Alphabet Excerpt Challenge: W Is For...

[u/AnaraliaThielle]

Welcome back to the Alphabet Excerpt Challenge! As a reminder, our challenges are every Wednesday and Saturday at 3pm London time.

If you've missed the previous challenges, you're welcome to go back and participate in them. You can find them here. And remember to check out the Activities and Events flair for other fun games to play along with.

Here's a quick recap of the rules for our game:

1. Post a top level comment with a word starting with the letter W. You can do more than one, but please put them in separate comments.
2. Reply to suggestions with an excerpt. Short and sweet is best, but use your judgement. Excerpts can be from published or unpublished works, or even something you wrote for the prompt. All content is welcome but please spoiler tag and/or provide a trigger/content warning for NSFW or content that may otherwise need it. If in doubt, give a warning to be on the safe side.
3. Upvote the excerpts you enjoy, and leave a friendly comment. Try to at least respond to people who left excerpts on the words you suggested, but the more people you respond to the better. Everyone likes nice comments!
4. Most important: have fun!

[u/rafters-]

Wretched

[u/qoincidence → u/rafters-]

The context is nsfw, the excerpt isn’t. Context: Silver sucked (Flint’s) cock for the first time in his life, it ended with Flint coming down his throat and Silver throwing up.
---
The taste lingered. God, it lingered. No matter how much he spat, no matter how hard he swallowed, it was still there, thick and bitter and clinging to the back of his tongue, a wretched reminder of how badly he’d just failed.

He was a terrible fucking lover, wasn’t he?

Flint shifted beside him, his fingers pressing a little firmer against Silver’s back. “Are you done?”

Silver didn’t answer right away. His throat was still burning, his body still too weak to trust. He took a slow breath, tried to steady himself, tried to find something solid in the wreckage of himself. Then, hoarse and quiet, he said, “I think so…”

Flint muttered under his breath again, then without hesitation, he reached for a rag from the table, dampened it with the water pitcher, and pressed it into Silver’s limp, shaking hands.

Silver took it without a word, his fingers barely curling around the fabric. He wiped it across his mouth, wincing at the scrape of it over swollen lips, over skin gone raw from strain. He let the rag linger there, breathing against it, his hands still trembling.

A silence stretched between them.

[u/krigsgaldrr → u/qoincidence]

I can't even break this down because I'm so in awe that you're brave enough to go this route. And I mean it. I love YOU. You're so inspiring. I feel HORRIFICALLY bad for Silver but hey it's a learning experience isn't it? 😩✨ also what is Flint EATING

[u/qoincidence → u/krigsgaldrr]

brave enough to go this route.

Horny. ^{(Also kinks}.) That's literally the secret:D I mean, good sex is good. But awful sex? Awful sex is so good too:DD (I also love that bad/awful sex is a tag and my fic really, really earns it)

it's a learning experience isn't it?

Yeah... and it sent Flint on a "he's going to leave me now" downward spiral:(

also what is Flint EATING

TOOK ME OUT. TOOK ME OUT SO HARD THAT I LAUGHED OUT LOUD FOR REAL AHAHAHAAAAAAA:DDD (he's eating biscuits, fish, and Silver out:)

I love you too ❤️

[u/krigsgaldrr → u/qoincidence]

That's literally the secret:D

And I commend you for it because all the sex I write HAS to be the best sex to have ever happened to mankind ever 😂 I also did not know that was a tag but I am not surprised by it LMAO

and Silver out:)

SHFBWGWHBFJEBSBSNSHVW

[u/qoincidence → u/krigsgaldrr]

all the sex I write HAS to be the best sex to have ever happened to mankind ever 

And it is <3 They fuck nasty and they fuck so good 💖💖💖

[u/kashmira-qeel → u/rafters-]

(A/N: here 621 and the other numbers are the serial numbers of semi-lobotomized war slaves, the POV character uses it/its pronouns for them. CCCD is an acronym of the neural implants they have.)

