send patrols around the border, and I think the Badlanders and Rutabagaville members would fare nicely. We can send them in groups of two and send them once in the morning, afternoon, evening, and night.” 

He nodded to himself, satisfied. “That sounds like a decent plan, you’re keeping your job for now. But don’t think I’ll forget about what you said earlier.”

You felt extremely relieved and grinned at him, “yessir. I apologize for that once again, it just-”

“Save it, you’re still on thin fucking ice… Don’t look at me like that, ya smiling freak. Your face is absolutely disgusting.” You dropped your smile and looked at your slightly scarred fingers. Light pink raised scars littered your skin in random amounts along your right arm, leading up your neck, and becoming the most concentrated on the entirety of the right side of your face. You avoided looking in the mirror, mostly out of anger because your appearance was a constant reminder of the stain your ‘brothers’ left on your life. You were still adjusting to having a blind spot in your vision, the eye having lost its sight and now a cloudy white color from the fireworks. Your eyelid on that side was permanently half-lidded, unable to open up fully even if you tried. 

You were fully aware that your appearance was… unsightly, to say the least, to everybody that looked at you (yourself included), but Schlatt was one that never cringed away from you. Hell, even Quackity (the mere mention of his name made icy betrayal wash over your entire body) avoided looking at you in the first few weeks of your injury. Schlatt was the one that loved you for who you were, scars and all, and you fucked it up. 

He squinted at you, his eyelids blocking everything with the exception of his rectangular pupils. A snort left his lips before he moved to leave you to your own devices. “I’ll inform the others of their new duties, get your paperwork done.” 

“Yessir.” 

You sat down at your desk chair with a sigh and rubbed at your aching cheeks before you picked up your pen and started on your paperwork. Well, it was yours with the exception of Schlatt’s thrown about occasionally in piles. The room was engulfed into an uncomfortable chill once more, he’s back. You honestly have no idea why he just keeps coming back to you or even if his pale spectre was just a stress induced hallucination. He just showed up in your office one day saying that he’s been looking everywhere for you. He acted and looked exactly like he did before he left, except his attitude was strangely chipper for someone that had an iron pickaxe buried deep within their forehead. 

“(Y/n), I’m back!” He sang, floating over to your desk. “Geez, that goat guy is a real jerk isn’t he?” His slightly glowing hand appeared in your vision and tried to pluck the pen out of your grasp. It swiped right through your hand, making you shiver at the uncomfortable feeling. “I’m still not used to that.”

You huffed and focused more on your paperwork. You could feel the chill getting closer, leading up to the point where he was directly behind you. The icy air gusted down your neck with every breath he exhaled. “Whatcha workin on?” He whispered in your ear. 

“Nothing that you need to worry about.” 

“So they speak! I was worried you went completely mute… Well, you did scream at me before, but I didn’t count that. That’s okay though, I knew I could get you to talk to me sooner or later. I’m irresistible, you remember how I was with the ladies.” 

“Fuck off.”

“No need to be so mean to me.” You focused on your paperwork again, furrowing your brows and trying to tune him out. “(Yyyyyyy/nnnnn), you can’t ignore little ole me forever.” 

“I can and I will.”

He gasped before laughter streamed from his lips, the sound being muffled since it was on your deaf side. “You just talked to me though! I think that’s a win for me. Do you remember when-”

“I swear to Ender, if another word comes out of your mouth I’ll make sure that the next pickaxe finds its home through your tongue and down your throat.” 

He was silent after that, leaving you to your paperwork. At least, that was until someone knocked on your office door. You sighed before plastering a smile on your face, “come in.” Your door opened to reveal the signature white smiley face mask, messy blond hair, and green hoodie.

Dream had been giving you small lessons on your swordsmanship lately, and you were getting better with each passing lesson. You were proficient on defense, so it was time for you to learn how to offensively attack. 

You saw that he placed an apple on your desk. You looked up at him in confusion. “What? You haven’t eaten anything all day, I don’t want you passing out or anything during our lesson.”

“Finally! Someone with actual sense around here! It’s so refreshing, isn’t it (y/n)? Well, it’s refreshing for me anyways.” 

Dream chuckled, “thank you.” 

Wait a damn minute.

Dream could hear him?!

Your pen froze mid sentence and rested on the paper, it’s ink pooling in one place. You slowly looked up at Dream, “you can hear him?” He looked at the teenager behind you before looking back at you, his head tilting. “Of course I can. He’s right there.” 

“Yeah (y/n), I’m right here. My name’s Lucius by the way, it’s nice to meet you!” He floated over to Dream and held out his hand, the pickaxe handle almost hitting the taller male in the chest. Dream stepped back slightly and nodded, “Dream. Eat that apple fast, we don’t have all day.” You snapped out of your stupor and grabbed the apple, taking absentminded bites while staring at your dead best friend talking animatedly to the masked man. 

So he was real after all. You were worried something might have actually been wrong with you for a moment! It was nice to know that you weren’t completely insane. 

“...meet (y/n)?” 

“Oh, I’m training them at the moment, would you like to watch?” 

“Yes! That sounds exciting, doesn’t it (y/n)?” The two looked at you expectantly, Dream’s head tilting slightly and Lucius smiling widely at you. You swallowed your bite and nodded, throwing the apple core into your trash bin. “...Yeah. Yeah it does. Uh, I’m going to get changed and then we can start our session.” 

After you got changed, you met with the two outside your door and walked out of the White House to the training grounds. The entire time you were walking, you couldn’t tear your eyes away from Lucius. Every time he would turn his head, the pickaxe would move with it. The crusted blood that emanated from the wound and splattered down his pale face was perhaps the darkest color on him with the exception of his jet black hair. 

In a strange way, it wasn’t the blood or the pickaxe protruding from his head that disturbed you the most; it was his eyes. Of course they still crinkled at the edges when he smiled, but it just wasn’t the same. The black eyes that were once so full of life were a dull gray with milky pupils. 

Other than the obvious pickaxe, blood, dead eyes, and constant glowing, he looked exactly like he did before he died. His baggy sweater, albeit mudstained and wrinkled, was still a salmon color with its signature pinstripes. The mop of straight black hair was still pulled into a bun with multiple unruly strands escaping the elastic and framing his face.

Before you knew it, a pale hand was waving in your face. “Earth to (y/n)! Oh good, you’re back to the land of the living! What’s wrong? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost. Well, I mean you were just staring at me, but my point still stands.”

You moved your gaze to the dirt path, “it’s nothing, I’ll tell you later.” He huffed, but didn’t say anything else to you for the rest of the trip. Instead, he was making small comments on your surroundings. 

Eventually, you were across from Dream on the training arena holding a wooden sword in front of you defensively. Lucius was sitting in the grass a little ways away from the painted boundaries with one foot over the other and his elbows resting on his knees propping his chin up. He was watching with an intensity he always had whenever you were doing something he deemed ‘dangerous’. To be fair, sparring with the most skilled member on the server was fairly dangerous.

“Let’s see if you remember what I taught you last time.” Without giving you a warning, he charged at you with his own wooden sword raised. Your sword clashed with his and you pushed against him. The mask moved upwards on his face slightly, “good, but always expect the unexpected.” 

With a simple sweep of his foot, you were on the ground gasping for air. You could faintly hear Lucius suck in air between his teeth before he shouted “you’re doing great, sweetie, but do better!”

Thanks, Lucius. Very motivating.

You rolled away from Dream’s foot before he could pin you to the floor. Your mind flashed back to when Techno- no. None of that, you need to focus. You got back onto your feet in the blink of an eye and dodged another blow. You used his momentum against him, stepping away at the right moment sending him skidding to a stop. 

Before long, he had you on the floor again with the tip of the sword pressing into your chest. He relaxed before helping you up, “you did better than I thought you would, but there were still some obvious flaws in what you did. Using my momentum against me was smart, but with what you did the opponent would recover fast. Here, let me show you how to properly do that.” 

You improved on a few things defensively and learned a few things offensively before the sun started to set and cast shadows on the surrounding forest. Dream shook your hand, “nice work today, you’re gonna rival even the best eventually.”

“You were great, (y/n)! I didn’t know you had it in you!” I didn’t have it in me when you were alive, you mentally corrected him. “Thanks, Lucius.” You glanced at him only to be met with his body phasing through yours in an attempted hug. He fell to the ground and rolled over, crossing his arms over his chest, “I’ll never get used to that.” 

Dream snorted before he shoved his hands into his pockets and started to nonchalantly walk back towards the White House. You and Lucius looked at each other before you ran to catch up with him. Lucius floated next to you, examining the dirt on your exposed arms and the forming bruises on your calves. He wrinkled his nose, “you really need a shower.” 

“Well I can’t exactly strip now and find a shower in the woods, can I Lucius?” 

“You just reek.”

“Yeah, you kinda do.”

“Thanks Lucius, Dream. Really feeling the love.” 

General taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@crybabyjabby  @izzybobizzy13  @goldenstarofthunderclan  @bunnyz-pxstel  @averytiredfanfictionwriter  @dcml04  @sparkling-gayyyy  @bbigbbrainn  @thaticecreambish  @kiinokochii  @satansphatass  @bxkubitch  @bxmentchildxx  @roxy3457  @montygator17  @feverish-dove  @the-fictionwriters-hairdo  @jichuuchaeng  @404rynnotfound  @luluwinchester  @laura--444  @the-cult-classic-bitch  @youngstarfishdinosaur  @nottheotheruser  @ohworm-writes  @localwolfanon  @realitycanbeajerk  @v10dw4lk3r  @esylwen

GN reader taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@twitchchatvroom  @parkeepingparker

SBI taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@afifaj

Series taglist (comment if you want to be added):

@zefrenchturtle  @smolgreenybeany  @wouldyoulikesomepollen  @savleftus  @bonkaloid  @prickypearpropaganda  @marceline1212  @simp-of-newyork

#sbi x reader #sleepy bois x reader #sleepy bois inc x reader #jschlatt x reader #dream x reader #mcyt x reader #dream smp x reader #tw: swearing #tw: gore #tw: blood #tw: abuse #tw: neglect #tw: death #tw: scars #tw: violence

[ssplague]

Story # 1

Katsuki B. X Reader (Fem)

Rated M

“If there is one thing on this entire planet I know to be entirely true, it’s that Katsuki Bakugou is a man of his word”

Warning (s):⚠️ Stalking, yandere undertones, light abuse, very minor/vague eluding to possible assault/sexual misconduct (Not towards reader).

Masterlist

🌃

The sound of my bare feet repeatedly striking the pavement as I ran through the darkened alley was entirely too loud for my liking. Even with the conscious effort I made at controling my panic stricken breathing, still had it sounding like a roar once it met my ears. I’m not sure how long Ive been running when my cramping legs slow to a stop before ducking down behind a dumpster, straining my hearing all the while.

Is he following me?

Of course he is you fucking idiot.

I dont hear him though…

Do you ever?

I had to resist the urge to squeal as a cockroach scurried across my foot, not even emitting a squeak when I ended up stomping down on another. Unfortunately, I had a much bigger problem then disgusting bugs; Ive learned its easy to keep quiet when the impending threat of what HE may or may not have planned for me when/if I’m caught, is much more terrifying.

You need to keep moving…

I wish I would have listened to the stories that the girls from my class tried to share with me back then. None of them were the victims of these tales though, of course not. They all are just hushed retellings they’d picked up on from overhearing a sobbing female struggle to tell her friends as they consoled her on a bathroom floor or drunkenly stumbling towards a parked car. I hate to say that those poor girls were lucky in comparison to me, dare I say…They got off “easy”. Each interaction they’d had with him was fleeting and for one purpose only, then it was over, he was done.

Apparently I caught his eye with more than just my looks; He told me it was through our stimulating conversations, my quick whit, and the thing that cemented my presence in both his mind and heart for eternity….

“You weren’t ever afraid of me”

My naive response to that being: “Why the fuck would I be afraid of you ‘Suki? I know your heart better than anyone else”

How could I have possibly known a thing about the dark future that awaited me as I spent so many nights peacefully sleeping beside him in our shared bed? So many lovers throw around the word “Forever” without actually meaning it, but not this one. No, he means what he says.

”Baby Girl, you’re gonna be mine forever, and I fuckin’ mean that shit _________, I’m not lettin‘ you go“

Reflecting on the past while I continued running, was a mistake.…It prevented me from hearing the heavy landing on the rooftop just above my head.

So it was quite a surprise when the bright light emitted from an explosion appeared in my periphial vision. A familar BOOM assaulting my ear drums; Im air born, feeling momentarily weightless before my body is slammed against the brick wall. I guess Im used to this now, since I’m not even laying down for a full minute before wincing slightly and sitting up on the cement. Even with ringing ears and a pounding headache I realized that I’d gotten lucky, he went “easy” on me this time.

On instinct I lift my arms up, a second or two later he’s picking me up and I secure them around the back of his neck with a sigh. “Your getting a lot better at this y’know? Last time it took me three minutes to catch ya, this time it took five….but it doesn’t matter cause I’ll always find you in the end”.

As we head home I dont even bother to dispute this, because if there is one thing on this entire earth I know to be true, its that….

Katsuki Bakugo is a man of his word.

#katsuki bakugo #bnha #bakugo #mha fanfiction #bakugo katsuki #katsuki bakugo x reader #yandere bakugo #yandere bnha #bakugo x reader

[heartofsnark]

Can You Feel The Sun? (Chapter Three): Maybe God Is Just A Cop We Can Fast Talk

Notes: I’m trying to test out not stockpiling chapters and just post whatever I got when I got it. So, we’ll see how it goes. Additionally, apologies in advanced if my work is a bit more fucky on spelling and grammar from now on out. They use to have some degree of beta reading, but now it’s the wild west. It all depends on my brain, which is smooth. 

Word Count: 13,335

Chapter Warnings: Canon typical violence, death, entirely too on the nose foreshadowing, f/f sex scene, cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, masturbation, sex toy use, nipple sucking, dirty talk that may or may not be cringe (I had fun)

If you haven’t yet, you can read the previous chapter here!~

V takes a deep breath as they pull into the parking garage of a large apartment building complex, her nose wrinkles. August has settled into Night City, air humid and thick, the stink of trash filling her lungs at every breath. The smell of NC in summer and a landfill are only a few degrees removed from one another. Jackie is in the passenger seat, nearly pressed shoulder to shoulder. Wakako is paying them to rescue some corpo chick, a gig V would usually roll her eyes at, but the apartment is a known Scavenger hideout. Without someone stepping in, the woman will be ripped apart, organs and cyberware chopped out to be sold. Corpo or not; no one deserves that.

The merc covers her lips with chapstick and a little above, so she smells the balm and not Night City, then dabs some on the inside of her mask as well. The trick reminds her of when her mother would have her and Eira smear homemade balm under their noses before going to pick through landfills; telling them stories of old plague doctors who’d shove cloves into beaked masks to avoid the stench of death. The chapstick isn’t quite so strongly scented as the mash of camphor, menthol, and coconut oil her mother would use. But it strikes that nostalgia bone nonetheless.

“Still not used to the smell?” Jackie taunts her, grin pulling at his lips.

“God, no,” she quickly signs, her choker translator off as she pulls on her mask.

“It grows on you.”

“Six months in and the only thing that’s grown on me is you.”  Her mask takes over translating her signing, though she’ll have to shut it off when they get in.

“Was that almost a compliment?”

“A compliment? From me? Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Pff, real funny,” he rolls his eyes, “chick we're looking for's somewhere in this building. Probably crawlin' with the pendejos that kidnapped her. Eyes and ears open, all right?"

