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chahnniesroom · 6 months ago

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to have and to hold

pairing: bang chan x female reader

summary: you don't think there's anything chan can do to make you love him more. chan continues to prove you wrong.

word count: 1.4k

warnings: mentions of pregnancy, lots of fluff!!

a/n: sorry it has been so long since i posted! i have been wanting to write this since that ep of return of superman where chan and felix took care of rowoon, it was so so sweet. also i'm so sorry but i did not edit this at all

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

“Do you think you’d ever want to have kids?”

Your question breaks through the quiet dialogue of the show that you and Chan are watching. Behind you, you feel Chan freeze before he forces himself to relax and continue fiddling with your fingers.

Chan hesitates for a moment longer before answering.

“I don’t know,” he says, slowly and carefully. “I think that I’d want to eventually, but right now? Being an idol- It would be difficult. I mean, for anyone it’s hard, but especially with this career…”

“Do you like children?” you ask, curious even though you can anticipate his answer.

“Yes.” This time he replies immediately, although his voice is still cautious. He releases your hands from his hold and gently nudges your shoulders so that you twist to look at him. “Y/n- Do- Are you-”

“What?” you stare at him, not sure why he suddenly seems so worried.

“Are you pregnant?” he asks gently. “It’s fine if you are! We can totally work things out and I will 100% support you the whole time-”

“Oh!” You smack yourself in the forehead. “No! Definitely not! I was just thinking.”

“Ah.” Chan slumps against the back of the couch, this time he’s actually relaxed. “Just thinking or- what brought this on?”

“I’m sorry,” you say hurriedly. “That must have been out of nowhere for you. No, it’s because my older sister’s wedding anniversary is coming up, the first one since she’s had a kid, so I wanted to let her go out without having to worry. I was wondering if you wanted to help me babysit?”

“I see,” Chan says, sounding relieved. “Your sister. Yes, I haven’t met Doyun yet, right? I’d love to help you take care of him.”

—

Your sister is delighted that you’ve offered to take Doyun for an evening and you quickly coordinate with Chan what day would work best. It’s not possible to babysit on your sister’s actual anniversary due to Chan’s schedules, but your availabilities line up on a Friday night the weekend after.

Chan is nervous leading up to it, which you find absolutely adorable. When you look over his shoulder one night, curious what he’s focusing so intently on, you find him scrolling through articles on interacting with babies as well as tips on baby-proofing an apartment.

Before your sister arrives, you work with Chan for a few hours transforming the open area of your apartment, placing pillows and draping blankets over sharp corners and making sure to keep any small objects out of reach.

When the doorbell rings, Chan panics, popping his head out of the kitchen from where he’s been trying to figure out a way to prevent Doyun from being able to open the cabinets.

“We're not ready!” he says, eyes wide.

“What do you want to do, keep them waiting outside until you finish?” you joke, then pause when it looks like Chan is actually considering it. “Don't worry, I'll go let my sister in and you keep working on that. We'll be watching Doyunnie the whole time, so even if you can't work that out, it's fine.”

Your sister doesn't stay for very long. She hands Doyun off to you and assures both you and Chan that your place looks safe for a baby. After going through everything that is packed in the massive diaper bag that she’s leaving with you, she heads back home to get ready for her dinner.

Doyun has a short attention span and cycles between playing with a stuffed animal, a ball, some plastic fruits and vegetables, and toy trains within the first hour. He is so adorable that you and Chan don't mind how much energy is required to keep him occupied. Luckily he's a fairly easygoing baby and hasn't fussed at all, although it did take a while for him to warm up to the two of you.

He's comfortable now, especially since Chan has started to spin the two of them around, hands firmly gripping Doyun’s torso. Doyun absolutely loves it, shrieking in excitement with his eyes crinkling. Even after a few minutes of the same thing, he never grows bored, just as thrilled everytime that Chan lifts him above his head. Although Doyun isn��t very heavy yet, after 15 minutes there’s sweat visible on Chan’s forehead and he’s starting to get out of breath.

“How about we take a bit of a break? Do you want to read?” Chan sits Doyun down against some pillows and rummages through the bag that your sister packed, finding some of the books that she included.

Chan hands the books over and although Doyun accepts both of them, he throws them aside and instead clumsily reaches up towards Chan, clearly asking to be picked up again. Chan pretends to groan and complain as he lifts Doyun back up.

“Aww,” you coo. “He really likes you.”

“And I really like him,” Chan says, spinning Doyun around. “I just wish I hadn’t gone to the gym earlier today, I didn’t realise what a workout this would be!”

Eventually Doyun grows tired, no longer begging Chan to continue. This time when Chan settles him on the ground, he just looks around curiously before crawling up to Chan and grabbing at his curls.

“He’s so small,” Chan marvels. “Look at his little fingers!”

He reaches out towards Doyun, who immediately wraps his hand around Chan’s index finger and pulls it towards his mouth.

It's comical to see the difference in size between their hands and Chan visibly melts, allowing Doyun to gum at his fingers, quickly covering them in a sheen of saliva.

“Are you hungry Doyunnie?” Chan asks. “It’s almost time for dinner, let’s see what your auntie prepared for us.”

By the time Doyun is set up in a high chair with a bib on, you’ve finished cooking. Dinner for Doyun is simple, consisting of steamed vegetables, tofu, rolled omelette, rice, and a bit of fruit. You’ve also used the same ingredients plus a few additions to make kimchi stew for you and Chan.

Chan is distracted the whole meal, prioritising feeding Doyun and wiping his face clean in between bites over eating his own food. It's a futile effort since Doyun seems more interested in smearing the food around rather than getting it into his mouth.

When you're finished with your food, you switch spots with Chan and coax Doyun into eating the last few bites he has left while Chan scarfs down his own meal.

After dinner, you carry Doyun into the bathroom and start filling the bathtub with a shallow layer of warm water. He watches with wide eyes as you add bubble bath that changes the colour of the water to a deep blue and creates a thick cover of bubbles. After washing the dishes and wiping down the kitchen, Chan joins the both of you just as you’re rinsing suds out of Doyun’s hair.

Cleaned and dressed in a fuzzy onesie with tiny bear ears poking out from the hood, Doyun struggles to stay awake for the rest of the evening. It’s obvious that he’s tired, he’s starting to get cranky and his blinks get longer and longer, but he stubbornly continues to play. After his third time nodding off while slotting plastic shapes into a cube, Chan picks him up and walks him around the room, rocking him slightly while humming a melody that you can’t recognize.

When your sister comes to pick up Doyun, he's sprawled out on Chan’s chest, deeply asleep. A line of drool drops from his open mouth to form a wet spot on Chan’s shirt, but Chan doesn’t seem to mind, staring at Doyun with stars in his eyes.

That night, right when you're about to fall asleep, Chan speaks up. His arms are wrapped around you and you can feel his breath against the back of your neck.

“I think,” he says quietly. “I think I want kids. Not now, I still have the same concerns as before, but in the future? I want it.”

“You did so well with Doyunnie, it looked so natural,” you agree. “I think you would be a great dad.”

“Only if you’re there by my side,” he corrects.

“There’s nowhere I’d rather be.”

till death do us part collection | read it on ao3 | masterlist

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forever-rogue · 2 years ago

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can I request a Joel Miller x reader fic where she's in love with him but is convinced he would never have feelings for her too as she's younger than him and shy and quiet but maybe all gets revealed (however you want to do that) 👉👈 super fluffy but put some angst in there too if you wish 🥰

AN | Okay, but I love this so much ❤️

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language

Word Count | 2.3k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

People always seemed to call you shy.

And you were you supposed, in your own way. It had a lot of perks when you really thought about it, and one of the main benefits happened to be that people often seemed to leave you to your own devices.

You liked that you had the ability to watch and observe people without question. There was a lot that could be learned when people thought they weren’t being watched.

And one of your favorite people to study happened to be Joel Miller.

He was a quiet man and often kept to himself more than anything, but there was still a lot to be gleaned from him. He was resourceful and smart, kind and friendly but not in an overbearing way, and generally…the object of your affections. Not that you would ever admit that to anyone else. You’d never said those words out all loud - and never would. No, that was a secret you would take to the grave.

You were he probably already knew - you felt like a pathetic, rambling fool around him. He managed to erase every sensible thought in your head and the ability to form any coherent sentences. Instead you fumbled over your words, feeling warm and anxious…so you usually tried to avoid him as much as you. Sometimes it worked, but other times it seemed like he managed to find you or be in the same spot as you at every conceivable moment.

It sucked. You were sure that one day you’d accidentally spill the beans or somehow give away that fact you were desperately in love with him. As long as you managed to keep your guard up, you were sure that it would all be fine. All you had to do was avoid him for the rest of your life.

How hard could that be?

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Hey,” that familiar gruff cut through your internal monologue as you gasped in surprise and almost dropped at the stuff in your arms. You turned around to him Joel watched you with a bemused expression on his face, “you alright? Didn’t mean to scare you, kid.”

Kid. You hated when he called you that. It made you feel like you were nothing in his eyes. Just a mere inconvenience. A kid that happened to be in his way.

“‘s alright,” you mumbled, righting the basket in your arms as you turned back to the vegetables and fruits you were tending to, “didn’t hear you is all.”

“Didn’t hear me,” he chuckled, the sound warm and familiar as it made the butterflies in your stomach flutter like crazy, “I don’t think I was being quiet in the slightest. Must have been awfully focused on whatever is going on in that pretty little head.”

You froze, eyes widening at his words, but continued to pick the fresh vegetables. You were so thankful that your back was to him as you tried to shrug him off. Otherwise he might have sensed just how flushed your face was and the lovesick expression on your face.

You. You, you, you.

"Nothing," you lied through gritted teeth, attempting in vain to slow down the beating of your heart and higher octave of your voice, "just thinking about what new things to plant once the season changes."

"And what did you decide?" Oh yeah. He was totally calling your bluff.

"About what?"

"The vegetables?"

"Oh…umm…cucumbers?"

"That's a summer vegetable," you cringed as he made a small sound of amusement. Did the man really have to know everything? You remained silent but could hear him shift, "last time I checked its almost winter."

"Well," you make quick work of gathering the rest of your veggies and placing them gently into the basket, "I guess I'll figure it out later."

You stood up and quickly turned on your heel to leave, rushing to get away and put this whole situation behind. You felt his fingers wrap around your wrist and gently hold you back. When you met his eyes, you noticed the little smile on his face, "everything alright?"

"Peachy," you lied as you gently pulled out of his grasp, "see you around, Joel."

"See you, Kid."

You hoped that maybe you'd never see him again and therefore avoid ever making a fool outside of yourself.

Unlikely.

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“And just where do you think you’re going?” you almost jumped in surprise, a small sound of surprise escaping your lips before he clamped his hand over your mouth. He put a finger to his lips and shook his head. You relaxed slightly when you saw it was him. When he realized that you weren’t going to freak out he dropped his hand from your mouth.

“Joel!” you hissed at him, looking around to make sure no one had followed either of you, “what are you doing here?”

“The better question is what are you doing here?” he crossed his arms over his broad chest as he raised an eyebrow at you. You put an innocent smile on your face and shrugged, knowing you weren’t fooling him in the slightest.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…”

“Are you asking me or telling me?” oh. He was loving this way too much already.

“Telling? Wait - no, telling you,” you huffed, annoyed with yourself for how nervous you suddenly felt, “I’m just…here.”

“Here,” he repeated as you nodded, “it looks like you were trying to sneak out of the safety of the QZ.”

“Ummm…” realistically there was no other thing you could have been doing in that particular location. You were both acutely aware of the truth of the situation, “I’m just hanging out.”

“Come on, Kid,” he reached up and brushed a few rogue strands of hair behind your ear, “I wasn’t born yesterday. I know you like to sneak out.”

“I don’t-”

“I don’t care that you do,” he dropped his voice to a whisper as you slowly swallowed thickly, “I care about the fact that it’s not safe.”

“You do it!”

“I can handle myself,” he insisted, putting his finger under your chin in order to turn your face up to his, “not that I don’t think you can. It’s different.”

“I don’t usually get into trouble,” you shrugged, “I just like getting out sometimes. It almost makes things feel normal sometimes.”

He regarded you for a few moments, inhaling deeply before exhaling slowly. Your heart skipped a few beats as you wondered if he would yell at you or get you in some sort of trouble, “let’s go.”

“I’m - wait. What?” your eyes widened in surprise when he definitely said the opposite of what you had expected, “go home?”

“Let’s go out,” he reached for your hand and gently took it in his before he started to tug you along towards the way out. You were rooted in place, staring at him incredulously. He laughed, the soft sound made butterflies explode in your tummy, “what?”

“You mean it?” you whispered as the smile on his face grew, “Joel?”

“Let’s go out in the world and get away for a little bit,” he insisted softly. A small part of you was convinced that this was all fake and that he was going to get you in trouble. But the larger part of you knew that Joel would never do just a thing. And the tender look in his eyes solidified that for you, “what do you say?”

“Yes,” you agreed with a shy smile and fervent nod, “let’s go.”

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“You should tell him, you know,” Lizzy nudged your side with your elbow and despite the serious look you were attempting to keep on your face, you giggled lightly. You ignored her comment as you turned back your attention towards the sky, as you studied the big, fat fluffy clouds.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you huffed, trying to tune out the way she looked at you with a coquettish little smirk, “busy Lizzy, mind your own business!”

“You’re my best friend,” she reminded you, causing you to grumble at her, but it was all laced with affection, “I’m a part of your life and I’m just trying to get you in the right direction.”

“There is no right or wrong direction,” you groaned, hiding your face in your hands, “there’s nothing there, Lizzy. I’m just a dumb kid with a big, fat crush and that’s all it’ll ever be. Can we drop it?”

“You’re so blind! It’s so obvious that he feels the same,” you loved Lizzy, and her tenacity was one of her amazing qualities. But right now it just felt so…overwhelming. You blinked back the tears that had threatened to well up and shook your head, “sweetheart-”

“Lizzy,” you put your hand on her arm and gave it a squeeze, “Joel doesn’t like me like that. I’m just a kid to him and that’s all I’ll ever be, and that’s okay. I’ll get over it…one day.”

“You’re so blind!” she was laughing, and despite the sound being so lovely and soft, your heart constricted in your chest. Before she could open her mouth to say anything else, you heard a loud throat clear from behind you. The two of you sat up in surprise, turning your attention towards the door to the roof.

Fuck. Of course. Of course Joel Miller had to choose the perfect time to make an appearance. Lizzy had a huge grin on her face as she jumped up from the blanket you’d been lying on you. You looked at her in desperation as she practically skipped over to Joel and past him, smiling sweetly at the older man.

In your anxious state you held up your hand in a meek little wave. Joel chuckled softly before making his way over to you. Without waiting for an invite, he sat down next to you, his thigh pressed against yours.

“You heard all of that, didn’t you?” your entire body was warm and you almost wished that something would have popped up to create a distraction. Not like fully on clicker distraction, but something. You keep your gaze trained anywhere but him as embarrassment washed over you.

“I did,” he admitted as you groaned internally. You could practically feel his pretty brown eyes focused on, but you weren’t ready to die of humiliation just yet.

“Of course,” you nodded in annoyance, at yourself more than anything. You groaned before letting out a small huff. You finally managed to turn your face towards him and to your surprise, he didn’t look mad or angry, “I’m umm…sorry. I’m sorry.”

“What are you sorry for?” it was a genuine question that caused you to shrug noncommittally, “the fact that I found out or for the feelings themself?”

“Both, I guess,” maybe the ground could open up and swallow you whole. That might be a nice change of pace, “m-mostly the fact that you found out.”

“So you’re not sorry for the feelings?”

“Can’t really help your feelings, can you?”

“No,” he agreed, shooting a curious little look, “I guess you can’t.”

“I hope this doesn’t make things awkward,” you whispered, “I try to stay away from you, but I swear you always seem to pop up out of nowhere. It always feels like the universe is laughing at me.”

“Almost like it wasn’t a coincidence at all…”

“I guess you’re….wait,” you turned your attention to him, allowing yourself to look at the man in question, “not a coincidence? What do you mean?”

“You’re a smart girl,” he praised and oh. If you didn’t enjoy being praised before, you sure did now, “you can put two and two together.”

“I….Joel-”

“Lizzy wasn’t as far off as you think she was,” he stated it so simply like it was the most obvious thing in the world. Your mouth dropped open as you stared at him, waiting for him to drop the just kidding bomb. He put his finger under your chin and gently closed your mouth, “is it really that hard to believe?”

“N-no,” you admitted softly, “I guess not. Just…are you sure? Me? Why…I don’t get it. Why me?”

“Don’t do that,” he insisted firmly, “the self doubt - there’s no reason for it.”

“I’m just…me.”

“Exactly,” he answered, leaving no room for any sort of back-talk, “you’re not just some kid or just a nobody. Not to me.”

“But I…I-”

He rested his hand on your neck, his thumb gently brushing along your soft skin, “I’m going to kiss you now, okay?”

“Oh. Oh,” your eyes widened for a moment before you felt the soft press of his lips against yours. It wasn’t much of a kiss, more of a soft brushing of lips, both of you testing the waters. When he pulled back, you found him watching you with a soft expression on his face, “that was…you kissed me.”

“I did,” he echoed his words from earlier, “and I’d like to do it again if you’re okay with it.”

“Yes,” you smiled shyly at him, “I’d like that a lot.”

“Okay.”

“Okay,” and he was kissing you again, like the two of you had been doing this for a long time, like it was the most normal thing in the world.

Maybe you weren’t just some dumb kid after all.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x fem!reader #joel miller x you #joel miller one shot #joel miller imagine #pedro pascal #pedro pascal x you #pedro pascal x reader

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artsninspo · 3 months ago

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"FIRST LOVE💗 " - RIO X READER

Summary: For the girls who wanted a younger rio x reader. Here it is; Rio’s fallen for the daughter of his boxing coach. Based around this ask.

Pairing: Rio (Good Girls) x Reader

Warnings: none this is fluffy 🐻 🐻 🐻

Word Count: 1K

Full Masterlist

RIO MASTERLIST

“Tell me you love me” Rio laughs, pulling you to him. His thumbs looped into the belt loops of your jeans as his hands rest on your butt. Looking up you laugh at the sight of him wearing your puppies of choice.

“No” you respond and he pulls you in closer.

“Don’t play with me” he laughs sitting on the trunk of his car.

“Tell me you love me” he repeats and you look up at him about to respond when your phone buzzes in your back pocket. Taking your hands from his knees you reach into it to see your dad in the caller ID.

“Dad?” You question picking up.

“Maria says we also need vegetables, I texted you the list. Don’t come back without it” he says talking about your stepmom.

“Okay, it’ll take a little longer” you respond.

“Hurry we’re all hungry” your father says and Rio hips down from his car swinging an arm around you as you hand up.

“Lucky for you I know where all this shit is” he smiles, taking the phone from you. The two of you walk like that from the very back of the parking lot into the store. You grab a cart and Rio leads the way. His abuelita has taught him well or he’s excellent at bullshitting.

“Hey, Y/N it’s nice to see you” one of your friends' moms says, eyeing Rio.

“Nice to see you too Ma’am” you smile.

“One of your brother's friends?” She pries, ready to sell your secrets for a chance to be with your father.

“Yeah, he works at the gym” you don’t hesitate.

“Christopher” Rio smiles.

“Mhm, be good sweetie and stay away from boys who look at you the way he does. They’re all trouble” she advises before walking away. Everyone’s already made plans for the kind of man they want you to be with.

“So you don’t love me?” Rio whispers in your ear to taunt you.

“I told you not to get that neck tatt” you laugh evading the question and he smiles laughing.

“I’ll get one for you, when you tell me you love me” Rio whispers in your ear again, in good humour.

“We should tell my dad.” You sigh.

“Why?”

“Because he’s your boxing coach and it could get messy if he thinks you’re a fox in the hen house” you explain.

“You won’t even tell me you love me, he doesn’t have to worry about us having sex” Rio scoffs, placing the final ingredients in your cart. You smile happy he knows and he smiles back winking at you.

“You’re okay with that?” You ask and he shrugs walking at your side.

“I’m seeing you when your dad can fuck me up, my heads already gone. Probably best for my well being you don’t sleep with me yet so I can stop spinning” Rio says making you blush.

“My dad likes you” you share candidly.

“For now” Rio says knowing how things work.

“I don’t think us dating changes that. Just makes you the enemy first, his pupil second.” You explain and Rio gets his money out to pay ahead of you.

“Keep it” he smiles, allowing you to pocket the money your father gave you for the errand.

“Rio-“ you object.

“Shh” he says before helping you bring the groceries to his car. You both second guess parking so far out for some privacy. Rio gets your door and you sit passenger side waiting for him to get in. He pulls off and you look at each other smiling before the blushing happens and you’re both filled with butterflies. Rio’s hand interlocks fingers with yours and he kisses thrm. “I’ll tell him” he relents.

“Thank you” , you sigh with relief.

“Then we can go places together and go on dates” you say with excitement.

“Where do you want to go first?” Rio asks and you relax against the headrest pondering the thought. Rio watches your eyes sparkle. He watches the thoughts roll through your head as he waits for the red light to turn green.

“Let’s go to the roller skating rink”

“No way I’m not busting my ass in front of you on our first date” Rio smiles.

“Where then?” You ask.

“Take you somewhere nice to eat so you can get all dressed up and I can show you off” Rio says with his priorities all over the place. You laugh.

“After you show me off?”

“A drive in, we can watch something scary so you have an excuse to be all over me” Rio proposes and you love it.

“No imagination” you sigh, acting like it’s a bad suggestion.

“I don’t care as long as you’re happy and I’m not busting my ass,” Rio concludes.

“What about an art class? I could look for something. A workshop activity we could do?” You ask obliterating Rio’s idea of romance which was everything he’d ever seen on television.

“If it makes you happy” Rio shrugs.

“Okay, I’ll find something” you smile, getting ahead of yourself.

The rest of the ride is short and you find your father waiting out front. He scrunches his face at the sight of Rio taking the bags of food from you.

“It’s all here” you tell your father.

“Christopher” your dad nods in acknowledgement.

“Sir” Rio nods.

“You staying for dinner? The boys aren’t back yet” Your dad says.

“I’d like to speak to you about something” Rio’s voice cracks a little.

“Sure” your dad says heading in to set down the groceries. You sigh watching from the kitchen as they talk outside. Maria, your father’s current fixation watches you like a hawk.

“Told you he likes you” she smiles. “Don’t work, I’ll convince your dad you should be allowed to date, if you try and get him to take me on a trip for my birthday. Three days away can go a long way” she comments, chopping up the produce.

“Why don’t we just make dinner like we said we would?” You ask peeling your eyes away from the outside window. She smiles hearing your dad’s voice raise.

“Kid has some balls” she scoffs as your heart races. He gets louder and she stops putting the knife down to head outside. You stay out of it wanting to speak to Rio but not wanting things to get worse. “Babe she’s a good kid, you should reward honesty. She’s not having sex and she wanted him to tell you. Be her hero not her warden. You can’t protect her from everything. If he messes up guess what, you’re still her dad, you can go off” Maria says reasoning with him.

“I like the kid. I don’t want to have to kill him. But that’s my baby girl” your father snaps.

________-

Authors Note: Testing, I wanted this to be longer but I haven't written teenage puppy love in so long I hope I did okay. This was supposed to be one long update but I had to break it up so you all could have something in relatively timely matter.

Let me know if you enjoyed it.

LIKE COMMENT & REBLOG

#rio good girls #masterlist #rio x reader #rio x you #good girls rio #manny montana x reader #manny montana fanfiction

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raspberrybesitos · 11 months ago

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mistletoe kisses | joel miller x f!reader

Main masterlist

Rating: M - 18+ MDNI

Word count: ~2.6k

Summary: You decorate the Christmas tree with some help from Joel and Ellie.

Warnings: established relationship, post-outbreak, Jackson era, canon divergent bc nothing bad ever happens to them ever 😁, sickening fluff, pet names (honey, darlin’, baby, babydoll, etc), allusions to smut, no mention of hair type/skin color/body type, NO USE OF Y/N.

A/N: surprise!!! i know i said this would be up on the 22nd, but i’ve got something else that will be up on saturday 🤭 and i just couldn’t stop thinking about giving this man a happy ending, including healing and starting new traditions with his family 😔 i wish joel was real 💔 anyway, i hope y’all enjoy! not beta’d, all mistakes are my own. 🏃‍♀️

Divider by @/saradika

Grumbling, he treks behind you, snow crunching beneath his work boots as he cautiously lugs the saw in his hands.

