#next chapter there will be actual espionage | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

themotherofhorses · 2 years ago

Note

Hi author first of wanted to say I love your work !

I'm not sure if you take requests so if you don't feel free to delete this 💛

Modern spy Aemond x naive reader [ Aemond meets her when he's on a mission and becomes obsessed with her how can someone be so sweet and innocent !? He just has to have her also baby trapping and smut if you're comfortable writing it ]

follow me now, and you will not regret (leaving the life you led before we met)

pairing: modern spy!aemond targaryen x naive!reader

warnings: explicit language. stalking. very much nsfw smut. once again, aemond is an obsessive and pussywhipped little bitch with zero thoughts within his pretty knocker. manipulation. innocence kink. breeding kink/baby trapping at the end.

notes: hi, yes, this is me coursing through uncharted and absolutely fucking rough waters in some attempt to spice up my usual smut writing style

(aka me practicing for the next chapter of my modern series)

masterlist

A career life built solely around espionage (or a sort of black shadow warfare mixed with cold combat) came dirty, bloody, and uncertain.

Or, at least, that was what Aemond “The One-Eyed White Death” Targaryen would tell himself on the daily, in some attempt at justifying the ends to the means. Really, this entire situation could have been a lot worse, he thought- after all, the lives of countless innocent civilians could have been caught within his crosshairs. He hated when that happened; it was always so messy, and came with heavy and boring paperwork.

However, that was not the case this time, thankfully.

It was only one innocent civilian in his hands, and she was still safe and sound.

Aemond had never meant to stick around the city for so long, having other missions queued up after this one, but fuck…you were perfect. Godsent, the prettiest and most delicious slice of heaven above, and he did not consider himself a godly man, nowhere near in the slightest. The gods loathed his type, he knew, and never hesitated in casting them all down to the pits of hell.

But you…

He had met you during the mission, while stuck undercover at some random little café on the corner street. The boss sent him to stake out some old-money and big-named crime mobster that was allegedly dealing weapons and various drugs under the noses of local law enforcement, a suspect on their “Most Wanted” board. And you- well, you were tucked away in a small booth, hunched over two thick college textbooks while multiple paper assignments laid strewed across the table top, so unaware of his presence sitting tables away on the other side of the room.

Gods, you were absolutely gorgeous, he thought. So fucking pretty, with those eyelashes and charm bracelet and focused look on your face. It made him forget all about his original mission. Fuck that, he has a new one now. And there was the cutest pout on your pink and glossy lips that made his cock harden, despite not having the faintest clue on what your name could be.

(That itself was no concern of his, he could find it out later in the evening. And he eventually did.)

You were there at the café the following day, and the day after that. Always with your head in those damn school books, his pretty and dutiful schoolgirl. The sight made him chuckle, and smile, and fill with the strongest urge to ruin you completely with his mouth, and fingers, and cock. On the fifth day, he finally decided to step up to your table, interrupting your usual study schedule with a shy smile and your favorite drink in hand, as well as a chocolate chip cookie.

“I- uh, I hope you don’t mind, miss,” he said, feigning bashfulness, “but I’ve seen you around everyday for this past week and thought, maybe, you wouldn’t mind being friends? I’m new in town, actually…and- well, I don’t know a lot of people around here…” he added, watching your pretty eyes widen.

And, fuck, your lips were glossy again, and he stood there (like a complete idiot) wondering what flavor they could possibly taste like.

Cherries?

Strawberries? Blueberries?

Maybe mimosa or peppermint patties?

“Oh, well, of course! I don’t mind whatsoever,” you replied cheerfully, rousing butterflies in Aemond’s stomach. “I’d be happy to be your friend,” and you patted at the spot next to yours, slugging away your tote bag and books so that he could sit down, and you could introduce yourself.

Hook, line, and sinker.

Aemond became your friend, first. The easiest way to manipulate your unsuspecting victims? Through trust and friendships, per the teachings of his old childhood mentors back at the academy. Throughout the next month, he bought you hot chocolate and matcha tea lattes, joined you in quick lunch dates, insisted on driving you to your college classes, and went with you to the little bookstores scattered across the city. It was fun…and torturous- utter torment and near physical agony- because all he wanted to do was fuck your pretty pussy until you could no longer remember your name and your cunt was to the shape of his own cock.

He would sit beside you in the café booth, listening as you drone on and on about your favorite, most passionate subjects, all while trying to desperately hide the boner in his jeans and rid his mind of such dirty thoughts and fantasies. There was no use, though. Aemond was fucked, too addicted and obsessed.

He wanted you, now and forever.

But that was not the worst part. The worst part was that you had not the smallest clue of what you were doing to him. You were just his sweet companion, his dear friend, too innocent and naïve to both the world and the waking beast deep within him.

He often followed you back home, to that tiny apartment near the college. Aemond swore it was because he wanted to make sure you were safe and protected from any of his enemies, anyone daring to steal you away from him, but he knew it was more due to the chances of seeing you undress and shower and decide which nightie you would wear to bed. And, sometimes, he got treated to his sweet girl trying to touch herself. It was so cute, so endearing, to watch you slip a hand between your thighs only to pause because you had no idea of what to do, and how to fuck your own fingers inside your cunt until you came.

Poor, sweet girl of mine, Aemond shook his head, tutting. Alone and in need.

How could someone so pretty, such a fucking cock-tease, be so innocent and untouched, so stupid and unknowing to everything sexual?

It did not make any sense to him.

Maybe you were made for him, and only him, and this was the gods’ gentle way of telling him to change his ways before it was too late. Leave behind this career of his, wash away all the red staining his ledger and hang up his callsign, all so he can start a family with you. The family he needs, the one he deserves.

Yes, he thought, that makes more sense. You need him the same way he needs you.

And, really, who was he to ignore the gods above? Aemond himself was no godly man, it was not in the nature of a spy like him- but for you, perhaps the fates might allow it.

Two months later, after a dinner date, Aemond has you pressed against your apartment’s door, his mouth frantically devouring yours in a fervent and wet kiss. It has been so long, so torturous, weeks after weeks of constant late-night jerking off to your pretty pictures and those blue-laced panties he managed to slip from your bedroom that one afternoon and pretending that all he wants to be is your friend.

You are so beautiful, so stunning, especially within this very moment, chest heaving out heavy breaths while you peer up at him as if he is a god.

He grabs at your face, a rough grip on your chin. “Tell me you want it tonight,” he demands, his lips near your ear. You shiver and clutch at his arms, so close to melting into nothing but putty in his hands. “Want what, Aemond?” you ask innocently, batting your dark eyelashes up at him. Fucking cock-tease. He chuckles while trailing light kisses along your jawline and down your neckline, mouthing at your nape and clavicle. You mewl at the feeling. “Please- please, don’t stop…”

“Do my kisses feel good, baby?”

“Yes,” you sigh out, tangling your fingers within his silver hair, “it feels amazing.”

He smirks. “It will feel a whole lot better in a little while, I promise you, sweet girl. But I need to ask…do you trust me?” You nod frantically, leaning up to kiss his lips. “Of course, Aemond. You are my dearest friend! I trust no one more than you.” Aemond just laughs at your words, yearning so badly to tell you that- by the end of the night- your cute ass will no longer be ‘just his friend’ but something much more, definitely.

But where is the fun in that?

“Good, good. Just relax and enjoy everything, okay?”

Aemond then pushes you back against the door, quickly slipping off the pretty floral top you wore and groaning at how your lacy bra cupped your breasts perfectly. Where have you been all my life? He thinks while snaking his hands around your back to unhook your brace and toss it somewhere over his shoulder, too busy salivating over your free and ample breasts and perky nipples.

“Fuck, look at you…so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles, kneading at your breasts. You stiffen, flushing under his heavy gaze before moving to cover yourself up, feeling a little self-conscious. Aemond shakes his head, gently tugging your hands back to your side. “No, don’t you dare cover yourself up, baby. Not in front of me.” His fingers pinch your nipple, cause your back to arch. “I’ll never understand why no one has ever devoured this pretty body. Gods, look at these tits. You’re so beautiful, baby, a fucking wet dream come true. Mmm, yeah, bet they’ll taste delicious,” and he wraps his lips around a nipple, sucking it into his mouth.

You’re delicious here, and Aemond knows you will be even more down there. His poor cock, still tucked inside his pants, feels like it is weeping, too impatient and irritated and ready to ruin you. His hand slides down your belly to rest on your hipbones and thighs, fingers ghosting around your panties.

“Ohhh…” you gasp out, biting at your bottom lips when his hand slips in.

“Fuuckk,” he drawls out against your breast, thrusting a finger into your wet cunt. “Gods, you’re so fucking wet down here. Absolutely soaking, poor baby.” Aemond strokes your slit a few times before rubbing your clit with his thumb, hearing the way you whine and shake at his actions. “I can’t wait to be inside you, fucking you till all you can think about is me.” He continues his thrusting, watching how your pretty face scrunches in sheer pleasure.

“Are you enjoying this, baby?” he asks, humming. “Do you want me down there tongue-fucking you? Hmm? Oh, wait, my sincere apologies, pretty girl, you probably don’t even know what that means.”

You moan, loud and high-pitched, teeth still chewing on your bottom lip. At your silence, he spanks your ass, causing you to lurch up with a massive gasp. “Use your fucking words, sweetheart. I don’t care for silence, especially from you.”

The more you remain quiet, he thinks, the more spanks you’ll receive.

Eventually, you fling your head back, bumping it against the door. “Okay, yes! Please! Please, Aemond…!”

Grinning, Aemond stands up and draws his lips back to your ear, saying slowly, “Spread those legs then, baby girl, right now.” When you do so, he sinks down to his knees, both hands gently clutching your thighs, “Yeah, that is a good girl. My pretty, good girl of mine.” He moves his face to the front of your pussy, “Can you feel my breath against this pretty clit? Are you waiting for me to devour this pussy? Tongue-fuck you until you’re a stupid little mess? Tell me, baby.”

He then blows against your wetness, ignoring how you jolt hard at the feel. And I’m not taking no for an answer,” he adds before slinging a leg over his shoulder.

“Oh gods, yes, please,” you whine, jerking your hips up against his face. Aemond slaps your asscheeks hard- once, twice, three, four times. “Beg, my pretty baby. C’mon, I know you can do it. Beg for my tongue, beg like you mean it, you stupid and horny little slut.” Your eyebrows furrow at his words and you whimper. “Don’t be mean to me…” you whisper, trying to blink away tears.

Aemond raises an eyebrow. “Oh, you thought that, because this is your first time, I would be nice? My sweet summer girl, you teased me enough these past several months, and I’m done playing nice. Now, tell me you want this. Tell me you want me to claim this pussy as mine.”

Your wanton cries are everything he needs in this life, he soon realizes. If he can spend the rest of his days with his face buried deep between your thighs, he swears he’ll die a happy and satisfied man. The way his name glides off your tongue is incredibly, completely wonderful, and his mind fills with various fantasies and all the positions he will soon have you in, helpless and dripping like a whore in heat.

His pretty whore, forever and always.

“Fuck, baby, who am I to deny you such?” Aemond buries his face between your trembling thighs, inhaling your mouth-watering scent one final time before slipping his tongue inside your wet folds. “You taste so fucking good, baby- shit, you’re leaking all over my face,” he moans amid long licks, fucking you both with his tongue and fingers.

“Oh, gods! Oh- oh- oh…!” You shriek, both legs buckling as your hands clench into tight fists. All of your little moans and whimpers, those pathetic pleas and begs, they all send more blood rushing to his cock. You don’t recognize the early grave you’re digging at, too overtaken by the pleasure.

“So fucking tight against my fingers. How the hell will you take my cock, baby? Fuck, I’m going to destroy you.”

You moan again, in such a loud and lustful cry that causes his resolve to only weaken faster.

“Oh! Oh, Aemond, this feels so good! Please- please, don’t ever stop,” you wail, fat tears gushing down your cheeks. This pleasure, it is a feeling like nothing before, not even coming close to those few times you made some sad and futile attempt to touch yourself, too confused on how to deal with those strange tummy butterflies that seemingly hatched from their cocoons the day you meant Aemond.

How thankful you are that you met him.

Your body squirms every couple seconds, only to wince when he spanks your ass hard again.

“Shut the fuck up,” Aemond hisses without venom. He is too much in love with you for poison. “Do you wish for your neighbors to know that I’m fucking you right now? What would they think? The pretty and sweet girl that lives here, too innocent and naïve for this damn world, letting a man eat her out like a whore.”

You shake your head again, eyes puffy and red from all the tears. “N-no, Aemond…” you stutter out.

Aemond pauses his fingers, now curious to see how far he could go with this new type of torture. But it is not long, though, before you buckle against his hand, your bruised and swollen chest pushing up with stiffened nipples. And your body, it soon tightens as your flustered face screws up in that telltale sign that you are only seconds away from cumming. The scene is beautiful, very much so, and he feels pride that it is all from his own doing.

Yet he drags himself back up on his feet, removing his fingers from your cunt before you could cum. Perhaps it is a bit too cruel on his part, but Aemond could care less; he wants you to cum on his cock for your first time.

There will be many more times of this, he wants to reassure you. He doesn’t, though.

You’ll find out on your own time.

You gaze at him through bleak and narrowed eyes as he unbuttons his pants and shoves them down to his ankles. “You poor, poor little thing,” he tuts, running a gentle hand through your damp hair, “-are you tired? You look tired, but from what? You didn’t even cum once!” He pats your cheek, “Don’t worry, my sweet girl, you’re about to. Can’t tell you how many times, but it’ll be a lot.”

And Aemond does not wait for your response, instead snatching your hand and pressing it against his boxers. “Can you feel that, baby? That is my cock. Can you feel how hard it is? You did this, you made me so fucking hard that it hurts.” He clicks his tongue, shaking his head, “Now, that is not very nice, is it? No, no, no it is not. I thought you were a sweetheart…” He shoves your hand back, ignoring the small tears that gather in your eyes again.

“I’m sorry,” you croak, wiping them away. “I didn’t mean to hurt you, Aemond! Please don’t be mad at me…please, how can I help you? I’ll do anything,” you pout as you watch him slip down his boxers. Your teary eyes grow as wide as dinner plates, and your breath hitches. It is so sexy to him, eating away at the little self-control he is trying to maintain.

You’re a virgin, he reminds himself. Soft and easy, my baby deserves that.

“Shhh, baby,” Aemond rasps out, cupping your face within his hand. He kisses your nose, cheeks, and forehead before finding your lips. “I’m not mad, really, my sweet girl. I know you meant no harm, you’re too sweet and good for that,” and he holds your face against him while readying to fuck you with his cock. He can feel your short pants, the little breaths you take, and how you shudder whenever his clammy skin meets yours.

“Relax your body, baby girl, don’t tense up. It will hurt less…good girl, that’s my good girl.”

Nice and slow, he chants as he slowly sinks into your cunt, groaning at the tightness, slow and nice. You whimper, eyes rolling back as begins his thrusts, slow and easy. I’m a gentleman.

Mother made me promise to be a gentleman.

I’m a gentleman. I’m a gentleman. I’m a gentleman.

But the look you are giving him, with your lips pink and puffy from the shit ton of kisses and bites, and the way your pussy clenches around his cock…it is causing him to forget all about how his mother indeed made him promise to be nothing short but a gentleman.

You’re too pretty for him not to devour, and…well, were you not made for him? The gods created you with the purpose of him eventually finding and caring for you, the way it should’ve always been- the way it will be for now on. His one good eye (the one those stupid bastards left alone back at the academy) watches as you shake and quiver and mewl out the sweetest and yummiest little moans.

The way you are right now, you’re just begging to be made into a new mother, and his mind goes insane at the sudden image of you heavy with his children, huffy and sore and always exhausted. It is delicious to think about. Aemond- truthfully- never really thought about kids, constantly busy with the espionage lifestyle and the back-to-back missions, but you…oh, he knows that, after tonight, you’ll have no choice but to remain by his side as the baby grows, needing him to protect and provide and shower you with love and affection.

He’ll be the best husband and father, and you his good girl- his precious slice of normality.

