#high tech torture

[fascinationstreetmp3]

i know he stole these moves from eva after seeing her do all her fancy bike tricks

[magnoliamyrrh]

"the difference between a conspiracy and fact is time" isnt always true because some things are just genuinely loony and wrong but. boy oh boy is it true in too many cases

[llycaons]

also in modern aus he can sometimes show up with such an attitude and you're like woah your parents werent even murdered and you weren't even tortured and your sister didn't even die trying to protect your brother and you haven't even even been saddled with the responsibility of a sect leader as a teenager and havent been locked in a grief-frozen spiral of bitterness for the past two decades while mourning/still trying to kill your dead brother what's your problem cunt

[prokopetz]

We pretty much knew Kirby and the Forgotten Land wasn't going to be properly post-apocalyptic, because while Kirby does routinely fight elder gods, they never actually get to succeed in eradicating all life, but I feel like Nintendo's workaround of "everything is deserted because a high-tech human civilisation captured an alien god, tortured its secrets from it, achieved some sort of post-human singularity and ascended en masse to a higher plane of existence, abandoning their uplifted animal servants to inherit the empty world they left behind" is kind of more fucked up than if everything had just gotten blown up.

[vatelixx]

You are the knife (I turn inside myself),

S2!Post-addiction!Spencer Reid x afab!BAU!reader

SMUT!! (and copious amounts of angst, and like a small amount of fluff to just… balance it out), Workplace rivals, aka, enemies to lovers (who are still enemies and would rather die than tell each other they’re in love).

──── autistic spencer (as per usual), evil evil reader (im being dramatic, kinda), they hate each other so much that they have to find a new way to crawl into each others skin.

Warnings: sub spencer, brat!spencer (a man gets glasses and suddenly thinks he can be defiant) brat!tamer!reader, HUGE corruption kink (someone keeps putting that in there???? it’s not me, i swear), first time for Spencer (i love a virginal nerd), restraints (someone has to pin him down), crying— like lots of crying, degradation (and a little praise because they work hand in hand), Spencer eats reader out like rent is due, reader says thankyou by destroying him, they argue mid-sex. They actually just argue constantly.

— warning: mentions of past drug addiction.

w.c: 9k (mostly smut, holy shit how is it 9k??? their arguments hiked up my word count im positive)

a/n: i know tumblr hates to see me coming with my Spencer Reid one shots. I wrote this at 3am when I was supposed to be studying for my latin exam, it’s okay. Uni will understand I had greater things to do. I promise i’ll get around to my requests this week, i just got possessed by the holy ghost and wrote this.

────────────

Something, something, mindless torture. Spencer holds his brain, his intellect, in high regard. Proverbial accomplishments, Stanford Binet approved genius, he’s an outlier to most. And yet, the moment you start speaking, he has no thoughts beyond the domineering urge to throw himself off a cliff.

You’re late today. Chicago, you’ve both been sentenced, discarded to create a profile from the minimal information present. Forced proximity, the team have been trying to stifle this animosity shared between you for over a year now. It doesn’t work.

Here’s the thing, each member of the BAU has their own specialised feat: Penelope could be a cybercriminal, if she so wished, a tech-genius that has no qualms in tearing down firewalls. Morgan, adroit, an expert on the field, stereotypically strong, all running lines of muscle. Who wouldn’t want to be princess-carried away from danger by him? He’s also remarkably good at kicking down doors. Gideon has incalculable years of experience, a mentor.

The list stretches on.

But you and Spencer can’t both be the brains of the team. It’s unbalanced, skewed. A clash of intellect. Scales tipped in one direction, why does he always come up short? Why can’t he just—

Why, repeats as you push through the bureau, blanking the predictable, formulaic stares of various officers, trained officials, the usual mess. Why— why profiling? Why did you voluntarily choose to suffer your way through ceaseless cases of sanguinary?There has to be an element of masochism to your career; no one with a sane mind voluntarily decides to walk into an onslaught of serial killers and death.

The early mornings are always the worst; stumbling out of bed, deriving no sleep from the night, tangled sheets and restless limbs. “Don’t,” you push, padding into the office, met with Spencer’s hardened gaze. “Late night.”

“We haven’t been here for 48 hours yet, 36 and 22 minutes to be precise, and you’ve already—“

“Get your mind out of the gutter, boy genius. Late night as in I stared at the casefiles until my mind went numb.”

“Did you take a break?” he asks, and you both know it’s not born from care. “Maybe a self-reflection period to realise that torturing yourself isn’t the most effective form of work. Your reactive skills will be delayed now, let’s hope we don’t find the unsub today. In fact, maybe I should warn Hotch—“

“Have I ever warned Hotch about your breakdowns?” that shuts him up. It also makes him spiral, because you can’t know, it’s not statistically possible that you’d be aware of Hankel’s lasting impact on his body, dilaudid, hydromorphine, and not tell someone. He assumes you’d be desperate to eliminate him from the team, to claim your win.

“Right, um— the case,” he shifts in his seat. Professionalism, tolerance, it’s all a little too much work when it comes to the subject of you.

“The case.” you agree.

You’re attuned to each other, a psychological curse he’s forced to stomach. Offices and crime scenes, analysing, competing, hellbent on one upping the other. “Look at these markings—“ his hands rifle through the files that adorn the table, searching searching until they produce an autopsy report.

The markings on the body are intricate, latin symbols prominent against the victims pale skin. You lean further forward, following the path of his index finger as it traces the outline. Perhaps there’s an element of telepathy to your dynamic; you don’t need to state the obvious, too aware that his brain has already processed the information, that he’s moved onto the nuances now.

Human sacrifice, it’s not the first time you’ve caught yourselves in the midst of cult worship and indoctrination. But it’s certainly the first time of its kind.

“Traces of wine in her bloodstream. Found in a forest. Sounds like a bacchanal.” you state, shifting to pull yourself up on the desk.

Spencer looks. At your long, slender legs extending out from a pencil skirt. Effortless, natural, situating yourself on the oakwood, hair half covering your face, with loose strands pooling over your eyes to obstruct your sight.

It’s a strange analogy, the two of you; Spencer with his tired eyes, haphazard clothes and messy desk, and you, just as dishevelled in the morning light.

Metaphorically and literally you’re higher than him right now. He fixes his askew glasses. Clears his throat. “Regina Horthorne,” the victim, “Straight A student. Honour role. What are the chances she willing went to said… bacchanal?”

“Hm. I don’t know, maybe she’s like Laura Palmer. Double life. 4.0 cheerleader by day, crazed bacchante by night.” you retort.

Shamelessly, you take a moment to observe him, just as he did you. Shirt sleeves bunched up at his elbows, hair tousled, large hazel eyes, interminably darting across your face. You wonder for a moment if he’s analysed you the way you’ve analysed him. It’s a futile question, of course he has.

Anything to gain the upper hand.

You continue, “Maybe they’re sacrificing virgins. You could go undercover as a potential victim. Certainly fit the part.”

“I’m already too old to be counted as an appropriate victim. There’s a high probability ‘they’, the dominant unsub, wouldn’t even look at me, and—“ he pauses, pretty face marred by creased features, brows furrowed, a slight pout to his lips.

“There’s a homicidal cult preforming human sacrifice, and you’re wasting time by insulting me?” Spencer is….. a perpetual scholar, a social disaster, wearing his intellect like an ill-concealed secret, outcasted for the weight of his own brilliance. “The BAU clearly made a well-informed decision when they hired you.”

“Oh, you wound me boy genius.” you respond, pressing your hand against your heart.

Endless cases. The impenetrable presence of fall. It feels like you shift through cycles, bleary-eyed and tainted from the job, damaged goods— do you struggle to sleep like I do?

You lean forward, hands, adorned with cluttered rings, braced against the table, bodies closer now. There’s a burn, something fervent that lingers between you, rivalry, opposition. Some days you feel as hedonistic as the unsubs you track and chase.

Continuing, you let out a sharp laugh. “Are you still bitter because I realised it was a bacchanal before you? Don’t worry, i’ll let you take the credit for it. I’m sure Gideon will be so impressed.”

Gideon sees everything in him, and nothing in you. Predictable.

The distance between you has become almost null. It’s intimate, and he’s not sure how he feels about that. “I’m not bitter. And I don’t care about the credit.” A lie. “Unlike you, I don’t need to prove my worth to him.”

────────────

Spilt blood. Your hands are calloused from holding a gun. From firing a bullet straight through skull. The case closes, locked behind that inviolable wall, the one that’s installed into your mind the moment you’re employed, the moment you sign your fate over to the BAU. You’re not sure why anyone stays, overworked and undervalued, there’s no heroes in real life. Maybe it’s the sense of family, or maybe it’s just what everyone subconsciously fell into.

You can’t understand why you’re so angry at Spencer, why it extends to the next case, South Dakota— deaths of locals, but these days, all of the illogical, petty reasons just blur together. Create this tangled mess of overcompensation. ’I assumed you two would get along,’ Prentiss had stated— but what does she know? She’s been an active member of the BAU for a whole 10 minutes.

The hostility has mounted to new levels now.

It’s hard work, long hours, no gratitude and a pay cheque that can’t even begin to cover the trauma that comes with the job. The BAU is like self-sabotage: a long list of reasons to leave, and no real reasons to stay. But still you’re both stuck in this loop.

South Dakota, of course it’s South Dakota. Cold, desolate South Dakota where the wind and snow will not let up, and the team are forced to remain cooped up in a cheap motel, desperate for any sort of entertainment.

Here he is, coerced into your room to work on the case, overtime, his eyes are rimmed crimson.

You’re sprawled out across the bed while he sits at the other end, slender legs crossed. Spencer is tired with a weariness that seems to go soul-deep, shoulders slumped forward, glasses oblique.

The tension is near-palpable, stifling. “I can do this myself. No offence,” full offence, “but you’re unneeded right now. In general, really.”

You make him cruel. Or no, maybe this job does? He can’t remember himself unscathed now, fresh-faced to the BAU, unaware of what he’d endure. It’s still early days in recovery, two months since he was entirely, indomitably reliant on Dilaudid.

“No you can’t,” you retort. Maybe it’s unprofessional, disreputable to waste so much breath on insults, to dedicate specific moments to hostility— people are dead, people will keep dying. And yet, perhaps there’s justification for this; your mutual animosity is the only semblance of routine to this job, the only way either of you can seek control.

Control. All you do is reach for the blade.

“You’re just bitter that I know what I’m doing. You’re not infallible, Boy Wonder. You need my help, so shut up and read that autopsy report. The sooner this is over, the sooner I can go back to my apartment and forget you exist.”

Well that’s certainly unlikely.

“I think,” he says, and he knows this is going to be bad. He can feel the serrated edge to his forming words, his half-baked analysis too focused, too distracted, by his need to hurt. But he’s exhausted, and these days, he runs on a detrimentally short fuse. Maybe he finds a release in your dynamic, or maybe it makes everything worse. How can something be everything and nothing at the same time?

“I think you’re insecure” he continues, “because you know Gideon values me more. That, to him, you’re replaceable. It’s why you’re so fixated on one upping me. Why you feel the need to prove yourself superior. Textbook insecurity. You can’t stand the fact that he chooses me over you, that he thinks I’m better than you. That my input is more wanted, more necessary.”

This is uncharted territory now. It’s never been pushed to this extent. It’s never gotten so morbidly cruel that his words actually pierce. You’d consider yourself to be thick-skinned, bullet-proof, a mess of hardened edges and calloused flesh. But he regards you with such insignificance, in a way that’s different from your own personal view of him.

Obstinate, petty, a smart kid yet to meet his match. But never insignificant.

There’s silence, and then he’s dragging you down with him, forcing you to dig deeper, to smother wounds with salt. “Did he really choose you, though? No one on the team noticed. Not one person. After the Hankel case? When you came back different?”

Spencer falters.

It’s a vulnerable, raw spot, a laceration that never seems to heal; the worst part is that you’re right. He’d been in a spiralling decline for months, in plain sight, but everyone had been so absorbed in their own issues and god he needed a release. No one noticed. No one ever notices.

That he has no life, no prospects outside of the BAU. That his existence has been one comicotragic mess of inexperience, missing the mark, missing the joke, the punchline, the fact that everyone was always laughing at him, behind his back, to his face, present or gone. It didn’t matter? Why would it ever matter to a bunch of washed-out teenagers?

He was robbed of his adolescence. And these days, he barely gets by.

Spencer’s eyes drift back to the files, avoiding your perusing gaze, if only you had enough decency to soften your eyes. Just once.

“You don’t get to bring that into this.” He murmurs. “Shut up.”

“You started this—“

“Are you 5?” he bites back, “I was making an observation.”

When he abruptly stands up, files clattering to the floor, discarded despite the prevalent case, you’re quick to follow after him, to chase him into the cheap motel corridor. Because no, he doesn’t get to walk away from this. Not when he laid the first blow, when the first cut was drawn from his blade. Perhaps it’s perverse, to chase the hurt that comes from being around him. Maybe it’s all just an elaborate way to self-harm, to find release in the distorted relationship you both share.

“Where are you going? You can’t walk away from this one.” you state, gripping his arm. Nails pressing into skin, crescent marks that’ll stain and remind and then ache— it’s repetitive now.

“I covered for your ass.” you knew about the addiction, you knew, and even though omitting such information to the BAU could’ve lost your license, you still. Didn’t. Say. Anything.

It’s not like it took much effort to discern the truth.

“I also signed your email up to about 100 rehab centres and self-help blogs.” you’re not sure if you did that out of malice, or if it was your own, interpersonal way of minimising the damage, despite the circumstances.

You noticed. The rest of the BAU, who pressed false promises of friendship, loyalty into his shaking palms didn’t notice. Didn’t even think to humour what he became at his worst. But you did.

Furthermore, to add onto that jarring conclusion, you helped him. Admittedly in your own insufferable, (downright mocking) way. But it was help, and that’s more than he’s ever received before.

All he knows right now is that he hates you, hates the person he is, the person this job, and the intransigent presence of you, forced him into becoming.

All he knows is that he’s stumbling forward, cupping your face (taking your grip along with it), and kissing you. Kissing you hard. Like he’s Icarus and you’re the sun, worth the inevitable burn, even if the touch is only momentary, even if it’ll seal his fate as foolish.

It’s a mess of harsh, rough skin, tousled hair and sharp teeth against soft lips. It’s like trying to grasp at stardust, his hands fumbling for purchase along your body, trying to push you closer, as if the chasm of space between you is unbearable, a distance that’s impossible to endure.

He laughs when you respond instinctively, a sharp excuse of a noise, muffled by your swollen lips, and he’s just kissing you through it because he hates you, he hates you— he hates you so much that sometimes he can’t breathe when you’re around.

You crawled under his skin a long time ago, made yourself a home there.

“I think I’d rather be held hostage for a second time than kiss you again.” he says, and he might’ve elaborated further, but his lips abandon such a notion to chase your own.

The kiss becomes more languid, more desperate, like he’s trying to find an answer in response to it. There’s a brief, agonising break, foreheads pressed together, a harsh gasp of air, before the moment restarts.

God you taste good. Feel good, he thinks. He’s never been this intimate, not beyond Lila, that fleeting mess in the pool. The two events incomparable, he felt something then, small and minuscule, not enough to pursue. But right now? Oh, In contrast, he feels everything now.

“I wish you were being held hostage. It’d be quieter,” you retort. It’s muffled, and you’re moving, bodies stumbling into obstacles as you relocate, when did you get to your room? It feels like natural progression, evolution, diminutive changes that you don’t even realise are occurring.

You bite his bottom lip, draw it between your teeth, ruin him for anyone else. Because isn’t that what you’ve been doing for years now? Hurting each other so profoundly that only you can bare the scarred aftermath?

It’s sick. It’s sick, and you wonder how petty comments, trivial work-place rivalry distorted into this? How you’ve just ended up sick because of each other, and admittedly, for each other.

What is sickness without pleasure?

He whimpers. The noise almost imperceptible, but it’s there, and it’s pathetic, an unbecoming thing caught somewhere between a gasp and needy whine. He’s backed against the wall now, and he can’t find it in him to complain.

“Of course it would be you,” he says breathlessly. For all the knowledge he lacks here (physically; he’s well-versed in the hypotheticals of anatomy), he doesn’t feel pure.

People like him don’t get that.

He should feel guilty. He should recoil at the touch, at the knowledge you bear, at the reality of this. Except, for some unknown reason, he relishes in the idea of someone having him, even if the cost is his pride, his dignity, even if the cost is you.

He whimpers again as your teeth rake along the slope of his neck, shuddering at the sharp sensation, and he’s almost begging, words on the verge of being uttered.

But he can’t. Because that isn’t him when he’s with you. “Are you going to punish me? For uh, everything I said tonight? Because ah, god, I’d like to see you try.”

Admittedly, it’s not hard to break his resolve. A few more soul-crushing kisses and your wandering hand, dipping beneath his trousers, hard. Obscenely hard. Yes, he’s muttering as you unclasp buttons, as you loosen his trousers to the extent that you can palm him through his boxers. Half-choked gasps escape his bruised lips with every touch, and he’s crying now. Pretty tears streaming down his face, accentuating those doe-wide eyes of his, now glossy and warped.

“Only person who’s ever touched you, huh?” you state, and maybe you derive pleasure from that concept. That only your hands, drenched thick with staining blood, have ever scrutinised the warmth of his skin. The areas where his form curves, and the areas that make him come apart, undone at the seams. Grasping you, relying entirely on the wall, just to remain upright and somewhat conscious.

He makes another noise, another guttural, pathetic sound. Because, yeah, it’s just you. It’s only you, and the thought should be unbearable, but the pleasure of having, being touched is too much.

He has to grasp the back of your shirt, nails digging into fabric, as a distraction, a way to centre himself, while the rest of the world falls apart. His words are scattered, broken and messy, and he finds himself saying things he’ll inevitably regret. “Please, I can’t-“

He’s supposed to hate this, hate you.

“Cant— can’t take it. Oh,” he wants to bury his face into the crook of your neck, but you’re gripping his jaw, forcing him to look directly at you. Glasses discarded, the view was blurry without the added layers of tears.

“Eyes on me, boy genius.”

He complies. Gaze locked, unable to look away, entranced by the way your pupils dilate, staring at you, like you’re artwork, something to be studied and broken down and torn apart, only to be rebuilt again once he’s had his fill.

“Let’s look at you. Hm?” you state, removing his sweater, then his shirt, and there’s so many layers, and he’s acting coy now, as if he wasn’t whimpering moments prior.

Instinctively, by reflex, he tries to cover himself up. To hide planes of untouched skin from your gluttonous palms. You grip his wrists, pin them above his head, and oh isn’t this a sight: Spencer Reid, entirely bare, bound by you alone, tear track marks and swollen lips.

He always wanted to be seen.

He just didn’t expect, anticipate, being seen to this extent. He can’t fight your trailing gaze, and he doesn’t want to; it might make him flushed, a few irrational movements away from a cardiac arrest, but this it— raw uncut intimacy.

You’re softer now, as you run your hand along his dick, earning a variety of muffled noises, as your thumb brushes over his tip, taking care to touch every part of him. Everywhere he needs it. When you finally wrap your fingers around him, everything burns, fervent and collapsing, and he supposes this is what it felt like the moment Troy collapsed.

“Mhh,” he moans, hips bucking in time with your palm, steady movements.

He’s already so messy, and it should be embarrassing, but all he feels is the blunted edges of pleasure, the jagged cut of humiliation, warring against each other.

“You’re— oh.. you’re enjoying this far too much,” he manages, and it takes so much energy to get it out, his words slurring, interrupted by debauched gasps.

It feels good, so good that he can’t process the shame that’s bound to follow. He hates you, and he might be a little in love with you, and it’s not fair to process feelings, chemicals, he was never supposed to obtain.

“That it’s. There you go. That’s my good boy.”

Spencer sobs.

“Shh, shh, I know, I know, it’s a lot.” there’s always an element of condescension to your words. An undertone that rips through his defences. Destroys him in the process.

His body is receptive, ruined, because of the praise. He’s not sure how you can look at him, clearly, consciously, and dictate that he’s good. Most days he feels impure, debased. Burnt-out and wasted, the great always fall.

The same skin he pierced with needles is now reverently on show, and you should be cruel, it’s what you’re both good at, the only viable way to communicate, an undisclosed secret language. But you’re not. That confuses him to no extent.

“I can’t— cant, ‘m so close.” his arms are still bound above his head, and despite the ache, he keeps them there. It’s not the most conventional ‘first time’, but he takes it regardless.

“Yeah?” you mutter, pace picking up. The sound is obscene, his excessive pre-cum smeared across his length, wet noises with every stroke. “You wanna cum for me, hm?”

“Oh god,” he breaks, “Yes— yes, please—“

You have no interest in denying him, not when he’s this destroyed from a mere hand-job. “Go on then. Just because you asked so nicely.”

He falls apart. Dewy-eyed and blissed out, you force him to look at you as he reaches his orgasm. To keep looking as he squirms and writhes. So he does, because apparently his cognitive function has evaporated now.

Your tongue meets your palm, tasting him, pressing the excess into his mouth with an indecent kiss. Is this what sex entails? Complete submission, vulnerabilities bared wide? Dirty in that primal sense, the same one he always shied away from?

Finally, finally in the aftermath, he breaks his stare. His head falls back against the wall, eyes closed, neck exposed. Stifled gasps, it’s quiet, as if you’re both aware of your actions, the consequences of them.

“This is, uh— yeah.” he mumbles, reaching for his clothes; now the ecstasy has worn off, the shame overpowers. The sin of man, he’s starting to think you’re the personification of the serpent.

Or maybe it’s the other way around. He doesn’t hold his own body to such pure standards. He’s not sure any benevolence would look at him with acceptance. Not after everything he’s done to it.

“Hey wait,” you’re not good at this whole ‘nice’ thing, not when it comes to him. But there have been moments, in the past, small, fleeting seconds of…. you’re not entirely sure what to call them. Late hours spent scrutinising cases, your back-up points to his statements, mindless information dumps that the team can’t quite understand.

“Don’t make me chase you a second time, jesus.” You can’t just leave—“ you exhale, breathe, in and out, “Are you okay?”

He stops. He stops because you’ve never asked that question, never cared to ask that question, and maybe that hurts more than not being asked at all.

A part of him, the small part of him that’s not functional, wants to stay, wants to just stay in this bliss and pretend that it doesn’t matter, that the inevitable fallout won’t occur. But the larger, prominent part, reminds him that this isn’t right, that he needs to leave and collect his wits.

“I don’t know, im confused—“ he sighs, drags a shaky hand through his hair. “Yeah, im uh… i’m fine. “I just need to leave, I have to-“ he swallows. “I can’t. Not right now, I need to do— anything but this.”

He walks out on you and it’s fine.

────────────

Everything is fine, reality can return, and you can forget that you had his arms bound against the wall, that he fell apart from the weight of your dragging palm. You can pretend you never saw him naked, bare in every form of the word. Stripped raw, his lips burning against yours, skin on skin. It’s. Fine.

Life continues. Your dynamic remains the same, unrelenting, your biting words, just short of callous, his scathing remarks. Modus Operandi. You wonder how you’ve turned the most tender person into something sharp, and you wonder if it’s ever going to be reversible.

When the case closes, the BAU, in predictable, systematic fashion, celebrate (ease the weight) over drinks. You’re adorned in lace, a black dress that just catches your thighs. It’s late now, and by the time you arrive at the dive-bar, the majority of the team are intoxicated (you couldn’t go straight from work, there was still blood clinging to your skin).

Everything is fine. To reiterate.

It’s not.. It’s not. Because oh, Spencer finds himself staring. He’s fairly certain he doesn’t have any lingering interest. But then again, why is he fixated on the way fabric clings to your ruinous figure, the way your hair sits, slightly dishevelled, pooled over one shoulder? It’s exasperating and inebriating all at once. You shouldn’t be able to affect him to such an extent, and yet here he is, mindlessly staring at you with starry-eyes. He should look away. Leave even?

Of course, he fails. You end up squeezing in next to him, all leather seats and too little space.

And, okay, he knows he should feel guilty.

In reality, he’s not. Because, sure, he’s sat too close, and sure, he can just make out the scent of your perfume, faintly floral. But he’s intoxicated, just as everybody else is, and it’s making logic and reason seem far off, too distant to process. He looks at you once, then twice, like he can’t quite believe you’re tangible.

“You look nice, I guess,” he murmurs bluntly, looking away, feigning disinterest.

As if the ‘incident’ (as he’s taken to calling it) didn’t tilt his world on its axis.

“You also look nice, I guess.” you retort, and it’s the best you’re going to get out of each other. At least in this state (the surplus of praise that left your bruised, possessed lips cannot be justified, or repeated ever. again.)

You lean forward, watch as his face creases at the proximity. Are you thinking about the kisses? Plural, fuck, plural. Open-mouthed, desperate movements?You’re. not. Instead, you steal his glasses, slip them on. The prescription is strong, thick lenses that distort your perception.

“What do you think?” you ask, “I might go as you for halloween, it’ll definitely scare the kids.”

“They make you look intelligent. Considering you need all the help you can get, I’d take that as a compliment,”

It’s a domestic action, to put on his glasses. And the thoughts that burn through his mind stem from HR prohibited to domestic, which he argues is far worse. You, tangled in sheets, sporting nothing but his glasses. Resting against the tip of your nose, askew, as you ride him. As you tilt your head back, exposing— no.

He wants to say something about how ridiculous you look— but it’s hard to focus, you’re taking up all of his sanity, like a computer running multiple programs at once. You’re malware actually, destined to corrupt him (which you’ve already done to a painful extent).

“You can’t just touch my stuff.” he settles on, sounding more petulant than anticipated.

“Oh chill out, boy wonder. It’s a pair of glasses,” you mutter, removing them to blink blink blink, and there he is, the centre focus of your vision, now fully detailed again. It takes you a moment to render in his appearance: shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows, arms exposed, long, deft fingers. There’s heavy bags gathering beneath his eyes, dragging down those big, blown-out irises of his, wide and completely dirty (how is it that his natural resting face is so obscene?).

Focus.