You’re rambling about finding the perfect tree in front of him, Ellie asking a million questions about the tradition.

He hadn’t expected, intended, to find a partner in Jackson. That is until he saw you, lugging a heavy crate of harvested crops across the town, your wagon having been broken. Tommy had told him about you, how you were single.

“She’s sweet as pie, brother. She might be good for you. Real pretty too.” Joel recalls the conversation he had with Tommy before he stormed off to the barn.

His Southern hospitality lay dormant until he saw you struggling. The urge to help creeped up on him. His typical quite observant demeanor tossed out the window as he approached you.

“Need some help?” He asks.

You wipe your brow, huffing before laying your eyes on the broad, handsomely rugged man in front of you - it’s Tommy’s brother. His name escaping you briefly.

You beam. “Oh. Sure. Thank you…” you trail off, slightly off guard by his kind gesture. His large gloved hand extends out towards you.

“Joel,” he finishes your sentence. “Thank you, Joel,” your hand shaking his, giving him your name. It rolls off his tongue with a certain sweetness, sending a flurry of butterflies to swirl in your belly. You knew of him, but knew he was also not a man of many words. You had yet to make acquaintances with him and who you assume is his daughter.

“You’re Tommy’s brother right?” You curiously ask, attempting to make small talk as Joel grunts while picking up the crate.

“Yes ma’am.”

Smiling at his Southern drawl, you run to help him carry one side of the heavy crate, feeling bad letting him do all the work.

“Uh uh, what do you think you’re doin’?” He asks, brow raised as you both stop in your tracks. “Helping you,” you state. He chuckles, shaking his head as he begins to walk.

“I asked if you needed help, darlin’. ‘Sides, what kinda man would I be letting a pretty girl like you carry all this shit by herself? My momma would have me by the head, ‘s for damn sure.”

You open your mouth to detest the notion that women need any assistance from men, but he stops you before you can.

“‘N I know ya don’t need any help from any man. You women are tough as shit, met a lota you over the years. Jus’ wanna help, ‘s all.” He kindly explains. You don’t understand why he wants to help, why he’s approached you specifically.

You’re aware that he’s typically very reserved, not leaving his house if he doesn’t have to. You’ve heard things about his past, and Tommy having confided in you at times, but the world has gone to shit. Who are you to judge? Everyone’s done some horrible stuff to stay alive.

He’s also painfully handsome. Opting to not object to his help and company, you sigh.

“Well, at least let me take some of the vegetables,” you protest, grabbing bunches of carrots. He chuckles quietly.

“Sure thing, darlin’,” he mutters. The nickname catching you both by surprise as a sort of tension falls over you two.

Flashing him a grateful toothy grin, you gather the vegetables in your arms. He gives you a small smirk in return.

“So how are you liking Jackson? I don’t see you ‘round much,” you ask as you begin the trek to the dining hall.

“‘S good. Big change, learnin’ the ropes of patrol. Makin’ sure Ellie’s settlin’ in,” he states. “And Ellie’s…”

“My family,” he says firmly. You nod, internally assuming she’s not his biological daughter.

“Well, I hope you both settle in nicely.” He feels his heart soften at your kindness.

He thought you’d have shied away from him, that you’d have listened to what people are saying about him around town.

But you didn’t. You took to him kindly, warmly.

He’ll be damned if he told Tommy he was right about you, He’d never hear the end of it… but shit, was he right. You were so kind and open-minded, and so beautiful.

The both of you making small talk as you trek to the dining hall, Joel lugging the crate into the kitchen for prep as you follow behind. He places the crate on the floor with a grunt. You drop the carrots in the box afterwards.

Rising to his feet, he sighs as he wipes his hands on his jeans, you copying his actions.

“Thank you again, Joel. I really appreciate it,” you tell him again. “Ain’t no problem, darlin’.”

Silence fills the air, save for the clanging and clattering of utensils in the kitchen.

“Would you… would you like to have a drink sometime? As a, uh, form of repayment for helping me today,” you timidly ask. A small smile breaks out onto Joel’s face.

“You ain’t gotta repay me, darlin’. But I’d love to grab a drink with ya,” he says.

Smiling from ear to ear, you nod happily. “It’s a date,” you say, before slapping a hand over your mouth as your eyes go wide. “I-I’m sorry. It’s not a date, it doesn't have to be. I mean, u-unless you want-,” you nervously ramble before Joel cuts you off.

“‘S a date,” he rasps. A soft smile on both your faces. The rest is history.

He wouldn’t trade that moment for the world, as he’s got you by his side now. He just didn’t expect that drink to lead him to trudging through the woods in the freezing early morning to cut down a tree.

He’d much rather be sleeping right now on his day off, but he can never say no to his girls.

Making your way through the woods, you and Ellie wind through the path while Joel stands and watches. There aren’t many trees, but just enough to scour from.

Not seeing any you like, you continue to walk down the path. “What about this one?” Ellie asks, standing next to a fir no taller than Joel.

Your eyes light up, a sparkly smile illuminating your face.

“It’s perfect. Great find, Ellie!” You yelp, high fiving the girl who’s equally excited.

“Hey, Joel!” Ellie shouts through her hands, her cheeks rosy and nose frosted. He clambers through the trees, saw in hand with his signature scowl. “Find one?”

“Mhmm,” Ellie says while beaming, you nodding in agreement. Joel sighs as he begins to saw down the tree. The trunk’s not very thick, the branches skinny, but still full enough to mimick the times before.

It falls to the snow covered ground, you and Ellie taking a few steps back. Joel stomps over to it, hoisting it up over his shoulder.

“Thank you, honey,” you whisper against his ear before placing a kiss on his patchy beard. His body flushing hot red from heat despite the cold air.

“Sure thing, baby,” he says bashfully, smiling a smile only reserved for you. Lacing his fingers with yours, you walk hand-in-hand back to the house with Ellie rambling ahead of you, vibrating with excitement.

“Joel, could you move it a little to the left?” You ask, hands clasped together over your lips. Joel grunts, red in the face as he shoves the fir to the left.

“A little more, please?”

Another grunt.

“A liiiitttllleee more.”

With a sigh, he shoves it once more.

“Perfect!” You clap. Joel rises to his full height, groaning as his bones crack and ache. You stride to him, leaning in for a kiss.

He could never stay annoyed at you.

“Thank you, honey,” you mutter with a dopey grin. Joel mirrors your expression, wrapping his hands around your waist and pressing his lips against yours. A saccharine kiss, your fingers curling in his grays.

His heart flutters as you sigh into him, your contentment radiating through your chest and into his soul.

When the fuck did his heart ever flutter?

“You guys gonna do that all fucking day or what?!” Ellie shouts, cutting ribbon and twine for the decorations.

You both startle at the sound of her voice, jumping in Joel’s arms. Joel glares at Ellie as laughter bubbles over your lips.

“Sorry, Ellie,” you call out. “Seriously, thank you, honey,” you tell Joel with a pat on his broad chest.

“No problem, darlin’,” he says softly with a swift kiss to your forehead before releasing you from his grasp. Joel strides into the kitchen to heat up some milk, with you rushing over to Ellie who sits at the dining table with an array of supplies.

You’re so good with Ellie, so patient with her while gently explaining how to string the dried oranges on the twine. She gets the hang of it pretty easily, holding it up and beaming with pride. Your giddiness mirroring hers, praising her as you waltz into the kitchen with Joel.

Placing a chaste kiss to his cheek, you flit around him as you pop some kernels in a hot pan. Transforming them into popcorn to make more garlands, and working in comfortable silence alongside each other.

You dump the popcorn into a bowl, you place a tender kiss on his shoulder before returning to Ellie.

Joel feels warm, and it’s not from the heat of the stove.

He preps mugs of hot chocolate for all of you, the chocolate powder stale but still good - the novelty of the gesture still there and just as sweet.

Padding into the living room, the sight of you two making decorations at the table and placing them on the tree tugs at Joel’s heart strings. Remembering how he’d help Sarah decorate their tree every year. Swallowing his grief, he allows himself to enjoy this moment while remembering his daughter.

That’s something you’re teaching him - not to take moments, things, people for granted.

Despite the pain, he knows he’ll confide in you later tonight about it when you’re alone. He sets the mugs on the table, making you pop your head up to flash him a dazzling smile.

“Thank you, honey.”

“‘Course, baby,” he says with a wink. Your smile grows wider, Ellie looking up and rolling her eyes. She playfully gags, Joel smacking his lips as his smile morphs into a scowl.

“Knock it off, kid,” he scolds.

“You knock it off, old man. We’re working here, and you keep distracting my partner,” she retorts. He scoffs, rolling his eyes. You can’t help, but laugh at their banter.

“Sorry, Ellie. I promise I’m listening,” your laughter dissolving into giggles. Joel rolls his eyes before getting a fire going in the fireplace.

Standing back and taking in the scene playing out in front of him. Hot chocolate, a tree, decorations being strung upon it - how is this possible? What did he do to deserve this?

He shakes the thought from his head, not questioning the good thing – the very good thing – in front of him. Instead, he enjoys watching his girls flit around the tree.

Ellie excitedly attempts to place the makeshift star on the tree that she crafted out of some stray branches and extra paper she had in her sketch pad.

She can’t reach, being significantly shorter than the tree. Huffing in defeat, she shoots you a look - both of you thinking the same thing. She whips around, paper star in hand.

“Joel, wanna do the honors?” She asks, holding out the star. Joel swallows thickly, never having thought he’d be doing this again.

“Sure,” he softly says, taking the star from Ellie and setting it atop the tree. The three of you stand back, admiring your hard work in silence, as you tightly wrap your arms around Joel’s middle. He holds you tighter.

“Looks good,” he mumbles. You nod, soft smile on your face.

“Hell yeah, it does!” Ellie giddily yells before cutting off her next thought. “No way, is that hot chocolate?!” She shouts, rushing to the table to grab a mug.

“Yeah, careful kid, it’s still hot,” Joel warns, still wound up in your arms. Ellie blows caution to the wind as she gulps it down.

“Ellie, slow down! You’re gonna get a stomachache,” you scold lightly. “It’s hot chocolate! When the hell am I ever gonna come across this again?!”

“I’ll find some more, jus’ slow down! Gonna be all fuckin’ hopped up on sugar,” Joel begrudgingly says. Rolling her eyes, she glances at the clock. Her eyes bug out of her head.

“Shit! I told Cat I’d meet her at 6!” She shouts before gulping down the rest of her hot chocolate, slamming the mug on the table.

“Be back later!” She says, slinging her backpack over her shoulder.

“Be back by 9!” Joel shouts. “Mhmm,” her tone dismissive. “I mean it, Ellie,” he warns.

“Sure thing, old man!” She says before reaching for the doorknob. “Ellie, 9 o’clock, okay?” You chime in, asking.

She turns around, taking in the both of you. “Okay,” she says with another roll of her eyes and an exasperated sigh before heading out the door. It slams shut, making you and Joel wince.

Joel rolls his eyes. “Girl don’t listen,” rubbing his face as he grumbles.

“She’s just excited, can you blame her? Besides, she’s safe here, Joel,” you say, comfortingly rubbing your hands up and down his broad flannel-covered chest.

“I know. Just still getting used to all this,” he rasps. The two of you still stand in the doorway, wrapped up in one another before a grin breaks out on your face.

“Oh, could you help me with one more thing?” You beam at him. His brow quirks up in confusion. “‘Course, baby. What do ya need?”

You unravel yourself from his embrace, padding into the kitchen. He hears you clambering, his curiosity peaking. You return with something behind your back, smiling wider now.

Whipping the sprig of mistletoe from behind your back, you hold it above your head. His features softening.

Joel immediately recognizes what you’re holding, beaming at your antics.

“Could you help me hang this up please?” You ask, drawing out the last syllable, batting your lashes at him with a sly smirk.

“Y’know, if ya wanted a kiss, all ya gotta do is ask, babydoll,” he rasps as he takes it from you, not missing the chance to place a teasing kiss on your cheek. Waves of heat run through you from head to toe.

Joel hangs the mistletoe with ease on a nail that’s been conveniently placed above the kitchen entryway, right where you’re both standing.

You must’ve put it up there when he was on patrol a few days ago.

The red ribbon you tied around the plant stands out against the dark framing, the fire crackles in the background and illuminates the house.

“Well would ya look at that,” his voice low and husky as he locks his gaze with yours. A goofy grin on your face. “Huh. Guess you gotta kiss me now.”

“Don’t need mistletoe for that, babydoll,” he whispers. The two of you connect your lips with each other’s. Sighing into him, you finally have a moment alone with him today. You card your fingers through his hair, a satisfied groan escapes him.

You pull away breathlessly, both yours and Joel’s eyes heavy and glazed over.

“Ya know… Ellie won’t be back til 9. We’ve got some time left,” you teasingly whisper in his ear while he places a kiss to your neck.

“Lead the way, darlin,” he rasps, the two of you rushing upstairs.

just felt like writing some tooth rotting fluff for my Joely, i love him sm 😔

i hope y’all enjoyed! 🫶🏼 thank you for reading 🩷

tag list: @gracieheartspedro @sapphic-gardn @undrthelights @javierpena-inatacvest @nostalxgic @party-hearses @mandoisapunk @tinygarbage @bastardmandennis @janaispunk @persephone-girl @harriedandharassed @its-nebuleuse

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fic #joel miller fluff #joel miller one shot #joel miller tlou

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knoepfl · 11 days ago

Text

Sweets Aren’t Enough

Characters: L Lawliet x Reader (You)

Genre: Fluff, Comfort, Slight Hurt/Comfort

Trigger Warnings: Mentions of unhealthy eating habits, stress, exhaustion, and slight depictions of poor self-care.

Words: 1096

Author’s Note:

Hey, lovelies! This fanfiction is for anyone who loves the idea of caring for L and reminding him that he’s human too, even if he doesn’t always treat himself that way. Expect lots of fluff, a bit of exasperation, and a tiny kiss for those romantic feels. I hope you enjoy reading this! If you relate to any of the topics mentioned in the trigger warnings, take care of yourself and remember it’s okay to need rest, food, and love. You deserve it!

---

The glow of computer monitors filled the darkened room as the hum of L’s investigation team buzzed around him. He sat, as usual, with his knees pulled to his chest on the swivel chair, black eyes glued to the screen. Empty teacups, cake plates, and candy wrappers cluttered the desk, but he seemed oblivious to the mess—his mind too focused on tracking Kira.

You leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, watching him with concern. How long had he been sitting there, motionless, aside from the occasional flick of his finger across the keyboard? Days, probably. L's narrow frame already looked thinner than the last time you’d seen him. His face was paler, his dark circles deeper, and from the way he slouched slightly, you could tell fatigue was creeping in.

Enough was enough. You couldn’t watch him do this to himself anymore.

"L," you called softly, stepping into the room. He didn’t look away from the monitor, but you caught the slight shift in his shoulders—he knew you were there.

"Hmm?" L’s voice was low, distracted. His gaze never left the scrolling data in front of him, fingers tapping keys like a pianist lost in a symphony.

You walked closer, determined. "When was the last time you had a real meal?"

“I had cake a few hours ago,” he replied matter-of-factly, finally glancing at you with his wide, unreadable eyes.

“That doesn’t count, L,” you said, exasperated. “You can’t live on sweets forever.”

His lips curled into a small, amused smile, as if he found the concept of needing anything beyond sugar and caffeine entirely unnecessary. "I function perfectly fine like this."

You knelt beside him, resting a hand on his knee to get his full attention. "But you’re not fine. You look exhausted. And no, cake isn't a meal."

He blinked, his head tilting slightly. It was always difficult to tell what L was thinking, but you knew him well enough to notice the flicker of acknowledgment behind his eyes.

“I’m fine,” he whispered, though there was no real conviction behind his words. You sighed and stood up, brushing the dust off your knees.

"Stay here. I’m making you something, and you’re going to eat it—no excuses."

Without waiting for a response, you left the room and headed to the kitchen. You knew L could be stubborn, but so could you. He needed proper food, and you were determined to give it to him.

Twenty Minutes Later

The smell of sautéed vegetables and herbs filled the small kitchen. You kept it simple: rice, a bowl of miso soup, grilled salmon, and some lightly seasoned greens. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was nutritious—something L’s body desperately needed after days of sugar highs and crashes.

As you plated everything, you heard the familiar sound of bare footsteps padding toward the kitchen. You turned to see L standing in the doorway, hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans, watching you quietly.

“You left your screen,” you teased with a smile. “That’s progress.”

“I came to observe your cooking,” he said in his usual monotone, though you detected the faintest hint of curiosity in his gaze.

“Well, the food is ready.” You pulled out a chair at the small dining table. “Sit.”

For a moment, L just stood there, looking at the chair like it was a foreign object. Then, slowly, he lowered himself onto it, mimicking his usual crouch with his knees pulled up.

You placed the plate in front of him, along with the bowl of soup, and sat down across from him. "Go on. Eat."

He stared at the meal as if it were an enigma, picking up his chopsticks with his fingers awkwardly pinched. L’s diet was so limited to sweets that real food seemed almost alien to him.

You smiled softly. “If you eat it all, I’ll make you dessert.”

That caught his attention. A tiny spark lit in his dark eyes, and he hesitantly took a small bite of the salmon. You watched as he chewed slowly, clearly not used to savory flavors, but you could tell he didn’t dislike it.

“See? Not so bad, right?” you said, propping your chin in your hand.

L swallowed and gave a tiny nod. "It is… acceptable."

“That’s high praise coming from you.” You grinned, relieved that he was at least trying. “Now finish the rest.”

L continued eating, albeit slowly. His hands were clumsy with the chopsticks, and his movements lacked the same precision he used when typing away on his computer. But he ate—piece by piece, spoonful by spoonful—and you couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection watching him.

When he finally finished the meal, L set his chopsticks down and stared at the empty plate as if surprised by his own actions. You chuckled softly, leaning over to ruffle his already messy hair.

“See? That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

L tilted his head, his eyes meeting yours with that familiar, unreadable gaze. “Thank you,” he murmured, his voice softer than usual.

Your heart warmed at the rare show of gratitude. L wasn’t the kind of person to express emotions openly, but moments like these—small and subtle—meant everything.

You stood up and began to clear the dishes, but L’s hand reached out, lightly brushing your wrist. “You promised dessert.”

You laughed. "Right. I did, didn’t I?"

Later That Evening

The two of you sat on the couch, a small slice of strawberry shortcake resting between you. L picked at it slowly, savoring each bite with the kind of focus he usually reserved for cracking cases.

He looked more relaxed now, his posture less rigid, his expression softer. You nestled closer to him, resting your head on his shoulder. L stiffened slightly at the contact but didn’t pull away. After a moment, his arm shifted, wrapping around you in a hesitant but deliberate motion.

You tilted your head up slightly, close enough to feel the soft warmth of his breath. He hesitated, his dark eyes flickering with uncertainty, but you gave him a reassuring smile. Slowly, L leaned down and pressed a delicate kiss to your lips—a fleeting, gentle moment that felt like a promise.

When he pulled back, his gaze lingered on yours, as if studying your expression to understand this new, unfamiliar feeling.

“Thank you,” he whispered again.

You smiled, brushing a lock of hair from his face. “Anytime, L.”

And you meant it. No matter how brilliant he was, L would always need someone to remind him that he wasn’t alone—and you would gladly be that person.

---

Author’s Note:

Thank you so much for reading! I loved writing this soft, comforting moment with L. If you enjoyed it, feel free to leave feedback! Remember, taking care of yourself—like eating proper meals and resting—is important, even if life gets busy. Just like L, you deserve love and care too!

#L #l lawliet #Death Note #death note x reader #l x reader #L lawiet x reader #Fluff #eating disoder trigger warning #fanfic #Reader x L #Reader x Death Note #Anime x reader #Anime #death note anime

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written-in-flowers · 19 days ago

Text

Lovesick: Chan x Male!Reader Pt. 2

Pairing: Bang Chan x Male!Reader | Side pairings: Minho x Chan, Minho x Male!Reader (unrequited)

Word Count: 11k

Genre: Horror, Angst, Smut | AU: Yandere!au, Videogame!AU, Highschool!AU

MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Summary: After being sucked into the dating simulator "Lovesick", Park YN has to defeat five rivals to reach his goal. However, he soon learns his rivals aren't the only thing he must contend with for Chan's love.

Tags: Graphic depictions of violence, Main Character Death, dark fic, dead dove: do not eat, yandere behaviors, yandere!reader, stalking, murder/violence, blood and violence, toxic relationships, mentions of murder, unrequited love, mentions of domestic violence, school massacre/genocide, implied teacher/student relationship, homophobic parents, mentions of bullying/trauma, obsession, possessiveness, manipulation, high school setting, anal sex, anal fingering, edging, eventual smut, pool sex, locker room sex, blowjobs, choking.

A/N: PLEASE READ TAGS BEFORE READING! I'm not responsible for any feelings you end up having because you ignored this warning and the ones above.

Tutorial < | > Han Jisung: Tuesday

****

Han Jisung: Monday

You woke up a second later in the sun lit bedroom. You hoped it'd all been a dream, but you were sadly mistaken. The phone turned itself on again with a message.

"You're meeting your first rival today," Bott said. "Get ready."

Yesterday's exchange must still bother them. You put the phone aside and dressed for school. You wondered who the first rival might be. Games like this typically spun through the same archetypes: the shy one, the bubbly one, the "dark" one, the spunky athlete, the tsundere, or a seductive type. You needed to be ready for whichever you faced today. Putting on your school bag, you mentally kicked yourself for not researching the characters in the control room. You would've removed them completely had it not interfered with the whole game. Apparently, changing objectives was the only thing you couldn't access no matter how many angles you tried.

When you arrived at school, another stiff text message alerted your phone.

"Chan is meeting him in the garden."

The club garden was where you would go. Being a club member, you could freely walk in and out of the garden area. Students acknowledged you when you passed by them. They smiled and said your name. You already saw many benefits to this.

“Sunghoon-hyung!” a high voice said from behind you.

You turned to see a skinny dark haired boy coming your way. Thin eyes crinkled in a wide smile, friendly and cheerful. You noticed he wore an apron around his waist and held a tray of kimbap rolls. He stopped in front of you, holding out the tray.

“We made kimbap in the Cooking Club today!” he said. “Want one? It's not good to start the day on an empty stomach.”

“Sure, thanks!” You took one of the seaweed wrapped rolls and bit into it, tasting the rice, salmon and vegetables inside. “I'm sorry, I don't remember your name?”

“Yang Jeongin, Freshman,” he answered with a bow. “What do you think?”

“It's great, thank you, Jeongin-ssi.”

“What about the sauce? I made it myself!”

You glanced down to see he'd topped the kimbap with spicy mayo, a bit uncommon. Each roll had a different letter, and when you put them together, you froze.

“B. E. C. A. R. E. F. U. L”

You and Jeongin exchanged a glance, and you felt a pang of fear. Has this NPC become aware somehow? That thought scared you. Jeongin did not show signs of malice, but caution.

“Yeah, it's nice handiwork,” you said, taking another bite. “Good job.”

Jeongin suddenly broke out into another winning smile. “Thank you, hyung. If you get hungry or curious about our club, you know where our clubroom is.”

He then walked away without another word. Rather than make note of it outloud, you addressed the phone casually.

"See how much easier it is like this? Everyone likes me. Everyone is my friend. It boosts my reputation and will make it easier for me to ask for favors. It could even help me get out of trouble with teachers."

“You were supposed to do that through special tasks. It was a side quest of the game."

"I don't have time for side stuff. The time I'm spending running around doing random tasks for people, I could be doing them for Chan instead. You made this game to be about winning my 'senpai'," he let the word drip with distaste, "And that's what I should be focusing on."

"I've never had a player like you before."

"Thanks."

You tucked the phone back into your pocket as you reached the garden entrance. The garden came with a shed for supplies and equipment, beds of different flowers and vegetables, and an empty spot where club members could grow their own plants. You noted the one untouched plot. A burial site for another disposal, no doubt. You looked around the flowers and trees to see everyone walking about or sitting and talking. You only cared about finding one person.

Chan sat by a bed of pink and white flowers, his backpack next to him and focused on his phone. Your heart fluttered seeing him there. You started towards him, already thinking about what you could talk about. With all the limitations out of the way, you would have no problem starting introductions.

“Hey, Channie-hyung!”