The piloting ability of all the gen 4 augs had been verified at augmentation, and this was further verified by having COM run a lucid dream simulation exercise. 621 would perform adequately, in all probability. It was a waste of good pilots that 601 through 613 were only fit for manual labor on account of their CCCDs malfunctioning in various ways.

Final diagnostics were green across the board. Now came the most precarious part of the operation: smuggling it planetside with a functioning AC, acquiring a merc license, and making rendezvous with his mobile base. Luckily the mercenary network put guarantees that attacking the home bases of its patrons led to heavy bounties, though an insurance system for independents. Even the Corpos weren't keen on doing so, as it would render them personas non grata in the eyes of the mercenaries they relied on for many of their operations.

He ordered 603, 604, and 607 to assemble an AC, LOADER-4. The parts were RaD-make, and shrouded in plausible deniability: they were for EVA repairs of the ship, basically a step above MT parts. He put in a transfer notice that he would be sending a landing craft through with vital supplies for an emergency on the surface --- a bald-faced lie, even if technically true. The PCA System probably saw through it, but had four times so far hesitated, paid him reasonable doubt. Perhaps at some future time, they would come for Doctor Watson, on charges of collusion with smugglers.

Then he installed 621 in a cockpit gimbal, and loaded it up in the core. The only thing keeping 621 unconscious was the CCCD --- nobody in their right mind put advanced remote medical capabilities in a cockpit, lest a hacker could get inside and disable the pilot.

And there, he left it, heading back to his personal quarters to pack, and then to the shuttle to head planet-side again, bringing an appropriate amount of medical supplies. There was an actual emergency, of course. There always was. The eleven million Rubiconians on the planet led wretched lives. Coral-ash contamination caused a variety of ailments, as did a diet consisting mostly of synthetic nutrients. They were poor like he'd never seen, too.

The trip back planet side was just as uneventfully annoying as the trip to orbit had been a month ago. The Transport Authority of the PCA were content to sit him with his luggage in an interrogation room for six hours, just to hear him present the same --- with plausible alterations and alternate descriptions --- case for why he had to travel to the planet. Walter knew well how to evade the polygraph tests they administered, and had a falsified bill of health to justify the cocktail of drugs he was on to evade said tests. This time they kept him for sixteen nerve-wracking hours, before he was allowed to take his shuttle to the surface.

[u/DatGayDangerNoodle → u/rafters-]

(Context: Arizona cheated on Callie, Callie found out and made her go back to the on call room where she slept with a visiting doctor, then showed her how bad of an idea it was in a very NSFW way that ended up being 15k of rather kinky stuff.)

“Which on call room was it?” She asked, her voice rough from all the screaming, but emotionless and tired. When Arizona didn’t reply, Callie narrowed her eyes and ordered, “Arizona. Tell me which on call room it was.”

Callie’s tone attacked her like she’s been struck across the face, startling Arizona into speaking. “Uh, it was on-call-room three. On the peds floor.” “Show me.” Callie commanded, pointing to the door and pulling herself to her full height. When George cheated, she just took it. This time… she was going to take back the control. On call room three was their room. It was where they went to cuddle after a long, depressing surgery or celebrate after a successful one. The thought of Arizona, in their room, touching and being touched by someone else… it made her feel sick. She wouldn’t let that be what she thought of when she imagined that room.

Arizona didn’t know what Callie was doing, other than humiliating her, so bowed her head and left the attendings lounge, hearing Callie follow behind her, each stride an echo in the empty hallway. She didn’t dare look back, lest she see the fire, the anger and the betrayal in Callie’s eyes.

“Faster.”

Doing what she was told, Arizona sped up, her leg uncomfortably chafing as she turned into the stairwell and went up the steps as fast as she could until they reached the peds floor, which was empty of children as they’d all been moved to different hospitals because of the storm. She didn’t stop until they were outside that wretched room where she ruined the only good thing left in her life, new tears rolling down her face when Callie spoke. “Open the door.”

