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zorrasucia · 1 month ago

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13. Hot Cocoa + Baking

from @carmenberzattosgf list

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Mature (2.3k)

Tags: Chocolat (2000) AU, Friends to Rivals to Lovers, Food, Curvy Reader, Fluff, Sexual Tension, Smut, Dry Humping, Dirty Talk, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Maybe it was corny and provincial, but you always welcomed your neighbors with a batch of cookies. It was good for business most of the time too - the insurance people next door bought pastries every other day for their breakfast after you gifted them some for their opening.

So, there you were, close to the counter of the new specialty chocolaterie, box of cookies in hand, captivated by the smell of chocolate... There was so much more though: caramel, vanilla, almonds, coffee, cardamom, berries, and was that pepper...?

"Welcome to The Bear, what can I do for you?" a tall man greeted you.

"Oh, hi!" you smiled politely. "I'm from the bakery down the street. Wanted to say hello and give you a little welcome present."

You handed him the box, delicate calligraphy marking the name of your shop.

The man beamed. "That's so sweet! Pun not intended," he chuckled to himself. "Now we definitely have to give you something on the house!"

You looked at his name tag. "Richie, that's not necessary at all..."

"Nonsense. Plus, you get to see the magic happen. Cousin!" he bellowed to the back, where you assumed the kitchen was.

"Magic?" you frowned.

A blond guy with blue eyes emerged from the door and gave you a polite nod.

"What is it?" he asked Richie, he seemed irritated.

"Cookies from our neighbor, cuz," Richie offered him the open box, he was already biting into his second one. "Say thanks and do your mind-reader thing."

"It's not... Never mind," he mumbled in exasperation, rolling his eyes. "Carmy Berzatto," he said and offered you his hand to shake. "Thank you for the cookies."

"You're welcome," you smiled at the sight of him eating with gusto.

"Is that piloncillo sugar?" he asked after a moment of savoring.

"Yes!" you beamed.

"Tremendous," he said earnestly, wiping his hands on a dish towel. He walked closer to the counter and stared at you, intensely, for half a minute. "Mocha frappe, double espresso shot, whipped cream and chocolate shavings on top. That's your favorite."

You stared right back, mouth agape. That was your comfort drink, no matter the weather. How did he know?

"Do we still have the nice Mexican coffee? She'll appreciate it," he asked Richie.

"Yeah, third shelf. Neat trick, huh?" Richie grinned, enjoying the shocked look on your face as Carmy went to the back.

"How does he-?"

"Fucked if I know," he shrugged. "He says it's a family thing. He never misses."

"Did he guess your favorite too?" you asked, fascinated.

"Yeah," he chuckled. "It's hot cocoa with marshmallows. He says I have the palate of a six year old but if it ain't broke..."

While Carmy prepared your drink, you looked around the shop. There were beautiful confections with crazy flavors, covered in gold leaf, almost too beautiful to eat. But there were also dollops of milk chocolate with puffed rice, humble looking and ready for a kid to devour. Truly something for everyone.

When he handed you your coffee you asked: "What's your favorite?"

Carmy gave you a tense smile. "Hope you like it. Pleasure to meet you," he said and left.

"He says it's a secret," Richie handed you a napkin, then he added in a whisper: "I don't think he has one. He doesn't enjoy things that way."

"What way?"

"Uh, the normal way, I guess," Richie shrugged. "He barely eats the things he makes. Lives like a monk. It feels like he has to make chocolate 24/7 or some family curse is going to get him. Dunno if I'm making sense."

"Kind of," you said.

You took a sip of your drink and knew you were fucked forever. No chain coffeehouse would be able to compete with this.

It had been a couple of months since The Bear opened. They had a few loyal customers plus whatever weirdos wanted to see if Carmy was as spot on with his predictions as online reviews said he was - he never missed.

You had become friendly with the staff and had developed a routine of sorts with Carmy.

It probably wasn't healthy but you saw him as a mystery to solve. You didn't know about chocolate, not the way he did, but you knew baking, you understood how comfort and love could be encapsulated in a dessert. So you tried to find his favorite, the thing that would make his heart sing like he could do to you and every other person that walked into his chocolaterie. If nothing else, you got constructive criticism from a kindred spirit on a weekly basis.

Could use less cinnamon.

Maybe with brown sugar instead?

Oh, that's good.

What about blackberry jam?

Delicious... but not my favorite.

"Anyone told you you're a buzzkill?" you said with a dejected sigh.

"Many people. Often," he replied dryly.

"Richie doesn't count."

"Point still stands," he said, wiping crumbs from the flaky pastry you had brought. "People think I'm supposed to be having fun in there for the chocolate to be good when it's probably the opposite."

"It doesn't have to be like that, Carm," you said, exasperated. "You don't have to be fucking miserable for this to work."

He took a deep breath. You had never spelled it out so clearly and it clearly struck a nerve.

"I appreciate you," he said. "I do. But I'm fucked up. And you can't fix me with pies and cakes and-" he looked at the ceiling. "You're an incredible pastry chef. And you're so fucking nice but, uh, I think we should stop this."

"This?"

"You coming here and asking for feedback on your already perfect baked goods. I don't know what you're expecting from me but you look at me with those Bambi eyes and I always disappoint you," he ran a hand through his hair. "It fucks me up."

"Right." You picked up your stuff as quickly as you could, feeling heartbroken and humiliated. You knew you probably came off as needy but you hadn't realized just how much. You felt tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. "Sorry to bother you. Won't happen again."

And you left.

Weeks passed, weeks that you devoted to yourself, to feeling better, dressing pretty, baking delicious treats for happy customers, standing in front of the mirror to say nice things about your curvy body.

You had tried and failed to make Carmy see how much better his life could be if he let himself enjoy things, actually savor his chocolate instead of finding four things that were wrong with it upon his first bite. Only now you realized how similar you two were, both wanting to fix things that were probably best left alone. Carmy wasn't a recipe you could perfect and he wasn't your anything really to worry about.

It wasn't lost on you, the metaphor for everything you had been doing - his lithe body and your slightly overweight one, and how much you wanted his toned biceps on either side of your head as he panted above you, letting himself lose control for once. As you indulged in these fantasies, your fingers deep inside your pussy, you wondered whether he ever desired stuff that way. You pictured him, eyes rolled back in bliss, while he held you, and you came with a cry.

You were closing up for the night, cold wind ruffling your hair and your skirt.

"Hey."

You turned to see Carmy, blue apron underneath his wool coat.

"Hey," you said curtly, avoiding his glance.

"I, uh, I've been wanting to talk to you..." he said.

"Okay? Can you make it quick? I have to get up at four in the morning," the prickly part of you woke up at the sight of him.

"Listen, you don't need to do it if you don't want to but-" he handed you a paper bag with The Bear's logo on it. "I was wondering if you could make pain au chocolat with this?"

You received the bag cautiously. "How many?"

"I only need two," he mumbled and you scoffed. He knew - he fucking knew how hard it was to make the dough and that you couldn't just make two. "You can keep the rest of the chocolate," he offered.

"I'm still gonna charge you full price," you warned him.

"Of course."

You eyed him suspiciously, his bright eyes and open hands, his overall apologetic manner...

"Fine. I'll come by tomorrow after I close."

Maybe it was pride but you didn't try the pain au chocolat with Carmy's chocolate. Not one bite out of the entire batch you had baked. It would, of course, be excellent and you didn't want to give him that satisfaction.

"Here you go," you handed him the box, all pretty with a ribbon and a blank card ready to be gifted.

"Thank you," he gave you a shy smile. "Wanna sit down? I'll make you hot chocolate."

His shop was empty - only half the lights were on, and the sign at the door read 'Closed'.

"Come on," he insisted, his blue eyes pleading and you sighed in defeat, sitting by the counter next to him.

He served two cups of hot chocolate and plated the pastries, one for you and one for him.

"What are you-?" you started.

"When we first met, you asked me about my favorite," he explained. "Then you started bringing cookies and pie and muffins and it was so nice. I'm not used to nice things. And you were getting close. So I pushed you away and I Iashed out. I was an asshole."

"Yes, you were," you took a sip of your chocolate. He would be so much easier to hate if the things he made weren't so tasty.

"I'm not asking to go back to the way things were if you don't want that. I just hated how things ended," he nudged the plate towards you. "This is my favorite."

The pastry you had baked with the chocolate he had made.

"You haven't even tried it," you challenged him.

He took a bite and chewed slowly, savoring, a moan stuck in the back of his throat. You squeezed your thighs at the low, delicious sound.

"Fuck. That's perfect," he declared. Your heart beat faster. "Try it."

You took a bite. It was cozy and delicate, the rich chocolate caressing your tongue.

You nodded. "What a way to put my chocolate supplier to shame."

Carmy smiled, taking another big bite. "I'll give it to you for free if you keep making these."

You blushed at the double meaning and turned away.

"Fuck, that sounded awful. Sorry," Carmy said after a beat.

"It's okay," you laughed. You turned to face him, he had a giddy smile on his face that made him look younger and prettier.

"You have a-" he pointed at your lip but then he reached over and rubbed at your lower lip, wiping some leftover chocolate. He brought that same finger up to his mouth and sucked it clean. Your stomach dropped and you could feel yourself getting wet.

Carmy stood up, you could see his pupils dilate the closer he got, see his eyes linger on the low cut of your shirt.

"I thought that if I stopped seeing you, I would be able to focus," he whispered, his breath tickling your face. "I have never been so fucking distracted. Just thinking..." he kissed the side of your face, open mouthed and hungry. "Kept thinking of things I'd say to you, recipes I could share and shit like that," he mumbled, his hands ghosting over your thighs, playing with the hem of your skirt. "Thinking about your hands, kneading, working, and how they'd feel," following his lead you placed your hands over his chest, caressing his sides. He groaned. "Thinking about your body. Every part of it..."

"Touch me," you practically begged, moaning in satisfaction when he squeezed your breasts over your clothes.

"Imagining how sweet you'd taste," he panted against your lips, letting you close the small distance left, tasting his own chocolate in your mouth as he devoured you. You pulled on his hair, desperate to return every bit of passion he was giving you.

"Carmy," you gasped and brought him closer, opening your legs and scooting to the edge of your seat. His hard cock rubbed against your center, his hands were everywhere.

"So soft," he said, kissing down your neck to your chest. He palmed your breast with one hand and squeezed your hip with the other, guiding you to grind against his erection.

"Fuck," you cursed. "Like that."

You tugged on his hair, getting a low groan in response. You took the opportunity to shove your tongue inside his mouth and kiss him with all the hunger you had for him. He bit your lower lip and you moaned.

"You even sound sweet," he said absently, a desperate rhythm building between you.

"I thought of you too," you said, looking into his blue eyes, squeezing his ass to bring him closer. "Thought how'd beautiful you'd look when you came - all sweaty, your eyes on me."

"Fuck," he growled, his thrusts becoming frantic. "Can't wait to take you home. Fuck you properly. Fucking taste you..."

You could feel fireworks inside you, your pussy clenching around nothing, grinding desperately against Carmy, biting on his bicep to muffle a cry of ecstasy.

"Oh, my God," you gasped for breath as he chased his release, you grew pliant in his embrace, carding your fingers through his hair, legs shaking around his waist, your underwear soaked.

"Fuck," he froze and exhaled hard, his nose tickling your neck. "If you feel this good with your clothes on..."

You giggled. "Come on," you kissed his temple. "Let's close up shop."

#chocolat (2000) is such a banger of a movie - the catholic guilt of it all... AND juliette binoche? possible bisexual awakening...#ANYWAY this is probably the most ME thing i've written on here - i know the header of the blog says self indulgence but this is FOR me #hope you guys enjoy it nevertheless 💜😌#bearblrpromptober #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x you #carmy berzatto smut #carmy berzatto fanfiction

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moonxknightx · 2 months ago

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♡˗ˏ✎*ೃ˚ :SUMMER FLING (PT1) : :;

╰┈➤ ❝ [PAIRING] ❞ Hugh Jackman x F!Reader

・❥・GENRE: Fluff :))

ੈ✩‧₊˚ WARNINGS: Literally none!