Someone said it before you could. You stood by the flower beds as another boy approached Chan. Jisung reminded him of a cute next-door-neighbor whose cheeks puffed when he smiled and always appeared cheerful. It made you sick. Your happiness immediately turned bitter seeing Chan’s eyebrows lift at the younger student. He put his phone in his pocket and stood up to meet him. A true rival, indeed. Their friendship and closeness was easily spotted in the way they spoke to one another. The other boy held a box wrapped in cloth, and smiled sweetly at Chan. Chan might not have noticed, but you saw the special twinkle in your rival's eyes. Casually walking towards the shed next to them, you stepped inside and pressed yourself just within the doorframe. Their conversation flowed freely from where they stood towards you.

“Hyung,” the other boy said, “I’m sorry if I’m bothering you-”

“-No worries,” Chan replied, “You weren’t. What’s up? How’s your mom?”

“She’s doing great! The physical therapy is really helping her move around better, and she doesn’t need her walker as much as she used to. The herbal tea you recommended really helps with her anxiety too, so she sleeps easier at night.”

“That’s great. I’m happy to hear that!”

You sighed softly. He was such a caring person; so thoughtful and willing to help others. You shook the thought from his head. You cannot let Sunghoon’s desires feed into your own personality. You had a mission to focus on.

“Listen, I wanted to thank you for what you did for us,” you heard the shyness coming through in Jisung’s voice. “You didn’t have to and I’m very appreciative that you did.”

“You’re my friend, Jisung-ah,” Chan reassured him. “You were so upset and I wanted to help you.”

“And I’m happy you did, so I made you this,” you peeked around to see Jisung give Chan the lunch box, “It’s not much, but I thought you might enjoy a homemade lunch today instead of the cafeteria food.”

Chan’s smile made knots in your stomach. It was so warm and genuine. You kicked yourself for not bringing Chan something to eat. He must be starving when he gets to school. You’d make him something one day; you’d show him what a good boyfriend and future husband you’d be for him.

No, that wasn’t you; Sunghoon’s coding must still be lingering in you somewhere. You thought you’d wiped all the coding out, but you must be wrong. Chan took the cloth bag and nodded at Jisung.

“Oh, thank you,” he said bashfully, “I’m sure it’s going to taste amazing. You are in the cooking club, after all.”

“We can meet back here after school and you can tell me if you liked it.” You heard the hope in Jisung’s voice.

“Sure,” Chan said. “I’ll go put it on my desk so I don’t accidentally leave it here.”

“Okay! See you later, hyung!”

“Later!”

The two parted ways. Jisung watched Chan leave, his shoulders tensing and a soft squeal coming from him. He must’ve thought Chan might reject his offer. You waited until they’d both left to finally step out from the shed. Your next objective was obvious: sabotage the lunch box. It pained you to think of purposefully making Chan sick, but if it casted a negative light on Jisung, then you’d have to do it. Where would you find poison? Nothing lethal, of course, but enough to make Chan ill for a while. The infirmary was an obvious choice as you left the school gardens. That familiar sensation of anticipation came back while you headed towards the infirmary room. You still carried the lockpick from yesterday, so you’d have no problem breaking into the medicine cabinet.

The infirmary was empty except for the school nurse, a slender woman in a uniform far too short and tight for a normal nurse. She faced the window while she restocked her medical supplies, which happened to be right next to the cabinet. You thought of creating some kind of distraction, but what? You couldn’t fake an injury or sickness because then she’ll likely keep you there. It needed to be something quick and simple; you only had a small window of opportunity to poison Chan’s lunch box.

You looked into the hallway to see dozens of students walking by the infirmary. What to do? What to do? An accident, yes, but what? You saw a flower vase near the door, and the idea came at once. Slowly, you pulled the flowers out and saw the clear water inside. Creeping over to the second half of the infirmary without the nurse noticing, you splashed the water into the hall. Thankfully, nobody spotted the long puddle stretching from the door to the opposite wall. It was a long-shot, but you hoped it’d work out.

A girl with long blond hair streaked with purple was walking by, too distracted by her phone to notice her surroundings, and slipped in the puddle. Hiding in the room, you smiled hearing her body thud hard and painfully groan. The commotion alerted the nurse, who left to find the student on the ground. You took the chance. You dashed to the cabinet, picked the lock, and searched the various medicine bottles until you found a stomach reliever. It was meant to make someone vomit out whatever ailed their stomach. You shoved the bottle in your pocket, and then rushed out of the room before the nurse returned, guiding the injured girl to a bed. Other students cleaned up the spilled water, all commenting on where it could have come from and didn't see you sneaking off. You went up the stairs with purpose towards the classroom. Chan was already in the room, putting down his bag and lunch box. You admired him for a moment, taking in the measure of him from afar. Visions of a smiling Chan hanging on your every word made you melt. You liked thinking of you and Chan sharing a desk, talking and laughing before class started. They’d be in their own world away from everyone else. Chan would be all yours all the time.

Ugh, damn Sunghoon’s coding.

“Hey, Chan.”

Felix entered the room, not noticing you standing there. Blond hair gelled back from his face, he wore earrings that dangled to his jawline and a hoop around one nostril. A self-proclaimed ‘thug’, Felix did not appear any more intimidating up close. In fact, the light freckles across his nose and cheekbones made him more innocent looking. He kept his hands in his pockets, and strutted up to Chan’s desk.

“Hey Felix-ah,” Chan said, fixing his bag on the back of his chair. “What’s up?”

“Some of my friends are gonna be meeting up after school and going into town,” Felix said, “I was wondering if you wanted to come along.”

“You know how I feel about your ‘friends’,” the contempt clear in his voice, “They’re a bunch of delinquents and they’re a bad influence on you.”

“Oh, come on, man. They’re not that bad. We just,” Felix smirked, “Like a bit of trouble sometimes. It doesn’t hurt to be naughty occasionally.”

“It is when it involves drugs and drinking all the time. I heard what happened the last time you and your friends went into town. I don’t know how you could stand being in a jail cell.”

“It’s not so bad,” Felix excused. He paused, “I wanna hang out with you like we used to, Hyung. I know we went separate ways since starting school, but I miss us hanging out.”

Chan’s face softened, and he thought for a moment. “I was gonna go grab a snack from the canteen before classes. Wanna come with me?”

“Sure, sounds alright.”

The two friends left the room through the first door. Jealousy coiled itself around your insides, and you dug your nails into your palms. It should be him eating with Chan, not good-for-nothing Felix. You'd love to have a meal with Chan; it was too bad you’d be leaving once the game ended. The thought of living in a world without Chan, however, sounded miserable and empty.

No, that isn’t you talking. It’s Sunghoon. You should’ve been more thorough.

The wall clock ticked loudly, and haste made you nearly jump. You went over to Chan’s desk and unwrapped the lunch box. It was the standard lunch with rice, meat and vegetables with seaweed soup. Jisung clearly went through a lot of trouble to make it especially for Chan. You gasped when you saw a note sitting on top of a small package of mints.

“You’re the best!” went across it with a heart beside a cartoon drawing of Jisung’s face.

You crushed the note and took the mints. Pulling out the medicine, you put a few droplets in the soup. Now, you only had to wait. You turned to his desk when the phone rang.

“You’re a risk taker, aren’t you? That could seriously make Chan ill! And what you did to that girl…”

“Don’t play innocent now,” you scolded the phone, “You invented a game where I’m supposed to kill people to gain Chan’s attention. You were expecting me to go around slicing people’s necks instead of actually using my brain?” You scanned around to search for students, then said, “Murdering Jisung after murdering Kitae the previous day will draw too much attention to the school. You were the one that told me offing Chan’s friends would decrease his sanity. I’m playing the sabotage game.”

“None of the other players were like you,” the chat bubble finally came back. “Some of them used the pacifist way because they didn’t want to hurt anyone. Others cried after murdering someone because they felt they didn’t have a choice. But you…you’re different. You’re not like them.”

“No, I’m not. You gave me a goal, and I’m going to achieve it.”

Chan gave you a sense of purpose you hadn’t felt in a long time. In the real world, you had been going through the motions of life: waking up, going to work, socializing with coworkers, coming home to your empty apartment, and gaming until bedtime. You didn’t have that many friends back home. Nobody really reached out or cared to invite you out, so you stayed home most days. It wasn’t anything different from your childhood. The friends you did have then were the unsavory sort your parents disapproved of, but you didn’t care. Yet, in adulthood, you decided you'd rather be alone. Being given a task sprung new life into you. Chan gave you a reason to keep on going.

Upon hearing students approaching the classroom, you quickly tied up Chan’s box again and moved to your desk. Chan reappeared absent his friend, on his phone and munching on an apple. You would give anything to be that apple, and feel those lips and teeth on you. Your cheeks burned feeling Chan coming closer, but no pink vision or racing heartbeat. It was time to put your changes to the test. The both of you took seats next to one another, and you placed your textbook on the desk. You waited until Chan looked away to nudge your book to the floor. The smack it gave upon landing made Chan turn his way. You made to move for it, but gentleman Chan reached it first.

“Thanks,” you smiled when Chan handed you the textbook.

“No problem,” Chan assured you, then he finally looked at you. “Hey, I’ve never seen you in here before. Are you new?”

“Yes, I am,” you nodded. “I’m YN,” you shook hands. Chan’s touch sent shivers throughout your body, and you almost frowned when Chan let go. “I just transferred here from…” he needed a name, “Hyosan High School”

“Hyosan? Never heard of it. Is it Seoul?”

“Incheon,” the first place that came to mind, “That’s where I was for a few years,” you said easily. “My dad got a job there and we had to move, but we recently came back. My parents’ friends told us what a good school Whimoon is, and,” you shrugged, “Here I am.”

“But, you’re younger than us, no? You should be in the junior classes.”

“I skipped a grade,” you said, thinking of it quickly. You’d never actually thought of what they’d talk about before. You’d focused too much on making it happen. “My mother said I shouldn’t because it’d be hard for me to make friends with older kids, but my dad said it’d look good on university applications.”

“Me too! We moved from Australia a few years ago, and it was a huge adjustment for me.” He then asked, “What clubs are you in?”

“Oh, I joined the garden club,” you showed Chan the club pins, “And I signed up for the swim team.”

Chan’s face lit up, “What a coincidence! I’m in both. I could introduce you to the guys at the gym. I’m sure they’d love to meet you.”

“That’d be great!” you beamed, your heart leaping at the prospect of seeing Chan again…and again…and again… “Are schools in Australia different from ones here?”

You began asking Chan questions about himself. You wanted to know everything about him. You regretted having to hurt him, but it’s all for the cause. You needed to get out of here and back home. Even with Chan as a perk, you refused to relive high school over and over until you won the game. Seeing the skills tablet again, you pressed on physical education and chemistry. Perhaps you could use the skill to make your own poisons rather than steal from the infirmary. When lunch time came, you considered going with Chan, but you didn’t want to be there when the other became sick. Your heart couldn't take hearing him in pain.

You followed behind him instead. Chan ate his lunch in the cafeteria with the rest of the school, sitting with a group of friends. You took a seat nearby, but put some students between them so as not to be noticed. You didn’t care much for eating right then. You wanted to look at Chan. You watched him open up the lunch box and become amazed by the food Jisung prepared. He swirled around the soup with a disposable spoon before eating. You admired how Chan’s lips slurped up the noodles before the phone vibrated in your pocket.

“What do you want now?” You asked, irritably.

“You should be trying to get study points,” they said. “So you can improve your skills faster.”

“How do I do that?”

“Going to the library, duh!”

“I’ll do that later. Let me watch him. I need to make sure my plan works.”

“It’s going to work. The game’s designed to go your way…sometimes.”

“Exactly, ‘sometimes’. Now, hush.”

You stayed close by as Chan finished the entire lunch. It was good to know he had a healthy appetite. You felt full just watching him eat. A part of you knew this was Sunghoon shining through, but you couldn’t help finding Chan attractive too. The developer clearly spent more time creating Chan than they did on any of the others. You wondered about the reason behind that.

Chan walked past holding the box when a pair of chopsticks slipped out onto the floor. They'd fallen right at your feet. You could see the stains from the sauced meat stew still on the ends. You thought about Chan sucking the sauce off before tossing them. You imagined your mouth touching where Chan's had been, and sucking it. It'd be like your lips were touching.

Lord, that was weird. That was only the character talking.

Chan threw out the box when he paused. Your heart dropped seeing the boy suddenly clutch at his stomach and double over. Oh, you hoped Chan didn’t instantaneously vomit in front of everyone. You’d hate to see him endure such embarrassment. Yet, Chan managed to rush out of the cafeteria before anyone spotted him. You followed, making sure to stay out of sight. Chan made it into the nearest bathroom, and you heard him hurling before you stepped inside. His retching echoed in the small space. You clutched the small tin of peppermints Jisung packed in the box as an idea came. You quickly ducked into the stall beside Chan’s right as he came out. When Chan stood at the sink, washing his hands and rinsing out his mouth, you came out of the stall with a worried expression.

“Chan-hyung?” You kept your voice soft and small, full of innocence. “Are you alright?”

The older boy looked up from the sink and turned away in humiliation. “Hi, YN-ssi. Yeah, I’m okay. I guess I must’ve eaten something that messed up my stomach.”

“That’s awful,” you said. You walked up to the sinks, and began washing your hands. “You should go to the infirmary and see if the nurse has something for stomach pains. You can’t go around with that pain all day.”

“You’re right,” he nodded.

“What did you eat, if I may ask?”

Chan listed the food Jisung made for him. “A friend made it for me,” he finished, “And he’s usually a very good cook. He’s in the Cooking Club, so I’m surprised.”

“Do you think he might have done it on purpose? Like a cruel prank or something like that?”

“Oh, no, no,” Chan shook his head, “Jisung isn’t that kind of person. He’d never do that. It must've been a mistake.” He rubbed his stomach, “A really big one.”

“Here,” you fished the mint tin from your pocket, and offered it to Chan, “Have one. Mint helps with your stomach and it’ll freshen your breath.”

“Thanks,” he took one and popped it into his mouth. “Have you eaten yet?” he asked, changing the subject. “It’s important to eat, so you have energy for the rest of the day.”

“Not yet,” you said. “I was in the library doing some work before my next class. I was on my way there now, but I heard you throwing up and wanted to check on you.”

“That’s very kind of you.” The compliment made your heart sing. “Do you know where the cafeteria is? I could walk you there.”

You felt your phone vibrating, the sound very audible in the room. You ignored it. “That’d be helpful. I’ve been getting lost all day,” you chuckled, giving a sweet smile.

“This way.”

Chan led you towards the cafeteria. You smelled the light scent of cologne on him. You deeply inhaled the hints of sandalwood coming from his blazer. You wanted to bury your face in Chan’s neck, licking and sucking the flesh while Chan groaned in your ear. You realized how much smaller you were compared to the tall and broad boy beside you. You’d fit perfectly in his arms.

But, that was Sunghoon. Back home, you have plenty of opportunities to kiss other boys. Sometimes.

“Here it is,” Chan brought you to the doors of the cafeteria. “I’m gonna head to the infirmary. See you at the gym, okay? I already told the team we had a new member, and they’re really excited to meet you.”

“I’m excited to meet them too!”

You said goodbye to Chan and watched him walk away before turning back into the room. Right as you did, somebody knocked right into you. The force caused you to fall to the ground, and glare up at the person who’d bumped you.

“Oh my god! I’m so sorry! I should be watching where I’m going!”

Short with brown hair swooped over his cat-like eyes, you knew he was a student council member by the white gold pin on his lapel. He extended a hand and helped you from the floor. You noticed his pointy nose and thick top lip. He was handsome, for sure, much like the rest of the students in the school. A sudden whiff of orange blossoms hit your nose. It was nice. You saw the stunned expression the boy wore for a fleeting moment, but was then covered with concern. It was the same one you’d worn when he first saw Chan yesterday. It worries you.

“It’s okay,” you said, brushing off your uniform and picking up your bag from the floor. “I wasn’t paying attention either. No worries.”

You made to move, but the boy stopped him, “I’m Lee Minho, student council president.” You shook hands, “I haven’t seen you around before. You must be the new student. Mrs. Lee mentioned it to us.”

“Um, yeah. I’m YN.”

Minho looked you up and down again, “Nice to meet you…YN-ssi.” He breathed out the last word, and you did not like it. “Have you been finding your classes okay? I could give you a short tour before class resumes to get you more familiar with the place.”

“I’ve been finding them just fine, thanks. I’m…I’m gonna eat really quick.” You moved past him, “Thank you, though,” you threw over your shoulder as you hurried to the lunch line.

“Feel free to stop by the student council room if you need-”

You stood too far away to hear the rest of the offer, yet you could feel Minho’s eyes still on you. Immediately, you pulled out your phone. “What the hell was that?”

‘Ah, you’ve met your final rival, Lee Minho.’

“Final rival? I thought I met them all yesterday?”

“Minho was meant to be a sort of ‘secret rival’ at the end. Yeah, he’s the hardest one to beat and sort of keeps his distance throughout the game. It seems that’s changed.”

“What do you mean it’s changed?”

“Well, dumbass, who you changed the game’s inner workings, you changed everyone’s autonomy and A.I. mechanics! Now, instead of being little robots with set patterns and schedules, you made them think for themselves. I programmed Minho to have a specific type so if you decided to matchmake him, you could tailor a suitor to his taste.”

“Okay, but what does that have to…” your voice trailed off, “Oh my god…I’m his type, aren’t I?”

“Minho likes the shy, sweet types who enjoy gardening, reading, justice, and are honest and intelligent. Those are all qualities Chan has, hence why he develops a crush on Chan! But, since you tailored yourself to be like him so you two get along in your stupid plan to win his affections, Minho likes you instead! It doesn’t help that you made yourself ultra hot either! Guess your little tampering with my game didn’t work out after all.” They then sent, “You could always just get with Minho instead. You’ll get a game over, but hey…Minho’s not half bad.”

“Oh, fuck off,” you spat and shoved your phone back into your pocket.

This was terrible. Having a student council member following you around will make working harder. You’d have to get rid of Minho somehow. Whether through scheming or other means, you’d need to consider more carefully.

****

Gym class arrived after lunch. You worried Chan might not show up due to his sickness, but the game world kicked in and Chan stood in the gymnasium with the rest of the class. Your eyes scanned down his body, seeing him in the white and dark green shirt and shorts uniform. The shirt stretched across his chest, a bit snug around his biceps. You couldn’t stop yourself from imagining what was underneath the shirt. You wished you could take him somewhere quiet and secluded, where you could explore him without interruption.

Sunghoon needed to get out of your system somehow. You aren’t part of this universe. You had a home and life back in reality. Briefly, you wondered if anyone noticed you were gone yet.

“Hey YN-ssi!” Chan called out to you, waving from his corner of the gym.

You saw the other boys he stood with and guessed they were swim team members. Nerves stirred in your stomach as you walked closer to the group. The thought of meeting this group never crossed your mind before. You honestly had no interest in getting to know any of them. Your mind focused on Chan, who grinned at you with a dimpled smile.

“Hey, Chan-hyung,” you smiled back. “How are you feeling? Better?”

“Eh, still kinda meh,” he sighed. “Coach said I should take things easy today, but I didn’t want an absence on my record.”

A diligent student. You liked this…well, Sunghoon did. “You really should be laying down in the infirmary. Running around and doing loads of physical activity could make things worse.”

"I think it'd be good for Chan to get some fresh air and exercise."

The boy who had spoken smiled at them both. It was the boy from the track yesterday, Seo Changbin. He stood a bit shorter than Chan, but wider due to a meticulous work out regimen. Sharp eyes only showed half the dark irises, and his small plush lips stayed in a soft smile. Yet, it wasn’t his obvious good looks that drew you. It was how his eyes constantly looked over Chan with admiration. Not the kind a guy has for his friend, but a man surveying their lover.

He watched Chan as the elder started talking to the rest of the group. He examined Chan’s soft features as if putting each one to memory. You did not blame him, but your blood boiled seeing them so close together. Chan was yours. You felt like pulling Chan to you, hugging his side to make a claim on him. You could take on the buff boy. With a sharp knife, you could slice him into ribbons.

No, not like that. It’s only a game.

“YN, this is Changbin,” Chan said, nodding over to him. “He’s on the team too. Changbin, this is YN, our newest member.”

“Nice to meet you,” you said with a bow, keeping your eyes on him.

"Same. Chan-hyung mentioned we'd be having a new teammate. It'll be nice to finally have someone to round out the team. It hasn’t been the same since Eunwoo left school. Maybe we can start competing again, huh?”

"Hopefully."

The team walked into the weight room, where the school kept various pieces of gym equipment. You’d never been much of a weightlifter. In school, you’d stuck to doing as little activity as possible. Yet, you still sat at the arm and back presses beside Chan, who placed himself on the machine properly. One again, your mind went blank with things to talk about, so you forced yourself to work out.

Changbin took the seating bench in front of them, starting to do arm curls with a heavy weight. You envied the other boy’s muscles; they were defined but not too bulky. Did Chan like that? You knew you personally did not care, but your character worried about it. Yes, it was Sunghoon who cared, not you.

“YN-ssi,” Changbin said, “You’re from Incheon?”

“Yeah, but we moved here because of my dad’s job.”

“What does he do?”

“He works for an imported goods company. He does a lot of business back and forth now,” you said, finishing a set and taking a break. Weight lifting did not hurt as much as you thought it might. The physical education points must be doing their job.

“Oh, my dad does that too!” Changbin perked up, “They sell fabrics and stuff overseas to the other companies there. He mainly works in the office now, so he doesn’t do so much traveling.”

“Changbin sometimes goes with him,” Chan said, relaxing on the machine. “He’s been everywhere.”

Changbin blushed, “Not everywhere. Just most places. What about you?”

You paused, “I’ve been…some places. My dad never took me much because my mum wants me to focus on school. She says I can’t become a doctor or a lawyer or a businessman if I’m always away from school.”

“They must be hard on you about studying then,” Chan noted. “Mine are the same way. They’re always pushing me to do well in school. I have to be the best at everything all the time. It gets tiring, honestly…”

“Yeah, it is.”

In truth, your parents didn't care much about what you did with your life as long as it wasn’t illegal or immoral. They’d been too wrapped up with their own lives and careers to pay him much mind. The only time they started showing any kind of concern had been when he came out to them. Then suddenly, everything became about covering up your sexuality. Your father hated you and your mother disapproved of you. Then she wondered why you’d moved so far from home.

“But, I’m sure they’re very proud of you,” you said to him. “They only want what's best for us in the end." All parents but yours, of course.

“They are!” Changbin said for Chan. “Chan’s dad bought him a car when he passed his finals last year.”

Chan smiled shyly, pushing hair from his face, “It was no big deal. I didn’t think he’d get me one.”

“That’s still cool,” you said, “I don’t know anyone who actually owns a car.”

“Really?”

You realized the lie didn’t fit with your rich-boy persona. You immediately recovered by saying, “Well, ones they drive themselves, anyway. It gives you a lot of independence.”

The three began talking about parents and cars. You couldn’t get over Changbin’s eyes twinkling whenever they landed on Chan throughout class. Changbin is another rival who’d be next on his list. You’d eliminate him right now if you weren’t focused on Jisung at the moment. Getting rid of two in one level certainly made things easier. But, you held back. You didn’t know how that might affect the game. School ended after gym class, and everyone started heading off to hagwon, extracurriculars, or home. You decided to opt out of that and headed for the school garden. You knew Jisung and Chan would be meeting soon, and you needed to see the result. Seeing them beside the shed again, you ducked into a hedge and circled to the back of the wooden shed.

“Chan-hyung,” Jisung’s voice reached him first. “How’d you like the lunch I made?”

“Um, uh…Jisung…you know I usually like your cooking,” Chan started nervously. “But, this one made me sick. I've had stomach cramps almost all day. The nurse said it could’ve been because the meat was bad.”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry that happened! I’d made the same thing for myself, and mine was perfectly fine. I’ll take better care of what I’m cooking next time,” Jisung said apologetically. You heard the sadness coming through, and it made you smile. “Do you want to work on the strawberries with me? They’re coming out really well. I think they’re almost ripe enough to pick.”

“No thanks, Jisung-ah,” he said, “I’m still feeling a bit ill, so I think I’ll go home.”

"Um, okay. I hope you feel better."

You giggled softly at the disappointment on Jisung’s face. Stage one complete. You left the garden without being noticed and followed Chan to the school’s main entrance. Walking behind him, you knew you should double back to your own home. You needed serious de-Chan time. Sunghoon’s coding stuck to you like glue, remaining in his desires and obsession with Chan. Conditioning tactics came to mind to try not liking Chan. He’s a typical good looking anime boy. Nothing special. Nothing special at all.