“Opening my ears isn’t gonna help much, but alright.”

“You’re real close to my last nerve, chica,” he says but he’s smiling.

“Love you too, Jack, now, the fixer give you any tips?”

“I’m not your mother,” he tries to mimic the older woman’s voice, “just do what I pay you for, it’s easy work. Sh, yeah.”

“Okay, let’s do this.”  

With that Jackie and V leave the car, stepping out into the garage. The taller of the two checks his two pistols, ensuring the gold emblazoned weapons are loaded and ready for the mess that surely awaits them. There’s no telling how many Scavvs are here, the body hacking gangers the equivalent of cockroaches. She checks her own .50 caliber pistol,  it’s loaded and she has a knife strapped in a holster on her thigh.

“Elevator. This way.” Jackie nods towards the elevator in the parking garage, leading the way as V follows behind. Dirty elevator doors open for them, the words NO FUTURE scratched across the stained metal. The two mercs step inside, V leaning against a graffiti covered wall, leg shaking with anxiety.

A digital interface, T-Bugs avatar appears at the elevator button panel, flashes of code as the runner quickly hacks through it without needing an apartment key. The doors close and the rusty elevator lurches into movement, heading up.

“Target's Sandra Dorsett. Target's biomon went mute a couple hours back. Suspected abduction. Target could've possibly flatlined already. Not sure you're in time,” Bug’s voice comes through V’s hearing aids, subtitles on her mask for good measure, as the runner delivers her warning. That’s always a risk with rescue jobs, but they have a decent track record for getting to people in time.

“We're in time, Bug,” Jackie corrects her, “ we. Sure, you're on phones, but… that don't make you any less a part of this squad.”

"Squad… Charming.” V can nearly hear the Bug rolling her eyes.

“Awww, c’mon Bug, you know we need you.”

“No arguments there, without me you gonkbrains probably be shot to death by turrets or sitting in jail by now. “

“And without us, you’d have to step foot outside your apartment.”

“A true horror,” Bug mocks, a scoff in her voice as the elevator stops, doors opening, “focus now, You’re lookin' for twelve thirty-seven.”  

V and Jackie step out of the elevators, greeted to trash strewn apartment halls, graffiti scratched across every inch. Hands on their iron, the mercs make their way down the hall. With a thought V mutes the translation tech in her mask, linked to her neuralware, that way a stray hand gesture won’t give them away.

“Han, is that you?” An older woman starts to step out of her apartment.

V quickly waves her hand, signaling the woman to make herself scarce and she nods before running back in. Between the Scavenger’s victims and the innocent residents; there’s a lot of room for potential casualties. Low profile is essential if they want to do a clean job.

“Target should be inside, but I got zero eyes on her biomon. Fingers crossed it's not too late. Ugh, hate this life or death shit,” T-Bug explains as they reach the door they need, “try hacking the door, think you can trip it on your own, V?”

V’s fingers itch to just pry the damn thing open or try to pick the lock, despite knowing the former would give them away and the latter is impossible with the electronic model of door. The young merc brings up the scanner of her mask, running a quick scan of the door and sending the quick hack through. It slides open, Jackie able to slip inside with her following close behind.

The doorway opens into a wider room and V’s heart sinks. The sticky cloying smell of blood claws its way through anything, so thick in the air that her efforts to block out the city smell are rendered useless.  There’s a steady but slightly muffled thrum of electronic music coming from the other room, not a Scavenger in sight, but their handiwork paints the room. Low grade medical equipment, a shitty old school heart monitor attached to a woman in a ripperdoc chair. The woman is dead, no monitor or scan needed to know that. Body ripped open, entrails spilling out, red spattering down the black leather of the chair. Blood paints the walls around her, her skin a sallow lifeless shade of gray. Her abdomen is a mess of bloody organs and half ripped out implants.

“Are we fuckin' late?! Is that her, is that our target, V?!” Jackie calls out, voice low and edged with worry in his voice as he tries to scream and whisper at once, gesturing with his gun as he points at the corpse.

V doesn’t bother to open her scanner, looking over the woman’s body, it's not hard to know this isn’t their target. No high up corpo would pack this crap. What implants remain are cheap and poorly installed, the ones around her eyes have left the skin creased and scarred. Worse quality than what someone would find in the poorest of Nomad clans. Likely, a joytoy, or perhaps a Maelstrommer as the shitty over the top implant installation is common among the gang.

“No,” V signs, looking up at Jackie, his eyes on her to subtitle the ASL, “our girl is protected under echelon II corpo immunity, this is back-alley black market crap, no corpo in their right mind would walk around with this shit.”

Jackie nods, his shoulders losing a little of their tension as he moves up to a door, the music louder as he just opens the door peeking through, trying to get a feel for the room before they go through. Judging by the music and the still fresh blood mingled with the older stains, the Scav haunt is still being used. Jackie pulls away from the door and presses against the wall next to it.

“V, mira, eyes up, pendejos ahead.” Jackie warns her as she puts her hands to the door, trying to peek through the crack, the music louder and less muffled with the door cracked. V can see plastic sheets, coolers, chop shop equipment as they butcher people. Through distorted bloodied plastic hung from the ceiling, the pendejo in question standing in front of a cooler, back turned.

“Drop him quiet, V.”

V takes a deep breath and counts the music beats, waiting for the tempo and volume to rise before she opens the door, hiding the creak of it behind the pumping club style music. The merc drops to a crouch as soon as she walks through, creeping up behind the Scavenger, pushing through plastic sheets, she unsheathes her tactical knife.

In one swift movement she stands and kicks out the man’s knee, bringing him down low enough to grab his face by his mask and pull him towards her. He has a mere moment to struggle in her grasp before she then sinks her knife into his skin, piercing the flesh and arteries where his neck meets his shoulder. He goes limp in her arms and she pulls her knife out with a twist, before she shoves him forward into the cooler. The lid shuts with a slight thud, drowned out by the music.

“Nice, couldn’t have done it better myself, chica,” Jackie praises as she wipes her knife off on her pants, red smearing across the black fabric.

“On your toes. More bodies incoming, they're almost on you,” Bug warns as the mercs move to the next room, creeping through the garbage strewn hall and going around a bend, an open doorway showing a group of Scavs.

Whether thanks to music or their own lack of intelligence, the gang members don’t hear them as they find a nook around the corner to hide. V pressing her body tight against a fridge, Jackie not far behind her.  The dark spot, appliances, and trash does well to hide the two from sight.

“Fistfuck these reapers. Oye, V! They're comin',” Jackie warns as two of the Scav start to come around the corner, “wait for your chance. Pick the prick off. “

Tucked away the two mercs aren’t noticed. She watches as the two men walk by, following a path down the hallway without noticing them. V tries to hear what they say, straining to hear over the music, something about scoring big, a chick with “preem ass chrome”.

“Cabrones… thick as locusts. Let's wait and plan a spree.”

V gives a nod, trying not to comment that they’ve already discussed this. Stealth has never been Jackie’s strongpoint, he talks too much, can’t stand the quiet. She watches as the two gang members turn their backs to the mercs. They stop at the end of the hallway to stand guard and V goes to move.

“Let's take 'em… Suerte.”

She tries not to shake her head, not to sign at him to stop talking. She’ll tease him for it later, the two stay in a crouch, creeping up behind the two Scavengers. The merc gets close enough to feel the warmth coming off the gang member's body, V and Jackie lunge at the same time. Jackie snaps the Scav on the left’s neck and V slices the throat of the one on the right; two men dead at their feet. She rummages through the freshly dead corpses pockets, adding a few eddies and a Max Doc to her own.

“All down, limp meat. But probably not the last of 'em,” Jackie says as they start back towards the corner, staying low and...mostly...quiet as they reach the open doorway, “Move on, move up. Right behind you, V.

Their hideaway corner has an open doorway in the room that leads to another larger room, windows at the far end and around  Shelves and cabinets of ammo and grenades fill the room, should be easy enough to stay out of sight. Three men that she can see, one closer to the doorway, easy grab. And if they time it right they can grab the other two in tandem.

V raises her knife to her chest, pressing the hilt to her skin, then pounces on the nearest ganger. She yanks his head back and onto the blade, the weapon piercing up through the base of his skull, as she drags his body back. He’s already dead by the moment she’s dragged him from the room, dropping his corpse where he won’t be seen.

“Careful, once you get the next two,” Bug warns, voice low, “goliath ass Scav the next room over.”

“Gotcha,” Jackie whispers as they start to make their way back into the room where the next two are.

V stays to the left side of the room and Jackie goes to the right, both staying low and close to cover. The younger takes a deep breath, the clutter and way the room curves means they’re out of sight range, making it harder to coordinate. Nonetheless, she mentally counts to three and jumps her target. She grabs the gang member by the chin, wrenching up his face as she slams her knife into the front of his throat,ripping it out with a spray of blood.

“What the fuck!?” A voice, deep and masculine yells out, just as Jackie snaps his target’s neck. A bulking mass of a man, around Jackie’s height has scrambled to his feet; a heavy machine gun in his hands.

“Fuck, eyes on you!!” T-Bug warns just as a bullet tears through V’s bicep, superficial, no pain as adrenaline spikes.

And the chaos starts as the bullets begin to fly, V grabs her pistol, takes aim into the room and starts fire while moving. Jackie doing the same, the pair scrambling behind a cabinet, crouched and facing one another. His sweaty forehead nearly smacking into her mask. The room around them tears and shatters with each bullet fired their way, none managing to hit them, she doesn’t think the ganger saw where they took cover.

Their pistols can’t cut through the rapid fire being shot their way.  Her heart is pounding, her fingers tight on the trigger, HMG’s need a cool off time. If they wait it out, his gun will overheat and they’ll have a window. And if he’s not coming to pick them off, playing the distance game, it means he’s dead set on protecting something; got to be Dorsett.

“Gun’s going to overheat, then we’ll get our chance,” V signs and speaks to Jackie at the same time, miscommunication not something that can afford right now. Her voice is rough and out of breath, her face wet with sweat behind her mask.

“Hijos de puta! Our target’s gotta be through there, V!”

“I know I know,” she squeezes his shoulder with one hand, the other still signing, “once the gun overheats , we’ll rush him and finish this up.”

“HMG should only have a few more rounds before then, but won’t be long before it cools back off. You got a tight window,” T-Bug informs them, able to keep better track of it when not in firing range.

And then the fire slows, lightening and nearly stopping, Jackie and V both jump over the cabinet, seeing their chance and not hesitating to take it. They rush towards the room, the man cursing when he sees them charging and the door begins to shut. V skids into the wall and Jackie slams against it just as the door fully closes, cutting off their access. The older merc digs his nails between the door and wall, trying to pry it open with a grunt, but it doesn’t budge. Crow bar, crow bar, something, there has to be something.

Then a gunfire blasts through the wall, narrowly avoiding V. They missed their window and he can shoot through the wall. This is great. This is fantastic, exactly what they fucking need!

“Head down, Jaina, take cover!” Jackie yells out, yanking V back behind a shelf with him.

“Fuck!”

“Need options Bug, you got eyes on this shithole!?”

“Uh, lemme see, room he’s in connects to a balcony, the window to get in is small. V might be able to slip through to him.”

“How do I get there?”

“Got a window on the left, gimme two secs to grease the lock.”

“If I get his attention elsewhere, could you break down that door?”

“Yeah, yeah,” Jackie nods as they put together their new plan, “flank him and draw his fire! I’ll do the rest!”

V sees the window Bug is talking about, her interface over it as it slides open, she easily jumps through, a closed in balcony cluttered with equipment, more trash that nearly trips her as she reaches the next window. The industrial shutters are damaged and broken, allowing her to peek through, the goliath, as Bug put it, is inside. A shaved head and face of mottled cyberware. She grabs the lowest rung of the shutters and rips the already broken mess up; then fires three shots at the man. They hit but don’t bring him down, only streaking blood down his leather jacket, he swings the gun to face her.

A loud boom rings out, metal screeching, as Jackie busts the door down. His boots pound against the floor and he slams into the Scavenger, the gang member’s body hitting the wall with a thud. Jackie rips the HMG from the man’s hands, raising it high above his head and bashing the gang member’s head in with it. Blood streaking the wall behind him and the ganger falling limp on the carpet. V climbs through the window, giving the Scavenger

“That’s the last of them,” T-Bug tells them, “time to find our target.”

“Question is, where the hell is she?” Jackie asks as V makes a beeline for the one door she sees. They’ve gone through the rest of the area, it has to be it. It's the last damn room in the apartment or whatever.

“Look around, gotta be there somewhere.”

“Holy fuck.”

V’s breath catches in her throat when she swings that door open; the horror of the front room was just a taste of what these people are capable of. White linoleum stained ruddy with blood, a bathroom with fluorescent lights making the ghostly gray of the corpses stand out. The bathtub is jammed full, naked bodies bleeding the ice water red, hanging out to smear crimson over white porcelain.

“Jesus christ… ” Jackie breathes out as he steps in behind her.

V swallows the nerves and bile down, rushing to the bathtub.  The first body stacked on top is a man, skin cold to the touch and no pulse in his neck, she moves him aside. Can’t save them all, can’t save them all; she tells herself. As she checks and moves bodies, finding only one with some warmth still clinging to her body, top level chrome in etching her cheekbones and down her bare chest. Her nose and mouth barely above the ice water, it’s a miracle she wasn’t drowned under the weight of the others who weren’t as lucky.

“Think I got her. Got our target!” She yells out as she pulls the woman halfway from the tub, sitting on the edge of it. V’s fingers numb and sting all at ones from the ice, she delicately brings the woman’s shaved head to her lap. Ice water soaking through her jeans and chilling the skin beneath.

Sandra’s eyes are just slightly open, not alert, but V can pick up on some movement behind them. Pulse at her neck faint, albeit consistent. Bad shape, but not gone. The instinct to keep checking the bodies, the need to see if they can save anyone else, pulls at V. But she has to secure Sandra, has to attend the one she was sent after and at the very least she knows has a fighting chance.

Jackie stands at the door looking in and keeping guard, there's likely more Scavengers in the building, if they catch wind of what’s happened in their nest. They’ll storm in and they can risk the gang members opening fire into the room, snuffing out anyone's chance of living. Her stomach churns, once they secure Sandra they can check on the others.

“We make it, she alive?”

“She’s hanging in, I think,” V’s fingers twitch with the need to sign her words, but the need to support Sandra’s neck  and head wins out. She’s not sure if the poor woman can process or feel anything right now, looking nearly catatonic, but...maybe a touch that doesn’t hurt can be of some comfort through it all.

“V, jack into her biomon. Need to know what we're dealin' with.”

“Ooh, this does not look good…” Jackie breathes out, green eyes running frantically over the bathroom, taking in the sheer horror of what they’ve found.

“She’s not alone here, Bug, there’s bodies stacked up, crammed together, like slabs of fucking meat. I’m not sure if anyone else is alive, I- fuck.”

“We’ll do what we can for them after, keep it together. And if she survives, she won’t even remember, tiny scar on the subconscious in the long run.  Jack into her biomon.”

“Jacking in,” V slots her personal link into Sandra’s biomon port, information lighting up her mask's interface, “Sandra Dorsett. NC570442. Trauma Team Platinum.”

“Platinum? Shit, Trauma shoulda swooped in if she sneezed,” Jackie scratches the back of his head, the question clear, where the fuck is Trauma?