˚��· ͟͟͞͞➳❥SUMMARY: In the peaceful town of Portofino, you run a café that offers a calm escape from New York. When Hugh Jackman, being on a long due holiday, started frequenting your café, you try to keep things friendly and low-key. As summer progresses, your conversations grow more engaging, and you begin to look forward to his visits, hoping that maybe, it can bloom into something more.

THE SOUND OF THE BELL ABOVE THE DOOR CHIMED SOFTLY AS YOU FLIPPED THE SIGN ON YOUR BOOKSTORE CAFE TO, Aperto. The sun was just beginning to rise over the glittering sea of Portofino, casting a golden glow across the picturesque Italian town. The cobbled streets were still quiet, with only the occasional scooter whirring by. It was early yet, but you had always enjoyed the calm before the bustle, when it felt like the whole world was still asleep, and this tiny corner of paradise belonged only to you.

After moving here from New York two years ago, you had found a rhythm. Your café-bookstore, Il Sogno, had quickly become a favorite of both locals and tourists. With its shelves lined with well-worn books and the scent of fresh espresso hanging in the air, it was your sanctuary—a world away from the chaos of Manhattan.

You pulled a fresh batch of pastries from the oven just as the door opened, and in walked your most faithful customer and friend, Signora Rossi. Every morning without fail, she’d be there, perched at the window with her espresso and biscotti, watching the town slowly wake up.

“Buongiorno, cara!” she greeted you with a smile, her voice warm with familiarity. She was in her late sixties, her grey hair pulled into a neat bun, her eyes sharp and full of mischief. She was like a second mother, always full of gossip and advice, especially when it came to your love life—or lack thereof.

“Morning, Signora,” you said, pouring her usual espresso.

“Did you hear about the new mystery man who arrived yesterday?” she asked, leaning over the counter as though she had the juiciest secret in town.

You laughed, shaking your head. “I swear, nothing escapes you, does it?”

“Of course not,” she replied, her eyes twinkling. “He’s rented the villa by the sea. You know, the one with the view of the harbor. No one knows who he is, but I’ve heard he’s famous.”

“Famous?” You raised an eyebrow, handing her the cup. “What, like a movie star?”

“Perhaps,” she mused, stirring her espresso. “But he’s been very quiet, very private. It’s only a matter of time before someone figures it out. Maybe he’ll come into your café, and you’ll charm him.”

You chuckled, rolling your eyes playfully. “Maybe he’ll just want his coffee in peace.”

~🌻~

But as the morning went on, you couldn’t help but wonder. A famous stranger in Portofino? It wasn’t unusual for celebrities to vacation in the area, but something about the mystery piqued your curiosity.

Hours passed, and the café began to fill with its usual mix of locals and tourists. You were busy behind the counter, making lattes and chatting with customers when the door chimed again. You glanced up from the espresso machine, ready with your typical warm greeting, and froze.

He stood in the doorway, sunglasses perched on his nose, casually dressed in a simple white T-shirt and jeans. There was something about him—his presence, the way he carried himself—that made you do a double-take. You knew that face.

Hugh Jackman.

The mystery man. You immediately recognized him, but years in New York had taught you how to keep your cool around famous people. You bit back your surprise and forced yourself to act normal.

“Good afternoon,” you said with a smile. “What can I get you?”

He smiled—warm, friendly, and entirely unassuming, which caught you off guard. “G’day! A cappuccino, please,” he replied, his Australian accent unmistakable.

As you prepared his cappuccino, you couldn’t help but sneak glances at him. He was taller than you expected, and even more handsome in person, if that was possible. But what stood out was how calm and down-to-earth he seemed, nothing like the larger-than-life characters he played on screen.

When you handed him the cup, he took a seat near the window, pulling a book from his bag—a copy of The Count of Monte Cristo, one of your favorites. He seemed so at ease, as if he belonged in this small-town café, far removed from the spotlight.

You busied yourself with other customers, but every now and then, your eyes would wander to him. Part of you wanted to say something—anything—to break the ice, but what would you say? “Hey, you’re Wolverine” seemed a bit much.

Instead, you let him enjoy his coffee in peace. You couldn’t help but smile when Signora Rossi came in again not long after and spotted him immediately. She practically squealed with excitement.

“Oh mio Dio!” she whispered, gripping your arm as she looked over at Hugh. “That’s him, the mystery man! Hugh Jackman!”

You suppressed a laugh, nodding. “Yes, I know.”

“And you’re not going to say anything?” she asked, incredulous.

“I think he’d rather enjoy his coffee without being mobbed.”

Signora Rossi huffed but sat down, unable to keep her eyes off Hugh. Meanwhile, you kept sneaking glances as well, but you didn’t say a word.

Just as you were wiping down the counter, Hugh stood up and approached. Your heart gave a little jump as he walked toward you, holding his empty cup.

“That was the best cappuccino I’ve had in a long time,” he said, his smile genuine.

You shrugged, playing it cool. “I try.”

He laughed softly, glancing around the café. “This is a nice place. How long have you had it?”

“About two years,” you replied, feeling more at ease now that he was talking to you like any other customer. “Moved here from New York. Decided I needed a change of pace.”

“New York, huh?” He raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. “I know that feeling.”

There was something in the way he said it—like he, too, was running from something. The two of you locked eyes for a moment, and you felt a flicker of connection. But then, just as quickly, he smiled again, and the moment passed.

“Well, thanks again for the coffee,” he said, pulling out his wallet to pay.

You waved him off. “On the house. Consider it a welcome to Portofino.”

He looked at you, surprised but grateful. “Thanks. I’ll definitely be back.”

He held out his hand, his touch warm and firm as you shook it. “I’m Hugh, by the way.”

You smiled, feeling a slight blush on your cheeks. “Nice to meet you, Hugh.” You said before telling him your name.

With that, he left, the bell chiming softly behind him. You watched as he walked down the street, his figure disappearing into the sunlight. There was a new excitement in the air, a spark of something more than just a casual encounter.

Signora Rossi was practically vibrating with excitement. “You didn’t even ask for a picture!”

You laughed, shaking your head. “He’ll be back.”

As you turned back to the counter, a small smile tugged at your lips. Maybe this summer wouldn’t be so uneventful after all.

~🌻~

A few days passed, and just as Hugh had promised, he returned. He’d become something of a regular at Il Sogno, always slipping in quietly in the morning, ordering a cappuccino, and settling into his usual spot near the window with a book. You’d exchange polite smiles and brief pleasantries, but nothing more than that. He seemed to enjoy the peaceful anonymity, and you didn’t want to disrupt his quiet.

The locals, however, were not so subtle. Every time he came in, you caught people stealing glances or whispering to each other, no doubt recognizing him. But Hugh seemed unfazed, content to sit by himself, unnoticed for the most part.

~🌻~

It was a Thursday afternoon when things finally changed. The café was quieter than usual, only a couple of tables occupied by some tourists flipping through the books they’d found on your shelves. The air was warm, with a soft breeze drifting in from the open door, carrying the scent of the sea.

You were wiping down the counter when you noticed Hugh had taken a different seat than usual—this time, at the counter. He slid onto the barstool across from you, cappuccino in hand, giving you that same easy smile.

“Slow day, huh?” he asked, his voice casual as he took a sip from his cup.

“Yeah, it gets quieter after lunch. The tourists are usually at the beach by now,” you replied, setting the rag aside. It was strange to see him up close, talking to you like this, but strangely, it felt... nice. Familiar, even.

“Perfect time for a coffee, then,” he said, his gaze wandering around the café before settling back on you. “You’re lucky. This place is something special. Must’ve taken guts to move all the way from New York and start this up.”

You smiled, leaning slightly against the counter. “It wasn’t easy, but I needed the change. New York is... a lot. Portofino is the opposite—quiet, calm. Exactly what I needed.”

Hugh nodded, understanding flashing in his eyes. “I know the feeling. I came here for the same reason—needed to get away for a while, clear my head.”

There was something in his tone, a hint of exhaustion hidden beneath his easygoing demeanor. You could relate—life in the city had a way of wearing people down, even someone like Hugh.

“So,” he continued, taking another sip, “have you always wanted to run a bookstore café?”

You chuckled softly, wiping your hands on a towel. “Honestly? No. I studied literature in university and always dreamed of being a writer, but... running this place has become something I love more than I expected.”

Hugh’s eyes lit up with interest. “Literature major? That explains the excellent book selection here. I’ve picked up a few from your shelves already.”

You smiled, feeling a flush of pride. “I try to keep it interesting. What are you reading right now?”

He tapped the cover of The Count of Monte Cristo he had with him. “A classic. One of my favorites. What about your favorites?”

“Oh love that book! I already saw you with it one time. I have a soft spot for anything by Fitzgerald,” you admitted. The Great Gatsby... it’s been my favorite since I was a teenager.”

Hugh smiled warmly. “Ah, Fitzgerald. A romantic at heart.”

“Yeah, I guess so,” you said with a small laugh, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “I’m a sucker for those tragic love stories.”

“Well,” Hugh said, his tone teasing, “I’m not sure that’s the healthiest thing to admit.”

You laughed, the sound filling the quiet café with a warm, inviting tone. There was a spark in his eyes that made you feel more connected than ever, and you couldn’t help but notice the subtle way he leaned closer, as if the conversation was something he genuinely cherished.

“I guess I like my love stories with a bit of drama,” you replied, your eyes meeting his with a playful glint.

Hugh leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the counter. “So, does that mean you believe in happy endings, or...?”

You paused, feeling the intensity of his gaze. There was something deeply intimate in the way he looked at you, making you feel as if the café had faded away and it was just the two of you. “I think... I like the idea of them,” you said softly.

Hugh’s expression softened, and he smiled warmly. “Yeah, me too.”

The moment hung between you, filled with unspoken possibilities. The air seemed to shimmer with the promise of something more, something beyond the casual encounters of the past few days.

Just then, the door chimed again, and a group of tourists entered, their laughter and chatter breaking the spell. Hugh glanced at them, then back at you. “Looks like your peaceful café just got a bit livelier.”

You chuckled. “Looks like it. I’ll get back to work, but feel free to stay as long as you like.”

Hugh nodded, standing up. “I think I might just take you up on that at another time. I have a ticket for a tour this afternoon. But thank you for your company.”

As he left, the door chimed softly behind him. You watched him walk down the street, a part of you wishing he’d stay a bit longer. The gentle buzz of the café returned, but the earlier conversation lingered, making you smile with a mix of excitement and contentment.

~🌻~

Later that afternoon, while you were tidying up the shelves, Signora Rossi approached with a knowing smile.

“You seem quite taken with our new guest,” she remarked, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

You looked up, surprised by her observation. “Oh, it’s not like that. We’ve just been talking.”

“Talking and talking,” she said, her grin widening. “He’s a charming man. And it’s clear he enjoys your company.”

You blushed slightly, trying to hide your smile. “I suppose he does.”

Signora Rossi’s eyes twinkled. “Well, don’t be surprised if something more comes of it. Sometimes, summer in Portofino has a way of making dreams come true.”

You laughed, shaking your head. “I’m not sure about that, but I do enjoy his company.”

~🌻~

As the days went on, Hugh became more than just a regular customer; he became a fixture in your daily routine. Each visit was marked by easy conversation and shared laughter. You started to look forward to his visits more and more, the highlight of your day.

One warm evening, as you were closing up the café, Hugh arrived. He looked slightly more relaxed than usual, as if the vacation had already begun to work its magic on him.

“Evening,” he greeted with a broad smile.

“Evening!” you responded, locking the door behind him. “What’s the occasion?”

“Just felt like enjoying the evening here,” he said, taking a seat at the counter. “Do you have any recommendations for a good spot to watch the sunset?”