You push the glasses back onto his face. Better, it’s a sight you’ve come to anticipate after he ran out of contact lenses. “There. Oh, were you just upset because you couldn’t see me properly? That’s sweet, Spence. Flattery will get you everywhere.”

He can see everything.

Every small detail of your face; strands of hair falling loose, dilated pupils, accentuated by heavy liner, obsidian that contrasts against your incisive eyes. Your lips, oh your lips, he could write a thesis on them. Stained crimson, if he were to kiss you right now, residue would catch against his own mouth, incriminate him.

He gets up. Excuses himself. Sometimes he wishes he could vanish.

But it’s not good enough.

“You,” he says between messy kisses, “Need to keep your hands to yourself.” — okay, he’s not sure how this happened. He left for the bathroom (to splash water on his face, gather his dignity, perhaps drown himself?) and you to humour the locals outside, gathering around with half-smoked cigarettes and slurring conversations.

But then, on his way back, padding through the long corridor (why is it always a corridor?), you were there, and yeah. He was screwed. Fatefully wrecked.

He had tried, in the moments leading up to his demise, to resist, but he was a man of logic and science and the science, when he was around you, simply did not apply. You’re bad for him, in every sense, he should avoid you, he should stay away.

But now, there’s no space between your bodies, no space for rationality or reasoning (god he’s tired of the thinking part. He just wants to feel).

The kiss is rough, sloppy, a desperate, messy thing. “This can’t keep happening,” he mumbles against your smeared lips.

“Do you remember last time?” you question. It’s taboo, to bring it up, to disclose the buried. But you’re fairly certain this compromising position wouldn’t exist without the lethal effects of that one night. The cheap motel and his body arching into your touch.

Rationality appears to be nonexistent now. A discarded concept.

Like last time, you guide him back against the wall, pin his hands above his head. Mirroring your actions. Well, to some ‘dignified’ extent. “Had you just like this,” you lean forward to press a series of kisses along the curvature of his jaw. “I bet you’d let me take you like this again, hm? Right here? In the middle of this shitty dive bar?”

And if he weren’t so far gone, he’d protest, he’d tell you that no, this is wrong, because you’re so wrong for him. He knows that if one good man has to fall, it shouldn’t be him.

But you don’t let good men rise, and there’s something so enticing about the depths of hell. He’s not sure he’s good anyway. It’s a complex situation. “You’re a sadist,” he murmurs, breathless, “I wouldn’t.”

Your grip instinctively tightens against his wrist, and he squirms. He’s nervous, “Could we, like… at least find a bathroom? I’d take a bathroom, even though there’s endless strains of bacteria there. Or, or split a cab. No, i’ll just pay— Anything. I’ll do anything. Just not here. This is a public space, and technically, public indecency, and—“

“Fuck,” he’s never been the type to swear, “I’ll do anything.” this time, he says it in self-defeat. Acknowledgment.

────────────

French exit. His wandering hands in the cab, and the electric pulse that burnt through his body as he kept a low profile, stumbling out of the bar, muttering thinly-veiled excuses for his abrupt departure.

The second you’re both inside your apartment, you’re clattering into things. “I love your eyes,” you state bluntly, forthcoming in every sense of the word, “Love it when you cry for me.”

You think of every harsh word that has ever escaped your lips, You think of the consequences they might’ve had. Did he ever cry over them? You know, in contrast, you never did over his. Though there was that sharp, sinking pain that felt like the embodiment of slow death. Something terminal, fated to linger, to eat and eat until nothing remained.

No big deal!

“It’s an involuntary bodily response. You’re a dacryphiliac.” he responds.

There’s not a lot he can compute right now, his brain too preoccupied with processing your touch alone. Which is so prominent, so harrowingly good that not even his genius mind can comprehend it.

He’s reasonable to believe he would kill whoever had the pleasure of experiencing you like this.

“It’s not a fetish if I only feel it for you—“

Spencer breaks.

“No-no-no,” he says, too loudly, “You can’t just- say those things. You can’t tell me you love when I cry, just because- I should be scared, of you. You’re volatile. Destructive,” he murmurs, head leaning against the crook of your shoulder. Against better judgement. But all reason has left him now. You’ve stolen it, taken it as a personal trophy to parade and boast about.

“Why am… Why am I not scared?” he asks, “It’s not like I make you cry…”

“Because there’s no reason to be scared.” you answer simply. And at surface level, it’s true. In spite of the hostility, the years of white-knuckled rivalry, you’ve always trusted him. It’s a coveted admission, considering you’re circumspect by nature.

You unbutton his shirt, let it fall to the floor, exposing his skin in the middle of your apartment. He’s standing there, and you’re not sure what to do with all of this want that perhaps you’ve misplaced as enmity for so long.

“You could make me cry,” you state, because if there’s one person out there capable of cracking you open, leaning behind fragmented pieces, it’s him. It’s always going to be him.

It’s a startling realisation. That he, Spencer Reid, of all people, can reach the centre of you in ways nobody has ever done before.

“Why would I want you to cry? That’s— i’m not even sure how I would go about it.”

You grip his hips, walk yourself backwards until you’re hitting a wall, there your body instinctively curves forward to meet his. “It doesn’t always have to be bad.” you explain, because he’s looking at it from a simplistic, textbook perspective. “Last time,” those words still feel like poison, “When I made you cry, there was no pain, right? You cried because it felt good.”

He’s staring at you clueless. Though, he might just be distracted. Either works.

Your hand catches his wrist, and then you’re hiking up your dress, guiding his touch beneath fabric. The lace panties that cover skin. He’s tentative, experimental, dragging his thumb over your clit, causing your hips to cant towards him. “Make me cry, boy genius.”

You act like this is the most indecent thing he’s capable of doing. From an unbiased standpoint, it’s up there on his list, but admittedly he hasn’t really done enough to constitute a list in the first place.

Spencer, in response, simply drops to his knees. Your panties are pulled down your legs in a disconcerting haze, and then he’s just groaning, cursing Gods he doesn’t believe in, spiting them with blasphemy, whilst also simultaneously thanking them, humouring false promises he won’t commit to.

It’s blasphemous, a prodigy on his knees, in front of you, for you. As if he’s worshiping something he can’t even comprehend, something beyond the expanse of his knowledge. And you just pull strands of his hair, pull at the strings of him.

His hands find the inside of your thighs, caressing the soft skin there and you make another noise, a noise that has him devouring you.

Face buried between your legs, he flattens his tongue against your clit, drags it upwards to catch wetness, to affirm that you’re just as affected as he. That since you touched him, all thoughts have consisted solely of you.

He doesn't think he's doing this correctly- but you're making noises, gasps that he didn’t even know you were capable of, and that's the thing about science or anatomy, whatever it may be, the brain is incredibly subjective, and the more knowledge you acquire, the less you really know.

And there's knowledge here, but it’s not utilised; no coordination, even when there should be, even when he’s got the human body memorised to perfection. Still, you seem to like him messy, desperate, drawing your clit into his mouth to pull, to tug, before shifting back to blow cold air against you.

The task was simple, at surface level: make you cry. And whilst, if you pick it apart, it becomes more complex, he seems to be efficient in following orders because right now, you’re ruined. It might not be the most meticulous head you’ve received (though you’re sure, under different circumstances he could probably surpass that standard), but it’s wanting, in a way that makes you ache.

“Oh oh, fuck— fuckfuckfuck.”

You grip his hair, twisting and pulling and using, and he lets you, he’d do anything, do this forever if he had to. His fingers, still gripping your thighs, dig into soft flesh, leaving visible marks. And he wants to see those marks, in the morning, an irrefutable fact that would force him to accept this as real.

But he can’t focus, can’t think about anything when you’re reacting like this, so undone. How can there be anything, at all, beyond this?

He lets you drape a leg over his shoulder, let’s you get off against his face, fingers sliding inside, one digit at a time, to feel warmth wrapped around him. To feel the way you clench when he curves them, when he grazes spots that he could explain to factual detail.

Your body shudders, and you’re making noises he hasn’t heard before, sounds that could only be described as obscene— and his name, you’re moaning his name, and god, he’s certain he would follow you to the ends of the earth right now. Without question.

It’s when he stops, when he leans back enough that he can breathe. That he can look at you, really look at you.

You’re messy, undone. The sight could be considered humiliating from an outside perspective, but you’re gorgeous, and he’d do this a thousand times over if it resulted in this exact reaction. A reaction that he’s given you. No one else.

“I love your face.” He says, a little bluntly. But it’s true, he does.

So he returns to the task. Practically situating you on his face now to suffocate him, to let him become some sort of extension to your pleasure. And inevitably when you fall apart, tears and writhing, boundless pleasure, he can only push you through it. Allow his existence to crumble, for the second time,

And as he draws back, face covered in you, he can only stare.

His knees are bruised. That’s the first thing you notice when you stumble to the bedroom, when you’ve taken a moment to wipe away evidence of the tears, to regather and compose yourself. It’s not in your nature to be soft, no to him, but you still find yourself kissing the mauve blemishes, working your way up his body after you’ve oh so unceremoniously undressed him. Reduced to his boxers, he’s an incriminating sight.

“Losing your virginity to me is like the biggest irony ever.” you say, kissing along his stomach, watching as his body reacts, arches, contorts in search of more pleasure. It’s a hypnotising sight, to see every nerve tuned to you solely.

“Ironic, demeaning, enough to send past versions of myself into an early grave. Yes, I get your point.” he mutters.

Your hands find their way to the waistband of his boxers, and he’s lifting his hips, because he wants you to undress him, because he’d let you do anything right now, but he also feels embarrassed, exposed. Vulnerable in a way he’s never felt before. You’re seeing him, seeing things he doesn’t even know himself. But there’s nowhere to hide, not while you’re slowly pulling off his underwear, with a care that he’s unaccustomed to.

“I won’t go easy on you,” you assure. Even though that’s technically a straight-faced lie. Of course it’ll be more tender than anything else you’ve endured; he has this devastating habit of softening those around him. It’s only taken this long to affect you out of pure, unbridled spite.

Oh, he wants. The evidence is his body alone. Laid out before you, like an offering, a hedonistic one. Dick hardened, dripping pre-cum onto his stomach.

“Hands above your head,” you watch as he blindly obeys, any defiance now crushed. Well, for the most part: at least in his actions. “That’s good— good boy. Tell me if they’re too tight,” you say, binding them with his discarded tie.

You stare, and it’s like you want to eat him alive, and against better judgement, he’d let you. Serve himself up, passive as you tear him limb for limb, taste all the bad parts of his existence, the ones he keeps hidden shamefully away.

“Too tight? I’ve been held hostage, I think I can handle a little bit of fabric.” he retorts before tugging at the restraints, “Tighter.”

“Didn’t realise you were so into this—“

“Neither did I,” he scoffs, “I’ve never done it before, obviously.”

“Now you have. Congrats, i’ll give you a sticker once we’re done. Gold star, huh?” and just for good measure, you tighten the restraints further. Just a few more pulls until you’re knotting it in place. Until he’s entirely defenceless, but realistically, what would you do? It’s hard to find fear when you’ve covered him on the field for over a year (he’s prone to being targeted, an unsubs wet dream).

“Yes, thank you. I’ll put the sticker on the wall next to my PhDs.” right now, right in this moment, countless people are getting what they want.

And Spencer is being manhandled by his pretty coworker.

Ironically, that’s exactly what he wants.

You’re the perfect dichotomy. Cruel, and caring. Harsh words to juxtapose gentle hands. Soft touches, but scathing remarks that linger, leaving behind a trail of scars, the ubiquity of your cruelty.

You’re lethal, and he’s smart enough to comprehend the danger. Except he’s never been smart when it comes to people.

Your hands are acquisitive, roaming, searching, blunt nails that scrape skin as you rake them down, down towards his abdomen. He shivers, bite into that pretty bottom lip of his until he’s spilling blood, and it’s a sight. Something sick that you both want to such an offensive extent.

“Sensitive.” you murmur, like the idea of him so reactive pleases you, in a way you’ve never considered before. Because the way his body strains, bucking forward to deepen the contact is maddening.

“Are you always like this?” you wonder aloud, leaning down to run a hand along the length of his inner thigh. “Poor baby, so touch-starved.”

“I don’t know if I’d use the word sensitive.” he replies, “More susceptible to the fact that you’re touching me, and that I haven’t felt another person touch me in a long time. And of course when people touch me, it’s usually professionals poking me with needles or stitching this weeks new wound.”

Touch-starved? He has sensory issues. The lightest graze can provoke, cause his skin to crawl. Of course he would like your touch, of course the universe would torture him by finding relief in the one person who nobody should stumble upon for relief.

“Oh you’re a soldier, you suffer so much.“ you state, and it’s condescending (naturally), but there is some truth to the serrated comment. You, the team, are all bruised, mentally and physically distorted from the consequences of the job. Only he could react so reverently to your calloused hands, blissed out to the extent that it looks like you’re witnessing ascension.

It’s pretty. Pretty, in a soft, domestic way. One that demeans his bound wrists and your sharp words.

You press a few tender kisses to his thighs, the inner sections, where you’re certain, assured, no one has ever touched before. Maybe there’s something possessive to that thought, the want to own, to know that no one will ever have him the way you have him.

Your touch is like a brand. He wants it, even if it’s bad, even if it’s cruel. Because the alternative to this is nothing. A lonely existence. A life of work, of chasing shadows, knowing he had so much to give, and no one to give to.

“Stop mocking me.” he replies, it’s through laboured breath. “Just because I don’t have your proclivity for taking hits doesn’t mean I don’t suffer.”

No one’s ever touched him like this. No one’s ever cared to try. You’re his first.

“I know you suffer,” you retort, are you arguing? Is this foreplay? If it is, then you have some serious self-reflecting to do on every single past conversation. Because maybe you should’ve taken him to your bed earlier, in that case.

Oh god was your hatred of each other built solely on sexual tension?

Finally, you move. Just like the first time, your hand runs across his length, taking him slowly, easing him into it, coercing him through the pleasure. It’s not similar to before: it won’t end after he’s found his release, and it’s not frenzied and ardent. Spurred on by shame.

“And you know i’m always going to take the hits for you, regardless.” he whines when you remove your hand, and whines again, for contrasting reasons, as you spit on your palm, generate lubricant to support each stroke.

“Oh—“ he breathes out. He’s fairly certain he’s supposed to be more contained. A huff escapes his lips and then he’s retorting, “You could try a tactic other than reckless self-sacrifice every once in a while.”

He’s overwhelmed, with you. All of you. The way you look, the way you talk, all the harsh lines and scathing remarks. The way you take the hits for him, an altruistic custodian, but he isn’t worthy of being saved. Isn’t worth the effort.

“Shut the fuck up, Spencer.” you say, promptly ending this discussion; you grip his dick tighter, tilting your movements to catch him at a better angle.

“Shit— okay, okay,” he moans because that feels really really good, and he wishes he could articulate it in a better way. Something complex and poetic, but it’s just so good.

He’s always been a little masochistic. Too smart for his own good, too analytical. He wants you to take him apart, piece by piece, and see the inner workings of his body laid out before you, raw and vulnerable. Because only you can see him like this.

He doesn’t even really touch himself. There’s been nights, body flushed and wanton, bucking up against sheets, muffled noises pressed into his pillow. But they’re rare, and they usually lead to an aftermath of ignominy.

He’s a prodigy, a genius in the field of criminal psychology. So why does it feel so good like this? To be humbled, to be demoted. As if all his degrees, his awards, his intellect, mean absolutely nothing.

He’s never felt so loved. Which is ironic. Because he’d always hoped love would be slow, gentle. Soft, like a caress. The kind of love you share over meals and pillow-talk.

He realises, with a jolt to his system, that if this is love to you, he’d accept it, in its most primal form.

“You get off on this,” he analyses as you draw back, mostly to stifle the begs that nearly escape his mouth. Come back, need you here.

“Well I’d be pretty concerned if I wasn’t getting off on this right now—“

“No,” he pushes, “You like that i’m, that yeah. I have no experience. You want to corrupt me, huh?” he looks up at you with pretty, innocent eyes. Holy shit. “Ruin me for anyone else? Go on, let me have it. I’ll only come back, i’ve already done it once. Statistically, it’s going to happen again. And again. Pavlovian responses, condition me. Make my body react to no one else.”

When you kiss him again, he can only take it. Can only moan, whimper, plead against your mouth until you’re lining him up, until you’re sitting on his dick, and everything is okay.

“You’re so—“ bottomed out, wrapped around him entirely, you sigh. “Fuck, Spence, who taught you to be so fucking dirty?”

“You.” he mutters, playing coy. “But you’re a bad teacher, I think I could do with a few more lessons..”

“I think you could do with learning to shut your mouth more often.”

“It is better suited for other purposes, I suppose..”

He gags when you slot two fingers, index and middle, into his mouth. No warning, no predetermined acknowledgment. They hit the back of his throat, and he can only suck, muffling protests around the digits until he goes blissfully silent.

“Better,” you retort. Drawing them out, you press your thumb against his bottom lip, keeping it parted so that you can lean forward, spit into his open mouth. When you first met, he promptly refused to shake your hand, too conscious of the dissemination of germs, now? He’s swallowing your saliva, unprompted, with little resistance.

You know him. The way you touch is like you’re searching for something. Anything about him. It’s like you’re a bloodhound, trying to unearth every single vulnerability. And you must’ve found them, because you’re suddenly here, bearing all your weight on him, moving, and it’s all his body can do to take it. All of it. All of you.

He tugs at his restraints, because he won’t go down without a susceptible fight. Even if he knows it’s fated that he will inevitably fall. “Please—please untie me, just wanna hold your hand.”

And, oh that shatters you. Like, mentally, physically, spiritually dismantles you until you’re breathless, staring at him with widened eyes and a loss of composure. It’s such a tender request, something domestic and raw, and mindlessly you’re fumbling with the knots of his tie. Freeing them to take one in yours.

It’s against your nature, but you can’t help, can’t refrain yourself from pressing a kiss against his knuckles. “You’re doing so good f’me. Such a good boy,”

Your free hand runs across his torso now, grazing skin, admiring the sight of him, flushed, debauched, sprawled out beneath you.

He grips your hip. That’s the first thing he does once he’s sufficiently sane, well… partially, the praise did knock him entirely off balance. Tip the scales, send him over the inexorable edge.

He watches as you take the incentive to slip off his body, and the loss of friction is okay, tolerable because he’s sitting up against the headboard, drawing you closer, whining for you until you’re on his lap, until you’re sat in your rightful place.

Here, he can kiss you. Which he admits has become a very vital aspect to his existence.

The kiss is like a bruise. Not rough, he’d never be rough with you, he’s all long, languid strokes and soft movements. But it’s overwhelming, and leaves discernible, lasting imprints.

And yeah, sure, kissing you is the closest thing to worship he has ever known. Something he would like to commit to memory, every single time your lips touch, it’s like he’s seeing god in the shape of your cupid’s bow.

“Please, I need—“ he stutters over his words, “If you don’t move, I swear—“ he pauses, his head falling against your shoulder— “I swear, I’m gonna die, this has to be against the Geneva Convention, you can’t leave me like this, please—”

“The Geneva convention? Really? Is this your form of dirty talk?” you retort, unable to muffle your laugh.

“No. I’m stating my rights,” he says, “Torture is prohibited.”

“I’m not torturing you—“

You tangle your hand through his hair, tug tug tug, and then pull, drawing his head back by tousled strands, forcing him to meet your gaze.

“Ohmyfuckinggod, yes. You are.” he whimpers.

It’s indefensible how good he feels, how he sinks into you, hitting crevices you’re certain no one else has ever grazed before. Feeling full, whole, it’s new. It’s your own first, and you can’t even begin to articulate how defenceless you are to the way it makes you disintegrate, fragment to pieces of pleasure. Spencer is warm, and soft, and it makes you want to cry. To just fall, give in, transcendence of self, Burke said, and right now, you feel that entirely.

His moan is unapologetic, unfiltered as you move. At this point, you could slice him open, leave him bleeding in your bed, and he’d thank you for it.

You hold his hand, and yet, simultaneously destroy him.

“Please,” he whimpers again— he’s too pretty to be asking so nicely. “I just— I want you closer. As close as possible, I want you so close to me that I’m not even sure if my body can handle it.”

It’s not dirty talk, it’s more like he’s begging you, tears staining his skin, pitiful eyes, wide and glassy, staring at you with some form of desperation. Brows furrowed, gaze soft.

And his gaze only grows worse when you do give him what he wants, when your pace fastens.

It’s a religious experience, like he’s about to be crucified, a martyr to his pleasure. He’s almost afraid to touch you— to stain something divine, like you’re too much for him. But you’re not.

“I like this. Like you. Like you here. You’re so good for me,” he murmurs, and it’s untruthful, but right now, he sincerely believes it. “so good, so perfect, all I need, please—”

“Stop it.” you bite, preferring him defiant over this— because this opens up wounds you weren’t even aware existed. “Oh fuck, stop it.”

“So good. You’re so good,” he cups your face, presses his forehead against yours, and you might as well just die right here.

“Says you.”

“Says me.”

You fuck him harder.

“Oh,” is all he can pronounce, little oh’s every time you rock against him, and he has to grip you hips, deepen the movements until you’re bouncing against him, up down up down, exploiting his sensitivity with a torturous pace.

And it’s not fair, he needs to balance the scales, so he runs his thumb over your clit, firm halos that have you keening. “If being nice got me this, I’d be so nice to you for the rest of my life—“

Another lie. But it’s worth it. If only for the way you kiss him. The way you silence his cutting words, forcing your way into his mouth, forcing him to just squirm and sob, until you’re clenching around him, and he’s there with you. Falling apart, bodies shifting until movement ceases, and there’s nothing but bliss.

“I hate you so much,” you say in the aftermath, and it’s closest you’ve ever gotten to a confession of love.

He laughs, wipes away tears, “Hate you more.”

“Don’t leave this time.” he just nods, bordering on nonverbal now. It takes you hours to coax actual words out of him, and by then, you’re both tangled in a foreign mess of warm limbs.

“Oh i’m going to be so mean tomorrow.” you mutter, playing loosely with his hair.

He can only sigh, stare at you dreamily. “God, is that a promise?”

[solarwreathe]

@vicioussickle oh yeah agreed with them latching onto whatever side happens to share the same goal (i think the art book straight up admits there's no evidence of ganon worshipping in their den, it's all about master kohga). and now i look back at creating a champion i see what you mean, it keeps saying the 'militant' sheikah faction is the one that defected, so i assume that means the castle spies who, while loyal to the goddess were already inclined towards violence and espionage as opposed to the researchers.

the book also talks of their ‘original dark purpose’ for the royal family so they must be leaning into oot shadow dungeon lore in the botw world. if i had to imagine a scenario, now whatever political unrest behind the creation of these dungeons has fizzled the king is left with a group of highly trained (and crucially, BORED) sadistic ninjas breathing down his neck. so the public’s fear of sheikah tech gives him an excuse to get rid of them - creating a self fulfilling prophecy.

if i’m going with the opinion that small traces of the modern yiga existed back then beyond monk maz koshia's attack patterns and love for bananas, then the kakariko sheikah have lost touch with their old selves just as much. like two halves of a missing whole

because i am once again being kept awake by yiga clan thoughts.

do you think the splintered sheikah from 10,000 years ago that swore allegience to ganon slowly evolved into the yiga we know today, gradually phasing out blues for reds and white hair for black in a ship of theseus sense where they don’t notice how different they’ve become until too many generations have passed to notice.

or do you think it all happened overnight in an edgy makeover montage styled like a 00s coming of age movie as they dye their hair black, tack spikes onto their outfits and apply emo eyeliner over their sheikah crests until the look is complete, joan jetts playing all the while as they walk in slo mo towards hyrule castle.

[ladytemeraire]

The main thought ringing in my head at the three-quarter mark of Jenny Nicholson's Star Wars Hotel video is how badly Disney missed the mark on not targeting the demographic of LARPers, cosplayers, and RenFest nerds as opposed to... whoever the hell they were actually targeting, with that combination of experience and price point.

Like. Not to further out myself as a massive goddamn dork, but there was a span of nearly ten years where I was going to the Ohio RenFest at least once a season, every season. And even there, the years where I went in some form of costume and played along with the actors as opposed to wearing jeans and a t-shirt, my experience was so much richer. There was such a different level of banter and playfulness and entertainment when I actively leaned into the immersion. I had so much fun interacting with the shopkeeps and cast members as an elf or random Fantasy Medieval Maiden, because they saw the costume and on some level went, "You! You are One Of Us!" and matched that energy, and thus gave me the chance to match it in return.

(One year, early on, when my "costume" was a frilly blouse, leggings, boots, elf ears, and a hastily sewn cloak, I had a random older gentleman run up to our group, press a gold coin into my palms, kiss the back of my hand in a very respectful and courtly manner, and disappear into the crowd. No context, no further story or plot or interaction, but almost fifteen years later I still have that gold coin on a shelf of tchotchkes.)

Watching every time Jenny tried so desperately to lean into the Galactic StarCruiser/overall Star Wars experience, to actively engage with the story and the characters, only to be lowkey ignored or actively rebuffed or scorned, legitimately broke my heart a little. (The bit in the experience finale where she was like "it felt like we were supposed to respond somehow, but I didn't because it was embarrassing, which is its own form of Force torture" was simultaneously hilarious and extremely relatable and incredibly sad.) Setting aside the issues with the app and tech, let alone the refusal to address legitimate complaints until she took to Twitter, not even getting a hint of reciprocal interaction from the actors when your choices supposedly matter in your overall experience would be so incredibly disheartening.

Ohio RenFest tickets were about $20 when I started going in high school, plus whatever food and merchandise you wanted to buy. Nowadays, even with inflation, they're still only $35 for adult tickets, which gets you access to everything, and you can absolutely get a full day's experience out of that with only the additional cost for food and beverages. I cannot fathom spending six thousand fecking dollars for two days ("two dollars per person per minute" will live rent free in my head for a while) on what is supposedly an immersive experience, marketed as living out your Star Wars story, only to get the absolute bare minimum in return. It really feels like such an indicator of how modern-day Disney is willing to cut corners as much as possible while leaning on brand recognition, and especially on nostalgia, in order to milk every last red cent out of their customers, until they run out of both money and goodwill. And that is so, so incredibly sad.