The way it should be, the way it will be.

It is half a year later that Aemond “The One-Eyed White Death” Targaryen finally connects back with his boss through a phone call.

Before that, he dropped off the grid, returning no calls and messages and signals, leaving everyone behind at the headquarters confused, concerned, and scratching their heads as to why their finest agent suddenly vanished without a trace.

He was not dead- they knew that. He was just…gone.

“What happened, agent?” The director asks, fiddling with his pen while another agent of his attempts to get some kind of reading on him. No luck; Aemond made himself untraceable. “Are you hurt, Aemond? Did someone threaten you? You left after I assigned you that mobster and- well, we assumed the worst, son.”

Aemond chuckles, shaking his head. “No, boss, do not worry about me," he says, "I’m good. Very good, in fact, the happiest I’ve ever been in my life, one might say.”

He leans against the doorway, arms crossing over his chest as he watches you flip through a baby store catalog and marvel at all the products they have for sale- the finest baby strollers, a variety of cribs, bassinets, and swing sets, and the cutest little animal plushies and clothing.

“Frankly, boss, I just grew tired of the spy life.”

“Is that so? And pray tell what you are now, Aemond One Eye.”

He smiles, eyeing your baby bump and how you are utterly glowing. “I’m a family man.”

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond targaryen x modern!reader #aemond targaryen x you #modern!aemond #dark aemond targaryen #aemond smut #aemond targaryen #aemond one eye #aemond the kinslayer #house of the dragon #house of the dragon imagine #hotd fanfic #request #vic writes 🧸

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writeforfandoms · 1 year ago

Text

Waking Lions 4

Find the series masterlist

You learn some things, do Laswell a favor, and run into Captain again. This is becoming a bad habit.

Speech in italics is Russian, this chapter.

Warnings: Swearing, aftermath of violence, vague threat from terrorist, MW2019 typical Russians, blood, injury (not to reader), spy shit.

Word count: 2k

Serious slow burn John Price x f!reader

You discovered the plot on accident. Really.

It was just… one of those things.

Sergio had invited you to stay for a few days and play with his girls, so you did. You brought them gifts from Turkey, California, and Scotland (you’d had a layover and had gotten bored in the airport).

The girls were darling, and you’d known them both all their lives. You would never, ever marry Sergio (not least because of his obsession with the next future ex-wife) but you loved his kids. Sophia and Natalia. For a while, when you’d initially started building this relationship, you’d helped tutor Sophia.

Now, you played with the girls and helped to keep them out of trouble and helped with their homework. You were more or less the weird aunt they saw every once in a while, and that worked for you.

The girls were asleep, but you’d been unable to sleep yourself. So you got up, figuring you’d have a little snack or some water and wander a bit.

Except wandering may not have been the best idea.

Low voices from a sitting room had you on alert, and you moved as quietly as you knew how, creeping closer.

“...perfect bait for them,” someone was saying in Russian. Not Sergio. You didn’t recognize this voice, actually.

“Why do you want to capture one of them?” That was Sergio, sounding vaguely disgusted. “More of a risk this way, no?”

“You are short-sighted,” the first speaker said. Well, he was definitely above Sergio, then. “Capturing an operative will give us an edge.”

There was a beat of silence. “Still sounds risky,” Sergio grumbled. “But it is your will, so we will see it done. When will you set the bait?”

“It has been set already,” the leader said, sounding smug. “I let information leak about the gas storage, so the Americans will know of it by now. We will be ready this time.”

Well. That was fucked.

There were days when the back and forth espionage shit got on your last nerve.

“To a successful hunt, then,” Sergio offered, the gentle clinking of glasses following his words.

You might be able to hear more if you stayed… But you also ran the risk of discovery. And that would end poorly for you.

Bullet in the head kind of poorly.

So you snuck away back up to your room, debating the best way to alert Laswell. Text was risky, but a call would be more risky, especially here. You couldn’t wait until morning, just in case people were already en route. And since you didn’t have a location…

You puffed out a breath, walking into the en suite and shutting the door. There was no easy way to do this, and you didn’t trust Sergio not to have bugs planted in the bathroom. So you hummed to yourself as you typed out a quick text.

Gas a trap for info. Advise abort.

There. That was… not your best work, admittedly, but you were a bit strapped for time. It got your point across.

And, really, if someone managed to get hold of your text records, you had more things to worry about than the wording of a single text.

She replied two minutes later. Copy. Send updates.

You puffed out a breath. She was so lucky you liked her. (And that you were indebted to her still for her help.)

Turning the shower on, you decided maybe a bit of hot water would help you relax enough to get to sleep.

You were very glad you had the girls as an excuse to be out of the house for the fallout of the failed mission. Sergio didn’t tell you anything, but the blooming black eye spoke for him.

You stayed another week, mostly because the girls pleaded with you to stay. But a little bit because you were curious and wanted to see if you could hear anything else. When that ended up being futile, you booked a flight to Morocco.

Because why not.

The plan was to touch base with someone you knew who had fingers in shipping pies. (Seriously, the woman was an absolute master. She could get anything anywhere in the world, for the right price.) And, of course, to eat some delicious food, and check on the hideaway you kept there. You had several across the globe, but it had been a while since you’d been to this one. You probably needed to change out some of the non-perishables.

It was supposed to be a low-key, quiet trip. Relaxing. The only adventure you wanted was wandering through the city.

It was not a low-key, quiet trip.

Three days in, you’d restocked your hideaway, contacted your shipping master friend, and found a new place with some of the best food you’d ever had. It was shaping up to be a good trip.

And then a man dropped down in front of you, woozy, dark skin glistening with sweat. The tactical vest was a dead giveaway, but the flag was a surprise.

You very purposely did not look for a name. But you did do a quick sweep of the rest of him.

Blood seeped out from under the vest, staining his shirt, and you swore softly.

“You need help.”

“I’m fine.” But the words were a little sluggish, one hand pressing over the wound at his hip.

“You need help,” you reiterated, glancing around, suddenly wary. You did not want to be caught in the crossfire of this, and the longer you stayed out in the open, the more likely that became. “Please. I’ve got bandages back at my place.”

His gaze held yours, suddenly hard, calculating. “I’ve got people on the way,” he said, clearly testing.

“Good, then they can pick you up.” You ducked under one of his arms, your own looping across his back. “Come on, in we go. Before whoever shot you finds us both.”

He gave in, letting you walk him down half a block and inside. He didn’t even complain going up the stairs to your hideaway, though you could see the way his jaw clenched.

“This one’s mine,” you told him, pulling your keys out of your pocket when you reached the appropriate floor. It took a moment to get the door unlocked and maneuver him inside without letting go - he was slowly leaning more on you for support. You kicked the door shut after the two of you and more or less carefully deposited him in a chair. He groaned softly, like he didn’t even mean to, and you winced in sympathy.

Fortunately, all your hideaways had first aid kits stocked, and you thumped it onto the table in front of him.

“I’ll help if you want,” you offered, taking a step back and putting your hands up, away from your body. “But you are very well armed and I am not.”

“S’alright,” he muttered, accent effortlessly charming even as he popped open the first aid kit. “I’ve got it.” His gaze lifted to yours, a little less wary and a little more curious. “What’s your name?”

You tutted at him, amused despite yourself. “Does it matter? You need to get patched up and wait until your buddies come get you.” You put two sealed water bottles onto the table for him, already kind of mourning your decision. Dammit, you shouldn’t have brought him here.

“Thank you.” He tugged his shirt up and out of the way to press gauze to the still-bleeding gash.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you muttered, more to yourself than him. You stepped past him into your bedroom, taking a quick look around. Only a few things of sentimental value resided here, and you were quick to throw those and a change of clothes into a duffel bag.

You had to burn this hideaway now. Not literally, but you’d never be able to come back here again.

At least nothing here would give them more information on you.

You set the duffel bag on the floor by the door, ignoring his gaze. You let yourself look around one last time. You really liked this place. Damn.

“Where are you going?” His voice was calm, just a hint of urgency there.

“Nowhere yet, I suspect,” you said on a sigh, turning to look. He didn’t actually have a weapon in hand, which rather surprised you. “Just getting ready to go once your friends arrive.”

His eyes narrowed, suspicion growing. Your smile was crooked and understanding.

“Just because I helped you doesn’t mean I want that kind of attention,” you said, hands carefully palms-out at your sides again. “Nothing personal.”

He didn’t seem quite sure what to make of you, shoulders tense, fingers twitching. Then he blinked once and lifted his free hand to the radio on his vest. “Injured, currently patching up. Indoors, one unknown.”

Ah. You were likely the unknown. Well. Fair, honestly. You were acting pretty suspicious for anyone who didn’t know you.

“Solid copy.” His hand left his radio, but his gaze stayed fixed on you. “They’ll be here in a few minutes.”

“And I suppose I’m to wait here until they arrive?” You puffed out a breath. “Alright, sure.” You had contingencies, if you needed them. If you really needed to, you could call Laswell. But you hoped you didn’t have to.

The wait was silent and felt like it dragged on forever, although in reality it couldn’t have been more than a few minutes. Two heavy knocks pulled you from your spot, and you opened the door.

And then blinked.

“Captain?”

His expression immediately settled into a scowl. “Ace.”

“Huh.” You stepped back to let him in. “I take it this one’s yours, then?” You nodded back at the wounded man behind you.

“Yes.” He stepped past you, momentarily dismissing you to kneel by the injured man. You could hear them speaking quietly, going over the situation. But Captain’s voice had softened a little, care clear in the way he checked his man. He did have a heart after all.

That would be your cue to leave.

You picked up your duffel bag and managed to take one step before a quiet, “Sir,” cut you off.

“Where are you going?”

Captain was glaring at you now, tense, wary. Probably thinking the worst of you. Again.

“I have to abandon this place now anyway,” you pointed out reasonably. “You might as well enjoy it, get properly patched up before you go.”

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Is it not enough to know that I’m leaving?”

“No.” He stood, prowling over to you, using his height to loom over you.

You debated with yourself, head tilting to one side, looking up at him. You could probably make it if you distracted him with something and ran. Then again, you might not, and you were not in the mood today to be thrown around.

“I am planning on getting the hell out before whatever chaos you’re involved in explodes.” You kept your tone dry, chin tipping in challenge.

His lips thinned. “No.”

“You’re not my boss,” you said quietly, stepping into him, refusing to back down. “And you can’t keep me here, not without all kinds of trouble. I’ll be on my way to another country, and you can bug out as soon as you want.”

He was going to keep arguing with you, you could see it in the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were ready to grab you. But something distracted the both of them, Captain turning to the injured man.

You didn’t wait. You booked it, hauling ass out of the apartment and down the stairs. You heard the yell behind you, but you didn’t acknowledge it, focused on getting out.

And once you were outside, it was easy to find crowds and blend in, easy to get to the airport and buy a ticket to Cairo. From there, you weren’t sure, but you did know one thing.

Captain was showing up too often in your life. He was becoming a distraction. And that? That could be a problem.

#waking lions #john price x reader #john price x you #f!reader

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lilac-den · 6 months ago

Note

This is probably terrible but since you posted that ask about Maverick and pet play I’ve been pretty set on his MC having the ability to turn into animals. Like I know everything’s early stages and I wanna try all routes and variables but it just makes me laugh.

For the actual ask part, can that or the material transformation abilities be used in more casual instances in normal life or would you say the downsides are too great?

Y'all really be thirsting for Maverick, I stg XD

To answer your question:

I'm planning to try to implement their usage - like how these powers can aid you in, say, espionage or snooping around? For the time being, however, you can't use these powers in public due to a political reason that you'll learn about once you meet the emperor (hoping it's next chapter but I also don't want it too long for you all, especially given what I'm gonna be writing 💀 ho boy)

#TSR #The Sole Reminiscence #MC #powers

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nerdieforpedro · 3 months ago

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WIP Tag Game (The XL edition) 🤣

I was tagged by @missredherring and sure I did it earlier this week. Could I have come up with a new WIPs because my mind is never quiet? 🤐

Yes, yes, Yes I did. 😆 I’m also structuring it similar to how she had it because it spoke to me. 🤭

Current foci (because having just one is difficult as I bounce around):

1. Weddings 101 with Dieter and @angelofsmalldeath-codeine - We’re going to finish it one day or at least the next chapter. Also AO3 link.

2. Coasting through the Rainbow 🌈 - I’m half way done with chapter four of this finally. 😆 2 and 1/2 more to go! Also AO3 link.

3. Waters of Lethe - The Qimir one. Maybe 2-5 parts? We’ll see where it goes. So far only one part. AO3 link

4. Honey and Sugarplum - With Jack Daniels and an OFC. Very sweet, smutty kinda and fluffy. ☺️ AO3 link.

Excuse me Ma’am? We’re over here in the back!

1. Unnamed Fae Jack Daniel fic for Monster Smash Challenge. I did write out some Fae facts for this one and I plan to keep it…..an actual one shot?! It’s been 900 years since Nerdie’s done one of those.

2. Fifty-Six Wildflower Lane - this one with Frankie still needs an ending, then I can post it here like. Just need part number four. AO3 link.

3. Tasting Ambrosia - Ezra, ever the scoundrel nagging at the back of my brain has a small WIP. No idea where this one is going. Also trying to do drama and will he make it out sort of deal. 👀

We been waiting for our day to come for so long:

1. Travel to You - A sweet and maybe a little obsessive Javi G? He’s adorable, has golden curls and can shoot those clay bird things down accurately so, totally fine. Have discord and FFXIV references, very nerdy. 🤣 AO3 link.

2. Therapy for the Well-Adjusted - Marcus Pike and Imani are finally going on that date. Or do they? Maybe they go somewhere else? Also AO3 link.

3. A Safe Place for Us - Dieter and Aisha continue to sort their feelings and trying to make a baby. What could go wrong? Also AO3 link.

4. Green Shop of Memories - that Marcus Moreno AU where I made him a wizard/warlock that owns a cafe. 😘 It’s all sad, and cute. Plus it has fairies and a Magic Council. Also fake dating? AO3 link.

5. Kissed by the Sun - I had an idea that Oberyn Martell was a son or descendant of Apollo and he pissed off Venus (Aphrodite if ya nasty) and was barred from his soulmate being able to interact with him other than his voice. Because…..I read too many Marcus A fics that kept referencing Roman gods. 🫡 AO3 link

6. Din’s in the Neighborhood- Modern Din AU that has him meet on OFC DV survivor post divorce. Also Grogu is a human boy and we have Finn/Poe. There’s also Johnnie Mae and Luke that are just together? No one’s asking and I don’t think either of them would given an answer. 😆 So many cameos and randomness, so little time. Side notes: I gave Din tattoos, Obi-Wan is a children’s author and there’s a Jedi Law & Order show. Also AO3 link.

7. Fire and Fury - Pero and Calista’s story likely has two more parts. Complete with smut, more fighting, a bathtub (I promised @avastrasposts that one) and they’ll get their revenge! But what happens after? Also AO3 link.

8. Hands of God - This could be a long one shot or I might have to split it up. The Marcus Acacius fic that @soft-persephone and @megamindsecretlair “gently suggested” that I write. I did start it. 👀 There will be some infidelity, plots, murder and a coup. Also a dash of smut just for seasoning. And maybe a subby Marcus A? Can I do it? Only time and Marcus’ sash will tell.

9. Front Office Adjunct - One of two Dave York fics. ☺️ Dave blackmails on OFC into working for him. Things appear to be stacked in his favor, but are they? This one is a slow burn one, enemies to lovers maybe? Also espionage, murder, violence, smutty and bad behavior. Just bad. 👀🤫 AO3 link

She hasn’t touched us in so long:

Pleasure Principle - The first series I ever started anywhere. Has Dave York in a toxic working on making it better relationship with an OFC. I’ll finish this one someday. 😭😭 Also AO3 link.

Uncomplicated Mi Amor - The fic where I swore I was going to have something sweet for Javier Peña. Which it is, I just haven’t finished it. 👀 Also I will finish someday. Also AO3 link.