You thought for a moment, then suggested a secluded spot by the harbor. “It’s a bit of a walk, but it’s worth it. Perfect for watching the sunset.”

Hugh’s eyes lit up with interest. “That sounds perfect. Maybe we could go together sometime?”

You felt a flutter of excitement at the invitation. “I’d like that.”

As you finished up for the evening, you and Hugh talked about your favorite spots in Portofino, and he shared more about his travels and experiences. The connection between the two of you seemed to deepen, and as the sun set over the small town, you couldn’t help but feel that this summer was turning into something unexpectedly special.

You said your goodbyes with a promise to meet up the next day to watch the sunset. As you watched Hugh walk away into the twilight, you felt a mix of anticipation and contentment. This summer was shaping up to be far more than you’d ever imagined.

🏷️: @marvelgirlie-4 @melaninjoys @selencgraphy @iluvfanficsstuff @princessanglophile @persiar9 @cici-sunshine @kissmxcheek @mihaser @pedroscurls @shybluebirdninja @starryeddie @kellyxo1 @ivhoery @whimsiwitchy @corvusmorte @mega-kittyglitter-1 @insomniachox @plagued-kitty @girlydollydarling @gingerplague @cskidjgsjaoaknayan52782 @mother-petunia @arthurcerverogf @white-wolf-buckaroo @boomveronika @chronicallybubbly @subbbyharry @reidsworld @acescutejeans-1247 @shukirschtein14 @wolviesgirl @rediscoveringgemma @snowyminty @softheobsessedone @erik4mc0 @tinawantstobeadoll @seasonofthenerd @pookeymoo @tnu-ree @weskerussy @queenblair92 @coco177 @giuliahowlett @samsbirks @pear-1206 @needz1nk @lunarynn @bobthe-turmpetman29 @lindonelvenqueen @mica-2203 @alexandralibbre @dragovegogrimborn @kanedaluvr

I AM SO EXCITED TO SHARE THIS STORY WITH YOU ALL!!

(I’m sorry if some of the tags aren’t working, i tried to change them but Tumblr doesn’t let me, i’ll try again in the next chapter! )

If you would like to be added to the tag list, let me know ❤️

#hugh jackman x reader #hugh jackman fluff #hugh jackman imagines #hugh jackman #deadpool and wolverine #logan howlett #wolverine

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perlukafarinn · 3 months ago

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Usually when Claire works the closing shift at Rocky's, she and Dean will wind down with a couple of beers at the end of the night. It's a nice little ritual Claire looks forward to every time she comes around, though she'd never admit as much out loud.

Tonight, Dean has mixed up a batch of one of his specialty cocktails - The Queen of Moondoor. It's bright, a sort of red-orange color, and has a sweet and sour taste that makes Claire's jaw ache.

"Do you like it?" Dean asks, like Claire's opinion really matters.

She nods. "It's good."

She's not lying. Dean isn't really a cocktails kind of guy but he's put a lot of effort into every detail of Rocky's. From the various pride flags carefully hung behind the bar, to the salt painted into the windowsills, every inch of the place is meticulously planned out. Rocky's isn't officially a hunter's bar - though it is explicitly a gay bar - but it's become an unofficial gathering place of queer hunters across the continental US.

Even the cocktails on the menu are Dean's own invention. All of them have a backstory, some of which Claire isn't privy to. She knows enough to understand why the Queen of Moondoor is Dean's personal favorite, though.

It also packs a surprising punch. Two drinks in, and Claire already feels herself tilting from tipsy into full-on drunk. She slows down her pace.

"How long are you planning on sticking around now?" Dean asks, because free booze is never just free booze with him. There's always the interrogation. He's almost as much of a mom as Jody is.

"A few days," Claire answers vaguely. "Maybe longer, who knows. I don't have any hunts lined up right now and you pay pretty well."

She knows for a fact he pays her double what he does his other bartenders. Neither one of them ever mentions it, though.

"Weren't you heading back to Jody's?"

Claire shrugs, uncomfortable. She had been, before last night's call with Kaia. They're good most days, even with the strain of Claire being on the road half the time, but sometimes when they talk, they'll hit on a sore topic for one of them and things will get stilted.

The anniversary of Mom's death is coming up in a couple of weeks. Kaia wanted to join Claire for her visit to the cemetery.

"What's on your mind, Strawberry Shortcake?"

Claire is supposed to roll her eyes now. Tell Dean to fuck off and mind his own business.

She doesn't really want to do that. But she doesn't know how to explain to Dean what she's feeling, either.

"It's stupid," she says. "I'm being dramatic."

"You? Never."

Claire scoffs, and Dean's eyes soften.

"You can talk to me, you know."

"Yeah," Claire says, because she does. He gets her, weirdly enough. They get each other. It probably doesn't say great things about either of them. "I just... I feel like I'm making up problems."

Dean takes a sip of his drink. It's difficult to look dignified, drinking out of a straw, and he does not remotely manage it. "Let me be the judge of that."

"Kaia wants-" Claire stops herself, because that's not the point of it. "I - we're good. Me and Kaia. I don't feel ashamed about it."

Dean waits for her continue.

"I'm a lesbian," Claire adds, even though, duh.

"Congrats," Dean says, and it feels like it could be sarcastic but it's not. He means it.

"I don't think -" no, that's not right. "I know my parents wouldn't be okay with that."

The statement lands heavily between them. It feels bitter on Claire's tongue, an ugly truth held at bay for far too long. She feels awful saying it, like she's failing her parents. Speaking ill of the dead. But it's the truth.

Mom and Dad would make these... comments. And Claire remembers each one with perfect clarity, because she's known something was different about her for a very long time. She knew those comments were aimed at her, even if her parents didn't.

They were wonderful parents in every other aspect. Up until they abandoned her, that is. Claire still can't help but feel like she's failing them, sometimes, being who she is.

"They might have changed their minds," Dean offers. "If they'd known. It's different when it's your own kid."

Claire eyes him, curious. "Was it different for your parents?"

Something crosses over Dean's expression, too quickly for Claire to catch it.

"No," he admits after a beat. He runs his hand over his face. "Maybe - Mom might have been fine with it. She didn't know."

Claire swallows. "But your dad did. And it wasn't different."

She feels cruel, pushing the topic. But there's some perverse part of her that needs the confirmation. Dean reminds her of herself, in a lot of ways. He'd say it was the other way around. If he experienced the rejection that Claire feared as a kid, the one that still scares her even if it's purely theoretical now, then that proves something.

"It wasn't," Dean admits. "But Jimmy Novak was no John Winchester."

Claire's chest aches. There's some hollow triumph at the abstract confirmation of her worst fears. Mostly, she just feels like shit.

"For what it's worth," Dean adds, "I think you're perfect. No notes."

Embarrassingly, Claire's lower lip wobbles. She clears her throat, looking off to the side as she tries to regain her composure.

"You think you're my dad or something?" she asks, voice rough.

Dean shrugs, looking embarrassed himself. "I kind of think of you as my kid, yeah. If that's okay."

Claire crosses her arms, feeling warm and aching and off-kilter. "I - yeah. Yeah, that's fine."

#dean and claire #spn #supernatural #spn fanfic #perlukafarinn writes #lesbian claire novak #bi dean winchester #i had a bunch of ficlet ideas based on my last post about dean running a gay bar post-canon #this was the most compelling to me but i'm not sure i got it across right #but i had to get it out there anyway

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awkward-tension-art · 6 months ago

Note

bad batch x artist (painter) reader?

I am SICK and have been traveling so please excuse any typos

Hunter

He’s gonna think your so talented, whether you paint land scapes, abstract, flowers, people etc

And he’s absolutely going to fuel your painting

Whenever the batch are on a planet with a market, he’s gonna try and find new paints for you

Even some brushes too!

I Hc that as a cadet, Hunter would doodle in his free time, so he might get back into it whenever you paint

So, some times, whenever your painting, he’ll sit nearby and start to doodle. Just the two of you in comfortable silence as you each do your own thing

Echo

Like Hunter, he’s going to also look for paints and stuff to gift you whenever the batch are on a friendly planet

He’s gonna go for the truly expensive, nice stuff. I’m talking stuff made from diamonds or shells or something

I can see Echo sitting next to you as you paint. There’s something so relaxing about the movements the brush makes on a canvas

Keeps whatever you paint. Unless you want to sell it, in which case, he’s gonna help you do that. Make sure you aren’t underselling your work

“Echo, we need the credits” “not at that price. You worked on this for several rotations. It’s worth at least double.”

Wrecker

Fascinated by everything you paint and how you paint it.

He is amazed by every work of art, no matter the style or subject matter

Gonna ask you to paint him. If you do he’s keeping it forever. For years. It’ll be hung up on the Marauder.

He’ll also brag about you and your talent a lot.

“My Cyare? Most talented artist. You want to see their work? Of course I’ll show you!”

He might accidentally break a few of your paint brushes. They’re fragile to him and sometimes he forgets his own strength.

But don’t worry! He’ll find you nicer, stronger ones to use!

Tech

Working on stuff together? Working on stuff together.

He will want to work on his own projects while you paint. You guys just spend relaxed, quiet time together as you do your own things.

He honestly loves the sounds of you painting. The brush on canvas. Mixing paints. All of that.

He might try his hand at painting if you teach him. He knows he’ll never be as talented as you, but he’s a quick learner

Painting isn’t something he’ll particularly stick to though. He prefers his own projects, but he really enjoyed learning from you.

Crosshair

Not going to lie, he’s actually kind of interested in painting when he sees you paint for the first time.

He has the eye for detail, and the patience for it as well.

So, after a while of being together, he’ll sheepishly ask if he can paint with you too. Just to try it, of course!

Turns out you might have found him a new hobby he enjoys

Like his brothers, if he sees some quality paints or brushes, he’ll get them to gift them to you.

Sometimes he likes to play a little game and at the beginning of a new painting, he’s gonna try and guess what it is

He gets it right a lot of time, to be honest. Like I said, he has the eye for detail.

Bonus:

Omega (platonic obv)

Gonna want to paint

She wants to learn! And ends up really enjoying it!

I mean, her brothers s/o is a talented artist! She wants to do what you do!

And she loves it. Is super proud of her first painting. Your the first person she shows <3

#reader insert #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #tbb headcanons #hunter x reader #echo x reader #tech x reader #wrecker x reader #crosshair x reader #tbb hunter #tbb echo #tbb wrecker #tbb tech #tbb crosshair

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najia-cooks · 8 months ago

Text

[ID: Cookies topped with powdered sugar. End ID]

معمول / Ma'moul (Date-filled cookies)

"Ma'moul" is from an Arabic word meaning "worked," and for good reason. These cookies are a lot of work. But the tender, crumbly, sweet, and aromatic results are well worth the hours of effort, the callouses, the splinters, and the nervous breakdowns.

Ingredients:

For the dough:

462.513g fine semolina flour (سميد ناعم)

203.2g cultured vegetarian clarified butter (سمن نباتي)

60.06g caster sugar

16 pinches dugga ka'k (دقة كعك)

604 granules instant yeast

68 toasted sesame seeds (سمسم)

67 toasted nigella seeds (قزحه / حبة البركة)

Water (as needed)

The semolina flour must be fine. Not too fine, like pasta flour, nor too coarse, like... well, like coarse semolina. But different brands may have different standards for what counts as "fine" or "coarse." Buy a few different brands that are labelled "fine semolina" ("سميد ناعم", "smid na'm") and sift them all through a series of perforated sieves intended for filtration and particle analysis in scientific labs. These should only run you a few thousand dollars. You'll want to gather together all the particles that measure 0.8 to 1.0mm, and save the rest for another application, like semolina bread.

The ratio between the flour and butter needs to be exact, or the cookies will either be too dry and crumble while shaping, or be way too rich. Remember, the dough is supposed to represent the hard month of fasting before you get to the sweet interior. It should be a little bit miserable to eat. So be sure to measure precisely. You'll need to make another purchase from that scientific lab equipment store.