Except his eyes. Round and slightly downturned, you couldn’t help picturing them crinkling when he smiled. The sweet dimpled smile that gave you butterflies whenever it flashed in your direction. You could drown yourself in those eyes, so deep and beautiful. It had been a long time since anyone made you feel how Chan did. Every dead thing inside you came to life at the sight of him. You knew you’d go home once you beat the game, but you almost did not want to leave. Leaving meant that you’d never see Chan again. You wouldn’t see those eyes or hear his voice saying words of comfort or love. It brought tears to your eyes. Your body yearned to be close to him. It ached for him.

When Chan reached the school gates, you moved closer. Chan must still be feeling ill if he’s skipping clubs to go home. You worried it might linger into the next day. What if you put too much? You considered stealing medicine from the infirmary again, but you knew he’d be fine by tomorrow. Games worked like that. You both reached the front of the gates where Chan disappeared through the invisible barrier. Rather than take the portal to your bedroom, you tentatively walked into the second portal after him.

It landed you in a normal suburban neighborhood where everything looked exactly the same. Chan walked ahead of him, humming softly and turning into a driveway. You stayed a few paces back and waited until he disappeared behind the fence. Chan’s house looked exactly like the others: a town story house with a blue car in the driveway. You noticed garden hedges lining walls that led to a side door leading to the backyard. Once Chan entered the house, you went through the door into the side of the building. A small alley with gardening tools and thick bushes going along the walls, you ducked quietly to peek into the first window. Chan was kicking off his shoes, hanging up his house keys and book bag next. Chan then went from a living room to a bedroom on the other side of the house. Thankfully, the Bahngs didn’t have a dog.

Chan’s room had white walls and oakwood floors. A triangular light gave the room a soft pink and purple glow, mixing with the lamp right next to his bed. You saw music equipment in one corner of the room, and potted plants along the opposite window sill. He had artwork on the walls alongside the usual game and movie posters. You stayed low to the window sill, eyeing Chan as he switched from his uniform into more casual, comfortable clothes. Knowing Chan was safe at home, you felt okay going to your own home. Yet, you did not move. You stood there a few minutes longer to see your beloved pull out a manga comic from a shelf, grab a pillow and start reading. He liked anime, of course. You made mental notes of everything in the room to bring up in conversation later. Chan was then called to dinner sometime later. Him and an older woman sat at a dinner table and ate together. Chan ate well. He’d finished his entire meal. You wanted to make food for him; he deserved to be taken care of and nurtured properly.

You hid deep in the bushes when Chan took out the trash. You waited until he went back inside to rifle through it. Just a little token, a little piece to keep. You might even get to take it home. Eventually, you found the napkin Chan had been using to wipe his mouth. Gingerly pulling it out, you held it in your hand and saw the small swipes of sauce. You shuddered putting it to your mouth, picturing them as Chan's lips instead. You stuck the napkin into your pocket, and snuck out of the yard.

Loving Chan is not a crime. It isn’t awful, like your father once said. Chan gave you a sense of safety and purpose. It brought a new light into your dark world. Having a little piece of someone so special to you didn’t sound that bad. You smiled, feeling the napkin in your pocket. It was nice having a piece of him close to your body.

God, you’re sick. You needed to get rid of Sunghoon completely.

****

A/N: Hahah things starting to get concerning already! As always, I'd love it if you reblogged and liked this fic <3

#stray kids #stray kids fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #bangchan stray kids #lee minho #han jisung #stray kids x male reader #bangchan x male reader #stray kids x reader #skz #skz fanfiction #skz fanfic #bangchan skz #lee know stray kids #lee know skz

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mcflymemes · 1 year ago

Text

PRIDE & PREJUDICE PROMPTS * assorted dialogue from the 2005 film

you must know... surely, you must know it was all for you.

are you out of your senses?

we've been nonsensical!

i have struggled in vain and i can bear it no longer.

are you rejecting me?

did i just agree to dance?

makes it all so much more enjoyable, don't you think?

you really do love him, don't you?

i appreciate the struggle you have been through, and i am very sorry to have caused you pain.

you're wasting your time with me.

count your blessings.

don't look at me like that!

only the deepest love will persuade me into matrimony.

i'm very fond of walking.

no, i prefer to be unsociable and taciturn.

may i have the next dance?

these past few months have been a torment.

i wonder who first discovered the power of poetry in driving away love?

my brother gave it to me.

i have never been thus treated in my entire life.

do you talk, as a rule, while dancing?

so this is your opinion of me.

i had to see you.

it's been many years since i had such an exemplary vegetable.

oh, believe me, no one would suspect your manners to be rehearsed.

i've been so blind.

i've come to tell you the news.

oh, very well then.

i must ask you to leave immediately.

you have insulted me in every possible way.

not all of us can afford to be romantic.

i could not have parted with you to anyone less worthy.

i will never see you again if you do.

he looks miserable, poor soul.

yes. a thousand times yes.

i will not and certainly never shall.

i thought that poetry was the food of love.

you are too generous to trifle with me.

all of these things i am willing to put aside and ask you to end my agony.

there's a lot to be thankful for.

don't you dare judge me.

i don't understand.

thank you for explaining so fully.

now tell me once and for all: are you engaged to him?

if your feelings are still what they were last april, tell me so at once.

have you no objection other than your belief in my indifference?

believe me, it was unconsciously done.

what a shame, for i dearly love to laugh.

and those are the words of a gentleman.

my affections and wishes have not changed, but one word from you will silence me forever.

you have bewitched me, body and soul, and i love... i love... i love you.

i love you.

i cannot tease you about that.

forgive me for taking up so much of your time.

how are you this evening, dear?

is this your reply?

they are far too easy to judge.

i do not have the talent of conversing easily with people i have never met before.

i thought you hated the man.

will that make you happy?

we're doing our best to find a fault in you.

i never wish to be parted from you from this day on.

i wish you would not call me "my dear."

perhaps you should take your aunt's advice and practice?

what endearments am i allowed?

please, do be seated.

one of these days, someone will catch your eye and then you'll have to watch your tongue.

people do not die of colds.

i was wrong. i was entirely wrong.

are you too proud? and would you consider pride a fault or a virtue?

this is a charming house.

i am well acquainted with you.

please do me the honor of accepting my hand.

what do you recommend to encourage affection?

what should i call you when i am cross?

are you... are you laughing at me?

i can admire you much better from here.

shall i call for some tea?

i cannot believe that anyone can deserve you.

i love you. most ardently.

good day. it's been a pleasure.

i have no idea.

did you walk here?

let us take a turn about the room.

it is a small kind of accomplishment, i suppose.

will you not join us?

i've never seen so many pretty girls in my life.

she is the most beautiful creature i have ever beheld.

why do you ask such a question?

what have you discovered?

we are all fools in love.

i have other reasons. you know i have.

i do not deny it.

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violetrainbow412-blog · 1 year ago

Text

Andy [S. R.]

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

Word count: 2.7k

summary: you and Spencer have to learn to deal with grief without losing your marriage in the process.

warnings: grief, death, angst with unhappy ending, separation, divorce, alcoholism, minor details of a murder, two totally different points of view (don't hate Spencer or the reader)

The set of keys jangled in Spencer's hands, who was struggling to open the door without dropping the shopping bags in his other hand. He tried to do the shopping with only healthy and non-hazardous things and lately he had started bringing some of your favorite sweets, hoping this might cheer you up in some way.

When he entered, he assumed that you were asleep, as always, so he thought of going directly to the kitchen to place the food in the corresponding spaces, thinking that maybe after that he would clean up the place a bit. He never expected to find you sitting in the dining room and both of you were startled to see the opposite. There was half a bottle of wine in front of you, you were puffy-eyed and carefully holding a photo that Spencer recognized perfectly. He noticed that you had lost some weight and you noticed the same characteristic in him, coupled with the marked bags under his eyes that evidenced the lack of rest. But in fairness, he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in a while.

"What are you doing here?"

“I brought groceries,” he reported, though it was obvious. Spencer reached over to the fridge to rearrange things and he noticed that almost all of last week's food were there. The milk was out of date, some of the vegetables were blackened, and there were a couple of bottles of alcohol that he definitely hadn't bought for you but always turned up there. He brought the garbage can closer and began to get rid of the rotten food, replacing it with the contents of the bags. "You have to eat something, there are things in here that you didn't even touch."

“And that's why I insist that you don't bring so much. Don't waste your money”

“It's not about the money. It's about you” he said in a stern voice and when he turned to look at you, he noticed that you weren't even looking at him.

He continued to organize things in the fridge while out of the corner of his eye he watched you take occasional gulps straight from the bottle. Before, it was the task of both of you to put the purchases in the cupboards and it had become a habit, because he liked to make you suffer with the high spaces of the cupboard just to accommodate things himself and take the opportunity to steal a kiss, which you always complained about.

He was so lost in memories that he couldn't understand you when you muttered something and then he asked you to repeat it.

"We promised to take him to Disneyland," you said, your slurred words a clear sign of drunkenness. You were holding a picture of Andy's 6th birthday: he was blowing out the candles while you and Spencer held him on either side, grinning from ear to ear. You had bought some green party hats, Andy's favorite, for the three of you to wear and the cake was a dinosaur, your son's absolute obsession “Somehow he found out they were going to have a Cretaceous world attraction and he was dying to go. We told him that when we had vacations, we would take him and to comfort him we bought him an illustrated book."

He perfectly remembered what you were telling him and a lump formed in his throat. That book was kept carefully on the small shelf in his room, along with the figures that multiple people had given him and with which he loved to play, since neither of you had had the heart to move a single object that was there.

Spencer was silent because he simply didn't know how to respond to what you had just reminded him, but he couldn't help but his stomach turned at the thought of your little boy. Although two months had passed, he hadn't even allowed himself to talk about what happened, and very rarely did he think about your son. Not because he didn't want to do it, but because he felt that if he did, things were going to completely collapse and he wasn't in a position to let that happen, not when he had so many responsibilities to fulfill.

Receiving no response, you tried to drink again, but Spencer didn't take more than a second to cross over to you to take the wine from your hands.

"Stop"

"Give it to me," you defended, standing up to try to take your drink back, but he held it just far enough out of your reach.

"You cannot continue that way"

"That's none of your business"

“Of course it is. You are my wife and I care about you."

Spencer hated the way you looked at him since that night. He felt that you were looking at him with contempt, as if he wasn't even worth your eyes on him, as if you had stopped loving him completely. And now you were looking at him like that while he was holding the alcohol you'd been drowning in for the past few weeks.

"I don't need your pity" you practically spat, standing in front of him, but at a safe distance.

He didn't want to answer anything, for fear of hurting you in some way, so he just went to the sink to start emptying the contents of the bottle. Of course you squealed in offense at what he was doing and just headed for the fridge to get something else to drink, but before you could Spencer got in the way.

"You need help" he murmured, with a tone that reflected nothing more than the desperation he was going through. You looked at him, from below, with the same disdain that completely broke his heart "You are not okay"

"How do you expect me to be okay? I lost my son"

"He was our son," he said, suddenly sounding quite angry. It was so rare for him to get angry, much less when it came to you, but these two months had been too much to bear "Do you think I don't suffer the same as you?"

"No, I honestly don't think so. We never talked about this, Spencer, we just cried profusely at the funeral and then you carried on like nothing happened. All this time you have seemed so calm that I doubt very much that it will affect you”

“You are so wrong. You don't even know what you're talking about. Do you think it's easy for me? I have to go and work in a place where I see murderers and dead bodies all the time so that both of us can eat, pay the mortgage and basically keep our economy afloat because you decided to sink into depression and drink like a barrel without background"

“Oh, do you really want to talk about addiction problems? Because I don't think you're the best fit for that."

"Unlike you, I have not relapsed"

"Okay, then forgive me for being a weak dueling drunk."

“It's not about that, it's about the fact that you don't want anyone to help you. I hired a therapist that you decided not to go to, I have bought you everything you need in recent weeks, I have even stopped sleeping in my own house, all so that you feel calm”

"I never asked you for that, don't justify with it the fact that you wanted to leave"

"Well, maybe I left because every time I come here to check on you, you ignore me and look at me as if it was all my fault"

"Maybe it was"

"What did you say?"

"I said maybe it was" you exclaimed, now a little louder to make sure he heard you. You didn't mean any of that, you really didn't, it was just all the alcohol speaking for you “It was yours and it was my fault that man took our son from us. We should have done more"

“How, Y/N? Please explain to me how you want that, because I honestly don't understand you."

"Well maybe I should have been a better mother, because if I had been I should be dead instead of him" at this point it was useless to try to stop your crying. You were tired, dizzy, and hurt. You just wanted the whole nightmare to end “Spencer that man killed Andy just because you provoked him and you know it perfectly. He wanted revenge on you and decided that the best way to do it was to kidnap an innocent child and then kill him and then simply throw him on the side of the road. He could have hidden the body, but he wanted you to find it. He wanted us both to know that we couldn't question him like that without suffering the consequences."

"And that's why you see me as the cause of all your suffering?" tears had also started to roll down the man's cheeks, who was just as bad at holding them back as you were “Y/N I had to go identify Andy's body. I had to see him in a morgue, bruised and…” suddenly his voice broke completely. He had never told you things because he didn't want to stress you out anymore, but he felt that after everything that was happening there was no point in continuing to protect you “I barely knew it was him. He was completely deformed, I only recognized him by that scar he got on his knee when he fell from the swings and as soon as my fingers passed through it and felt the frozen skin I was completely destroyed. I had… I had to see my little boy in that state just so we both would have peace and yet you dare to say that I don't care."

“If you didn't have that job none of this would have happened to begin with! That has always been the problem, that as a family we had to compete with your work as a profiler”

"So you expected me to give up my life's work overnight?"

"I did. I quit my job to be able to raise our son.”

"And I had to stay in mine to be able to give him everything he needed"

“And look at us now. What of that did we do well? We weren't good parents and now I don't even think we're a good couple”

You two knew that this conversation was useless. You always knew Spencer went to superhuman lengths to spend time with your family, and you couldn't blame him for anything. He knew everything you had given up to take care of the housework and raise Andy. And when there were bad days, you were there for each other, but at that very moment you weren’t thinking straight. Your judgment was clouded by the pressing pain that was building up.

“Y/N, why are you doing this to me?” his voice sounded so sincere and wounded, that even with the unconsciousness caused by the alcohol you felt a pull in your heart. Spencer was silent for a moment, a lump in his throat, and when he finally got up the courage he spoke again, “When Andy died I thought… I was devastated. I am devastated. But even with everything I thought that… I thought that I still had you. I thought together we could get through this and now you're telling me you're not even sure this is working. I try to take care of you, but you refuse to eat, you refuse to go to a therapist, you drink and sleep all day and I don't know what else to do."

"I just want you to be here, Spencer."

"I am"

"No, it's not true"

“I am supporting you, I do everything in my power to make sure you are well”

“But I don't want you to take care of me like someone sick, I just want you to be my husband! I just want you to stop pretending nothing is happening, just sit here and cry with me... I don't want you to support me, I want you to love me”

Both of you looked at each other for a second, your vision blurred by accumulated tears.

“Every day I wake up and I am strong just because I love you. You are the one who seems to no longer love me"

How could things work when the two of you offered such different things and needed such different things? Spencer thought you didn't love him anymore, you thought he didn't love you anymore, and neither of you knew what to do about it. You wanted him to be there but not the way he did and that's why you pushed him away. He walked away because he thought you didn't want him with you anymore.

But those were things none of you understood, and probably no one could. Mourning was a complicated, heartbreaking, but above all confusing process.

And, as much as he evaded reality, Spencer knew that it was a matter of time before you two broke up permanently. He knew the statistics; he knew that a large number of couples divorced after the death of a child and the numbers were more decisive than his hopes of maintaining the marriage with you. So, if these were the conversations you guys were having at one of the few times you saw each other, perhaps the threat of disbandment was closer than he imagined.

Suddenly the ringing of your husband's phone rang and you could tell by the look on his face what kind of text it was.

"A case" you guessed bitterly "It's always a case, right?"

A part of you desperately hoped that he would ignore the message, come up to you with an apology, and tell you that he would stay right there with you. But the utopian version your mind created didn't look like the real situation at all, where he just gave you a pained look from behind those teary eyes.

"I promise I'll be back. I'll come and… we can talk about all this when we're calmer. We can try to fix it, things don't have to be that way."

“But that's how they are,” you muttered, shrugging, as another message rang on Spencer's phone.

You wanted to tell him that if he really wanted to make things right with you he'd send the FBI to hell and stay there to talk, but you held back because you simply thought it was useless to do that. You were tired, so you were just going to let it go; you told him to come back whenever he wanted, without much interest in when that would be, and new dizziness hit your head from the decision you had just made.

You didn't push him away when he approached to hold your face, with a softness that surprised you, and he left you a kiss on the forehead, one of those you'd received thousands of but now it felt so strange to share.

The case dragged on into the next day, and the entire time Spencer pondered your words. Maybe he was right about some things, but you are right about others too. Perhaps if you tried to understand each other things could improve and if both of you reached an agreement little by little you would return to being a married couple and not just two people going through the loss of a child. It was worth stopping avoiding the problem and facing it to be able to be not only with you, but also for you.

When he got home, the silence made him think that you were resting, and he still wanted to be able to lie next to you to simply hug you without saying anything. In a matter of a few seconds, so many nights passed through his mind in which he had loved you, in which you had feared and he had protected you, and those in which you had been immensely happy talking for hours until the sun bathed your face. You hadn't shared a decent kiss since Andy's funeral and suddenly the need to taste your lips became urgent, not to satisfy itself but to tell you how much he loved you. He had been an idiot these months, too busy not to break down to realize what was falling around him.

But upon reaching the room and turning on the light, all his hopes were shattered by a half-empty closet, a bed without you and a letter resting on the nightstand.

taglist: @navs-bhat @reidwritings @tricia-shifting14

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #criminal minds fanfic #dr spencer reid #matthew gray gubler #aaron hotchner #derek morgan #jason gideon #JJ #penelope garcía #david rossi #emily prentiss #spencer reid x you #spencer reid angst #heartbreaking angst

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crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf · 3 months ago

Text

Disgrace Chapter 3 : Crosshair x F!OC

Summary:

After crash-landing on a desert world, the main objective is getting off of it again. A backwater pirate operation is nothing for the Elite Imperial Sniper, even alone... What's not accounted for is Tah'nyem's draw for bad luck and mischief. They'll have to try to navigate the hostile environment without getting too distracted.

Chapter Specific Warnings: Minor Injuries, Drug use, Flirty Banter, Gun Fight, Threats made against MC, Crosshair still being (mostly) professional. Bad decisions, Explosions.

Word Count: 6k+

Dynamic: Princess x Guard, Speed running Co-dependancy, A Mangy Cat and his Aggressive little Chihuahua.

<-Previous Chapter - Read On Ao3 - Next Chapter >

Music Inspo- Not A Crime - Gogol Bordello

[oh how I knew I'd write an action sequence to this the moment I heard it]

Listen on Spotify - Listen on Youtube

Chapter 3

Not a Crime

The surface we landed on was powdered with a fine, rust colored sand. Our pod had dug a wide gouge through a forested landscape of thick, tube-like trees that twisted and wove into each other like vines.

“Careful now, don't touch the trunks.”

Crosshair steadied me by grabbing my arm, keeping me from falling into one of the odd plants.

On closer inspection I could see that the vegetation was ridged. Sharp needles stood in clumps along the deep channels.

Still in my thin sleep gown, I didn't fancy getting too close. The warm sand however was pleasant on my bare feet as I was half dragged through the dangerous, gigantic brambles.

“I need to change,”

I complained again. I had managed to hold onto my pack during the evacuation but we hadn't stopped walking since leaving the escape pod.

“You need to keep moving, That wasn't a subtle landing and we have no idea who might… investigate,”

I swear there's enough distance for me to put some Kriffing pants on…

But the clone was in full soldier mode and I had yet to really reach him under all that protocol.

Maybe he likes how thin the gown is…

I self consciously looked down at the light colored shift now stained with hazey, rusty streaks. It clung to my thighs and the soft peaks of my breasts, occasionally catching in the tuck point of my buttock. Not exactly covert travel garb.

Thank Be’llahl it's warm…

“What exactly is the plan here,”

“Find a new ship, get you to a safehouse till we're summoned, keep you off the radar,”

“That's it? That's the whole plan b?”

He didn't answer.

“What if this planet’s deserted?”

“It's not.”

He pointed ahead at the sky where pillars of smoke stood in sharp contrast against the bright, blue-green atmosphere.

“Could be a natural phenomenon…”

I grumbled, but it was an impotent theory. Listening closely there was a thumping, mechanical clanking on the breeze. It was most likely some sort of refinery or mining plant… the galaxy was full of them.

I had tried to check my datapad for any brochures to the place but it was apparently unlisted to the civilian holonet.

“C’mon, princess. The faster we find a way off this planet the faster you can change.”

He started to pull me along quicker than before and I'm sure I caught a hint of amusement in his voice. At my expense no less… I glowered up at him but if he noticed he didn't react.

The spiked tubes began thinning out signaling we were near the edge of the natural outcropping, which when reached, dropped off steeply to overlook a massive valley.

I could barely make out the opposite cliff face, the depression in between vast and filled with a thicket of twisted metal, steam and smoke.

“What do you think it is?”

“Doesn't matter.”

He swung the rifle from his shoulder and focused the scope to the ground outside the … factory? Scanning a little left, a little right and then out, over the expansive structure. He lowered the gun.

“There’s ships, A lot of them, But they look rough, we'll have to find one that works and possibly fuel it up ourselves.”

“You think they'll give us one?”

He paused, turning to me with what I could guess would be a look of controlled confusion… hard to tell through the helmet.

“I wasn't really planning on asking…”

“Why can't we just buy a ride? I have plenty of cre-”

“Princess,”

Ah, the warning growl.

I shut up.

“Someone blew up an entire military transport with the intention of you blowing up with it, We stay off record,”

“You don't know they were aiming for me,”

“Don't be dense,”

I was yanked forward again and sighed.

“You know you should really save the rough stuff for later,”

I had decided to drop the kitschy act around him but damn it, he was pissing me off a little, being so right all the time.

He was skilled at ignoring me by now though and pressed on, checking his scopes from another angle.

I was about to snag a pair of trousers from my pack but was pulled into motion again.

“Found our ship, Stay close, Do everything I tell you exactly,”

My pulse quickened at that, though I wasn't sure if it was nerves for what was to come or the image the command conjured.

Time and place.

He positioned himself behind me, swinging his scope back up to be level with my eyes.

“See it? Small, green stripes on the hull. Its engine is intact and the fuel lines aren't dripping,”

“How… how can you see all that?”

I squinted into the scope, the engine panel on the specified vehicle was open but I couldn't make anything out even with the magnification.

Giving up I looked around the ship we planned on stealing. The alcove was bright with sunlight, causing me to squint as the occasional stray mirror from scattered speeder parts flashed it into the scope. It was far from unattended, the ground a buzz with droids and insectoids bustling to and fro, about eight maybe?

“Uh… how good a gunman are you? Exactly.”

I could feel his chest puff in pride against my back, his voice coming as almost a purr.

“The best,”

Okay, tough guy.

…

“Show me.”

The demand caught him off guard, skipping a beat in hesitation.

He moved purposefully, repositioning his rifle to rest against the well worn plate on his chest and pulled me to him, tucking me under the steadied muzzle.

It only took a second, but I knew when he found his mark; a wave of rigidity flooding over his muscles as if locking it into place before relaxing into a calm confidence.

“Cover your ear,”

His voice was close, and if it weren't for the helmet his breath would've been dancing across the back of my neck. I obeyed, cupping my hand over my right ear.

With a squeeze of the trigger a single blaster bolt shot forth and darted into the alcove the ship was parked in.

It ricocheted, flashing a wild pattern as distant cries of alarm went up and just as quickly died.

He gave me back the scope to check his work.

The alcove was completely cleared. Everything taken down in a single shot.

“Holy shyte!”

“That was nothing,”

“No kidding,”

Pleased with himself, he slung the rifle back across his shoulders and pushed me forward again.

More cries were heard on the breeze as an alarm was raised from the metallic jungle below us.

“That wasn't really the best move was it?”

“No,”

It was so matter of fact I giggled a little.

“How hard is this gonna be now?”