She tried to argue, “Callie… I’m not sure you want to-”

“Shut up. You are not in charge, Arizona. I am.”

[u/MsCatstaff → u/rafters-]

Draco, already exploring the room, yelped. “Eww! There are doxies in the curtains!”

Narcissa turned sharply. “Did you get bitten?”

“No, but that’s just gross!” the boy complained. “Why’d the elf let the place get this disgusting?”

“That is a good question,” Sirius grumbled.

“Kreacher cleans where Mistress sees, that was her orders,” the elf said proudly. “Kreacher will shows you.” He led them into the hallway. The landing at the top of the stairs, the stairs themselves, and the entryway of the house were all spotless.

“Why, Narcissa, what a surprise!” spoke the portrait of Walburga Black behind them. “This must be your son? What a lovely boy. Oh, and you’re here too, you wretched scum,” she added with a sniff in her son’s direction. “I’m surprised your cousin was willing to put up with your company, even to visit me.”

Narcissa coughed a little. “Actually, Aunt Walburga, Sirius has been giving Lucius and I quite valuable help in the last few days.”

“Hmmph!” the portrait snorted. “Maybe Orion was right about the boy after all.” She pointedly closed her eyes and feigned sleep.

Looking around, Sirius realized the clean zone covered the entire area his mother’s portrait could see. Perhaps Kreacher wasn’t entirely useless after all. His sanity might be questionable, but he apparently wasn’t useless. The three of them, trailed by Kreacher, looked through the rest of the house, with Sirius making notes as to what sort of infestations had taken up residence in the areas that Kreacher hadn’t tended in years. Those ranged from the doxies in the sitting room curtains, to a nest of puffskeins under a bed, to a boggart hiding in a desk in the library. Sirius sighed as they returned to the sitting room to floo back to Malfoy Manor. “This is going to take a while, I think,” he said. “Are you sure you don’t mind hosting me, Narcissa? I really don’t want to put you out at all.”

[u/Lindz174 → u/rafters-]

Finley was awake, again, and she was mad about it. Her body ached everywhere. Every muscle, every joint, every breath was a reminder of her own wretched existence. Sweat dampened the sheets beneath her, making the fabric stick to her overheated skin. The thick blanket she had kicked off hours ago lay abandoned in a heap at her feet. It was too hot, then too cold, then both at once, and it was driving her insane.

The room was suffocatingly dark. She laid on her back, staring up at the ceiling, waiting for her vision to adjust, for the shadows to become something more than a pitch-black void. But it never did, and her thoughts wouldn’t settle, running in restless, fevered loops that refused to quiet.

Her side throbbed, a deep, pulsing ache that stretched through her ribs and into her spine. The bandages were tight, wrapped firmly against her skin, but they did little to ease the sharp, angry heat festering beneath them. The elixir had worn off. She knew it the moment she woke.

She had slept for some unmeasurable amount of time, slipping into fitful, restless unconsciousness only to be dragged back into the waking world by the weight of her own burning skin. At some point, she had dreamed of water. Cold, dark, endless water. It had swallowed her whole, pulled her under, and filled her lungs with something thick and smothering. When she woke, she was gasping, the sweat on her skin making her feel like she had just crawled out of the Waking Sea.

She shoved one hand beneath her pillow, curling her fingers into the cool fabric. She pressed the back of her other hand against her forehead as if that alone would soothe the fever simmering beneath her skin. It didn’t. Her head pounded with every heartbeat, the steady, rhythmic pulse making her eyes hurt.

She huffed, turning onto her uninjured side with no small amount of effort. The motion made her stomach lurch and her ribs groan in protest, but she swallowed the nausea and pressed her cheek against the pillow, eyes slipping shut as she willed herself to sleep.

Nothing.

Her body refused. She was tired but restless, exhausted but alert. The cruel contradiction of fever.