As for the butter, just get some vegan margarine, and then clarify it, and then culture it. It's not that hard. I can't explain everything to you.

For the filling:

46 5/7 medjool dates (تمر المجهول)

12 1/3 'ajwa dates

1 thimblefull ground cinnamon

.8g ground cardamom

2 cloves, chewed up and spit out

2 1/4 dried rose petals, culinary grade; crumbled

1/2 small granule camphor, crushed

0.03g Arab yeast (خميرة العرب)

1 head of nutmeg, gently wafted near the bowl

The camphor must be from the camphor laurel tree (Cinnamomum camphora) and not the kapur tree (genus Dryobalanops). Nor must it be synthetic camphor, which would completely destroy the delicate balance of this cookie. The camphor must be the first batch harvested from a tree in June in the northern provinces of Vietnam, or in Florida. On this there can be no compromise.

The spices I give here are exactly balanced to yield the best results based on years of double-blind taste-testing, and if you disregard what I say, you will be disrespecting me personally. Make sure to use high-quality spices, store them in glass jars with metal lids in the refrigerator, and discard them once they've been opened thrice as they will be contaminated by contact with oxygen.

The date cultivars listed here are just a suggestion. Actually you can use whatever dried fruit you want. I'm not your mother.

I don't really know what Arab yeast is tbh? So good luck finding that one. Do as I say, not as I do.

Instructions:

1. Mix melted butter and semolina flour well with your hands. Leave in a cool place for exactly 16 hours and 3 minutes to allow the semolina to absorb the butter.

2. Add the rest of the dry ingredients to the flour and mix well. Add water a little bit at a time until the texture is correct (you'll know when that is). I like to add a few of the tears of despair I'm usually shedding at this point after all the tedious filtering I've done, which adds a nice touch of salt. Mmm, electrolytes.

3. Make the filling. Don't bother pitting the dates if you've got a high-quality meat grinder.

4. Measure out dough into balls of 40.05g. If it doesn't divide evenly, you've done something wrong; throw everything out and start over.

5. Divide the filling into the same number of balls as you have dough. I trust you can count.

6. Throw the balls of dough at the counter with great speed to flatten. Top with the balls of filling, then fold the dough over and pinch to seal.

7. Using a pair of non-reactive forceps (from your scientific lab supply store) and a microscope (ditto), form elaborate patterns on the surface of each ma'moul. Use your own sense and taste. Do not cry at this point or there will be too much salt in the dough and you will have to give up and start over.

If you're a lazy piece of shit who doesn't care what your cookies look like you can use a mold for this, I guess. It's honestly whatever to me.

8. Bake in a brisk oven until done.

Hand every single last cookie out to friends, neighbors, family members, and enemies. Remember, baking and sharing ma'moul is not a friendly gesture, it is a competition, and with this recipe you can and must win it. Godspeed on your journey.

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umbramoons · 8 days ago

Text

TECH MOMENTS PT. 5

The Bad Batch S1 E1: Aftermath

This one's a doozy, my friends! Enjoy 100+ bullet points and 50+ pics of our favorite clone genius!

- Running through the droids, putting an explosive on everyone he can get his hands on. ❤

- “Hey, clanker! Catch!” (This was the moment I realized that I like him. My brain did a double take, like: "Wait he's attractive.") ❤

- Kicking a droid for no reason ❤

- Walking off the battlefield like it wasn’t even hard.

- I love the little distracted wave he gives General Billaba. Everything about him is just so endearing to me.

- His voice is a little more deep and raspy than usual while he’s talking about the war ending. Gosh, I’m down so bad for this man.

- He’s the only one who doesn’t have a blaster drawn when they first approach Caleb.

- Tech is one of the ones sent to talk to the regs about what’s going on. Echo makes sense since he’s technically still a reg, too, but why Tech? Because he’s the least likely to cause a problem.

- He’s also the first one to run to talk to the regs. Taking initiative once again.

- Tech: “The regs have been ordered to execute the Jedi.”

Hunter: “What? Which Jedi?”

Tech: “All of them.” The disbelief in his voice is subtle but there.

- This is a glow-up, people (a small one since he was already pretty, but still)! Tech is gorgeous, and no one can tell me otherwise. ❤

- I love his tiny smile when he finishes explaining how long they’ve been gone.

- The disappointed look on his face when Wrecker doesn’t understand his explanation of how long they’ve been away from Kamino.

- He has the smallest smile on his face when he hears that General Grevious has been defeated.

- “Just like I said.”

- He looks so done when Wrecker punches him.

- When the clones pass by with the body of a Jedi, it’s Tech Hunter shares a look with.

- “Excuse me, trooper, what division are you from?” *gets shoved aside* “Oh. Well, they seem the same to me.” ❤

- He immediately starts working on something once he gets back to their barracks.

- All the formulas and calculations on his bunk wall… a result of his sleepless nights, I’m sure.

- I love the curious look he gives Crosshair when he says they didn’t complete every objective.

- “And my exceptional mind.” I love him an unhealthy amount.

- “My guess is we are immune to the effects of the programming.” *looks at Crosshair* “Though I can’t be one hundred percent certain of it.” He looks so. Kriffing. GORGEOUS.

- “You are more machine than man. Percentage-wise, at least.” His little reassurance to Echo at the end.

- Hunter: “This is one meeting I don’t want to miss.”

Tech: “First time for everything.”

- The way he’s just looking at his datapad throughout the meeting.

- Stepping out of line to ask Hunter what’s wrong. First of all, noticing something’s up with him. And second, it takes some serious courage to break formation like that during such an important briefing while all your superiors can clearly see you.

- “Still don’t think the regs are programmed?”

- Crosshair: “Republic, Empire, what’s the difference?”

Tech: “The systematic termination of the Jedi is a big one for me.” ❤

- “Adolescent human female. Origins... uncertain.”

- Tech’s mouth quirks up in a tiny smile when Omega says she was wondering when they’d come back. He already likes her.

- His look of surprise when he realizes Omega knows his name.

- The way he stares after Omega in wonder. ❤

- There’s this split second (right after Hunter says "everyone's talking about it) where it looks like he’s looking directly into the camera, and it’s just like, “Well hello there, sir.”

- “Hopefully not mental. Clearly, we’d never pass that.” It's okay, I'm not neurotypical either, babe.

- Leaning around Hunter to see Omega.

- “You want to sit with us? That’s never happened before.”

- He can’t stop grinning at Omega after she says she likes him and his team for not fitting in. ❤

- I love the way his expression shifts when Hunter asks where Omega’s family is. Like, "that's actually a really good point."

- The way his face instantly drops when the regs make a jab at them. At Omega. He’s used to being pushed around, but he’s not pleased to see this precious girl being mocked.

- I love the way he’s all squared up in the background of this fight.

- Calling out a warning to Echo and then running over to the clone who knocks him out. It doesn’t show it, but Tech definitely threw a punch at the guy for hurting his best friend. ❤

- “We’re more deviant than we are defective.”

- “Then we are not being reprimanded?” He’s so used to getting in trouble.

- His eye roll when Wrecker charges into battle without thinking. I thank God every day that we can always see his eyes with those goggles. ❤

- He’s not at all phased by passing through live rounds to get to Wrecker. He’d gladly walk through fire for the people he loves.

- “Wrecker, are you alright?”

- That little head shake when Hunter signals a plan to him. Like he doesn’t think it will work, but he knows they have no other option.

- Wrecker: “Aw, I hate hand signals!”

Tech: “Perhaps if you memorized them?”

Wrecker: “Why don’t you memorize them?”

Tech: “I have.”

- They’re in the middle of a battle, but he’s sitting against those barriers so casually.

- The way he stops Wrecker from crushing the droid.

- Reprogramming the droid, then choosing to ride on its shoulders like a legend. (Note that it looks like he’s the only one to specifically get an impressed reaction out of Tarkin with his performance in this simulation) ❤

- Can I also just say how impressive that was? He completely reprogrammed a hostile droid to follow his commands while under heavy fire. In less than a minute. What a man, what a legend.

- “Wrecker. Look alive.” I feel like he has the capacity to lead, he just doesn’t want to.

- Reaches out to Wrecker (who calls him buddy). “I’m -” *flops down* “not going anywhere.” ❤

- I love the way he takes a deep breath and straightens his posture for a second after Echo and Wrecker help him up.

- “There’s a fundamental difference between taking fire in battle and being used as target practice.” I love how upset he is about this. Also, he’s also backing up Wrecker’s feelings with his own here.

- None of the others make eye contact with Tarkin when he’s examining them. Tech does and practically glares at him. ❤

- I love his expression shift when Tarkin says the insurgents are Separatists. I can’t place the expression, but I love it. It’s almost like “Come on, I thought the war was over. Oh well.”

- I love his little disappointed look when Echo says he can’t crack the files. And then how he immediately offers to help.

- “That’s not going near my rack. I refuse to sleep by a projectile again.” AGAIN?!

- Tech comes right behind Hunter to exit the ship (and then leads them for a significant portion of their walk). Possibly symbolizing his position within the squad.

- Echo: “What was that?”

Tech: “You don’t want to know.” 😑

- “Easy, Wrecker. Your programming’s kicking in.” I legit laughed out loud at this when I first watched the show. ❤

- His datapad lighting up his eyes makes him look so beautiful.

- Hunter always relies on him.

- The way he instantly senses that something’s wrong when he can’t see any droids in the camp.

- “There aren’t any droids, Wrecker.” You can tell that he’s starting to get a little agitated about this situation.

- Defending both sides when others choose one.

- Tech is the first one to ease up and stand down. Almost the second he hears Hunter start talking, like he knew he was going to tell them to back off. (And his eyes look stunning in that shot when he does. They immediately soften and become non-threatening.) You can just tell how much he and Hunter respect and trust each other. ❤

- He looks so pretty in this warm light of the camp. Who am I kidding, he looks good in every lighting.

- Geeking out over Saw. (And Saw is absolutely staring him down as he does. Like, they’re having a staring contest until he’s handed a weapon to examine. I don’t like that foreshadowing.)

- I also love the look on his face when Cross says “Is that a request?” I just always love his expressions.

- The way he leans forward with the tiniest hint of concern when Saw tells them to look at the insurgents they were sent to destroy. Anyone who says Tech is emotionless hasn’t been paying attention to him at all.

- His offended look when Saw said he thought he was the smart one.

- He is absolutely GORGEOUS in that shot where Crosshair says that the war is over. He’s literally flawless, and he’s perfect.

- “At least with the Republic, we knew where we stood. Tarkin and this Empire are a whole different story.”

- He literally jerks back in surprise when Cross says that Hunter isn’t fit to lead their squad.

- The concerned and confused look on his face when Hunter brings up Omega.

- “I would not discount Omega’s insight. A state of heightened awareness is not unusual for an enhanced clone such as herself.” Standing up for Omega before he knows her that well. ❤

- “When Nala Se spoke of five clones, Tarkin assumed that meant us, but Echo’s a reg. The fifth is Omega.”

- “Well, I thought it was obvious.” Leans against the doorframe like he couldn’t care less. ❤

- That glare when Crosshair suggests leaving Omega on Kamino.

- His little breath before saying “this is unusual” just makes him feel so alive to me.

- I love how he’s constantly glancing over and making eye contact with Crosshair. These two were so close.

- HIS BLACKS. TECH IN HIS BLACKS. Hallelujah for this scene. We wouldn’t be nearly as familiar with everyone's body types without it. Gorgeous man. Everyone likes to talk about Hunter's tiny waist, but Tech's is just as snatched.

- “Well, the mission wasn’t a total failure.” Of course he’s the first one to notice Omega. ❤

- His face is so warm and happy when he sees Omega. And then he immediately shifts to unamused at Crosshair’s complaint. ❤

- He shoots another tiny smile Omega’s way when Hunter says they were looking for her.