[after-witch]

The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Title: The Driven Snow [Yandere Coriolanus Snow x Reader]

Synopsis: You're a District 2 school graduate who comes to the Capitol with her father before the 11th Hunger Games. You don't expect to meet anyone kind, especially not someone named Coriolanus Snow who offers you his arm, his smile, and treats in secret. 

Word Count: 5270

notes: yandere, abusive relationship, non-graphic descriptions of torture and death (not against reader); uses a mixture of book and movie canon

The Capitol was not as dazzling as your father described it but then, he had seen it before the war. Though perhaps it was your own bitterness that made you ignore the signs of returning prosperity that sets it above everywhere else.

The repaired elaborate buildings, the fresh pungent smell of plaster and paint. The cars pumping exhaust fumes into the air. The low rumble of garbage trucks that pick up bright green garbage cans, some of which are actually teeming with plastic trash bags. Such waste was unheard of, even in the oh-so-loyal District 2, where only the lowest of the low find themselves starving.

Although not-starving didn’t mean that everything was plentiful. 

You, though, were lucky enough to avoid the lima bean heavy diet that some of your classmates (now former--graduation was months ago) lived on. Or were you? The meat that graced your family’s dinner table, the pats of butter on toast, were all courtesy of your father’s  immense talent in building creative weapons that allowed the Capitol to stamp out every last bit of rebellion in the Districts. That allowed them to regain control. That allowed them to create the Hunger Games.

Which is why you were in the Capitol now. Oh, not to participate in them. Your father’s status in District 2 had seen to that; it would be a scandal if the name of his beloved daughter were to ever be pulled. 

You were there because your father had been given a lucrative contract, one that was sure to cement your family’s wealth for generations: a contract to build high-tech weapons for the Hunger Games themselves. 

They would still be killing. But on a much smaller scale, you supposed, than the weapons your father designed during the war. 

Still. Blood was blood. And if it had to be spilled, well, there was nothing you could do about it except hope they died quickly. Especially the ones from District 2.

Last year’s Games’ had been awful enough. Your family had watched the Games on a modest television set in the privacy of your living room, sent courtesy of the Capitol. 

You wondered if you would ever get the sight of Marcus’ battered, bloated face from your mind; if you would ever unhear the way his body thumped to the ground when that girl had killed him, out of mercy. If you would ever stop imagining what it must have felt like in those last moments.

But it wasn’t all horror. You’d liked Lucy Gray well enough, even though she was from 12. She had a wild way of dressing and the singing--it was practically theatrical, compared to what you’d heard about the previous games. 

Maybe that was why your father got this contract: theatrics. Maybe the games would be more dramatic from now on. Maybe they wanted tributes like Lucy Gray, who sang and spit and poisoned her way to Victory. It was strange, really, that there’d been hardly any talk of her since her win. 

“Father?” You asked, quietly as you could. 

Both of you were standing in the foyer of the grand university in the Capitol. The outside was still a little ravaged, but inside, it was perfectly lovely. Walls lined with books--perhaps some of them were fake--and marble floors and marble busts dotting the sight lines.

“Mm?” He replied, eyes scanning over his clipboard. He flips it, here and there.

“I was just thinking. About last year’s games. About Lucy Gray, and how the Games--”

Your father rounded on you, eyes suddenly serious and blazing.

“Quiet. Weren’t you paying attention on the way here?” Admittedly, you were not. You’d been daydreaming about what you might do now that you were done with school. There was no university in District 2, and your father hadn’t even mentioned a job. “You’re not supposed to mention--”

“Not supposed to mention whom? Ah, ah, ah. Lucy Gray Baird?” called a voice, almost in sing-song.

Your father stood up stiff, and the life seemed to drain from his face.

Both of you look towards the sound of the voice, and now it’s your turn to stiffen. The voice came from a woman standing in the doorway of the very office that your father was waiting to enter. She was wearing an elaborate jacket made of what looked like rainbow snake scales. Her hair was gray and curly. She had, you realized, two different colored eyes. 

Your father swallowed, and you could see the apple of it bob up and down. It made you think, abruptly, of suckling pigs. 

“Dr. Gaul,” he said, in a voice far too tight to be relaxed. “I apologize for my daughter’s insubordination, I assure you, she meant no--”

Dr. Gaul waved her hands at him and approached you. 

“Did you like last year’s games?” She didn’t look angry. No, she looked delighted.

“I…” It was your turn to swallow, your turn to feel that tightness. “It-it was the first time I’ve watched them, ma’am.” You want to ask this woman: do you think I liked watching someone from my District 2 so horribly? Or any District, really? Did I like it? 

Her smile grew wider. 

“I’m glad. You’ll be watching them every year from now on, I hope. We have big plans.” Her eyebrows raised high. “Big changes. Thanks to men like your father.” She glanced at him and you saw disdain flicker across her gaze. 

And then another door opened, and you heard the sound of polished shoes on the marble floor. Dr. Gaul’s attention dropped away from you like you were nothing at all. She turned to meet the sound of these footsteps, and you did too.

It was a young man. Probably your age, you thought, with light blonde hair and eyes that your mother would have described as “baby blue.” He didn’t look at you, or your father. But that was nothing new. You’d only been in the Capitol for 2 days, and you’d already gotten used to being treated as lesser than. Though, at least, you were not so far down on the food chain that you lost your tongue. 

“Ah, my protege,” said Dr. Gaul, giving the young man a grin. The smile on her face almost looked warm, which was somehow far more terrifying than her manic smile from earlier. “Ever the earnest student. Aren’t you supposed to be enjoying the day off, Mr. Snow?”

The young man, this “Snow,” chuckled and lowered his gaze. “I couldn’t stay away once I heard you were discussing some of the new prototypes for this year’s games.” 

He finally looked at your father, and then at you. But only briefly.

“Can I assume that this is…?”

Dr. Gaul nodded.

“Yes. My little designer from District 2. And his daughter.” Her voice dropped a few octaves when she referred to you. She probably didn’t want you here, you thought. You weren’t supposed to come, but your father had begged the Capitol for a pass; it would probably be your only chance to see it, he said, so you may as well take advantage of the chance.

Snow nodded to your father. It was a surprising gesture, almost respectful. But cold, too, like it was done from necessity rather than anything else. 

Your father stammered a bit and nodded back, and you felt shame begin to creep into your bones. It wasn’t fair, to be lesser-than. But weren’t others lesser-than you in your own District, where you ate better food and never worried that your name would get picked, that your blood would be spilled?

Everyone 

But when Snow turned to you, he smiled. It gave him dimples. 

It was the first kind smile anyone in the Capitol gave you. 

“My name is Coriolanus Snow. I doubt you’ve heard of me, but if Dr. Gaul’s teachings have anything to say about it, perhaps one day you’ll know me as a Gamemaker.” 

You didn’t know what to say. Congratulations, one day you’ll be coordinating Games that kill people? Instead,  you gave your name, voice squeakier than you meant it. But it was fitting, you supposed. Here, you were a mouse, hoping you would get a bite of cheese and make it home unpoisoned. 

Dr. Gaul’s face seemed to react slowly, as if she couldn’t decide what she thought about his words or your interaction, but a small smile grew on it, eventually. “I do have high hopes for you, Mr. Snow. Now, shall we?”

She gestured for your father to follow, face once again impassive with a sprinkle of disdain, as she led the two of them into her office.

Snow gave you a smile and a nod before he left.

You waved, stupidly.

Your father didn’t even look back.

--

I’m dead. I’m dead. I might as well be dead.

Your heartbeat kept time with your racing thoughts as you went up and down corridors, begging your shoes to be silent, wishing your breath would catch and stop coming out in terrible pants.

You were lost. You weren’t where you were supposed to be. If someone found you, if the wrong person found you, they would think you were running, trying to get lost in the Capitol; they’d think  you were a rebel. They’d shoot you.

Just when you thought you might collapse and die from your own nervous exhaustion, you heard the most wonderful sound in the world.

Your name.

It was only the moment after that you realized it didn’t come from your father’s mouth, but the lips of--what his name--Coriolanus Snow. The young man who was a Gamemaker-in-training, or so your father said. But that’s all he would say. He kept tight about anything that went on behind closed doors. 

But this Coriolanus Snow smiled at you, and didn’t look at you like you were some kind of insect he might want to pin on a board, and so when you whirled around to look at him you were smiling.

Ah--for a moment. For just a moment, you saw his muscles tense. You saw the expression on his face falter in worry. Like he thought he was about to miss a step on a staircase, and corrected himself; like he thought you were a wolf and you were only somebody’s dog, off their leash. 

But it wasn’t too surprising. You knew most people in the Capitol thought anyone from the Districts wanted to rip out their throats. 

Well, the worry was mutual. Except in your case, you were forced to walk around with the living proof of that worry--all those “Avoxes,” they called them. Without tongues, without freedom. 

But you swallow all that. Because he smiled at you. Because maybe it wouldn’t hurt to make a friend. Especially right now.

“I’m--I’m lost,” you tell him, giving a shaky smile. “I was waiting for my father, but you see, I got to thinking, and I started to wander around and now I’m… well. I don’t know where I am, actually.”

His smile wasn’t very deep, was it? It was like the gloss of paint on the outside of the Capitol buildings. Pretty to look at, but there must be more underneath.

You expected him to lead you right back to where you’re supposed to be.

Instead, he asked you something.

“What were you thinking about?

You couldn’t tell him. Could you? But something about 

“About… the Games.”

You don’t tell him that you were thinking about Lucy Gray and all those snakes, and the way that Dr. Gaul’s outfit that first day made you think of them. Because your father had slapped you across the face when you got back to your lodgings that night, and told you to never, ever bring up Lucy Gray Baird or the 10th Games unless you were directly asked. And you would probably never be asked. 

Coriolanus gave a little snort through his nose. You liked it. It was nice to know that even Capitol people could seem a little dorky.

“They aren’t for another 3 months. Are you that eager to see them?”

You didn’t know what expression you made, exactly. It was so instinctive and fast that you didn’t have time to control it. 

You only knew that it made him shake his head and offer you a sympathetic look.  

“I apologize. That was rude, wasn’t it?” 

And then he did a strange thing.

He offered you his arm. 

Like you were Capitol, like you were a real person, and not some visiting District wench walking on the coattails of her arms-dealing father. 

“Let me walk you back to the waiting area.”

And the stranger thing?

You took it.

--

You and your father were quickly moved into a small apartment within the university, once it became clear that he would be staying in the Capitol through the duration of the Games. It was best, he said, because ordinary people in the Capitol didn’t really want to see new faces from the Districts mingling around unless their tongue had been cut out first. It made them nervous. The rebel bombings, and all that.

You didn’t mind, because it meant you didn’t have to be flanked by Peacekeepers on the streets. 

And, well.

You got to see Coriolanus more often. Sometimes he greeted you, sometimes he didn’t. He did it less often when Dr. Gaul was there,  unless she was talking to your father and it gave him an opportunity.

He asked you things, too, when he caught you walking back to your father’s little apartment. Like what you did back home. What you liked to do. Whether you went to school, and what you planned to do now that you have graduated. 

This morning, he caught you drawing while you waited in a chair outside Dr. Gaul’s office. Sometimes you waited there--you would admit to no one that it was to catch a glimpse of the kindest person you’d met in the Capitol--and other times you stayed in your temporary home.

“What are you drawing?” He asked. But he had a way of speaking that you’d quickly clocked into. He can make a demand sound like a polite little question. Oh, he wasn’t mean about it, but it reminded you of the way your father talked to his underlings back in District 2. On his home turf, he was far smoother than he was here, where his voice stammered and sweat beaded on his neck.

So you handed it over, even though, to your greatest embarrassment, you’d drawn… him.

“Why me?” He had a smile on his lips. His smiles were nice. Kind. The kindest you’d seen since you came here. But they always felt like that fresh coat of paint; like you didn’t know what he really meant by them, and that was how he liked it. 

“You’re… important,” is all you could come up with. You felt small, then. He would dismiss and probably never want to talk to you again. What a stupid answer from a stupid girl. 

But he just smiled. It was like paint peeling a little.  You could see underneath that he liked what you said, although you weren’t exactly sure why. And his expression tightened up so quickly, protecting what you’d seen, that you weren’t entirely sure if it was real or not. 

“I’m just a humble student at this university. Not so important. Not yet.”

--

You were really going to die, now. This wasn’t some panicked imagination gone wrong, some flight of fancy that took a wrong turn.

A pair of stony-faced Peacekeepers had walked up to where you sat in the waiting area near Dr. Gaul’s office and ordered you to come with them.

You asked to talk to your father. They said no. You asked where you were going. They yanked you up. 

And now they were leading you down hallways that you’d never seen before, where there weren’t even Avoxes roaming the halls with brooms and dustpans. 

They didn’t even answer, just spun around and walked back the way they came. You pushed the door open reluctantly--what the hell was going to be on the other side?--and it was--it was--

It was Coriolanus. Standing there in a nice suit, eyes downcast on a book. Until the door creaked and he looked up.

“What--why did you bring me here? Did I do something wrong?” The thought went through you, that perhaps this had all been a test, to see if you were loyal to the Capitol and he’d found you wanting.

“No,” he said, simply enough. He set the book down and gestured for you to step inside. You did, because what else were you going to do, in some strange room in a Capitol University where you’d been forcibly brought by Peacekeepers.

Snow studied your face. Your eyes darted around, from him, to the room, to the door. 

“I wanted to see you,” he said, a little softer. “In private.” 

“Me?” You furrowed your eyebrows. “But… why?”

He smiled. “Come now, you’re a smart girl, even if you aren’t in university.” 

You really didn’t know. Not at first. But then you watched the way his expression softened, and you remembered it, or glimpses of it, that he’d given you before. When he complimented your drawing. When he said your name. When he escorted you back from the maze of hallways. And his smiles, all his smiles, although you were never sure how much they meant coming from home. 

He took a step closer. You didn’t dare step back. You weren’t sure if you wanted to step back, but it didn’t matter, either way.

He pressed his lips to yours and took your first kiss, in a secluded little study in the heart of the Capitol University. 

--

Your days became routine, although the routine was strictly forbidden and could have probably gotten you executed or at best, gotten you a one-way ticket to a tasteless existence.

You wake up. You stay in your apartment.  You wait for the Peacekeepers. You get summoned here and there, always private rooms, secret rooms, rooms out of the way. You meet Snow--Coriolanus, he said, call him that--and you talk (well, mostly him) and kiss and sometimes a little bit more. He gives you gifts. Trinkets, necklaces that you can only wear under your shirt. Food, flaky pastries made with mountains of sugar, sandwiches made with cream and cucumber. 

But how much longer could it go on? The Games were going to start soon. As soon as they were over, you were going back to your District. There would be no more meetings, no more kisses. No more wondering how far he wanted to go or why he liked you or even if he even liked you as anything more than someone to keep him busy. 

You didn’t dare talk about the Games, but you did talk about this. In the kindest way you knew how for such a sensitive subject. 

“I’ll miss you,” you told Coriolanus after one meeting, when you’re both sitting on a sofa and he’s got your fingers tightly wound in his. He squeezed them tight.

“Miss me?” 

“After the Games,” you clarified. “We’re being sent home right after.”

He squeezed your fingers until it hurt a little. Then he looked up at you. To see if you would say something? Or did he not know how strong he was?

“Oh, that. I can arrange for you to stay.”

Your chest began to feel sick.

“Stay? In the Capitol?” You were torn about Coriolanus, but you didn’t want to stay here. You couldn’t. 

“Yes,” he said, as if it was the simplest answer in the world. “You wouldn’t be the first person from the District granted such an extreme privilege. I’m sure I could--”

“But I don’t know if I want to stay.” 

His gaze narrowed and you felt your stomach clench. He looked at the necklace you’d pulled out as soon as the door was shut, at your lips where a dollop of strawberry cream still rested. 

“I treat you so well, and you don’t know if you want to stay with me?”

His voice was calm, and that scared you. It would have been better if he flew off the handle.

Instead, he simply stood up and gently sent you out the door, and called the Peacekeepers to bring you back to your apartment.

--

Every night for the last week, you have cried yourself to sleep. Because every day for the last week, Coriolanus Snow has not sent for you. Not even once.

What if he told someone? What if you got sent back early, and your father was shamed? What if they broke his contract? Or--worse, worse, worse. There were so many worse things than merely being sent back to District 2.

And then he sent for you, and it was the longest walk of your life, though it was no farther than any of the times you’ve been escorted to your secret meetings.

This time, when you pushed open the door, Coriolanus was not alone. 

There was an Avox in the room. 

It was someone from District 2.

You didn’t know her. Not personally. But you saw her, before. She worked in one of the munitions factories and you watched her walk to work from your classroom window sometimes. Then she stopped showing up, and you thought perhaps she got married. 

That delusion was shattered the moment you saw her, eyes downcast to the floor, wearing a simple gray tunic. 

It’s not until Coriolanus tells you to hurry up and come in that you’re able to move. Even then, you weren’t sure how your body did it; how your arms managed to gain the mobility to shut the door, to twist the lock; how your legs moved, one foot in front of the other, until you were standing stiffly in front of him.

The Avox--you wish you knew her name, but she couldn’t give it to you now, even if you asked--moved seamlessly to a table set up nearby. There was tea and sweets. The sort of thing that you and Coriolanus had been enjoying together for the past few weeks. The sort of thing that you were sure would sit sour in your stomach, now. 

The cup shook in your hands when she handed it to you, and your tears dripped right into the tea.

Coriolanus glanced at the Avox and waved his hand. She left obediently. She would never tell the secret she witnessed in his room, that much was certain.

And then he looked back at you.

“Don’t cry,” he said. Soft but firm. A command, not a coo. “You shouldn’t cry here, in the Capitol. You should be grateful to be here. You should be grateful that I’ve arranged all this for you.”

“I am,” you whispered. 

“Then show me that you are.”

And you did. 

You said what he wanted and looked to him to show you how he wanted you to act, and did just that. You didn’t argue, even to lightly banter. You kissed him and nodded along when he told you about how things would be after the Games, when he had arranged for you to stay.

All you had to do was keep him happy until the Games were over, and then you could go home. 

Bitterly, all of this made you realize just how much of your father is in you; he knew how to appease the Capitol. You could do the same with Coriolanus Snow. At least until the Games were over. Just keep him happy until the Games were done and the blood was spilled, and you would go home. 

They wouldn’t let him keep you here after the games. You were sure of that. You’d overheard some of Dr. Gaul’s assistants murmuring how glad they would be to send the District profiteers like your father home once the Games were over. And you? You’re just his useless daughter, an appendage he brought like an unwelcome suitcase. Why would you be allowed to stay?

--

The Games were over. The winner was from District 1. 

You were going home any day now. Just as soon as your father finished tinkering with the designs, gave his notes on improvements that might be made for next year.

The thought gave you a delightful bounce in your step. It was like having a pat of sweet butter in your shoe on a day when you needed good luck-- District 2 superstition, although the strict rationing meant most people didn’t have even a pat to slip into their shoes anymore.

The sweetness didn’t even disappear when the Peacekeepers showed up to bring you to Snow. It was going to be a bittersweet farewell, you were sure. He might be angry. But you would kiss him and tell him that there was nothing he could do, and how sorry you were not to be able to stay, but that was how things had to be.

Except they didn’t bring you down a maze of corridors that led to a secluded room.

They brought you right into Dr. Gaul’s office.

Breakfast threatened to evacuate your stomach with every step. Not just because of nerves, but because of what you saw. Rows of experiments in glass tubes; some of them move. You walk by a room with a half-open door that showed someone strapped to a gurney, face contorted in a silent scream as they fought against restraints. You almost did lose breakfast, then.

But somehow you made it to the desk of Dr. Gaul without a dribble of vomit to show for it.

The Peacekeepers left with no fanfare and you stood there, ramrod straight. Did she know? Was she going to tell you that you were going to be strapped to one of those gurneys, now?

“I’m keenly aware,” she said, keeping her hands primly folded, “on how much you’ve enthralled my star pupil.”

Toast. That’s what will come up first, you thought . The toast.

“I don’t know what you mean, ma’am.” Your voice was so thin and tinny that you didn’t even believe yourself.

And then the prim facade cracked, and Dr. Gaul threw her head back and grinned.

“You really think I don’t know everything that goes on within these walls?  I know every time one of my lab assistants runs into the bathroom to throw up after a particularly nasty experiment. I know every time one of our university professors sneaks into a closet to down a vial of morphling with a student. And I certainly know when my newest protege is having an adorable little District girl brought to him for… canoodling.”

You weren’t even embarrassed. No.  You just felt terrified to the bone. You only hoped that you’d be killed, shot against a wall, instead of made into an Avox. Let there be some mercy in this world. 

”He’s asked to keep you, you know.” Her voice was low, almost a drawl. She tapped her fingers on her desk rhythmically.

“My Coriolanus Snow wants a bird of his own.” Her smile turned darker. “Not a songbird, though. Oh, no. I think he’s had enough of those.”

Her gaze bored into yours, each color magnified by her intense expression. “I think if I let him have his pretty caged bird, he’ll be happy. He’s more productive if he’s happy.” She smiled. “I like productivity. It keeps the Games more interesting.”

She looked you over one more time, and then waved you away.

“I’ve granted his request. You’ll be staying here indefinitely, courtesy of one Mr. Snow. Your father has already been told.” 

You were wrong.

It was not the toast that came up first, but the sweet butter you’d patted on top.

--

You still had your tongue, but you felt as though it was useless, stuck to the roof of your mouth, as Coriolanus fussed over your outfit. Or rather, as he directed an Avox to fuss over it for you. He could afford his own personal servant, now, he told you. He’d almost flinched after he said now, and you didn’t dare press him on it. Had he not been able to afford one before?

“We can’t walk arm-in-arm in public,” he said, walking around you, making sure the outfit was just-right. “But you can stand by me if I stop and direct you forward.” He reached over and fixed one of your buttons. “Don’t speak to anyone unless I’ve told you to, or they speak to you first. Always address someone older as ‘sir,’ or ‘ma’am.” He pointed at your hair, and the Avox began to fuss with it, eventually covering it in a colorful wrap that Coriolanus said was popular right now. “Address someone our age by the last name and Mr. or Ms.”

When he was satisfied with your appearance, he sent the Avox away. You liked it better that way, it was one last reminder of the horrors in the Capitol, even for someone “privileged” like you.  You’d only been without your father for 3 days, but you felt like your nerves were continually on fire. You wanted to go home. You wanted your family. You wanted out of this place.

But that wasn’t going to happen.

For now, you were still living in the small university apartment the Capitol had given your father. Coriolanus insisted on it, until he could figure out how to move you into his own sprawling apartment that he shared with his cousin, Tigris (who, at least, genuinely sounded lovely) and his grandmother, Grandma’am. She was the sticking point, or so you were told, with a thin smile. She hated Districts, and she ought to, he said. They killed her son. His father. 

She would hate you, too. Even if Coriolanus wanted you enough to make you stay with him; wanted you enough to keep you. But for how long? And would he change his mind, if you couldn’t fit in? 

He said your name, and you snapped yourself out of your thoughts. He held you by your shoulders. Gently. Like one would an unruly child that hadn’t yet learned that there were such things as salad forks and dinner forks, as polite conversation and etiquette. 

You got the feeling you wouldn’t have long to learn all of those things and more, to make him happy.

“Remember,” he said. “You’re District. You’re here because the Capitol has recognized that your loyalty can benefit us in some way. Be grateful.”

“I am,” you said, reflectively.

“Be happy..”

“I am,” you said again, your chest hitching.

He smiled at you. Was it real or not real? 

You smiled back, regardless. And he liked that, evidently, because he leaned forward and kissed you. Then he scrutinized your face and wiped at your lips with his thumb--the kiss had smeared your lipstick. 

“Good.” 

He gestured towards the open doorway. This time, he didn’t take your arm. There would be too many people lingering in the university hallways, all making their way to the soiree held to celebrate the end of this year’s Games and discuss what improvements might be made for the next year. 

You dutifully walked behind him, just like he said. And you would do exactly what he said in all respects. You would stay quiet unless you were spoken to, you would certainly never bring up anything confrontational or controversial, and you would make a good impression. You would be a loyal, grateful District citizen who was given the opportunity of a lifetime thanks to the graciousness of Coriolanus Snow. 

Of course you would. 

Your life depended on it. 

[s0fter-sin]

the 141 recovering brainwashed!soap but he’s just a shell of his former self; never speaking, never moving without orders. he never even blinks; just stares straight ahead with his unnatural green eyes.

empty.

but ghost can't accept that.

price and gaz can't stand watching ghost torture himself day after day; visiting soap in his cell for hours at a time, trying anything he can think of to bring back his sergeant.

he shows him pictures of the 141 but soap thinks he's being given targets and moves to eliminate them before ghost stops him. he brings him his journal, tries to trigger his innermost thoughts and feelings he never shared with any of them, but after he reads it, soap summarises it like he's giving a mission briefing. impersonal.

cold.

it's late when ghost finally calls it; low and defeated after another long day of being stared at with eyes that don't see him. he isn't thinking when he pulls his mask off and harshly scrubs over his face, grinding his palm into his eye.

"don't worry, johnny; we're still fixin' each other's problems," he promises, little more than a whisper as he tries to summon the energy to leave johnny behind. again.

he pushes himself to his feet, his hand on the door handle when-

"what's my problem?"

ghost freezes, something like grief - something achingly closer to hope - chilling him. he slowly turns and though soap is still starring ahead, there's a faint light in his altered green eyes.

"the mask," he forces out. "take it off."

he knows there's no way to remove the mask - the muzzle - from his sergeant's face. it's too high-tech, even for them; the biometric scanner too advanced for any bypass they know of.

it's just another way he's failed him; bringing him home still bound in their enemy's chains.

soap- jolts; a sharp, almost painful looking flinch jerking his body.

"show my face?" and his voice has changed; no longer the monotone delivery that's haunted ghost's every waking moment.

it's smaller. uncertain. recollection of a memory half-destroyed.