“Guessin' they jammed the transmitter sig. Lookin' at a hacked biomon, firmware reconfig or a neurovirus…”

“Carajo, T-Bug! You ain't seein' this place. This is tubs, ice, hooks and cleavers.” Jackie explains.  Scavengers are brutal, crude, rudimentary; anything too high tech isn’t coming from them.

“Hmm… Scopmuncher's hack, huh. Got an idea. Check her neuroport. Find a shard? Yeah, pull it - that'll be what's muting the biomon.”

V gently maneuvers the woman’s head, nails rubbing over her shaved hair, seeing the two standard neuroports behind her right ear. One with a shard placed inside. She’s heard stories of infected shards, where removing them ends up causing more harm than whatever’s on them. But, she trusts T-Bug.

“Shard found, removing it now.” She gently pulls the shard from Sandra’s neuroport, pocketing it for now, in case it’s needed later.

“Check the biomon. Anything change?”

“Greetings, Sandra,” an artificial voice explains,  “If you are conscious, assume recovery position now. An emergency evacuation unit has been dispatched and is due to arrive at your location in 180 seconds.”

“Trauma will be here in three.”

“Your premium plan will cover 90% of the projected costs of your rescue and treatment,” the biomonitor warns and V can’t help but roll her eyes, capitalism and healthcare, a match made in hell.

“Ay, pobrecita,” Jackie shakes his head, “let's get her off that ice.”

V nods, pulling her jack from the naked woman’s biomonitor and gently bringing Sandra’s body up and into her arms. She lifts the woman bridal style, water soaking her arms as she stands up. Sandra’s body starts to shake and convulse, leg unintentionally kicking at V’s arms.

“Shit!”  V curses out loud, hitting her knees as she brings Sandra to the ground. The woman’s body twitches and convulses, eyes rolling back into her head, as a ghastly choking sound comes from her mouth.

“She's flatlining!”

“V, need to know what's going' on!”

“Jackie, airhypo, now!”

“¡Ey, catch chica!”

Jackie throws the airhypo and the merc snatches the green first aid hypodermic out of the air. V quickly presses the tool to the center of Sandra’s chest and pushes the needle into her skin, shooting the compressed adrenaline into her system to stabilize her. Sandra’s body stills and relaxes, her chest still falling and rising steadily. V breathes a sigh of relief and pushes her mask onto the top of her head; sweat stinging her eyes and her lungs demanding she breathe freely. She swallows hard and blinks, Sandra still stable on the floor.

“Fuck..I, target seized but we got her stable,” V recounts to T-Bug and shakes her head, still in shock at just how close they came to this woman dying in her arms.

“You alright, jaina?”

“Yeah, yeah, I just, yeah. Uh, fuck...”

“I getcha, got a stomach of steel, but this is….”

The merc is used to death, seen it firsthand many a times and dealt it to many a people. But she’s always prided herself on not taking innocent lives, every target she’s ever killed, every person she’s put in the grave had a healthy share of blood on their hands.  She knows that doesn’t necessarily make it right, doesn’t many it doesn’t cause any harm, most monsters still have someone who loves them. And as a corpo, maybe Sandra isn’t truly innocent, V wouldn’t know for sure.  But she doesn’t deserve this, this horror, neither do any of the people stewing in ice water.

She’s always been surrounded by death but in this  bathroom, with her knees pressing against bloody tiles, she feels like she’s choking on it.

“We’re gonna get you out here, safe and sound, I promise,” she tells the woman in her lap, maybe more for her own benefit than for the woman who can’t hear her. She picks Sandra up again and turns towards Jackie, “Scavs will scatter the second they see Trauma, hate to ask this, but once they show up, we need to see if we can save anyone else, you mind checking out the bodies in the tub while I handle her?”

“Course, gotta save who we can.”

V nods, thankful that Jackie and her are on the same page. There’s a steady whirr of engines and the young merc takes Sandra out to the balcony, in the faint distance she can see the Trauma Team aircraft incoming. Wind picks up as they draw ever closer, sweeping up and blowing trash around from the area. It feels nice on V’s bare sweaty face, but she tries to tuck Sandra a little closer to her chest, trying to keep the unconscious woman warm, which seems almost ironic in the heat of the city. The aircraft pulls up beside the balcony with flashing lights and V cringes at the whirring of its turbines, turning the volume down on her hearing aids.

“Landing, stand clear. Initiating security protocol. Follow all instructions. Stop in the doorway!” The speakers on the aircraft boom and V would flip them off if she weren’t holding Sandra.

A little step extends out to the balcony and holograms mark out an area she isn’t supposed to step into. Then the Trauma Team members come out, four individuals in green uniform with white helmets, guns drawn, holsters of equipment hanging off of them.  Two of the workers lay a gurney down in front of V.

“Place the patient on the ground!” A man yells at her, gun drawn. She rolls her eyes and does as asked, gently placing Sandra on the gurney.

“Five steps back. Now,” one of the workers demands, then shoves V back and away from Sandra, gun still pointed at her as the others rush to take the woman into the aircraft.

“There are some other people...” she switches on the translator in her choker to sign, but they ignore her.

Of course, Sandra is the only person in that tub who means anything to them, because she has money. She can just hear them over the turbines as they start to assess the woman’s condition, loading her in the aircraft, the last worker following behind. The young merc sighs watching as the vehicle flies off, as much the Trauma Team system boils her blood, their doctors are well trained. Sandra is in good hands.  After a moment she turns back to the entrance to the apartment, Jackie waiting in the doorway. His hands empty.

“No one else…” She starts to sign then trails off, seeing the look in his eyes.

“All dead long before we got here.”

“Fuck…”

“Let's get outta here,” he claps a hand against her shoulder as they start to leave, “Elevator gets us to the garage direct.”

“Good work. Shitshow's over. Cuttin' my wires now. See ya in the near future,” T-Bug says her goodbyes, cutting off her connection to the mercs.

Good work, somehow those words ring hollow when there’s a tub of corpse not three feet away. There’s a heavy weight in V’s chest, they did what they were paid for, one person is safer now because of them. All things she should be proud of, but she can’t help but still feel hollow and bitter about this entire thing. Her head still hangs low as she follows Jackie out of the apartment.

“Listen, chica,” he gets her attention, “got this thing. Mind if I borrow your wheels?”

“A thing?”

“I got a date with Misty, but… heh, I can't take the metro! How's that gonna look for me?”

“Alright, alright, I’ll help you out, I guess,” she signs, feigning annoyance, though they both know she’s happy to help.

“Ah, savin' my ass, V, thank you. How about I drive you home, eh?”

“Please, I feel like I’m about to drop any minute,” she admits, body heavy with exhaustion and head starting to hurt from all the commotion. Even the translator tech’s voice is starting to make her head throb.

The elevator doors open, welcoming the two mercs as they scurry inside, V leaning all of her weight against a wall as Jackie hits the buttons. Doors closing, it starts to move, and V’s thankful for every second that gets her closer to her bed. It's an unusual feeling, she’s not typically this worn out after a job. Adrenaline is a hell of a thing, she’s learned, most jobs leaving her still riding that high and looking for ways to burn the excess energy. But, all she wants right now is to crawl in bed and pretend the world is a kinder place, 

“Oh, almost forgot. Should get Wakako on the halo - tell her the job's done.”

V gives a short nod before pulling Wakako up on her phone, it rings a few times before it projects the image of the older woman, V keeping it on speaker so Jackie can hear the call.

“Ahem! V? How did it go? Our client is alive and well?”

“Of course.”

“Splendid. Your payment awaits you - ready to come and grab whenever you like, even right away. But I guess home is the only place you wish to be now. The NCPD has surrounded Watson. The district is closed. If you are to make it past the cordon, you must move fast.”

“Shit, thanks for the warning, catch you another time,” V signs her goodbye as she hangs up and groans, thunking her head back against the wall. Of course, just her luck. The elevator doors open and Jackie leads the way out to the garage, V following closely behind.

“Gotta get going if I’m gonna make it home tonight,” V mentions as they reach her car, she doesn’t want to have to crash on his garage or his mom’s place if she can help it.

“Leave it to me, chica, I’m driving.” Jackie tells her with a little grin pulling at his lip as he climbs into the driver seat and she plops down into the passenger side.

Jackie revs the ignition and starts fiddling with the radio, while V cranks the air conditioner. She tosses her mask into the backseat for now, fiddling with her hair. The pull out of the parking garage as Jackie finds a song he likes, kind enough to keep it on low volume for V’s sake, she finds herself sinking into the seat, watching the city pass by from the window. Trying to focus on the neon lights that pass her by and not the negativity that’s threatening to overtake her mind.

“Can’t stop digging Night City,” Jackie tells her following a few moment of silence, save for the radio.

“Place definitely has an energy to it.” They drive past what she assumes is a joytoy arguing with a man, advertisements that flash so vividly in the night, street vendors peddling over the top food items. Noisy, smell, chaotic, and messy; the essence of Night City

“Nah, chica, it's more than that. Morgan Blackhand, Andrew Weyland, Adam Smasher. Legends are born here!”

“You and me, the next ones up?” She signs, playfully raising an eyebrow at him.

“You know it, jaina.”

“And we’re not gonna need a corp to do it.”

“Swear to god, V,” he shakes his head, grinning, “only merc I know who don’t get all tingly when I mention the greats.”

“Not saying they aren’t badasses, but being the best of the best is easy when you got a billion eddie corp in your corner. Blackhand was in Militech’s pocket, Weyland was on Petrochem’s payroll and Smasher is a certified Arasaka cocksucker,” she explains, fingers cramping from spelling the names as quickly as she can so her tech will translate it right, “but you and me are going to do this right, reach the top without the corp’s dick in our mouths.”

Being a legend may always be Jackie’s dream more than it’s hers… But she’s been growing into it more and more with each passing day.  She’s enjoyed the ride so far and wants to keep up the momentum. While by no means a perfect life, she’s happier than she’s been in a long time. Independent and doing a job she loves more often than not. Though, there’s still something missing… that she can’t quite define. As they keep working their way up that ladder, she’s only feeling more and more like she’s where she belongs. It only gets better from here, so long as her past stays there. V can’t help but think hitting the big leagues is what’s really going to put all the pieces in place, herself included.

“Damn right we will, V. Blackhand’s gonna wish he was us.”

“Blackhand is dead.”

“Psssh, you really believe that, chica?” He looks at her like she’s grown a third head.

“You don’t?”

“Hell no, Blackhand’s out there somewhere, sitting pretty after blowing Arasaka Tower off the map.”

“No one’s seen him since the tower fell, anyone in the tower when it came down is dead, you don’t survive that shit.”

“No one has ever found his body or Silverhand’s!”

“Because it was buried under rubble,” she’s signing frantically and grinning, the little stupid argument lifting some of the gloom off of her, “wait, who the fuck is Silverhand?”

“Silverhand, the ro-,” Jackie pauses, eyes going to the rearview window, she follows his eyeline, a van behind them, “hey is it just me or, argh, van’s on our ass, we got a tail, V!”

V gets a hand on her iron and turns in her seat to try to grab a better look, she can see the holographic mask glitching green and red on the driver. The van jerks into the left lane, speeding up to pass them, then in the very next moment pulling in front of them. V’s brows furrow, what are they doing? Then the double doors to the van open up, two masked gang members opening fire on the mercs.

“Scavs! ¡Hijos de puta!”

And V’s half out the window, sitting on the sill of it,  in the next instant, firing back at the Scavs. Bullets whirl by and V tries to maintain a steady hand as she shoots off shot after shot, aiming for the gangoons heads. Gunshots ring out through the night, bullets whiz past V and blow holes in her car, as she keeps blasting right back. People from the streetways scream, terrified of being caught in the shoot out.

“Come on, V, shoot!”

“Keep it steady,” he side mirror explodes as a bullet hits it, “fuck!”

With a thought, V shuts off her hearing aids, the world going quiet around her. Unable to hear the screaming and racket as she focuses only on shooting the Scavs. Blood sprays, a bullet ripping through a gang member’s head, their body going limp and spilling onto the road. The vehicles swing through a right turn, Jackie a thankfully empty chunk of sidewalk before swinging back out to the road. V reloads her gun as a bullet tears through her hip, not fatal but it hurts like a bitch. She fires off two more shots, catching the last member in the back of the van just as it takes a quick left turn.

But the curve comes back to meet the stretch of highway they’re on. She fires off a few shots as it goes, trying to tear through the tires before the gangers greet them again, but to no avail. The Scavenger van takes the short curve and comes back through the exit, taking the left lane to drive alongside them. V tries to fire a shot at the masked driver, but her aim is off, only blasting out the last of the van’s intact windows.

The van’s door opens, another masked gang member blasting at the mercs as the cars struggle to stay neck and neck. A sharp pain lodges in V’s shoulder and she blows the man’s brains out in her next shot. Only the driver remains and she starts blasting without hesitation, knowing they can’t easily shoot back and has no more friends covering his ass. One last bullet connects with his temple, his body going limp and the van going onto the street, crashing into a building.

She breathes, blinking, heart still pounding in her chest. There’s blood still coming from her wounds and wind whipping around her as Jackie drives. She pulls herself back into the vehicle, bending a knee and keeping one foot in her seat with the other back on the floorboard, because she can’t be bothered to sit properly. She catches Jackie’s lips moving and flips her hearing aids back on.

“Ears were off, mind saying it again,” she signs and can’t help but shrink when she sees the glimmer of annoyance on his face, the tension of the situation no doubt making what’s usually a minor request feel a bit more aggravating.

“Are you okay? You need me to take you to Vik’s?”

The mark on her hip and bicep from earlier are minor, just scratches where bullets skimmed the skin. It's her shoulder that could warrant some concern. She flips on a light in the vehicle, craning her neck to get a better look at the injury. The entry wound isn’t too bad, low caliber, just some blood steadily weeping from her shoulder. V rolls and shifts her shoulder, a tightness to the movement. She touches around her shoulder blades, no exit wound. V rubs around the wound, feeling the injury. Something solid within her flesh, not far from the entry wound.

She knows Vik says not to remove the bullets, that it can cause more harm digging around in the wound, but if she leaves it the thing will annoy her forever. With adrenaline still spiked, heart still pounding and these injuries still feeling like stings at most, it will hurt more later than it will now. So, V digs her fingers into her own wound.

“What are you-”

V finds the bullet beneath her skin and digs her nails into it, ripping it from her flesh, bloodied metal now exposed. She rolls her shoulder, it’s bleeding a bit more, but the movement feels better, more free.

“ Jesus christo, V! Fuckin’ hate when you do that shit!”

V laughs at his reaction, her pisspoor first aid never failing to make Jackie uncomfortable, she tosses the bullet out of the window. She rubs her bloody fingers off on her pants, before pulling at her shirt, a little hole where the bullet struck.

“More bummed about my shirt than anything, Vik doesn’t need to see my mug tonight,” she signs, as if she doesn’t have a hundred more black crop tops.

“Fine, but don’t call me bitching if you’re hurting later tonight.”

“Oh, ‘cause you’re one to talk.” She signs quickly, whipping around in her seat to face him.

“The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

“Hijo de la chingada, V, Misty, this is it for me, I’m done for ahhhhh,” she whines aloud, dropping her tone and trying to mimic Jackie, grinning when he scrunches his face in response.

“I was sick!”

“Well, yeah, that’s what happens when you eat your weight in cheap-ass sushi!”

“It was all you can eat!”

“Pffft,” she sputters and squeals, laughing at his excuse, “Swear to god, Jack, only man I know who can take three bullets to the chest and keep going, but a tummy ache knocks you on your ass!”

“And you’re the only woman I-oh shit.”