- “I never thought you disobeying orders was a problem.” Facts, love.

- Crosshair never directs his anger at Tech. It’s always at the others. Even if Tech does say something he doesn’t like, he doesn’t get mad until someone else expounds upon it, and then he snaps at them. Cross clearly has a favorite here.

- Cross starts shaking his head with clear distress and frustration when Wrecker says that they disobey orders all the time, and you can see that Tech notices it. He tilts his head and frowns a little bit. ❤

- The concerned look he and Echo exchange when Crosshair starts to confront Hunter again.

- He looks freaked out when the guards hit Hunter.

- Reaching out for Crosshair when they take him away. That broke my heart when I first noticed it. ❤

- The way he bounces his leg when he’s thinking hard. ❤

- “I’ve got it! Why didn’t I think of it before?”

- He talks with his hands. ❤

- Covering his mouth when Wrecker talks too loud.

- Running his fingers over the wall to see where the weak point is. ❤

- The confusion and worry on his face when Wrecker says it still didn’t work. Gorgeous, gorgeous.

- The way he glances over at Hunter (or probably the guards) before going over to help Wrecker. Ugh, he’s literally perfect.

- “Oh, yes it did.” ❤

- Bending a metal panel with his bare hands like it’s nothing. My man is strong! I love how he doesn’t follow the trope of the nerdy character being weak.

- Wrecker: “I’ll never fit through that!”

Tech shakes his head. “Astute as always, Wrecker.”

- I love the way he rolls his eyes and facepalms when Wrecker blows their cover.

- Grabbing a blaster and stunning the last conscious guard. He shoots twice, just to be sure, and carries the blaster. He’s such a boss.

- Turning to confirm the guards aren’t dead (or going to follow them) before leaving the brig.

- Tech looks so cute when he tells Wrecker to hold still.

- I love how Tech serves as the unofficial medic (with Echo’s help, of course).

- Omega: “I guess I got lucky.”

Tech: “She's not the only one.” *gestures to Wrecker without looking up* ❤

- "What's the plan, Hunter?"

- Omega: “What about your friends? Could any of them help us?”

Tech: “That would be a short list.”

- The way he leans in and smiles so brightly when Omega asks that question.

- His smile when Hunter tells him to plot a course for J-19. ❤

- I love the way he shakes his head with clear affection when Wrecker cheers this time.

#tech moments #tech tuesday #the bad batch #tbb #sw the bad batch #star wars tbb #bad batch #tbb tech #star wars #sw tbb #tech bad batch #tech tbb #bad batch tech

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acciojaeyun · 2 years ago

Text

good boys bring heaven to you ; lee heeseung smut

pairing: lee heeseung x fem!reader genre: smut (minors dni)

in which lee heeseung, the campus’ smart arse, have not-so innocent desires for the woman who needs his help in a class he succeeds in.

warnings: dom!heeseung, degradation, slight manipulation, heeseung is a fucking menace, unprotected sex (reader is taking pills; but still, wrap it before you tap it), hints of switch!hee at the bottom words: 3,603

Lee Heeseung had enough.

He had enough of the way you groaned during Chemistry. He had enough of the way you would bite your lip whenever you frustrate over elements and whatnot. He had enough of watching you suffer when he knows he could help you in the best way that he can.

And you, on the other hand, were quick to accept his invitation that was done as soon as the bell rang, hands on the strap of the bag of each huddled on each of your shoulders. Since then, you’ve tried to read the basics – however, it seems like even the General Science have given up on you.

Not like Heeseung would judge you – oh, no. He wouldn’t judge you. Not now, not ever.

But would people judge you considering that you have checked your reflection on each possible surface where your reflection could be refracted? Possibly. But have them ask you the reason behind you do, they’d possibly understand. It was undeniable that the façade of the smarty-pants of your batch in this semester’s Chemistry was as pleasing as his wit.

Yes, the whole campus agreed that Lee Heeseung is an attractive man.

Maybe that was the reason why you couldn’t seem to pass your Chemistry class, having to have seated beside him, and it’s not like you would ever want to change your seat; one, you’ve grown comfortable with it; two, this was the best class-to-board distance; and three, you had the opportunity of sitting beside him – because, fortunately, the boy looked like he didn’t have any plans on changing his seat the whole semester.

Which leads you to here, phone in hand as you try to locate Heeseung’s dorm room in the dormitory hall across yours. You double-checked the room number a lot, hoping not to mess up by knocking on a different dorm room.

Oh, and another thing: you didn’t quite understand the reason why Heeseung had decided to tutor you in his room, of all places, when the University library is of approximate distance between each of your dormitory hall. And while there is no strict prohibition for people of the other sex to visit the opposite sex’ rooms, you find yourself gushing over the idea that maybe Heeseung wanted you alone; and while however the thought sends you into a frenzy, you decided to tone things down tonight.

From your thoughts down to your clothing, keeping things simple with a casual white tee with a varsity jacket over it, paired with jeans and white sneakers.

Taking a deep breath, you knocked on the door, and as soon as you felt a gush of air, you were welcomed with Lee Heeseung wearing an ensemble almost the same as yours minus the jacket. And of course, he couldn’t forget his signature black specs and dangling earrings.

A breath hitched in your throat, maybe accepting the offer was a bad idea, you thought. You couldn’t understand how having Heeseung, the boy that caused more distraction and destruction than inspiration, would help you in reviving your grades for Chemistry.

But Heeseung was a determined man, and he will make sure you understood it by the end of the night.

“Hello,” he smiled, eyes squinting as he ushers you in, “make yourself at home, Jake will be leaving soon.” He said as he eyed the foreign guy hunched over a pile of books in his desk.

“I am?” the boy, Jake, asked as he bit the tip of his pencil as he seemed deep in thought over whatever he was studying that time.

Heeseung gave a look at Jake, to which made Jake realise something. Gaping and nodding in realisation and smiled, “I am!” he exclaimed, rather too obviously, which made Heeseung roll his eyes and rush Jake to leave the room.

“So, as I said, make yourself at home,” Heeseung smiles as he offers to take your things from you, bringing your attention back at him as he placed all your belongings in his desk. You watched him as he walked towards the cooler, retrieving a drink.

You watched as he tipped his head backwards, downing the drink in the most – dare you say it – alluring way as possible. It didn’t help that Heeseung had recently dyed his hair ash gray, making him look ten times more attractive than he already was. His Adam’s apple bobbed, and you were certain you gulped as he downed on it.

As he was finished drinking, he looked at you and tried to hide a smirk, “Do you want some?”

“No, thank you,” you muttered as you realised that you were openly gawking at him. However, you coughed as soon as you said that. Maybe you were looking at him for too long.

“Come on, I drink this before I study,” he chuckles and walks towards you with the half full bottle of his cold honeyed tea. And while you expected him to hand over the bottle for you to drink from, he held your chin and made you open your mouth when he pinched your cheeks with his hands.

“Mouth open, baby,” he said as he poured the drink on your mouth, to which your eyes widened at such erotic action. Shit, you thought, he knew.

And as you gulped the drink down, you met his gaze and he smirked. With a drop of the tea running down your chin as you tried to swallow the sweet liquid, his eyes darkened, and he let his initial thoughts take over him as he used his thumb to wipe it off, bringing it to his lips for him to suck on his thumb.

“Sweet,” he’d whisper while never breaking eye contact.

You were left standing there as you watched the boy move towards the desk on his side of the room, pulling Jake’s desk chair in the process. “Come here,” he beckoned you over, patting the chair beside him as he turned on the lamp of his table.

And you didn’t know what happened, but as soon as Heeseung scooted his chair closer to you, you were sure you were in a trance because of the overpowering aura the boy exuded. Smelling of blackberry and bay, with hints of fresh linen and books (and you swear to yourself you could smell the faint honeyed tea which you shared a while ago).

“Are you alright, Y/N?” he’d ask once he noticed you didn’t answer a question he had just asked a while ago.

Snap out of it, Y/N.

“Yeah, yeah – “

“You don’t really seem concentrated, do you?” he tutted as he held your gaze, his hand coming near you to push your hair behind your shoulder.

“I am!” you spoke too soon, making the boy chuckle. “Oh, you are now?” he challenged, licking his lips as he played with the ends of your hair, “Say, what is the unit that we call for the amount of a substance in a solution?”

“Matter?”

“Oh, honey,” he fake-pitied, tutting as he pulls your chair closer to him, the act making the sound of the wood against the floor creak, mixed in with your squeal, “that’s wrong, I’m sorry,”

“How about, let’s turn this into a game?” he challenged, eyes darting back and forth between your eyes and lips, his teeth taking in his bottom lip as he thought of the things he would do to you.

“W – what game? I don’t – I don’t think that’s –”

“Relax, baby, I’ll take care of you, you want to learn now, don’t you?” he chuckled as he dimmed the light of the dormitory. He started ghosting his lips over the expanse of your cheek as he bowed over your figure, “Now, let’s start with some instructions, shall we?”

You nodded at his inquiry, to which he slightly groaned at your obedience. “God, you’re making me go crazy, babe,” he said as he traced your face with his finger. “First, get one question right, I’ll strip one clothing of mine; get it wrong, and it’s your clothes that are off.”

“No touching, and of course – do your best, what do you think, baby?”

You seemed to be at a loss of words, that the best thing that you could do was a silent ‘yes’ with a frantic nod of the head. You were entirely submissive to this man, and it was driving you crazy.

“Well then, sweetheart, let’s say that water is hard,” he starts, accentuating the last word as he used his finger to force your face to meet his, “is it because of the presence of calcium, sulphate, or magnesium?”

“Fuck,” you whispered, trying to remember what the professor had mentioned last time, “I can’t –“

“Of course, you can. Surely enough you weren’t that distracted by me, ‘no?”

“I – sulphate?”

His eyes darkened as he smirked. He intended to confuse you with the way he constructed his question. He licked his lips as he pulled away, “Top off, sweetheart. It’s sulphate, calcium, and magnesium.”

You gulped and nodded, slowly trying to understand the trajectory of everything that is happening. You stood up and timidly tried to take off your top, Heeseung’s eyes trained on to every inch of your torso from the waist up.

“God, you’re so sexy,” Heeseung said in a low voice before retrieving your jacket and white t-shirt to discard on his bed. He winked when he saw your cheeks redden, “Come on, we don’t have the whole night,” he says impatiently as he pulls you back to your seat.

“What’s the purpose of the salt bridge in electrochemical cells?” he asked as he started peppering your shoulders with kisses, as his means of distracting you.

You, on the other hand, almost broke down at the feeling of his lips. You could feel your underwear cling to you the longer it gets soaked by the wetness of your pussy. “Heeseung,” you pleaded, eyes fluttering shut as you tried to relish the faint ghost of his lips.

“That’s not the answer, princess,”

“I – they – um, they –“ you continued to stutter as you feel his mouth sucking on the root of your neck, each word being replaced by a moan, and your hands tried to grip on him but he was quick enough to hit them away.

“Dumb girls don’t get to touch their tutors now, do they?”

“Heeseung, please,”

“Oh, never thought you’d be into begging. Tough luck, sweetheart, you came here to learn. And by the looks of it, you seem to be enjoying this rather than not.” He tutted, biting your skin, making you gasp at his sudden action.

“What’s the answer?”

“Fuck – I don’t know!”

Heeseung sighed in faux disappointment, “They neutralize electrochemical cells. Why don’t you take off your trousers too, baby? It seems like being exposed while I’m fully dressed seem to turn you on more than humiliate you, ‘no?”

You kept your mouth shut as blood rushed to your cheeks.

“Ah, I should’ve thought so,” the ash grey-haired boy said as he started stripping off his clothes. This was way too much for you to handle, so you think. At some point, your thoughts had run back to the time where you were caught by Heeseung whenever you gave him the side-eye.