"yes, johnny," he breathes.

soap moves unprompted for the first time since they found him; running his finger along the edge of the muzzle where his skin bulges from the pressure, half-visible scars hidden beneath the harsh metal.

"ugly," he murmurs.

ghost immediately shakes his head, almost stumbling back to the table; haphazardly throwing his mask on it. "quite the opposite," he insists.

it doesn't matter if he has no lower jaw left at all; johnny could never be ugly in his eyes.

agonisingly slowly, soap's eyes shift to the mask. he takes in the balaclava and hard shell skull like for all the times he's looked at it since his rescue, he never truly saw it. his lids fall in less of a blink and more stage curtains closing; slow, heavy, requiring effort and no small amount of strength to open once more

"good... to see you again..." he trails off, his hand shifting up to the top of his shaved head; nails digging unforgivingly into his scalp

"simon," ghost finishes for him; that horrid grieving hope tearing at his heart

soap's fingers flex and a drop of blood trails down his forehead, over the ridge of his nose to catch on the muzzle. "s-simon..."

his nails dig deeper, the drop falling to the table just to be followed by more and ghost aches to stop him but he's terrified to interrupt him. terrified to lose him now when he's so close to something.

soap's bloodied nails scratch down the crown of his head, following the line of his stolen mohawk until they come to rest on the back of the muzzle and ghost's heart drops.

they can’t get it off.

they can't get it off and he doesn't know how to explain that to soap; doesn't know if he can stomach watching soap pull at the monstrosity holding him captive, the inevitable bloodbath as the edges cut into his skin.

"show my face," soap repeats.

"johnny..." ghost begins weakly, reaching out to him but he doesn't know how, doesn't know if he even should-

the muzzle clatters onto the table.

the biometrics they couldn't bypass, the fingerprint they needed that they were so sure belonged to makarov.

it belonged to soap.

how cruel to torture him with freedom he didn't understand he could take; didn't even understand he could want.

just the kind of sick game makarov loves.

ghost doesn't know what's louder; his heart pounding in his ears or the long, uninhibited breath soap takes.

his eyes fall shut as he leans his head back with it, the blood still dripping down his face as he straightens through his exhale. his lower jaw is a mess of scars where he fought against the previous iterations of the muzzle, the corners of his lips cut through and cracked.

but the green in his eyes is duller; that light sparking brighter as blue struggles to break through the glow.

ghost's never seen anything so beautiful.

"good to see you again, johnny."

[paymechildsupport]

Teacher!Ryomen Sukuna x Sorcerer!Reader // Teacher!Sukuna HC's <3

(THIS IS NOT STUDENT X TEACHER, READER IS NOT A STUDENT!)

Personally, I think it’s an actual crime there isn’t more teacher!sukuna content out there. I’ve only ever seen one fan art of it, and ever since I’ve been scrounging around on my hands and knees to find more

So m’ gonna just do it myself 🙏 

-!! [AFAB + AMAB] READER (HC’s involving reader’s bodily autonomy have both a female and male vers. → brief smut drabble at the end)    [everyone's in on this one👏]

-!! Reader is a rather powerful sorcerer 

-!! CW: Slight possessiveness (mainly for the short smut at the end → overstimulation, dacryphilia, slight size kink(?), mention of double cocks for og form Sukuna)

-!! Veeeery slight nod to manga spoiler if you squint. If you don’t know it 99% certain you won’t pick up on it

-!! Sukuna being a bit of a softy for his SO

3k+ words

————

————

Awhile (around a good few centuries) ago, Ryomen Sukuna came to the conclusion that no, this was in fact not the way he wanted to live his life. He decided to put everything behind him; the bloodshed, the death, the massacres, and cannibalisms— (okay maybe that stayed the same)— all the things that essentially made his staple as the King of Curses. He’s a changed curse, he swears it. Honestly? Human food? Not that bad. Kinda worth changing his world view for 

With a changed work ethic, and a changed heart, Ryomen Sukuna made the conscious decision to become a teacher, — specifically a teacher in sorcery

—————-

Ryomen Sukuna works at Jujutsu Tech,-- the infamous King of Curses, who predominantly spends most of his days helping ungrateful brats obtain the necessary skills to kill his kind

→”No, you thick-skinned brat, you’re doing it all wrong!”

    “I’m sorry, Sukuna-sensei! I’m trying,--.. I really am! Could you maybe go over it one more time–”

             “No! You’re going to die all alone as your friends are tortured mercilessly!”

“How could you say that…” 🥺 

Following the fateful passing of Yuji Itadori’s grandpa, the poor kid awakened as a sorcerer with a rather nasty supply of cursed energy; a complete abnormality with an aura suspiciously like that of a certain Ryomen Sukuna… 

→ “The little brat is not living with me” 

“Awh, c’mon Sukuna-!! The kid’s a ticking time bomb to disaster, he needs help controlling his cursed energy, and who better to help than the amazing King of Curses himself!” 

“Shut up, Satoru Gojo.” 

“Ohoho~... looks like someone isn’t happy to become a single mother~~” 

“What-!? Single moth– fool, you yourself are a single mother” 

“...oh, yeah. Hehe… 😚”

“I hate it here…😒”  

Now, with the additional burden of personally attending to Yuji Itadori, there was only one thing keeping Ryomen Sukuna from completely imploding: 

You. His partner, his lover, his spouse, his anchor,-- the only source of light in his miserable, cursed life, – the sole person keeping him from reverting back to his old, murderous ways. 

Meeting a few years back, the ancient curse could’ve sworn the world got a dozen shades lighter the second his eyes landed on your form in the Tokyo crowd. Where everyone was actively moving away from his looming, intimidating hulk of a body, you looked at him with eyes void of the fear reflected off so many others. 

You approached him with interest, recognizing his unmistakable aura for that of the King of Curses, – and, to his utmost shock, – you proceeded to have a perfectly normal, civilized conversation with him. Never once did you look at him like you would a monster. Every time he’d get lost in those eyes of yours, never once did he find anything short of pure love and affection. It was sickeningly sweet. 

There on a mission, you introduced yourself as a fellow Jujutsu Sorcerer. 

Ryomen Sukuna could’ve sworn he’d heard your name before: rather infamous with the higher-ups, you were a well-respected sorcerer. That only aided to his immense confusion: why would a sorcerer of such high esteem and all around regard even remotely think talking to him, the King of Curses, was a good idea? 

Absolutely flabbergasted and entranced from your first encounter, Ryomen Sukuna was practically completely at your mercy. It took very little for you to simply haul him over your shoulder and take him wherever; he’d soon become akin to a lost puppy with you. 

Ryomen Sukuna is absolutely down-horrendous with his emotions. Hah, communication? Never heard of her. 

He’s never felt this deep for anyone before, and it terrifies him to no end. You terrify him to no end,-- the amount of power you have over him could be almost comical. 

At the start, he flat out avoided you altogether. Anytime he’d see you on campus he’d immediately start in the opposite direction. Anytime you’d attempt to strike up a conversation something would come up,-- he’d have to go somewhere, or the brats had gotten themselves in trouble again. And when Satoru Gojo found out about his little “crush”...  oh boy, the teasing was lethal.

It wasn’t long before he craved your touch, and Ryomen Sukuna started to enter withdrawal from your presence. You were brutal, the poison continuously being pumped into his veins, – which was extra ironic, considering he was after all the King of Poisons, – how the actual hell did he end up in such a position? What have you done to him? 

Man, he was cooked. 

With a lot of time, and a heck of a lot of patience, did the curse finally allow himself to reveal more of himself to you. 

It’s never been easy, – even after you two were married did Ryomen Sukuna still suck absolute ass at communicating his wants. 

He craved your attention, your gaze, your approval. You were the drug that he simply couldn’t get enough of. 

He’s not good with words, – in the past everything was just handed to him, – he had no clue how to actually work for someone’s affection. 

Please be patient with him, – he’s trying, he really is 🥺. No matter how much he denies it, no matter how much he complains he hates being dependent on someone, no matter how much he claims how meaningless love is, you both know deep down these feelings of deep admiration and affection aren’t one sided. Sometimes, that fact alone can get you through even his most frustrating of times. He pushes you away because he feels guilty, but almost immediately does he regret his actions and desire your presence more than anything. The things you do to him 

He lost his original form centuries ago, abandoning it after his near fatal confrontation with the sorcerers of the Heian Era. Gravely wounded, he absolved to staying hidden, laying low in the shadows. Sometimes he wished he still had that form, – still had his four arms, his two faces– he felt stronger, prettier in that body. Despite how much you told him how beautiful his current, two-armed form was, he wonders if you would’ve liked his original form– what it could do, how it could please your body. (But most of all he missed his two massive cocks to shove deep inside you–)

Ryomen Sukuna is very insecure about his image as the feared “King of Curses”. He’d be seen as weak, like he’d gone soft, – if anyone found out about you. That did little to deter you from showering him with your affections though <3 Even if he struggled to receive such affections–:

“What the actual hell do you think you’re doing–” 

“What? Am I not allowed to visit my darling husband at his job?” 

“No- ..! Who exactly do you think you are, you can’t just waltz into wherever to embarrass me–” You were in an empty classroom in what would be the normal time for lunch. The students would be out eating, so it was only you and him.

“Is that really all you think I do? Embarrass you?” You fought to conceal the pained expression threatening to bubble up to the surface. 

“Yes! Do you know what they’ll think of me if they see me with you? He snaps angrily

“Are you.. Ashamed of me?” You blink 

“What-? No, of course not” His face contorts into a scowl 

“Then why can’t people see me with you?!” 

“That’s not what I meant–” He hisses 

“Yeah?” you retort, “then, what did you mean by that?” 

“I–....”  Ryomen Sukuna only ever seems to find himself short of words with you

Nodding curtly, “I’ll take my leave then” you make your way to the door 

“Wait-” you pause, he hated seeing you upset. It made him feel hopeless, it made him feel weak. “tsk, nevermind. Leave then” 

Huffing, you step out the door. Your second foot never even leaves the threshold before you’re lifted up by a pair of strong arms. 

“Gah-! Ryomen– what the hell?!” 

“Shut up.” the curse growls, placing you down on the nearest desk with a surprising gentleness, “just shut up.” He nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck

You smile, accustomed to his brazenness, knowing this was him succumbing to his own affections for you.

“I’ll be quieter next time.” 

“Mmm… don’t be”

“Oh?” you quirk an eyebrow, “are you no longer embarrassed of being seen with me?” 

“No,” he grumbles, “if any pathetic worm dares to utter something against me, I’ll cleave their head off” 

Chuckling, “charming”

“I’ll do it for you too” that part he whispers, so low you almost miss it. Almost. 

“Awh, you’d slaughter anyone putting dirt on my name? And they say romance is dead 🥰” 

“Shut the hell up.” 

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

Sukuna Ryomen would have a special ringer set for you in his phone so whenever you’d text him he’d know it was you 

He never responds to anyone’s texts,-- anyone’s that’s not yours. 

The second he hears that notification that man is immediately scrolling. It took him years to figure out how to work a telephone,-- and he still kinda sucks at it. So it takes him a while to respond, – he’s just a slow typer :) 

He’ll be in the middle of sparring with Yuji for his training when he’ll hear your notification and swiftly whip out his phone, – still in the middle of fighting. Poor Yuji will still be sweating his ass off trying his very diddly darn hardest to land a singular punch and he won't even glance up from his phone 😭

It doesn’t matter what he’s doing, – the guy could be in the middle of fighting a Special Grade and he’d start texting you about what he wants for dinner while simultaneously throwing slashes 😟

Not big on PDA, – but alone? Man, you can’t get the bastard off you, – blud’s clingier than a kitten 😭he just really likes being nice and snuggled up in your arms 

Alone, will often call you, – regardless of gender, – doll, (whore), sweetheart (if you’re not being a pain in the ass), – possessive lil’ shit and likes to add ‘my’ in front of any pet name, just to enforce the fact that you’re his. 

Calls you karasu –(Japanese word for raven) 

Sukuna Ryomen is incredibly picky with what he eats, (unless it’s your ass–)     – he needs his meals done in a very specific way, otherwise he’s just not eating. It needs to be your meals too. If bro forgets to bring lunch or you don’t have time to make one for him he just starves. He’s an absolute menace when hangry– super grumpy. None of the students can stand him hungry, – and he refuses to defile his delicate palette with fast food of all horrible things

You got some of those cute cookie cutters for sandwiches and gave him little star sandwiches one day for his lunch. Mans was over the fucking moon. His ass refuses to ever eat another sandwich again unless its cut into cute lil’ shapes 🤏🥺

Be careful if you ever decide to visit him at work after a certain amount of times, cuz he will make you useful: using you as a sparring partner, giving you chores, making an example out of you to the other students. 

You’re strong enough to hold your own against the King of Curses in a quick spar, – which really only means you won’t get immediately eviscerated upon throwing hands. 

You’re strong, but nowhere near as strong as Ryomen Sukuna. 

He’d only give you a cocky smirk, telling you to hurry up and lock in. You stare at the expecting faces of Megumi, Nobara and Yuji – who you naturally have grown a rather close bond to, being around each other so often. He gives you a reassuring thumbs up, smiling with an expectant glamor. You gulp, glancing back at your husband who has the most shit-eating grin on his face. Oh, you were cooked. 

You manage to successfully dodge at least two strong attacks before being thrown onto your ass, the wind knocked out of you. Huffing, you scramble up, irritation giving you newfound determination. The King only raises an eyebrow at you. 

You explode into a sprint, dashing up behind him, seemingly catching him off-guard. You lean in real close to his ear, whispering in a sultry tone: 

“Your shoelace is untied” 

“What, I’m not even wearing shoelaces–” and he gets thrown into the nearest tree, snapping it in half. 

“Hahah!!” 

“No way, Sukuna just got his ass handed to him!” Nobara exclaims, grinning

“That was so cool!” gushes Yuji, sending a wave of pride flowing through you at his excitement. 

It is short lived, as your husband comes up behind you, glaring with a burning passion in his eyes. 

“You totally beat him up, you sent him flying–” Megumi slaps a hand to Yuji’s mouth, his rambling getting choked off with a “mmph-!” 

His smile is laced with dynamite as Sukuna dismisses the students early. Confused, but mostly relieved, the trio scurry away, Nobara and Yuji shouting cheery goodbyes over their shoulders. 

Only you were close enough to see the raging lust in the King of Curse’s many eyes. His gaze rakes over your body, tensed in a fight or flight state, predatory. You swallow, hard, chuckling nervously, “Heheheh…”  

Oh man, you were so horribly, undoubtedly cooked. 

(short smut begins below line)

----------

[AFAB vers.]

Sukuna is brutal, hips smashing against yours, large hands gripping so hard large bruises start to form on your hips. You cry out, sobbing, pleading with him to slow the fuck down. Sukuna only clicks his tongue, condescension dripping from his tone, 

“Where’s all that confidence and strength from before, eh?” 

“h..*hic*..huh-?” 

“Tsk,” he grunts, slamming himself particularly hard into your leaking heat, causing you to scream in both pleasure and pain

“S..sukuna-!! P- *hic* please..-! I-..I can’t— I can’t– OHH~” You keel over, knees giving in from underneath you. You stay pressed firmly against the teacher’s desk– his desk–  in his empty classroom, – only being held by Sukuna’s deadly grip. “I-It *hic*.. It– HURTS..- *hic*” 

“You can,...  and. you. will.”  he punctuates each syllable with another unforgivable thrust, “You seemed confident enough you.. *pant* take me in a..- *pant* .. in a fight– fuck–” Warm cum swells, coating your insides white. 

Your eyes roll violently to the back of your head, thighs squeezing desperately against him, instinctively trying to milk him for all he’s got, – despite the excess cum already spilling from your abused hole, kept in only by Sukuna’s massive cock. Was this the fourth or the fifth time..? 

You lost count ages ago, numbers losing all sense of value along with everything else in your head, Sukuna absolutely fucking your goddamn brains out. Dumbed by his cock, you could only limply gaze dreamily through lidded eyes, a look of pure bliss on your face. 

Sukuna grins down at your fucked out face, admiring you as his masterpiece. You looked so pretty impaled on his cock. Pulling your head back by your hair, he smashes his lips onto yours in a sloppy kiss. You truly were the best thing to come of his long, cursed life. 

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

[AMAB vers.]

Sukuna is cruel, hips smashing against your ass, large hands gripping so hard large bruises start to form on your hips. He fucks you, bent over the desk, – his desk, in his empty classroom,-- and shaking like a pathetic mutt. You cry out, sobbing, pleading with him to slow the fuck down. Sukuna only clicks his tongue, condescension dripping from his tone, 

“Where’s all that confidence and strength from before, eh?” 

“h..*hic*..huh-?” 

“Tsk,” he grunts, large hand closing around your swollen, throbbing cock. Your eyes widen in horror as he begins to jerk you off at a grueling pace, causing you to scream in both pleasure and pain

“S..sukuna-!! P- *hic* please..-! I-..I can’t— I can’t– OHH~” You keel over, knees giving in from underneath you. You stay pressed firmly against the desk only held by Sukuna’s torso. “I-It *hic*.. It– HURTS..- *hic*” 

“You can,...  and. you. will.”  He punctuates each syllable with another unforgivable thrust, syncing with a violent pump to your cock, limpand emptied out. “You seemed confident enough you.. *pant* take me in a..- *pant* .. in a fight– fuck–” Warm cum swells, coating your insides white. 

Your eyes roll violently to the back of your head, thighs squeezing desperately against him, instinctively trying to milk him for all he’s got, – despite the excess cum already spilling from your abused hole, kept in only by Sukuna’s massive cock. You're so drained, already milked dry, a few meager squirts of cum dripping from your cock. Was this the fourth or the fifth time..? 

You lost count ages ago, numbers losing all sense of value along with everything else in your head, Sukuna absolutely fucking your goddamn brains out. Dumbed by his cock, you could only limply gaze dreamily through lidded eyes, the look of utter worship on your face enough for him to harden once again inside of you. 

Sukuna grins down at your fucked out face, admiring you as his masterpiece. You looked so pretty impaled on his cock. Pulling your head back by your hair, he smashes his lips onto yours in a sloppy kiss. You truly were the best thing to come of his tedious, damned life. 

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

Sukuna brain-rot goes hard-!! He's such a goofy lil' guy, I love him :3

[taleeater]

Fragile Part 6

😈😈😈

(This chapter got too long- I had to cut it short,,,, :]]] Enjoy!)

Generation: Bayverse TMNT

Tmnt x Reader Fanfic

Pronouns: Gender Neutral (except ‘dudette’, 'miss', and ‘princess’)

Warnings: injury, blood, electrocution, graphic depictions of torture, not proof read

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

Today you were spending time with Donnie while he worked in front of his monitors. You liked it there much better than in his lab. He had a map of the city up with little marks indicating spots where the Foot had been spotted. But that wasn’t what he was working on right now.

No, you and Donnie were doing much more important things at the moment.

Like playing the new update in Stardew Valley.

“Fishing mods are cheating.” 

You gawked at him in mock offense. “But you can’t pause in a multiplayer farm, there’s no time to play the fishing mini game!!”

“That’s why it’s more of a challenge!” He stuck his tongue out while he clicked his mouse rapidly to fight off a slime in the mines.

You pouted, adjusting the laptop in your lap. “I don’t need my cozy farming sim to be challenging…” 

Donnie did not miss the cute grin that graced your face after, his heart fluttering in his chest. 

These past few days you found yourself smiling more and more easily. Whether it was Mikey getting covered in flour while you baked cookies together, or Raph teaching you how to purl stitch, or Leo showing you how to wield a sword. You were enjoying spending more personal time with the turtles as you got to know them better.

Your toes curled where you were perched in the chair beside Donnie, glancing up at the map again. Your eyes always drawn to the blinking red dot marking the location of the lab you escaped only weeks before. The police had raided it and found it empty, which only increased your unease as to where Dr Stockman might be hiding. It already felt like a lifetime ago, that night when the turtles first found you. 

You owed them your life.

“Hey (y/n), you almost ready for afternoon training?” Leo came over, snapping you out of your thoughts. Leo leaned against the back on Donnie’s chair, earning a dismissive swat from his younger brother.

“We’ll stop after we finish up this day, Leo.” Donnie said not even taking his eyes off the screen. You giggled and got back to fishing on the beach.

You were two hours into your training session with Leo. 

“Okay, good. Now when you kick, focus on your balance. Stay firmly planted and your leg should have more power.” Leo coached you. 

Master Splinter was supervising while sipping his tea. It had barely been 5 days since your mutant abilities had manifested. But you were already making astounding progress in unlocking its potential. Leonardo had played a big part in the process, being the one who had helped you work through your fears of using your mutant reflexes, so the abilities came more easily to you when training. He trained with you every day, while Master Splinter provided guidance. Everyone was doing their best to support you through all the changes.

Casey suddenly jogged in through the entrance of the lair. 

“Guys! Just got word, the Foot are planning to rob a warehouse full of high tech weapons tonight. We gotta go intercept it.” He said waving around his cellphone.

“What? Where? Their communication frequency has been quiet since they moved those chemicals to the old Sacks building!” Donnie spun around in his chair to face Casey, you and Leo walking into the living room with Raph and Mikey close behind.

“Queens. Our contact in the Foot Clan leaked the info to us just half an hour ago.”

“Huh, that’s strange. That’s all the way on the other side of town. Aside from Sacks Tower, they’ve only really been active around the East Village and ChinaTown this past week. Maybe they changed their frequency again to throw us off track.” Donnie was quickly typing up info on his keyboard. 

“Well, regardless, we better go check it out.” Leo sighed. He wanted to keep training with you, but it would have to wait.

“Heck yeah! I’m bringin’ the steak-out snacks. Who wants Doritos?” Mikey grabbed his ratty old Jansport backpack and started shoving cans of Orange Crush into it. 

“(Y/n), you stay here and keep an eye on Donnie’s computer. The Foot might try to communicate about their raid tonight. Donnie’s program will intercept it. April will be here in about an hour, so just tell her if anything suspicious comes up.” Leo asked you.

“Right!” You said standing to attention and giving a military salute with a silly little grin on your face. 

It made Leo’s heart melt in his chest and his expression turned soft. 

“Just, stay safe, okay?” He patted you on the head then headed for the exit. 

As the rest of the boys filed out of the lair, they each stopped by you. Mikey getting a high five, you quickly cleaned Donnie’s glasses for him, and Raph, always last, ducked down for a quick hug when his brothers weren’t looking. Casey rushed ahead of them.

Master Splinter waved goodbye to his sons next to you. Once the boys had left, he informed you he was going to go meditate, and to come find him if you needed anything.

About 45 minutes later, you were casually watching YouTube videos on Donnie’s computer when a flashing red light appeared on the screen. It was indicating that Donnie’s program was intercepting a message from the Foot’s closed communication server. A message popped up on the screen, and you gasped.

“We have captured the turtles. Continue with the plan.” 

Then a video feed loaded up on the main screen. 

Your blood ran cold.

It looked like the feed from a security camera, depicting Leo, Mikey, and Donnie all locked in glass cages, restrained with thin tubes of red connected to their arms. They looked weak, they looked bad.

“What….? No… No, not this… please no…!”

Where was Raphael? He was nowhere to be seen. How did they get captured so fast…? They had barely been gone an hour!

Your mind was racing. You recognized those machines. Dr Stockman used them to take blood samples from Bebop and Rocksteady. If that was the case, there was no time to lose.

You made up your mind.

You snuck past the dojo and muttered a quick apology to Master Splinter. You knew Master Splinter wouldn’t let you go, so you kept quiet. Then you grabbed the handheld GPS device Donnie left on his work table. You entered the location on the map where the message was sent from. 

The old Sacks Tower. 

Time to move.

April arrived at the lair much later than expected. She and Casey had just finished speaking to the commissioner about police activities being leaked to the Foot. When they entered the living room, they were confused to only see Master Splinter waiting for them. The old rat was pacing and anxiously stroking his beard. 

“Splinter? Where’s (y/n)?” April asked, confused.

Splinter shook his head. 

“You don’t know where they are?” April became concerned, walking further into the lair. 

“It appears, that our greatest fears have been realized.” His expression deeply troubled. Before April could ask, she noticed what Splinter was looking at. 

Playing in a loop on Donatello’s monitor was old CCTV footage from when the turtles had been captured 10 years ago by Shredder and Mr Sacks. April breathed a sigh of relief, immediately recognizing the scene.

“Splinter, the turtles are safe. I spoke to Leo on the phone only 10 minutes ago. They’re staking out a warehouse in Queens. This is old footage.” 

Splinter’s eyes widened and looked back to the screen. His expression turned contemplative. 

“If that is so, then perhaps Miss (y/n) has made the same mistake.” He spoke gravely.

April had a look of shock. She quickly pulled out her phone and speed dialed Leo’s number.

Leo thankfully answered quickly. “Hey April, anything new?”

“Leo, is (y/n) with you?”

Leo paused a long moment and sent a look over to his brothers, getting their attention. “No…. Aren’t they at the lair?” All of his brother's eyes were suddenly on him. Leo turned the phone on speaker.

“No!! They’re gone. And there’s a video playing on Donnie’s computer. It’s a recording of you Mikey and Donnie locked up at Sacks’ estate from over 10 years ago… I think this is what (y/n) saw before they left.”

“They left?” Leo felt his heart drop into his stomach. “To go where, Sacks’ estate?” His brothers immediately started packing up their stakeout equipment to leave. 

“No I don’t think so, the sender’s location was tracked, it’s still on the screen. It says it was sent from Sack Tower in Times Square.”

Donnie came over and joined in the call, typing furiously at the keyboard on his wrist. “Sacks Tower. That’s where they were spotted smuggling those stolen chemicals into the other day…! From my notifications, it appears that the message was sent through an older Foot Clan communication frequency approximately 43 minutes ago.”

“Donnie, how long will it take (y/n) to get to Sacks Tower.”

“From my calculations, if (y/n) left the lair heading to the Sacks building about 40 minutes ago, going by subway, they should arrive in about uhhh, approximately 8 minutes.”

“And how long will it take us to get there.” Raph asked.