Roc & Doc - A Tim Rockford crime series with an OFC ME that is my love letter to the likely thousands of hours I’ve spent watching crime procedurals or listening to true crime podcasts. Also AO3 link.

Some have just AO3 links, I haven’t gotten around to putting them on Tumblr yet and some are in both places. A few just exist in notes. 🗒️ I should also never look through my WIP this in depth again. This thing is very long. 🤣🤣🤣

NPT because you may have already done it but I described things this time around. 🙌🏽

@schnarfer @maggiemayhemnj @lotusbxtch @mysterious-moonstruck-musings @604to647

@inept-the-magnificent @connectioneverywhere @for-a-longlongtime @lady-bess @tinytinymenace

@perotovar @julesonrecord @yourcoolauntie @clawdee @magpiepills

@trulybetty @rhoorl @grogusmum @syd-djarin @sin-djarin

@harriedandharassed @missladym1981 @jolapeno @pedrospurplerain @alltheglitterandtheroar

@movievillainess721 @notapradagurl7 @bishtrouille @fhatbhabiee @secretelephanttattoo

@gasolinerainbowpuddles @din-cognito @djarins-cyare

#wip tag game #fanfiction #tag game #I made it was too long #maybe the descriptions don’t tell you anything #nerdie was just messing around #per usual #🤣

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vanill-tea · 10 days ago

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WIP Wednesday

as always I am a gigantic slow-poke when it comes to anything but I was tagged by both @lady-iizsil and @theoneandonlysemla for a WIP Wednesday one or two weeks back.

I have been feeling more creative lately so I actually have something I would like to show, it’s a deleted scene from the next chapter of my fan fiction “In the eye of the beholder” on AO3.

The chapter got to long so I had to cut it (also I think it wouldn’t have fit the pacing) but I still liked the premise of it so I decided to post it here.

Enjoy! :)

The group of students stumbled out of the Inn, their nervous yelps and shrieks could be heard throughout the empty streets of the small town. The cold winter air was whistling in between the buildings, hitting their drunken minds like a brick. They were urging Onmund to hold it in just a little longer until the poor man finally emptied his stomach behind a nearby tree stump.

“Oh gross,” Morwen mumbled under her breath as she turned away, trying to keep the contents of her own stomach on the inside.

“Told you we shouldn’t- hicks- shouldn’t have stayed that long, we obviously had too much,” Breyla slurred, the cold air slowly clearing her senses a little bit.

“This one thinks it’s perhaps too late for regret, but he agrees now that it is time to return to the College… after our Companion is done,” he purred, ignoring the hurling sounds behind him.

In the meantime, Ancano had paid for his tab as well, getting ready to leave and follow them. So much for an evening of peace and quiet… but his work came first, and if they kept talking as they had been earlier in the tavern, then perhaps this could turn into a fruitful pursuit for his next report and possibly save him weeks’ worth of espionage.

The Mer fasted his cloak around his person as he left and quickly cast a spell of prolonged invisibility; even in their drunken state they could still notice him.

At the moment, they were seemingly still talking, discussing their next steps while the Nord was throwing up behind a tree stump.

Listening in on the conversation, it quickly dawned on him that those cretins still hoped to return to the dorms, despite their current drunkenness and the not so current disrepair of the icy stone bridge that led over a harrowing chasm with nothing but rock, even more ice and a few puddles at the bottom.

At this hour, there wouldn’t be anyone to guard the bridge either, so no one could help them cross safely… and Ancano himself would not dare intervene. First, they did not trust him and would thus not heed his command and second, if one of them happened to fall, would that be so bad for him? It would certainly decrease the number of migraines he would suffer over the semester.

After the Nord had finally stopped and regained control over his stomach, they decided to head back, with the Thalmor following several meters behind. It seems they have not yet realized that they were about to trap themselves in quite the dangerous predicament.

The group stumbled along the frozen road leading up to the bridging, hanging onto each other and laughing. They passed a lone Cityguard who only shook his head as the group stepped onto the bridge without care, stumbling along until they reached the first section with broken down rails and crumbling tiles.

They almost tripped over themselves struggling to even stand without holding onto the railing as they simply starred. One moment they looked at the section ahead and then the next back the way they came from.

“I- I don’t wanna cross that,” Onmund whined, seemingly close to hurling once more.

“Going back also seems a little steep for J’Zargo’s taste,” the Khajiit replied as he glared at the section behind them that seemed closer to a slide to him than an actual bridge.

“We could try and form a living chain,” Marianna mumbled while Breyla looked at the woman as if she had just seen the peak of stupidity.

Ancano observed quietly as they kept discussing over possible solutions. Going back seemed out of the question, they had no coin left to pay for a room and the previous section of the bridge that seemed in minor disrepair seemed too dangerous to them as well.

After a few minutes they had it down to just sleeping on the bridge, a suggestion that was quickly thrown out the window due to the temperature. Which only left them with Marianna’s brilliantly daft idea to form a chain and try to cross the section.

The mer watched in mild amusement as they took each other’s hands, leaving J’Zargo to go first, followed by Marianna and Breyla. Onmund stayed on the other side, holding onto the railing. At first, their stupid plan actually seemed to work as the students carefully shuffled over the icy tiles, trying their best not to look down.

As the cat was about to arrive at the other side, he reached for the pillar, hoping to grab onto the railing, but instead he lost his footing and slipped.

A sharp yelp escaped his throat as he started flaying his arms, breaking free from Marianna.

The Altmer tried to hold off J’zargo from falling, grabbing the Khajiit by his tail to pull him back, but as he landed back on the bridge, she herself stumbled back, arms waving through the air as she herself started slipping. With the Dunmer having stumbled back to the save section and the cat clinging to the floor, there was no one left to save her from falling.

She starred down into the ravine beneath her, eyes wide in fear with a scream stuck in her throat that couldn’t escape. Ancano didn’t know what foul spirits possessed him that moment, he should have let her perish. As a potential threat that would have been much easier. Still, he was beside her before even he had fully comprehended the situation and grabbed her by her wrist, his cloak of invisibility dissipating as he starred down at the woman clinging onto her arm.

Big green eyes pierced through the night, meeting his gaze as the other apprentices screamed. Ancano tried to remain stone faced, giving the woman a hearty thug to pull her from the edge and into his chest. He could only hope this lapse in judgement would not lead to him being hounded by them in the near future.

The woman looked up at him, her mind seemingly trying to comprehend her current situation as she clung to the mer like a lifeline.

“I… thank you…” she mumbled while Ancano’s scowl deepened, he did not enjoy anything about this situation.

Instead of answering he merely picked her up and sat her down at the other side where the railing before finally addressing her: “You should thank me. For your sheer foolishness alone, I should have not intervened.”

A huff escaped him as he stepped back, “And you four better do not assume that it will happen again, I have very important business to attend too, and your problems are not among them.”

With that he walked off, leaving them to fend for themselves, there was nothing of value to be gained after all.

Just another waste of time.

#van van writing #writing #ancano

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figaroswilson · 28 days ago

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𝙡𝙞𝙜𝙝𝙩𝙨𝙥𝙚𝙚𝙙 ⇒ 𝘱𝘪𝘦𝘵𝘳𝘰 𝘮𝘢𝘹𝘪𝘮𝘰𝘧𝘧 𝘹 𝘦𝘹𝘸𝘪𝘯𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘴𝘰𝘭𝘥𝘪𝘦𝘳!𝘰𝘧𝘤

Chapter 1

masterlist

story summary: Kira Barnes, the younger adopted sister of Bucky Barnes, is forced out of the dark underworld of espionage and into the light of the new world of superheroes when her brother abandons her with the Avengers to go on the run. She is set in her ways and determined to find her brother until she meets Pietro Maximoff, someone who challenges her black-and-white view of the world.

story warnings: violence, swearing, blood, descriptions of abuse

chapter word count: 2000

< previous chapter // next chapter >

read on wattpad

~ ✺ ~

When SHIELD collapsed, Kira convinced Sam to move to New York to be closer to the Avengers.

DC just wasn't quite the same for him anymore. Not after meeting Captain America and then promptly taking out the city's secret HYDRA cell.

Steve had originally suggested the move. Sam wouldn't have to be an Avenger in any official sense, but he could be around people he knew and trusted, which would be reassuring after that whole mess. It was Kira who eventually managed to persuade him, though. After he'd helped rescue her from HYDRA, they had quickly become close friends. Her insistence made the prospect of moving to a new city easier. Less daunting. It also didn't hurt he'd managed to find a place near the Avengers' Tower with rent that was actually reasonable.

Kira was, to say the least, glad for the company.

She often seemed to find herself alone in the Tower, whilst the rest of the team was out on a mission. It was for her benefit. Apparently. Her therapist insisted her mind just couldn't handle high levels of stress so soon after everything, so it was best to take a step back occasionally. Kira wasn't a fan of those sessions. Frankly, she would've dropped the whole thing if Tony hadn't insisted. And because it was nice to have someone who finally seemed to make sense of her fucked up head. Not that she would ever admit it.

Over time, she realised she didn't mind too much. She was always looking for an excuse to be at Sam's apartment anyways. The tiny, slightly messy, studio was her favourite place to be, helped mostly by the fact one of her closest friends lived there. Every time she would show up, the two would fall into an easy routine of buying greasy takeout and watching cheesy romances, no matter the time of day or the reason for Kira's appearance.

Like usual, they were sitting in what Kira called 'Sam's extended bedroom'. He insisted it was his living area. She wasn't convinced.

She had been staying over that weekend, whilst the rest of the team was on a mission somewhere in Eastern Europe. This time, she had been eager to miss out, urging the others to go on without her. She used the weekend-long visit as an excuse to get takeaway for nearly every meal, on Tony's card, despite Sam's protests that it could not be good for them at all. He quickly let it go when she threatened to eat his food.

"I don't get it." Sam pointed to the characters on-screen, confused at the newest movie Kira had put on. As it turned out, it was a family drama with multiple romantic storylines and it was starting to hurt Sam's head. "Is that supposed to be his little brother, grown-up?"

"Mm-hmm."

"And he doesn't recognise him? Like, at all?"

"Yeah..." she said, realising the absurdity of it now Sam had pointed it out. "But can you blame him? I mean, look at the actor playing him as an adult. He doesn't look like his younger self at all. Even his eye colour's different."

"Well, it is a movie," Sam reasoned. "It's fictional. Like, they 'struggled', but live in a mansion in central London. You're supposed to suspend your disbelief or whatever."

"Yeah, or whatever. It'd be easier to do if I wasn't so stressed about this stupid thing," Kira sighed. She poked at the laptop sitting on the coffee table in front of her, with the back of her fork, as if that would hurry it up.

As much as she loved Sam, she hadn't bailed on the mission just to spend the entire weekend with him, though it was a perk. The actual reason, that had been slowly decrypting for the last two days, sat in front of her. The laptop she was doing it on, which she had found in a dumpster behind a pawn shop, was so run down it had to be kept permanently on charge, and its fan whirred so loudly, she was sure it was going to break. All to watch some stupid CCTV files so she and Sam could try and find her runaway brother.

Just like she'd promised Nat, she hadn't told anyone else about it. Which was why they were doing everything, in secret, in Sam's apartment, whilst the rest of the Avengers were away.

Kira had mainly taken over Nat's involvement in the search, as her memories returned, and Sam took over for Steve, to avoid suspicion from the rest of the team. The other Avengers only knew a couple of things about Jamie. First, he used to be Steve's best friend and was Kira's adoptive brother. Second, whilst his legal name was James Buchanan Barnes, Steve had given him the nickname Bucky and Kira the nickname Jamie. He was also a former Winter Soldier, currently on the run from the authorities and a topic that was completely off-limits.

But that was all they knew. They weren't aware of the extent of what Jamie had done. They hardly knew what Kira had done. The information in the files that, first, Tony, and then the rest of the team, had received, only touched on what Department X, and later HYDRA, had done to them. Not what Department X and HYDRA had made them do. Sam, Steve and Nat were the only ones that knew exactly who the Winter Soldiers had hurt. And, apart from Nat, no one knew anything else.

To Kira, that was fine. That was all they needed to know. The depth of what had happened in Department X, what had happened outside of Department X, and what Nat and Jamie were, wasn't their business. And what Kira was planning, dependent on finding Jamie, wasn't their business either. Not even Nat's. It didn't bother her much no one knew the whole truth. It wasn't like she was hurting them by not telling them. She didn't think they'd care much anyways.

Sam and Kira had spent nearly the whole of the last year trying to find Jamie. He, however, didn't seem to want to be found. It was clear he was hiding. After Nat had found the tape of him at the Captain America exhibition, only small signs of Jamie had shown up. First, they came from across North America, but later they started up in Europe. Mentions in police reports of someone sketchy near a crime scene with long brown hair, wearing a baseball cap, covering his face. Weird acts of kindness from a quiet man with a metal prosthetic arm. A mysterious stranger, walking to compensate for some heavy weight on his left, moving into an apartment, ignoring everyone and then quickly moving out again. It was still promising. Even if his movements never made sense.

There had been a tip-off, recently, to the police in Rome. A man with shoulder-length brown hair had reportedly stopped a bullet with his left hand. Of course, no one had taken it seriously. It was 'impossible'. Which was precisely why they had managed to hear about it. After some digging around, Kira found someone willing to sell her, through less than legal means, CCTV footage of the alley the day it took place. She had to decrypt it herself, though.

The laptop somehow whirred even louder now but didn't seem to be working any faster. It was so bad even Sam was starting to worry, glancing over at it one too many times. She was just glad it was badly encrypted. If the encryption was advanced, it would've needed a much more powerful device, the type only Tony had access to and that was a no-go. Plus, the laptop was old. No one would miss it once it finally croaked.

Still, the laptop was battered enough that the decryption might finish in anywhere from the next few minutes or the next few days. She sighed and looked up at the TV screen, instead. Bad idea. The younger brother was getting all teary-eyed at the older one, who still hadn't recognised him, whilst vaguely talking about their family. Maybe a movie about long-lost siblings wasn't a great idea right now.

The doorbell interrupted them then. Sam looked over at Kira, panicked. "It's okay," she reassured him. "My danger sense isn't going off, it's probably just Steve or Nat." She checked her phone, sighed and then held it up, showing the hour-old text from Tony that they must've missed. "See? It has to be them. They got back a while ago."

"You sure?" he asked.

"No, Sam. I've been lying about my powers this whole time. I'm not even a Super Soldier," she deadpanned.

"Hilarious," he said, sarcastically, getting up to open the door to Steve and letting him in.

"Aren't you guys supposed to be working?" he asked almost as soon as he entered, looking pointedly at the TV, before dumping his bag next to Sam's bed.

"What happened to 'hello'?" Kira muttered into her noodles.

"We are, don't worry," Sam answered, sitting back down. "It's just taking forever to work."

Steve walked over and squished into the small space between his two friends. He stared at the laptop for a while like his glare alone could fix it.

"Hey, Steve?" Kira asked.

"Yeah," he replied, turning to her with his usual kind smile.

"You know the mission?"

"Mm-hmm?"

"...What happened?"

He stared at her blankly for a second. Then, "Oh, right. Shit, sorry." He shook his head as if to clear his thoughts. "Yeah, it went well. You can read the mission report later if you want. Everything happened basically as planned," he told them. "Got Strucker and put him in jail, shut the base down, found Loki's sceptre— actually, there was something off." They looked at him curiously. "We found two enhanced. Twins. About your age." He turned to Kira.

"My age?" she asked sceptically. As Sam always loved to remind her, she was old enough to be his grandma. Great, more sad sibling stories, the voice in the back of her head added, unhelpfully.

"Biologically," he amended. "Think Strucker kidnapped and experimented on them, actually." Kira could almost see him lose his train of thought at the horrible realisation. More kids taken and hurt by Nazis for their own benefit. It was officially the world's shittiest never-ending cycle she would've been naive to think had miraculously stopped with her.

"Well, where are they now?" Sam asked, concerned.

"Not sure. They ran off almost immediately. Can't blame them. We're trying to keep tabs on them for the meantime, though."