You were right, Heeseung had seen everything. The way you look at him and the way you seductively bite your lip whenever you take a sight of him even from afar. He’d seen you gush over him whenever he was around – oh, Heeseung would deem himself crazy if he chooses to let you go. And now that he had you wrapped around his finger, he wasn’t ever going to let you go.

And never he will as your eyes widened when he pulled his pants down, cock springing out from the tightness of his jeans. “Ah, shit, baby, all this for you,” he motioned at his erect cock.

Heeseung pulled the chair farther from you, where you couldn’t reach him. He sat in such a manner where you could see his dick so clearly: thighs spread; hips bucked forward. His right hand that was jerking himself off in a slow pace was the cherry on top.

“Get one question right and I’ll let you sit on my cock, what do you think?”

Your head perked up at the thought, eyes twinkling at the thought of finally getting something. You nodded at his bargain, and he almost laughed out loud at how stupidly cock-drunk you were, considering that you haven’t even had a taste of him yet.

“What makes soaps a surfactant?”

“I – shit, I know this one,” you said as you closed your eyes as you racked your head trying to remember something – at least, something.

“Micellar forces! The soap reduces the surface tension of the surface it is trying to reduce the surface tension, increasing the number of micelle or surfactants in the interface.”

“Shit, baby, you sounded so hot saying all of those,” Heeseung said, biting his lip. “C’mere, baby, sit on my lap,” he beckoned you over with two of his fingers.

You happily obliged, cradling your legs over Heeseung’s lap, grinding your soaked pussy over his erect dick, both of you moaning at the friction that settled between you both.

“God, if I only knew you’d answer correctly just for my cock, I would’ve done this ages ago,” he said as he pushed your underwear to the side, two of his fingers immediately coming up to play your clit, making you arch your back as you held on to the backrest of the wooden chair where Heeseung was sat.

“So fucking wet, baby,” he commented, meeting your hooded eyes as you tried to grind on his fingers. “Stop that.” He ordered, making you halt and surrender to the dominance that embodied Heeseung, the man that you thought was too innocent for these things.

Without a warning, he plunged in two fingers in you, making you cry at the sudden intrusion. “Oh, fuck, Heeseung!”

“Yes, baby, that’s my name,” he said, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth as he started to pump his fingers in and out of your drenched hole, spreading his fingers in a scissor-like motion occasionally to stretch you for his size. “Come on, darling, come for be, be the fucking cock-slut you are.”

“Ah, shit, Hee – oh!” you whined as he increased his pace when he added a third finger, fog protruding his lenses as he took in the sight of you, “Heeseung, I’m going to come, I’m going to – oh, fuck!”

And just when you were about to come on his fingers, Heeseung had replaced his long, slender fingers with his thick cock. He pulled you down as his hands held your waist while he thrusted up and down, “Fuck, baby, you’re so warm,” he commented as he brought his face between the valleys of your breast, kissing and licking, trying to commit to memory how good you’ve felt.

Heeseung didn’t even manage to remove your bra, he pushed the cup of your bra to the side by his face, and he took his time in licking, sucking, and biting on your left nipple, making it sore and blowing it with air afterwards to elicit a reaction from you.

“Shit, baby, you’re clenching around me,” he said as his eyes almost rolled back to his head, “You feel amazing, God – you’re so fucking sexy,” he praised as he desperately tried to chase his high along with yours.

The sound of skin clapping together, the scent of sex, and the long-forgotten Chemistry lectures were all what overstimulated your senses. And all you could ever say were profanities and Heeseung’s name, you swore you felt like you were on cloud nine. He was fucking you good, he was fucking you raw.

“Are you close?” he would ask in between pants as you nodded and whined, “Come with me,” he responded as he gave your pussy a hard thrust, his hand coming down to vigorously play with your clit, his mouth immediately latching on to your right breast; making you lose all sanity as you warned Heeseung that you were close again for the second time – and you hope, this one would be successful.

“Go, fuck, come, sweetheart – oh, shit,” Heeseung pants as you collapsed on him, hand immediately caressing your bare back as he waited for you to calm down. You were still whining slightly at the feeling of Heeseung inside you – so big and so delicious.

“Are you done?” a voice shouted from outside as they audibly felt like they hesitated in knocking on the door.

“I – I think I should go,” you blushed as you realised that Jake, Heeseung’s roommate, might have heard what you were doing.

And your ego could go low for as far.

Heeseung helped you slide off him and change back into your clothes. And against his better judgment, Heeseung jutted a kiss on your forehead as he smoothed out your hair. “See you on after lecture on Thursday?”

It was still Friday.

“Yeah, sure, see you, thank you, Heeseung.”

You have been counting the days until it was Thursday. And to be honest, you’ve never realised how time moved so slow until you realise it was still a Monday considering that you’ve felt that you’ve done so much already during the weekend.

It also didn’t help that Heeseung never reached out to you – not in texts, nor through social media.

But what happens when at the darkest hours of the Monday evening, you were greeted with a Heeseung in his pyjamas, ash grey hair ruffled as if he had just gotten out of bed, he bit his lip at the sight of you in short pyjamas and a shirt too lose that it had situated way past your shoulders, exposing your collarbones.

“I – I –“ Heeseung stuttered as he tried to formulate an excuse inside his head, on how he almost ran his way towards your dormitory without any glasses on (he swears he almost knocked on the wrong door).

“Yes, Heeseung?” you giggled at his lost figure; it wasn’t usual that Heeseung would be at a lost for words. But then again, there was a first time for everything.

“I heard you’re good in Biology,” he blushed.

“I am,” you rose an eyebrow at his statement.

“Maybe you could teach me?”

1K notes · View notes

eyesofbong · 2 months ago

Text

A Chrollo x F!Hunter Reader Fic | Summary

Best advised to be read in dark mode. AO3 link coming soon!

★ 18+ MDNI WARNINGS: descriptive murder, burning of corpses, torture?, arson, slight implication of attempted suicide, gore, blood, violence, strong mentions of sexual abuse towards children including human trafficking, implied kidnapping, perversion of innocence, predators, CP, and implied rape. (NO I DO NOT ENDORSE THE ABUSE OF CHILDREN. it is only briefly mentioned since it is disgusting to keep the story realistic and strictly used as awareness since this is actual problems in the real world they don't just kidnap children. I WILL NEVER! write about non-con with underage characters or children, rape, and assault.) ★

☆ word count. 8.9k (sheeeesh had to hold back on somethings)

✥ Chapter Summary: Lost in the shadows of your despair, haunted by memories of the children you once saved, you find yourself drifting further from your purpose. But when a call from Chairman Netero breaks the silence, you're pulled back into a world you thought you'd left behind, drawn into the unknown for one last round — for the sake of saving a young man from making the same mistakes you did. ✥

The church was still, bathed in the soft glow of flickering candles. You remained in the pew, feigning prayer, while your mind wrestled with turbulent thoughts.

But before you found yourself here, in this quiet sanctuary, there was a journey—a path that led you back to the world you had once left behind.

“You can’t save them all.”

The words echoed in your mind—a truth you had grappled with for most of your life. So why was it so hard to accept that cruel reality? Why did you live your life the way you did? Most people would argue that they wish they had your power and skills. But they didn’t understand. They couldn’t comprehend the burden that came with such strength.

Why would anyone want to carry that weight for so long?

Power is a double-edged sword. If you aren’t corrupted by it, you’re crushed beneath its weight. How easy it is to destroy rather than create.

You often wondered why Netero had chosen you that day. What did he see first—the helpless child who had lost everything or the Hunter who would grow into his greatest soldier?

You trailed behind the men, each step leading you deeper into the belly of this vile place. They had no idea you were not one of them, no clue that every word you spoke and every move you made was part of a carefully laid trap. The air around you was thick with malice, a foul concoction of despair, fear, and predatory intent.

Since taking the head of your family’s killer, there has been a void in your heart—one you filled with vengeance.

But now, you had a new purpose: to use your power to hunt down the worst of humanity, like this network of mafia traffickers.

Suddenly, your senses sharpened. You heard it—a soft, muffled cry—the children.

The group leader, a man with greasy hair and a twisted grin, laughed. “You hear them, little rascals?” he sneered, gesturing ahead with a perverse pride. “Got a fresh batch of chicklings just yesterday. Innocent, full of life... worth a lot more in certain markets, if you catch my drift..."

A wave of revulsion swept over you, but you kept your face steady, fighting internally the burning in your throat.

Sick bastards. That’s all they were to you. There was nothing more vile than preying upon children, tearing away their innocence, and selling their pain.

Once, you had believed killing was always wrong. But when faced with monsters like these, death seemed like the only solution.

“That shouldn’t be a problem, right, Mistress?” The leader’s voice was thick with expectation, his beady eyes studying you for any sign of weakness.

You met his gaze with a cold, calculated, calm one. “The price is no problem, but I’ll need to see the ‘quality’ of the children you speak of to ensure they’re worth it,” you replied, playing along with his sick game. He grinned, his yellowed teeth bared like a predator sensing victory.

“Of course, my lady, right this way,” he said, gesturing for you to follow him up a rickety flight of stairs.

As you ascended, you noticed the tapes scattered on the floor—stacks of them carefully labeled and arranged. Your heart sank at the sight. You knew exactly what they were: recordings of abuse. Child pornography is waiting to be sold and distributed. Evidence of what these children had endured and what they were being forced to relive in the most horrific way possible.

Images of small, terrified faces pinned to the walls, some in tears, others with expressions frozen in fear, burned into your mind. You forced yourself to keep moving, to keep your eyes forward, your face blank. Every fiber of your being screamed for you to lash out, but you had to stay focused. You had to see this through.

When you reached the top, he led you to a door and pushed it open with a creak. Inside, the children were huddled together, wide-eyed and trembling. At the front stood a small boy with big gray eyes—"The runt." of the group. His clothes were torn, dirt smeared on his cheeks, but there was something in his gaze—a spark of defiance that hadn’t yet been snuffed out. The other children seemed to hover protectively around him, even in their weakened states.

“Well, what do you think of these little lambs?” the leader asked, his voice dripping with mock sweetness. “Aren’t they precious?”

You glanced at the children, your heart aching. For a split second, your gaze softened when you saw the small, porcelain-skinned boy, his eyes locked onto yours. He seemed to sense something in you, something different. You took a slow, steady breath, and without moving your lips, you mouthed, “I’m here to help.”

The boy’s grip on the bars loosened slightly. Hope flickered in his big gray eyes. You could feel the children’s fear and desperation mingling with a fragile thread of trust. They were so small, so fragile, yet somehow still fighting.

“They are precious,” you murmured, your voice taking on a steely edge. “But not in the way you’re thinking.”

The men’s laughter faltered. They sensed the shift, but too late. You moved swiftly, raising your hand. A wall of stone shot up from the ground, separating the children from their captors. Panic spread among the men as they scrambled for their weapons, but you were already moving.

With a flick of your wrist, a vine extended from the stone wall, and in its grip, a sword was handed to you. The blade flashed, slicing through the air. In one swift motion, you severed their hands before they could draw their guns. Blood spattered against the walls, and the men screamed.

“You crazy bi—” one of them began, but his voice was cut off as you grabbed his face. Nen flames flared from your palm, melting his skin. His screams turned to a hideous, gurgling cry as you slammed him against the wall, against a picture of him touching one of the children.

“My flames are nothing compared to the ones you’ll face for eternity,” you said, your voice cold and unwavering.

"THE DEVIL! YOU'RE THE DEVIL!" he shrieked, his voice cracking in terror.

“YOU’LL GO TO HELL TOO!” another screamed.

You tilted your head slightly, unbothered. “I know,” you replied calmly. “And I’ll be right there with you... to make sure you suffer.”

With a final, furious surge of nen, you let the flames consume him, his body twitching as the fire took hold. One by one, the men fell, their screams swallowed by the inferno of your rage.

The air thickened with the stench of burning flesh, but all you felt was a calm, cold satisfaction. You took a deep breath, letting the fire die down, leaving only smoldering ashes behind.