“From where we are now, if we manage to hitch a ride on the next nonstop train to Times Square…… about 1 and a half hours.”

“Shit!” 

Raph cursed loudly and turned away frustrated, and Mikey put his hands on his head. Donnie was typing away at the keypad on his arm, trying to find any kind of faster route and muttering about how stupid he was for not making you a shellcell.

“We don’t have a minute to waste. Let’s move out.”

That’s all they needed to hear. Everyone sprung into action and booked it for the closest subway station manhole cover.

“April, we are headed to Sacks Tower as fast as we can. And get ahold of the police commissioner again. Whoever gave us the information to come to this warehouse tonight was intentionally planted with misinformation. There was no sign of the Foot at the warehouse. …..It was most likely a diversion.”

“Right. I’ll get back to you soon.”

Leo hung up the phone and jumped off the apartment building and dove down towards the street’s manhole cover.

Leo grit his teeth.

“Hold on (y/n).”

The halls of the building were eerily empty. This place made your skin crawl. The laboratory felt all too similar to the one you had been trapped in before. But this one had clearly been abandoned for a long time. Broken glass, graffiti, turned over chairs, scattered paper. But strangely the power was still on. You didn’t dare try to use the elevator in fear of giving away your position. But you were confused as to why you had yet to see any guards. This is where the message was sent from, the turtles had to be here, right?

You climbed the steps to another floor, but paused as you creaked open the door exiting the stairwell. This floor felt like a world apart from the previous ones. It was clean.

And the lights were on.

You kept low, and hyper vigilant. Steadying your breathing like Leo had taught you, you crept into the sterile white hallway. There were glass windows along the hall looking into different labs. One held chemistry equipment, another held big bulky medical equipment that clicked and beeped. Finally, the last room at the end of the hall, a room with no windows. You had a sinking feeling in your gut, but still you crept towards the door. Slowly and quietly you pulled open the heavy door, and revealed a large lit room with a high ceiling, and there you saw it.

“Guys….!”

There along the back wall were 4 glass boxes with 3 of the turtles strung up and being drained of blood. You had found them! Seeing no one else in the room, you rushed in. 

“I’m going to get you out of here, just you wait!” You went to the first machine in front of Donnie and reached out to touch the screen-

Your hand passed right through.

“What…?” You tried to touch it again but there was nothing there.

The hologram distorted, and then the turtles disappeared. You gasped.

It was a trap.

You turned around to book it towards the exit, but the door was opening again. Bebop and Rocksteady squeezed through the small door one at a time, and blocked your exit. Then over an intercom you heard the familiar laugh that sent a shiver down your spine.

Stockman chuckled darkly. “Just how I planned it! Like catching a fly with honey. So predictable!”

You backed up slowly as Bebop and Rocksteady approached you. 

“Did you miss us, little kitty?” Rocksteady sneered.

The intercom buzzed as Stockman spoke again. “Bebop, Rocksteady, keep them occupied until I arrive. I will be there momentarily. And let’s not have a repeat of last time, please!” There was a clicking sound and the intercom went quiet.

Bebop chuckled. “Hell yeah! It’s been so long since we last played! Let’s make the most of it.” 

“That’s right! And we gotta pay you back for all the trouble you caused us! We missed you so much after you left. You wanna go first Beebs?”

“My man!” Bebop smiled at Rocksteady and clasped his hand, they both laughed. 

You tried your best to steady your breathing like Leo taught you. Your hands were trembling. But you needed a way out. Bebop and Rocksteady were not fast, if you timed it right, maybe you can get past them to the door.

Bebop approached you. You stayed still and waited. Then when he got close enough, you ran right towards him, surprising Bebop. He reached out to grab you but you slid right between his legs, then jumped up behind him and tried to run past Rocksteady before he could react. He was still too close to you and managed to grab you from behind, but you were ready for him. Just like in training, you reached up and grabbed him around his neck, and taking a deep breath, you threw all your strength forward and down and managed to flip Rocksteady onto his back- stunning him. You quickly jumped over him and ran for the door, slamming into it fast and wretched the handle to pull it open. 

Locked. (Warning for graphic depictions of torture ahead.)

“No…!” You felt a bruising grip close around your arm, and you were torn away from the door. “NO!!” You cried out as you were thrown hard onto the floor between the two oversized mutants. 

“See? Now that’s your problem. You gotta go makin’ our job harder than it needs to be!” Bebop complained. 

Rocksteady was picking himself back up, rubbing the back of his head tenderly. “Don’t let them get to ya Beebs, we’ll sort them out quick before Stockman gets here.” Bebop then reached into his pocket and pulled out an all too familiar black taser. 

Rocksteady took the taser and chuckled. “Little kitty needs a check-up!” 

You tried to get up and run, but Rocksteady stomped down hard on your left arm. There was a sickening snap and you screamed, writhing in pain. You were pinned. 

“Tsk, tsk. You know what happens when kitty gets naughty!” The taser was flicked on, all you could do was close your eyes before a strong surge of electricity was shot into your ribcage and throughout your body. You convulsed as the shocks seized you, your shoulder getting dislocated from the spasms, then collapsed back on the floor. 

“Just like good ol’ times!” Rocksteady passed the taser to Bebop.

Rocksteady laughed and removed his foot from your arm, then Bebop tased you in the ribs again. You yelped and rolled onto your stomach, tucking your very broken arm underneath you and tried to crawl away. 

“Hey, where ya goin? We’re just getting STARTED!” Rocksteady punctuated his sentence by kicking you in the stomach hard enough to throw you across the room. You hit the ground and your body rolled another few feet until you stopped on your side and curled in on yourself, the air knocked out of your lungs.

Bebop took his time strolling over to you, and grabbed you by the hair to lift you up. You coughed and gasped for air, grabbing at his hand and tried to pry his fingers off of his grip. 

“Think you can just up and leave whenever you want, do ya?” He growled in your ear, then dropped you down haphazardly to the floor. You were on your knees, buckled forward and holding your left shoulder, when suddenly Bebop’s foot stomped down on your right ankle and you heard a loud crunch. 

You shrieked. 

Exhausted and riddled with unbearable pain, you crippled to the floor. It took everything you had just to pull breath. 

“Alright, I’m back! How is our lovely patient doing?” Came the cheerful sing-song voice of Dr Stockman entering the room through the locked door, Karai tailing behind him. 

“Hey boss! Uhhh, we were just warming them up for ya! See? They can’t run away no more.” Bebop nudged your side with his foot, knocking you onto your side so Stockman could see the pain riddled on your face. You were barely conscious by this point. 

“Excellent! Bring them to me.” Stockman ordered.

Bebop picked you up by your good arm and carried you over to where Dr Stockman was walking to in the back of the room. Karai stepped in Bebop’s way for a moment, taking in your beaten appearance, and back-handed your face hard for good measure, leaving a shiny bruise and angry red gash across your cheek. That woke you up a bit. 

Just enough to retaliate.

You took a deep breath and tore your arm out of Bebop’s grasp and punched Karai in the stomach, hard enough to throw her into a large display screen next to where Stockman was standing. Stockman squawked in surprise. She rolled onto the floor, and pushed herself up onto her side. Spitting a bit of blood onto the ground and wiping away at her lip. 

You tried to stand on your good leg but you were too weak and collapsed back to the floor. Bebop and Rocksteady grabbed you by each of your arms and brought you in front of Stockman.

He was looking at you in awe, and reached out tentatively to swipe at the blood on your cheek. He rushed over to his desk, jumping a bit in excitement. He put a drop of your blood onto a slide, and observed it under his microscope.

“Ha…! HA HA…! YES!!” Stockman shouted in excitement and did a little dance. Bebop and Rocksteady exchanged a confused look and Karai stood up and walked over to Stockman, eyeing you angrily and rolling her shoulder.

“What does this mean?” She questioned him. 

“It means that the mutation was a SUCCESS!!! Those stupid turtles must have triggered it somehow. And now we can finally proceed with the plan!!!” He grabbed something off his desk and skipped over to the stairs leading up to the circular titanium base in the middle of the room. “Bring them here!!” He called over, waving his hand to Bebop and Rocksteady.

They dragged you over to Stockman, and were deposited on the round podium that sat under a large glass tube. Stockman started to pull down long rubber tubes from above, and attached large thick needles to the ends. You tried once again to crawl away with your good arm, as Bebop and Rocksteady retreated. 

But Stockman approached you from behind. In a quick jab, he stabbed the two needled tubes deep into your back. You grunted and groaned in pain, but could do nothing, collapsing on the podium. Beaten, bruised, and bleeding.

When Dr Stockman was finished, he descended the stairs and rushed over to his computer, giggling excitedly he typed in a command and the glass tube descended over you until it clicked into place at the sturdy titanium base. Locking you inside.

“They’ll be placed in suspended animation. Once the tank is completely filled with the preservation fluid, they’ll become nothing more than a convenient blood bag, supplying an endless supply of mutagen for our mutant army.” Stockman rubbed his hands together evilly.

“And what about the turtles?” Karai asked. 

“It is already too late for them to stop us. Even if they manage to get through your guards, they will be unable to free them from this tank. Once I start the filtration process, I will delete the programmed command to empty or release the containment cylinder. They won’t be able to free them without my help!” Stockman typed away quickly at his computer. 

One of the tubes connected to your back began to pull blood from your body, leading up through a small opening in the top of the cylinder then down into a canister at the base. Then from the second tube, a white milky substance full of liquid nutrients began to filter through and down into your body. It did nothing to numb the pain you felt as you laid there in a state of half consciousness. 

Suddenly, the loud banging of gunshots could be heard somewhere outside the door. 

“We’re not ready yet! Hold them back!” Stockman ordered Bebop and Rocksteady, who positioned themselves between Stockman and the door. 

The door suddenly blew wide open, and the four turtles rushed into the room, angry and weapons at the ready.

“Where’s (y/n).”

Part 7

@itsberrydreemurstuff @thecreat0r64 @eli-chris @kurlyfrasier @autisticnutcase @drenix004 @donniesgirlie @cherryp-op @foggyturtleknightangel @blackrockshooter780 @l-n-g-t @peachesdabunny @silverwatergalaxy @willy-the-witch @caeliasaida @veri-varily @xnorthstar3x 

If anyone else wants to be tagged for the next update, let me know in the comments! :]

[drafthorsemath]

Waking Up and Coming Home

A/N: I wanted to explore what might happen if CX-2 really was Tech, what it's like when he wakes up after being impaled, how he survives, and what it might be like for him to get home and find his own happiness. Includes TechPhee and a reason Omega keeps Tech's goggles.

Warnings: Tech wakes up and realizes he has cybernetic implants, drug withdraw, nausea, being impaled, PTSD, cybernetic surgery, Tech finds Crosshair's hand

Word Count: 5.568k

Tech took a sharp breath. He was vertically pinned to something. He tried breathing through the mask, but something was different. The usual smell and taste that accompanied the mask was gone although it was still on. The fog that plagued him was lifting. He instinctively reached down and found an electrospear just below his sternum, only he felt no pain. He blinked several times and removed the helmet. He had no memory of being given this armor. There was no blood and the electrospear was out of power. He felt a series of wires and tubes around the spear and absent-mindedly kept looking around for someone. All he saw were other bodies of those in armor similar to his own and some regs in what he could only assume was prison garb. One of the tubes in his abdomen appeared to be leaking. Was that oil? It didn’t smell or look like blood. He didn’t have time to think about it. Instead, he grabbed the spear and pulled as hard as he could. It was no good. He decided to observe and allow himself to wake up further from his trance. Was he really going to die hanging in the middle of… this was Tantiss wasn’t it? He remembered fighting someone. He remembered flying a ship. He remembered trying to fight his own mind, but he was so far away from his actions. His mind was still not completely his own, but he noticed the gas around the CX chambers had dissipated. Those prisons. That disgusting concoction. Tears came to his eyes as he shook. His breath caught in his throat when he remembered the smirk on Hemlock’s face as he described how Crosshair suffered. Hemlock had perfected his methods since that failure and Tech worried his brother had perished. It didn’t help that he was still stuck in place. Trapped. Just as he had been when he woke up in the containment chamber with a series of cybernetic implants. Arrogant as always, Hemlock enjoyed explaining how this chamber would shape his mind and how it was an advanced form of the same technology that was used to enhance Crosshair’s chip on that fateful day on Kamino.

Tech took another breath and tried moving. He felt a piece of metal on the floor just high enough he could pull it closer with his foot. He tried using that for a little leverage since his own weight made it harder to remove the metal rod stuck in his torso. As he wiggled around, pulled on the spear, and took some deep breaths, the object dislodged from its location behind him and he was able to carefully remove himself and it. He took more deep breaths and looked around. He checked on the other clones whose bodies lay around the room. CX or prisoner, it didn’t matter. They’d all been prisoners. Each time he felt for a pulse and found none he lost a little more hope. He was the only one alive. How long had he been alone in this room? Judging by the condition of the bodies, it hadn’t been too long. Rigor mortis hadn’t set in yet, so less than eight hours.

He sat down briefly and reminded himself to continue to breathe. He kept trying to tell himself that the air was safe now. He had resisted inhaling Hemlock’s toxins, but when constrained, there was no choice. Now, Tech’s mind hadn’t been this clear since Plan 99. Not only did each CX chamber include a gaseous drug the clones continually inhaled, but Hemlock ensured they received a steady dose of the same electric torture that started the process. Tech tugged at the hole the spear created in his armor and looked at his cybernetic abdomen. Tubes that allowed for blood flow were thankfully working. There was a contraption that served as a diaphragm. He hypothesized that it seized up when the electrospear hit him, but started working again not long after, spurred on by his living body’s own neurons. Other tubes seemed to be used for digestion, but those were empty and at least one appeared torn. He reached for the comm badge on his arm near his shoulder, but it was gone. Why did he think there was a comm badge there? Tech didn’t have that. The CX did. He started putting more pieces together. Hemlock had taken it. Tears came to his eyes again when he realized that he helped bring Omega in. It must have been him. He remembered glimpses, but that was all.

He wandered around the room and picked up a blaster in case he wasn’t alone in the facility. Although it was so quiet he could only hear some hounds howling outside, he didn’t want to take chances. As he made his way through the room and wider facility, he found a hand on the floor. Oh no. He knew that hand and its armor. Crosshair. He dared not touch it. At this point even if Crosshair was there, reattaching the hand wouldn’t work after this amount of time. Had he done that? He searched for the bodies of any of his siblings, but they were nowhere to be found and he felt a little relief even though he wasn’t sure where they were.

Tears came to his eyes as he suddenly thought about the CX chambers. What it meant to be a CX. How they weren’t sent out for long, or the conditioning would surely wear off. Their masks had a small supply of the chemical, but it wouldn’t last forever. It drove each man forward when they were released. It kept him obedient.

He wandered the halls some more before returning to the spot where he woke up earlier and examined the inner workings of his discarded helmet now that his mind was a bit clearer. There was some trapped gas in a small chamber, but it appeared the wiring meant to steadily release the toxin had short-circuited. Tech gasped at the revelation and gingerly held the helmet. In a fit of anger, he threw it as far as he could. The sound of it hitting a distant wall echoed through the facility.

Tech swallowed, closed his eyes, and breathed in the stale but clean air. He pictured the sunset on Pabu with Phee. Where was Phee? Where was he now? He was certain this was Tantiss, but exactly where was Tantiss? And how long would his cybernetics last without some help? He headed down another hallway and searched for some tools but wasn’t quite able to see straight or think straight. Echo could help. Could Echo find him?  Did his family know where Tantiss was yet? Wait. Yes because Crosshair’s hand was wearing his old armor, although Tech noted it was stripped. Or was his mind playing tricks on him? Tears came to his eyes and he reminded himself that he hadn’t found the rest of his brother yet. Or the rest of their squad. He hoped they were long gone. Had they been successful in his absence? He wandered the facility and eventually found a communications array. At this point he was sure the Empire had abandoned this place, but he couldn’t quite punch in the code to get a signal out. What if it was tracked? He cursed his slow mind and lack of clear decision-making ability. He didn’t want to take risks with this.

He found solace in walking. He had a better idea of the layout of the facility and as he kept breathing and moving, his mind cleared further. He wasn’t sure what else to do. He found what must have been living quarters for some TK troopers and pocketed a few small items that were left behind including a piece of jewelry he hoped would be worth something. Anything to buy him passage to a safe location.  That was the plan now. Surely someone else lived on this planet or would visit. His search yielded some clean prison clothes and he decided those would do. He carefully took off his belt and stepped out of the wretched armor. He would rather walk out of this facility naked than wear it any longer. Putting on the new clothes was a bit of a task, but he was in minimal pain compared to how he looked. The belt with pockets was the only part of the armor he put back on. Those would come in handy even if there were fewer pouches than he preferred. Now was not the time to be picky.

Tech wandered down yet another hallway, picked up an abandoned datapad, and scrolled through the downloaded files. They were scientific records of some sort. His mind still foggy, he couldn’t quiet comprehend everything it said, but stuffed it between his body and his belt for later analysis. He noticed there was a broken ship in the hangar, and while his investigation proved it could fly, he didn’t trust that it wouldn’t be tracked. He somehow knew that he had caused more pain than he could remember and didn’t want to risk anything else by leading the enemy to Pabu. He was startled from his thoughts by the sound of another ship landing in the next hangar bay. It wasn’t the Empire. Pirates? It surely seemed so. If they were pirates, then they might give him a ride to a safer location if he had something to trade. The jewelry he pocketed might be enough, but he had a hunch pirates might be more interested in something a little sharper. He wasted no time heading back to the CX chambers. He picked up the unique sniper rifle and all the CX weapons. He sighed as he looked at the other clones. His other brothers. He didn’t even know them, but it didn’t change his feeling toward them. They had all been through some form of hell together yet isolated.

Tech headed back toward the hangar and startled what turned out to be a lone pirate. He found the man lazily looking through crates in the hangar before he spotted Tech.

“I was told this place was abandoned,” the weequay said as he pointed a blaster in Tech’s direction.

“It is,” Tech answered. “I was left for dead.”

“You are not bleeding?” he asked.

“I suppose not,” Tech answered, “although I am unsure of the details. It appears I was drugged and have some sort of cybernetic enhancements.”

The pirate huffed.

“And what do you plan on doing with those interesting looking weapons?” he asked with a grin.

“An exchange,” Tech responded flatly. “I need a ride away from here and you’re my safest bet.”

He tried to think more clearly and took some more breaths while the pirate considered his offer.

“Out of curiosity, how did you find this place?” Tech asked.

The man grinned again and responded, “Lower-level imperials quickly figured out that they will be paid well for information. Abandoned facilities are gold mines. I can sell those blades for a good price. I assume those are one of a kind.”

“To my knowledge, yes,” Tech replied.

The pirate nodded and examined the weapons without moving closer, although he was sure this man had no intention of hurting him.

“I’m afraid time is of the essence,” Tech said, feeling fresh pain in his torso where mechanics now lived.

“If I leave now, I may miss out on something more profitable before the scavengers show up.”

“I’ll give you every weapon here but the blaster on my belt,” Tech said. He was already planning on doing this but framing it as a bonus had an impact on the pirate.

“Very well. How far do you need to go?”

Tech didn’t want to give away his ultimate destination of Pabu, but knew if he could get to Ord Mantell, he could potentially contact one of his brothers or Phee. Cid had left them high and dry last he remembered, so he would be sure to avoid her. The pirate agreed and had Tech shuffle onto the ship with a blaster to his back. This guy was not going to risk Tech turning on him and taking his ship. The pirate put his prize away and Tech sat down. The trip was quick enough, and Tech was sure the weequay would turn around for Tantiss again as soon as he was off the ship.

“You’ve reached your destination,” the pirate said as soon as he landed. “Now, off my ship.”

Tech got up to leave but reached into one of the pouches that remained on his person. He pulled out the necklace he found earlier and stated, “I’ll give you this for a working comm device.”

The man bit his lip and huffed. He should have driven a harder bargain sooner, but he was so enraptured with the vibroblades he got distracted.

“Fine,” he said, snatching the jewelry and hanging Tech a small comm.

Tech nodded and shuffled off the ship. He was met with the smell of mantell mix but stopped himself. He had no money, and he wasn’t sure he could even digest food normally at this point. Instead, he found a quiet location on the outskirts of town and comm’d Echo. It seemed the safest bet and Echo has the most experience with cybernetics should he have an emergency before reaching Pabu.

“Havoc 4? Echo, I need your help.”

Echo picked up immediately upon recognizing the voice.

“Tech?!”

“Affirmative.”

“Where are you? What happened?”

“Ord Mantell. I will send you coordinates to my location via this comm, but I cannot promise it will be perfectly accurate.”

“Do you need medical attention?” came another voice. It was Gregor.

“I may, but it appears I now have cybernetic implants. I was on Tantiss and woke up in a daze. At least I’m fairly certain that’s where I was.” Echo and Gregor heard him sigh in a way they’d never heard before. “I am certain I’ve done things I regret, although my memory is not great, and I don’t know the extent of my injuries, although I appear stable.”

Echo understood.

“We’re on our way,” replied Echo. “Leaving Pantora. The others are on Pabu. Just keep away from Cid.”

“I have no intention of finding her,” Tech said.

“Good,” Gregor said. “She only got worse.”

Tech didn’t inquire about that right now. He was sure he’d get the full story soon enough. He waited some time and at one point was worried something happened. He tried not to think about it too much. His mind was still blurry and he felt like he was going to be sick. What he didn’t know was that Echo had quickly left Pantora to head back to Pabu and pick up Crosshair. Wrecker, Hunter, and Omega wanted to come too, but Crosshair suggested he go alone with Echo and Gregor. Based on Tech’s message relayed from Echo, he knew at least part of what his brother had been through, and it seemed a good idea to take a little extra time getting to Tech and have Crosshair’s help.

Gregor landed the ship and prepared the one bunk with all the blankets they had. Crosshair insisted they would need it. Echo comm’d Tech again. They were only about one klick from the ship. Despite the intense stress of the last few days, Crosshair and Echo summoned their strength to run. They found Tech sitting with his back to a wall, seemingly dozing but very much alive, and both crouched down in front of him.

“Tech?” Crosshair asked.

Tech opened his eyes and saw his brother for the first time since Kamino. His eyes tracked down to where Crosshair’s hand had been and he froze.

“I did that, didn’t I?” Tech asked. The blood drained out of his face and he started retching.

“It’s not your fault,” Crosshair said as he reached for his brother. He and Echo helped Tech up and the three headed to the ship.

Crosshair sat with him on the bunk. Gregor took off for Pabu while Tech peeled back his clothing to allow Echo to help assess the cybernetic device.

“It looks like two of these tubes were pulled apart,” Echo said. “I can try reattaching them and it looks like then you should be able to eat small amounts until we can replace them.”

“Very well,” Tech replied.

Crosshair helped him lay back and assisted Echo with the procedure. Despite only having two working hands between them, it was more than adequate. The tubes were torn from the impact of the electrospear, but the torn ends were cut and the tubes new flat ends reattached. Tech could feel a tug from the shortened pieces, but it was nothing compared to how bad it could have been. Most of the wiring had simply been pushed aside by the spear.

“Not sure how we can close all this up,” Echo said, referring to the abdominal panel covering the cybernetic.

“That is a problem for another time, I think,” Tech replied. “It’s not affecting life support.”

Crosshair nodded in agreement and Echo returned to the co-pilot’s seat at the front of the ship.

“Here,” Crosshair said, lifting a thermos of warm liquid.

Tech nodded when he smelled the broth. He hadn’t been this hungry in a long time and tried to gulp down any calories he could.

“Take it easy,” Crosshair said. “Don’t make yourself sick. I know what’s coming.”

Tech looked at him and nodded. He slowed his pace and took a deep breath as the vegetable broth settled his belly.

“I believe I am experiencing drug withdraws, Crosshair.”

“Mm.”

“It will get worse, yes?”

Crosshair nodded.

“How long?”

“It was weeks for me. Worse for others. The fastest recovery I saw was ten rotations.” His eyes darted before he added, “Hemlock said he improved the conditioning process. It might be longer for you.”

Tech nodded. He finished the broth and laid back down. Crosshair laid down with him. Tech hadn’t realized just how cold and shaky he was until Crosshair held him. His brother pulled a thick blanket over both of them and did his best to help Tech feel comfortable.

By the time they were on Pabu, Tech felt like his body was full of daggers and fever. He kept calling out for help even though his brothers were helping to the best of their ability. Phee, Hunter, Wrecker, and Omega had prepared the bed that was his prior to Eriadu. Crosshair stayed there after Tech’s fall, but now Wrecker had rearranged the bed situation so there was room for Tech and someone to be at his side the whole time. More than a few tears were shed as Crosshair helped Tech stumble off the ship and into the home. Gregor checked in with Rex and took the ship to rendezvous with the boys, leaving Echo behind for now.

They tried to get Tech in bed so he could rest, but he fought against any blankets put on him, seemingly frightened he was back in Hemlock’s lab and being restrained. While it was upsetting to watch, Crosshair calmly reminded him that he was safe and gently helped his brother take in what was familiar. The sheets felt like Pabu. The air smelled clean. He could hear the ocean. The voices and faces of those around him were real. Tech started to calm just enough to lay in bed. He shook violently and his mind seemed to be in two places.

“Sedative,” Tech managed to get out, looking into his brother’s eyes. Crosshair nodded.

“Are you sure,” Hunter asked.

“It’s what I would want too,” Crosshair replied.

Hunter nodded and got the med kit. Phee had already made sure to stockpile what medication she could find on the island and was already making a list of other things they might need for a supply run. She watched in uncertainty as Hunter gave Tech the injection and it immediately took effect.

“Phee,” Tech managed as his body gave in to the medication.

“Hey Brown Eyes,” she answered softly.

He reached his hand out and she took it as she kneeled next to his bed.

“Everything’s gonna be okay, Tech.” That was all she could say before a small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth and he fell asleep.