Police lights cut across the bridge to Watson, a full police cordon blocking the way. At least four or five NCPD units standing between V and her bed. Because of fucking course they are. She groans and thunks her head  against the seat in frustration.

“Fuck me.”

“‘Preciate the offer, chica, but we gotta run that one by Misty first.” Jackie winks and she makes a gagging noise at him in return. But she’s unable to control the warmth the joke brings to her cheeks. That’s not a mental or emotional road she’s ready to venture down, she shuts the light off in the car, the last thing they need is pigs catching sight of the blood and deciding to give a shit.

Jackie slows the car down as they pull up to the blockade, he’s calmer than her, he’s been fast talking the NCPD his whole life. While no stranger to cops, they’ve been a more sporadic presence in the former nomad’s life, leaving her to fiddle with her choker. She turns off the translator tech, prepared to break out the puppy dog eyes and soft broken little voice if she has to.

A female officer saunters over to the driver’s side window, hair pulled back in a tight ponytail and silver cyberware etching her forehead and chin. Her eyes are hidden behind a pair of dark shades.

“Watson's on lockdown till further notice. Necessary security measure,” she explains to the mercs. V can’t help but eye the bulky security robots, ready to blast them to smithereens if the NCPD deem it ‘necessary’.

“Officer, ma'am! Damn are we ever lucky we ran into you,” Jackie greets the officer, turning up the charm.

“Really… What's it that makes me so special?”

“Uh, a heart of gold? 'Course only somebody with a heart of gold can understand just how much I need to get back to my girl.”

“Your… girl?”

“Hm… that's a shame.”

“C’mon, look at him,” V slings her forearm onto Jackie’s shoulder then rests her chin there, making puppy dog eyes at the officer, “no model citizen maybe, but he’s a good kid.” She pats his chest for added effect.  

There’s a grin pulling at Jackie’s lips and she struggles not to smile in return, wanting to laugh at the silliness of it all. The officer sighs and turns away from the pair, the two taking the moment to make faces at each other, trying to make the other break and laugh.

Let them through. But they're the last,” she turns back to the mercs and they try to force serious expressions, “OK, on your way.”

“You have a good evening, now, officer… ma'am,” Jackie nods and starts to drive through the blockade.

V pulls away from Jackie’s side, instantly feeling colder away from his warmth, she twists to look forward. Watching neon lights and city people walking by. Sometimes it feels surreal. Not minutes ago she was shooting gangoons in the back of a van. Not an hour or so ago, she was pulling a woman out of an ice filled tub. Yet, the world keeps spinning, couples and families walking down the same streets her and Jackie have nearly died in so many times. No, no storm clouds, if she digs that hole she’ll need an excavator to get back out.

“So, you can be nice when you feel like it,” she signs and talks, content to use her voice at the moment, just her and Jackie after all.

“When am I not nice?”

“Uhhh, always!”

“I'm always never not nice!”

“Puh-lease!”

“And what about you?”

“What about me?”

“Oh, Jackie, I can’t possibly talk around strangers, you, Misty, Mama Welles, and Vik are the only people I can talk with.  But the moment it’s time to pull out the wool over a pig’s eyes, suddenly, you’re real talkative!”

“Tone is an important tool in manipulation, my eyes can only do so much.”

“Keep that in mind when you beg me to order your food for you.”

“What? No!”

Jackie laughs, warm and deep in his chest at her offense at the mere notion of having to be in charge of ordering her own lunch from now on. It's just so much easier to have Jackie do it, waitresses are much more used to weirdness in Night City, but there’s still that odd little look when she starts signing and her translator tech does its thing. Jackie still laughs about the time he made her order the lunch over the phone and they hung up as soon as they heard the artificial voice, assuming it was some scam.

“Oh shit…” V says, soft and low as they pull up towards an intersection, two men holding guns aiming at  a driver’s side window, some poor bastard panicking behind the wheel.

“Outta the car! Now! C'mon! Ain't got all day!” The armed man screams at them and V’s fingers twitch to grab her iron. Then a large police aircraft vehicle comes flying in, lights flashing.

“Check it out, V. Shit's goin' down,” Jackie says, trying to hunch down behind the wheel, which does nothing to hide his six foot five form.

“Aa, shit, they're here!” One of the gang members yells and they’re screaming at each other to shoot. A small group of officers deploy from the aircraft vehicle, the led blue adornments to their uniform and odd helmets that cover their eyes tell her they’re MaxTac. The officers start firing back at the gangers.

“NCPD's apex predators at work, gonk out there nothing but a midday snack.”

“Wonder why they’re busting out MaxTac for this? Just looks like a regular carjacking to me.”

“Who knows, corpo behind the wheel? Got a quota to meet?”

“To put on a show of intimidation.”

“Might be onto something with that one,” the gangers are shot dead, bleeding out on the ground around the car they tried to jack, “welp, shows over.  Poor bastards… but they had it comin'.”

They pull away from the conflict, nothing but the hum of the radio playing as Jackie drives her home. Her leg is bounces softly in the floorboard, her fingers tapping at the window sill, occasionally catching the wind. The feeling she’s more accustomed to after gigs, a restlessness, adrenaline and energy boiling over. Maybe she won’t just drop once she gets home, no longer bone tired. Oddly enough, the shootout seems to have lifted her spirits. She’ll take a high stakes, high adrenaline car chase over the bone weariness ther rescue put her in.

Jake is in Heywood, so he won’t be able to get through the cordon. Cecelia is probably working at Tom’s Diner tonight. If she’s near the end of her shift, V might be able to score a lay and late night pancakes. Her mood is still a bit too sour to hit up a bar or club for a stranger, but still feeling the need to work through this energy and tension. She was dreaming of nothing more than hitting the pillow, seeing if she could sleep soundly tonight, but now she doesn’t think she’ll be able to sleep at all unless she gets some energy out.  She gets out her holophone and opens up Cecelia’s contact.

“Whatcha doing, jaina?”

“Texting Cecelia,” V shrugs, shoulder twinging in pain,  “y’know how it is.”

“Of course, shit gets the blood pumping, why you think I always got a date night planned after a big gig?”

“Thought that was so you could steal my car?” She teases, typing up her message to Cecelia but not sending it yet.

“That too, but after you nearly die, just gotta do something to feel alive.”

“I think we might just be perverts.”

“Eh, that too,” he laughs as they pull into her apartment complex’s parking garage, “we’re here.”

“What about you? Not likely to make it back to Heywood now…” She asks, holding her thumb over the send button, if Jackie can’t get back through he’ll be crashing at her place and she doubts he’s going to want to sleep on the couch listening to her and her fuckbuddy go at it.

“Chill, V. They'll let me through.”

“Sure about that?”

“Oh yeah. I'll play nice Jackie again,” he stops the car near the elevator doors, “go, have some fun, lord knows you need it.”

He sticks his hand out, V smacking her palm into his own, a quick shake then they bump their fists together. His hand practically engulfs her own, that foot and a half of size difference obvious even in the contrast of their hands. One of these days she’s going to strain her neck looking up to talk to him.

“Tell Misty I said ‘hi’.”

“I will. Ahí luego.”

Goodbyes said for the night, V grabs her mask from the backseat and steps out of the car, her joints and injury protesting the movement. Her combat boots stomp against the pavement as she calls up the elevator, giving a final wave to Jackie as he pulls out of the garage. She leans against the wall, on her good shoulder, sending the text to Cecelia.

V: you @ work???

The elevator dings and V steps inside, cringing at the sudden bright light of the elevator, a stark contrast to the dimness of the garage. Video screens play ads for energy drinks and cyberware; everything under the sun. Everything in neon bubblegum colors or horrific details, because shock value sells nearly as well as tits.  Her holo buzzes and V checks a text from T-Bug, the runner knows she’d rather text than call but the sudden message is strange nonetheless. Bug only reaches out when it has something to do with a job.

T-Bug: Forgot earlier,  a runner I know has something you could probably use. It's a runner shop outside of Kabuki.

For some reason she’s not shocked at all that Bug would text in full grammatically correct sentences. V can’t help but think the world would implode if T-Bug ever sent an emoji or emoticon.  But gifts are a little unusual for her, but for some reason the experienced netrunner is convinced she can teach V the craft.

V: thanx bug, thats sweet of ya~!

She’s promptly left on seen, no indication of Bug typing anything back,  and V can’t help but laugh. The more T-Bug acts skeeved out by her affection, the more she wants to tease her with it.

“Good evening, Night City!~”

The screens cut to Night After Night, the host Ziggy Q coming to sit at his desk, green hair and gold suit twinkling under his stage lights. V rarely watches this kind of thing or watches TV as a whole if she’s being honest, just more noise, but she finds herself unable to help watching as the elevator starts to move.

“My first guest for tonight is the president of The Church of El Yahu, The Last Emancipator and the bane of Arasaka’s PR department; one Reverend Colver.”

The camera cuts to an older man dressed in black and beige, seemingly lost among the neon pinks and yellows of the stage. He sits down on the plush magenta couch, nodding towards the host.

“Praise be to thee our Father in heaven.”

“And ouuur second guest is Karina Lee, host of the Chip In program, which promotes the use of cybernetic implants,” a woman with a thick dark afro of hair comes onto the stage, “ how’s life treating you beautiful?”

“Can’t complain, Ziggy,” Karina tells him, she looks much more in place than the Reverend as she sits down next to him,  bright clothes and heavy gold cyberward indented in her jaw, “thanks for having me.”

“Now, I’d like to have us talk about the most exclusive and highly sought after implant on the market today, Arasaka Corp’s Relic. But maybe we ought to make sure our fair audience is up to speed,” Ziggy says, waving a dramatic and manicured hand towards the camera before focusing back in on his guests, “Karina, what is the relic exactly? In a word, if you could?”

“In one word? I’d say, immortality.”

“Immortality? Really?”

V can’t help but roll her eyes at the dramatic wording and the over the top expressions the host makes. Nothing can make someone immortal, that's a pipe dream, even if it is possible it will never be feasible on a mass scale for anyone who isn’t rich. TV types always got to exaggerate, she figures.

“That’s right, the relic allows you to transfer the consciousness from a dying person, finding a new home for their soul on a transferrable chip. This person, they’ll never leave your side, a companion with you  forever in your own consciousness. Just imagine if-”

“Child, child-” the Reverend cuts her off, “think for a moment about what you’re saying! This relic is an abomination that feeds on human misery! It is an unnatural likeness, a golden calf born by false prophets! What’s more, this technology is just another tool of coercion and corruption, only the wealthy and powerful elite will have access. And they will pay any price in exchange for a chance at this so-called immortality. Arasaka speaks of preserving the soul but they can promise nothing more than a heartless, mindless, algorithm speaking with the voice of the departed.”

“Well, that is true that Arasaka Corp has specifically limited access to the relic in order to-”

“The promise is a lie,” the Reverend starts to stand, gesturing emphatically, “an evil lie, motivated by greed and lust for power-”

“HA, now that is rich,” Ziggy cuts off Colver’s ramblings with a laugh.

“Excuse me!?”

“False promises, greed, a lust for power,” Ziggy rolls his eyes, “well sounds an awful lot like a church to me!”

“Wha- how dare you?”

“Do you not promise a life after death? Do you not charge funeral fees to a family in mourning? Maybe the Reverend is just afraid of a little healthy competition, huh?”

“Competition,” the religious figure scoffs, “you believe everything in this world can be counted, measured, rationalized!”

“And wouldn’t we be right?” Karina interjects, “we can construct artificial brains, create new consciousnesses!”

“But I ask you why? What does that give us? Are we as a people on this earth any happier for it? You claim that this relic gives eternal life, but all I see is an eternity of suffering. Rather than say goodbye, we haunt ourselves with their voices, their presence, but-”

“What do you folks think? Who holds the truth, is it Ms. Lee or maybe Reverend Colver? That is up to you!” Ziggy gestures at a screen behind him, showing the two guests,  “Send Colver or Lee to 7892 to cast your vote and enter your name for a chance to win tickets to this year's playoffs! Until next time, Night City, toodles!~”

V sighs, as the program cuts out and more ads start to be blasted at her. The conversation a heavy one, now tinkering around in her skull. The idea of keeping a dead loved one around as an imaginary friend… she thinks of her mother instantly, the person whose death most gravely impacted her. If she had her mom still lingering around, sitting in her head, it sounds...strange. A part of her thinks she’d love it, to have her mother back, but eould she ever see it as her mother? Committing herself to a fantasy like that, it doesn’t sound healthy, at all. Death is natural, learning how to say goodbye is part of life, right? She can’t imagine her spending all her time talking to a ghost from the past.

Her holophone buzzes in her pocket and she realizes the elevator is on her floor, probably has been for a few minutes. She shakes her head, she doesn’t need anymore heavy shit in her skull. The relic has nothing to do with her, anyway. Wondering about what if’s and could be’s won’t get her anywhere. V gets her holophone from her pocket, a text from Cecelia, a much needed distraction and relief. She starts to text her regular hookup as she makes her way to her apartment.

Cecelia: Yeah, be off in an hour, why?

V: i have a proposition

Cecelia: ???

V: bring me pancakes and i make you cum ;)

V’s flirting skills continue to impress absolutely no one, but Cecelia is still into the merc,  so that’s really on her at this point.

Cecelia: Will you pay me back for the pancakes?

V: yee

Cecelia: Drop by your place around midnight, sound good?

V:  pls and thanx! :3

V slips the phone back into her pocket, opening her apartment door and slipping inside. She shuts the door behind and starts stripping off her clothes, she needs a shower before Cecelia gets here. The waitress probably wouldn’t be too excited to come in and see V covered in a layer of sweat and blood.  Clothes off she takes her hearing aids out and puts them on her desk before she makes the beeline for her shower.

She cranks the water up as hot as possible and steps under, her shoulder and scratches sting, but she focuses her energy on washing the blood and sweat away. V washes through her hair, muscles relaxing at the feeling of hot water pouring down on her, the smell of rose scented shampoo and conditioner lingering in the air as she washes.

She’s tempted to touch herself under the water, her soap slick thighs clenching together. It's tempting, still just riding that adrenaline high, it’d be nice to find some relief. But the bullet wound in her shoulder should be attended to first, she dug the bullet out in the car, but the injury still could use some first aid. She didn’t have anything to stitch it closed and she’s not sure it’d be the smartest idea to stitch herself in a moving car, not that she hasn’t done it before.

V shuts off her shower, ignoring her swollen clit and the tension in her core. She steps out of the water and stands in front of her bathroom sink, her reflection showing in the mirror. The merc grabs her first aid kit, getting out the stuff she needs to suture her shoulder.

Vik will bitch at her for it later, call her work shoddy, but she’s been taking care of her own injuries for years.  She doesn’t need to run to him for every little thing. She pats it dry first, leaving pink stains on her bathroom towel, then she pours some antiseptic peroxide on it. A curse on her lips at the sharp sting, she cringes and takes a deep breath, preparing the needle and suture. The needle pulls through her skin with a harsh pain, as she pulls her skin back together with a quick crude stitch.

Content with her oh so shoddy work, she finishes drying off and leaves the bathroom, dropping her dirty clothes in a laundry hamper to be mended and washed later. She checks the time on her holo, still thirty or so minutes before Cecelia said she’d drop in. V throws on an oversized black tee shirt and a pair of shorts it completely covers. Her skin feels warm, still smells like roses and honey, something about the warm cozy feeling makes that little fire inside come back.  She clenches her thighs together again, mentally cursing her sex drive, libido, hormones, whatever it is that makes it so she can put a needle through her bloodied skin and still want to cum immediately after.