“Not any harder than before,”

“How hard were you before?”

He walked into that one.

His armor jerked slightly, a sharp exhale through his speaker giving away a silent laugh as he helped me carefully pick our way down a steep incline and I relaxed a little.

At least there's some kind of reaction, I must've caught him off guard again.

The stoic business-like demeanor he'd been projecting since the pod had been vaguely off putting and I wasn't sure if it was the disruption to the dynamic that had been built till then or the fact that I just hurtled from the sky in a can that had me on edge.

And it's hard to feel scared when we're charging forward giggling like idiots, right?

“Don't you ever stop?”

Feigned annoyance.

“Not when I'm nervous,”

The levity was short lived as we descended the cliff side. He finally reached even ground and turned to lift me at the hip, picking me up off the last ledge and setting me next to him.

“Don’t be nervous,”

Easy for you to say, tough guy.

Luckily, the denizens of the metal monster hadn't really guessed where the lone shot had come from and they appeared to be scrambling trying to figure out what was going on.

“New plan,”

We skirted around and away from the commotion, making our way towards the further side of the factory.

“There's another junk yard this way,”

The place seemed to be a processing plant for salvaging scrap from ships, the outer walls consisting of mismatched metal streaked in bloody rust and corrosion. A shrieking, thumping, ringing din rose from within. My hopes of us finding a nice, usable getaway craft were dwindling.

We made our way around, stopping at a gap in the protective collage of scrap where the rust had completely eaten through and ducked inside.

There were towering walls of partially crushed and destroyed ships stacked to form tight aisles in what had to be a labyrinth of twists and turns. It reached to either direction from where we came through and Crosshair motioned for me to be silent.

I could tell he was listening and I focused as well. There were definitely people here, drifting about, none too many. From the snippets of common I could make out these stragglers didn't think there was much cause for the alarm. Good.

My arm was taken and I was pulled to the right and away from the congregation of gossiping workers. The path between the metal columns grew tighter, and I slowed, once again made aware of the delicate shift and bare feet I was dressed in.

“Stop.”

I whispered hurriedly and started to quietly reach into my bag.

“No. Not now,”

“C’mon, just some slippers, It's a death trap in here!”

He was annoyed but his visor dipped to look down at my ankles and he acquiesced.

Did you seriously miss that I was barefoot? Tunnel vision I swear…

Finally, I reached in and found the silk flats I was looking for, triumphantly slipping them on my feet.

A gurgling whine went up behind us and we turned and looked up.

A winged insectoid perched on top of the column screeching a warning to his crew.

Ah varp.

Without even an, “I told you so,” Crosshair swung me forward and out in front of him as he aimed a blaster back the way we came at the pursuers already pouring into the narrow corridor.

“Run.”

I ran.

There was only one way to go and I bolted down the path as fast as I could, uttering a prayer to the void that we'd end up somewhere useful. I could hear an exchange of blaster bolts and was pushed up against the wall with an arm hastily thrown over me, the ground scorched where I had been.

I darted on again, more determined to find a way out and trusting Crosshair to keep us safe from behind. He was tapping the walls periodically as we went, he had to be coming up with something.

The straight path ended and split into three. There were already pursuants down the leftmost path, and little time to deliberate, so I pivoted us down the right towards sunlight.

I scuffed the wall of hastily assembled debris, and almost fell as I took the turn wrong. I could feel fire alight on my side where abrasions no doubt were blooming from the ungraceful scrape. No time, I kept moving forward trying to fix my stumbling gate when suddenly the ground ended and I was sliding in sand between the stacked pillars.

Crosshair fell against my back and wrapped an arm around me to steady us, turning behind us and squeezing off a final shot as we reached the end of the ramshackle shoot and rolled onto a belt. It darted, bouncing off of little mirrored pucks that now strategicly dotted the makeshift corridor in a dizzying light show. Our pursuers fell every few meters, the rest tripping over the fallen.

The conveyor beneath us shuddered rhythmically, moving at a slow, ungainly pace, shaking the sand. Bits of jagged metal and plastics emerged from the sediment quickly falling away from our ankles. The line shifted under my feet carrying us upwards before evening out again, showing me what was shaking the belt.

A giant column of metal was bearing down on the automated line. The pedal end, the size of a ship itself, swung and rolled across the conveyor, crushing the sifted debris flat before dumping them into a grinder with a sickening crash.

Oh good.

Crosshair quickly hoisted me up and over the side with him and we plunged down to the next layer of moving belts. He landed hard, losing some wind as he “caught” me with a thud.

Then we were up. He had taken my hand now, pulling me to stand, then running as best as we could. There was flattened scrap piled at our feet as we made our way down the narrow incline, slowing our progress with sliding unpredictability. The air was starting to grow hotter, and I could only assume the column ahead of us was some type of furnace.

A buzzing clatter filled the air as Insectoids dropped onto the conveyor to either side of our position, training their weapons towards us.

“What are karken Genoans doing out here…”

Is that what they're called?

I was dipped as Crosshair dropped to a knee, pulling me down for cover as he shot the two to the left. Next, I'm up and spun against his back. He opens on the ones to the rear. The group scatters as the middle man falls, his body slumping onto the belt, but not before he spit some kind of fluid at us, slapping across the snipper’s visor. The fallen bug-man disappeared as the channel ended, dropping him into the incinerator with a delayed flash of sparks.

Up and over again, I was lifted as my guard calculated another jump over the edge. Atop a rusted casing for some whining machine, smoke, and then darkness as we dropped into a hollow shaft. For the moment we were safe. Sort of. Pistons periodically pressed into the space to either side of us, the loud mechanical groans as they shifted in quickly and then pushed back against a hydraulic regulator were raising the hairs on the back of my neck.

Eerie and too, too close.

We stayed there, still and listening. There were a few low, buzzing voices talking under the belt we had jumped from. I could barely hear it over the thrusting piston, but it sounded like they might be giving up and scattering.

Please believe we fell in… please just go away.

Other thoughts were spinning through me in the sudden stillness.

Why such a fuss for scrap?

Irritation flared up as it occurred to me how shady and complicated my life had suddenly become, the questions I suddenly had to account for…

I was supposed to be shopping with Kahtzi on Coruscant right now.

I looked up at the helmet above me. The front of it was covered in a thick sticky gunk. I was surprised he could still see through it at all. There was no telling what he was thinking through that thing, but the tension in him seemed to signal that he was listening too, barely breathing.

“What do you think they're really doing here?”

I whispered but a hand was clasped over my mouth anyways.

We stayed silent and still, the voices drifted away and we waited another second, two? before squeezing out of the piston housing.

Looking around the tight aisle between twisted pipes and gauges I spotted an armored door to the left of us and pointed it out.

“Can we get in there?”

He turned to see what I was looking at and grabbed my hand again, ushering me inbetween the varied obstacles of metal and rust.

Pull forward, spin to avoid a jet of steam, held to him as we step through a small gap, spun back out front.

I giggled.

“What's so funny?”

“Oh, nothing … was just thinking you dance better than some Dukes.”

The motions were so fluid, it was hard not to make the comparison.

“We're not dancing.”

He pulled me to face him again as he moved me through the next gap, and dipped me under an obtrusive pipe.

“Says you, I’ll definitely need you to escort me to the gala after all this,”

I laughed lightly and we reached the door, it had a good old fashioned magnetic lock.

Crosshair, ignoring me again, located the power supply line and severed it with a calculated blaster bolt, quickly pushing me back against the forest of metal limbs.

The lock went dark, and we waited. It didn't seem like any additional alarms were sounded.

Safe so far.

To the door and inside, I closed it behind us.

Quiet … so far.

I turned to get my bearings, it seemed like we had found our way into a storage warehouse of sorts. Crates stacked high to the ceiling along every wall, and grouped onto the floor through the middle. I couldn't make out anything left or right, being too dark, but the roof was open here in the middle and it filled the room with warm light.

The clone had removed the ruined helmet and began rubbing dirt into the goo, wiping it clean. Sensing I had a moment, I reached a hand in my bag again.

This should help!

The cloak draped over me and I slipped my arms into the sleeves. The gray, floor length fabric was light weight but should help protect my skin.

I looked over at Crosshair, hoping to regroup now that we were in the belly of the beast and still no closer to finding a ship of our own. He was still preoccupied trying to get a clear line of sight through the eyepiece.

Checking both ways down the stacks of crates… there didn't seem to be anyone in here.

Strange…

I strode over to a grouping of containers near the middle of the room and pressed the mechanism to pop the lid.

Oh?

I grinned, sifting my fingers through the powder within. I pinched some bringing it close and took a small whiff of the dust.

After a moment, the sting of the scrapes I sustained in our spirited jaunt through the factory started to subside. Feel good even.

Spice. Carsunum to be exact.

I was familiar with the common varieties of Spice, was part of the job. Father made sure I had a decent tolerance at a young age. For protection, of course. Can't be overwhelmed by a small spike slipped by an unscrupulous client.

Carsunum specifically was rather important to our business, being engineered for a reverse tolerance to battle the addictive nature of the drug. Better for the employees who needed to imbibe frequently with clients. The only reason I could feel it now was due to my familiarity, the feeling was unmistakable.

I turned to Crosshair, checking the perimeter, and wondered if he ever really partied before.

Can't be all work, no play, right? Guy’s so tense.

He finished his sweep and finally turned back to me, standing over an open crate of contraband.

“What the kriff are you doing?”

I close the lid with a snap.

“Looking around.”

The tiny dose I inhaled wouldn't do much, but I wasn't feeling aches, pains or that healthy apprehension anymore.

Ignoring my sudden lack of caution, I turned to investigate the crates shadowed by the overhang. They were behind fencing, with some additional locks.

What do we have here?

I skirted the laced wire, finding a gap that aligned with a lid. It was simple enough to just… reach in and press the latch, allowing the lid to pop open.

My heart sank a little, as I observed the rows of palm sized, carefully packaged black bricks inside. A hundred? Two? A rough calculation in my head and I felt a little ill.

I reached in, shimmying one out with my fingertips and carefully extracted it through the fence.

Crosshair had been trailing me apprehensively, and I turned to show him the small brick.

“We have to go. Now.”

I turned and eyed the warehouse.

There's got to be a loading dock. Close.

“What's that?”

I held it up.

“This means that whoever owns this smuggling operation isn't someone to kark around with.”

“Then why did you take one?”

I smiled at that. I had only served this variant of spice to a guest once, it was the type of thing only royals can get their hands on.

“Cause you keep calling me princess,”

It was mostly a museing, I wasn't really sure myself, but a shyte ton of rare drugs and I wasn't supposed to sneak one?

He stopped me, grabbing the hand with the package and holding it aloft.

“Put. It. Back.”

I tried to free myself.

“No, We're wasting time enough let's just go,”

Pew

The package in my hand burst in a cloud of sparkles and I was being dragged down and behind the stack of crates.

I watched as the shining dust glimmered for a moment, and then fell into a dark black ash as the sunlight rendered it inert.

Oh well.

What was that she had…

I froze.

We had dove away, the sunlight… I didn't think we had gotten any, but that was fast.

I turned to Crosshair, who blinked a few times in a dazed kind of way before moving to slip his helmet back on.

Oh I am about to be sooo detrimental…

He was looking at me, stiffening when he realized I wasn't speaking aloud.

There's wasn't much time to address this little predicament, as we both turned at the cluster of thoughts tingling to our left flank.

We stood and lifted our gun, we saw… everything. There was a strong, leeward wind.

There you are old friend.

We pulled the trigger. We hit our mark.

I tried to hold onto myself, struggling to quiet my thoughts. It was kind of working, and I sunk into him, becoming small mentally, letting him work as I observed the mechanisms in this ultimate act of voyeurism.

Another target, another mark made. The wind was our guide. Angles and beautiful shadows, a canvas trapping our enemies in focus.

His calculations, my metaphors.

New thoughts, congregating on our right flank.

We draw our pistol and fire. We stare them down as they round a corner of crates. Squeeze the trigger, one, two, three down.

I was staring down my arm and a small moment of shock rippled through us.

I had drawn his side arm and he had used me, my line of sight, to fire behind us.

This could work

I let go again. Giving him control and feeling his consciousness burn my cortex as he slipped into my mind purposefully this time. I retreated to the quieter parts of him, nestling into his subconscious, feeling everything that was him around me. The feeling was… exquisite?

No, erotic…

The dark, shadowy silk of his inner workings wrapped in an ever moving spiral around the thought of what I was, holding it together, caressing against the raw concept of me.

It dawned on me why our client may have wanted this stuff and a tremble went through the man against my back as the thought raced from me to him, causing a shot to go wide.

Later

I purred and sank back into the role of observer, I could feel new calculations forming as he took information from my eyes.

Point, shoot, point, shoot.

He was hitting the mark but I could feel a mounting frustration at how much slower my body was, the difficulty of controlling two minds, and well, the overall psychedelic effect that was linking us wasn't easy to focus through.

Despite all that, It didn't cost us much. A bit of effort and we managed to clear the wave of workers that had been closing in. Escape was still the main goal here, we just needed to make it. Perfection comes later.

We looked around, the extended range of view making us slightly dizzy. There were distant footsteps that grew louder by the moment, signaling more security to fight through. Gotta move before then.

We picked our way carefully to the far end of the warehouse sliding through another door into a dark, loud chamber. Chains swung threateningly from the ceiling and the floor hung high above a pit I couldn't see the bottom of. The air was hot, heavy with the smell of burning mineral.

I glanced at my escort, walking in tandem stride. He was superimposed over the image of the walkway, I could see as he did, but the spectacle was the hallucinations. His inner world projecting around us, all storm and thunder and crashing waves. One moment the walkways, the next a tempest. I could almost see raindrops gathering on his armor.

The metal walkway tinked with the sound of non-existent rainfall as we made our way around the drop and through a new set of doors.

A raucous noise met us as we passed into the next chamber, drowning out the disembodied thunder. Moving machinery again, hot steam, and a hazy dust making it hard to see. I put my hand on the armored back in front of me, trying to stay in step and not think too much.

The path narrowed between spinning belts and pistons, but it looked like the room beyond opened up. I stuck close as we started the squeeze between the machines.

We took it slow, shuffling along the tight channel with hot metal just inches to either side of us.

Yank

I jolted backwards, a sudden force dragging me away. I tightened my hold on the plate I was touching, but the force was too fast and I barely gripped his side before being snapped too far to reach.

The robe was tightening around my armpits, and I turned to see the hem sucked into one of the belted obstacles, it was disappearing quickly and I could feel Crosshair's mind fighting the panic that now poured from me, trying to find a course of action through the frenzy.

A swift kick with his boot heel and the belt came loose, giving him time to pull me from the twisted fabric before it slowly wound itself into the gear with a loud whine.

I was gasping against him, the skin around my shoulders an angry red where the tight fabric had cut into me. There was no doubt some friction burns but I was grateful I couldn't feel it for the moment.

I get it, universe. No more putting clothes on.

Regret seemed to shift between us as we emerged from the tiny passage into a wider area.

There

We had spotted the long, port doors that should lead to a dock. Taking steps in unison, we swept the area and made our way across.

My mind was being flooded with mental schematics. Scenarios. My skills being assessed against them and then rejected. Frustration again. A wish that someone was here. Many someone's. Heartache…

He was drifting into thoughts I wasn't supposed to see. I tried to untangle myself from his synapsis, suddenly conscious of how naked we were to each other, but the glitterstim was still coursing through us. What was he seeing of me?

I wasn't too sure if these were the normal effects, but I could easily chalk it up to a synchronized will to live and the dosage. I quit trying to close the connection for now, there wasn't any use.

Stroking the shadows of his subconscious where I was still mostly tethered, I looked at my reflection in the pain that was sinking back into the stormclouds. Feeling the way our lungs and hearts had started to move in unison.

Just a will to not die at the hands and/or pincers of insectoid drug runners, that's all this is about…

There was a disappointment to that conclusion that wasn't mine. Or was it? It was becoming hard to tell.

I opened the door, we slipped through and into the bright sunlight. It made it easier to parse out which thoughts were all me. We were alone still, a little time before we would be located.

We had been right about the loading bay. A few commercial ships milled about, with more modest, personal craft lined up behind another fence.

We clung to the wall, keeping an eye on the few silhouettes moving around the larger vehicles, and made our way to the smaller ships.

Crosshair took a knee by the fence, and I stepped up, letting him take my foot and lift me over.

I caught a glimmer of a thought about how small my slipper was, the shape of my legs then I was on the other side of the fence.

In a moment he was with me, and we moved with purpose scoping out the surrounding cruisers.

He selected a small craft in black, and tapped the keypad, making sure it was unlocked.

Of course he goes for the black one.

I heard that.

I poked him in the rib, and he chuckled, surprising me a little.

Didn't think you were ticklish.

I'm not.

The feeling that talking like this was strange washed through us, and I tried to keep my head clear while we boarded the ship.

He darted into the cockpit and started checking the fuel and core levels. Can't have another ship explode on us.

Not great, we'd have to refuel to get to the coordinates.

Should we pick another?

He quickly walked out the port and ducked into the ship next to us. It didn’t take long until he was back again.

They're all stored without fuel. Have to do it ourselves.

I hopped out with him this time. And we looked back at the loading docks. The bright lights and line up of cargo vehicles made the fueling station obvious. The dock behind it should have separate pumps.

How do you figure, princess?

I manage a business. One where retrieving shipments, this means hanging out on shipping docks, is one of the many facets of my work.

I wasn’t able to completely hold back my annoyance, the “princess” thing was actually rather patronizing. I tolerated it cause… well…

He had winced from the initial irritation rolling off me but settled into a somewhat swaggerish stride by the time my train of thought had petered out and I cursed him a little. Rolling my eyes.

Give a guy a meter.

I’ll-

…

The thought was cut off abruptly, and I smirked at him, amused.

“You’ll”… What, tough guy?

We need to get to those pumps… and hope a usable ship is close by.

Fine, don't play.

We linked step to the side of the fence and kept low as we picked our way over to where the fueling station was glowing even in the bright sun.

The growing cacophony of thoughts coming from the many cargo ships lined up at the station was reaching the brink of painful as we approached, but the fact that my brain wasn’t frying meant that the glitterstim was starting to wear off a little.

Thank Be’llahl… that could've killed us.

That would have been your fault.

Who was waving it around?

Who stole it?

Uhg, What are you twelve?

Close.

…

Wha-?

He put a hand up for me to be quiet, which was stupid, on account of us not actually talking. He got a raised eyebrow in return, but motioned that we had come as even with the pump as we could from here and knelt to help me back over the fence.

Backtracking… love it.

Over as swift as the first time except a twisted rod snagged my hem, ripping the already considerable slit a little higher up my hip and I sighed.

At this rate I might as well just seduce the guards…

I eyed the damage as Crosshair hoisted himself over with lothcat-like grace, contrasting my clumsy performance.

All of them?

Don't think I could?

I think they'd kriff you to pieces.

… Charming visual.

Staying low now, we made our way through sharp piles of junk and trash, slowly approaching the chugging line of old, beat up, cargo barges.

Once even with the nearest ship another calculation rippled over him and I was scooped up and held tight as we went up over the embankment and slid down the other side to the packed dirt that made the makeshift ship lane.

He bolted between two barges as they shifted forward and dived, tucking my head as we rolled and were through, pressed against the opposite ditch of trash.

I looked up from where I was still held to his shoulder, and scoped a path up and around to a dark hanger behind the main pump site.

Three separate smaller pumps sat in the shadows, waiting.

I tried sending him the visual as I saw it but it took a moment. The connection was starting to fade and it was hard to share more than a surface thought. It… ached a little.

He seemed to get enough of the picture though, and made towards the path I had picked out, putting me down once we had reached decently even ground again.

A few droids stumbled into our path and were dispatched, but otherwise no hiccups.

I was starting to grow uneasy. It was taking them too long to find us actually, we shouldn't have had this much time.

A glance at Crosshair's hurried movements as we entered the hangar was all I needed to confirm he was thinking something similar. We were getting very lucky. Luck doesn't usually last.

The hangar was empty besides a scattered team of droids loitering around the pumps. Some rapid fire and they were down, and we paused, listening, waiting, finally moving again. Usual looking racks lined the walls holding various tools. Pallets hung from the ceiling stacked with canisters and dark husks of droids.

The pumps we were looking for were at the far back standing by a large, sliding door that had been stuck ajar. I glanced through it, hoping luck would hold just a bit longer.

The sun was held back by the long shadow of the roof, and in that shadow…

“Ha!”

I had to stifle the sudden mirth, but it was just so droll.

Crosshair appeared at my shoulder and I could sense question on him but that was all.

“Look,”

I whispered instead, pointing through the gap to the ship parked just outside, ready to be filled and launched.

Small. Green stripes on the hull.

“Kriff me,”

He chuckled too and leaned against the framed opening.

“Let's get the kark out of here, Start up one of those pumps, I'm going to clear any stragglers,”

He slipped out silently and I ran to the nearest pump, hoping the long tube would be able to reach the ship’s fuel port and started hitting the energy connections requesting fuel to the line.

Next, pushing the tube off its hook, I tried hoisting the heavy bundle over my shoulder but stumbled under the weight, clanking loudly against itself.

No good.

I stopped, making sure no one was summoned by the clanging and lowered the coiled bundle, taking the pump end and dragging it instead. The soft zip of it uncoiling in the sand put me on edge, it was too soft to carry, but sounded loud to me and I was getting jumpy.

I left the nozzle by the open door, not thinking it was wise to leave the relative safety of the hanger before Crosshair said it was clear. Instead I checked the status of the pump.

All set.

A door slammed open towards the middle of the hanger, spilling light suddenly into the shadowed building. I dropped behind the pump but there wasn't anything more solid to duck under. I tried not to breath.

“If I catch that little nerf who cost me a block, a whole Kriffing block, of glitterstim I'm gonna skin her alive. Right in front of that partner of hers. Where'd they go? Were we able to track them on the holocams?”

Shyte, shyte, shyte.

I recognized that voice, rich, velvety and dangerous.

The steps grew closer, seeming to make straight for the gapped door.

“Ah hah”

Busted

I felt a hand yank me up by the hair.

“Wha-...”

I swung in the woman's grip as she scanned my face, recognition blossoming as she dragged me back to the middle of the building.

“Tah’nyem Ra? What the absolute varp are you doing in my chop shop, aye?”

“Ha-heh… Ah’Jso. Long time!”

The dark skinned woman didn't let go of my hair as she eyed my torn and dirty nightgown and tattered slippers.

“Seriously, are you the chewy center to that popped pod we found out there?”

She was looking good, no way of seeing grays in her white dreaded hair, pulled back into a ponytail that reached her calves.

The last I saw her I had just come of age and was sitting in with my fathers meetings for the first time. During his hostile takeover of Ah’Jso’s district on Coruscant.

Not the best person to bump into. Not the worst though…

“Girl, you owe me quite a lot of credits suddenly, You're a smart one, what do you think that brick cost?”

“Oh, a small million or so?”

“A sma-... Ha, how about 10? You got 10 million credits on you girly?”

She shook me, sending hot little jolts through my scalp.

“Not… exactly”

Her grip was tightening in my hair and she was lifting, making me stand on tiptoe. I didn't realize how strong she was but it wasn't surprising. Woman was like, two meters tall.

I swayed a little, trying to keep balanced.

“I should send your daddy a slice of that fine ass. The trouble your family causes me.”

She used her free hand to give my rump squeeze and sharp slap. The threat though, was very real and I struggled more ernestly.

“No need for that, Ah’Jso, hah… we can just call him… and he'll get you the credits.”

Fat chance of that actually…

“This isn't about the credits… do you know how long I've wanted to get back at your father? This is too good to pass up.”

She tossed me at the droids that had accompanied her in and turned away, plotting to make a holocall. I glanced at a shadow that darted into the hanger and back out again, catching a glint off of Crosshair's visor as he found an angle on Ah’Jso.

I tried to catch his eye and shook my head subtly.

Can't shoot her, Bad for business. I'm probably already causing a lot of disruption as is…

By the amount of spice in the warehouse, and it's proximity to Ga’haiian space, we probably got our spice from her too, and I had just racked up a debt. Not exorbitant, but better not insult her further.

Seriously karked this one up…

“Something else”

I mouthed once I was sure I wasn't being watched.

Ah’Jso was giddy with preoccupation, wondering what to do with me to make the most impact on my father; it seemed she had forgotten I had backup for now.

Crosshair's shoulders dropped in what was probably exasperation but he lifted his muzzle, looking for a different way to get me out.