While he was out, Echo and Hunter had a look at his cybernetics as best they could while the others looked on. The person most qualified to work on these was Tech himself, but he wasn’t in any shape to do so. There was a lot of back and forth about what should be done. His heart was beating. He was breathing. He could eat and digest. There was just some tubing that needed replacing and a giant hole through the front and back of his torso. They decided to wait on any internal fixes for now but weren’t sure how to address the hole through the front and back metal panels in his middle.

“We should cover it up,” Wrecker suggested.

“With what?” Echo asked.

“I dunno,” came the response.

“Can we bend the pieces so they lay flatter against him?” Omega asked.

“I could try that,” Wrecker said. “But I don’t want to break something and hurt him either.”

“Why don’t we cut off the parts that are sticking out, and screw on a panel to each side to at least keep him covered up and protected?” Phee asked.

“Probably our best option,” Hunter replied.

Wrecker picked up his brother and carried him to his workbench. It was the safest spot for removing pieces of metal. Tech was completely out. Echo removed the sharp edges and Phee and Crosshair found some scrap metal in the right size. Echo managed to connect the front piece before Wrecker rolled Tech over and made sure he was as comfortable as could be. Once they were sure every component inside his abdomen was secure, Echo attached the back panel. The largest clone then lifted his brother and carried him back to bed.

The rest of the night was a cycle of Tech sleeping, waking with a start, shaking, and fighting invisible monsters. Crosshair spent the first night sleeping next to him. Whenever Tech would shake or lash out, he would hold him until they both fell asleep again. Crosshair’s heart was heavy. He knew none of this was Tech’s fault. If anything, he felt pangs of guilt for staying in the Empire so long. He took a deep breath as he held his shaking brother. It took work, but he was starting to accept that it wasn’t all his fault, thanks in no small part to his sister constantly reminding him. The Empire kept him prisoner. Hemlock experimented on him and tortured him. He tried escaping multiple times before he and Omega were successful. A yawn hit him and he relaxed further. Tech’s soft snores made him smile. He would do whatever it took to make sure this family was okay.

In the morning, the sedative had worked its way through Tech’s system and he’d slept through the remaining exhaustion. He woke up next to Crosshair and felt the warm sun greet him. His eyes tried to adjust, but he realized that some of his dizziness was the result of the fall damaging his eyes. His pupils kept trying to adjust to take in as much information as possible and he couldn’t find his goggles.

“What is it?” Crosshair asked.

“My goggles,” he said.

“They’re in the Archium,” Phee answered as she appeared in the doorway with some breakfast.

Tech looked up at her and tried to smile. Phee sat next to the bed while the two men ate. Tech continued to have bouts of shakiness, but greedily ate the meal in front of him.

“Take it easy Brown Eyes.”

Tech felt heat creep on his face at hearing the nickname with a clearer mind.

“I don’t remember when I ate last, aside from the broth yesterday.”

“How do you feel?” she asked.

Tech looked down at the mended hole over his torso and moved his limbs a little.

“My eyes are struggling to focus and the shakiness is returning.” Tech swallowed some hot tea and looked at his hands. “I keep having flashbacks.”

“It will get better,” Crosshair reassured him. Tech felt comfort knowing his brother had overcome this conditioning and while Hemlock’s methods on Tech were worse, he was confident he could work through this.

“If I got you some tools and supplies, do you want to try making some new goggles?” Phee asked.

Tech nodded. “I should scan my eyes first to determine the type of lenses, but then yes.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” she replied.

Omega and Wrecker overheard the conversation and ran to retrieve the beloved item from the Archium. Tech was shaking and sweating again with Crosshair still by his side and Hunter joining them. Omega silently held out the goggles to Tech. They talked about how they obtained them and how precious they’d become. Tech held them in his hands and stared back at them like looking at a former version of himself.

“Better to start from scratch,” he said, holding the googles out to Omega. “Feel free to throw them out.”

“I’d rather keep them” Omega replied.

“Why?” Tech asked.

“You were wearing them when you taught me to fly,” she answered. “They’re special to me. To us.”

“Very well,” Tech replied with a smile. He tried taking some steadying breaths, but continued to shake. To take his mind off things, he looked at the spot where Crosshair’s hand once was.

“I could make you a cybernetic hand if you are interested.”

“I know you can,” Crosshair replied. “For now, let’s focus on you.”

Tech nodded. He was in no shape to build something as his body continued experiencing withdraws, but he could think about what he wanted to make. He could visualize his new goggles and Crosshair’s new hand. He could picture a life here. He could picture himself being a bit more forward with Phee. He could picture flying with Omega again. Sitting on the beach with Hunter while Wrecker fished. Sitting with Crosshair and talking about something he was researching while Crosshair sat and listened. Now that he thought about it, his often-silent brother hadn’t been this affectionate since they were cadets. War changed them. The Empire changed them. Change was part of life. This was a good change, though.

As the days went on, his withdraw symptoms became easier to handle. He had ups and downs but they were, as he put it, damped oscillations. Batcher also made herself known and curled up with him at least once a day. She had a calming presence just like his siblings. Even when his insides felt like they were vibrating and overheating, every calming presence helped.

Hunter sat with him and when he was ready, got him up to speed on things. He was the one who drew the short straw and had to tell Tech that the Marauder not only blew up, but who blew it up.

“Is Gonky alright?” was the next question out of Tech’s mouth.

“He is,” Hunter assured. “Wrecker got him away just in time.”

“Good.”

Somehow, despite it all, the family made it out of the Empire’s clutches.

Several weeks into his recovery, Tech finished his new goggles and started working on Crosshair’s hand. He was not as efficient as he normally was, but he was still recovering. With each little project he started to feel more like himself.

When he finally felt well enough, he asked Phee and Omega for help to better fix his cybernetic.

“I will do everything in the front, but I need you two to help with the back,” he said.

“What about the others?” Omega asked. “They could help too.”

“Our brothers are busy today helping some new residents move in,” Tech replied. “I am ready, and you are both more than qualified to help, if you would like.”

Phee and Omega shared a look. It was clear that Tech was done waiting now that his withdraw symptoms were finally gone and he had an idea of how he wanted to approach this. They discussed the plan and so ten weeks to the day after he came home, Tech took his shirt off, and sat backwards in a chair next to his workbench so the surgery could begin.

“You sure this won’t hurt?” Omega asked.

“I will inform you if it does, but none of the cybernetics have hurt yet,” he replied. “The only pain occurred in my living tissue.”

Phee looked at Omega and took a breath.

“Alright,” Phee said. “Here we go.”

She removed the plate Echo had hastily applied to Tech’s back all those weeks ago. Most of the work involved better flattening the pierced edges where the spear had torn through. Echo and Hunter had done a good job getting the bulk of the metal frame removed around the hole, but it was still uneven. Phee took her time and Omega wasn’t sure she’d ever seen her work with that level of gentleness and care. Phee was always thorough and precise, but there was something different about this. Omega handed her tools as needed and then took a picture for Tech to see what it looked like before they closed up his back cybernetic plate.

“Well done,” was all he could say about it.

Phee sealed the back plate closed and they helped Tech sit up. It felt much more solid, even without addressing the larger hole in his front. Tech itched to get to work on himself. He sat up and decided that it would be easier to work if he was laying along the workbench at an incline. Phee got him a series of supportive pillows and cushions so he could lay back without being flat. This allowed the cybernetic tubing to relax and give him a bit more room to work. Omega positioned a mirror in front of him so he could watch himself work without straining his neck. Tech didn’t waste any time. He removed the temporary plate, inspected the internal wiring, and secured one piece that was not as well attached as he would like. Phee handed him tools so he could focus on his work. He removed the tube that acted as the bottom of his esophagus and removed it carefully. He secured a slightly longer and wider tube in its place. Once he was pleased with the position, he sat up and moved around to be sure it wasn’t tight like the original had been. Satisfied, he laid back down and widened the hole in his abdomen plate.

“Tech?” Omega asked. “What are you doing?”

“Creating a rectangular opening,” he replied.

Phee smiled. She had a feeling he was going to try something like this. Tech shared a warm look with her before picking up the pieces of plating that had protected him since his return and trying to rearrange them.

“Wait a minute,” Phee said.

Tech and Omega watched her hurry onto her ship, and she quickly returned with a square piece of metal painted in a familiar shade of blue with a bit of orange along the edge.

“I had to replace this piece on my ship. Looks like it might be the right size.”

Tech gladly examined the piece and silently noted the paint job before sharing another smile with her. With a small adjustment, it perfectly fit the rectangular hole in his stomach. Phee retrieved some hinges and watched him determine how to fit it all together. It wasn’t enough for Tech to fix his own cybernetic. He had to enhance it by giving it a door.

“Secure, but easier access in case of an emergency,” he explained.

Omega put his tools back where he liked them while Phee helped him sit up. He twisted his upper body around and looked pleased.

“Comfortable?” Phee asked.

Tech nodded. “I am still getting used to it, but this is an improvement.”

Omega watched a little awkwardly, but decided it was time to make her exit given how Phee looked at her brother while helping him put his shirt back on.

“I’ll see you around!” Omega said before skipping back home.

“Walk with me?” Phee asked.

Tech nodded and they headed down the path meandering through town and down to the water. Tech felt a little unsure, but paused and held out his hand toward her just a little. Phee took it in her own and leaned into him before they continued their jaunt.

“I keep thinking I’ll wake up and you’ll still be gone,” she admitted.

“That is merely your brain trying to process the situation,” he explained. After pausing a moment and considering what he knew of her he added, “I will do my best to remind you that I’m back until you are certain.”

Phee squeezed his hand a little and nodded.

“You want to get some dinner?” she asked.

“I suspect my family is already partially through their meal,” he replied, noting the time.

“I mean just with me, Tech. Would you like to have dinner with me?”

His eyes widened before a smile pulled on the corners of his mouth.

“That sounds wonderful, Phee.”

[thehorrorsoftheblackbunnymask]

We need facts about YANDERE CREEPYPASTA ZOMBIE APOCALYPSE AU!!! Only if you want to and take your time. I just got really excited hearing this as I love zombie movies

Something Short (Zombie AU Introduction)

Author's Note: I've had this AU idea for months, but I just never got to it.

Warnings: Murder, Torture, Sexual Harrasment, Kidnapping, Human Trafficking (Mentions), Mental Abuse, Sexual Abuse, Human Experiments, Gore, Physical Abuse, Manipulation, Dehumanization, Sadism, Being Held To Extremely High Standards, Dictatorship, And Obession

Ok, so. I picture the virus that caused the whole outbreak to be a mixture between the walking dead zombies, and the Train to Busan zombies, you know.

Now, you're pretty much one of the few who survived the outbreak. You and your two brothers are wondering around looking for a permanent place of residence. You found one society, but it was destroyed soon after you got there.

In this AU, EJ is the leader of a cannibalistic city. They live in a heavily fortified town somewhere in Pennsylvania. EJ is the doctor and leader of this colony. One day you and your brothers get kidnapped by a few of their members, and you only survived because EJ took an interest in you. Your brothers were kept alive as a way to keep you in line, but you knew they were barely surviving.

One day, your brothers escaped, leaving you behind. Once you escape, your main motivation is reuniting with your brothers, or at least find out what happened to them.

You were trapped with EJ for about 8 months, and those months were hell. Unlike my other AUs and Canon were EJ puts up a fake mask of kindness and care, Zombie AU EJ is heartless right off the bat. It's the end of the world, you either do what he tells you, or you're tonight's dinner. So, you're now labeled as his pet, even the other civilizations know about you, the poor pet of Cannubal King. You would constantly be a victim to his twisted experiments, but after each one he'd comfort you. His constant switched in personality and behavior is what makes you have a blurred perspective of him. In this AU, EJ is the one you're most terrified of, not the Proxies.

Now, the Proxies are opportunist. They are the people in the apocalypse to kill, kidnap and sell people as a way to make it buy. They're the most dangerous to look for because they're doing anything to survive. After 8 months past, you're able to escape. You end up wondering around for about 3 days before you find a little shed in the woods. When you get there, the shed is filled with a decent amount of food and water. However, as you inspect a small can, you're whacked in the head with a crow bar. When you wake up, three men are standing in front of you. They all discuss what their going to do to you before they agree to keep you. The Proxies are no stranger to keeping pets, but each one of them have died in someway, and you're just another replacement. Out of all the proxies though, Toby ends up becoming completely in love and obsessed with you, while Masky and Hoodie have a more possessive, sexual obsession with you.

Ben is the leader of a tech society. His society was able to keep electricity and tech running, making the most advanced civilization. However, getting in is extremely hard, and being a citizen there sucks. Ben is a dictator. If you hold no use to him, you're getting sent out into the heard. You disobey or betray him, sent to the Cannibal Colony. And not to mention, he had eyes and ears everywhere. Everyone in the city has to do their part if they want to stay, and if you don't, Oh well. Also, being one of Ben's favorites sucks even more. If he likes you for your skill or talent, he holds you to an impossible standard, and he enjoys to watch those people try so hard to meet it. No one is ever good enough for him, and he'll gladly torture those who can't obey. If he likes you for his sexual desires, you're running on his schedule. He expects you to do your own work, and fulfill his desires.

So, how do you two meet? You actually met back when you were with EJ. Just like in every AU, Jeff, EJ, and Ben are all really close friends, and EJ paid a visit to Ben in order to collect new Tech. There you caught Ben's eyes. Ben joked with EJ, saying that if he ever got bored of you, he'll gladly take you. He would never hide his stares, and always made his intentions with you painfully clear. He would never do anything to you physically since he likes and respects EJ to much, but he meant what he said when he told EJ that he'd take you if he didn't want you anymore.

LJ is a loner, but what he does is kinda weird. LJ stays in a abandoned fair ground. Rides and attractions are still up. Thanks to Ben, LJ is able to keep the tech working, and it often attracts wonders. LJ collects walkers and uses them for his circus shows. Anyone who stumbles upon his grounds are welcomed to stay. So, there's often people hanging out there because, 1, free food, 2, fun rides, 3, protection from walkers, and 4, entertainment. Once there's enough people, LJ holds a circus show. In this show, LJ summons a gas that drugs everyone for a short period of time. During this time, LJ takes some members of the audience, steals everyone's weapons, and ties them down to their chairs. Then, he uses the people he kidnapped for his twisted little show. Some people would be eaten by walkers, others would be forced to do extremely dangerous stunts, and the rest would just be brutally tortured. But at the end of the show, everyone in the tent would be dead. Now rinse and repeat, and that's what LJ does.

You and your brothers came across LJ's circus, but you guys left after a short while, not aware that you almost lost your lives.

Liu are kinda like mercenary. Liu gathers Intel for other groups, kidnaps people, and sells people just to get by. He's never in one place for too long, and many fall for his charm and charisma. His most consistent client is Ben, and Ben considers him a member of his city, even though Liu begs to differ.

How did you two meet? Jeff had dragged Liu to the proxies place due to the Proxies not keeping the end of a deal they made. You were watching from a top the stairwell when Liu noticed you. Liu is a hard-core sadist and doesn't really care about love or sex, violence his thing due to Sully's influence. But I can see him instantly falling for you. I feel like before Sully manifested, Liu was such a lover boy, but I can see him always being a blunt and manipulative bastard. Despite Jeff being Liu for support, Liu just stared at you as you sat ontop of the stares quietly, hoping that he would take his eyes off you.

Jeff is another wonderer. He could deadass care less about the apocalypse. He's normally by himself, in a cabin, either getting high or murdering people he comes across. He's deadass chilling.

Just like Ben, Jeff met you through EJ. Jeff doesn't really have any feelings towards you at the moment since he doesn't pay much attention to you, but that will slowly change.

QNow, last major plot idea. Since EJ is a doctor, and Ben is the tech guy, I can see the two of them looking for a cure to the virus. But, they often use random people as experiments for these. Back when you were with EJ, you were forced to witness them, and in one test, the person starting to develop sores and bumps all over their body, and it got so bad that they ended up swelling up like a balloon.

[thehighladywrites]

— “ You really don’t know about him?”

pairing: professor eris x reader

summary: who are your kidnappers and why do they want you? Eris enlists a secret weapon to find you and help him retrieve you back and get revenge on those who kidnapped you.

warnings: kidnapping, murder, torture, light angst, fluff, suggestiveness

amara’s note: this is so mid but pls enjoy💔 it’s not my best work but atleast the next chapter will have crazy smut bc eris teaches reader how to use a gun and there will be gunplay👀 also sorry that this was updated so late😭💗

Eris was trying to stay calm, using his rational thinking but he couldn’t do it. There was no rationality left in him. He just wanted to know if you were safe, even though the chances were slim.

Eris's heart sank as he checked the app Feyre had mentioned. It revealed that your phone was at the lake near the school—a clear sign that it had been discarded before you were taken. His mind raced with worry, realizing that you were indeed taken and not missing.

He took a deep breath, allowing himself a moment to feel the last bit of his emotions before shutting them off and assuming his role. His worried eyes hardened, his chest steady, and his demeanor shifted into that of a commanding presence.

Feyre watched as Eris fished out his phone and, with a cold voice, instructed Shadow to track you down.

She was worried and didn't know what was going on. Who was Shadow, and where were you? How was Eris so calm? Wasn't he more worried about you?

Eris noticed the concern in Feyre's eyes and approached her with reassurance.

“Don't worry, Ms. Archeron. I'll find her. Brandon here will escort you to one of the rooms for safety while I locate her. It's not safe to be alone right now.”

Before she could ask any more questions, he turned and headed into his office. While he appreciated Feyre for being such a good friend to you, there was no time for conversation when you were missing.

Inside, Eris approached his bookshelf and pulled on the book you had taken from him—or rather, its replacement. With a soft click, the entire shelf moved, revealing an opening to his secret room.

Eris's mind was on autopilot as he descended the stairs and used his thumbprint and voice recognition to access the mechanically locked door at the bottom of the stairs.

Inside, the room was filled with high-tech gadgets, weapons, and screens. The warm light bathed the space, giving it an inviting glow, despite its purpose. It resembled a massive closet, with weapons carefully displayed on expensive velvet walls, their deadly potential disguised by their beauty.

Eris approached the weapons, securing a harness to his shirt as he loaded every compartment with hidden knives and guns. He then put on his coat snd gloves, getting ready to get you back no matter ehat.

His phone suddenly buzzed with a message from shadow,

Found her. Warehouse by the marina. Aprox. 35 men outside and 3 inside.

Eris pocketed his phone, silently praying for your safety as he got ready to retrive you.

—

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Your brows furrowed as you slowly regained consciousness, annoyed by the consistent dripping of water. Your vision was hazy, your head pounding, and the cold made your teeth chatter. You tried to rub your temple, but your hand met resistance.

Panic surged through you as you realized you were chained up, unable to move freely. You kept pulling, foolishly hoping the steel chains would break. Your heart raced as you took in your surroundings. You were on your knees, hands bound, with your entire body aching and your arms feeling numb. The sound of the chains rattling grew louder as you struggled against them, desperate to break free.

Fear gripped you as you recalled being taken by a stranger. Your stomach churned with nausea, and you fought back the urge to vomit as the memories flooded back.

No, no, no.

This wasn’t happening.

Panic flowed through you, making it difficult to breathe. You attempted to stay calm, but the tears welled up in your eyes, and your body shook with fear. Alone in a huge and empty room, the air heavy with the scent of salt, you felt utterly helpless and started sobbing, head hanging low.

The sound of heavy metal doors creaking open pierced the air, causing you to lift your gaze with apprehension. Three men entered, their fiery red hair immediately catching your attention. The man in the middle crouched down to your level, a smirk playing on his lips as he tilted his head, his gaze examining you.

“Finally awake from your little nap?”

You looked at him, then shifted your eyes to the other two, one of them smirking, the other stoic.

“Why am I here? Who are you? I haven’t done anything.” Your voice was hoarse and broken.

His demeanor shifted instantly, his previous amusement at your situation replaced by disgust. His smile vanished, and his eyes darkened with disdain. He straightened up, towering over you, and looked at you with a look of disgust and hate, as though you were nothing but dirt under his shoe.

“You are here as leverage. You see, my cousin killed my father and I can not let that go unpunished, right?”

The two behind him snickered and shook their heads.

Your brows furrowed again, what the hell had this to do with you at all? No one you knew could possibly be involved in something like this. And you didn’t care how rude you sounded, these fuckers kidnapped you.

“So? That still doesn’t explain why the hell i’m here. I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

The guy in the middle, Sirius the others called him, narrowed his eyes at you, a smile creeping onto his face.

“You really don’t know, do you?”

Anger surged within you, and you were just about to snap at his cryptic words, not in the mood for riddles.

“Your little fuck buddy Eris did a very bad thing when he killed my father. He made me loose a lot of money and he needs to pay for it. Now, my cousin is a very hard guy to shake down, so imagine my surprise and delight when I discovered he had a pretty little thing hidden away all to himself. The perfect negotiation piece.”

You felt like throwing up. He couldn’t be serious. Eris, the man you love, the one you thought wouldn’t hurt anyone, had done something so terrible that these men were here to punish him for it. The shock of the discovery left you confused and disoriented.

“He killed someone?” Your words were nothing more than a whisper, struggling to make sense of the situation.

Sirius chuckled darkly, his eyes glinting with malice. “Oh, he has done things much worse than that, sweetheart. But don't worry, you'll get to see for yourself soon enough.”

Realizing that Eris might be walking into a trap, you summoned your courage and flashed them a defiant smile. “Well, if that's the case,” you said, “then you're fucked.”

The big one in the back, named Aiden’s expression grew even darker, his eyes narrowing at your boldness. “And why do you think that?” he demanded.

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant despite the fear coursing through you.

“If what you say is true, then I assume you’re not stupid enough to try to actually lure him here. If he really did kill your father then you know how dangerous he is. And not to brag,” you added with hint of more confidence,

”But the man loves me and will most certainly kill all of you for taking me away in this pathetic attempt at a kidnapping. Listen, just let me go and I’ll make sure he doesn’t kill you.”

You watched helplessly as they approached, totally ignoring your words, their movements calculated. Ignis, the scrawny one, grabbed a length of rope from a nearby crate, his expression cruel. “You’re good. I can see why he is so infatuated with you. But you’re not going anywhere.” he said coldly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before Ignis could make a move to bind you even more, a sudden gunshot echoed through the warehouse, causing everyone to freeze in place. Ignis stumbled backward, clutching his chest, blood seeping through his fingers.

“Shit!” Aiden exclaimed, reaching for his weapon but he was shot in the head aswell

Sirius lunged forward, a gleaming knife pressed against your throat. His expression was twisted with anger and desperation as he snarled, “If you move an inch, I’ll slit her fucking throat, Eris.”

Your heart raced as you felt the cold edge of the blade against your skin, a sob breaking from you as you realized Eris was here.

You cried, carefully breathing as to not get your neck sliced open. You watched as he carefully came out of the shadows with smoking gun and a deadly calm expression on his face. Eyes dead as his lips pulled into a smirk.

“You signed your own death when you kidnapped my girl.”

His cold and emotionless words made you shiver. He was was so different from the warm Eris you knew.

All your thoughts halted as Sirius pressed the blade harder to your throat, making you whimper in pain. You felt warm, wet liquid run down into your ahirt and you realized he had knicked you.

“You had my father killed and it made me loose millions. If you think i’m letting you or your whore get away-”

The blade on your throat dropped to the ground, as did Sirius’s body right next to you when Eris fired the gun straight into his arm. Eris stepped closer and shot both his hands, arms, legs, feet and just smiled.

“You don’t deserve a quick death. Normally, I’d handle you myself handle you but I’m on a bit of a time crunch, so I’ll leave you with him.”

With arms still bound above your head you coughed and then vomited at the feel of warmth of Sirius’s blood seeping into your pants.

Eris hurriedly made his way over to you, his hands steady as he ripped the chains from your arms, pulling you close to him. You collapsed against his chest, trembling with fear and relief as he whispered soothing words to calm you down.

After what felt like an eternity of tears and sobs, you finally managed to compose yourself, sitting up straighter and backing away slightly from Eris's embrace. Your voice was shaky as you spoke, the reality of the situation sinking in.

“So... you’re in the mafia or something? I mean, you just murdered three people in front of me, so I guess yeah.”

Eris's expression hardened, his features becoming stoic as he took in the gravity of the situation.

He glanced at you, his gaze softening as he reached out to gently touch your cheek, his thumb wiping away a stray tear.

“We need to get out of here,” he said firmly, his voice tinged with urgency. “I'll explain everything later, I promise. But right now, my priority is your safety.”

With a sense of determination, he helped you to your feet, keeping a protective arm around you, carrying you as you both made your way out of the warehouse, leaving the horrors behind you.

A man approached you both, dark haired, tall and blank look on his handsome face.

“I’ve secured the scene.”

Eris acknowledged the man with a nod of gratitude. “Your payment will be made in five minutes, good job. Sirius is in that room, I’ll leave you to it,” he said, his tone businesslike yet appreciative before leaving him to finish up as he carried you to the car.

At home, Eris helped you undress and get into the bath, staying nearby as he washed off the stress of the day. He was quiet but attentive, ensuring you felt safe and cared for throughout.

After you finished bathing, Eris handed you a fluffy towel and wrapped it around you gently, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead. He scooped you up in his arms, carrying you back to bed as if you were the most delicate thing in the world.

You snuggled closer to Eris, feeling a mix of fear and fascination about his involvement in the mafia. “I want to understand more about what you do, Eris. How did you get involved in all of this?”

Eris sighed, his expression growing somber as he recounted his family's history. “It's been a part of my family for generations,” he began, his voice tinged with resignation.

“My father was deeply involved in it, and his father before him. It's like a legacy that's been passed down, whether we wanted it or not.”

You raised your eyebrows in shock, “You’re telling me professor Beron was a mafia boss?”

Eris nodded gravely. “Yes. He built our family's empire from the ground up after my grandfather nearly lost it all. But he also brought a lot of danger and darkness into our lives. I did not have a happy or safe childhood. None of my siblings did because he always made us turn on each other and make us betray each other. It was always a scheme or plot going on because he wanted to pass the business down to someone worthy in his twisted mind.”

“And now I've brought that same misery into your life,” he says, his voice heavy with regret. “I should have left you alone. You don't deserve this. You deserve better than me. Someone who can give you the life you deserve.”