"Why? You gonna invite them into the Avengers too? Get a little formerly kidnapped-by-HYDRA boyband going? A bit too specific, don't you think?" Kira joked, darkly. It was a bad habit.

"I mean, maybe. You might make some friends then, Ki." Steve was clearly very proud of himself with that. Kira was not.

"Hey!"

"Ouch."

"Or... you could come to the party Tony's hosting."

"Ugh, I already told you I'm not going," she turned away from them, defensive. "What the fuck am I going to do there? Smile as the richest and most boring people in the city tell me their life stories?"

"Sure. If you have to. At least you'll get in some practice socialising."

"You'll have fun, I promise," Sam tried.

"That's easy for you to say. Everyone loves you. Not many people like casual conversation with a Winter Soldier," she sulked. Kira paused. "Wait." She turned to Steve again. "Did you just say 'practice socialising'? What's that supposed to mean?" she asked, suddenly very offended. I know how to socialise... right? "Sam?"

He was silent for a second, clearly weighing up his options, before blurting out, with a pained look on his face, "Girl, you have no friends."

Kira scoffed. "What are you then?"

"Apart from me."

"And Nat?"

"You've known her forever. She doesn't count."

"Steve?"

"You work together. He doesn't count either."

She scowled at him.

"You've run out of people, haven't you?" Sam asked, a smile creeping up on his face.

"Oh, fuck you." Kira threw a pillow at his head as he burst out laughing.

~ ✺ ~

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love-fictional-men · 2 years ago

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Save a Horse, Ride a Statesman

Chapter 1: First Day

Summary: You just landed the job of your dreams, working IT at the revered Statesman organization. Even better, Agent Whiskey asks for your help inputting case files for your special project.

Warnings: daddy kink, age gap, power dynamics, power imbalance, lots of smut, unprotected sex, oral (both receiving), PinV.

Word Count: 3698

You take a deep breath, and look up at the large, reflective building towering above you. You can’t believe you’re here, moving across the country to New York for a new job at a prestigious espionage organization. A part of you doubted if you even deserved to be here, but your qualifications spoke for themselves. This felt like a dream come true. You rang the brass bezeled door bell and the doors immediately open.

“Come on in, take the elevator to the top floor and meet us in the conference room straight ahead,” a familiar, feminine voice projects over the intercom.

You take the elevator to the top floor, and as the doors open you make your way directly to the conference room. You open the doors, and see Ginger Ale, the woman you had your first interview with, gives you a smile and pats the seat next to hers. A man with a cowboy hat, suit and glasses sits at the head of the table, along with hologram projections of other men dressed in a similar fashion. You make your way over to Ginger and take a seat.

“It’s so nice to meet every one of you, and I just want to say it’s been an honor being selected to join your team,” you state, attempting to hide your nervousness.

“I hope to aid making Statesman the most effective counter-terrorism organization in all the world,” you declare. The man at the head of the table looks at you with warm, soft welcoming eyes and smiles before saying,

“Well sugar, it’s a pleasure to meet you. I’m Agent Whiskey, but you can call me Jack. Why don’t you go on with tellin’ us your plans to optimize Statesman?” You feel your breath leave your body after briefly admiring his warm brown eyes,

“Actually, my code name is Grenadine but you can call me (y/n),” you say with a smile. You always hated older men addressing you by anything other than your name, especially in front of your constituents. Being a woman in tech, you learned how to navigate these situations tactfully. After a brief pause you open you stand up and all eyes are on you. You notice Agent Whiskey quickly look you up and down before readjusting his eyes toward your face. You clear your throat to speak.

“I plan, with the help of all of you, to review case files dating back as far as possible. I developed an algorithm to review areas of success and opportunity. This will aid Ginger Ale in creating tools to succeed in further missions. I need to review everyone’s case files. They’ll be imported into a new data base and analyzed. Patterns and trends will be created. Ginger and I will be able to review these trends and create more advanced tools to aid agents in the field.” You sit back down and place your hands on top of one another, and lean back a smidge. Ginger gives you a brief smile before asking,

“Does anyone have any questions about Grenadine’s project?”

Jack, lifting his fist away from his chin, turns his chair to you and Ginger.

“And just how secure is this data base darlin?” Again with the pet names, but there’s something about him that makes it permissible. Maybe it’s his sweet southern drawl. Perhaps its his strong, large hands and broad nose. Whatever it is, you cannot deny that Agent Whiskey has an intoxicating effect. He’s smooth, sweet and warm, just like his code name. You resist the urge to consume any more of his charm, attempting to stay sober in front of your peers.

“It’s all stored locally on servers in a secure location. I’ve coded several firewalls that will alert those on a need to know basis if there’s any detection of infiltration. At that point, the entire system will be wiped,” you respond. The holographic Statesmen around the table appear impressed, but Jack doesn’t change his stern facial expression.

“That’s a mighty fine kill switch you got there Miss Grenadine, but ain’t it gonna defeat the purpose if all this information is lost?” Jack asks, without breaking eye contact.

“It won’t be lost, we aren’t destroying the original documents. Those will live in secure locations. I doubt anyone would be willing to physically break into a Statesman’s office to rifle through file boxes like it’s the 70s. And even if they do,” you say, warmly smiling at him, “they’d be caught between in-between a Statesman’s lasso.” The men around the table chuckle, and Jack gives you a slight smile and nod of approval. Champ, the man who gave your final interview and congratulated you on joining Statesman, speaks up. “Now we got a lot of old timers, myself and Whiskey included, who wrote down files on pen and paper. Is that gonna be a problem Grenadine?” You prepped yourself for this question, knowing Statesman had been active since the early 1900s.

“Not at all Champ! You see, I’ve developed a secure application accessible only on Statesman hardware that can translate handwriting to text and import it on the secure algorithm. Even if it can’t, I can review any files and manually input any missing information,” you state with sheer confidence. Champ looks at you and grins,

“Well, good luck translating Whiskey’s hand writing,” Champ quips, and the rest of the room bellows with laughter.

A few more Statesmen ask you questions. You gladly answer without missing a beat. Eventually, the meeting adjourns and the holograms sign off. You stand up from your seat and make your way to the door with Ginger. Agent Whiskey speaks,

“Miss Grenadine, would you mind hangin back for a spell. I just got some more questions.” Ginger looks at you, grabs your wrist and whispers in your ear, “Be careful with that one (y/n).” You gulp, take a deep breath and walk toward him.

“Now sugar, Champ ain’t kiddin’ when he said my writing was God awful,” Jack says with a chuckle. You slightly giggle, and sit down next to him, ignoring the knot growing in your lower abdomen.

“It’s okay Agent Whiskey I-” you say before he cuts you off.

“Sweetheart, I already said you can call me Jack,” he says, leaning closer to you. You feel heat rush to your face,

“Sorry Jack. Like I said in our briefing, I don’t mind transcribing older files manually. Just give me the files and I can take care of it at my desk.”

“Miss Grenadine, I don’t want to burden you with my chicken scratch notes. Would’t it be faster…easier if you came by my office and we reviewed them together?” Ginger’s words of caution rung in your ear, but your heart pounded at the mere idea of being alone with the most attractive Statesman. Was he flirting with you? Or was this just his demeanor? Maybe he was trying to help a newcomer make a name for themselves in this organization? After all, he is technically your boss and what kind of boss wouldn’t want his subordinate to succeed? You take a deep breath.

“That sounds like a fantastic idea Jack. I’d love to get your help and your input on previous missions would greatly benefit my knowledge of Statesman,” you say attempting to sound professional.

“Alright, alright Miss. Meet me in my office around, say, six o clock?” He lets out a deep breath, stands up, and you do as well. You extend your right arm out to shake his, and he firmly, yet gently grasps yours. His large, warm hand engulfs yours and you can’t help but feel a surge of excitement rush throughout you. Breaking away, you leave the conference room and head to the roof top to get some fresh air.

From the rooftop, you can see New York City in all its glory. This feels like a dream come true. Your first day appeared to be a success, you gained respect from the Statesman, and now your handsome boss wants to make sure you get this project up and running. You call your best friend from back home to share the news. After the initial pleasantries, you say to her,

“Oh and get this! Head of the New York office wants me to work with him personally to get to input his information into the new data base I created.”“That’s amazing (y/n)! It seems like you made a really great impression. I always knew you’d do great things. I can’t believe you're working for one of the best distilleries in the US,” she says. Smiling, and looking down at your shoes you mention,

“It also doesn’t hurt that he’s one of the hottest guys in the office.”“Really? Well don’t get a reputation on your first day,” she jokes.

“What’s he look like?” She asks.

“I think he’s from Texas? He’s got a whole cowboy thing going. He’s got brown hair, brown eyes. He’s older too. Totally got a daddy vibe,” you say, feeling that heat rise up to your face again.

“Daddy? Like he’s got kids?”

“No, I mean… well I don’t know. Look I’ll explain it to you later. Gotta go!” You end the call. Little did you know, Jack was behind one of the structures listening in on your conversation. A smile grows wide on his face.

The rest of the day is spent touring the facilities with Ginger, getting to know the equipment and familiarizing yourself with different programs. As exciting as this is, you’re looking forward to tonight more. You try to push back this growing crush to the back of your mind, and focus on absorbing all the interfaces and layouts Statesman has to offer. After all, you’re here to work. Luckily, the day goes by quick and before you know it almost everyone is leaving the office… Everyone except you and Jack.

“Hey Grenadine, wanna share a taxi back home?” Ginger asks. “Oh I’m staying a little later to work on the algorithm project,” you say. Ginger glances away from you, observing Jack’s office with the lights still on. “Ok, just remember what I said earlier and Grenadine?” “Yes Ginger?”

“Don’t work too hard, it's only your first day.”“Good thing I’m on salary,” you joke. She laughs, and bids you a good night.

After seeing the elevator close behind her, you make your way to Jack’s office and knock on the door.

“Well hello gorgeous,” he declares and motions you into his spacious office, furnished with a warm rosewood desk, luxurious rugs and two cozy looking leather seats. You tell yourself he’s just a gentleman, and respond,

“Hello Agent Whiskey, thanks for taking the time to help me with this,” you say trying to sound as professional as possible.

You take a seat across from his on the other side of his desk. He hands you a stack of old, dusty files and Champ wasn’t kidding. This handwriting was a challenge to decipher. You begin shuffling through the papers, and start scanning the documents into your Statesman tablet.

“Hey Whiskey. I got most of this mission inputted, but I’m having trouble making out the location. Could you take a look?” You pass the paper to his side of the desk, and his hand grazes yours and you instinctually jerk back a tad. He looks up at you and grins,

“Now sweet pea I don’t bite,” he says with a chuckle. “You ain’t gotta be scared of old Jack.” The heat rises to your cheeks and you look down at your now empty hands.

“I didn’t mean to come off like that Jack, I’m just nervous since its my first day and all. I guess there’s a reason you’re out in the field and I’m in the office,” you look up at him with your big, beautiful doe eyes. You can see his pupils widen, and he reaches for your hands and begins to stroke them. A surge of excitement rushes through your body as you notice his large hands engulf yours.

This is a mistake, I should go. I should have known this would happen. I should have listened to Ginger. You think to yourself. You’re drunk on Whiskey. You understand the ramifications of sleeping with your boss, but the tingling in your lower parts is too much to handle.

“I like your hands Jack,” you finally say, with your thumb stroking the back of his hand.

“(Y/n), there’s a lot of parts I like about you. Permission to speak freely?” He asks, with his strong, brown eyes piercing yours.

“Yes…Jack.” You feel your face get hot, and you let out a deep breathe.

“I ain’t been able to get you out of my mind since I met you in the conference room,” he confesses in his southern drawl.

“Jack, you’re my boss. I’ve always dreamed of working for such a rivered organization like Statesmen and I don’t want to throw this all away based on a lapse in judgement.”“It don’t have to be that way darlin’,” he says. Jack pulls your hand toward him and plants a kiss on it while looking you deep into your eyes. He moves his lips away from the back of your hand, looks up at you and says,

“Besides, don’t think I didn’t hear what you called me on the phone earlier,” he smirks. Your stomach tingles into your vulva. You let out a deep breathe, and begin to squeeze your legs together.

“Aww sweetheart, look what I’m doin’ to you,” he teases.

“I can’t,” you whine. “It’s not right,” you say with your eyes watering out of frustration.

“Honeybee, don’t get upset. Why don’t you sit on daddy’s lap so you can see what you’re doin’ to him?” Any self control you attempted to muster is completely gone. You know you should leave, in order to preserve your reputation, but you can’t. You get up and make your way to Jack, he grabs your wrist and pulls you down onto his lap. His growing member pushes through his jeans and onto your ass. He grabs the sides of your face and pulls you in for a kiss. His mustache tickles your lips as his tongue dances with yours. You begin to move your hips back and forth, desperate to feel him.

“Now that wasn’t so hard, now was it?” He teases you again. His hands make their way down your frame. You move your legs from the side of the chair and straddle his hips.

“Oh Jack you feel so good,” you let out as your skirt opens and the fabric of your panties grind against the denim outline of his cock.

“Yeah baby girl? You like feelin’ my cock rub against sweet little pussy of yours?” He asks you, taking your top off and throwing it across the room. You let out a breathy “Yes.” He starts massaging your breasts then unclasps your bra, exposing your hard nipples. Cupping your right breast with his hand, he puts his mouth to your nipple and gently moves his tongue in a swirling motion. You grab the shoulders of his blazer and slide it off his rugged body, clasping his forearms as you do so. Then, you grab the bottom of his shirt and begin pulling it off of him, knocking his cowboy hat off. You wrap your arms around him and his mouth meets yours. You can feel his warmth as you two make out. You grab his biceps and rub your hands down them as you kiss each other. You slide down from his lap and onto your knees, looking into those dark, beautiful eyes. Your eyes move down to his silver belt buckle with the engraved Statesman logo.

“Daddy… Can I?” You ask sweetly.

“Baby girl I’d be a god damn fool if I said no,” he responds. Eagerly, you begin to unclasp his belt, and pull down his jeans with his boxers attached. You are amazed watching his cock spring out, hits his belly before staring right at your face. You start to lick the base, moving your tongue up to the tip swirling your tongue around it.

“Darlin’ don’t tease me like that. Show me what a good girl you can be,” he sighs. You put one arm on his thigh, the other at his base and begin taking his length in your mouth. His size is impressive, and grows more as you inch your mouth around it. You relax your jaw, and breathe through your nose as it travels deeper and deeper down your throat. He pushes the back of your head down until your mouth reaches the base of his cock. You look up at him, eyes watering, as his pupils almost engulf his iris. The hand on the back of your head begins bobbing you back and forth as Jack fucks your mouth. You arch you back.

“Now that’s a good girl,” he remarks. He moans with each thrust as your fingers dig into his thigh.

“God damn sugar that mouth is made for me,” he says as he pulls you away from his cock. He bends down, picks you up and places you on his desk facing him. He pulls you in for another kiss and you groan with excitement. He pulls your panties and skirt down to the floor.

“Daddy’s gonna make you feel real nice honey,” he says locking eyes. He grabs both of your knee caps and pushes them away from each other, exposing your sex. He pushes his index finger in you and you whimper, he pulls it out and then pushes two fingers in, twisting around causing you to squirm.

“Oh Jack I want you so badly,” you let out.

“(Y/N) you got me,” he says beginning to pump his fingers more rapidly. His lips make his way down your heat, and begins licking you while his fingers fuck you. You let out several groans. His free hand spreads your folds and his tongue circles around your bud. The fingers that are inside you begin to curl upward and hit your special spot.

“Oh fuck Daddy, keep doing that,” you pant, looking up at him worshipping your body. Encouraged, he picks up his pace and you begin to shake while letting out breathy “yeah”s over and over. The pressure builds up and you let out a long moan, throwing your head back onto the desk. Your body is shaking and your breathing shallow. Jack towers above you and grins,

“Babygirl you taste sweeter than molasses.” He leans down and kisses your lips while positioning himself at your entrance.

“You ready to take Daddy’s cock?” You look down and adjust yourself closer to him. Your back arches, perking up your breasts. He stands back up, and strokes your thighs.