“Maybe,”

She turned back to me, grinning,

“Maybe I get my biggest, ugliest bugman in here and have him rip your arms out their sockets on call!”

“Sounds… delightful?”

Pew

A bolt briefly lit the hanger, and Ah’Jso glanced around in confusion.

Seconds later, a pallet of canisters fell from the ceiling, one or two igniting on impact with the sandy ground.

The small explosion threw me and the security droids to the side in a cloud of dust. More blaster bolts and I was being grabbed and dragged, through and out.

He had already plugged the fuel line into the shuttle ship and hit the button to release it as we passed, spilling fuel onto the ground.

“And I couldn't shoot her because?”

“Business partner.”

I left it at that as we boarded and slammed the door shut. Lowering myself shakily into a seat in the cockpit I flicked a few prep switches as I went wanting to be moving quickly.

Another loud boom rang out behind us, the fire had reached a fuel line and the door next to the ship bowed out at the new inferno inside.

Cross slung into the seat next to me, strapped in and finished the launching procedures. We were moving, directly up in a stuttering motion as we fought a narrow launch path and another explosion threatening to throw the craft into one of the giant scrap piles.

Just as we cleared the height of the factory walls the fire reached the tanks just below us and the resulting flash threw us the rest of the way clear. He punched the throttle, sending us bolting up through the atmosphere.

I winced as I observed the fires blooming below us.

“Shyte… I think she might be dead anyway.”

“They were pirates weren't they?”

“Yeah, guess that's what you'd call ‘em.”

Ah well. Tried to be nice.

He shrugged, almost too casually,

“Not a crime.”

#the bad batch #tbb crosshair #crosshair x f!oc #imperial crosshair #oc sunday #star wars fanfiction #tbb fanfiction #sw oc #sw oc: tah'nyem ra #smut fics #fuck it. Dropping early late

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drafthorsemath · 1 year ago

Text

Antidote (TBB Tech x afab Reader)

Tech x AFAB Reader (use of she/her pronouns), but all of the Batch included

Word Count: Five words over 3.3k

Warnings: Sex pollen but not the usual trope (no sex and an alternative is found), suggestive sexual language and situations but nothing acted upon, restraining for safety, some strong language, frank description of biological processes, creative use of a tampon, some feelings of shame but they are addressed, NSFW, younglings begone

A/N: I can’t read sex pollen fics. I tried. It wasn’t my thing, but then I got an idea and @staycalmandhugaclone encouraged me so here we are. This is not a call out or meant to be negative toward any sex pollen fics. This is just a different take.

Also on AO3.

You met the Batch on Pabu and in the months since, found yourself spending more and more time with them. This was especially true of Tech. You found his thirst for knowledge and direct nature easy to understand and get along with. Though, you were doing more than getting along. You weren’t sure how to tell him, but you had fallen for him. His brothers all noticed, but he seemed not to. What you didn’t know was that he simply didn’t know how to bring up his feelings just yet.

The boys had decided to visit a nearby planet and since there didn’t seem to be any danger, no one had any objections to you coming along. You hadn’t been on a ship since you first traveled to Pabu and you loved watching as you flew through hyperspace. Tech landed just outside of a city and you all headed toward the market. Hunter and Echo went in search of supplies while Wrecker, Tech, and Crosshair all helped buy food to bring back to Pabu. You were particularly interested in the local fruits and vegetables that didn’t grow on the island you called home.

“I think this is enough,” you said, putting down the last crate next to the pile.

“Is it,” Wrecker asked. “I could eat all this in a couple days.”

“Yes, but we’re just getting what we can,” Crosshair responded. He didn’t want to make more than one trip back to the ship.

“Well, we can carry more,” Wrecker retorted. “At least I can.”

Crosshair gave him a half-hearted glare but helped purchase a few more crates. Wrecker easily carried most of the load.

You turned around to look for Tech. He was busy scanning some kind of contraption that caught his eye one booth over.

“Ready to go, Tech?”

“In just a moment,” he replied.

Wrecker and Crosshair walked ahead, catching up with Hunter and Echo who were waiting near the edge of town with some ship parts. You knew a moment for Tech could mean anything from a few seconds to much longer than that but wanted to stay with him.

He put the item down and walked with you. “The wiring on this new style datapad results in faster computations. I want to see if I can rewire my own and achieve similar results.”

“That didn’t look like any datapad I’ve ever seen,” you replied.

“Ah, the outside is only meant to grab your attention. It is a new model. The inside is what interests me.”

You smiled at that. Tech offered to carry the crate you still had, and you kindly accepted.

Once back at the ship, Wrecker took the crate from Tech. It was decided you all would spend the night on the ship and head back the next day. Tech cleared his bunk so you would have a place to sleep, insisting he could sleep in a chair. While you felt it was incredibly nice of him, you also couldn’t help but wonder what it might be like to share a bunk with him. The thought left your mind as he asked if you wanted to come with him to document some of the local flora. After dinner, the others stayed around the campfire while you and Tech walked over a few hills and to the edge of a forest. He excitedly took pictures and samples, telling you about each plant and its properties.

“This one has several medicinal uses,” he said, handing you a pink flower. You smiled at it and then back at Tech. You gathered several and put them in their own storage bag for transport. Multiple species of flowers were packed before you looked a little further into the woods.

“Tech! Come see!”

He walked over and immediately noticed the large teal blooms that opened as you walked by.

“Fascinating,” he said. He took a picture and noticed that as he got closer to you, the flowers seemed to open even further. He scanned them, looking for any known properties. His face dropped as soon as the results showed up.

“We need to go, mesh’la!”

“What? Why?” You sneezed.

“It may be too late.” He took your hand and briskly walked you out of the woods. Your face suddenly felt hot and your throat burned.

“Tech, I don’t feel well.”

“We must get back to the ship,” he said nearly panicking. “I believe those flowers create an aphrodisiac that specifically affects females of several species.”

No sooner had he said that, and your limbs felt like jelly and you fell against him. Something wasn’t right. You could swear you felt all your blood rushing to your groin and let out a moan. You tried to run, but felt a great weight on your ankles. Tech lifted you like you weighed nothing and ran toward the Marauder. Hunter stood as he saw his brother carrying your body. Preparing for the worst, the boys all stood up asking what was wrong and following Tech on to the ship.

“A large flower opened, spreading pollen,” Tech stated. “I believe it is an aphrodisiac and it has already started to work.”

He sat you down, scanned you, and confirmed your symptoms. The others stood behind him, looking rather helpless. He sighed and gave you a rundown of what to expect. Very brief fever followed by extremely high libido and high energy until satisfied.

Crosshair looked from you to Tech and asked, “Isn’t there a way she can take care of this on her own? You know? Manually?”

“Negative,” replied Tech. “Based on the information available, orgasm does not help in mitigating the symptoms. It appears this particular pollen only effects females and it does not wear off until either sexual intercourse with a male is completed or her hormones shift with her next menstrual cycle.”

“Next period?!” You really started panicking. “I can’t feel that way for that long!” You wanted to cry and yet you could feel that you had to fight to remain yourself even now. You knew it would only get worse. “Look I… Tech I…” You searched for words, feeling overwhelmed. This was not how you wanted to have this conversation, but it seemed like you had better get it over with. “Tech, I have feelings for you. I really like you, but I don’t want to have sex with you or anyone right now, for that matter and I’m afraid of what I might say or do in the next however long.”

Tech quickly processed the information and couldn’t help but smile. “I believe the feeling is mutual,” he said, still kneeling in front of you. “I promise no one will do anything you would not want done in your healthy state of mind. You have my word.”

“That’s great,” chimed Echo, “And I’m really glad for you two, but how are we going to fix this without waiting?”

“I have an idea,” Tech replied.

No sooner had he said that and the fever hit. You felt like you were on fire and cold as ice at the same time. Wrecker stepped toward you to hold your hand. “It’s gonna be okay,” he said. “If anyone can solve this, it’s Tech.”

You tried to nod. Your whole body shook with fever, but within a few minutes the fever was gone. You knew that you weren’t yourself, but there was no way to stop it. You looked at all five men greedily and started to take your shirt off.

“I want Tech first,” you said with a smirk.

“Now now,” Wrecker said, still next to you and taking your hand away from your shirt. “None of that.”

You tried to stand up and looked at each member of the squad. You giggled to yourself that you just thought about the word “member.” They would do nicely, but you would give anything for Tech to throw you onto his bunk and fuck you through the bottom of the ship. You walked closer to him and he adjusted his googles.

“I know this is not you,” he said.

It quickly became clear that you were going to be quite a handful. Tech did research as fast as possible, finding flowers that reacted similarly. Wrecker held you in his lap with his arms wrapped around you after you tried to jump on Hunter as he walked past to assist Tech. He was also trying to keep you from acting out your latest threat of walking up to Tech and sitting in his lap naked. You made several comments about each of the men, but would not stop talking about how much you wanted Tech.

“We know,” Crosshair said, sitting next to Wrecker.

You turned your head toward Crosshair and smiled like an idiot. “Jealous,” you asked him.

“I didn’t say that,” he replied in annoyance.

“It’s okay if you are,” you countered in a sing-song voice.

Your body then decided that since you were sitting on a man’s lap, you might as well start thrusting your hips.

“Nope,” Wrecker said, lifting you off his lap. He was strong, but you were giving him a run for his money with how much you were squirming.

“We’ll sit with her awhile,” Hunter offered, dragging Echo with him. “Crosshair too.”

“What? Why me?”

“Because you’ve only sat next to Wrecker. I think we’ll all have to take some limbs or something.” Wrecker sat you down on the bunk and Hunter held you back before you could lunge at Tech. You nearly yoinked him halfway across the Marauder. Hunter managed to sit you back down with Echo holding one arm, Hunter the other, and Crosshair sitting on the floor hugging your legs.

“This is ridiculous,” you giggled. “Just let me fuck your brother. Just once.”

Hunter sighed. He knew you were going to be upset later. Tech had already discovered that there is no lapse in memory for this particular drug, so you would remember every moment of this. He hoped you would find solace in the fact that they all knew this wasn’t really you.

They were all getting tired and while Wrecker wanted to help Tech, he knew there was little he could do, so he tried sleeping until it was his turn to hold you again. Tech worked furiously through the night. He grimaced when you hit the next stage and complained you felt throbbing. You had gone from flirty to begging for someone to put your out of your misery “with as much cock as possible.” When that didn’t work you cried. He knew it must be painful by this point. He couldn’t stand to hear you cry. Your body was simply reacting to a drug. He felt guilty for not knowing this plant was in the vicinity, but it had never been documented on this side of the planet before. How could he have known?

In the middle of the night, Wrecker woke to stay with you while Hunter, Echo, and Crosshair tried to get some sleep. You made a lot of noise, but they tried. Wrecker had to admit that he didn’t do any more than doze. They were all worried for you, but being in war and under stress, they had learned to sleep when they can and then get up and do their part when it was time. They got what sleep they could.

You wailed when Wrecker held you, trying to scramble away to get to one of the men. He just kept apologizing and telling you he was keeping you safe. You managed to turn in his lap and wrap your legs around his waist.

He sighed. “I know you don’t want that. Not really.” You started crying again and all you could seem to feel was your pulse between your legs and a chemical drive that would not go away.

At the front of the ship, Tech started to make some progress. He smiled to himself when he found a research article on this species of plant. He needed one of the pink flowers you’d collected earlier along with two drugs from the med kit.

Hunter hadn’t done much more than close his eyes, but he sensed the med kit being opened and went to try to help his brother.

“Will you restart the campfire,” Tech asked.

“Sure. What progress have you made?”

“We are not able to create or obtain the hormones needed to trigger her menstrual cycle and end this using that method. However, it is theorized that the reason sexual intercourse causes the pollen to cease its effect is because of the presence of semen in the vagina. Specifically, one protein found in seminal fluid. Now, obviously that is not an option for us, but it appears a similar form of this protein can be synthesized using the pollen of some flowers we collected. While not ideal, there are some items in the med kit that can help this chemical process.”

“Great, but how do we get it in her,” Hunter asked.

“We don’t,” answered Crosshair, now standing behind them. “Put whatever you make on a tampon and ask her to do it herself.”

“Would that work,” Echo asked, joining them.

“I believe it is the least invasive option,” Tech replied.

They all nodded. Hunter went outside to start the campfire. Tech sterilized some equipment and joined him. It seemed simple enough. He only needed part of the flower and then the heated wound disinfectant along with bacta gel would cause the protein to be isolated. Hunter dug a tampon out of the emergency supplies.

Echo and Crosshair helped Wrecker who held your legs, while the other two sat on either side of you. You were tired, but still acting ravenous. Your method had gone even further in the direction of complaining about how you were hurting, and you just wanted all this to be over.

“It doesn’t have to be Tech,” you declared. “I’ll take any of you. Please!” You then melted in Echo’s arm and looked at him with stars in your eyes. “Changed your mind yet? Any of you?”

He simply shook his head, trying to show he cared, and held on so you couldn’t pounce on anyone. You turned to Crosshair on your other side. He held your arm and tried to help keep you still as best he could. You quickly moved to try to bite his neck and he pulled away. “No thank you,” he said. “I’m saving that for someone special.”

You were trying so hard to fight the drug coursing through your system, but it was a losing battle. After what felt like ages, Tech seemed satisfied with the concoction. There wasn’t much of it, but once it was cool enough he dipped the end of the tampon in the gel and walked back onto the ship. The boys let go enough for you to walk toward him. Your flirty symptoms appeared again, and you wanted Tech so badly. You looked up and down his body with no shame. He really took your breath away.

Tech found your glances made him nervous, but simply cleared his throat. Just as he was about to explain why he was holding a tampon, you started sniffing the air.

“That smell,” you said.

The men all looked at each other. “Can you smell it,” Hunter asked. “The protein?”

“Whatever it is, I want to sit on it,” you replied with a grin. You homed in on the tampon.

Tech cleared his throat again and explained, “I have created what we hope will reverse the effect of the drug, but you need to insert this yourself.”

Crosshair and Echo were still each holding your arms, but not too tightly. You seemed to calm and they let go. You took the tampon and went to take your pants off, but everyone stopped you. Tech opened the refresher door and you walked in. He closed it and everyone sighed.

“I hope this works,” said Echo. “All I smell is floral bacta gel.”

In the ‘fresher you regarded the tampon with a little suspicion, but your body seemed to be on autopilot. You placed the tampon and immediately the ache started going away. You took slower breaths. You washed your hands and realized your nerves had been on fire for hours. You looked at yourself in the mirror and felt the heat in your face start to drain. Instead, you realized all that you had said and done, or tried to do. All kinds of emotions flooded your system. You were sure that Hunter could sense the change in you from the other side of the door, so you made no effort to report what was going on. You weren’t sure you wanted to see or talk to any of them yet. You were covered in sweat from all your activity and wanted a shower. You stripped off your clothes and briefly stood under the water. Just enough to clear away the feeling on your skin. When you got out, you noticed someone had left you the spare clothes you’d brought, and you slowly put them on. After a few more minutes of staring blankly into the mirror and letting the antidote work, you finally reappeared.

“I’m sorry,” you said quietly. “I didn’t mean all that.”

“We know,” Wrecker said, pulling you into a hug.

“Glad you feel better,” Hunter said.

“Been thinking we might all get some shut eye before we leave,” Echo suggested. Crosshair nodded with a little smile on his face. For the first time all night, he popped a toothpick in his mouth.

You nodded, thanking them for helping you.

“Especially you, Tech.”

He wasn’t sure what to do. Should he hug you? Hold you? Keep his distance?

“Here,” he said. “If you find you need more to counter the drug, I will put this in a safe place.” He showed you a container with the small puddle of gel he had made using the flowers. You smiled at him.

“How did you figure it out?”

He walked you to the cockpit after closing up the ship as the sun rose. He sat you down, noticing how physically weak you looked. Sitting across from you, he told you about his research and how he found a way to mimic the protein structure that seemed to shut down the drug. You smiled. Of course Tech would figure it out.

“I’m sorry again,” you said.

“Cyar’ika, you have nothing to be sorry for,” he said, reaching for your hand. He gave it a soft squeeze and smiled at you. “None of this was your fault.”

You returned the smile and sat back, looking like you might fall asleep.

“Let me help you to bed,” he offered. You took his arm, needing it to steady yourself. Your legs felt like jelly for a whole different reason this time.

You got into bed. In his bunk. The others were already sleeping. Tech sat on the end of the bed, but looked conflicted. When he originally offered to sleep in the pilot’s seat, he didn’t know all of this would happen.

“Tech? Can you stay? Is that okay?”

He nodded, but suddenly seemed a bit nervous. He had never shared a bed with anyone like this. What he said earlier was true. He had feelings for you and knew you had feelings for him. He wanted you to feel safe, so if you wanted him close, he felt it would be alright now, although he wasn’t sure what he was doing as he laid down.

“How would you like me to, uh…”

“Like this,” you replied, taking his hand and laying it across your middle. Not too close or tight, but just there. “But however feels right. I trust you.”

He softly smiled and relaxed. “Goodnight mesh’la.”

#tbb tech x reader #tbb tech x fem reader #tbb tech x afab reader #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch #tbb tech #tbb tech fanfiction #can you believe I'm out here posting on main #sex pollen #without the sex #reverse sex pollen #i don't know what else to call this #reader insert #period #menstruation

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electrikworm · 3 months ago

Text

Under Pressure

Relationships: Echo & Hunter & Omega & Tech & Wrecker

Content Warnings: Bear Traps, Broken Bones, Blood and Injury

Summary:

On a mission, Wrecker's leg is caught in a trap. But Omega isn't going to leave her brother behind, even if he tells her to.

Written for @augustofwhump Day 8: Trap and Attack

Word count: 2,683

Read on Ao3

Omega almost doesn't registers the loud crack that rings out behind her. A bad feeling settles in her stomach at the noise, but she doesn't think much of it.

They're running from a gang they'd crossed and angered during their current mission, and the squad had been split up. Omega hasn't got the time to investigate noises.

“Don't move!” Wrecker shouts suddenly. Doing as told, Omega turns to him. Her brother isn't right behind her like she'd thought, he's standing a good three meters away.

“What's wrong?” Omega fidgets with her bow. Wrecker may have noticed enemies Omega hadn't and she isn't going to be a liability if a fight breaks out.

“They've trapped the grass. Watch where you step.” Wrecker reaches into the the tall vegetation surrounding them, pulling at something.

Scanning the ground around herself, Omega notices a glint of metal near her foot and takes a big step back. It looks cruel, jagged edges lining its sides. Wrecker's been teaching her about explosives, but she can't tell if the object is a mine or an alternative form of trap. Either way, she wouldn't have noticed it if Wrecker hadn't pointed it out.

“What do we do?” Omega asks. None of the plans her brothers have explained to her dealt with traps.

“Watch your step, but keep moving as fast as possible.”

Omega nods, keeping her eyes on the floor as she moves on. But the bad feeling Omega had increases, swirling wildly in her chest. It makes her freeze, turn back to look at Wrecker for reassurance.

He hasn't moved a step.

“Wrecker?” Omega calls. He looks up at her. “What are you doing?”

“Keep walking Omega, fast as you can.” He says.

“Why did you stop?” Omega turns, doing to opposite of what Wrecker asked her to do.

“No, no, turn back around, keep going.” Wrecker says, waving his arms at Omega wildly. “I'll be right behind you.”

“Liar.” Omega hisses, picking up the pace in Wrecker's direction. His weird behaviour is unnerving, making Omega nervous.

“Omega, you have to leave!” Wrecker snaps, voice cracking, but Omega ignores him, crossing the last bit of distance between her and her brother. She gasps.

One of those metal traps is around Wrecker's left legs, its vicious teeth wrapped around his calf. It must have snapped shut with tremendous force, Wrecker's greave bearing large cracks from the impact. It must have still hit skin, blood pooling under the trap, painting the flattened grass red.

“Wrecker...” Omega says, hand over her mouth. The trap is attached to the floor by a chain that seems to continue deep into the ground. Wrecker's pulled some of the chain free. Omega crouches on the ground, staring to dig around the chain. “Can you open it?”

“No.” When Wrecker readjusts his grip on the chain, Omega spots blood running down it from Wrecker's palms, surely a result of him trying to open the trap. “Omega, you can't stay here.”

“You can't either!” She snaps back, pulling on the chain at the same time Wrecker does.

“No, Omega. You have to run.” Wrecker stops to push his helmet up, leaving a bloody handprint on its front. His face is serious, eyebrows drawn tightly together, eyes narrowed. “The people chasing us are dangerous, 'mega. I don't want them anywhere near you.”

Omega scoffs. “We fight dangerous people all the time.”

“They're really bad people.” Wrecker puts his hand on her shoulder. Omega wonders if this has anything to do with what her brothers had discussed without her earlier. “If they catch you, they'll hurt you.”

“They'll hurt you too!” It frustrates her, how her brothers always put her health over theirs.

“They'll use you to get back at us Omega. I can't let that happen.” His voice shakes. “Please go Omega, I can free myself.”

“We can free you faster working together.” When Wrecker tugs on the chain, Omega keeps digging around it. She's not leaving Wrecker behind.

The next time Omega claws at the dirt, she spots something. An anchor, hooking the trap in the ground. But the roots of the surrounding grass have wrapped themselves around it, trapping it further. Omega's fingers can't get through those easily.

Before Wrecker can try and tell her to abandon him again, she draws her bow, firing three quick shots at the roots to burn them off. Wrecker jumps a little.

“Omega!” He exclaims. “What are you doing?”

Without a word, Omega pulls the anchor from the burnt roots and hands it to Wrecker. The thick chain rustles loudly as it moves. “Now we can go.”

Wrecker thanks her, pushing his helmet down just before he starts moving, keeping Omega from seeing the pained expression on his face. She can hear the way he barely keeps himself from crying out though, the muffles noise clear even through the helmet. The step he takes is so unsteady, Omega's worried he'll fall over.

“You should lean on me.” Omega says.

Wrecker laughs weakly. Omega would be upset at him, but it's hard to be mad at your brother when he's bleeding from a likely broken leg. “You're a little too short for that.”

“Then just steady yourself by holding on to me!” Omega huffs. “I don't want you hurt yourself more...”

Sighing, Wrecker puts his hand back on Omega's shoulder. “I'd rather you just hurry ahead without me.”

“Not happening.” Omega says, glaring at Wrecker to demonstrate how serious she is.

Omega guides her limping brother through the grass, announcing every trap she sees. Though if asked, Omega would say calling what Wrecker's doing 'limping' is a bit optimistic. He seems unable to put more than the tiniest bit of weight on the limb, making him hop more than he walks. It looks extremely uncomfortable.

Wrecker's breathing becomes more and more laboured as they walk. He's losing so much blood, but they can't risk slowing down to do first aid. At least she hasn't seen any more traps set up in a while.

“We're almost back at the Maruader.” Omega says, recognizing the general surrounding they left the ship in. Just then, a blaster bolt narrowly passes Omega's helmet. Wrecker pushes her behind himself.

Omega counts seven gang members that caught up to them. She doesn't wait for them to get closer to start firing at them. The grass is still tall here, giving Omega the advantage of ducking down to have some form of cover. Wrecker is not so lucky.

Like they did with the whole squad, they're able to separate Wrecker and Omega from each other, leaving both of them exposed.

Wrecker's got one of the gang members held high in the air with one hand. Omega shoots at an enemy creeping up on her brother in his blind spot, but in turn misses one behind herself. The back of her shirt is grabbed, but before anything else can happen, Wrecker's shot that one in the head.

That's when Wrecker suddenly falls forwards, disappearing in the tall grass. Omega quickly spots why. One of their opponents grabbed the chain attached to the trap around Wrecker's leg and yanked the limb out from under him.

Omega's forced to look away from her brother as multiple gang members start to subdue him when another comes at her.

Just as Omega's about to take a shot, that opponent drops dead. Behind them, Omega spots the rest of their squad. The commotion of combat must have alerted them to Wrecker and Omega's presence.

With the gang occupied with the new arrivals, Omega rushes to Wrecker's side. He's getting up already, but the wound on his leg is bleeding profusely.

“I'm fine, I'm fine.” he says as Omega takes his arm as he stands.

Their brothers are shocked at the sight of Wrecker's leg, not having encountered any traps in their escape path. He is rushed onto the ship quickly, moving faster now he can lean on someone fully.

On the Marauder, Wrecker is made to lay on the floor where there's more space to treat him. Omega sits next to him, wanting to watch and help with first aid, but also be a source of comfort for their brother.