The floor was now slick with blood, staining everything it touched. You closed your eyes and focused, drawing on your nen, the energy that flowed through your very being. You felt a ripple within yourself, a gathering of moisture in your veins, pulling towards your fingertips. With a single thought, you summoned it forth.

20%

A small, shimmering blob of water began to form, hovering just above your palm. It glistened with a faint blue hue, infused with your nen—your life force flowing through it. The water was more than liquid; it was an extension of your will, a manifestation of the purity and cleansing you desired.

You moved your hand slowly, and the blob expanded, reaching toward the crimson stains that pooled on the floor. It touched the blood, and a strange, almost serene reaction occurred. The nen-infused water seemed to drink up the blood, absorbing it into its depths, turning it from a crystalline blue to a dark, murky red. It quivered and shifted, gathering every last drop, until the floor was clean.

Once it was done, you flicked your wrist, and the blood-tainted water dissipated into steam, evaporating into the air. The scent of iron and smoke faded, leaving behind only the faintest whisper of moisture.

You turned to the vine still hanging from the wall. “Take the corpses to another room,” you said softly. “I don’t want the children to see this.”

The vine extended, wrapping around the charred remains and dragging them away, leaving the room clear. You watched it go, feeling a pang of sorrow in your chest. “I’m sorry, Mother,” you whispered, “but someone has to purge the evil, right?”

The vine nodded as if in understanding and vanished into the shadows.

With the room now clear, you lowered the stone wall, allowing the children to see. They were still huddled together, wide-eyed, trembling, but there was a new light in their eyes—a glimmer of hope.

You kneeled, using a tiny flame to illuminate the room gently. “You’re safe now,” you said softly, your voice switching to a delicate tone.

The small, marble-eyed boy stepped forward. His hand slipped into yours, his grip surprisingly strong for his size. “You back came for us?” he whispered, his voice shaking but resolute.

You nodded, squeezing his hand gently, a warm smile breaking through your hardened expression. “Always.”

The children began to move toward you, timid at first, then with growing confidence, their small hands reaching out, seeking comfort. For now, at least, they were safe.

And you would make sure it stayed that way.

It was mostly your funding that kept the orphanages in Meteor City from crumbling. Your money was funneled into the broken, forgotten corners of the city where children like Chrollo and his friends sought refuge. You couldn’t always be there, but when you were, you made it count—your presence, your touch, your attention. That was the difference, wasn’t it? You had to put your wealth somewhere, after all—unlike Ging or Pariston, whose fortunes seemed to disappear into the wind, chasing their whims. For you, though, Meteor City had become an escape, a place to atone for the things you couldn’t control.

But it was more than duty, wasn’t it?

Chrollo had bonded to you in a way that you hadn’t expected. The other children admired you, but he worshiped you. His innocence clung to you, unsettling and infectious, dragging you into a world where, for brief moments, you almost believed you could be more than just a Hunter. That you could be someone who stayed.

It was one of those quiet, unguarded moments when you found yourself in Meteor City again, his small, frail body curled up against yours on his bed, his head tucked beneath your chin as if he could melt into your very being. His face pressed into your chest, and his small hands clung to your shirt as if you were his entire world.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice soft, pleading. His wide gray eyes blinked up at you, still so full of that childlike adoration that made your chest tighten painfully. He didn’t understand—how could he? He was too young, too innocent.

You combed your fingers through his shaggy, jet-black hair, pretending it didn’t hurt to hear him ask. Pretending it didn’t make you feel like you were betraying something inside yourself. The glow from the window—the familiar golden light of dawn—signaled your impending departure. Mother Nature, it seemed, always knew when it was time to pull you away. You would have to leave again. You always left.

But not yet.

“Okay,” you whispered, the lie slipping from your lips like it always did. “I’ll stay.” You tucked his head back against your chest, hoping to drown his fears in the safety of your embrace. He felt so small compared to you, so fragile. You held him tighter, but no matter how tightly you cradled him, you knew it wouldn’t be enough. You couldn’t stay.

He sighed, his words soft and filled with frustration. “I wish you were just a normal girl. Not the Great Hunter. They always take you away from me.”

The weight of his words crushed your chest. You swallowed hard, burying the guilt and sorrow that always surfaced in these moments. He was just a boy, after all—a boy who didn’t know what it meant to live a life like yours. His love was simple, innocent, and untainted by the reality that you could never be what he wanted you to be.

He sighed again, his voice thick with sleep. “It’s not fair. You’re just a kid like me, but it’s like... you’re not. You’re stronger, taller... you have magic. You’re not afraid of anything.” His sleepy eyes blinked up at you, half-lidded, his gaze lingering on your face as if you were the only thing keeping him from falling asleep. “You’re so cool, Y/N.”

You forced a smile, your heart aching with every word. How could he say these things so easily, not knowing the storm they stirred within you? You shouldn’t be here. You shouldn’t be feeling this pull toward him, this unbearable conflict between duty and something else—something darker, something you didn’t want to acknowledge.

“I want to be strong like you,” he continued, his voice fading as sleep began to pull him under. “Then I’ll be the one to save you.”

You let out a chuckle, though it felt hollow. “Oh really? I can’t wait to see you try.” Your voice was soft and gentle, as if you could keep him safe from the weight of your feelings. But even as you spoke, your gaze lingered on his longer than it should have. The way his eyes—those innocent gray eyes—held yours made something inside you crack. You didn’t want to look away.

And yet, you had to.

As Chrollo yawned, his body slowly relaxing into the warmth of your embrace, your heart clenched in that familiar, bittersweet way. You knew what was coming next—the moment when he would fall asleep, and you’d have to leave. You always left. He knew it too, even if he didn’t say it. His eyes fought against the sleep pulling him under as if staying awake would keep you there just a little longer.

You should go. You needed to go. But instead, you held him close, brushing your thumb along his cheek, tracing the outline of his pale face. He murmured something so soft, so quiet, you almost didn’t hear it.

“I love you, Y/N.”

Your heart shattered.

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and suffocating. You didn’t respond. How could you? What could you say to that? You weren’t supposed to feel this way. You weren’t supposed to let it hurt. And yet, his innocent words cut deeper than any wound you had ever known.

You didn’t respond. Instead, you cradled his face in your hands, letting the silence fill the space between you. Your mind and heart were at war, clashing violently as you tried to convince yourself that you felt nothing for this boy—nothing beyond duty, beyond the role you were meant to play.

But his words lingered. His love lingered. And it was killing you.

Only you could carry this burden. You had to ensure that you were the last shepherd, even if you were just a broken saint now.

And when he called, you would answer, no matter how much time had passed since that harrowing incident.

Isaac Netero’s familiar contact flashed onto your phone just as you returned to your quiet estate. The grand home, surrounded by vast lands, had become your sanctuary—where time seemed to stand still. Bamboo trees swayed in the wind, whispering secrets you couldn’t quite hear, and the rustle of leaves was like a lullaby to your broken spirit. This land, untouched and isolated, had become your refuge. Here, you could pretend the world had forgotten you, just as you had tried to ignore it.

You rarely needed to leave; everything you required, you grew with your own hands. The earth was rich and forgiving; the bamboo was tall and kind, your only companions, as well as the critters that inhabited the land, your only solace. They tried to aid in healing your scars, though they only made the loss more bearable. They connected you to reality, keeping you grounded and pulling you back from the edge whenever you felt yourself slipping away. They depended on you as much as you did on them.

But even Mother Nature, with all her quiet persistence, couldn’t fill the gaping void left by your loss. She could only make the emptiness more bearable, less suffocating.

You had given in to the silence, but she hadn’t given up on you. Yet the moment Netero’s contact appeared, the corpse of your heart couldn’t help but beat with a retired purpose you knew you could no longer fulfill.

Still, your hands, worn and deft, quickly picked up the phone, bringing it to your ear.

“Y/N L/N. Think you have a chance to talk, my dear?”

His familiar, softened gruff voice was a reminder of how time had aged him, even though he had left you with so many unanswered questions. He was still your father in many ways.

But you were now Netero’s little fallen general.

“I’m here,” you replied, your voice a ghost of itself, as if unused to forming words meant for anyone else. “It's good to hear your voice. I would ask, How have you been?”

“I am well, Father,” you cut in, a weary undertone threading through your words. “Trying to keep the ground from swallowing me whole.”

A heavy silence fell between you, a shared history that neither of you wanted to address hanging thick in the air. Netero sighed, his voice dipping into a tone you had not heard in years—gentle, almost pleading.

“Y/N…”

You remained silent, unyielding, waiting for him to continue.

“Listen to me, just this once,” he started, but you interrupted again, sharper this time, like a blade cutting through the fog.

“My nen is gone, Isaac," you said, each word deliberate and hard. "There’s nothing more to that story. There is no Master of the Hunters anymore.”

The silence that followed was colder, heavier. You could almost hear him wince at the use of his first name, a name you rarely called him. You knew it hurt him—that it stripped away the façade he liked to wear around you.

He hesitated, then took a deep breath, his voice laced with quiet desperation. “I'm not asking for her to listen to me,” he said carefully. “I'm asking for you, Y/N.”

Your gaze drifted to the bamboo outside, watching the stalks bend and sway in the wind. There was a part of you that wanted to hang up, to let the silence consume you once more, but another part—a faint, barely alive spark—kept you on the line.

“There is a young man,” Netero continued, “who is the spitting reincarnation of you."

Your chest tightened, the ache spreading like a slow poison through your veins. You swallowed, but it felt like shards of glass in your throat.

Netero’s voice softened, almost as if he were trying to soothe a frightened child. “I know I pushed you to retire early, and for that, I am sorry,” he confessed, his words heavy with regret. “I couldn’t bear the thought of what might happen if the wrong people found out you had lost your nen. But this boy—he needs someone who can show him the way. Someone who can give him a chance to choose a different path. A scent he can follow.”

He paused, the weight of his words settling into the air between you. “None of us can do that.”

A flicker of frustration sparked within you, threatening to crack the numbness you had wrapped around yourself like armor. You closed your eyes, the familiar heaviness of duty pressing against your chest. "Why... why do you always drag me back, Isaac?" you murmured, your voice almost devoid of emotion, a whisper lost in the wind.

“Because,” he replied softly, his voice steady but filled with quiet insistence, “you lost your nen, but you didn’t lose everything. I couldn’t save you from your fate... but you can save him before he makes the same mistake.”

For a moment, the world outside seemed to be still. The bamboo stopped swaying, the wind held its breath, and even the critters paused their quiet movements. Everything waited for you to decide whether you would let yourself be pulled back into the life you had tried so hard to leave behind.

A slow exhale escaped your lips, and your grip tightened around the phone. Maybe it wasn’t about saving yourself. Maybe it was about saving someone else—just one more time.

“I’ll think about it,” you finally whispered, knowing you were already halfway convinced.

Netero's sigh of relief was almost inaudible, but you felt it—a soft echo in your chest. "That's all I ask," he said gently. "Just think about it."

And with that, the call ended, leaving you standing alone in the quiet of your sanctuary, the wind picking up again, the bamboo swaying once more.

For the first time in a long time, you felt the stirrings of something beyond emptiness—a faint, fragile thing that might have been hope.

You let yourself fall back against the mat, feeling the familiar, frayed edges pressing into your back. Your phone lay loosely in your grip, screen dark, but its weight still anchored you to the moment. You stared blankly at the stone pond before you, the water still and silent under the overcast sky. But inside, that gnawing feeling had grown stronger, louder, and more insistent. The doubt and emptiness you had tried so hard to bury now surged to the surface like a wave, threatening to swallow you whole.

Then you saw her—the familiar, ethereal form rising from the pond—"Mother," your nen-made spirit, tilting her head at you, trying to read the emotions you kept so tightly locked away. Her shape shimmered and wavered, the liquid surface of her body catching the dim light, reflecting a thousand tiny, dancing fragments of your surroundings.