There's a skip in her step as she rushes to scoop her phone and hearing aids off her desk, putting them on the little circular table next to her bed instead, so they’re easily in reach. Then she plops herself onto her bed, atop the covers and blankets, she sinks into them. She feels warm, skin soft and clean to the touch. When she stretches slightly in her bed, she feels a soft sound leaving her lips.

Her breasts feel soft under her shirt, squeezing and groping herself over her clothes. Sensitive pierced nipples stiffening under the fabric, she pinches them lightly, whimpering at the pressure. She presses her head back against her pillow, biting her lip as she puts a hand underneath her shirt, teasing her breast directly, playing with her piercings.  Each touch makes her slicker, makes her clit swell and beg to be touched.

V shoves a hand down into her shorts, pushing two fingers through the lips of her wet cunt. She presses them against her clit, groaning as she begins to rub, quick messy circles. Focused on just getting there, a harsh pressure and quick pace, squirming her hips against her own hand as she builds herself up. Pleasure pools in her center, building upon itself, growing higher and higher with each stroke of her clit.

A blue light goes off, strobing and bright enough to illuminate the room. Her phone buzzes on the side table with a notification. Someone knocking on her door, she wipes her slick fingers off on her thigh and quickly puts her hearing aids in.

“V!~ It’s Cece!” The older woman’s voice rings out and V jogs to the door, feeling like she’s about to combust.

She opens the door and Cecelia quickly steps inside. V hates the diner uniform, a yellow dress and apron. But Cecelia manages to be beautiful in anything, why on earth she wants anything to do with V is beyond the merc’s comprehension. She’s tall, though nearly everyone towers over V to some extent, with a cute shaggy pixie cut of dark hair. Olive skin with a dusting of freckles and amber eyes, far too beautiful to be rolling around in bed with some nomad turn street punk.

“I got extra honey and syrup for-”

She’s cut off by V’s lips in the middle of explaining what’s in the little white diner container. Her words dying on the merc’s tongue, V presses in deep, tasting all she can of Cecelia’s mouth, finding the taste of coffee and cigarettes awaiting her. A bitter taste, one she despises, but she ignores for the sake of her own lust. She presses the taller woman against the closed door, hands grabbing at the curve of Cecelia’s hips, pulling up on the dress of her uniform.

“V, V,” Cecelia breaks away from the kiss, panting, “you're gonna crush your pancakes.”

V rolls her eyes, taking the container from Cecelia’s hands and quickly placing it on her computer desk. Then she’s shoving a hand under the waitress uniform, Cecelia keening as V slips her hand into the older woman’s panties. The merc buries her face into her partner’s neck, licking, sucking and biting at her skin as she works her fingers against her clit. V braces her other hand against the door, sharply biting the expanse of skin against her lips. She gazes up at her fuckbuddy, the woman’s head thrown back against the door as she whimpers, V’s hand doesn’t stop working. She rubs the same two fingers she had on herself just moments before over Cecelia’s clit, the bundle of nerves swollen and slick. The merc’s hand is soaked in it already, she finds herself wondering if she’d find a puddle on her apartment floor if she looked down.

“You’re smoking again,” V whispers against Cecelia’s neck, marveling at the bruises her teeth have left behind. She knows the effect her voice has in these moments, so rarely heard by Cecelia, and when it is it’s husk with lust.

“So-” V twists her wrists and sinks those two fingers inside, “sorry, I fuck, V, stre-fuck-stressful day, I fuck, fuck, fuck!”

“That hardly seems fair, what did I taste like?” V pumps her fingers steadily, feeling slick run down her wrist.

“Li-aH, ah, uh, honey, you ta-taste like h-oney, al-always do~!” Her hips squirm to meet V’s thrusting fingers, trying to chase her own pleasure.

“So, you get honey and I get to lick the inside of an ashtray?”

“I sa-said,” V adds a third finger, speeding up her movement, “Fuck, I’m sorry!’

“Hmmm, I don’t think sorry cuts it here, Cece.” V starts to rub her thumb clumsily over Cecelia’s clit, watching the woman moan and squirm. Her thighs are vice tight around V’s wrist, teeth sinking into her lip. She’s close.

“V, fuck please, I, fu-uck!” She whines and pleads, V’s not even sure what for, if it’s too much or not enough.

“Fine, I’ll forgive ya, but I gotta get the taste out of my mouth first.”

V drops to her knees, yanking Cecelia’s underwear down to her ankles just to bury her face between the older woman’s thighs. The merc uses her hands to keep her partner’s legs spread and gives a heavy messy lick of Cecelia’s clit, ensuring her tongue piercing makes contact with the sensitive nerves. Already built up to near orgasm, Cecelia screams out, the lick sending her right over the edge. Slick gushes onto V’s mouth and chin, coating her tongue in a heavy layer that she swallows before she starts licking again. Pubic hair scratches at her nose as she laps and licks at Cecelia’s cunt. Licking her through orgasm and prolonging it into another, and another, drawing the high out with every lave of her tongue. Cecelia squirms and thrust her hips, sloppily humping against the merc’s face, she knots her fingers in V’s bleach blonde hair. It becomes too much, orgasms drawn out to long, tears forming at the corner of Cecelia’s eyes.

“St-stop!”

V pulls away instantly, face a flushed mess of slick and lust. She slowly pulls away from Cecelia, standing up, the taller woman’s knees are buckled and she’s leaning all her weight against the door. The two pant, each catching their breath and V looks down on the floor, her suspicions confirmed at the wet droplets, Cecelia managing to drip down onto the wood.

“I, uh, take it you’re a little worked up tonight?”

V makes a wiggly ‘kind of’ hand gesture, winking at Cecelia, smirking. She can’t help but feel a sense of pride looking at Cecelia; panting, neck marked, underwear around her ankles, and still dripping.

“That taste better than cigarettes?” Cecelia asks, smiling and still out of breath as she kicks off her heels and  steps out of her panties towards V. She cups V’s slick sodden chin, amber eyes soft as she brushes her thumb across the younger woman’s bottom lip.

“Much.”

Then their lips connect again, the sweetness of slick cutting down on the bitter taste of Cecelia’s bad habit. They lick into each other’s mouth, press into each other, pull away slightly; all to fall back into it. V starts pulling at the buttons of Cecelia’s uniform, revealing inch after inch of cleavage. She pushes it down off the older woman’s shoulders, leaving her in nothing but a bra. Heavy breasts surrounded by black lace, but only for a moment then V’s greedy hands unhook it, pulling the last bit of fabric from Cecelia’s body.

“On the bed,” V signs and speaks, words slurred with desire.

Cecelia gives a soft laugh and V discretely scratches at her hearing aid, the device starting to rub the inside of her ear raw, sex sweat irritating it. This type of tech became completely waterproof millennia ago, but they can still chafe. Refocusing her attention, she stares at Cecelia laying down in her bed. A beautiful face is no doubt what first drew her eye to the waitress, but Cecelia’s curvy soft figure was next. Large breasts that spill over most of her bras, a soft stomach, and thick thighs. A contrast to V’s own body, the merc more petite and curves more...subtle.

V doesn’t hesitate another moment, straddling Cecelia’s waist, the older woman’s hands instinctively reading for the merc’s hips. A twinge of pain when Cecelia’s unknowingly brushes against the small injury there, V ignores it in favor of pulling her shirt off over her head, throwing it onto the floor. She expects eyes raking over her small pert breasts, a look of desire in Cecelia’s eyes. But finds concern instead, fingers reach out to V’s shoulder, nearly brushing the crude stitches.

“What hap-”

V grabs Cecelia’s wrists and pins them to the bed, burying her lips into the older woman’s neck again. She sucks and bites, hoping the action gets her point across; don’t touch that, don’t ask that, don’t push. V likes fucking Cecelia. They are fuckbuddies, but Cecelia has a way of asking questions, wanting to know more beyond how skilled the merc is with her tongue. So, she has to steer it back on course, latching her mouth around one of Cecelia’s breasts, sucking and licking at her nipple. Cecelia moans and whimpers when V teases her chest, giving the other breast the same treatment and pulling off with a wet pop.

“Fuck, point made, V,” Cecelia swallows hard, “you still have any straps laying around?”

“Want me to fuck you with it?”

“No, uh, wanna watch you ride it”

V’s never scrambled so fast to get her toy box out from under her bed, a little chilled at leaving Cecelia’s warmth, she pulls her treasure trove out. She chooses a toy, essentially double sided and strap strap on. One end is a vibrating bulb likes shape and the other a dildo. V strips off her shorts before clambering back onto the bed. She lightly taps Cecelia’s thigh, licking her lips when the brunette spreads them for her.  The ribbed bulb slides easily inside of Cecelia and her high pitched whine lets V know it’s doing its job, pressing on the g-spot, when theyfuck it should grind against her clit too. Once inside, the rest of the toy sticks out, making it look like Cecelia has a slick black silicon cock.

Then V turns the vibration on, Cecelia screaming out as it buzzes and vibrates inside of her. V can’t help but laugh at her overstimulated and sensitive partner, she pins Cecelia’s hands back down to the mattress and straddles her. Her wet neglected cunt hovering just over the vibrating dildo, she kisses at Cecelia’s jaw. The brunette’s eyes are closed tightly, face contorted in pleasure as the toy works it’s magic.

“Thought you wanted to watch me?” V teases, smirking against Cecelia’s skin, then sinks down on top of the toy.

V whines and whimpers as the vibrating toy fills her, Cecelia grabbing her hips, amber eyes now firmly watching the blonde. Moans and squeals echo throughout the room. V fucks herself on the toy, Cecelia’s hips thrusting up to meet the movement, slamming the toy further into her each time. They’re both sensitive, Cecelia from being overstimulated since she walked in the room and V from neglecting her own needs until now.  Heavy squelching noises ring out where the toy plunges in and out of V’s cunt; mixing with the buzzing of the toy  and the clap of their flesh meeting on each thrust. There’s a tension in V’s center that grows tighter and tighter inside of her, pleasure building upon pleasure. Each slide of the toy inside of her brings her closer and closer to her end.

She lets go of Cecelia’s wrists, the hunched over position getting uncomfortable, V shifts her hands back onto the brunette’s legs, leaning back to support her weight that way. Then Cecelia thrusts, angle slightly changed and hitting impossibly deep, too much, too much. The tension snaps and V’s overwhelmed by pleasure, she bounces on the toy through her orgasms, yelling out as she rides out the waves of ecstasy.

A soft whine leaves V’s lips, when she starts to come down and the buzzing toy is too much, Cecelia looks about ready to pass out and V realizes there’s no way all the slick where they connect is from her.  The merc whimpers pulling off of the toy and turning off it’s vibrations, earning a sound from Cecelia who gasps when V gently pulls it out.

The toy is soaked; their thighs and the bed where their hips met too. Too tired to care about organization right now, V casually throws the toy to the side, she’ll clean and store it properly later. She instead collapses next to Cecelia, the two gathering their breath.

She’s not sure how much time passes, just laying next to Cecelia, but V’s heart rate and breathing calms down. Ther merc yawns, her ears hurt worse now. But, the orgasm was worth it. Her stomach is starting to hurt too.

“Your pancake are probably cold by now,” Cecelia tells her with a laugh and-

Oh fuck, V forgot her pancakes. She jumps out of bed, stumbling on her way to grab her food

“Did you just trip over a used dildo?”

“Not answering that.”

V brings the food back to the bedside table,  throwing her oversized shirt back on, before climbing into bed with her meal. She folds her legs and sits the meal in her lap, facing the side of the bed with Cecelia sitting next to her.

“You mind if I borrow some sleep clothes?”

V gives a thumbs up, opening her food container, her stomach growls and she realizes she hasn’t eaten since probably noon. Cecelia got her a stack of pancakes covered in honey, maple syrup, and whip cream. Even a little carton of milk packed tightly in with the food, probably her attempt to keep V from drinking too much Nicola.

“I assume that also means you’re okay with staying the night? Marlow’s at her dad’s this week, so the apartment’s kind of lonely…”

Another thumbs up, taking a big bite of food as Cecelia starts to look through her closet. Anything that fits V properly will be too tight on the brunette, but V’s collection of oversized sleep shirts should be fine. The merc watches half heartedly as Cecelia pokes through the old tees, already having devoured half of her pancake stack.

“Samurai?” Cecelia raises an eyebrow, looking at a bagging black and red shirt, the one she kept that originally belonged to Ava, “you listen to dad rock?”

“Not mine, don’t wear that one!”  V quickly signs with one hand, sometimes she wears it and can still convince herself it still  smells like her old love… She doesn’t want it smelling like anyone else and maybe that’s stupid, maybe that’s weird, she doesn’t know or care. It means something to her. She doesn’t know or give a fuck about the band on it, some shitty punk group no ones given a damn about in years, but it belonged to Ava. That’s what matters.

“Okay, no problem,” Cecelia seems to understand, not noticing or at the very least not mentioning V’s odd tension around it. She instead throws on an oversized white shirt before coming back to the bed.

The shirt on V reaches past her knees, but on Cecelia it hits around the mid thighs. V feels the brunette’s warmth as their sides touch, sitting close together. V shoves another chunk of pancakes in her mouth, nearly inhaling it.

“At least drink some milk, you and that friend of yours are the worst about chewing your food. I swear, I’ve seen you both choke five or six times in one meal.”

V nods and grabs the little carton of milk, her stomach dropping when she sees the back of it. A woman’s face stares back at her, a little different, more cleaned up and hair on her head,  but still bone chillingly familiar. Sandra Dorsett, a little message under her picture asking if anyone’s seen her.

“Something wrong, V?” Cecelia puts a hand on her back, rubbing gentle circles, then her eyes fall on the carton, “you know her?”

V shakes her head, because she doesn’t, not really. And even then, it's a moot point, the ad is old and Sandra is safe now… probably.  Not like V actually knows, she could have died in the Trauma Team vehicle, before they even made it to the hospital. And god only knows what the long term effects will be and she’s the lucky one.

“Well, they found her, from what I heard.”

V raises an eye at Cecelia, turning to face her a bit more.

“Caught it on the news just before I clocked out, they haven’t released the footage of the rescue yet, but apparently she was pulled out of some Scavenger hideout. Trauma Team got her and say she’s going to make a full recovery, so, good news…” She drags it out, like she’s testing V’s reaction trying to see if she can get anything from the merc.

“It’s good,” V signs, Cecelia’s eyes falling to the mercs hands, “but, you know Scavengers… there was probably twenty, thirty more bodies there, left to rot because they didn’t have enough money for Trauma to care.”

“Yeah, it's fucked but, hey, one person is better than none.”

“I guess… I hear even the people who get saved are fucked up afterwards. They don’t remember anything, until something triggers a flashback and next thing they know they feel like the worlds crashing in on them.”

“Won’t be easy, for sure, I can’t even imagine what that poor girl has gone through, but people are resilient.”

“Got to be,” V signs, chewing her lip, “the world’d eat them alive otherwise.”

“You got a good heart, V, you know that?” Cecelia tells her, tucking a strand of hair back behind the merc’s.

“Gross.”

“Yes, yes, I know, big bad merc can’t have feelings, fear her, blah blah blah,” Cecelia rolls her eyes and V blows a raspberry at her. Then stands to put what’s left of the food on the side table, the brief moment of vulnerability putting her off her pancakes. Cecelia always manages to pry something from her.

“Let's get to sleep, before I kill you,” she signs, then gestures to Cecelia to get to bed.