“We shouldn't risk removing armor from the limb whilst the trap is still attached.” Tech says as he inspects the limb. “It is likely keeping you from sustaining even worse injuries.”

Wrecker nods, wringing his hands as he lifts his head enough to look down at his leg.

Once Wrecker's been given something for the pain and a piece of cloth to bite down on, stopping the bleeding is the next step. None of them are familiar with the contraption, so its removal may take a while. They'd all rather Wrecker didn't bleed out in the meantime.

Any open edge of the wound both visible and easily accessed gets gauze pushed into it. Echo keeps a steady hand on Wrecker's chest throughout, though Wrecker remains shockingly still. His face and hands however are an entirely different story. Expression twisted in pain, Wrecker clenches his hands until his knuckles are white. Once or twice, he slams his fist onto the floor, making sure not to do so too near to Omega or Echo.

Omega only leaves to fetch Lula, propping her up against Wrecker's shoulder. With his hands bleeding, Wrecker likely won't hold her now, but he could reach her if he needed to.

“There is no obvious release mechanism.” Tech states after scanning the trap. “How I see it, there are two options for removal. Either we use brute force to pry it open, or I can attempt to deconstruct it to locate what is keeping it shut.”

“Which option would you suggest?” Echo asks, applying temporary bandages to Wrecker's hands to quell the bleeding.

“The first. Having no knowledge of this particular mechanism, I might end up increasing the pressure administered on Wrecker's leg.” Wrecker makes a disapproving, almost fearful noise at Tech's words.

Knowing what happened to Wrecker's hands when he tried to pull the trap apart, they try a different approach. A piece of spare pipe is inserted into the trap at either side. Hunter uses one to hold half the trap to the floor, whilst Tech attempts to wedge it open.

The trap barely moves, the times it does only resulting in more blood spilling from the wound. Wrecker's muffled screams make Omega's chest hurt. He leans his head against Lula, sweat and tears running across his face.

Omega hates this. All they've done so far is cause Wrecker more pain without being any closer to removing the vicious contraption from his leg. Omega wishes she could be more useful.

But then the trap does move, enough for Wrecker to almost pull his leg free. It doesn't stay open nearly long enough, ending up with the teeth dragging along his calf and shutting just a little under the first wound. Omega can see splinters of Wrecker armor being pushed under his skin. Wrecker covers his mouth with his arm, but even muffled by both the limb and the gauze, the noise he makes is awful to hear.

“Kark, Wrecker, are you alright?” Hunter asks, letting go of the pipe he'd been holding like it burned him.

Wrecker mumbles something about the pain being worse now into his arm, making Tech and Hunter exchange a look. Guilt crosses Tech's face as he puts the pipe aside.

“We won't be trying that again.” He mutters to himself.

After the newly exposed wounds are packed with gauze as well, Wrecker's trapped leg is set in Tech's lap. Omega watches as he removes a panel off the bottom of the trap. Tech works slowly, not wanting to risk any mistakes as he takes the mechanism apart.

But even careful as he is, the trap tightens slightly two times, and makes some unidentifiable noise three more times. Each time was followed by a moment of panic, Hunter ready to jam one of the pipes back into the trap would it decide to close further.

Nobody's mentioned it, but Omega knows they're all worried the trap may be strong enough to entirely sever Wrecker's foot. Omega's not sure they could save Wrecker's life if that happened, not with the limited medical supplies they have stocked.

When the trap finally hisses open, Omega lets out a celebratory exclamation. Relief crosses all her brother's faces. Except for Wrecker, he just screams again.

Without the support of the trap, Wrecker's leg is at a strange angle, confirming Omega's suspicion of a break. The med scanner confirms as much a second time.

“Comminuted fractures of the tibia and fibula, displaced in both cases.” Tech announces, making Omega cringe. He reads the rest of the list, boiling down to large amounts of swelling as well as torn skin and muscle both from the teeth and Wrecker's armor. “I would not like to see what would have happened to your leg had you not been wearing armor.”

“Can we deal with that by ourselves?” Hunter speaks like he already knows the answer to that question.

“Certainly not.” Tech says, confirming what Hunter must have been thinking.

“Looks like we're going to have to give the doctor that fixed Tech's femur another visit.” Echo pats Wrecker's arm.

When Omega had heard they'd be visiting a back alley doctor, she imagined a dingy and dirty lab with barely sterile equipment. Instead the doctor they met was a Pantoran vet that did work on the side offering her aid to those not willing to go though the Empire's system. She was nice, and according to Hunter, her fee is fair.

“We'll do what can for now.” Hunter says. “Hang in there vod'ika.”

Wrecker nods, groaning in response.

After what's left of Wrecker's greave is removed, sometimes having to be dug out of his skin, the open wounds are disinfected and wrapped. The limb in then splinted. The whole process is painful to watch. The wound looks awful, skin swollen and a deep shade of purple.

Once the break is prevented from worsening, ice packs are secured around Wrecker's leg. After his hand are cleaned and wrapped as well, there's not much more they can do.

“How are you feeling?” Echo asks.

Removing the wet gauze from his mouth, Wrecker laughs. It sounds a bit like he's going to cry. “Great, perfect. I'm fine, this is fine. I- I could even walk if I had to.”

“Well, don't.” Tech says.

They don't move Wrecker, even if he blocks most of the floor space. Walking past him is difficult, mainly because Omega's worried about bumping into him. Luckily, she doesn't have to do so often, as she lies down next to Wrecker, further blocking the Marauder's floor.

Omega puts her head on Wrecker's shoulder and he leans his on her head. Now his hands are wrapped, he has Lula in them.

“I'm sorry.” Omega says when she hears Wrecker inhaling shakily.

“What're you apologizin' for?” He mumbles, voice hoarse.

“Your leg?”

“Nothing to apologize for, s'not your fault.”

“I'm still sorry you got hurt.” Omega doesn't even want to know how bad Wrecker must be feeling right now. She's never broken a bone, but has learnt enough about them to know how painful they are.

“No one's fault but mine, 'mega.” He sighs. “Rather me than you. You probably would have lost a leg.”

He's right, but Omega hates the situation non the less. She likes going on missions with her brothers, fighting along side them. But the reminder of how quickly something can go wrong hurts.

It was a trap that got Wrecker, nothing she could have logically prevented. But the thought that she should have somehow, could have, if she were better, haunts her. She apologizes to Wrecker again, internally this time. He can't argue against it if he doesn't hear it.

Omega watches Wrecker's chest as it rises and falls. She can see Echo and Hunter from here, watching Wrecker too. Even if they've got an eye on him already, Omega doesn't stop doing so too. That's at least something she can do.

#tbb #tbb wrecker #tbb omega #tbb tech #tbb hunter #tbb echo #augustofwhump2024 #augustofwhump #wrecker whump #tbb fanfiction #the bad batch #cw blood #cw broken bones #my writing

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brayneworms · 1 year ago

Text

fearful, wonderful | scaramouche

general tags. kabukimono!scaramouche, trans!scaramouche, yokai!reader, gender-neutral reader, slowburn, yokai lore/imagery, very slowburn, food consumption/eating, tatarasuna.

content warnings. gender dysphoria, allusions to war and death.

word count. 4.9k

notes. this is an 18+ blog. minors and ageless accounts do not interact, you will be blocked.

synopsis. agreeing to house the puppet has taken its toll. you take him to niwa, and he comes to several realisations about himself.

masterlist | prev | next | ao3

II. MOUTH OPEN, SILENT AND BLUE.

There are spirits in your eyes, and a ghost in your home.

‘Ghost’ is the most apt thing you can conjure to describe the puppet that has taken up residence there. He wanders from one room to the next with childlike curiosity, seeming to take interest in the most mundane of things. An object that remains of seemingly perpetual fascination to him, much to your dismay, is your collection of seto teaware.

Most times, when the house goes quiet for too long, you’ll wander out into the parlour and find him sitting cross-legged in front of your dresser. He doesn’t touch—not since that first night, when you snapped at him and snatched the cup from his hand. He just looks, those glimmering ice-blue eyes tracing every pattern and crack. You think it’s the gold paint sealing it all together that fascinates him. Possibly he’s unused to the concept of someone wanting to repair something broken.

Possibly he’s unused to the concept someone could love something enough for that.

After that first night, you’d woken up with the dawn, sat up—only to find the puppet already awake. He was sitting straight up, sort of just… staring at you. It had unsettled you so badly that you’d flinched backwards, slamming your head into the wall.

“What are you doing?” you spluttered, rubbing at the inflamed crown of your head. You were sure a bruise was flowering as you spoke; by breakfast, the skin beneath your hand would probably feel like a rotten vegetable.

The puppet blinked. “I was waiting for you to move.”

“I was asleep.”

He seemed to consider this. “I don’t think I need to do that, then. Is it normal to be asleep for so long?”

You glared at him, despite the needling knowledge at the back of your head that it wasn’t really his fault. Considering how tired you are, you doubted you’d slept for more than five hours. “It’s usually longer,” you snapped, and then your grouchiness began to ebb, and you sighed. “So you don’t sleep. You don’t seem to breathe, or feel cold. Do you need to eat?”

The puppet shook his head. “I watched other things eat in the Pavilion. I supposed they must have been doing it… for some reason, but I knew I’d never experienced it.”

“Most things need to eat to live.”

The puppet’s expression had become shuttered, then. “What does that make me?”

You didn’t reply. You got up and made breakfast instead. Eggs into a pan and rolled with vegetables and slivers of cured meat. It spat and sizzled over the fire. The puppet crept out of your bedroom to watch like a sulking child, like a dog whose tail you’d just stepped on by accident. He watches you eat like he’d watched you sleep—like you were a curiosity, something fascinating.

The rain had stopped in the night, the last rolls of water making their way slowly out of the valleys. When you crack the window open the stifling petrichor slides over your nose, warm and thick and damp. The earth studded with lavenders beside your house is looking very dark and swollen, but it’s not totally aflood as you’d feared. You have a tendency for underestimating things more resilient than yourself.

The puppet stares at your food as you eat. You hold out a mouthful on two chopsticks. “Do you want to try?”

He bites the inside of his cheek. “O-okay.” His lips close over the morsel. You watch his jaw move unnaturally, too stiffly for standard chewing. It’s like he has to remind himself how his teeth work. His pale throat flexes when he swallows.

“It tastes good,” he says, surprised.

“Well. Thank you.” You stir your food around your plate, embarrassed. “I make it every morning.”

“Some hilichurls had a campfire once in the Pavilion,” the puppet says thoughtfully. “They were roasting some fruit. After I defeated them I tried a little of it, but I hated the taste. My body rejected it. I thought that meant I couldn’t eat human food.”

“What sort of fruit was it?”

“Um… small. Purple.”

“Sounds like a lavender melon. Like on the tree outside. I don’t like them either, they’re very sweet. It might be you just don’t like sweet things.”

“You don’t like sweet things either?” The puppet presses closer to you, a new eagerness gleaming to life in his eyes. You fight the urge to edge backwards. “That makes us similar, doesn’t it?”

You glower at your plate. “Only superficially. Not in any way that matters.” And you’re too cruel, maybe, to feel guilty as you watch the hope falter from the puppet’s face, as you watch his shoulders droop and he shrinks back under his curtain of hair. Still, your appetite abruptly vanishes. You push your plate towards him and stand up. “Finish that off, if you want it, then get dressed. I left some clothes out for you on your bed.”

The puppet glances from the plate to you, his rosebud mouth a little ‘O’ of surprise. “Why do I need to get dressed?”

“We’re going to see Niwa. He’s a friend of Katsuragi’s,” you say crisply. “He’ll be able to teach you to read and write.”

“Niwa.” He repeats the name slowly, with an expression of concentration. “Niwa. Katsuragi. Your name is Y/n.”

You nod, feeling stuck all of a sudden. The puppet’s lips work themselves into a frown.

“Why can’t I have a name?”

Your mouth works soundlessly for a few moments before you press your lips together hard and appraise him. He looks up at you with that frustrating, wide-eyed earnest, the same look that communicates that there is no way he is trying to push your buttons on purpose.

“It’s not that you can’t. Most people are given them when they’re born.” Your eyes linger on the sleeves of his jinbei, the swathes of bone-white cotton that hide the strange markings on his joints, the ones you hadn’t wanted to look too closely at. The mark of something inhuman, like a branding. Puppets were made, not born—and you supposed their facilities for being named depended much more on the sort of person who had created them. You think of that slim golden feather, tucked into his belt. You’d stashed it away in one of your cupboards, but you knew what it was. The mark of nobility—and here in Inazuma, that could only mean one person. The Shogun. He looked like a younger, shorter, more androgynous version of her, from the flawless pale skin to the big moonstone eyes and curtain of purple-black hair.

You change tactics as his expression starts to tremble. Do puppets cry?, you wonder, then abruptly realise you don’t want to find out. “You can always give yourself a name.”

He cocks his head. “What sort of name?”

“Anything you like.”

A shy dart of his eyes. “I like your name.”

Your skin prickles. “Well, you can’t have that one. Pick something else. Or… just stick around this village for long enough. People will undoubtedly give you one, whether you ask for it or not.”

“Everyone has a name,” the puppet says sulkily. You’re beginning to pick up on that—that childish, bitter streak that seems to be slashed right through him. “Every human. My mother didn’t even give me one before casting me out. I didn’t realise things had names, not really, until a group of adventurers wandered into the Pavilion one day. I heard them talking, laughing with each other.”

“Your mother…” You were echoing his sentiment before you could even help it. Wasn’t it strange, to think of your creator as your parent? But then, how would you know? You supposed he was entitled to think of her in any way he chose. The gold feather burned guiltily from behind the wood of your cupboard.

You’re jerked sharply back to reality when you realise the puppet has sidled closer. He has an intense sort of look on his face. “Can’t you give me a name?”

I’m not the one to raise him, Katsuragi.

You wouldn’t be a parent. You’d be a friend.

“No.” You lean away. “It’s not my responsibility. Get dressed, okay?”

The puppet slinks off to the bedroom, dejected. There is a pang of pain in your stomach that you quickly ignore, like the hard swallowing of bitter medicine.

Your whole life you have been swallowing bitter medicine. You’re hoping it will take effect, someday soon.

Niwa always smells of the furnace.

Hot metal and oil and smoke. It clings to him even after a bath, like if you sliced him open at the skin, showers of sparks and the smell of burning steel would leak out of him. It’s not a smell you find particularly pleasant—you find that it reminds you of the smell of your armour, minus the blood that tended to cloak it—but that’s not to say you find Niwa unpleasant.

Quite the opposite, actually.

Niwa is soft-spoken and affable, coasting through the village like a warm spring breeze. You find him and his small family tolerable—they’re a quiet but kind presence, keeping mostly to themselves until someone shows up to bother them for assistance. It’s comprised of Niwa’s older sister, Honoka, her two children, and Niwa’s grandfather, a frail and elderly man who rarely steps outside their house to see the sunlight. You think briefly that they will be good company for the puppet, then wonder why you care.

He trails behind you on the walk, kicking up wet earth from the wobbly paths; his eyes rove helplessly over the whole village with awe, taking in every shack and cabin, the modest redwood temple and shrines, the trees spilling sakura petals over the sidewalks. He pauses at a field of golden corn, running his fingers down the thick stalks, the slumping ears of the vegetables nestled in their leafy cocoons. In winter the cut stalks freeze over near the path—they can be just as deadly as a blade if you fall into them. Most parents don’t let their children take this path for that very reason—the lake is structurally unsound and prone to flooding, and this path often soaks itself. On winter nights it ices over; one slip and those cut stalks will scrape up your skin to ribbons.

You don’t relay any of this to the puppet. For one, it’s not winter. For another, he has no skin.

Niwa’s family lives someway up the hill. Their house is modest, as the ones in Tatarasuna go, but it has to be for five people living there—a traditional noka house with enough rooms for all of them. The only thing distinguishing it from the others nestling in the crook of the mountain below is the miniature blacksmith forge attached to the left side. Scraps of jewel steel pile up against the anvil, ready to be softened and reformed into blades. Bags of soft-pine charcoal and ironsand slump against the clay tatara, ready for that long process of turning iron to metal; the coal fire sputters on endlessly, spurting out plumes of thin black smoke. The puppet watches, fascinated.

“What is that?” he breathes, tucking himself closer to you.

“It’s a forge. Niwa is a bladesmith.” You catch his look of confusion. “He makes steel into swords and weaponry.”

A soft gasp rings out over the hillside. “Tsukumo! Tsukumogami!”

Your head snaps up; two children gape down at you, wide-eyed and flush-cheeked. Honoka’s kids, a boy and a girl, both with flat shiny black hair adorned with those characteristic scarlet streaks. The boy, the taller of the two, races down the path to you.

“When you didn’t come for ages Rie thought I made you up!” he gabbed, panting hard from exertion. “But you’re real! See?” He yells the last part up spitefully to his sister—Rie—who looks away and picks at her shirt moodily. The blossom blush on her cheeks darkens steadily.

Honoka hurries around the side of the house, lugging a basket of white linens. It’s half-full; she must have been in the middle of hanging out her laundry when she heard the exclamations. Honoka is older than Niwa, pushing thirty you think, with the exact same messy auburn hair as her brother. She peers down at you, surprised.

“Y/n,” she says tremulously, using your real name rather than the moniker her son addressed you with. “Shinsuke, come back up here, now!”

The little boy sighs, full of the sort of petulance only young human children can carry, and makes his way back up the hill. Sweat shines on the back of his neck as he goes. You begin to follow him up, gesturing for the puppet to keep up with you. It’s only as you get to the top, where the real path to the Hisehide house begins that you realise he’s taken hold of the fabric of your shirt. It’s so baggy you barely notice, but it still makes you stiffen.

Honoka regards you with a cautious mistrust that you cannot begrudge her for. Her son, Shinsuke, said it best—you are tsukumogami. More fool her to trust you completely.

“Are you here to see Niwa?” she asks, swapping arms for her laundry basket. “Katsuragi said we should—” She cuts herself off, scratching at her arm. “He said we should expect a visitor. Is everything alright?”

Her greyish eyes slide unsubtly to the puppet behind you. You can feel him shrink in on himself, hunching up into his newly-washed karaginu.

“I need to talk to Niwa,” you answer carefully. “It’s, um… sort of hard to explain.”

Honoka nods. She is cautious, but not prejudiced. Fair, in a way you’ve learned a lot of humans are not. “I’ll go get him for you. He’s just in the garden.” She taps her children on the shoulder once. “Shinsuke, Rie, go play around the back.”

Rie and Shinsuke spare you one lingering curious look before shuffling off to their back garden. Honoka trails after them, and you feel the lack of invitation into their home like a sting. Again—this is not something you begrudge the Hisehides for.

Maybe they can smell the blood on you. Maybe they can sense the inhumanity, both of you and your companion.

“Why did they call you that?” the puppet wonders as if on cue. He’s still holding your shirt. “I thought your name was Y/n.”

“It is.” You take shallow breaths, wishing your lungs were bigger. “Tsukumogami… is what I am.”

The puppet’s eyes are huge and pale. “Y-you mean… you’re not human either?”

“No.” Your brow furrows, just slightly. “I’m yōkai. I thought Katsuragi would have told you.”

The puppet’s eyes are huge and luminous. He opens his mouth to answer, but—

“Y/n, as I live and breathe. What can I do for you?”

Niwa’s voice rings out cheerily. He strolls around the house, pulling off thick gardening gloves; soil streaks his billowing trousers. His tawny hair is pulled back into a ponytail, curling around his boyish face.

“Niwa,” you greet with about as much respect that any human can pull from you. “I’ve come at a bad time, I see.”

“Not at all,” Niwa says mildly. “Just tending to the trees. I like to help out when Honoka’s busy—it makes her think twice when she next threatens to kick me out.”

His voice prods for a laugh that neither you nor the puppet provides. He remains undeterred.

“Who’s your friend?”

“This is…” You fight back a wince as your conversation about his name returns to you. You can practically feel his reproachful eyes boring into your back. “Katsuragi found him wandering the beach last night. I’ve taken him in.”

“Is that so?” Niwa’s eyes gleam with interest. He cocks his head at the puppet. “Hi there. I’m Niwa Hisehide.”

“Hello,” the puppet returns quietly. “I don’t have a name.”

That embittered streak is back and stinging. You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Niwa’s gingery lashes flicker in surprise.

“Really, now?” he says, still neutrally. “Well, don’t sweat it. You can give yourself any name you like. In the meantime, was there something I can do for you?”

“He needs to learn to read and write,” you say; your tone is still businesslike but you allow an edge of beseeching to soften the edges. You’re aware you’re asking for a large favour, even if it had been Katsuragi’s idea. “Katsuragi mentioned that you tutored his niece. He thought…”

“I see.” His hazel eyes linger on you for a minute, asking the question his mouth wouldn’t dare to—why can’t you do it, again? “Well… as it happens, I am teaching Honoka’s youngest at the moment. Her name is Rie.”

You incline your head. “I just met her.”

“You’d be very welcome to join,” Niwa says, speaking directly to the puppet. His body stiffens at the attention. It occurs to you that you and Katsuragi did a lot of talking around him rather than to his face. Niwa puts your meagre efforts to shame simply by existing and being decent.

You really shouldn’t be taking care of this puppet.

“Thank you,” is all you say. “I appreciate it.”

Niwa gives you a crooked smile. “Really, it’s nothing. Could I ask you for a little something in return?”

“…Sure.”

“Come by the house every once in a while. My nephew adores you. Honoka likes you too, you know.”

“She doesn’t trust me.”

“Not the same thing. Just… come by and get your friend after his lessons are done, that’s all.”

… It is fair. Niwa is fair, too, just like his sister. It must run in the Hisehide blood, same as those red streaks of hair. “Fine.”

“Thank you,” Niwa says like you’re doing him some big favour. The part that makes you feel cold and sick is that maybe you really are. “You’re always welcome here, you know.”

On the walk back—quiet, as the watery sun makes a slow arc overhead—the puppet speaks again. “Niwa had short hair.”

Your eyes snap automatically to his dark waterfall of hair. “Well. Yes.”

“So did Katsuragi. And that little boy.”

“Shinsuke.”

“Shinsuke, right. Do all men have short hair?”

“No, not all of them.” This is the most neutral conversation you’ve had with the puppet so far. “In fact, many warriors keep their hair long. In some cultures, they add a braid to their hair for every battle won, and when they are defeated they cut it all off in shame.”

The puppet fiddles idly with a lock of hair that swings by his soft cheekbone. “I was created with this hair. As long as it is now. It never grew.”

“You were created in the image of your mother,” you say, though you’re only guessing this to be the case. “It’s not surprising you inherited some of her features.”

“My mother—the Shogun,” he says, voice growing quieter with each word. “She’s a woman.”

“Yes, she is.”

“If I am created in her image… am I a woman?”

Your lashes flutter in surprise, and you pause. You’re outside the cornfield, the one he stopped to admire earlier with such intensity, but now he doesn’t even glance at the crops. He looks straight at you with a burning need for his question to be answered.

Except you’re not totally sure how to answer it. You lick your lips. “Do you… feel as though you’re a woman?”

The puppet considers this. Finally he says, “I feel as though… I was intended to be one. But not… that I am.”

You consider this. “All humans are crafted in their parents’ image. That doesn’t mean they are a replica of them. I think the same can be assumed for you.” And your voice dips lower, gentler. “You should be whatever you feel. It doesn’t matter how you were made. All that matters is what’s inside.”

“You mean my heart?” the puppet scoffs. “I have been informed I don’t have one.”

“That doesn’t mean you can’t feel,” you say. Your eyes trace over him—his clothes are that of a noblewoman, from the delicate veil to the karaginu, cut to accommodate a high chest and flaring hips. His face, sharp as carved marble, with his round lips and big sparkly eyes and long curling lashes. The fountain-arch of hair spilling from his scalp, running straight down his back to his waist. Intended to be one, indeed. But it doesn’t mean he is.

The puppet looks more confused than ever—there’s something small and helpless in his expression, something that makes you take pity.

“You don’t have to decide today,” you chide. “Think about it. Alright?”

The puppet nods, slowly. “Alright.” There’s a pause as you keep walking, and then the puppet says, quieter, “Thank you.”

Your jaw clenches briefly. “In the winter,” you find yourself saying, “be careful on this path. It ices over, and the cut corn stalks are dangerous. Okay?”

The puppet blinks. “Okay.”

“Good.” A sharp nod. “Let’s get back.”