“You're wrong,” you respond firmly, looking into his eyes. “I choose to be with you, Eris. I know who you are now, and I believe in the goodness in you. It was scary, yes, but you didn’t kidnap me, they did. And now they’re gone, you protected me. Listen, I love you but if you ever suggest me being with someone else, I’ll punch you.”

Eris's eyes soften as he listens to your words, a mixture of relief and gratitude washing over him. He pulls you closer, holding you tightly against him. "I love you too, and I promise I'll do everything in my power to keep you safe. Never again will you go through what you did today. I will make sure of it." he whispers, giving you a kiss with tenderness.

You break the kiss when a brilliant plan come to mind. “You know if you gave me a gun, i’d be protected forever.”

Eris chuckles softly, his fingers tracing soothing patterns along your back. “Yeah,” he says with a teasing glint in his eyes, “you'd look pretty fucking hot with a gun. I’ll teach you how to use one of the simpler ones.” He leans in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead, his love for you evident in his actions.

“Perfect, I want you teaching me tomorrow, please.”

Eris smiles warmly at your enthusiasm. “Of course, I'll teach you everything tomorrow,” he promises. “But for now, let's focus on getting some rest. Tomorrow is a big day.” He tucks the blankets around you snugly, ensuring your comfort before leaning in to press a tender kiss to your forehead. “Sleep well, my love.”

So you do, in the comfort and safety of his warm embrace.

🏷️: @danikamariewrites @daycourtofficial @teenageeggscissorslawyer @jeannineee @natashachelsea @candyjaypoppins @honeysuckle-daydreams13 @acourtofbatboydreams @nocasdatsgay @cyrygher @amara-moonlight @fell-in-luvs @hanitastic @culiehua @daughterofthemoons-stuff @itsphoenix0724 @vanserrasswife @rowaelinsdaughter @redbleedingrose @acourtofwhatthefuck @clairebear08 @hieragalbatorixdottir @rromani-witch @vellichor01 @mischiefmanagers @i-am-a-lost-girl16 @icey--stars @alysena2 @loneliestluvr @meshellexplosionmurder @whatthefuckshappeningrn @thelov3lybookworm @eminvelaris @v3lv3tf0x

[wjehfshs]

Hope you are having a good day/night

I was wondering if I could request tf 141 boy x male reader who had went missing after recklessly sacrificing themself to make sure the team got out safe either with hostages or information your choice. At the time Ghost and Reader were in a relationship, but with reader going missing getting suck in enemy hands for 3-5 years (your choice) they think he's dead.

What happeneds when they hear about someone killing off enemy forces and possibly having Intel the team needs? What is it turns out to be their missing comrade? Reader's unrecognizable from the scar cover half his face, a missing eye, his vocal cords damaged so his voice sounds different (if you're ok with it maybe a cybernetic arm?) Who would put the dots together first? Maybe reader stayed away knowing they would be hunted and didn't want the people they cared about to get hurt?? Specially Ghost!

Thank you for the request! This is actually a great idea

Reader being reckless and self sacrificial, Ghost X Reader (romantic) reader being kidnapped, reader being tortured, reader having scars and missing limbs (replaced with a prosthetic arm) male reader, mentions of violence. Drug mention once, Ghost being depressed and somewhat having no will to live ☹️

Gore mentions

4 years ago, on a mission, you where being reckless, little care for your own safety, you where trying to get information from the other side about where they had illegal drugs stored, you where killings people left and right, not caring if you where sneaky or not

Unfortunately due to your recklessness you had gotten caught and thrown into a helicopter on the rooftop

Simon saw this and he tried to chase after you but someone attacked him before he could get to you, and everyone else was too far away

They tried tracking the helicopter but it was stolen and they left it in the middle of nowhere and probably took a plane back to base

For months Simon was stressed, they tried so many times to get you back

They just couldn’t find you

After 7 months Soap finally told Ghost it was probably too late

He didn’t wasn’t to believe it but there was nothing else he could do

For the next 9 months he was self isolating, rarely ate, obviously depressed

The others sometimes even heard him crying in his room

They tried to console him but it just didn’t work

They noticed he was also more violent on the battlefield

You where all he had, of course he loves his friends but you where the love of his life, the only one who he felt safe letting hold him

Everyone else he flinched away from but you, he felt warm in your grasp

That’s why he grieved for so long, he lost his only will to live

After more time passed he finally came to accept it, of course he still loved you but he knew he would never see you again

One day, they heard from Laswell that someone had attacked the opposing side, killing them in mass numbers.

Simon immediately knew something was up, he could just feel it in his gut

They had been sent off to the base to see what was going on

When they got there it hit them how many people actually got killed

“Bloody fuckin’ hell” Simon commented

“Out of all my years in the military, this is probably the worst case I’ve seen” Price mentioned

The base that they where at also manufactured high tech material such as guns and… prosthetic limbs. They noticed one of the rooms holding fake, robotic arms had been broken into, one arm being ripped out from its holding spot

They walked around a bit before they heard a crash

“Sh, there could still be someone here” Price whispered before he snuck towards the sound

When he saw a figure rummaging through the canned rations, he raised his gun, seeing that he was unarmed

“Put your hands in the air!” He shouted, the figure turned around, face scarred and torn, the back row of his teeth showing on one side, and, a cyber arm

They knew this was the guy who broke into the room

The room was dark so immediately Gaz turned the lights on to get a better look at the man

As soon as the lights buzzed on and the white light filled the room, Simons heart jumped, he felt like he was going to faint

It was you, the love of his life

The way he knew? The giant scar under your eye on the right (your left) side of your face

He dropped his gun and stepped closer

The others, after some time, came to the realisation that it was their missing teammate from 4 years ago

Simon ran up to you, engulfing you in a suffocating hug

He kept muttering your name over and over again, tears in his eyes as he was rocking you back and fourth

“I miss you so much, you don’t even know, I’ve grieved over you for so long, life has been so empty without you” he kept going on about how much he loves you and missed you

The others also put their weapons away and ran up to you

Simon let you go for a little bit to let the other’s suffocate you in their one big group hug

They had never seen Simon so soft and loving towards someone, it was almost a shock, for the past 4 years, even before you went missing, he was cold and almost empty

Simon cupped your face and traced his fingers over your scars he had never seen before

He was just so overwhelmed he let his tears spill as did you, he took off his mask and pulled you into a loving kiss, he felt like he was dreaming

After he finally pulled away to let you breathe, his eyes trailed down to your robot arm and brought your hand up to his chest

Even if you where missing a nose and had horrible scars, exposing the inside of your mouth, he loved you just as much

He felt like his heart was full again

After they finally got back to base you explained what happened during the past 4 years

After the other side took you to their base, they tortured you everyday, they forced you to work for them in their factory

During a freak accident while you where working, your arm was torn off

Later on after the accident you tried to escape but they set off a grenade close enough to you to do damage, but not kill you, resulting in the tissue of your face coming off

The other scars where from years of torture

You had finally managed to get a hold of some explosives and a gun with some ammo and had gone on a killing spree, grabbing a cyber arm from one of their rooms, and dashing from room to room to hide

You had finally learnt from your lesson all those years ago, you finally learnt to be sneaky and not just go for the kill when you wanted

That night after you said your good nights to everyone else, Simon led you to his room and pulled you to his bed

His grip on you never let up through the whole night

He was so unbelievably happy to have you back in his arms

Even while you where asleep he stared at you lovingly, tracing your face and leaving feather kisses all over

He couldn’t stop himself from crying himself to sleep (from happy tears ofc)

[captn-trex]

we never quite made it

Tech x F!Reader

word count: 10k

description: after first meeting on kamino, you and tech seem to keep running into each other, without being able to fully indulge in each other's company. will you ever find the time to be able to tell each other of the feelings that have bloomed over the years?

warnings: not a happy ending!! death, torture (not in any great detail), blood & needles, some mentions of other medical stuff, tech brainrot I fear, don't wanna spoil it but... cx-2...

a/n: okay this was originally just gonna be a cute little fluffy thing and then I kinda went over board. it's a little more high-concept (which feels like a generous word for it) than my other oneshots but i'm pretty happy with how it turned out :) also anyone who writes tech fics regularly I salute you 🫡 it is truly not for the weak

22BBY, KAMINO

You waited patiently in the medical bay, lining up your various tools so none of them were out of place. You weren’t necessarily a neat freak, it was just something to occupy your hands. You were about to see your first patient since transferring from the hospital on Coruscant, to Kamino, in an effort to help the war effort.

The other medics around you weren’t new, and seemed a lot more relaxed, and sure of themselves. You had faith in your abilities as a medic, you had graduated from university into the job a number of years ago now, but somehow this felt like a lot more responsibility, looking after the men that fought for the Republic.

Your fingers were fidgeting at your sides when the door to the medical bay slid open, and a large group of clones were ushered inside by a Kaminoan. You were at the back of the room, so the clones from the front of the group were shown to the medics closest to them. As the group parted, you could see there were a group of clones in vastly different armour from their brothers, and your interest was certainly piqued.

You watched with intrigue as they got closer to you, and before you knew it, one of them was standing in front of you. You still felt nervous, but the timid look on the youthful face of this clone was enough to snap you into gear.

“Hello” You smiled at him sweetly, gesturing to the cot next to you, “Do you want to take a seat?”

The clone didn’t say anything, but obliged quickly. He was taller than many of the clones you worked on before, his hair a light auburn, and he wore goggles that were tinted a subtle yellow.

“What’s your name?” You asked politely.

“CT-9902, Ma’am”

The nervousness was evident in his voice, which you noted was different from the other clones, a more formal twinge and bite to the vowels.

“No need for all that Trooper, just my name is fine” You chuckled a little, tapping the name badge on your uniform, “and I asked for your name. What do your brothers call you?”

The clone looked to the name badge and then up to your eyes, “Tech”

“Well Tech, I understand that this is your last check-up before you graduate, is that right?”

“Uh, technically, we have already graduated. We are waiting to be deployed” He corrected you and you nodded.

”I understand” You smiled, “I’m just going to take some of your blood, if that’s okay”

“Of course it’s okay” He said matter-of-factly, “I wouldn’t expect anything less”

You had to suppress a smirk at his observation as you took the syringe from the tray, “It’s just what they ask us to say, bedside manner and all that”

“Ah” He replied, a blush tinging his ears pink, “My apologies”

It was hard not to find Tech adorable. He was so young and fresh-faced, somehow more so than the other recently graduated clones around the room. Perhaps it was the difference in facial structure, slightly pursed lips, or the big brown eyes that looked up at you though his goggles.

“No need” You waved off his apology, “It’s nice not to have to baby your patients really”

Tech nodded thoughtfully, and took of his left vambrace to allow you access to the correct vein, rolling up his sleeve. You raised an eyebrow at his actions.

“You had a lot of blood taken before?” You asked, and he looked at you puzzled.

“No” He replied simply, “Why?”

“I didn’t have to tell you where I was going to take it from” You gestured the syringe towards his now bare forearm.

“Ah, well” He looked down at himself and back up, “I am… a little knowledgeable about such things”

You smirked a little as you took his arm, keeping him talking while you placed the needle to his skin, “Knowledgeable huh? and why is that?”

He looked up at your face as you worked, wholly uninterested in the needle that was pressing into his arm, “I am interested in knowing about it”

You hummed slightly in reply, drawing the blood from the clone and placing the syringe down again.

“Just a few more things to check” You said, taking the small torch from your belt, “Would you mind taking off your goggles for just a moment?”

The clone didn’t hesitate, and pushed his goggles atop his head.

“Now, look straight ahead” You told him, and shined the light into his eye, checking to see if his pupils were dilating properly. At some point his eyes flicked up to yours, and you were surprised by the flurry of butterflies that filled your stomach. “Eyes ahead, Tech” You reminded him, and he righted himself straight away. You had to bite back your grin at his certainly interesting demeanour.

As you moved onto his other eye, you let your curiosity get the best of you, “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you and your brothers… a little different?”

“I do mind you asking actually” He said plainly, and you were unsure if you had actually upset him, if he was kidding, or if that was just how he spoke.

“Okay” You smiled graciously, choosing to just move on, “You can put your goggles back on now”

Tech watched you carefully as he pulled down and adjusted his goggles until they were comfortable again. With your pleasant smile, it seemed that you were just being sincere and inquisitive in asking about him and his brothers, and he felt a little silly for just brushing you off.

“We usually get seen by the Kaminoans” Tech noted, “Why are there civilian medics on Kamino now?”

“We volunteered” You shrugged with a small smile, “Could you lie down?”

Tech once again did as you said quickly, a little too quickly this time, hitting the back of his head on the cot that was not as comfortable as he had thought. You winced a little and his cheeks flushed immediately.

”Good thing I’m about to scan you” You joked, “Hopefully that didn’t do any damage”

Tech pointed his first finger up as he talked, “It is highly unlikely that I would sustain any dam-”

“I know Tech, I was just kidding” You interrupted, and he stuttered as he looked up at you standing over him with a gentle smile

“Right” He nodded, “Of course you do, my apologies”

”There’s no need to apologise” You smiled, pulling down the scanner over him “Stay still now”

You stepped back from the machine and picked up your datapad, reading over the information as the scanner picked it up. It scanned his identifying code in his wrist and your eyebrows raised at his profile. Defective, genetically enhanced intellect and cognitive functions.

“Is something wrong?” He questioned your reaction.

“No, you’re in perfect health in fact” You answered his question, pulling the machine away so he could sit up.

“What is the… matter, then?” He asked slightly hesitantly.

“The machine scanned your identifying code” You explained, unable to hold back your grin, “You sound like a very interesting individual indeed, Tech”

Tech blushed furiously, looking away and noting that his brothers were already finished with their examinations, huddled together watching him with the widest grins he had ever seen from them. He only blushed further upon seeing them, scowling and turning back to you. You just watched him with a look of vague amusement on your face.

“Well, you’re all good to go now” You informed him, and he stood quickly, accidently knocking the elbow of his armour against your hip.

He was mortified. “I am so very sorry” He spoke hurriedly, turning back towards you with wide eyes, gently holding onto your arm without even realising.

“It’s really alright” You replied with a chuckle, though it was a little strained.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you, that is the last thing I would mean to do” He continued, and you couldn’t help but find his reaction so effortlessly charming

“I like the way you speak, Tech” You smiled, genuine happiness just taking over your face.

Tech didn’t think it was possible for his face to heat up even more, but he had to clutch at the edge of his blacks and pull them away from his neck so it didn’t feel like he was over heating. He didn’t know what to say at all. He couldn’t think of the last time he had ever been complimented by someone, let alone someone as pretty as you. He willed himself to get a grip, knowing he was just giving in to his body in allowing those kind of thoughts to fester, and he cleared his throat.

“Well, it was a pleasure to meet you” He added your name with an emphasis, as if it was to help him remember it, “If I weren’t about to leave I would ask you to explain the functionality of this machine you’ve just used on me”

“Maybe another time?”

Tech nodded, “Another time”

“Goodbye Tech” You smiled at him warmly, “It was a pleasure to meet you too”

Tech nodded and turned to leave, making a beeline for his brothers, who welcomed him by teasing him mercilessly, the largest of the bunch ruffling his auburn curls. You watched them leave, and caught Tech looking back at you as he exited the room.

21BBY, KAMINO

“New orders”

Before you could realise, a datapad was being thrown at you. Luckily you got your hands around it before it dropped to the floor. You looked over the screen, then up at the other medic.

“We're not trained for that” You implored.

“The GAR is running low on medics, they asked for some of us to fill the roles for now” They replied with a shrug, “It's probably more interesting than being here anyway”

You could agree with that.

“What squad are you with?” The other medic asked, and you looked back down, tapping on your name.

“Clone Force 99” You informed them. The name rung a bell from somewhere…

“Never heard of them” The medic replied, “Guess you'll find out tomorrow”

Having stayed up late investigating the group of clones you were instructed to be joining, it was no wonder that you were bouncing on your toes with a beaming smile as their ship came hurtling into the hangar. You were impressed by their success rate, not falling short of perfect, but it was from realising exactly who was a part of this team that made you so eager.

You would be lying to say you hadn't thought of Tech a few times since first meeting him. With him being your first patient here on Kamino, it was hard not to compare the other clones to him, and while you had no issue with the other clones, you had not enjoyed your time with them as much as that first encounter.

The ship was set down on the ground, and soon the small batch of clones emerged from inside, looking particularly disinterested, and your smile faltered. They huddled together outside, talking amongst themselves, some of them leaning on the side of the ship.

You walked over slowly, feeling a little more hesitant than you had initially been. You couldn't see Tech, as he was behind his brothers, but you recognised the rest of them by their differing appearances.

You cleared your throat, gaining the attention of the clones, and offering them a small smile. They turned to look at you, apart from Tech who's face was buried in a datapad.

“Hello, I think I've been assigned to your squad” You spoke, and that's when Tech's head snapped up, his eyes meeting yours.

He looked a bit older than the last time you had seen him. His face seemed slimmer, his cheekbones slightly more hollowed out and defined, his jaw strong, but his widened eyes had the memorable sparkle in them all the same.

“We don't need you here” One of the others said, earning a elbow in the ribs as you looked up at him.

“Shut up Cross” The elbow-er hissed quietly at the elbow-ee, “Ignore him, it's nice to meet you…”

You told the man your name.

“Well, I'm Hunter” He introduced himself, and you gave him a nod of acknowledgement.

Crosshair rolled his eyes, “Why are we being made to have a medic?”

“I'm not sure” You shrugged, “I wasn't really told all too much about it”

Crosshair seemed almost pleased that you were just in the dark as them, then grunted, pushing his way past you and onto the ship.

Hunter huffed, noting your slightly offended expression, “Sorry about Crosshair, he's in a mood. We just weren't… expecting this, is all”

You chewed the inside of your cheek, “Me neither”

“Well anyway, let's get going” He walked up the ship's steps.

“I'm Wrecker” The large clone introduced himself with a warm smile, which you were inclined to return.

You held out your hand to him, and he took it with a crushing strength. “Nice to meet you… Wrecker” You managed to peep out despite the force of his grip.

Wrecker followed his commanding officer up the stairs afterwards, and you were about to follow after, but realised Tech was still stood firmly in his place. You looked back at him and he was still staring at you.

“You coming Tech?”

His eyes went a little wider.

“You know who I am?” He said, his voice holding a clear tone of surprise, though it was nowhere near as timid as it had been the last time you saw him.

Your cheeks flushed a little, embarrassed that he had clearly made more of an impression on you than you had on him.

“Oh, you don't remember meeting?” You asked, keeping your voice even.

“No, no, I remember” He confirmed, “I just didn't think you would remember me”

You gave him a puzzled look, a smile growing on your face, “Of course I remember you”

“Can you two wrap it up, we're leaving” Crosshair shouted from inside, and you chuckled slightly nervously, walking up the ramp.

Tech was still frozen in place for a moment. He hadn't been excited to be getting a medic, having ample training and knowledge of the subject himself, but now, he couldn't help but feel a little exhilarated that it was you that would be joining them.

The few times that the squad had been back to Kamino since graduation, Tech had found himself wandering down to the medical bay. He hadn't talked to you, he was far too nervous to do that, but he had watched you work through the little window in the door. You had almost caught him one time, and that's when he decided to stop doing it, realising how strange he was behaving.

He walked up the stairs of the Marauder, a little on edge, a little nervous, but a little more happy than he had been when they landed.

21BBY, MARAUDER

Tech was staring. At you, to be specific. Once again.

His brain worked at a klick a minute, and yet, whatever you had just said to him had him stumped. His mouth hung open a little, his eyes slightly narrowed and his brow furrowed deeply. He wasn't saying anything. For once, nothing was going on in his head. It was like his brain had frozen, unable to process any new thoughts. He was confused.

“Tech?” You said hesitantly, drawing him from his stupor.

“I'm sorry, I don't think I heard you correctly” He replied assuredly.

You hesitated a little before asking again, “I asked you if you think I should leave”

That's what he thought you'd said.

“I don’t understand your meaning” He dropped the tool from his hand and stood up, facing you and trying to read every movement you made.

You felt a little uneasy under his scrutiny, but continued nonetheless, “Like… leave the team”

Tech still couldn't understand.

“Why are you asking me this?” He asked, his brow furrowing even deeper.

“Well, I figured you would give me an honest answer” You shrugged. Tech was nothing if not upfront, and it was one of the many things you liked about him.

“No, I mean… why are you asking this at all?” He surveyed your reaction to his words, your throat constricting as you swallowed and subtly wiped you hands on your trousers.

“Uh… I suppose I don't feel that my presence is very necessary”

“I don't see how you could possibly think that” Tech replied, “You have a very useful skillset”

“Well, I know that Hunter doesn't exactly love having me around, and Crosshair even less so” You argued, “And my ‘useful skillset’ hardly gets used around here”

Tech didn't know what to say. There was something nagging at him from the depths of his consciousness, urging him to tell you to stay. He found you exceedingly interesting, and enjoyed hearing about your medical exploits from before joining their squad. He always asked under the guise of learning new information, but his brothers all understood, far more than him, that it wasn't just knowledge that kept him asking you questions.

At this point, you had been with the Bad Batch for a few months, and - as you were explaining to Tech - you had not felt very useful at all. They rarely got injured, but even when they did, they would mostly refuse your help. Particularly Hunter. Crosshair had not warmed to you at all, though Wrecker did seem to enjoy your company. Tech was kind, in his own way. He always listened to you attentively, and as both of you were reasonably light sleepers, you had often found yourselves staying up together between missions, talking about a great many things. He seemed interested to know about medical procedures, but expanding his knowledge was only making you more and more obsolete within the group.

“I'm sorry if we've made you feel unwelcome” He said, and your gaze softened a little.

“It's okay, I know none of you really wanted me here in the first place”

“That’s…” Tech tried to find the words, “I would not say that is entirely factual. Though if you would like to leave, I think you should”

You couldn’t help but feel a little disheartened by Tech’s words, but you did come to him for the truth after all, you couldn’t be mad now.

“Alright, I'll notify the medical team back on Kamino then”

You walked away from Tech, and his brain began working, screaming at him to ask you to stay. He pressed his lips into a hard line, trying to come up with something, anything that he could say to make you stay, but all of the possibilities floating around in his head were jumbled and he couldn’t make sense of anything. He shook his head, trying to focus himself, but you had already walked away, already set on leaving.

“Get away from me”

You were crouched over Crosshair’s crumpled form, who was bent over and holding the wound to his side in the co-pilot's chair of the Marauder.

“Crosshair, I'm only trying to help” You insisted, trying to tend to him.

“I don't need your kriffing help, back off” He hissed, snatching the medkit from you.

You sighed deeply, taking a step back, “You know this is the reason I'm here right? To help when things like this happen?”

“We don't need you!” He shouted, “We never wanted you here, and we certainly don't now”

“Crosshair, calm down” Hunter scolded lightly, and when you turned to him you could see the look on his face, where you knew he agreed with his brother but was holding his tongue.

“Well good for you, I'll be gone soon” You mumbled as you stormed away, your eyes welling up instinctively from someone raising their voice at you.

You felt entirely useless.

You became a medic because you wanted to help people, and you joined the GAR medic team because you wanted to help clones specifically, but here you were, surrounded by clones, and they didnt want your help. It was hard not to feel downcast about it.

You understood Crosshair's contempt to a certain level, but did he really have to be so mean?

Tech could hear your soft sobs from outside the door to the cargo hold. He knocked firmly, and heard you sniff before telling him to enter.

When he saw the rosy tint of your nose and cheeks and the tears running down them, he realised that he had no idea how to comfort you in this moment. He stared at you as you stared up at him, waiting for him to say something.

“I'm sorry” He said unsurely, and you gave him a sad smile.

“It's fine Tech”

“I don't really think it is ‘fine’. I am very unimpressed with the way my brothers have behaved towards you” He asserted.

Looking down at you, your knees tucked into your chest and biting into your bottom lip to stop it quivering, he was reminded that he really didn't want you to leave, and even further, he realised the true reason why. He finally mustered up the courage to ask you to stay.

“I know that you're not happy at the moment, being with this team. I… I wish it were different, I wish we could have made you more comfortable. I am sure that if you stayed for a little longer and I talked to my brothers that-”

“I've heard from Kamino already, they want me back” You said softly, cutting him off before he could even say it.

“Ah, I see” He paused, then turned away “I shall leave you to-”

“Tech”

He turned back to you, and you offered him a soft, genuine smile, “I appreciate it, thank you”

He just nodded to you and left, the nasty feeling of rejection gnawing at his brain.

As the Marauder touched down in the hangar on Kamino, there was the most unpleasant sensation stirring in your gut. This was the right choice, you didn't fit in here, and you wanted to actually make a difference. Despite knowing all this, you couldn't help but feel strange, and descending the ship’s stairs felt like regressing, going backwards instead of forwards.

You turned to look at the clones as you left. Each of them, apart from Crosshair, gave a nod and a goodbye and walked back inside. Aside from Tech, of course.

He followed you down the steps, and it was the look on his face that placed that feeling in your gut. It was the reluctancy to leave behind this man that you had grown so fond of over the past few months, this man who listened to you and made you feel wanted despite the rest of the squad's insistency to not.

It had only been a few months, but you realised that you had grown very close with the clone before you, and your heart ached. You realised the depth of the feelings you harboured for him, that it was something you had never felt for another.

“I'll miss you Tech, it's been nice getting to know you” You spoke honestly, realising this could be the last time you saw him.

Tech sighed almost imperceptibly, “I agree, I shall miss… learning about medical procedures from you”

You couldn't help but laugh, “Well next time you're on Kamino, swing by the medical bay and I'll be happy to answer your questions”

“Are you making fun of me?” Tech suddenly resembled the shy cadet that you had met the first time.

“No” You smiled, “I'd always be happy to talk to you”

Tech didn't know what the correct thing to say was, so he said nothing. He just stared at you, once again, his mind fighting for anything to say once more. There was nobody that could send his mind spiralling like you did, and it seemed that you didn't even try to.