Cecelia curls up with V’s pillow, nestling into the sheets while V pulls out her hearing aids, rubbing at the raw skin. Putting her hearing aids back down, she sees the text notification on her phone. From Jackie, the message is short enough to display in the preview window.

Jackie: got big news, chica! B-I-G BIG!!! talk to you in the morning, hehehe!~

V lets out a huff of air, smiling and rolling her eyes all at once. He’s dramatic, always has been. His idea of big news is probably some new restaurant he found, maybe he won some eddies on a boxing match.  She shakes her head and puts the phone aside for now, crawling under the covers. Cecelia lifts an arm, allowing V to curl up close with her head on Cecelia’s chest as she drifts off to sleep.

#cyberpunk 2077 #cp2077 #silverv #eventual silverv #johnny silverhand #jackie welles #female v #fem v #aidan becker #aidan v becker #im sure the spelling and grammar is so fucky but i swear i ran it through like twelve checks and stILL KEPT FINDING TYPOS SO AHH

[jaythelay]

Yo a Fallout x Project Zomboid like game would be so fucking good.

Going through a town or city, every house is enterable, grab some shit, randomly generate the house with some lore, enemies, equipment, traps, events, etc, like Zomboid does.

Don't use either engine they use for the love of god. It has to be a new game, built with the idea of customisable amounts of zombies, from peaceful to game crashing. The houses can have loading screens, but with today's gaming hardware catching up with SSDs, it's not entirely impossible it won't be needed. (It will, optimisation will be so poor it would be smarter not to, despite the massive beneficial handicaps of improved hardware.)

The main thing zomboid misses is the inventory and base building.

Inventory management is as good as it can get with what they have, and I still, feel like I'm actually going the fuck insane trying to navigate literally everything. I sorely wish I could take advantage of my 21:9, and just have the gameplay centered right or left, with all the UI on the opposite of it. That way I wouldn't be missing pieces, or half the screen to a cluttery UI. Hard to describe, and it's possible on 16:9 with major drawbacks, but man the UI could not trouble me more. Fallout's just works, it only feels bad because of how laggy it is, and how fuckbad the mouse acceleration/deceleration, lag, and pointer precisin based it all is. Otherwise else, it's good enough to start vs the other.

It's possible to build your own base in Zomboid, but the game seems designed almost around you the player not even existing in the first place. You scavenge, hide, run, kill, drive, but building is so sparse, you never feel like more than one person on a desolate planet that has no homes, but many houses, I love it, it's a very particular vibe I've only gotten from playing Cod:WaW MP on PC where you literally die the moment your head pops out. You feel like one of many hundreds of lost soldiers. (Totally bots/botters but I wouldn't be surprised with a game so old, also instant respawn is a plus)

But man, I like to SCAVENGE, I want to HOARD every single Nuka Cola I can find and put it into a fridge with the other 289 nuka colas. I like being able to grab absolutely fucking everything, I will take damage, lose supplies, and waste time, to collect a single chicken nugget behind nuculear traps and as many boss level enemies as possible. But if I have no where to store them, like, what's the point? I'm a severely klepotmanic dragon hoarder, I don't grab, I fucking COLLECT. These are my SPECIAL ITEMS, if my ass can't fucking hold all of it, and the inventory becomes so cluttery fron infinite carryweight, then ya lost me entirely.

Reward me for collecting. I don't know of anyone that finds fun in this very popular trend of collecting til full, and now that you never used it and walked past 6 others of that same item you could've used 30 other times, you're gonna drop it, and then never see another one again.

I like how Dying Light had you collect stuff to help bases, and donate stuff you have, and how Fallout has you donate stuff or collect stuff to use for importanter stuffs. That is what my kleptomaniac brain fuckin WANTS man.

Make an impact in some way that I can empathise and emotionally connect with when it comes to me wasting my fucking time fighting every s i n g l e cockroach in this fucking sewer. Have me clearing this house of zombies help out a grieving father wanting to collect his wife's sentimental toenail collection or what the fuck ever, despite me literally covering the walls in holes and blood, looting the entire building including that toenail collection because I fucking kneeeeew it was going to matter some fucking how.

Have my hoarding backfire in ways that aren't this flimsy "You can't really store anything because your base is worthless, but you CAN drop or ignore aloooooot of shit because you can't even carry a feather now without crawling under the weight.

No instead, copy that scene from Tell Tale's TWD where if you take from the truck, you'll be punished for it later (I know it doesn't matter which choice you make in the game, but for this concept;) have the next time I sleep, I get kidnapped by some dude who's mad I got his family killed by trying to survive myself off what I could find. Shit like this matters when it's a majority of your playstyle/the focus of gameplay.

Idunmo, I'm drunk and want a definitive zombie game.

I always felt like, despite how many zombies games that were coming out, and how many are still coming out, literally no one made the definitive zombie game.

Dead Rising and Left 4 Dead stood near the Podium that should have been. Day Z was a pale immitation, but the closest to what I believe a Project Zomboid and Fallout styled game could bring.

[lilhemmo]

Can I uh get a "bookshop au" + "flirting under fire" au for sweet pea? your writing is so good and he's my baby please give me more

a/n: yes, friend, you can!!! i know this is.. old, but, hey, what can i say? i’m not apologizing!! 

ps, dear chels @the-gargoyle-queen i am so sorry for picking on your ghoulies but it’s just sO EASY

You’d inherited the book shop from your grandmother once she passed, but you never really had a hand in it until you heard about the state Riverdale was in. So, you packed your things and moved back into the loft upstairs, taking a much more direct approach with the store. 

You bought books online, through thrift stores - anything you could find to keep the shelves stocked. Eventually, your shop was a safe haven - a Switzerland, if you will. It was a place where anyone from any walk of life could take a seat and escape the world.

There were high schoolers who host homework and study sessions, middle aged moms who gather for book club, and even Southsiders who show up just to get away from the street’s carnage every once and a while.

The tattoo artist from the Pretty Poison Tattoo Parlor stops by once a week for a new book on nature and you’ve managed to have a short conversation with him each time.

You’ve learned his name - Sweet Pea - and that he gets the books to study for his tattoos. A lot of the people who come in are female bikers who want different flowers mixed with skulls and crossbones tattooed on them, so he has to be educated.

“Got another random tattoo booking later this week, gotta learn how to draw…” Sweet Pea shakes his head, holding out the book, “Whatever the hell these are.”

You’re laughing but then the whole room goes silent, cold. You look up just as a car steers off from the road and crashes into your glass windows. Sweet Pea wastes no time in hopping over the counter and grabbing you up, turning so his back is to the car and you’re caged under his arms.

“Shit,” he shakes his head, turning get a glance of the people in the car. “Fuckin’ Ghoulies.”

You blink slowly, your head spinning as your heart beats increasingly faster, “G-Ghoulies? Here?!”

Sweet Pea nods and for the first time you notice the serpent tattoo on his neck. You’ve only known him through the winter, and now that it’s spring, he’s no longer wearing turtle necks or thick jackets to cover his tattoo. You grip him by the flannel, staring up at him, “B-But this isn’t…this is supposed to be a safe space.”

“Seems like the Ghoulies don’t agree with you. Call 911, I’m gonna see if I can do anything.”

He’s gone before you can protest, and you swear you hear the zing of a knife in the air, but you disregard it. Grabbing up your phone, you call the police and shakily tell them all of the details. Luckily there are officers on foot who make it there before too much carnage breaks loose.

They have to grab up Sweet Pea and administer medical treatment and also question him regarding the knife wounds they found slashed into various Ghoulies, but he manages to describe it well enough as self-defense that they release him once they’re finished.

“H-How can I thank you?” you ask, wrapping yourself up in a blanket given to you by the police department.

Sweet Pea shrugs, “I like gettin’ to kick those jackasses around, so I don’t need a thank you.”

You’re smiling and he wants to ask why, but the sound of shattering glass makes him pause. Your frame is practically shaking, and he remembers a conversation where you told him you lived in the book shop, above the store in a one bedroom situation.

“Hey,” he nudges your calf with the toe of his boot, “do you need a place to stay?”

You swallow, blinking the tears away as you realize that your home has been crashed into, your livelihood ruined for an innumerable amount of time. You shake your head despite yourself, “No, I-I think the county is going to give me a bit of an allowance to stay at the motel up the street.”

“That place is infested with cockroaches,” Sweet Pea chuffs, crossing his arms over his chest. “Why don’t you come shack up with me and Toni at Poison? She’s hardly there anyway, now that she’s got that little Northsider girlfriend, so you can take her bed.”

The laugh that bubbles from your lips makes him look you over again - still in your resolve, head held high despite your home being destroyed and your heart and soul crashed by a set of pathetic Ghoulies trying to make a name for themselves.

“I don’t know that your roommate would like you giving up her bed,” you sigh, glancing up at him through thick, wet lashes. “Really, it’s okay.”

Sweet Pea shrugs, “Well, it’s always available, okay? We’ve got a pull out couch too, if you change your mind.”

-

Well, you do change your mind.

Sweet Pea is all but not surprised to see you on the doorstep of the Poison Parlor later that same night. 

“Cockroaches?”

“Cockroaches.”

He’s laughing as he lets you inside. There are a couple of late night customers and you can hear the buzzing of tattoo guns as Sweet Pea walks you through the parlor and up the stairs.

You’re making yourself comfortable on the pull out couch when he turns to go back downstairs, but you stop him, “H-Hey, Sweet Pea?”

“Hm?” he looks over his shoulder to acknowledge you.

Your whole face goes beet red, but you stand to your full height and say it anyway, “I-uh, I want you to teach me how to defend myself.”

There’s a silence that hangs in the room and you wonder for a moment if he thinks you’re crazy. Of course he wouldn’t train a weakling Northsider like you, even if your shop was Switzerland for his Southside buddies. What the Ghoulies had done, you couldn’t have stopped anyway.

“L-Listen, I just, I want to be able to stand up for myself. It’s not like I can stop a crashing car, but I can punch a guy in the gut or keep myself from getting snatched off the street,” you start rambling, using your hands as you talk, your voice growing in octaves the longer he lets you speak.

“Hey,” Sweet Pea grasps you by the wrist, “I get it.”

There’s a mutual understanding that passes between the two of you, quiet but determined. He releases you and walks back down to the parlor, leaving you to get settled in. 

And that’s how it starts.

When your bookstore is back up and running six weeks later, you’re practically a boxing prodigy. Sweet Pea has taught you the simplest of moves, and you can catch him off guard every once and a while. He has the crooked nose to prove it.

The tension between the two of you has grown as well. He’s given you a small tattoo that you’ve been dreaming about since high school, and you’ve taught him words and jargon that he never dreamed could be real. You spend almost every waking moment of the day together, between training to grow stronger and smarter, the both of you have developed a routine.

The next time you spot a band of Ghoulies, you and Sweet Pea are helping to close up the tattoo parlor. You’re taking the trash out in the back alley, and when a snap resounds against the brick walls, your heart drops into your stomach.

You swallow the lump in your throat, toss the garbage into the bin, and turn, fists held tight at your sides.

A taunt passes your lips and then the Ghoulie on the right jumps towards you with a knife held tight in his grip. You spot his weak form and step downward, using his weight to roll him over your shoulders and toss him against the dumpster.

“What?” you laugh, “Scared now?”

The other lets out a grunt before slashing at you with a makeshift shank. He looks like a feral animal - teeth bared and knuckles white as saliva gathers at the corners of his mouth. You can’t help but roll your eyes at the dramatic gang member, but when he tries to kick you in the face, you grab his ankle and twist, sending him soaring over your shoulder to lay unconscious with his Ghoulie counterpart.

There’s a loud noise from inside the parlor and your mind starts racing - Sweet Pea. Sure, he’s perfectly capable of taking care of himself, but your heart still picks up the pace as you run toward the door.

He’s got two on either side of him, and another set of three in the back rummaging through the money drawer and supplies. You grab the nearest thing to you, a case of ink, and throw it against the back counter. It pegs one of the Ghoulies in the head, the other two turning their attention to you now.

“Th-They’re on something!” Sweet Pea shouts even though his throat is currently in the grasp of one of the brawnier Ghoulies. You laugh, shaking your head as the two from behind the counter charge at you, “You don’t say?”

Sweet Pea shoots you a glare and you barely have time to shrug before you’re back in attack mode - focused on the two grown men in front of you. Their weight and their obvious lack of focus is something you can prey on, just as you did the two in the alley.

“So, do I get a raise or something?” you call between punches, landing a kick into one of their chests. Sweet Pea now has one of them in a headlock, the other crumpled against the wall, twitching as he tries to stand back up.

“Funny, I didn’t know I paid you,” he grunts, dropping the bulky guy to the ground once he stops struggling.

You stumble backward, but he catches you, “You don’t.”

“Maybe I should start.”

The duality of the phrase makes your spine shiver, but you’re back to action before you can contemplate how much you want to kiss him. You get a good, solid punch into one of their faces, turning to hit the other in the sternum.

“Finally putting those lessons to good use!” Sweet Pea winks at you from across the room where he’s got the Ghoulie held up by the throat on the wall.

Him holding someone by the throat, blood on his nose and knuckles, should not turn you on the way that it does. Either way, it makes you smirk. Your attention falters just long enough for the smaller of the two Ghoulies to land a punch to your jaw.

You seethe in pain, gripping at your face as you stumble backward. All you can see now is red, blinding rage like a filter in your vision. You dig your fingernails into your fists so hard you think you’ve drawn blood, “Oh, that does it.”

They swing at you again, both moving sloppily as whatever drug that has tainted their system begins to wear off. You fight them both off until you hear Sweet Pea stalk across the room, his combat boots making noise as he stomps towards you.

“Did good,” he grunts, grabbing one of them by the arm to yank them away from you, dealing with him on his own. Sweet Pea struggles, taking a shot to the eye, but you make eye contact with him just as you say, “I had a good teacher.”

You swear you see a smile on his face, but you can’t pay him much mind as the Ghoulie tries to stab at you with the pocket knife they’re holding. You slam their wrist against the tattoo table, the knife clattering to the ground a few feet away.

Now both goons are crawling on the floor, and you take a step toward Sweet Pea with adrenaline pumping through your veins, “Do you want to kiss me as much as I want to kiss you?”

“Hell yeah,” he manages to get the words out before pulling you to him for a harsh kiss. His hands are on your waist and your palms find purchase against his flannel.

You feel a feeble arm wrap around your ankle and you snap your knee forward to kick him in the face, eliciting a moan from the perpetrator. Sweet Pea’s palm drifts to your jeans, tucking into your pocket to anchor you to him for just a moment longer.

“You call, I’ll tie,” he pants as he pulls away, the high wearing off as he looks into your eyes. “Sound good?”

You nod, releasing your death grip on his shirt, “There’s two more in the alley.”

The shining admiration in his eyes does little to quell the churning of your stomach and you find yourself wanting to tackle him right here and now. Instead, you turn and head towards the parlor phone, not missing the gentle tap he gives your backside as you walk away.

“Sheriff Jones? Yeah, it’s me again…”

-

a/n: i hope that was enough flirting under fire! 

taggin: @the-gargoyle-queen @theangriestpea @sweets-rivervixen @southsidearchive @cactiem 

#sweet pea #sweet pea x reader #sweet pea imagine #sweet pea one shot #sweet pea fanfic #sweet pea fanfiction #riverdale #my writing #sweet pee riverdale

[okk--maaan]

Bad Kitchen Dreams

Hi. This is very dumb. But I couldn’t help myself when @ellelaconi​ threw out a Pale Kitchen Nightmares AU. So here you go. Feel free to imagine him in a blonde Matt wig and chef’s coat with a British accent.