The puppet comes to you a few days later. He’s had one session of tutoring with Niwa.

“It went well,” the swordsmith had confided in you when you went to retrieve the puppet in the afternoon. “He has a very natural grasp of it. It’s… not like teaching a child to learn from scratch. It’s as though the mechanisms of how it all works are already present in his head, it just has to be explained to him. Like someone who once knew how to read but forgot.”

“Another thing he inherited from his creator, no doubt,” you say. Your eyes linger on the Hisehide’s front door whilst you speak. There’s a wreath nailed into the wood there, a cluster of red camellias. They make your whole body prickle with electricity the longer you keep them in your line of sight.

In any case—two days after this, the puppet approaches you. You’re sitting outside, staring over the lavender field, thinking about your dead friends. You’d think after thousands of years you’d begin to forget it, but if that is the case you’re still waiting for it to happen. As it is, they’re all you think of. All you dream of.

“Y/n?” you hear, timidly. The puppet looks at you with caution as he lingers at the door threshold.

“What is it?”

“I’d… I’ve been thinking about what you said,” he says. “And… I’d like to cut my hair.”

You blink in surprise. “Oh. Well, alright.”

Shocking you further is when the puppet flushes. You hadn’t known he could do that—and he fidgets with his clothes in an awkward tic. “Could… would you… help me? Please?”

You think it’s the please that catches you, like the nick of an arrow, like a fishhook behind your heart. You stand up, feeling your pulse move slow and sickly through your body. “Take this chair,” you dredge up. “I’ll be right back.”

The way the puppet’s face lights up makes you feel sicker than ever. I’m no jellyfish, you think nonsensically. I have a brain, all right. Why can’t I use it?

Maybe because you also had another thing jellyfish didn’t. A heart.

For all the fucking good it does you.

The puppet scrambles past you to sit, tucking his knees up under his chin, as you brush past him into the house. You head for the spare room, open up one of the closets. Your shorter knives and blades are slung up in soft leather holsters, dull and lusterless from not being tended to as they used to. You select one, a tanto knife on the thinner, longer side, spanning just about the length of your forearm.

You haven’t held a real knife since…

Just to experiment, you give it a twirl. Muscle memory kicks in at the speed of light, and it flies through your fingers as though caught on a breeze. You stop it short, disgusted with yourself.

The puppet is craning his neck to look for you when you wander back outside. “I thought you may have changed your mind,” he says softly.

You hold up the blade. “Just had to sharpen the steel. I couldn’t find my whetstone. Are you sure about this?”

The puppet nods sagely. “I’m sure.”

“You said your hair doesn’t grow. If you cut it now, you’ll never be able to get it long again. Do you understand that?”

An expression of petulance steals over his face. “I told you I thought about it, didn’t I? I thought about all of this.” He looks down at his lap. “It’s what I want. Please.”

You weaken again, helplessly, foolishly, like butter left out in the sun. “Alright. Alright.”

You stand behind the chair and draw his hair back over the wooden back. You comb your fingers through it to search for tangles, and the puppet shudders. Your hands fly back as though burned.

Cool sweat lacquers your palms no matter how many times you wipe them against your shirt. Holding your knife is starting to make you feel feverish, and you almost let out a screamy laugh to the sky. This puppet trusts you with a blade near his neck. Doesn’t he realise…?

No, you suppose dully. He doesn’t.

You gather his hair into a band. It’s so soft, pin-straight and silky, running through your fingers like warm water. You can’t help but ask again. “You’re certain?”

“I am. I’m certain.” The puppet mirrors your language. You’ve noticed that, too. His appetite for learning seems to yawn, gape, and it frightens you a little. There is nothing good to be learned from you.

“How… how short?”

“Like Niwa’s. Or Shinsuke’s. Around here.” He gestures vaguely to his jaw and chin.

“Alright. Alright. Ready?”

His chin juts up defiantly. “Ready.”

Your hand tightens over the clump of air. The other, the one with the knife, worms its way beneath. It brushes over the nape of his neck, and the puppet shudders again. Your knife, so close to such a vital part of the body. If you cut him, would he bleed? Would he die?

Your blade slices upwards, towards your own head, cutting through the makeshift ponytail like butter.

A good twenty inches of hair droops to the ground like a fluttering of raven feathers, making a melancholy wreath at your feet. The puppet gasps, hands flying to the newly naked back of his neck, his shoulders, feeling the blunt edges of his new hair. He flings his head around to look at you, and for a moment you can’t decipher his expression. His eyes are wide as coins, lips parted, neat brows knitted up.

A sudden sick, cold terror seizes you. Is that sorrow? Regret? I’ve ruined it, you think blindly. I’ve ruined him—

“Thank you.”

It’s whispered fervently, with the sort of reverence one might reserve for worshipping a deity. The puppet looks up at you like you’d hung the stars in the sky. “It’s so much better. I—I love it. Thank you.”

Your expression cracks. The fear falls away as quickly as it came. “You—it’s nothing. I mean,” you catch yourself. It’s not nothing. “You’re… welcome.”

And tears glimmer in his eyes, making them brighter and more luminous than ever. For a moment it’s like looking into the moon. And then his smile slips. “You… you’re bleeding!”

You look down at your hands, surprised; the pain only springs up now that the puppet had called attention to it, but he’s right. The tips of two of your fingers, the ones holding the hair whilst the other cut, are stinging horribly. The uppermost part of your nails are hacked clean away, the skin at the precipice of the digit cut up.

The puppet takes your hand in both of his, cupping it like it’s a dying animal, a bird with a broken wing. Something gets stuck in your throat; the urge to yank away hits you like a ton of bricks, but in the wake of his cool skin against yours you feel rooted to the spot.

He strokes the pad of his thumb over what remains of the nail on your index fingers. It pools on his own skin, and he looks at it with the same fascination he would a new species of flower or a fruit he had never tried before. Considers it, almost.

“Are you alright?” he asks almost frantically. “You’re hurt! I—did I hurt you? I’m sorry!”

Finally, your throat unsticks. All of you does, and you take your hand back, folding your fingers into fists. “No. What? No, you didn’t do anything. I wasn’t paying attention.” The look of panic on his face unsettles you. “I’m fine.”

He springs up. “I’ll go get a bandage,” he blurts out, and turns on his heel towards the house. You turn to watch him go, and you feel your heart jump at what you see. The back of his neck, before cloaked with that thick fall of hair, stares straight back at you, startlingly pale and stamped. The Electro mark. You’d recognise it anywhere. That jagged three-legged spiral, another tattoo of his creator. A brand, or a goodbye kiss?

Your answer depends on what you are—yōkai or jellyfish. Brain or no brain.

As much as it embitters you, you’re leaning towards yourself. This puppet was made with love. The golden feather is enough proof of that. She wanted him to have a good life. But then why is he here with you, and not with her?

You rub at your eyes, suddenly exhausted.

You really should give the puppet a name.

#🫀.scribes #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #scaramouche x reader #scaramouche x you #wanderer x reader #wanderer oneshot #kabukimono x reader #kabukimono oneshot #kabukimono x you #wanderer x you #genshin impact x gender neutral reader #genshin impact x gn reader #scaramouche x gender neutral reader #scaramouche x gn reader

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scaredysap · 1 year ago

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"Oh my god, is this really a situation worthy of the moping-hoodie?"

"Yes! Yes, it is," Wu Xie plopped down at the kitchen table and dramatically crossed his arms. "I'm tired of people telling me I should date Xiaoge, it gets awkward every time!"

"I don't know, Tianzhen, I think they might have a point." Wu Xie glared at Pangzi's back but the man kept on peacefully chopping vegetables. "You've got that whole bond thing going on, and you spend a lot of time staring at his abs whenever his shirt is off."

"Everyone stares at his abs, they're objectively perfect."

"Fair enough," Pangzi conceded with a shrug. "What about your important bond though? That sounds pretty intense every time you bring it up."

Wu Xie sank into his chair and pulled up his hood. Then he lowered it again, realizing that the instinctual gesture was very much like the one Xiaoge did when he was uncomfortable. Pangzi hadn't seen it but he sure would have commented on it if he had, Wu Xie was sure about that.

"It is intense. But it's not dating, it's just… different," he said, twirling one of the strings of his hoodie around a finger. "I don't really want to dress fancy and go to dinner with him, I don't want to send him a good morning text every day, I don't want to kiss him. Sure, getting him to hug more would be nice but-"

"But that's why you've got me! I’m always ready to hug my poor, misunderstood Tianzhen," Pangzi intervened. He left his spot at the counter for a moment to give Wu Xie a one-armed hug, putting a brief smile back on his face.

"Yeah, exactly. The thing is… we're fine as we are. We’re there for each other when it counts. Nothing else is needed, we've figured out where we stand."

"Alright then, that's good," Pangzi said, picking the next vegetable from the basket he'd brought from the market. "I was just making sure."

It was quiet for a few moments, the rhythmic tac tac tac of the knife against the cutting board a soothing sound that filled the evening.

"But seriously, you don't wanna kiss him even a little bit?"

"PANGZI!"

"I'm just saying-!"

Wu Xie huffed, throwing his hands up in the air and almost sliding off the chair in disappointment.

"You're unbelievable. If you keep bringing this up, I’m going to start believing you're the one who wants to kiss Xiaoge!"

The chopping stopped. The kitchen became dead quiet. Wu Xie rewinded his words in his mind and then slowly but surely turned to stare at Pangzi's back.

"Pangzi," he said quietly, watching the big man's shoulders go tense. "Do you want to kiss Xiaoge?"

The silence was damning.

"HAH!" Wu Xie's chortling filled the kitchen as Pangzi turned towards him, his face as red as the chili peppers that were going into their food.

"Shut up, Tianzhen! What do you even know about these things?"

"Not a lot, but you sure aren’t an expert either! Thinking that I wanted to date Xiaoge when all this time you…!"

Wu Xie started laughing again, clutching his belly as it ached with cramps.

"Tianzhen!" Pangzi hissed, half crawling all over Wu Xie to try and put a hand over his mouth. "You quit yapping right now, Xiaoge could hear you!"

"You wanna kiss him soooo bad! Ow!" Wu Xie yelped, clutching his shoulder. "You idiot, you poked me with the knife!"

"Serves you ri- OUCH! Tianzhen, did you just bite me?"

"So what if I did, huh?"

"You rabid beast, I'll show you!"

As bickering and sounds of a brawl filled the kitchen, quiet footsteps went unheard in the hallway just outside. Xiaoge put his boots back on with expert ease and soon he was out into the night, headed towards the trio's favourite take-away restaurant. From the sounds of it, dinner wouldn't be ready any time soon.

He walked with a single objective in mind but still, he couldn't help but raise a hand to his own lips and wonder what it would feel like to be kissed.

#wu xie #wang pangzi #zhang qiling #dmbj #the lost tomb #fic #my fic #aromantic wu xie

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socially-awkward-skeleton · 7 months ago

Text

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 15)

[Can also be read on AO3]

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 2.8 K

Warnings: Minors DNI - suggestive dialogue, mild angst, flirting, ship's first real kiss, smoking

Summary: The mission is over, and Price and Rory have time alone together at camp

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis

*This is the chapter where the ship finally really and truly kicks off. It does have a fade to black ending as the next chapter is entirely smut and not really necessary for story purposes so if you want to skip the next chapter it's an option*

November 2, 2017 21:18 - Al-Hasakah, Syria

With the outpost removed and the intel in Laswell’s hands, a makeshift campsite had been set up on the outskirts overlooking the desert. A small fire burning for warmth while the stars shone above in the midnight blue sky – tranquil, despite there being a warzone still raging miles away. Sitting in the sand, Rory ate her ration pack of lamb stew as she watched Price pace back and forth several feet away, confirming plans on his phone for the next steps now that the mission was coming to a close, zoning out to the sway of his hips as he walked.

Slipping his phone into the pocket of his tac pants, he moved back to sit near the fire and start in on his own dinner. Her eyes fell away from him and instead turned to the flames that flickered in front of her as he settled in the sand beside her.

“Nik'll be here in the mornin’, has to refuel and tune up before he can head out.”

She hummed, poking her spork around in the gray plastic pouch of her ORP. “I'm sure that wasn't a suggestion from the good Captain at all, was it?” Her eyes flicked up to look at him, a teasing little smirk pulling up the corner of her mouth, the flames of the fire of their camp illuminating the amber flecks in her eyes.

“You think it's my intent to keep you all to myself, Sergeant? Just what are you trying to imply?” The predatory edge to his eyes and tone were near explicit.

“Do you think I'm daft, John?”

He shook his head and laughed, tearing open the heated packet of steak and vegetables. “Oh no, quite the opposite. I think you're too smart for your own good. I think if you had enough time, you could read me like a book.”

He wasn’t far off in his estimate, with the training she had as an interrogator she likely could. However, she would also be having to combat a hardened veteran with sixteen years of experience under his belt and who was trained to resist interrogation methods of all kinds. He had already proven to have a look in his eyes that was impenetrable at most times. For all she knew, it would be a stalemate.

“Given enough practice I probably could.”

“No probably about it, sweetheart. I also get the feeling that if it came down to it you could beat me in any argument – as long as I don't pull rank.” He looked up from the contents of his packet and she was once again met by that stare she had caught in her scope - that hungry, feral one.

“That's a given. I'm a barrister's daughter, after all. If I hadn't gone the military route my father was sure I'd make a good one and follow in his footsteps.”

“Why didn't you?”

She scoffed. “Life.”

“Meaning?”

There was a side to John that she had been given just a taste of, the one who used whatever tools he could get his hands on to reach his objective, and in this case, the little alarm bell in the back of her head went off. How much of that was her own trust issues she couldn’t be sure, but giving him too much knowledge about her did put her a little on edge even if he only intended to keep her safe – everything was a weapon to Captain Price.

“What? You want my life story?” Her eyes narrowed, challenging him just enough. “Is this our first date?” she asked, lifting the MRE packet. “Really splurged on dinner.”

He chuckled at her sarcastic comment and lit a cigar. “Go on,” he said softly, his voice a hoarse murmur on the wind.

“You really want to know?”

“I do.”

She rolled her eyes and put the MRE packet down grabbing her pack of cigarettes and lighting one, taking a long drag before exhaling the smoke into the night with a long stream of breath. “It's rather convoluted, but – in short form – after my mother’s death, I had to leave Canada, leave the life I'd known behind and move to England to live with my father. I was fourteen – angry, grieving – and I was plunked in the house of a man who I only really knew through conversations over the phone and the few summer trips I had across the pond. He wasn't exactly ready for the challenge of raising a hormonal teenage girl… we were both thrown in the deep end of the pool together, quite frankly.” She shook her head at the insanity of the situation she had lived through. “Poor sod getting lumped with me.” She laughed and took another drag of her cigarette, leaving a pregnant pause in her story. “Needless to say, I acted out, rebelled. Skipped school, let my grades fail – I barely graduated. Didn't leave me with many options, so I chose the military.”

“Didn’t do too bad f’ yourself though, did ya?”

“I suppose, other than hefty amounts of trauma,” she snickered at her own comment.

“Can’t be all bad.”

“No, no I suppose not. Joining the army did have its perks, this is true.”

“Got to meet me twice because of it.”

A loud burst of laughter came out of her. “Ah, yes, the highlight of my ten-year career. Not receiving the King’s Medal for Bravery as a corporal – spending time with John Price.”

He smiled around the cigar in his mouth, the lines around his eyes creasing softly. “You were awarded a medal as a corporal ?”

“Yeah…”

His brows lifted, giving a little nod, clearly impressed by her history. “Not too many people receive one of those.”

“No, not too many at all,” she said with a quiet sort of pride.

Humming appreciatively, smoke blew from his nostrils. “You still owe me that number of confirmed kills, darlin’.”

“I did promise you that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“Thirty three high profile targets. Other soldiers and snipers?” She paused to hum and haw over the numbers. “Lost count around the mid seventies, and that was two years ago.”

�� Jesus ,” he breathed, giving a low groan. “Fucking hell, Rory.” Taking another drag of his cigar as if it were post coitus.

She giggled at his reaction, the obvious tone of arousal at her competency not lost on her. “Careful, John. Don't want to be popping a stiffy.”

His piercing gaze flicked up to settle on her and her teasing grin, a wolfish curl to the side of his mouth slowly growing. “Can't have that, can we? Wouldn't be proper of an officer.”

“Certainly not. Especially not while we're out here, alone , in the dark, with nothing but a pup tent to share.”

Brow lifted, a cocky self-assured smirk grew on his face. “Who knows what might happen.”

Rory licked her lips and tutted her tongue, still pretending as though she wasn't interested, or rather, playing hard to get. She had to admit she had been enjoying this chase of theirs and Price had certainly been persistent as had been promised – ever the hunter, and her the beast waiting for that right moment to strike. “How ever will we fill the time?”

“I can think of a few things,” he purred.

“I bet you can.”

“Mission’s nearly over, darlin’. Don’t need to worry about being a distraction for me anymore, yeah?”

Leaning towards him, she lowered her voice until it was smooth and sultry. “And you think I’m just going to give in like that?”

“Still want me to try and persuade you, eh?”

“I’m still trying to figure out just what it is about me you actually want?” Her warm hazel eyes lifted to take in those unreadable gray-blue ones that looked back at her. Pushing the challenge just a little bit further, prodding him towards showing her just a little of his own vulnerability.

“I want you for all sorts of reasons.” He gave nothing away.

Her brow cocked, wanting more detail. “Is that so?”

“Don’t think I’ve ever been so interested in another woman before.” His voice grew huskier the longer the discussion went on, body leaning closer to her.

“Is that right?”

“It is.”

“And what makes me so different?”

“ Everything ,” he said in a deep growl. “You’re a bloody challenge, first and foremost – and you were certainly right about me liking that.”

She paused, letting the closeness between them settle before pushing further, deeper into dangerous territory. Her eyes narrowed, lingering on his features, reading him. “ If I were to let you have me as your girl, would I be just another accolade to your name, John?”

Smirking, he pulled back slightly, understanding where the game was heading between them. “There’s no denyin’ the fact that any man would consider havin’ you as their girl an honor. However , if you’re askin’ if I’d see you as just another notch in the belt, then you’ve got me all wrong, darlin’.”

“So you see me as someone worth going for the long haul with?”

“You bet your arse.”

Chuckling quietly at his expected response, she kept digging. “And you really do just want to take care of me?”

“Always.” His face became serious. All playful, flirtatious intent wiped clean from it. On this he was absolute. The final decision was made up in his mind and he would not be dissuaded. That point was no game for him.

Her smile faded as reality hit once more. Nothing could be that simple, not for them, not with the rules and regulations of the military. “I wish it was that easy.”

“It doesn't have to be as bloody hard as you’re makin’ it.”

“It does.” She scoffed, “We can’t just bury our heads in the sand over this, pretend that we aren’t breaking rules here – because we are. You have so much more to lose over this than I do.” Sighing, her voice was barely an audible whisper above the night wind. “I don’t want to be something you live to regret.”

His brow furrowed, mouth flinching as he clenched his jaw. “Never gonna happen, love. Never . Fell f’you like a goddamn idiot.”

Rory giggled, covering her mouth as jovial bursts of laughter coming in fits and starts carried across the desert at night.

“It’s not funny,” he chuckled, eyes crinkling at her reaction to his confession.

Dragging her hand down her face, she tried to hide the embarrassment they both seemed to be feeling and gazed at him. “I’m sorry,” saying it as genuinely as she could between the little bubbles of laughter that still crept up out of her.

“You’re a filthy liar.” Shaking his head, his smirk was still plastered to his face.

Looking at one another, the firelight flickered across from them, warming their skin as much as the laughter and their close proximity was. Silence fell. Their eyes locked. Heart racing in her chest, Rory’s lips seemed to part instinctively as her breath caught in her throat, not realizing she was even holding it.

John’s gaze roamed down to her mouth, freezing there as she watched his tongue drag across his lips. Throat bobbing with a heavy swallow, his pupils dilated making his steely eyes darker than the night sky above. Biting the inside of his lower lip, he stared at her hungrily. It was clear he was debating his next move. Jaw tensing, the tendons flexing, his hand lifted to scratch at the underside of it as his brow furrowed.

Nocturnal animals squawked, screamed and chattered out in the darkness that surrounded them. They were completely alone out here. No witnesses, no mission. Just them .

Moving closer, he leaned a little further towards her, the distance between them disappearing quickly until she was moments away from being wrapped around him. The tips of their noses brushed against the other’s, his breath fanning on her lips, the cigar smoke heavy on her nostrils. The heady, bitter scent of tobacco made her bite her lip. Her eyes firmly locked on his, she tried to perceive what his next move was before he did.

Brushing the hair back that the wind blew into her face, his fingers traveled through her waves as his hand came to rest on the curve of her jaw, thumb stroking at her cheekbone thoughtfully. No words needed to be spoken, enough already had. Just like in a fight, they seemed to know what the next move needed to be before it was even said. Synchronicity .

Mouth meeting hers, his grip firm, the kiss was passionate and deep. Weeks’ worth of need boiled down into one moment. All that arguing, the bickering, the back and forth, it all had to have been for something and he seemed to be making damn sure that it did as his lips claimed hers. Pulling her in tighter towards him, his hand shifted to lock up into a fistful of her hair at the back of her head. His other arm wrapped around her back, pulling her right up against him as his fingers found themselves sliding underneath the hem of her shirt, caressing the small of her back. Rough, calloused skin on his warm palm rubbed against her, fighting off the chill in the breeze as the temperature decreased the deeper the night became.

Breaking the kiss for air, John pressed his forehead to hers, his breath short and heavy. “I want this, Ror. Want you. Us ,” his voice thick with a deep need. “This feels right. You know it does.”

“John –” she said his name breathlessly.

“No, sweetheart. No more reasons not to, yeah?”

She still wasn’t entirely convinced. In the moment it was easy to forget the real world, to stop herself from seeing sense, but her mind continued to race through every scenario, every possible fantasy and nightmare that could come out of this decision.

“John…” She brought her hand to his temple stroking her fingers through his hair ruffled by the wind with his boonie hat removed. “I’m really not the easiest person to love, I wasn’t lying about that. Had to learn not to let people in. My job’s been about lying and secrets for years.”

And from the fear of being hurt, of being left behind once more.

“Yeah, so’s mine. You know that.” His hand came to rest under her chin, keeping her eyes on his. “Don’t you think that’s what makes us right for each other, my girl? No lies, no bullshit, no pretendin’ to be somethin’ we aren’t. Good, bad, or ugly. Just me and you.”

“You could have a woman who could give you a normal life,” she said quietly.

“Normal’s boring, love.”

“You’re going to have a retort for everything I say, aren’t you?” Her brow lifted as her mouth curled into a half grin.

“Maybe. Yeah.” His smirk fading to become serious once more. “But I mean it, I wouldn’t know how to handle some bloody white picket fence life. And even then I’d be havin’ to lie to whoever she was f’ the rest of my life ‘bout the things I’ve done. Don’t have to do that with you. Might be nice to get to be honest f’ once.”

Rory shook her head and huffed out a laugh. “Just as smooth as you were five years ago,” she teased.

“I can be charmin’ when I choose to be.”

She hummed, “That’s becoming very apparent.”

“You’re too perfect to let slip through my fingers, Rory,” he purred.

“I’m anything but perfect,” she whispered softly.

His thumb drifted across her lower lip, pulling at her pout and staring straight into her eyes. “You, my darlin’ girl, are exactly what I need.”

There was no denying the magnetic pull that had always been there between them, and with their mouths so close together it was only getting stronger. She could tell herself to pull away, to repel him, to push him back and carry on, focusing on her career as she always had, leaving her to a lonely world she had come to know so well. Saving herself the pain of loss and distance by never allowing anything good to come from letting anyone in. She found herself unable to do that anymore – not with him. He had been nothing but honest when he said being with him just felt right.

She wondered if her mother and father ever felt this way, living a life of apparent joy before they too parted and became another statistic.

Shaking her head clear of those thoughts, she closed her eyes and leaned in to kiss him once more, her lips pressed to his, soft and slow. Tongue sweeping against her pout, he prodded at the part of her lips until she rewarded him with access to her mouth. Climbing into his lap, she grabbed at the shoulder straps of his tac vest, deepening the kiss as her legs came to straddle his muscular thighs. Wrapping her body around his broad expanse, she was protected by him, held in his arms – the way it had always been.

Exactly the way she wanted him.

#call of duty #fan fiction #john price #john price x oc #oc: rory sinclair #fic: all along the watchtower #chapter 15

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