You smiled despite his slightly awkward silence, and stepped forwards, raising to your toes to plant a soft kiss to his cheek, “Goodbye Tech”

Tech could feel his face burning, from the blush that overtook him, and the feeling of your lips searing into his skin, rendering him completely speechless. As you walked away, he brought a hand to his face where you had kissed him and traced the area with his finger lightly.

“Ugh, I'm going to throw up” Crosshair asserted from the doorway of the ship.

“Shhhh” Wrecker pushed him and watched Tech swoon over you with a large grin.

Tech paid them no mind. He just watched you leave, a mix of emotions overtaking him. A frown settled on his face as your figure disappeared into the facility, but the feel of your lips on his cheek brought a warm feeling to his chest.

19BBY, ANAXES

“Hey Baar'ur'ika!” You heard the unmistakable voice of Jesse call out to you as he jogged over to the medbay in the Anaxes base.

“He doesn't call me that you know” Kix asserted from beside you, and you chuckled.

“Do you want him to?” You asked earnestly, but with an amused twinkle in your eye.

“That's besides the point" He grumbled, earning another laugh from you.

“Me and Kix are being sent on a mission with the Captain” Jesse said as he came to a stop in front of you.

“We are?” Kix asked

Jesse nodded, “Some special squad is joining us apparently”

“Special?”

“Yeah, I'm not sure why though, you wanna come find out?” He grinned, gesturing his head towards the landing strip.

“Can't. I've got all these reports to sign off” You sighed, holding up your stack of flimsi.

“Alright, we'll see you later on then Baar'ur'ika” Jesse smiled, ruffling your hair.

You huffed, putting the lose strands of it back into place, “See you later”

You took up your stylus again, clicking it absentmindedly as you read over the reports.

You had been reassigned to the 501st only a few weeks after leaving clone force 99, and you fit in so much better here. It seemed that the clones of the 501st actually wanted to get along with you, and they always included you in their shenanigans, reluctantly on your end. You got along with all of them really well, but Kix and Jesse were the ones you were closest with. You worked most closely with Kix, so that was only natural, but Jesse was certainly the most friendly to you from the outset.

You came across a report with an error, and checked the next piece of flimsi, and the same error had been made. You then leafed through all of the pages and realised the error had been made on every single one of them, and you groaned loudly. It then occurred to you that maybe you were the one making the error, and so you grabbed the stack of pages, rushing out the door to try and grab Kix before he left for his mission.

Luckily when you got to the landing strip, him and Jesse were still standing there with the Captain. You rushed over to them, almost dropping a page on the way.

“Kix, can I just ask you about something” You spoke, and the huddle of clones turned to look at you.

“Ah Baar'ur'ika, you came to investigate after all” Jesse slung an arm around your shoulders with a grin.

“I didn't come to investigate, I-”

Your voice seemingly stopped working as you turned your head and locked eyes with the specific ones that had always managed to draw you in and leave you speechless. Those wonderful brown eyes that always widened when they met yours

“Tech” You couldn't hold back the smile that grew on your face.

Tech spoke your name, and Jesse stifled a laugh when he felt a shiver run up your back.

You were absolutely mesmerised by the man in front of you. It had been just over a year since you had seen him, and in that time it seemed that he had only got even more beautiful. Your heart felt as if it had been set alight, the emotions that accompanied seeing Tech returning as if you had only said goodbye to him yesterday.

“We're here too” Wrecker laughed, snapping your gaze away from the spectacled clone.

“Hey Wrecker” You grinned, and he gave you a wink in return.

“Hey Hunter, Crosshair” You addressed the last two clones.

“Hey, it's good to see you” Hunter replied, a small genuine smile directed towards you.

Crosshair didn't say anything, but you hadn't expected him to.

“You know these guys?” Jesse asked, squeezing your shoulder.

“Uh, yeah. I was with them for a little while” You replied, looking to the floor for a moment before realising why you were here. “Oh! Kix, I just need to ask about this”

Tech watched you talking with the other medic and flipping through the pieces of flimsi as everyone else fell back into their previous conversation. His eyes lingered on the arm slung around your shoulders, and the way you placed your own hand on the shoulder of the other clone. You were clearly comfortable around these clones, and Tech's jealousy fizzled away to a form of sadness as he realised that you were so much happier with these clones than you had been with them. With him.

You settled the matter with Kix, and turned towards Tech once more, stepping forward so you stood in front of him.

“How are you?” You asked, clasping your hands behind your back.

“I am well” Tech replied flatly, not giving away an inch of the emotions that swirled within him, “How about yourself?”

“I'm good yeah” You smiled, “I've been here for a few rotations”

“With the 501st?” Tech asked.

“Oh no, just on Anaxes, I've been with these guys since… well, a couple weeks after I left you”

Something about the sentence pulled at Tech's heart. These clones were so lucky. They had got to spend all of this time by your side, all this time that he had spent with you only as a memory in his head, your absence taunting him constantly.

“I- Uh- I am glad to see you are doing well, you seem… happier, than last I saw you” He observed, pulling a small laugh from you.

“Maybe a bit. I do miss having someone to rant to though” You smirked a little at him, and despite his heated cheeks, he returned the gesture.

“I don't know that I'd call it ‘ranting’, you were always very precise with your words, very… intentional” He complimented you in a way that only made sense to both of you.

You hummed in response, “Well how's this for intentional - I've missed you Tech”

Tech couldn't hold back the small contented sigh that escaped him.

“I have missed you too” He admitted, indulging in losing himself in your eyes, inspecting ever fleck of colour.

“Hey Tech! We've gotta get going” Hunter shouted over to him. Neither one if you had realised the others had moved away.

Tech scowled inwardly, turning his attention back to you, “I was… I should like to ask you about biopsy methods, I am unsure of safe practice”

“Maybe another time?” You asked hopefully.

He nodded, a small smile quirking the edges of his lips, “Another time”

In a bout of confidence and rising adrenaline, Tech found himself leaning down and pressing a short kiss to your cheek, as you had done to him last time. Your mouth hung open a little as he then immediately walked off and joined his brothers on the gunship, surprised that he had actually done such a thing.

“Bye Baar'ur'ika” Jesse called teasingly, and you were snapped from your daze.

“Bye di'kut” You called, rolling your eyes as you clutched your flimsi close to your chest.

Tech's eyes locked with yours as the doors to the gunship closed, and it made your chest ache. You could still feel the warmth of his breath, the gentle scratch of his stubble, the softness of his lips. It was all too much and not enough, and watching him leave hurt more than you thought it would.

18BBY, CORUSCANT

You sat at your makeshift desk, your head in your hand and flicking through your datapad to survey the latest news. Things certainly had become bleak since the rise of the Empire.

You heard your name called, and your head snapped up to meet the golden eyes of Senator Chuchi.

“Senator, what can I do for you?” You asked, sitting up straight.

“Please, it's Riyo, and it's more what I can do for you” She said with a small smirk lifting the edges of her lips.

“Oh” You said, your eyebrows drawing together in confusion, “What do you mean?”

“There's a new clone joining us, I believe you know him” She replied, her smirk growing.

You immediately stood from your seat, “Is it who I think it is?”

“Perhaps” The Senator shrugged coyly.

You couldn't hold back your grin, “Where is he?”

“Just in the hangar” She nodded in the direction.

“Thank you Sen- Riyo” You said quickly, rushing from behind your desk towards the hangar.

You had known that Echo was alive, but this was the first time you would actually be seeing him since before the mission to the citadel where he had been presumed dead, and boy was he a sight for sore eyes.

“Echo!” You exclaimed excitedly, drawing the attention of the clone as you ran towards him across the hangar.

The clone's eyes lit up as he took in the sight of you, and stepped forwards, taking you in a tight hug when you crashed into him.

“It's good to see you” He said with a smile as he pulled away.

“It's even better to see you” You grinned, “I was so upset I didn't get to see you after you were rescued”

“I heard” He smirked, looking over his shoulder at Rex.

You looked over at the blonde clone too, and saw that he was watching on with three other familiar clones.

“Woah” You couldn't stop yourself from saying, “I heard you were hanging around with this lot nowadays”

Once your eyes found Tech, you couldn't bring yourself to look away. He seemed to be hanging back a bit, his eyes once again a little wide behind his goggles.

“Hey!” Wrecker said excitedly, earning a small laugh from you.

“Hey Wrecker, hey Hunter” You smiled at the clones.

“Hi” The Sergeant smiled at you.

Wrecker then pushed Tech forwards, and you smirked a little as he glared at his larger brother.

“Hey Tech, how's it going?” You asked, and he brought his eyes back to you.

In a way he couldn't define, you seemed more mature than when he had last saw you. Perhaps it was the tiredness he saw in your eyes, or perhaps it was the few small scars that adorned your skin, clearly earned in battle. The thought of you sustaining injuries made his stomach lurch, so he tried not to think of it.

The way you were looking at him was so familiar. Your smile was kind and easy, gracing your features in a way that was so uniquely you. The light crinkle around your eyes and lips, the small glint in your eye, the way one side of your mouth was more contorted than the other. Tech was certainly glad to see you.

“Uh… it is going well” Tech replied unsurely after a moment, and you smirked a little bit at his answer.

It was intoxicating to be in Tech's presence once more. Everytime you were around him, things felt a little different, like there was something in the air that made everyone else look a bit more fuzzy as he was brought into focus. It didn't ever help that he was seemingly always getting so much more handsome every time you saw him.

His auburn locks were a little longer at the moment, no doubt because his biggest priority whilst on the run from the Empire was not his hair, but you weren't complaining. His hair framed his angelic face so perfectly, his features undeniably sharper and more mature, though his eyes were still as soft and gentle as they had always been, with a startling youthfulness that he couldn't seem to shake.

“It's good to see you guys, I'm glad to see you're not… with the Empire” You said a little hesitantly, then noticed the small blonde girl that was hiding behind Hunter.

He noticed you looking at her and introduced her to you.

“It's nice to meet you Omega” You smiled, kneeling down to get on her level.

“It's nice to meet you too, though I have already heard of you since Tech talks about you a lot” She said matter-of-factly.

“Is that right?” You smirked, looking up at Tech, whose cheeks were positively burning.

“I think I may have mentioned your existence a few times” He spoke flatly, but the edge of squeakiness gave him away.

The idea of Tech talking about you, or even just casually mentioning your existence in a passing comment, was enough to set your heart alight. In whatever manner it had truly been, he had at least always remembered you in some way, and that brought the smile to your face.

Hunter then said goodbye to you, and then to Echo, and retreated to the ship. Tech did the same, but instead walked towards you, stopping just in front of you. You had to crane your neck a little to look up at him in the pleasantly close quarters. Had he always been this tall?

“I-” He just looked at you for a while, and you smiled at him, waiting patiently for him to continue. “I have many questions to ask you” He finished.

You chuckled, “Maybe another time?”

Tech couldn't help but sigh, the familiar words making his heart ache, “Another time, yes”

“I think I owe you something now” You said with a small grin, trying to ease the light crease in his brow.

Tech watched your expression change cautiously, “Owe me? I don't think so”

“I mean, if you don't want it then-”

“Well, I must admit, I am curious now”

You laughed at his interjection, smiling at him fondly, “Alright, here you go then”

You placed a hand on his cheek and brought your lips to the other one, placing a lingering kiss to his cheekbone. Tech closed his eyes at the bittersweet feeling of it, and opened them to look back into yours. He placed his own hand to your cheek before the moment could end, and gently rubbed his thumb back and forth, his eyes searching yours. He took a quick glance over your shoulder and saw his brothers all watching him, waiting for him so they could leave, and he chewed the corner of his lip a little as he looked back to you.

“One of these days, I'll give you a proper kiss” He said quietly, making your heart skip a beat, “If you'd like that”

“I'd like that very much” You replied quickly, the grin on your face only growing.

Tech cracked his own small smile. “Another time then” He whispered, and looked over your features for a second longer, before placing a soft kiss to your forehead and walking away.

You watched him leave with an undeniable fondness swelling in your heart. You had felt a certain affection for Tech from the very beginning, and the thrill of the idea of him returning the feelings that you harboured for him brought forth the newfound nature of said feelings.

It went deeper than just liking him in a special way. This emotion you felt when you looked at him, or when you thought of him, was different. The way your heart stopped when he looked at you, the way your breath hitched when he spoke your name, you knew it was different. This was far more profound than a silly crush. The longevity of your affections had caused them to develop into something deeper, more serious.

Something like love.

17BBY, REBELLION BASE

“I need to talk to you”

You looked up from cleaning your workstation and saw Echo striding towards you, determination in his eyes that seemed otherwise tired and possibly even sad.

“What's the matter?” You asked, rushing over to meet him in the middle.

He opened his mouth, trying to find the words, but finding them hard to say, to admit even to himself.

“I… was just on a mission with the batch” He started.

“Oh how are they? How's Tech?” You ask, your mood lifted just a little.

Echo's heart ached, his eyebrows pinching together as his lips formed a hard line. His eyes began to well up slightly and he blinked a few times to rid himself of the tears.

“I'm so sorry” He whispered.

“Why are you sorry?” You asked cautiously.

“Tech… He-” Echo swallowed, “He didn't make it, he fell”

The words hit directly into your heart, and you could almost feel it collapse in on itself.

“Wh- What?” You whimpered out, almost hoping that you had heard him wrong, or that it was just a cruel joke of some kind.

“He… He sacrificed himself for the squad, so that they could live”

You couldn't say anything, couldn't breathe, couldn't move, couldn't think. The only thing you could do, was let the feeling of everything crashing down wash over you. It truly felt as if the hinges of your life, the certain something that seemingly held it up, had come loose.

You heard Echo say your name, but it was distant, like he was in another room. Your knees slowly gave in, and he grabbed you as you fell to the ground. He held you in his arms as you cried silently, your tears soaking through his clothes. He stroked your hair comfortingly, whispering assurances about how it was going to be fine, that everything would be alright.

“I never got to tell him, Echo” You choked out eventually, cutting through his smooth words.

“Tell him what?” He asked tenderly, knowing all too well what it was.

“That I… love him” You said, and a small sob finally escaped you.

Somehow it felt even harder to admit now that he was gone. Your love didn't feel as if it was in the past tense. It felt present, current, and that's why the sudden grief stung so much - the love was still lingering, and it didn't feel as if it was planning on leaving anytime soon. After all, it had managed to survive not seeing him for long periods of time, and to your broken heart, it felt the same.

17BBY, IMPERIAL PRISION

You surfaced slowly into consciousness, your eyes trying to open, but to no avail. You could feel your wrists caught in restraints, held above you on either side of your head. You tried to remember what had happened, but everything was fuzzy. You were… at the base. The Bad Batch were there, then… You were attacked? You were running with… Howzer? and then…

You couldn't recall anything past that point, but when your eyes finally opened you had a little idea of what could have happened. Sat opposite you with their arms crossed, was a man dressed head to toe in black armour, like the operative that Rex had captured before the attack on the base. He began talking, but it wasn't initially intelligible.

You shook your head to try and clear the brain fog a little, “Wha-”

“Tell me where the girl is” He demanded. The sound of his voice was so eerily familiar, but it was heavily modified by his helmet.

“Girl?” You questioned through your delirious state, turning your wrists in their restraints. Naturally, you knew who he was talking about, but you weren't going to give up that easily.

“Omega. I saw you talking with her, I know you know her and her brothers. Now, tell me, where would they have taken her?”

You pressed your mouth into a hard line, you could hardly deny it if he had seen you. “I won't talk”

He sighed, standing up and walking over so he stood in front of you, “I don't need to hurt you…” He said your name, and a chill ran up your spine. How could he know your name?

“That's not my name” You narrowed your eyes, looking into his visor.

“You cannot lie to me, Cyare” He spoke, and ran a hand over your cheek, “It would serve you well to tell the truth, it would be a shame to have to ruin this pretty face”

You looked over the man's appearance, for any semblance of individuality, but there was nothing.

“Who are you?” You asked.

“No one that concerns you anymore” The man chuckled, stepping back from you, “Now, tell me, what has become of the defective clones?”

You clenched your jaw in defiance, refusing to spill anything without even a little bit if incentive. You were clearly in some kind of imperial facility, but you weren't in any immediate danger, so you would stay stubborn for as long as you could.

The man spoke your name in a warning tone, his head tilted to the side, “I need you to tell me”

“I wont tell you anything” You spat back at him. He was irritatingly calm and collected, something you had not experienced from the Empire before.

He folded his hands behind his back, humming thoughtfully, “You will. Perhaps, another time”

With that, he turned and pressed the button on the door panel to leave.

You let your head hang down again, letting out a deep breath. If you weren't so tired you were sure that you'd be more panicked, but as your eyes closed and you let the exhaustion take over, you couldn't find it in yourself to be scared. Your body ached, and you needed it to rest if you wanted any chance of getting out of here.

The mysterious operative returned often over the next few days, pushing for answers but always leaving empty handed. He would always threaten violence, but had not touched you once since caressing your face in that first encounter.

He was now stood opposite you as he always was, making another empty threat about how you would be hurt if you didn't answer him.

You rolled your eyes, “Are you ever going to hold true to that promise?”

He stayed silent, and you laughed a little.

“Come on, I dare you, hurt me” You urged, jutting your chin out.

You were so tired of this, and he was obviously worn out by your defiance as well.

“I told you” He spoke quietly, “The last thing I would ever mean to do is hurt you”

Your heart stopped, and your eyes went wide as the familiar voice finally placed itself, hearing the same words that it had said all those years ago.

“It can't be, you-”

The man reached up and took off his helmet with a short hiss. He looked different, his face scarred and weary, his goggles nowhere to be seen, but it was undeniably him. The only thing that could have convinced you otherwise was the fact that his eyes didn't have the youthful sparkle they always seemed to in the past. Instead, they looked tired, completely worn down, and cold.

“Tech” You whispered, your heart beating impossibly fast in your chest.

He stepped closer, “I do not go by that name anymore”

On instinct, your eyes began to water, and a single tear ran down your cheek, “What are you doing here? You- You're with the Empire?”

He didn't reply, but he took off a glove and brought his hand to your face to wipe your tear away. You closed your eyes, and he let his hand remain on your cheek, rubbing your cheekbone lightly.

“I need you to tell me what I want to know” He spoke so softly now, and you opened your eyes and look up into his. They were still so inviting despite their unfamiliar coldness.

“Tech, why are you doing this?”

He didn't reply again, but brought his other hand to your cheek and held your face gently, his own just in front of yours, “Tell me”

“I can't” You choked out, brow furrowed as he ignored your questions.

“Please, Cyare. They will hurt you if you don't talk”

“Let them” You said firmly, tugging your face from his hands, “I won't betray your brothers”

Tech just watched you for a moment before opening his mouth again.

“So be it”

He put his helmet back on and left the room, leaving you alone with the revelation that the man you had been in love with was not only alive, but under the control of the Empire, the very thing you had dedicated your life to defeating.

The following day, when you lifted your head to see Tech enter your cell, he was now joined by an Imperial officer, and a floating droid that had a thin needle protruding from it. You understood all too well what this droid was, what it was used for, and you pulled at your restraints, a string of grunts escaping your lips.

“Resisting will do you no good” The Imperial officer chuckled, standing before you as the droid positioned itself to your left.

Tech couldn't watch. He kept his head up, appearing to be looking straight through you, but he had to close his eyes. Your screams were enough. You were resisting at every turn, and Tech just wished you would relent so that he wouldn't have to listen to the awful sounds that escaped you. The sounds that cut deep through his conditioning and hit his very soul, causing his chest to ache.

“Please, Tech. Make them stop” You cried hopelessly, and he squeezed his eyes closed even further, trying to block everything out.

To you, he looked cold, unmoving, and even after the Imperial had left with the droid as you had not let anything slip, he didn't budge at all.

After a few minutes of quiet, the only sound that was heard being your heavy breathing, he stepped forwards, taking off his helmet and letting it drop to the floor. He reached up and let you down from your restraints, catching your body as it fell down, limp with exhaustion. He knelt on the floor, his hand on the back of your head as it rested in his lap.

Your eyes fluttered open to see his face. He looked undeniably remorseful, and his eyes had a little amount of that special spark that they used to. You reached up and touched his face, causing his eyes to close with a shaky breath.

“What have they done to you Tech?” You whispered, your throat raw from shouting.

He didn't speak, but his heart clenched in his chest, every word you spoke bringing him further from the conditioning he had been subjected to to make him the way he was.

“How you could you let them do this to your brothers? To me? Do you not care about me at all?”

His eyes were now glassy when he opened them and looked down at you. He leant down and brought his forehead to yours, “I care for you more than you know”

Your tears were streaming down your face, “Then why are you doing this?”

Looking so deeply into your teary eyes, something in him finally snapped. He had a moment of intense clarity, fighting through his conditioning and realising the severity of his actions, of who he now was, who he had been forced to become.

He helped you stand before tying you back up in your restraints, much to your confusion.

You were sobbing now, your body and mind heavy with exhaustion, “Tech, please. Please stop this”

“I will come back for you, Cyare” He whispered, bringing his forehead back to yours with a hand on the back of your head, “I will get you out of here, I promise”

He stepped back, and was about to put his helmet back on, but he looked up to you once more.

“I am so very sorry”

You saw a tear slip from his eye, and he then placed his helmet on his head, leaving you alone once more.

Holding true to his promise, Tech returned that night. He unclipped your restraints, and you crumbled to your knees.

“Come on Cyar'ika, I'm going to get you out of here” He said gently, helping you to stand.

You tried to get a good footing, but your legs were too weak, and you fell into him. Without needing to be told, he picked you up, slinging an arm behind your back and the other under your knees. You rested your hands on his chest, looking up at his helmeted face and feeling unsure about his motivations. You were too tired to inquire though, so you just leaned your head against his shoulder and let him take you wherever he was going.

Tech carried you through the corridors of the prison, looking around corners and making sure to take the route where there would be the least guards. He constantly made sure you were still with him, as you kept slipping in and out of consciousness, so he'd place his fingers against your pulse point.

He slammed his hand into the door panel, and entered the elevator that would take you to the surface. The doors slid closed and he looked down at you, and behind his mask, he couldn't help but smile.

You looked so peaceful, so calm, so… beautiful.

For the first time, he let himself think of the future. He would get you out of here, and then he'd be free to think about his future. Maybe he'd re-join his brothers on Pabu, maybe… you would come with him. He hoped you could forgive him for the mistakes he'd made.

The doors opened, and Tech stepped out, pacing quickly across the landing platform to the nearest ship. Before he could make it there though, a bright light was shone on the pair of you from above.

“Trooper, put the prisoner down” A voice spoke through a loudspeaker, and he held you tightly in defiance.

He continued towards the transport, but was stopped in his place as blaster fire ripped through the air. His leg gave way as one of the shots grazed him, and he collapsed onto his knee, keeping you close to his chest so you wouldn’t hit the ground. He heard you let out a strangled gasp, and his heart sunk to his feet.

He pulled back from you, and sure enough, a blaster bolt had ripped straight into your chest.

He began panicking instantly, his breath quick and ragged, his heart stuttering and beating at an uneven pace. He let you rest in his lap, looking up to him through half lidded eyes that told him what he already knew to be true.

“No” He said assuredly, “You’re fine, you’re okay”

“Tech” You whispered.

“Everything will be fine” He bit into his bottom lip, completely in denial of what was happening.

“Tech” You said more firmly, though your voice was croaky, “It’s okay”

“It is not okay!” He exclaimed, tears spilling from his eyes that had quickly welled up.

He just watched you in disbelief, now unable to control the sobs that left his mouth. He had never cried so hard at anything in his life, but right now it felt as if everything was ending when it had only barely just begun.

“I'm so sorry Cyare, for everything” He whispered, his heart aching when you gave him a half-hearted smile.

“I know Tech, I know” You said breathlessly, the feeling of the blaster bolt to your heart ripping any strength from you.

Tech held your body close to him as the life slipped from you.

“It shouldn't have been like this, I should've protected you” He sobbed into your chest.

You pulled his head back and hooked your fingers under the edge of his helmet, taking it off his head so you could look into his eyes. You placed your hand on the side of his scarred cheek, and he leaned into it savouring your warm touch while he still could.

“It's okay Tech, I forgive you”

He didn't even think, he didn’t want to. Instead he just brought his lips to yours, the salty taste of his tears finding your tongue. The kiss was perfect, yet so bittersweet. It was something you had both waited years for, but now it would be one of the last moments you would ever share together. Tech kissed you so fervently, pouring every inch of his being into you, connecting his soul to yours, and in return you gave everything you had, even as it was slipping away.

He didn’t want it to end, and neither did you, but you knew your time was limited, and you had something you needed to say. You had thought that you had missed your chance before, and you’d be damned if you missed it now, in your final moments.

“Tech” You whispered, pulling away from him and looking into his glassy eyes, “I love you”

He let out a choked sob and brought his forehead to yours, “I love you too Cyar’ika, I always will”

His forehead rested against yours as you slipped away. He was whispering apologies, his eyes closed, unable to look into your eyes and see the light leave them. After a few moments, your hand fell from his face, and that's when he knew you were gone.

Tech held you close to him for a moment longer before his blood began boiling with rage. He laid your lifeless body against the ground, closing your eyes and making sure you could be comfortable even in death.

He stood, a flame burning inside of him that spread throughout his limbs, urging his fingers to find the pair of blasters that sat at his hip. He unholstered them just as blaster fire once more resumed. He dodged what he could, shooting the stormtroopers that closed in on him and depleting their numbers single-handedly, but his luck was eventually going to run out, and he knew that.

The first shot was to his shoulder, sending him stumbling backwards, but he fought through the searing pain and continued knocking down the soldiers. The second shot placed itself in his knee and he cried out as it gave way and he fell to his other knee, still fighting for his life. The third and fourth shots were the true nail in the coffin, both of them finding his chest and ripping him open as you had been. Even though he had armour, it was not enough to withstand two blaster bolts to the heart.

He fell forwards, his body sprawled on the floor unceremoniously. He lifted his head just a little to look towards your body. He grasped ahead of him and found purchase on your hand, still warm as if you were there comforting him through death as he had for you.

He laid down on his back as he saw his life flashing before his eyes, your hand clasped in his, and he mourned the life that could have been. Perhaps in another life, another time, things would have ended differently.