WC: ~1.7k (whoops)

CW: you’re a really bad chef, Pale degrading you because you’re such a bad chef, pussy eating, fingering, PIV, brief drug mention, OSHA violations

Pale has traveled all over the country doing this. Helping desperate restaurant owners resurrect their businesses from the ashes. But in his twenty years, he’s never seen a situation as dire as this. As dire as yours.

When he pulls up in his big black car, he can tell the restaurant isn’t open. “Who the fuck ain’t open at one o’clock in the afternoon? Fuckin’ bullshit,” he mutters to himself. And sure enough. When he tries the front door - locked. He bangs on the glass and yells, “Hey! Hello! Anybody in there?!” After like five fuckin’ minutes of this, you finally appear -- wearing a dirty disgusting chef’s coat, your hair haphazardly pinned up, shit on your face. You wipe your hands down your front, smearing something orange across the little bit of white left on your apron.

As soon as you turn the lock, Pale pushes his way through with his big body. Without the barrier of safety glass, he can really get a good look at you. Even with all the mess, you’re pretty fuckin’ hot. Stunning really. Makin’ his cock twitch in his dark jeans, with your soft fuckin’ eyes and lips and shit. But he can’t think about that right now. He’s got work to do. Clearly.

He sticks a fat hand out and greets, “Hey doll. The name’s Jimmy. But call me Pale. Everyone calls me Pale. Hate that fuckin’ name in fact. Jimmy. Only person call me that is my fuckin’ wife.” You’re flustered with how quickly he rambles, but you take his hand and introduce yourself. “Well let me ask you something. Why the hell ain’t you open? It’s the middle of fuckin’ lunch,” he wave his hands all over the place like this is the most atrocious thing. And honestly, in his opinion, it might be. “Uhh well no one’s in here,” you try to explain. He scoffs, “Yeah no shit. Kinda hard for people to get in with the door locked and all.” He did have a point there. You wring your sweaty palms together, trying to fight the utter embarrassment. “Thank you for agreeing to help me, Jimmy - uh Pale. Please tell me what I need to do to fix this.” He leans in real close, jabs a thumb behind him, “Why don’t you unlock the fuckin’ door first?” You chuckle nervously and walk past him. Pale can’t help but glance at your ass as you do, just can’t help himself. And damn. You look just as good from the back as you do from the front. And again, his dick agrees.

With the restaurant officially open, you give Pale a tour. But the condition of the dining room is so deplorable, he doesn’t want to go any further. “Nah doll. I ain’t going in that kitchen. I got half a mind to even let you cook for me,” he throws his hands up in protest. He pulls out the cleanest chair he can find and plops down. Dusting off the tiny table in front of him, he asks, “So what kinda food you serve here?” “I create Mexican Italian fusion dishes,” you respond quickly and proudly. But that pride is short lived, with the way he’s staring at you. “Huh. Fusion. Well I’ll be the judge of that,” he purses his lips as he opens a cloth napkin and sets it in his lap. You take that as your cue to bring out his first course.

“Here we have a baby squid, steamed with lemon and capers,” you say in your best chef’s voice. Steamed? Squid? Pale thinks - knows - what’s sitting in front of him won’t be good. But you’re too fuckin’ pretty for him to flat-out refuse. He wishes he did a bump before coming in this place. By the way he has to stab the fish with his fork, he instantly knows it’s not cooked. “Look, I ain’t eating this. This squid is so raw, I can hear it telling Spongebob to fuck off.” Hot tears prick at your eyes. And he can see it. “No. Come on now. Don’t start that shit. Just - just bring me the next course,” he dismisses you.

You set two overly stuffed enchiladas in front of Pale. They look better than the squid, but his hopes aren’t too high. When he finally musters up the courage to take a bite, he wants to spit it out right away. “These are the worst fuckin’ enchiladas I’ve ever had,” he throws down his fork. You go to remove the plate, but he grabs your wrist and pulls you to his eye level. “Look doll. I know I said I didn’t want to go into that fuckin’ kitchen, but you’re going to take me back there. Right now. Show me with the fuck you got going on.” The way his breath blows over your face and his eyes bore into you, you can’t refuse. “Oh-okay,” you stutter.

As you walk to the kitchen, Pale follows, and you can feel his gaze locked on you. And he is truly mesmerized by the way your hips swing. As soon as he crosses the threshold, he demands any and every other employee leave. “Go clean something. And don’t come back in her til’ I say so. Got it?” All life - including the cockroaches - scatters. Except for you. And him. He stalks over to you liek a wild animal. And you’re his prey. Your ass back up against the metal counter, where he cages you between his strong arms. “How’s this sweetheart. Your restaurant is disgusting, your food is even worse. This place ain’t gonna stay open another month. But you? You’re the best damn thing I’ve seen this side of the Hudson.” He steps in even closer, pressing his hot hot body to yours. “Pale, I-” your eyes drop between your bodies. You can feel the bulge in his pants, insistent on your stomach. Before you can choke out another word, his fingers are digging into your soft hips. In one swift instant motion, he lifts you to sit atop the cold counter and mashing his mouth to yours. Demanding. Hungry. You part your lips for him without protest, let his tongue slide against yours. Your fingers comb and twist into his slicked back hair. He moans and thrusts into you when your nails scratch at his scalp. A sudden burst of confidence implores your hands to move to work at undoing his jeans. But he swats you away, pinches your cheeks between his forefinger and thumb. “Nuh uh doll. You’re not ready for my big cock yet.” When you nod in agreement, he releases your face and finds your own waistband, yanking down your pants and panties at once. With those around your ankles, he spreads you open and admires your glistening cunt. “God. Are you always this wet for every Joe Blow that walks in this joint?” You can feel your face heat up at the comment, but Pale ain’t paying not attention. He’s too busy dropping to his knees and wedging himself between yours. And he wastes no time diving in. You gasp and hiccup at the sudden contact. He licks and sucks at your silky folds, drinking down everything you give him. Occasionally, his proud nose nudges your stiff clit, sending shockwaves down your spine. He grunts and pulls away with a wet pop, “Finally something edible. Finally some good fucking pussy.” Fuck he really wishes he had some coke or a cigarette or a drink, something. He’s already too worked up and he doesn’t want to wait anymore.

So he doesn’t.

Pale stands back to his full, towering height and makes quick work of his belt. He uses one hand to free himself, while he coats two fingers on the other in your slick. “Are you ready to take my big cock sweetheart?” he asks before shoving his thick digits deep into you. You inhale sharply and groan at the intrusion. “Yes Pale. Please.” He shakes his head, his dick now in his hand, where he strokes it slowly. “Nah doll. I want to hear you say it.” It takes every last brain cell not focused on the sensation of his burning hand pumping into you to find the words. “Yes - ah fuck - yes. Please fuck me. I’m ready to take your big cock.” Before you even finish your sentence, he’s lining up and thrusting into you. Hard. Deep. Your head falls back and knocks the steel service pass at the same time his cock head knocks your cervix. “Fuck. Fuck me. I like the way you beg sweetheart.” As he sets his brutal pace, the only sounds you can return are moans and whimpers and gasps. Your sounds of pleasure mix with his grunts and groans and curses and the delicious sound of bare skin smacking on bare skin. The symphony you create together bounces off pots pans plaster walls. “Fuckin’. This tight little pussy is gonna make me bust. Mmnh - fuck. Play with yourself doll. Make yourself cum. Make yourself fuckin’ cum on my cock.” You think you nod your head, but you’re not really sure. Either way, you brace your weight on one hand and use the other to draw perfect tight circles into your needy clit. The extra stimulation, added to Pales’ filthy words and steady driving driving into you, pushes you right over the edge. “Unnhh Pale. I- I’m gonna cu- I’m gonna-” “Yeah. That’s right. Cum on my cock. Cum on my cock in your dirty kitchen. Add to the mess. I’m gonna fuckin’ add to the mess. I’m gonna cum all over you. Fuck it’s disgusting in here,” he babbles and rants. You don’t even care that he’s continuing to insult your restaurant, even when he’s balls deep in you. You don’t even care because you can feel your cunt tightening around him and that ball of fire tightening around your insides. He fucks into one, two, three times more and everything explodes. You lurch forward, eyes pinched tight, cum with a shout. He follows right behind, pulling out of your still convulsing cunt, fucking his fist fast. Shooting sticky thick streams of cum onto one of your thighs, your exposed belly, and the counter. As he groans through the end of his climax, he smacks your undefiled thigh and grunts, “Shut it down doll.”

And you do.

You never enter another kitchen. Never cook another meal.

And never hear from Jimmy - Pale - again.

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

Tagging a couple other pals who expressed interest for some reason lol @direnightshade​ @poetic-solo​ @blackredrose27​ @find-me-with-orion​

#pale x you #pale x reader #pale/you #pale/reader #pale burn this #burn this broadway #adam driver #adam driver character #my writing #im so sorry

[astrogeekery]

Felt a bit stuck, writing-wise, so here’s Alfred & Kiku as grad students working late. Can be read as ship or gen! Kiku canonically hates roaches, right? :) 

Working Late (Rated G, 1174 words)

Alfred let his head fall to the desk with a resounding thud. His officemate Kiku’s typing went silent too, followed by a sigh that mirrored exactly how Alfred felt. Alfred let his head roll to the side to look at him as Kiku did his usual, measured wrist stretches. “This sucks,” Alfred noted, the words only a little garbled by his cheek smushed against his desk. 

Kiku nodded sympathetically, opening and closing his fist. 

They’d been grinding away at their laptops since the Sun was up, doing wicked cool science into the night together. Of course, ‘together’ being ‘within the same general vicinity’ of each other. Alfred studied the structures of the Universe; Kiku was all about particle physics. It was kind of funny how they couldn’t be working on more different scales—yet, there they were: same department, same office, same fascination with shit nobody understood, least of all the folks who devoted their lives to doing just that.

It seemed both of them were running on fumes, though. Mugs had long ago gone dry, the boost from some evening coffee long ago faded, their not-quite-focused-yet chatter long ago silenced by impending deadlines. It wasn’t a bad sort of tired—not like when exams were coming up. The familiarity made the quiet comfortable in an office that still smelled faintly of coffee grounds. 

Their shared office was split down the middle. On the front end of things, by the door, was Kiku’s neat and tidy space: walls bare except for a calendar, a desk with stacked notebooks, a pride flag in a pencil holder, some anime babe next to it. On the other end of things, by the window, was Alfred’s functional mess: every square inch of the walls plastered with awesome space pics and sci-fi posters. Alfred’s notes were less a ‘stack’ and more a ‘pile.’ His pride flag was stuck in the dirt shared by their adopted daughter-plant in the window, Miku III. 

And speaking of science: “My code takes forever to run,” Al complained. He straightened, then, a lightbulb flicking on. “Hey, Kiks. We could use a break, right?” He dug into his pocket, pulling out a key. “I’ve got roof access.” 

Kiku tilted his head in contemplation, but one more glance at his laptop was all it took to get him on board. “Should I bring snacks?”

“I’d be super disappointed if you didn’t.”

So then Alfred was stretching stiff legs and Kiku was kneeling to dig in his snack drawer he mainly kept around for Alfred and Alfred had just had the bright idea to stick his head out the window to see if it was clear enough to drag his telescope with them when Kiku YELLED. Alfred promptly smacked his head on the window frame while Kiku toppled backwards, scrambling away from his desk as fast as physics would let him. “DUDE, WHAT?” 

Kiku pointed at the snack drawer, speechless. Alfred approached the drawer. 

“Oh, gross.” Cockroaches scuttled along the bottom of the drawer, not too happy at being caught in their quest to raid the snack supply. Al counted five. He swiped up a bag of chips. “Fuckin’ idiots think they can get my Cheetos.” Something fell to the floor off the bag. A couple somethings, actually. Make that seven roaches. 

Kiku gasped, finding his way up onto Alfred’s chair as the cockroaches bolted across the floor, Kiku then hoisting himself onto Alfred’s desk as the rest of the gang evacuated the drawer. Al went to lean against his desk next to him, cracking open the chips, determined to stay cool about this for him. “So... I take it you don’t like roaches.”

This earned him a sideways glare. “I hate roaches.”

“Totally understandable. Still up for rooftop shenanigans?”

Wary, Kiku scanned the floor and slowly, oh-so-slowly, lowered himself down. Slowly, oh-so-slowly, he took a step toward the door. A roach then made a point of scurrying right past the door. Kiku was back on the desk in an instant, squeezing his eyes shut and shaking his head, pale as a sheet. Damn. Poor guy. “I’m sorry. I can’t...”

Alfred nodded solemnly, mind working overtime. “Looks like the bastards have us blocked in.” He looked to Kiku, silently determined to fix this. No roaches were going to mess with his friend in his office! They’d find a solution. First things first, though: “Do you wanna get out of here or do you want me to just hand you your laptop and we can take a break later...?”

“Get me out of here.” 

“We can make a break for it together,” Alfred offered. 

Kiku seemed to think it over, eyeing the space where the roaches had been before slumping, defeated. He met Alfred’s eyes. “I… Alfred, I hate roaches, I…”

“Bro.” Alfred looked him dead in the eye, putting the Cheetos down and everything. Full serious mode. “I will hold your hand if you need me to.”

Kiku scoffed, “Please, Alfred, I still have some dignity.” 

“Ain’t nothing wrong with holding my hand!”

Kiku crossed his arms, resolute. “Your hand will not keep disgusting vermin from… crawling on me.” 

“Fair enough. I could…” Hmm. Well? How do you get a guy out the door with dignity, while dodging the six-legged evening inhabitants of their office? Al had an idea. He really didn’t think Kiku would like it, though. “I could… carry you? Out the door?” 

Sure enough, Kiku made a face. 

Then he got to thinking again. And judging by how Kiku suddenly looked ready to faint, Alfred guessed another roach scuttled along behind him. Kiku gauged the distance to the door, and Alfred would bet anything they were thinking the same thing: no one else was around but them. Kiku swallowed hard before: “Fine.”

Alfred’s heart soared. “I swear I won’t drop you.”

It was probably physically painful for Kiku not to roll his eyes, but he eased himself up onto his knees on Alfred’s desk. Alfred stared at Kiku. Kiku stared at Alfred. “Well?” Kiku prompted first. 

Some clambering and oof’s and unhappy looks later, Alfred got his friend into his arms—bridal style—Kiku’s legs over his arm, Kiku’s arm around his shoulder. “Kiku, dude, your skin looks fantastic this close.” 

“Please shut up.”

“You’re pretty light, too! We should do this more often.”

“I’ll think about it. For now, though, if you please…”

“On it, bro.” 

Like a superhero in a comic book, like a firefighter in an action film, like some beefy guy on a romance novel cover, Alfred carried his friend over the threshold of their office, safe at last from bugs. “You good?” he wanted to confirm before letting him down. “Or are we going to the roof?”

“Some fresh air sounds nice after that…” Kiku breathed a sigh of relief. He averted eye contact. “Thank you, Alfred.”

“Anytime!” Alfred readjusted him in his arms—readying for the trek to the stairs—when Kiku made an indignant noise. 

“Alfred, I meant I’d go to the roof with you, not carry me there! Put me down!” 

“Oooooh!”

#ameripan #aph america #aph japan #hetalia #hws #my writing #queerplatonic ameripan #amepan

[huntingbounties]

    “Fuck me,” he groaned, leaning back into his pile of pillows. His arm strained to lay limp on the bed, his fingers curling to the ceiling underneath their bandages. They were fresh, just changed after two days of letting them degrade far too long. He redid his left leg, his stomach, and his right thigh. 