“Jack please go slow,” you tell him, hinting it’s been a while.

“The last thing I wanna do is hurt my little girl,” he says.

“(Y/N), tell me if you want me to stop. You hear me?” He asks, gazing into your eyes and brushing his hand against your cheek.

“I promise,” you respond.

“‘I promise’ what?” He asks sternly.

“I promise Daddy.” You grab his hand, and lace your fingers with his. His tip enters you and you can already feel his width stretch you. He exits you, then enters you again deeper, this time halfway. You feel your walls sweating and your hips buck forward to meet his cock. With this encouragement, he enters you half way. You let out an audible gasp, followed by a moan.

“Keep going Jack, I can take it,” you say looking up at him.

“Thatta girl,” he smiles. He thrusts deeper into you, entering you fully. He lets out a “fuck” under his breath which you follow with a moan. His rhythm is slow and steady and you can feel him stretch you. You lock eyes with him, grab his free hand and put his fingers in your mouth. You begin to suck them, he lets out a groan and begins to fuck you faster. He pulls his fingers out of your mouth and grabs your hips. You moan while putting your hands over his.

“You like that baby girl? You like being full of daddy’s cock?”

“Yes Daddy Whiskey,” you coo. He smiles, releases his hands from you and orders, “Open that pretty little mouth.” He sticks his finger down your throat, pulls it out covered in your saliva and beings vigorously rubbing your clit. Your thighs shake and you start panting heavily.

“Daddy please,” you let out and he fucks harder. He grabs your throat with his free hand and your thighs wrap around his waist. You whimper as he pounds into you, his finger pressing harder on your bud.

“Cum on daddy’s cock sweet thing,” he commands. You shake and let out a muffled moan. He pulls out of you and sits on the leather chair behind you. He pats his lap,

“Go on, show daddy what you got,” he commands. You stand up from the desk, legs shaking like a new born foal. You position yourself above him, he grabs your face and kisses you passionately. You break away and take a deep breathe.

“Save a horse, ride a statesman,” you giggle. He smiles with a chuckle,

“Baby girl you’re perfect,” he says. Your hips move down, and you begin to motion your hips back and forth, riding his cock as if your life depended on it. You feel his balls slap against the area between your sexes. You let out a few squeaks and moans, your tits bouncing in his face as he kisses them. He starts breathing heavier,

“Daddy’s gonna come,” he exhales. He starts to push you off, but you saddle back on his hips. His eyes widen, he lets out a deep groan and shoots his load into you. You can feel his seed shoot into you and you let out a gasp. You get off of him, kissing him softly.

“I’m gonna have to keep you around baby girl,” Jack says as he embraces you.

#agent whiskey x female reader #daddy!whiskey #pedro pascal #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #agent whiskey x y/n #agent whiskey fic

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training4theapocalypse · 2 years ago

Text

On Her Majesty’s Supersonic Service (Adrian Chase x Reader) Ch. 5

Chapter 5 From Gotham with Love

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: SMUT, TW: Rape roleplay, Bondage, Romance, Descriptions of murder, Descriptions of violence, P in V, Verbal humiliation, Hurt/Comfort

Summary: After the events of Project Butterfly, you and Adrian Chase become A.R.G.U.S. contractors- your first mission is a heist in Gotham. But you've always wondered what it would be like if Vigilante was after you and if you could persuade him to let you go.

Masterlist

Chapter text:

Two weeks later

'The mission is simple'. Harcourt’s instructions had read: steal a flash drive without anybody noticing.

This was your and Adrian’s first job as government-contracted mercenaries. The idea, of course, had been yours. Days after the events of Project Butterfly, Adrian received a payment from A.R.G.U.S. for services rendered to the U.S. Government.

“Woah, we can actually get paid for this stuff?”

A few administrative procedures later, you’d set up your own firm, and you were now official suppliers of security services on A.R.G.U.S’s approved contractors list— self-employed, tax-paying, government-sanctioned killers. To Adrian’s slight dismay, you were quite the opposite of vigilantes.

“Can you hear me, Birdie?” comes Adrian’s voice in your earpiece.

You sit at the bar of the Hotel Aventine casino, waiting for your mark to show up. You’d asked Harcourt for an easy job to ease Adrian into espionage, and as Interim Director of A.R.G.U.S. while Waller was suspended, she was able to arrange just that.

“Copy,” you whisper discreetly into your whisky glass.

Watching the high-rollers, you’re waiting for Tomasso Falcone to give the drive to his cronies to stash in his room safe. Then, once you gave him the all-clear, Adrian would climb into Falcone’s room via the balcony and switch the flash drive with a decoy while you kept a lookout in the casino.

Simple. Easy.

Adrian drums his fingers restlessly on the balcony railing overlooking Gotham City’s nightscape below. Thunder begins to roll in as the clouds get darker and ominously closer to the towering hotel.

“Adrian,” you mumble, hiding your mouth behind your glass. “Stop drumming Taylor Swift- my earpiece is picking it up.”

“Sorry.”

“He’s here.”

Falcone enters the room and walks over to the blackjack table. You watch as he confers with a couple of men. Then he looks over at the bar, surveying a few women sitting there until his eyes fall directly on you.

Shit.

You look away nonchalantly but feel his gaze raking over you. Through the busy casino chatter, the sound of footsteps on the slightly sticky carpet reaches your ears as he approaches the bar. You continue to look ahead but feel Falcone’s presence as he sits on the barstool right next to yours.

“Let me get a Jim Beam,” he instructs the barman. “And one for the lady.”

“Oh, no, thank you,” you say, gesturing at your half-empty glass.

“What? Boyfriend won’t let a guy buy you a drink or something?” he asks, and you hear Adrian drumming in your ear again, clearly agitated.

“Another Laphroaig then, please,” you say to the barman.

“What’s that? French?”

Ugh.

He swivels on his seat so he’s looking directly at you.

“So what’s a pretty girl like you doing all by herself in a joint like this?”

“I hate this,” says Adrian in your earpiece.

You ignore Adrian. But shit, you need to get rid of Falcone.

“I’m here on business.”

“Business...” Falcone repeats as the barman sets your drinks down. “Working girl?” he adds quietly when the barman turns to serve another patron.

You look behind him at the women sitting at the bar and finish your first drink in one gulp. You were so focused on keeping a lookout for Falcone that you hadn’t noticed the dirty looks from them, who you now realise are some of the high-end call girls of Gotham.

“I don’t want to waste either of our time, so let’s just say I don’t think you could afford me.” You tilt your head sympathetically, eyes lingering on his cheap drink of choice, and he gives you an offended look.

“I’m a guy who knows what he likes- that don’t mean I can’t afford you.”

Channelling your inner Harcourt, you raise your eyebrows and sip your drink but don’t reply.

“How’d you like to make more tonight than you make in a month?” he says with bravado, discreetly adjusting the sleeve of his suit so you can see his expensive watch.

“Now, that’s very forward of you- I don’t even know your name.”

“Falcone. Tomasso Falcone. And you?”

“They call me Emilia.” Adrian snorts when he hears you utter Harcourt’s name- the first that popped into your head. You hadn’t expected to interact with Falcone, so you don’t have a cover prepared. “And I’m intrigued to find out what you think I make in a month.”

He takes out a hotel key card and a black USB stick and slides them towards you, his hand covering them. You place your hand on top of his.

“Take this up to my room and put it in the safe. There’s ten grand in the safe- it’s yours.”

You tut, leaning into your role. “Mr Falcone, I’m appalled that’s what you think I make in a month.”

“A week?”

“Try a night.”

He blinks incredulously. “I’m in the wrong line of work.”

“So, I go upstairs, put this in the safe and wait for you to join me?”

“You just need to put it in the safe and leave- don’t come back down here. One delivery. And you don’t need to worry about spreading your legs for anyone tonight.”

“Let me kill him, Birdie…” Adrian grumbles as you meet Falcone’s eyes.

“I don’t know about this- ” You go to withdraw your hand, but he places his other on top of it firmly.

“Look, I got eyes on me everywhere. They see me tell my guys to go to my room, and they’ll know somethin’s going down. They see me pass a room key to a hooker? Nobody looks twice.”

This guy is an idiot.

You’re the one who’s watching him, and he hasn’t even realised it.

“Birdie, what are you doing? Take it!”

You don’t want to see too eager, so you pretend to hesitate and look around the room. Falcone’s men are watching your interaction closely.

“Suit yourself. Plenty of other girls in this joint-” Your other hand grabs his before he can move it back.

“Fine.”

He releases his grip, and you slip the items into your clutch. You slink off the barstool and press your lips to his cheek conspicuously. Falcone whispers his room number and safe combination in your ear, and then he watches as you leave the casino towards the hotel lobby.

He gestures his men over to the bar.

“Give it ten minutes. When the whore’s done, make sure she disappears.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, that was easy,” says Adrian’s voice.

The elevator doors shut.

“Get to Falcone’s balcony- now.”

“Why? You’ve got his key. I’ll meet you outside his room.”

“Adrian, I can say with certainty that they’ll wait for me to leave the room and attempt to murder me. Get to the balcony.”

“Shit. Copy that.”

There’s a reason Tomasso Falcone is only a minor member of his organised crime family. He’s a halfwit and, from what you can surmise, a scumbag too. Outsourcing his dirty work to prostitutes and probably killing them afterwards- it makes you sick.

The elevator opens on the top floor- the 44th story. You walk down the hall briskly, and let yourself into his room.

Lightning flashes across the night sky, and you have to suppress a gasp of fright when you see Vigilante’s menacing backlit figure through the glass doors on the balcony outside, rain pelting down on the marble tile behind him.

God, he looks so scary in his full suit in the dead of night. Gotham suits him.

You let him in, and he blows right past you.

“I fucking hate that guy.” His voice is muffled as it penetrates the fabric of his mask. You stop his pacing and wipe the rain off of his red visor.

“So do I. But, Adrian, we need to get out of here quickly.”

He follows you to the safe as you get on your knees to open it. It’s empty except for a small stack of bills with a mustard band that reads $10,000.

“Give me the decoy drive.” He hands you an identical black USB stick which you place in the safe. You take the band of bills, but Adrian holds the door before you can shut it.

“Wait- we don’t want his money!”

“He’ll be suspicious about the drive if I don’t take the money. What kind of prostitute doesn’t accept payment?”

“What if there’s a GPS tracker between the bills?”

You chew your lip, weighing up the options. There’s no time - you need to make a snap decision. You take the money and shut the safe with finality. Adrian’s towering figure extends a hand to help you to your feet, and he walks over to the hotel room door.

“No, Adrian- this way.” You jerk your thumb back towards the glass sliding doors of the balcony. “We might bump into Falcone’s men out there.”

“Good. We can take them!”

“We’ve only got two objectives,” you remind him. “Switch the flash drives and don’t draw attention to ourselves. Leaving a pile of bodies in the hallway would definitely be classed as drawing attention to ourselves.”

The room lights up as another flash of lightning streaks the sky.

“Birdie- the storm outside. We’ve got one set of ropes, and you’re wearing… that. Super hot, by the way, but one slip and we’re both gonna end up painting the sidewalk.”

You have to admit that a satin dress, heels and a clutch aren’t conducive to abseiling down a building, but the other option would jeopardise the mission.

Reaching up to clasp his shoulder, you meet his eyes behind his visor. “We can do it. But we need to move. Now.”

The wind howls, blowing icy rain into your face as soon as you slide the door open. You look over the edge of the balcony, and your stomach drops. Even though you’re well-practised in this, you’ve never had to do it in a cocktail dress and heels before. You grip your clutch bag tightly.

We just need to drop two floors and climb two rooms to the right, you reassure yourself.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Adrian calls. You look over your shoulder and nod. He closes the glass door behind him and starts securing the rope, looping it over the metal railing on the righthand side of the balcony.

“I’ll go first.” He pries your clutch bag from your hands. “We’ll need both hands.” You watch as he secures the bag with duct tape around his body.

He carefully climbs over the railing and, using the rope, lowers himself onto another balcony two floors below. Once he lands, he silently tugs on the rope, signalling that it’s safe for you to come down.

You hoist your dress up, and one leg at a time, you too climb over the railing- carefully positioning your feet so your strappy heels don’t catch on the outer edge. You skillfully wrap the rope between your legs and back up behind your shoulders, holding the rope so you can rappel down the side of the building without a harness.

As you step off, the rain soaks through your dress, and you notice how the rope is becoming increasingly slippy to hold. As you lower yourself past the next floor, what seemed to take Adrian seconds feels like an eternity. Your fingers turn white as you grip the rope for dear life, ignoring the blisters forming on your palms.

The wind makes you sway on your descent, and you try hard to think of the task immediately in front of you and not to visualise yourself dangling on a tiny rope, now 43 stories above Gotham. Soon enough, you feel Adrian’s strong hands on your waist as he helps you down beside him. Momentary relief floods your body when your feet meet the solid tile- now all you have to do is climb between rooms.

Over the sound of the storm, you hear a noise from upstairs. Adrian grabs you and flattens you against the wall, one gloved hand over your mouth and the other on the rope to stop it from swaying in the wind, attracting attention.

“She ain’t out here!” You hear a male voice yell.

“Of course, she ain’t- it’s a goddamn thunderstorm.”

The heat of Adrian’s body pressed up against yours, and the fleeting protection from the rain is welcome- you’re soaked through to the skin. You hear a phone ringing above.

“Mr Falcone? There’s no sign of her… I don’t know! She musta slipped past us- don’t worry, flash drive’s there… Yep, she took the money … Sure, let me check the tracker on it.”

Adrian tilts his head down to look at you through his visor, his eyes say, ‘I told you so’.

“It says she’s just outside the north side of the building- do you want me to go and get her?... Jeez! Okay, okay, I’m on it.” You hear the man shut the balcony door.

Adrian releases you and finds the opening of your clutch bag attached to his body to retrieve the stack of bills. Then, with tremendous power, he throws the band of money from the balcony, and you watch silently as the wind carries it, and it begins to plummet into the darkness of the city below.

You untangle the rope from the floors above and tie it neatly so Adrian can hook it back onto his belt.

“Let’s move,” he says, hopping over the railing. He jumps to the next balcony and over the railing with ease, waiting with one arm outstretched to help you across.

The gap is much bigger than it felt when you were abseiling down the middle of it. Your feet feel slippy in your open-toed, strappy heels as you lift yourself over the other side of the railing and adjust your stance, getting ready to jump.

“C’mon, Birdie. Three… two… one.”

You launch yourself to the next balcony and feel your ribs slam into the cold, wet barrier. Adrian grips your drenched upper arm and helps hoist you over. He places a hand on each of your arms and looks into your face as your teeth chatter in the cold.

“One more jump,” he says determinedly. “We can do it.” There’s no longer any trace of uncertainty in his voice. With precision, he turns and leaps onto the next balcony. On the other side, he once again extends his arm, ready to grab you.

You stand on the edge as another jagged spear of lighting cascades across the sky.

“Three… two… one,” says Adrian.

As you jump, your high heel catches on the bottom of the balustrade.

Fuck.

Time seems to slow down, and your stomach lurches nauseatingly as you fall.

You watch as your fingers slide down the glass side of the guardrail opposite. Catching yourself by your very fingertips, you manage to hang onto the balcony floor just in time. Before you can blink, Adrian reaches over with lightning reflexes and seizes your arm. He helps drag you up and over the barrier, where you land on the wet marble.

Adrian opens the sliding door of your room, and you both practically fall inside. You slam it shut behind you and lean against it, breathless. The silence of your quiet hotel room makes it feel like your ears are ringing. Until now, you hadn’t realised how deafening the rain had been.

“Whoo!” exclaims Adrian, and you watch him punch the air and circle his hips in a goofy little dance. “Yeah! We-did-it-baby!” He punctuates each syllable with a jab of his fist.

Despite the fact that you’re shivering in your saturated dress, now plastered to your body, you laugh at his ridiculous jubilation. Adrenaline pumps through you too- it was a close shave but you can’t let yourself think about how close you came to decorating the pavement below.