     He didn’t kill her. She didn’t kill him. Somewhere, an orphanage was turned to ash because of him. Did they get everyone out in time? Was anyone forgotten or trapped, losing their life because he somehow survived once again like the cockroach he was. 

      Every second felt like another thought was bubbling up into his head, ready to shatter out as the pressure built more and more. His jaw trembled and his good arm dug his nails into a pillow before slinging it at the far wall of his room. His hand was unsteady, the fingers twitching before it twisted over and grabbed at his blanket. 

     Nothing from the burner. It’d been a few hours since he’d sent them some lies, and nothing came back. A dead end, as far as he knew. Why couldn’t he be smart enough to pull out all the puzzle pieces like everyone else did? Why couldn’t he fucking help anyone in this? Time and time again, he ruined every fucking situation.

     He flung his head into the pillows as if to put himself out for the night and to finally get a second of rest, but it didn’t come. 

      “I just want to fuckin’ bash my skull with a stone at this point. Be a better use of my brain than what I’m doing now.”

#drabble #night time

[pinnithin-writes]

Good Jokes

Chapter 10

Tommy wandered Black Mesa for what felt like days.

It couldn’t have been days; his hands were still sticky with rust and he hadn’t gone far from where -

Where that happened.

He didn’t feel like he even had permission to mourn. Tommy barely knew Gordon - had known him for maybe 72 hours max - but he had grown so important so rapidly that his absence punched a hole straight through Tommy’s torso. He couldn’t shake the sense of loss, how bitterly unfair it all was.

To have someone be such an almost. An almost friend. An almost lover. Never having gotten close enough to be allowed to miss him.

This was not to mention the overwhelming sense of guilt that had crawled inside his lungs. If he had been quicker, if his judgment were sharper, he could have prevented this. If he had been strong enough to break free of whatever bound him. If he had paid greater mind to his father’s warning.

Tommy drifted, heavy with regret as he glided through the halls like a spectre. Shackled down by should-haves. What did he do now? What was there left to do, when the world was fucked and the only person who gave a shit about it was dead?

The room he wound up in was cavernous, ringed with a toxic neon glow. Appropriate mood lighting, he thought wryly to himself as he stood in the shadow of a massive cistern. It was strange, standing there, saturated by radioactive waste, almost-grieving an almost-lover. Would have been nice if not for the cockroaches.

Would have been nice if Benrey wasn’t there, too.

Tommy felt his presence as soon as he appeared, unpeeling from thin air and hanging his elbows over the edge of the cistern. Looking all the world like a kid at a pool party. Tommy watched him materialize and felt something dark settle in the pit of his stomach.

“Hey,” Benrey drawled nonchalantly.

Tommy didn’t have the patience for pleasantries. He was going to set this guy on fire. As he raised his hand toward him, the entity blurted the only thing that could have possibly saved him.

“Dude, he’s alive.” His voice was pained, as if he were already feeling the blood boiling in his own veins. “Chill.”

He released his hold on the atoms that made up the entity’s body as hope lodged a painful lump in his throat. Benrey sagged with relief while Tommy took a thoughtful step back, eyeing him warily. His hand was still lifted in a threat.

“Where is he?” he demanded coldly.

Benrey threw his careless exterior back on once he was sure he wasn’t about to be immolated on the spot. He gave a narrow shrug. “I don’t fuckin’ know. On the move somewhere. Last I checked he wasn’t in the garbage anymore.”

The garbage. They had tossed him in the garbage. Tommy wanted to kill this guy all over again. He clamped down on that impulse, instead uttering a single, perfunctory syllable.

“Why?”

“Probably because he didn’t wanna be in the garbage anymore.”

“Why,” Tommy tried again, barely containing his anger, “did you do that to him?”

Benrey began picking at his cuticles lazily, rolling his eyes so he wouldn’t have to meet Tommy’s gaze. “I dunno. He was getting boring.”

“I don’t believe you.”

When Benrey showed him his teeth, it was more of a snarl than a smile. “Your problem, bro.”

Tommy was about to grill the entity, in both the physical and metaphorical sense, when a scuffling sound echoed from a pipe on the opposite wall. He turned, tempted to dismiss it as another alien, but a heavy thud followed, and a very human groan came shortly after. Benrey’s mouth turned into a knife as he leered at Tommy.

“Huh. Maybe he’s not so boring after all.”

Tommy turned back to face him, his stare hard and dangerous. “I’m going to kill you and then I’m going to kill you again.”

“Hurts, man,” Benrey said, but he was delighted. “Just like old times.” He dangled his arms over the edge of the cistern, grinning cheekily. “I missed this.”

The noise from the pipe was growing louder. The person inside - and he had a pretty fucking good guess who - was clearly in a lot of pain. Tommy’s heart squeezed just hearing it.

“Get out,” he told Benrey.

The entity smiled his shark’s teeth smile. “Make me.”

Tommy did. Clapped his hands together and slammed Benrey into the same pocket dimension he’d trapped that shithead soldier in only a day ago. His patience was nonexistent, his self control barely hanging on. Go have a time out in the void.  It was a kinder punishment than the entity deserved.

He stood there, watching the space where Benrey had disappeared from, for several long seconds. Then he turned and strode across the room to watch the dead come back to life.

The relief that surged through Tommy upon seeing Gordon Freeman crawl out of that drain was so sudden and powerful it knocked the breath out of him. He was alive. He was alive. God, he was alive. Tommy could only stare, gaze catching mournfully when he noticed he was short a hand.

“Hey!” Gordon shouted hoarsely. He sounded terrible, like he had been dragged for three miles from the back of a moving van. Looked as much, too - he was covered in a horrible smear of his own blood and whatever sludge had been at the bottom of the trash compactor. A crack spiderwebbed across his glasses. Tommy felt awful, seeing him like that.

Gordon was still calling his name like it was the only word he knew. “He - Tom - Tommy! Tommy, up here! It’s me! Tommy.”

Tommy smiled sadly up at him. “Hello, Mr. Freeman.”

“Are you - are you here to fuckin’ kill me?” he demanded, and the fear in his words broke Tommy’s heart. “Did they tell you to finish me off? Please, please tell me-”

“No,” he interrupted him before Gordon’s voice could get any more distraught. “They tricked me.”

“What? Oh... god.” Gordon slid unceremoniously out of the pipe and onto the floor. Tommy took a step forward retroactively, but paused when he caught the nervous look Gordon threw at him. He didn’t know if he could trust Tommy. Hell, he didn’t know if he could trust anybody .

Keeping his distance took a great deal of effort, but Tommy managed.

Gordon groaned. “Oh, my fucking arm.” He staggered to his feet, clutching the stump where his hand used to be. He returned his gaze to Tommy’s face, studying him warily. “Hey buddy,” he ventured. “What are they-what did they do to you?”

What did they do to me? Tommy wanted to ask. What did they do to you, you half-dead, waterlogged, survivor of a man? He bit the inside of his cheek and looked away, joking to calm his nerves.

“Um, they gave me a Beyblade.”

Gordon paused, ignoring the jest as he puzzled over Tommy’s situation. “In exchange for - for going with them? Why are you - th - did they leave you behind?”

“Yeah,” Tommy answered. He turned his eyes back to Gordon, utterly loathing himself. “I ran away.”

Gordon, however, relaxed visibly at this. “Oh my god,” he sighed, and then he didn’t approach so much as he pitched forward, unsteady on his feet as he was from blood loss. Tommy caught him, pulling him in close. The armor of his suit dug into his chest but he hardly cared, arms clasped tightly around Gordon as if he would slip through his fingers if he let go.

The other man sagged against him, barely able to stand. “Thank you, man,” he breathed. “Honestly.”

Tommy supported him, tucking his chin into the crook of his shoulder. He smelled like sweat and weeks of garbage and the awful tang of alien guts. Ironic that the first time he got to hold him like this was in a pit of toxic waste. Tommy would find it funny if Gordon wasn’t rapidly losing blood.

He smirked into his neck, drawing out the bit despite everything. “They took the Beyblade back though, Mr. Freeman.”

Gordon exhaled through his nose in a weak, silent laugh. “Oh,” he said. “Would you go back if they gave you another Beyblade?”

Tommy took a step back, steadying Gordon with both hands on his shoulders, checking him for further injury. Other than the gaping fucking hole where his hand used to be, he was purpled with welts from the beating he took. There was no telling what kind of head trauma he had - the man could barely stand upright on his own. But he was alive, alive, alive, and that was better than Tommy had allowed himself to hope for.

He was going to shred Benrey for this. Him and Bubby both. If they wanted to play god, he’d step up to the plate and take a swing. Hot, angry tears suddenly sprang to his eyes, and he pulled back, blinking them rapidly away.

“I know, that’s hard to think about,” Gordon broke in gently. “That’s a good - that’s a good deal.”

He was still playing off his stupid Beyblade joke. Tommy gave him a watery smile and swiped at his eyes with the heels of his hands, wondering what had compelled the universe to gift him with this wonderful man twice over. He glanced back at Gordon’s ruined arm, making another lame attempt at levity.

“Oh my god,” he said sarcastically. “You don’t have a hand.”

Gordon chuckled mirthlessly as he examined his own wound. “I know. I know.” He sucked in a painful breath. “Oh, god.”

“How are you going to… write?”

“That’s the least of my concerns,” he answered, suddenly serious. “I’d like to live. And get out of here.” He cast a curious look around the room. “Where the hell are we? Are we back in the nuclear reactor?”

Tommy was still fixated on the hand thing. Maybe he could pull some strings with time and space. Call in a few favors. It would be tricky, but he felt somewhat responsible for the wound’s existence at all. The least he could do was find a way to reverse it.

“We can get you a new hand, but not in this room,” he said thoughtfully.

That caught Gordon’s attention. “A prosthetic?”

“This room has too many creatures in it,” Tommy went on, wrinkling his nose in particular at the cockroaches. “It doesn’t look sanitary.”

“Do you have any medical experience?”

“No,” Tommy answered honestly. His complicated relationship with mortality made first aid knowledge a low priority. He briefly thought back to what he’d read online. Was this a tourniquet situation? Was he bleeding enough to need one of those?

Gordon cast around for even a miniscule sense of relief. “D’you have any pills?” he asked. “You have like maybe an ibuprofen or an Advil?” He tried to laugh, but it came out more like a thin sob. “It hurts, man. It hurts a lot.”

Guilt closed around Tommy’s throat. All this power at his fingertips and he couldn’t ease Gordon’s pain even a little.

“I only have soda,” he admitted, too drained to make it humorous. “We should get going.”

Moving to support the man’s unsteady weight, Tommy reached for his elbow. If he could get him through the facility quickly enough, he’d make it. Gordon Freeman wouldn't die here. Tommy wouldn’t let him.

“Yeah, probably not gonna be in herewait wait wait, don’t go anywhere.” Gordon yanked away from Tommy, wincing as he did so, and fixed him with a critical look. “I need - we need to talk a little bit more.”

Tommy tried to meet his eyes, but he couldn’t pull his gaze away from the bleeding end of his arm as it slowly dripped scarlet onto the floor. The longer they stood here talking the less time he had to live. He waited wordlessly.

“So - enough - okay, I’m gonna trust - I’m gonna trust that you... are go - I trust-” Gordon shook his head, starting over. “Can I trust you, Tommy?”

He lifted his gaze and gave Gordon a heavy stare. “Yes.” It was not even a question. He had chosen Gordon. He wasn’t about to lose him again.

“Are we good together?”

God, Tommy hoped so.

---

He guided Gordon through the obstacle course from hell, answering his constant slew of questions as best as he could without breaking his brain. Tommy wanted to shush him - the more he spoke the quicker he would bleed out - but he suspected that the constant talking grounded him somewhat, so he spoke to him gently in reply.

Gordon’s thoughts had turned the tap on and his mouth was a faucet of words. He was steadily losing hope; it leaked out of him like the blood from his stump, his sanity going with it.

Tommy needed to keep him alert and engaged. He murmured into his ear as he carried him through Black Mesa, reassurances and stories and the shittiest jokes he could think of. I’m here. I’m here. You’re safe. You’re safe. Stay with me.

“Look,” he told him as they leapt unsteadily over a pathway of stones. “That rock you’re standing on looks like Tibet.”

It was a delayed response, but he saw Gordon’s shoulders shake as he snickered. “Showing off your geography skills even in the worst of times, huh?”

Good. They were still good. Tommy turned, continuing to lead.

They kept moving.

Emerging on the other side of a network of pipes, they were met with a room clustered with vats of waste, each one slowly pressed by a hydraulic plate. Tommy, struck once again by the utter ridiculousness that made up this backwards facility, snorted with derision. Beside him, however, Gordon staggered, looking crestfallen.

“It’s okay, Mr. Freeman,” Tommy muttered as he studied the presses. “I think you’ll be fine - this room is OSHA approved.”

Gordon managed to scrape together a response. “To code? To code, like you said?”

Tommy turned his attention to the man beside him. He was weary and haggard, too exhausted to smile, but humor glittered behind the lenses of his glasses as he stared back at him. The fondness flowering in Tommy’s ribs threatened to suffocate him.

He was going to get Gordon out of this nightmare and then he was going to date the hell out of him. Maybe even marry him. Become a second father to his stock photo son. Apocalypse be damned.

They kept moving.

Their path led them through darkened hallways and more vats of sludge. Where was all this shit coming from? Gordon had slipped into the substance a few times already, and was rapidly growing delirious, his words stringing out incoherently. Tommy was just beginning to wonder what it would take to physically remove the toxins from his veins without removing all of his blood in the process when Gordon caught him with another question.

“Did you hear anything else?” he asked, referring to the event that rendered him handless.

Tommy crouched thoughtfully in the dark as he gripped his rifle. “Screams after that,” he said. Even remembering the sound sent a chill through him. “But… I think that I - I also screamed.”

He could just barely see Gordon’s face in the glow of the flashlight beam reflecting off the tunnel walls. A worried little crease had formed between his eyebrows, and Tommy resisted the urge to reach out and smooth it over with his thumb. Gordon didn’t need to waste his energy on concern over him. They had a bigger, more blood-related problem right now.

Gordon didn’t ask him anything after that, so Tommy didn’t answer.

They kept moving.

Tommy would be happy if he never had to swim again. The pressing sheet metal walls and the smell of raw sewage had kind of ruined the experience for him. He hauled Gordon through the water, coercing a current to propel them along.

Gordon chuckled softly as he allowed himself to be carried. “You ever tried to swim with one arm?” he asked.

Tommy rolled his eyes and rewarded him with a smirk.

“It ain’t easy.”

He appreciated the levity, and the fact that Gordon could tell how uncomfortable Tommy was - enough, at least, to crack a joke on his behalf. It was beginning to get to him: the scent of blood and shit and the slimy water sloughing around him and the dead weight of Gordon on his arm and the harsh industrial lighting searing his eyes and -- Tommy wanted to hit pause and catch his breath, it was all so much. But he had to get Gordon out of here first. He had to make sure he was safe.

Tommy pressed on, pulling the man under a submerged barricade and breaking through on the other side. Stopping to rest was not an option. He had anticipated that this would be a hard journey and had steeled himself accordingly.

He did not, however, anticipate the clones.

Chapter 9 <-----> Chapter 11

#ink #fanfiction #good jokes #part of my endeavor to relocate all my ao3 work #blood #amputation #hlvrai