Adrian turns around.

“Shit, you’re freezing, B.”

“I’m fine.” You stand up and walk over to the bathroom. “Can you email Hartcourt and let her know we got the drive?”

“What’s on this thing anyway?”

“Blueprints for Arkham,” you call over your shoulder as your enter. You do a double take at the shaking, drowned figure looking back at you in the bathroom mirror as you hear Adrian unwrapping the duct tape securing the clutch to his body.

You slip off heels and your soaked dress and throw a hotel robe on. Grabbing a towel, you dry your hair as best you can and get it out of your face so you can wipe the running mascara from your wet cheeks.

“Birdie?”

You jump in fright for the second time this evening when you see a masked figure in the mirror behind you. It sends a jolt of panic through you until your brain processes that it’s just your boyfriend.

“Fuck, Adrian! You scared me.”

You’ve seen him as Vigilante plenty of times before, but tonight you can fully appreciate why he strikes fear into the hearts of criminals. He looks so intimidating, standing tall in his black suit, a stark contrast to your own white fluffy robe.

“Sorry.” He steps tentatively towards you. “I encrypted the files and sent them to Harcourt. Mission accomplished.”

He brings his arms around you to hug you from behind, and you lean back into his embrace, comforted by his touch even though your heart is still racing.

“That was fucking scary,” he murmurs into your neck through his mask after a few moments of silence.

“Just part of the job.”

“Birdie…”

“What?”

“Don’t bullshit me.” His visor meets your eyes in the mirror. “I know you’re tough, but that was a close fucking call out there.”

“I’m fine, Adrian-”

“You don’t have to pretend, B,” he cuts you off. “We’ll tell Harcourt and the guys that it was easy, but you don’t have to pretend like you’re not shaken up to me.”

You close your eyes and let the thoughts that have been bothering you just spill out.

“It just… it feels like you always have to save me somehow. On every single mission since I met you. And then on this one… I mean, I’m supposed you be showing you the ropes.”

“Birdie, I’m not saving you- we’re working as a team. And you are showing me how this stuff works. I would have killed every single one of those guys and tanked the whole operation if you hadn’t stopped me.”

He squeezes you gently - a simple gesture of reassurance, but you feel distinctly aware of his body pressed up against yours. You open your eyes, and seeing his broad figure enveloping yours from behind makes something low in your abdomen clench.

“They wouldn’t have stood a chance. I nearly had a heart attack when I saw you in the bathroom mirror.” You guide his gloved hands to the belt of your robe. “If I didn’t know you as well as I do, Adrian, I’d have thought that Vigilante was here to punish me for my crimes.”

He undoes your belt, and it drops to the floor.

“Uh, what crimes?” he swallows.

You shrug, and the robe falls off your left shoulder, exposing half of your body. “We just stole a flash drive - I think that counts as theft,” you suggest.

You’re not sure he even heard you as he stares at you in the mirror. He’s never seen you in lingerie before. Your usual sports bra and underwear are nowhere near this beautifully made, nor do they show off every curve of you perfectly the way this set does.

The imprint of his erection presses up against you, and he slides the robe off of your other shoulder so he can appreciate the full effect of you standing there.

Between hours of combat training and Adrian working his final few shifts at Fennel Fields, you’ve both been too busy to have sex since that night in the Corvette. Instead, falling into bed together, exhausted at the end of every day- battered and bruised from the rigorous practise Adrian has been putting you through to make sure your hand-to-hand and firearm skills are back up to scratch now that you’ve lost your powers.

“I always wondered if Vigilante was after me… if I could have persuaded him to spare me,” you say, pressing your ass against him.

He lifts his mask up over his mouth and kisses your neck, and you watch his sharp jaw move as he sucks on your skin. Adrian moves to take his mask off.

“Wait-” You grab his wrist. “- I want to feel like how all those other girls felt when they were fucked by Vigilante.”

“Woah, Birdie. I’ve never - ever- had sex with someone in exchange for letting them go.” He sounds offended. “That would be-”

“No, I know that. I just meant I know you’ve had sex wearing your mask,” you cut across him. “You’re a good man, and I know you’d never do that. But maybe you’d make an exception. Maybe Vigilante would stop being a good man for one night… for me.”

“I dunno B…”

“I can be persuasive,” you say, pressing back into him.

“Yeah, I bet. I just don’t know if you could handle it.”

Now it’s your turn to be offended. He sees your expression in the mirror and explains.

“When I’m Vigilante, there’s no kissing- nothing. It’s just fucking. Hard.”

“I-” This stuns you. “…How much harder can it get?”

“The safe word’s ‘Eagly’,” Adrian says, pulling the mask back down. A shudder goes through your spine at the tone of his voice. Something instantly feels different about him, like a silent shift occurred when he covered his face again.

Vigilante unclips the roll of duct tape from his belt and forces your arms behind your back. The tape rips and he binds your wrists together.

Oh.

He runs his gloved hands up your body, squeezing your tits through the lacy fabric. Heat seems to flood your underwear as you watch his hands, the feeling of his gloves so alien on your skin, examining your choice of underwear.

“What’s a petty little thief like you doing all dressed up like this?” he asks, reminding you absurdly of Falcone’s questioning earlier. “Did you know I was going to catch you?”

“It- it was a surprise for my boyfriend.”

“Oh, yeah? Is he a criminal too?” You gasp when he pulls down the lace covering your tits, letting them spill out.

“He’s a killer. And he could kick your arse.”

Vigilante laughs. “Yeah, right.” His confident derisiveness makes your knees shake- you hold your breath waiting to find out what he’s going to do with you.

“Bite down on this.” He pushes his fingertips against your lips, and you feel the rough rubber grips on your mouth. You part your lips, welcoming the intrusion, close your teeth over his middle and index fingers, and let him slip his hand from the glove.

Vigilante pulls off his other glove and roughly pinches your nipples with his bare hands- you whimper, letting the glove fall to the bathroom floor.

“Was this expensive?” He drags his hands down your torso and toys with the hem of your underwear.

“Y-yes,” you answer truthfully.

He unsheathes his knife in one swift movement and cuts them off you.

“Your boyfriend can buy you a new pair with the money you got for stealing that drive,”

His knife clatters against the bathroom sink when he tosses it aside to unzip his trousers. Vigilante pushes his cock through the apex of your thighs, siding it along your folds. You squeeze your thighs together in burning anticipation as his cock lightly brushes against your clit.

“Fuck, your pussy is so fucking wet already. I can’t believe you’re getting off on this.”

Your whole lower body is on edge, tensing up as you watch in the mirror, the tip of his cock sliding between your thighs, made easy from your slick.

“God, you’re always so fucking ready for me. I mean-” He stumbles. “I mean, for the first time, you’re-”

“I always - always hoped you’d catch me eventually,” you interrupt, breathlessly grinding back against him.

“Oh, yeah?” he asks, and you whine as the hard ridge of his thick cock rubs back and forth against your clit. “Why’s that?”

“I knew- fuck- I knew I could get you to let me go.”

Vigilante pulls back and grips your hips, forcing you to stand on your tiptoes to match his height. Then, he pushes the head of his cock against your entrance.

“Who said anything about letting you go? I could just take you home with me. Keep using this wet little cunt.”

Oh, fuck.

“But you better fucking cum for me if you want to live.”

He sinks into you with a decisive thrust, forcing a gasp out of you. Your walls clench around his cock as he fills you up, grinding into you.

“Fuck,” you choke. “I’ve w-wanted you to take me like this for so long.”

It’s not a lie. You really have always wanted to fuck him in his mask.

Vigilante sets a pace in and out of you, the slap of his hips against your ass echoing in the dimly lit bathroom.

“Yeah, I bet you have... You’re such a fucking slut. Come on, fucking moan for me.”

You don’t need him to tell you to make noise for him. The whimper that escapes your lips as he pounds into you is feral.

Vigilante’s fingers thread through your hair, and he pulls your head up so you lock eyes with him in the mirror. His red-tinted glare is intense; you’ve only ever seen him so focused like this when he’s fighting- and you’ve never been on the receiving end of this particular stare of his. You know this must be what the lawbreakers in Evergreen experience when they find out Vigilante’s coming after them.

“C’mon, look at me when you take it.”

You can only gasp for air in response as you watch his other hand slide around your torso to work firm circles over your clit. The sensation brings you dangerously closer to the brink, and you push your hips back into him, already desperate for your fast-approaching orgasm.

“Hey,” he growls, his grip tightening in your hair and jerking your head back up. “I said, look at me.”

Oh, god.

All you can do is stand there and let him use you. He thrusts into you, hitting just that right spot while you writhe on your tiptoes.

“Fuck, fucking look at you.” Your cheeks burn, listening to the continuous, wet, sloppy sounds of him burying himself into your pussy, amplified by the echo of the tile. “You’re so fucking tight.”

“Oh fuck,” you sob as he rubs harshly on your clit. “Oh my god, Adrian, I’m-”

“Who’s Adrian?” Vigilante says through gritted teeth. “Your boyfriend? He’s not gonna save you this time, you desperate fucking slut.”

Holy shit.

The atmosphere is sucked out of the air as you gasp for breath. Seeing stars, your vision blurs as the waves of your orgasm begin to crash over you.

You can’t control yourself as you whine and cry out shamelessly while he fucks into you, pounding your g-spot over and over and over and over, rubbing his calloused fingers on your clit.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum. Gonna fill up your tight little cunt-”

Your sob interrupts him as you feel your walls pulsing around his cock. He pushes as deep into you as your body allows, and the scream that you unleash is so loud that it seems to bounce off the tiled walls and-

CRASH

“Yes, yes, yes, yes, yes- bring it down for me, baby,” you hear him sucking through his teeth as his cock throbs, spurting hot liquid inside you.

You ignore the ringing in your ears and keep pressing back, riding out the last of your orgasm.

Fuck, your legs are weak from standing up on your toes. He grabs you tightly before you can fall forwards.

You blink.

The bathroom mirror has smashed into a million pieces all over the sink and floor.

No, no, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. This isn’t possible.

“Uh, Birdie…” You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to come to terms with the scene before you. “Can I kiss you yet?” he asks.

You nod. He rips off his mask and tilts your head up to kiss him.

His hand is wrapped around your jaw as he kisses you, sliding his tongue into your mouth. You can feel his effort to put a lot of tenderness into the kiss, to slowly bring you both back to reality. It makes your chest swell- you want to caress his face too but-

“Stay still a sec.” He reaches around you and carefully extracts his knife from under the pile of broken glass in the sink so he can cut your wrists free. You shake your shoulders from the awkward position and allow him to spin you around, careful that you don’t stand on any pieces of the shattered mirror and scoop you up. Your still shaking knees wrap around his waist, and you hear his combat boots crunching on the glass as he carries you out of the bathroom and over to the bed.

Adrian unclips his chest plate and places it on the hotel room armchair. You watch silently as he strips from his rain-soaked suit to his boxers, hanging everything up neatly so it can dry. He does the same with your discarded dress, and you feel like your heart might burst as you watch him tidying up after you.

He crashes down on the bed, exhausted, puts his glasses back on and pulls you into a cuddle.

“There’s not much we can do about the mirror without a broom.”

The smashed glass is the least of your worries. You give him an incredulous look and point to your throat.

“I’m pretty sure you can still talk, B.”

You shake your head, eyes burning as you try not to look up at him.

“C’mon- try. You’ve been talking for weeks now. You just haven’t screamed… like that.”

Haven’t I? Wait-

You remember in the Corvette when he made you cum. And now, come to think of it… you’re pretty sure your face was buried in his neck, so your moan of pleasure was muffled.

And the doctor… the doctor did say they’d removed most of the growths on your vocal cords. Is it really possible your powers would only work when you actually screamed? Could you be that lucky? To have control of your abilities and to be with just the right person to test it out? It feels like more than you deserve.

Adrian.

Your stomach twists. You could have killed Adrian if you’d been facing the other way.

“I-” you say tentatively, sitting up and looking away from Adrian just in case. “I feel sick”.

Anxiety swirls in your stomach as you think about how close you’d come to killing him with your scream. You flop back onto the bed, your head in your hands.

“Nothing bad happened! Just a smashed mirror.”

“Adrian, I could have killed you.” You gulp, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“But you didn’t!”

“Adrian-”

“Well, you almost died tonight. So now we’re even because I almost died tonight. Shouldn’t we be bonding over the shared trauma?”

“Not funny.”

“If you think about it- it kind of is. Peacemaker would be cracking up right now if he knew you almost killed me.”

You cross your arms.

He has a goofy grin plastered over his face. “Am I gonna have to tickle you to make you laugh?”

You can’t help yourself crack a smile. He’s so stupidly carefree, even in the face of death. But it makes you soften all the same.

“Don’t you dare, Adrian Chase, or I’ll scream again.” You scramble away from his outstretched hands, but he grabs you, pinning you to the bed.

“See?” his fingers dig into your forearms as he plants kisses all over your face and chest, his slightly stubbly chin tickling your skin gently. “Look who’s making jokes now.”

You look up into his green eyes as he looms over you with a totally different energy than when he was in his Vigilante suit.

“You’re so mean and scary as Vigilante,” you pout.

“Well, you deserve it for being a big meanie the rest of the time,” he retorts and nibbles on your neck. “And that’s big talk for someone who nearly created her own supervillain origin story.”

The weight of him on you feels right somehow. Like you’ve been sleeping without a blanket your whole life, and now you have one. And it’s all yours.

You’ve never felt so happy and content than when you’re with him. The sharp edges of you feel like they’re being slowly worn down by his presence.

You want to say something to him, but you’re not sure how.

“Do you think you’re in love with me?” you ask, staring at the ceiling.

“Weird way to tell me that you’re actually in love with me,” Adrian mumbles into the crook of your neck.

You laugh and try to think of something to change the subject, but he interrupts your train of thought.

“I know you are Birdie.” He says bluntly. He’s not making fun of you- he’s being sincere in the way that he always is when you need it most. “And I know you have a hard time saying stuff like that even though you’ve got your voice back.”

You can’t believe Adrian is being the more socially astute of the two of you.

“I-” You need to say it out loud. Get over this emotional barrier. For him. “I do. I do love you.”

“I knew that. You wouldn’t have moved from London if you didn’t. I love you too.”

“Well, obviously.” You say playfully because he knows you can be unserious for him when he needs it too.

He presses his forehead against yours and looks into your eyes, returning your grin.

“You know we’ve never had sex in an actual bed,” you say, bringing your legs up and crossing your calves behind his waist.

He looks up over his glasses, pausing in thought.

“You’re right!”

Adrian suddenly clamps his hand over your mouth and lowers his lips to your ear. You squirm in delight.

“Let’s fix that.”

#adrian chase x reader #vigilante x reader #adrian chase x you #adrian chase imagines #vigilante x you #vigilante peacemaker #vigilante x female reader #vigilante smut #the mask stays on #adrian chase x female reader #adrian chase #adrian chase x y/n #vigilante x original character #vigilante x y/n

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uraniumwriting · 3 months ago

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flowers smell sweet until they wither

Another prompt fill for @flashfictionfridayofficial , this time for the prompt "Gifted Violets"

Today, we go to Halli Reed once again, with a lesson about plants and taking breaks.

~~~~

Halli walked into the AE Lounge with a stack of books in her arms and deep bags under her eyes.

Before she had left her old life, she believed that the busiest she would ever be was when she took Advanced Placement Chemistry and Biology at the same time as a high school sophomore. Just a year later, though, she realized that she was dead wrong.

Two tests on etiquette, three quizzes on intergalactic history, and memorization checks on a million different things, all in the next week. And that was if Jason didn’t decide to spring something else on the group “to keep their senses sharp.”

How was she supposed to sleep ever again if this was now her life?

“You like the flowers?” Zac’s voice shocked Halli out of her thinking.

He sat at the large table in the center of the room, the one with actual chairs instead of the beanbags that were piled in the corners.

On that table was a vase of purple flowers.

“Where did those come from?” Halli slowly walked past the table. She preferred to sit in the corners, where she could more easily ignore the blankness of the walls that should’ve been filled with posters and other signs of teenage life.

“I joined in with the Gardening Club here for the day and brought them to share.” He gestured for her to come over. “They smell really sweet, you know.”

She squinted at him. The flowers were certainly too dark to be lavender, so all Halli could imagine them smelling like was pollen.

“I think I’m fine,” she finally said. “I’m behind on studying already, and Jason’s going to burn me alive if I don’t get back on schedule.”

“You nearly die, and he’s worried about you taking quizzes?” Zac scoffed and ran his fingers through his still-shaggy brown hair. “Just a few days ago you were in the infirmary, Halli.”

“I know, but this school isn’t afraid to throw people out on the street and you know it.” Halli frowned and flopped down on one of the bean bag chairs. “I can’t be weak if I want to survive here, and that means I have to focus on studying as much as possible before curfew.”

“They’re violets, by the way.”

“What?”

Zac gestured to the flowers. “These. Violets. You remember what flowers are, right?”

“You’re acting like I don’t go outside anymore.” Halli opened one of her textbooks to the chapter “Honeypots and Sleeper Agents.”

“I’m just trying to make sure you don’t forget who you are.” Slowly, Zac stood and walked over to the corner Halli had settled herself in. “That gas leak must’ve been terrifying for you, and I’m here for you.”

“The gas leak was nothing. There’s no permanent damage, and I’m not going to randomly drop dead.”

“And what about your mind?” To Halli’s annoyance, Zac sat on the beanbag next to her. “Aren’t you scared? I mean, if I were in your shoes, I wouldn’t trust this place to protect me.”

“Well, good thing you aren’t in my shoes, then.” Halli did everything she could to focus on the words on the page. At the very least, the memorization checks would be informal, but Jason had already lectured the importance of knowing how to spot espionage around your own espionage.

“You know, why don’t the two of us go to the parkour course tomorrow night?” Zac asked. “Being in the books all of the time can’t be good for you. Moving around a bit always makes me feel better, and we could do some of that team bonding everyone waxes poetically about.”

“I’ve already promised someone else for tomorrow.” Halli shook her head. “Maybe I shouldn’t even do that, anyway. I know the older kids always study later on Saturday nights. I need their help.”

“No.” He grabbed her wrist a bit too quickly for her liking. “You don’t need their help. You need rest. Other than you being in the infirmary, how much have you really rested since you’ve been here?”

“Leave me alone, Zac.” She ripped her wrist away from him. “It must be great that you sleep well even with the idea of flunking out hanging over your head, but I have nothing to go to if I lose this. I’ll rest when I’m not in danger of becoming homeless, okay?”

“But—”

“Leave. Me. Alone.” Halli turned her back to Zac and curled up into a ball. Her face was probably as red as her hair, and tears pricked her eyes, but she couldn’t let her emotions get the best of her. It was difficult to tell just how close she was to flunking out at any given moment, which meant she would just have to work herself to the bone until she was safe.

Was it fun? No. But was it better than being thrown on the streets with nothing to her name but disgrace, or worse? Definitely.

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Zac muttered before he stood.

“Burning out is better than them shooting me,” Halli called back, not bothering to disguise the disgust in her voice.

Thankfully, Zac didn’t start an argument, but instead he grabbed his things and stormed out of the room. Only the violets remained on the table, though Halli eventually noticed the fuzz floating in the vase’s water.

They won’t last very long, she thought.

Halli studied until the curfew bell, but that still wasn’t enough. So, the next evening, she once again opened the door to the AE Lounge with a thicker stack of books in her arms and deeper bags under her eyes.

Instead of violets in the vase, though, something unlike anything she’d ever seen before entangled the whole table and reached out toward everything in sight.

The creature was purple and white, with slimy tentacles that seemed to grow with each passing second. Its body popped and creaked, and though Halli couldn’t see any eyes, the creature shifted as if it noticed her.

On its tentacles were razor-sharp claws, and all of them were flexed toward her.

Halli dropped everything she had been carrying. Honeypot.

Before she could open her mouth to scream, someone grabbed her from behind.

#writeblr #writing #my writing #am writing #writblr #flash fiction friday #gifted violets #sci fi writing #gotta design this creature a bit more but let's say it won't be fun to ever face #vampire mold my beloved

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silurisanguine · 9 months ago

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Sunday Snippet

Tagging all the Coemancer Crew. and anyone who wants to share a snippet of their writing. It's Still Sunday somewhere ;) Another sippet from my Deus Ex fic as I have a new chapter of the Starfield fic almost ready to publish!

”Right….I’m expected to believe all this. Next you’re gonna tell me Atlantis existed.” Zofie chuckled as she sipped her coffee. At least he hadn't run for the door yet, that was a good sign. He may be a cynic but as his file suggested he was also a curious soul. ”Actually that was one of their biggest cities. Adam, you perfectly accepted that a small cabal of uber rich people secretly work to control the world. That is possibly one of the most famous conspiracy theories out there. yet you know it’s real- because you’ve seen it first hand. This is just another conspiracy that just happens to be true, though luckily there are no aliens involved in this, no little grey men…I hope. “ Zofie grinned at the way Adam scrunched his nose in derision. She put her mug down on the table and watched him war with himself over what to believe. Adam remembered back to when David had first mentioned the Illuminati, and he'd scoffed at him, not believing a man like him would believe in such rubbish. But he’d been so sure in his conviction, that Adam had gone along with it, thinking in his investigations he’d find it was just a big corporate espionage gig and not some world shattering ego trip by a bunch of billionaires out for total domination of humanity. ”Okay, say I believe you that this ISU once existed and their tech still does. What makes it so dangerous?” Zofie stood up, gesturing towards her bedroom, a glint in her eye. ”Best way I think for a man like you to believe me, is to show you. “

#Deus Ex fanfic #Adam Jensen #Zofie Orel #Deus Ex OC #Assassins Creed oc #Siluri writes #snippet sunday #The Coemancer crew

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ceiling-karasu · 7 months ago

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Final Chapter of Lily Bell in the Thorn Thicket!

I've finally managed to finish my first AU story at 145,867 words!

I would like to thank everyone who read the AU and enjoyed it! In a few months, I will be starting the next AU, featuring Geumsaegi, so I hope everyone will enjoy that as well!

That one is going to be more of the regular espionage, humor, and action more like the actual show. Much more of the Commanders and the young Scout Trio as well. Going to have to do much more research into the communication between spies and their handlers.

#squirrel and hedgehog #haven't thought up a name for the next AU yet #maybe another song lyric reference #absolutely not going to be as dark a story as this one #Mulmangcho #geumsaegi #bamsaegi #juldarami #lily bell in the thorn thicket #gif #sah #SaH #maybe add some more obvious relationships as well #undochi #murori #Oegwipali #flower hill

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felixcloud6288 · 3 months ago

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Higurashi: Festival Accompanying Chapter 27

This is a Shion chapter.

I genuinely don't like how Shion was kept completely in the dark about what's been going on. I know I like to joke about how she isn't one of the main characters, but this is too much. Every other major character who's been involved across the story knows what's going on so why is Shion left out.

That shot of Tomitake is the same one from last chapter.

The comedic timing of Shion bragging about not being followed only for half a dozen vans to arrive at the Sonozaki residence.

This was probably a fun panel to draw. It looks like Suzuragi drew a template of one of the sisters and her speech bubble, copied and flipped the image, then drew the distinguishing features of both of them.

I had to stop and think for a moment when I realized that Keiichi, Rena, and Mion were the only ones who came out to greet Shion, Kasai, and Irie. I was wondering where Rika, Satoko, and Hanyu were.

Then it clicked: Rika is supposed to be dead, so they're not going to let her casually walk outside. And since Satoko and Hanyu were living with her, letting them be spotted would potentially clue Rika's enemies to where she is.

It makes perfect sense that the Sonozakis would have a surveillance system on their property, but it still feels surprising to find that out.

I like this panel.

One of the things that's annoyed me throughout this series is there's no sense of relative space in Hinamizawa. We know of various locations like Furude Shrine is up a long stairway and by a cliff overlooking the village. But there's not enough information to figure out how anyone would get from one location to another.

This panel doesn't really define where everything in the Sonozaki residence actually is, but it gives us a proper sense of scale about how big their property is.

Okonogi's ears grow longer and pointier the more sinister he gets.

As I said last chapter, the Wild Dogs are specialized in espionage, sabotage, and assassination. They are scarily competent during this chapter because they're doing what they're good at.

They leave no chances that anyone will find out what they're doing. First they cut the phone lines and then the power, and then they waited for the festival fireworks to go off so they could use the sounds to camouflage their blowing open the gates.

And now I need to take an aside for something. In the timelines where the Hinamizawa Disaster happens, the village is closed off for twenty years. This closure goes as far as preventing planes from flying over the village.

Some aspects of Operation Apocalypse aren't exactly neat and clean. Phone lines were cut, people tried to escape and were gunned down, etc.

If Operation Apocalyse were to happen in this timeline, there would be some incidental things such as Irie's wrecked car having gunshots on it and the destroyed bomb shelter gates at the Sonozaki residence that some intrepid reporter might discover and question.

So I think the reason Hinamizawa gets closed off for twenty years is to ensure all potential evidence to some form of sabotage becomes indistinguishable from the rot and decay that would happen after several decades.

Back to the story. Shion gets her moment to shine and gets to have her conclusion to her story as one of the Rule X targets. Keiichi and Rena already had theirs during Atonement, but now Shion and Mion finally make peace over their childhood mixup.

In Eye Opening, the sisters' mixup was a source of anger and jealousy for Shion because she believed the Sonozakis were behind Satoshi's disappearance and if it hadn't happened, Shion could have saved him.

But in this world, Shion knows that's not the case. Instead, the mixup is a source of guilt. Here they are, facing off against a secret organization planning to destroy the village. Mion is caught in the middle and made to take command not just because she's Rika's friend, but also because she's the next head of the Sonozaki Estate.

Meanwhile, Shion wasn't involved at all and is only here by happenstance. If that childhood mixup had never happened, Shion would be the one taking charge and handling the responsibility while Mion would be able to live a peaceful life instead.

That ladder terrifies me. It's not even really a ladder. It's two metal pipes embedded in the wall with footgrips embedded into the wall.

Cute girl with a gun. Shion stonks go up!

I wanna guess Suzuragi drew the gun by tracing much of it from pictures of the actual gun model and then saved it as a separate object that she would paste onto a panel and then draw around. The amount of detail on the gun always seems to be one level higher than everything else in each panel it shows up in.

I know this arc existed first and Beyond Midnight was made later, but I really love this callback to the arc. In Beyond Midnight, Mion fought and "died" to give Shion the life she should have had: The life of the leader of the Sonozakis. And now Shion is about to fight and die to ensure Mion has the life she should have had: A peaceful life with those she loves.

And when both of them are about to face their deaths, they had the same message they wanted to pass onto their sister:

Admittedly, Shion also doesn't feel like she has anything to lose. She thinks Satoshi is dead. And rather than being jealous of Mion's relation with Keichii, Shion wants to ensure they can be together.

It's a big dramatic moment and all, but Shion's actions kind of get squandered because Rika refuses to let her and Kasai stay behind. So when the Wild Dogs get past the two of them, Rika and her friends are found immediately. And now they're caught in a dilemma. Shion and Kasai have been taken hostage and everyone has to decide between protecting Rika and Irie or saving Shion and Kasai.

back

#higurashi no naku koro ni #higurashi when they cry #higurashi no naku koro ni reread

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tobiasdrake · 1 year ago

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We aren't quite done here yet, despite everything. One last push.

Yakou hiding the photo doesn't necessarily mean that he didn't want it found. It could mean he didn't want it easily found. As in, by anyone but the crack team of pro investigators he works with.

Oh. Oh, shit. At the last possible second we've looped back around to, "Okay, but how does Huesca's vengeful espionage bro relate to all of this?"

The timing was pretty suspect but it got lost in all the shuffle. The extensive knowledge of the lab's inner workings required to make this all happening is similarly suspicious.

I figured Yakou maybe used to work here or Photo Lady worked here or something, but that's all speculation. There may be real answers to be found here.

If the Labyrinth doesn't want us probing deeper then that means there is deeper to probe.

I figured we were setting something up for next chapter but sure, we can do this now! The mysterious Photo Lady, Huesca's co-conspirator, all of it.

The mastermind would be Huesca's old espionage pal. They were selling company secrets together for five years. Then, six months ago, Huesca said he wanted out, infuriating his partner. He had to shut himself in for his own safety.

We don't know many people at the company so the list of suspects is not vast. Yomi seems unlikely on account of his ultra-righteous personality. Doesn't seem like the type of guy to be selling company secrets. But that doesn't necessarily prove he didn't.

Makoto's only been here for three years so he's out.

Robot Researcher is the most suspicious of the bunch, simply because of his visceral hatred of Huesca and gleeful grave-dancing. But it could as easily be someone we've never met. Maybe even Photo Lady, who knows.

He could only get it from a binder in the storage closet. That closet was locked with a key only Yomi could access. In theory. It also looks like an old office so there's a possibility that whoever used to work in there might have had the key. But that's speculation.

So far as we know for sure, Yomi is the only person who can go in and out of that office. If Huesca's co-conspirator mailed that map to Yakou or something, then it can only be Yomi.

...and if Yomi was selling company secrets alongside Huesca, then that explains why Huesca didn't feel safe having Peacekeepers escort him around. Choosing instead for his own deathtrap tunnel, and to have other scientists bring him food and supplies. He even made them check the boxes to ensure nobody was hiding inside, waiting to jump out and kill him.

Weird request. Seems paranoid. But not if there was a real possibility that Yomi might hide Peacekeepers inside while the boxes were being loaded.

Makoto suggested the traps were a deterrent, but I thought that was weird. How would they deter people who don't know they're there? But the Peacekeepers knew about the traps. If Huesca was beefing with Yomi then... a lot of things make sense, actually.

Yeah. This makes an alarming amount of sense.

Yomi is Anonymous. Yomi's been selling company secrets with Huesca for five years. When Huesca cut things off and secluded himself in his lab, he was hiding from Yomi.

This. Does sound like something Yomi would write. Fuck.

Yomi isn't Stopped Clock right. Yomi sent Yakou the floor plan and let him in. This is his checkmate. Use Yakou to kill Huesca and then swoop in for retaliation and eliminate Nocturnal Detective Agency. Game over.

I knew we were going to have to throw down with Yomi eventually but I wasn't expecting it so soon. I guess in a roundabout way, Yakou did what I asked. He went out and got himself killed so we can chain-kill our way to Yomi.

I don't think we'll be able to reap Yomi's soul here, though. The Labyrinth is already collapsing because we got the guy. If Yomi didn't participate in the murder itself then he's off the hook. That's how it worked with Servan.

I know, right!? Fuck this guy. I want to Halara him so bad right now. Drown him in the river where he blew up our first sub.

He's right. He's not the target of our Mystery so he's off the hook. Even if we stabbed him, he's just a projection of Yomi, not the real one. So it wouldn't matter. Only Yakou's soul was drawn into this place.

So it doesn't matter to the case. It only matters to us, because we can take this knowledge back with us to the real world.

The answer to my combo-chain hypothesis from way early on is no, the Labyrinth doesn't work like that.

I mean. That's what I hear every time you speak but I didn't expect you to say it out loud like that.

Okay but how tho. I didn't get the impression that Yakou was acting reluctantly, under duress. This felt personal for him. What was his stake in all of this?

IT SURE IS CONVENIENT THAT WE HAVE THE ONE PERSON WHO CAN KEEP THEIR MEMORIES THIS TIME AROUND, ISN'T IT!?!? @_@

Okay. Well. Once we get back to the real world we can--

Die. Once we get back we can DIE. Fuck, I forgot that this was happening.

#master detective archives: rain code #drake plays rain code

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liebgotts-lovergirl · 2 years ago

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Fire On Fire: Chapter 26 Part 2

(Ch. 26.1) ... (Ch. 1)

II Gallery II Symbol Guide II

Summary: With the Gestapo on high alert and a bounty on her head, the stakes are only getting higher for Alix as the night of her mission fast approaches. But luckily, she and Captain Nixon have some help.

WARNINGS: War, Death, Espionage, Survivor's Guilt, Nix's functional alcoholism, the usual

A/N: All disguises mentioned are actual techniques used by the OSS, SOE, & CIA! Also, Cisco is based heavily on SOE spy Juan Pujol Garcia (aka Agent Garbo) & several other Spanish Maquisards who fought the rise of fascism in Europe for years before WW2 began!💖

Taglist: @latibvles @softguarnere @brassknucklespeirs @mccall-muffin @lieutenant-speirs @bellewintersroe @emmythespacecowgirl @holdingforgeneralhugs @parajumpboots @hxad-ovxr-hxart @sleepisforcowards @suugrbunz @ax-elcfucker-blog @chaosklutz @mads-weasley @vibing-away @eightysix-baby @ithinkabouttzu

Contemporary: December 2nd, 1944. Resistance Safehouse, Signy-l’Abbaye, France.

Alix awoke to the sound of hushed voices in the hall.

Cracking a reluctant eye open, she reached for her knife just as the mantle clock chimed.

4 o'clock in the morning.

Splendid.

She must've dozed off waiting for their asset's arrival.

Silently easing herself off the couch, she crept towards the adjacent wall, her path just barely illuminated by a cool sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains.

The voices were getting closer…

Alix relaxed instantly as she recognized her handler’s voice, dry bemusement drizzled over his every word like syrup.

"That’s all you brought, Picasso? One bag?"

There was a hearty chuckle from the darkness and then a second voice replied simply:

"They tell me pack light, I pack light."

The speaker's voice had a rather airy, almost nasal quality she hadn't heard before and a pleasant, rolling accent she couldn’t quite place.

Sheathing her knife, the spy subtly retreated to the sofa, managing to be seated just as the two men entered the room.

“Sorry we’re late, Runt,” Nixon remarked as he threw himself into his usual chair and propped his boot-clad feet up on the coffee table.

His gaze flickered over to their visitor and playfully raised his voice just loud enough for the other man to hear.

“Seems like the Spanish can’t keep to a schedule!”

"Next time, you hike the Pyrenees then, chaval," the diminutive newcomer retorted, a toothy grin appearing from underneath his scraggly beard as he removed a faded leather jacket and placed it delicately on the coat rack.

"And I will be the one to drink and complain. Besides, 'Más vale tarde que nunca', as my abuela always said."

As the asset dragged a chair from the kitchen and into the living room, Alix watched him blearily and rubbed the sleep from her eyes.

He was supposed to be here at midnight, she thought with a pang of irritation. What had taken him so long?

The visitor-- Picasso, Nixon had called him-- was in his early thirties, disheveled in ill-fitting black fatigues covered in dirt and twigs, a dark cotton shirt nearly swallowing his frame whole.

Even in his beaten-in combat boots, he couldn'tve stood more than an inch taller than her and he was so slight that his clothing seemed to hang off him like the rucksack he had slung off one shoulder.

Noticing Alix's scrutinizing gaze, the visitor's smile only widened and the American spy observed a barely-visible gap between his two front teeth that reminded her vaguely of her baby cousin.

"You must be La Mariposa Negra," he noted brightly as he sat down, placing the canvas rucksack onto his lap with care.

"There is a poem in my country called that! Perhaps you have heard of it?”

“Unfortunately not,” Alix responded stiffly, still trying to figure out who on Earth this man was working for, why he was late, and why he was now sitting so casually in the living room of the safehouse as though he were part of the furniture.

“Ah, qué pena,” the Spaniard commented easily, still seeming far too cheery for the hour.

“But probably it will lose something in translation anyway."

From his chair, Nixon yawned lazily before gesturing to his protégé.

“Agent Martinelli, meet Cisco León Estrada of the Cantabria Maquis. He’ll be in town for a few days on special assignment.”

The Spaniard extended a gloved hand and they exchanged brief pleasantries before he began unpacking the canvas rucksack on his lap.

“We hear much about you on the radio, Mariposa,” he gushed as he placed two detail brushes onto the coffee table.

"How you make the Germans afraid. It will be an honor to work on you.”

Alix was instantly alert.

“On me?!”

"Correct,” Nixon commented from his place to her right, popping a caramel block into his mouth before going on:

"Cisco is a master of disguise. The SOE calls him Picasso for a reason."

“You are too kind, my friend," the Spaniard replied with a modest wave of his hand. “I have had much practice.”

"Donovan called him in for you personally, Runt,” her case officer garbled through a mouthful of candy.

“He’s going to get you– Well, ‘Tanya’ – ready for her big debut.”

A small vial of dark liquid was placed onto the wooden table top with a plink.

"Is that iodine?" Alix asked as she eyed the antiseptic nervously. “Somebody performing surgery?”

The two men exchanged glances.

"Yes" Nixon deadpanned at the same time Cisco answered with a light "No".

"Well as long as we're all in agreement," Alix snorted as the shorter man rose from his seat, scrutinizing Alix with a pensive gaze.

The former model recognized that look and remained still, patiently allowing the artist to work.

Mumbling to himself in Spanish, the Maquisard plucked absentmindedly at the bush of his beard for several minutes as he paced and studied her features, clearly trying to decide where to begin.

After a moment, he snapped his fingers.

"The eyes,” the Spaniard stated with a decisive nod. “Then teeth. Then hair.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Breaking an ankle during jump training hadn't been as miserable.

It had been one flash of pain when she'd collided with the ground and that was it. Mercifully, the bone had gone numb. Alix wished she could go numb now.

But instead, it felt like her scalp was being flooded with lava, each strand of hair being personally seared to the root by the peroxide Cisco was using.

She'd been sitting on the edge of the tub in a robe they'd pilfered for what felt like half an eternity, letting her stinging eyes wander the cramped bathroom.

The Spanish asset, Cisco, was standing by the counter, a needle-thin brush in hand as he painstakingly dabbed each pearly tooth of the mold with a thin film of iodine just dark enough to discolor them.

Every good agent knew the devil truly was in the details.

Eating with the wrong fork, a discontinued brand of cigarettes, a discarded receipt with a traceable bank number, even wearing a certain color too frequently could all spell disaster for an agent undercover behind enemy lines.

They couldn't afford to overlook anything; Alix's life would depend on it.

But even with Captain Nixon firing questions at her about her cover from his spot on the tile, all she could think about was the torturous burning sensation of her head and the dark blue colored contact lenses making her vision blur.

"Madonna mía, can I rinse it out yet?" she burst out finally, her fingers clenching onto the side of the tub as she tried to distract herself from the sizzling sting of the liquid seemingly seeping into every open pore.

"Please? Jesus Ch-"

"Only if you are wanting to lose half your hair," Cisco responded, his sharp eyes never wavering from his work.

"And I do not think you are wanting that."

"Where did you go to school, Tatiana?" Nixon quizzed her as he reached the third page of her cover's dossier.

Alix ignored him.

"How much longer?" she inquired and the Maquisard took a quick glance at his watch.

"Thirty more minutes, tía."

"Am I talking to myself?” Nixon complained loudly. “I said, 'Where did you go to school, Tati-'"

"It's Tanya," Alix snapped finally, dropping her voice to a lower, throatier pitch with a thick Russian accent.

"Only my mother calls me Tatiana. And I was trained at the Bolshoi Ballet Academy."

Her case officer didn't miss a beat.

"And your mother? Where did she train?"

A trick question.

"This is joke, yes?" the spy asserted, crossing her arms in front of her chest with an imperious toss of her head as she imagined a spoiled collaborationist socialite like Tanya would.

"We only train with the best. And the best have always been at the Bolshoi."

Captain Nixon gave a silent, grudging nod and Alix could see him fighting a smile at her performance.

"And your dad?" he prompted. "What's your old man do?"

"He is dignitary," she responded, the smoky quality of her lowered voice adding an extra layer of flippancy.

"That is all you need to know."

Nixon nodded his approval and drew a check mark in the margins of her dossier just as Cisco put the finishing touches on her false teeth and sat them on the counter to dry.

"I must get the, ah como se dice…El tinte– " He gestured frantically as he tried to summon the English term.

"Hair dye," Nixon supplied and the Spanish Maquisard nodded enthusiastically, scooting the large box toward himself.

"Sí, yes–" he said between grunts as he tried to pry the tightly-sealed packaging apart. "The dye! Hostia–"

With a huff of irritation, Cisco flicked a knife out from his boot and began to carve the box open to get to its contents.

“You would think–” he muttered in between laborious saws. “– they are hiding gold in here, when really, this– ”

With a final, swift cut, the Spanish operative was able to dip his hand inside and pull out a small package of Auburn Allure buried within layers of cardboard.

“– is all.”

“Dye’s hard to find these days,” Nixon commented as he shifted from the sink to the wall so Alix could finally rinse the peroxide from her hair.

“With shortages and all. Kathy’s always on about it.”

The cool rush of water on her scalp sent a shiver of relief washing through but when she flipped her hair back and looked into the mirror, Alix let out a yelp of horror at the ashen creature staring back at her.

“What did you DO?!” she shrieked as she clutched at the limp strands of her now ghastly-yellow hair.

Skip and Don were going to have a field-day with this.

“Hostia, I told you not to look yet,” Cisco scolded, swatting her hand away from her face.

“You will only scare yourself. Captain Nixon, the scissors porfa.”

Alix opened her mouth to respond but suddenly thought better of speaking sharply to a highly-trained operative with scissors now in hand.

“Not. One. Word." She growled in Nix’s direction and even though it obviously pained him, her case officer made a sarcastic zipper motion across his lips and turned back to her dossier while Alix continued to violently pantomime slitting his throat.

“Ignore him,” Estrada uttered sympathetically, swiping a portion of her bleached hair to the side and clipping it.

“We are not even halfway finished. You must trust me, vale?”

Alix sighed hopelessly and rubbed her stinging eyes again as the operative took the scissors to her beloved hair.

“Vale.”

∆∆━━━━∆∆━━━∆∆━━━∆∆

Within a couple hours, Alix had gotten used to the contact lenses and even the uncomfortable dental façade that shifted her jawline but she was still getting used to the overall person staring back at her in the mirror.

The haircut and bangs suited her face surprisingly well but being a bleach blonde did not. Luckily, the Spanish operative had a plan to fix that too.

“Damn Cisco,” Alix remarked in a tone tinged with envy as she watched him combine ingredients like an expert chemist.

"You can do hair, you can paint, you can take a dental impression, you can kill a man in probably at least 5 different ways, is there anything you can’t do?”

The Spaniard contemplated the question as he vigorously shook the bottle of dye.

“Maths,” he declared after a moment’s pause.

“When I was in university, I always struggle in Maths. Painting a scene from memory, no problem, but you ask me to solve a complicated equation? This I cannot do.”

“What did you end up studying while you were in college?” Alix inquired curiously as he began to apply the deep burgundy dye into her hair with patient strokes.

“Art,” was the wistful reply, his hand faltering slightly with his fading smile.

“But I leave university when the Guerra Civil starts… My little brother and I, we fight in the war. I make it out…Diego does not.”

“I’m so sorry,” Alix whispered, instinctively reaching to touch her rosary.

She knew the ache of that loss all too well.

“How did you end up in the intelligence game?” Captain Nixon asked, finding his voice.

In the mirror, she could see a shadow cross Cisco’s face.

“I go home to Cantabria. I see what Franco has done to mi pueblo…mi gente… mis amigos… Everywhere you look, there is death."

He swallowed hard.

“That is why I no longer go by my first name... Francisco.” He spat the word like a bitter curse.

“After what I have seen…All of the things he has done to good people, all of the things he is doing to mi amada patria…I cannot stand –”

His voice broke and he cut himself off, lapsing into a tense silence.

After a moment, he gritted his teeth and soldiered on.

“So I put down my brushes… I pick up my guns and I go to the mountains, I join the Maquis. Then the SOE, they reach out to me. They hear of my background. They want to train me in disguise and–”

He finished brushing in the dye and made a half-hearted gesture with the brush as if to say Voila, here I am.

“Bueno, what about you? Why intelligence? I am curious.”

Alix took a deep breath and shifted anxiously in her seat.

What reason could she give? There was only one reason she had stuck with the OSS for so long, only one reason she hadn’t quit the spy game long before.

This operative had just poured out his whole life story to her and she couldn’t even say a name?

“M-My brother,” she forced out, surprised at how brittle her voice sounded as the words tumbled out.

“He, um…He was a Navy lieutenant. He shouldn’tve been there that morning, on the ship, but –”

She took a shuddering breath, the words feeling like sawdust in her mouth as she slowly continued.

“– But he'd stayed the night to mediate some stupid squabble. So he was with his men that morning on the Arizona when…when–”

She shook her head, unwilling to give voice to the awful words, but she didn't have to.

"Entiendo por lo que estás pasando," Cisco intoned sympathetically as he began painting dye onto another section of her hair. "We have both lost much and it drives us here, to make a difference."

"Definitely. I tried to join the Women's Army Corps first," she admitted. "But I don’t take orders well. So suffice it to say, my superiors and I didn’t exactly get along.”

She looked over at Captain Nixon, expecting some sort of quip but he appeared to be studying the pristine white tile, so she went on:

"Luckily, Director Donovan was looking for the headstrong type and knew my father personally, so he asked if I would be interested. And--”

She shrugged, trying and failing to keep her tone light.

“Here I am.”

"Bueno," Cisco chuckled. “My wife, Yessenia, has a favorite saying: 'Pan con pan, comida de tontos'.”

Alix's brows knit in confusion.

“‘Bread with bread'…?”

“A ver, it loses something in translation,” the Spanish operative expressed with another breezy laugh. “Es como...all the same is boring, no? It is good to be different.”

Captain Nixon was strangely quiet throughout the course of the conversation and Alix stole another furtive glance in his direction.

The intelligence officer was taking a sip from his flask with a hollow stare straight past her, at the wall.

He was the odd one out, she realized, and he knew it.

The only one of them who hadn’t lost anything…or anyone.

It suddenly dawned on Alix that she had never known why he had joined the Airborne to begin with or why he had agreed to become a case officer. She never knew why he was so strict with her but lackadaisical when it came to everyone else.

To be frank with herself, Alix realized she had never thought to ask. Even if she had, she reasoned, would he have given her a real answer? Probably not.

But now that everyone else was opening up too, perhaps he just might.

"Hey Nix--" she started and it was almost like her case officer sensed that she was about to inquire seriously about a topic he was loath to discuss because he hurried to cut her off.

“Say, you two mind if I turn on the radio?”

“Madonna mia, you’ve got to be kidding,” Alix groaned, throwing her hands up in exasperation before adopting a gruff, mocking tone.

“What happened to ‘no radio for the month, Runt. It's not safe’?!”

“Well first of all," Nixon noted dryly, already exiting the bathroom to retrieve the contraband. "That impression of me could use some work!"

Moments later, he reappeared, radio in hand, and plopped it onto the bathroom counter.

"And second of all," he finished with a self-satisfied smirk at the look of indignance on Alix's face. "Since we’re leaving tonight, HQ gave the okay."

Before the young agent could respond, the saccharine voice of one of Germany's most notorious propagandists came wafting over the crackling airwaves.

“–the Andrews Sisters singing ‘Pistol Packin Mama’. GIs sure love girls and guns, don’t you? Is that why some of you are lending your aid to The Black Butterfly?"

Axis Sally let out a girlish giggle so malicious that it made the spy’s blood run cold and she exchanged worried glances with Nixon, whose expression had darkened instantly.

How did Berlin know she was getting help from American soldiers?!

Where were they getting such detailed information?

Even Cisco blanched as the announcer’s words set in, the dye brush slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor, deep red splattering across the tile.

“You are smart men," Sally purred coquettishly, somehow sounding more threatening than if she had been yelling.

"Surely you realize you’re backing the wrong horse. After all, do you know how easy it is to kill a butterfly?”

There was a brief pause and then another chime of haunting laughter as the infamous announcer answered her own query:

“All you have to do is catch it.”

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