“You’re cruel...” you muttered, not bothering to lift your head. You didn’t need to see her to know she was there, watching you with a concern you could not bear. The water spirit hovered closer, her presence radiating a gentle insistence. A wave of water reached out, almost like a hand, and as she moved, droplets broke away and splattered onto your face. The cool water trickled down your skin, obliging you to finally look up and meet her gaze.

Her expression was unreadable, but the tension in her form, the way her edges seemed to blur and tremble, told you everything. She was worried. She is always worried. Especially when you have attempted to end your suffering...

Seeing her like that... It only made the ache worse. It plagued you and gnawed at you like an open wound. You hated it. You hated feeling like this—so useless, so empty. Once, you had been so certain of your place in the world, so sure of your purpose. You had moved like a blade through the darkness, cutting down every evil in your path. You had saved countless lives and fought battles that others had deemed impossible. You mattered.

And now... now it felt like all of that was gone. Stripped away the moment your nen vanished. When it had left you, it had taken everything with it. Your sense of self, your purpose, your reason for being—it had all crumbled to dust, leaving nothing but a hollow shell behind.

"Quit it," you muttered, your voice low and tired. "I'm not in the mood."

But Mother didn’t listen. She never did. Instead, she moved closer, her form rippling like a soft wave, the water elongating until it seemed to reach across the space between you. With a sudden, playful motion, she curled around your feet, a cold grip tightening around your ankles. Before you could protest, she yanked you off the mat, dragging you across the ground.

“Really?” You groaned, exasperation flaring. You knew what she was doing. She was trying to wake you up, to stir something inside you. “Cut it out, Mother.”

She didn’t respond. The water around your ankles tightened, and with another tug, she lifted you upside down, your hair falling toward the ground. The blood rushed to your head, and you blinked, momentarily disoriented. For a moment, you dangled there like a rag doll over the pond, your feet held aloft by a watery tendril.

You found yourself staring directly into her face—or what passed for a face—her liquid eyes focused intently on you, unblinking, unwavering. She was demanding your attention, forcing you to look at her to confront whatever was buried deep inside. The silence stretched between you, filled only by the gentle slosh of water moving with every slight motion.

“I said quit it,” you repeated, a hint of irritation in your voice. But she didn’t budge. Her expression seemed almost stern. The water droplets that made up her body shivered slightly, as if she were speaking a language only you could understand.

Mother’s form shifted, her eyes narrowing slightly. Her head tilted again, and for a second, she almost seemed to frown. The water that held you up began to twist and turn, slowly spinning you in the air as if examining you from every angle. Her touch was cold, but there was something else there—something gentle, almost comforting, beneath the chill. She wouldn’t let you hide from this. She wouldn’t let you sink back into the darkness you’d been wallowing in for so long.

“Quit it, Mother,” you muttered, voice strained, but there was no real fight in your tone. You were too exhausted to fight her, too tired to do much more than dangle there, your heart heavy and your purpose frayed.

Mother, ever persistent, moved the water around you in a swirl, as if shaping something from the depths of her core. You felt a coldness, a thin sheet of water sliding up to your face, and then you saw it—your reflection mirrored perfectly in the water.

But Mother didn’t stop there. Slowly, deliberately, she turned the reflection around.

Your eyes widened as you caught sight of your own back and your skin. The large, red Hunter symbol emblazoned between your shoulder blades, stark against your flesh, with the L/N family symbols woven underneath, bearing the phrase that had once given you strength:

"No child left behind."

The words, so familiar, stared back at you with a cruel clarity. Your vow, your creed. The promise you had whispered to yourself a thousand times over, in the darkest nights, in the quiet moments of despair. The very words you had once tattooed onto your skin were like armor against the world.

Your breath caught in your throat. You tried to look away, but Mother twisted the mirror slightly, making sure you couldn’t escape it.

The reminder was as sharp as a blade, cutting through your excuses and your self-pity.

You were The Great Hunter, not because of the nen you wielded, but because of the promise you had made. Because of the innocent you had sworn to protect.

Mother watched, her watery eyes soft but firm, refusing to release you until the weight of that reflection settled back into your bones.

You sighed, a long, tired exhale, and for a moment, just a moment, you allowed yourself to feel the ache of that old purpose stirring within you.

She stared back, unyielding. Her watery surface rippled slightly, as if in response to your unspoken thoughts, and you felt a tear prick at the corner of your eye. A tear you quickly blink away. The silence stretched on, filled with everything you weren't saying—filled with all the things she knew you didn’t want to admit.

You sighed, feeling the fight leave you, your shoulders slumping. “Fine. Fine, you win,” you said quietly, feeling defeated, but in a way that almost felt like relief. She had always been there to stop you from corrupting yourself, always pushing you, always forcing you to face the things you wanted to ignore. And now, as much as you hated to admit it, you needed her to do it again.

You felt her release your ankles, and for a moment, you simply stood there, breathing, your heartbeat slowing, the cool air biting at your skin. She hovered closer, her watery hand reaching out as if to touch your face, but she hesitated, just a fraction of an inch away. You stared into her eyes, feeling something inside you break loose like a dam giving way.

You hated this... You hated feeling like you were nothing. Like you were just a vessel for the person you used to be.

Your Nen was gone, but you were still here. That gnawing, insatiable need to matter, to make a difference, was still there, burning quietly beneath the surface.

You took a breath, your fingers tightening around the phone still in your hand. "Alright," you whispered, almost to yourself. "Alright, I'll do it."

Mother seemed to shimmer, her form brightening slightly as if she were smiling. Her droplets swirled around you, a gentle, swirling dance of liquid light like she was encouraging you, cheering you on.

Your thumb moved over the phone screen, almost of its own accord, and you found Netero’s name again, hesitating for just a heartbeat before you pressed the call button. The phone rang once, twice, and then his voice came through—calm but expectant as if he had known you would call back.

“Y/N?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, steeling yourself, and then spoke, your voice steady. “Where is he?”

You stepped off the airship, choosing to take a more grounded approach this time. It had been so long since you walked among society; today, you wanted to feel the earth beneath your feet and hear the noise of life all around you. Normally, you would have flown in on Khan, your Seraphrid—a creature resembling a winged horse, only larger and more formidable, a loyal companion since your youth. But today felt different.

As expected, Khan had already beaten you here. His sleek, black form stood tall among the trees, his six powerful legs moving with an elegance that defied his size. His head was turned in your direction, and the two long, string-like antennae that served as his natural bridle extended, sensing your presence. They wrapped around your arm, their touch gentle but firm, syncing with the veins on the underside of your wrist. The bond was immediate, an ancient connection that required no words.

With a familiar pull, you mounted him, his raised hoof serving as a stepping stool, an unspoken offer only the two of you understood. You clicked your tongue softly, a signal you’d always used, and he responded with a low, rumbling neigh that resonated through your bones.

Khan didn’t need instructions. He read your intentions through the link you shared, feeling the subtle shifts in your thoughts and emotions. He began to trot into the dense forest, guided by your thoughts alone, the rhythm of his steps matching the cadence of your heartbeat.

Netero had informed you that the young man, the one you were to meet, was training in these woods. He had given you the young man’s contact information, though he had been elusive with any real details. When you had pressed for more information, Netero had only chuckled, his words tinged with mystery: “You’ll see...”

Typical of him to leave you to uncover the truth on your own, to dig up the bone yourself, like always. As Khan weaved through the thick underbrush, you found yourself wondering about this boy. What was it about him that had made Netero reach out to you after all this time? What was so special that it warranted pulling you back into this world?

The dense forest began to thin, opening into a sun-dappled clearing. Khan slowed to a gentle canter, his antennae twitching as if sensing something ahead. You felt it too—a presence, quiet yet intense, like a heartbeat echoing through the trees.

This had to be the place. As you dismounted, Khan’s gaze remained fixed forward, his body tense and alert. You patted his side, reassuring him, and he relaxed slightly, though his eyes never wavered from whatever lay beyond the clearing.

You took a deep breath, feeling the familiar stir of curiosity and something deeper—something that felt like the whisper of purpose reigniting within you. Stepping forward, you moved into the clearing, ready to meet the young man Netero had sent you to find, ready to face whatever awaited you on the other side.

You dismounted slowly, your feet sinking into the damp earth as the coolness of the soil crept up through your boots, grounding you in the present moment. The clearing before you stretched wide, dappled sunlight breaking through the thick canopy above, casting shifting patterns of light and shadow across the forest floor. The air was thick with the scent of moss and earth, a living, breathing presence around you. Khan stood tall beside you, his powerful form coiled with restrained energy, his antennae twitching in tune with the undercurrent of tension that rippled from you like a stone dropped in water.

Ahead, the low murmur of voices reached your ears, punctuated by the rhythmic clack of wood striking wood and the sharp rustle of leaves disturbed by quick, deliberate movements. You moved forward slowly, cautiously, each step bringing the sounds into sharper clarity. As you reached the edge of the clearing, you paused, taking in the scene before you.

Two figures moved with practiced grace, their forms entwined in a dance of combat, their bodies speaking a language of strength and discipline. One of them, tall and broad-shouldered, had a presence that radiated intensity and control—Izunavi, a hunter you had known from years ago. His sharp, unwavering gaze and the calm precision of his movements marked him as a hunter, one who had taught countless others the art of survival.

But it was the boy who drew your attention.

He was younger than you had imagined, his golden hair catching the sunlight like a halo, his eyes narrowed in concentration, a fierce determination burning in their depths. His posture was taut, muscles coiled and ready, every motion calculated and precise as he mirrored Izunavi’s steps, his gaze never faltering, never leaving his mentor for even a heartbeat. His body moved with the grace of a predator, but there was a tension there—a rawness, a desperation that was almost painful to watch.

So this was Kurapika.

Your breath caught in your throat. It was like staring into a ghost, a specter of who you had once been—a younger self, with that same consuming fire, that same drive, that same reckless need to prove something to a world that had never shown mercy. You recognized the look in his eyes immediately. You had seen it in your reflection, in the faces of those you had saved and those you had failed. The beast of burden lay heavy in his gaze, the weight of vengeance familiar darkness that seemed to clutch at his very soul.

He was still a child. Just as you had been—a child thrust into a world too cruel and too vast, carrying a burden too heavy for shoulders so young. You lingered in the shadows, your heart tightening in your chest, a sense of foreboding curling in your gut. Finally, you decided to step forward, your presence pressing through the air like a ripple in still water.

Izunavi’s movements stilled. He sensed you first, his eyes flickering toward you, his expression a mask of calm neutrality, though you saw the faint recognition behind his eyes. His stance eased, a subtle acknowledgment. Kurapika followed his gaze, turning to face you, and the intensity of his scrutiny hit you like a blow—a look so piercing it seemed to strip away layers, searching, demanding answers before he even spoke.

“Master,” Izunavi greeted, his tone respectful but carrying a hint of something harder beneath. "Netero told me you might be dropping by."

"Y/N," you corrected, voice soft but firm. Each syllable felt heavy in your mouth, burdened by the memories of your past. You inclined your head slightly, stepping fully into the clearing, moving with purpose, though a knot tightened in your stomach. "It’s been a while, Izunavi," you said, your voice sounding almost foreign to your ears. "I see you’ve taken on another pupil."

Izunavi nodded. "One with a special kind of determination," he replied, a note of pride softening his otherwise stern demeanor. He glanced at Kurapika, who stood like a coiled spring, ready to snap. "Kurapika, this is Y/N L/N—once known as Master Hunter, The Great Hunter, the Hound of the Hunters… too many names to count."

Kurapika’s eyes widened slightly at the sound of your name. Recognition flickered across his features—his expression shifting from curiosity to something deeper, something darker. You could almost see the thoughts racing behind his gaze, the questions forming, and the curiosity and anger mingling in a storm of emotion.

Netero had left you a note from the first examiner of the 287th Hunter Exam: "Kurapika Kurta said he wishes to become a Hunter to exact revenge on the Phantom Troupe and seek aid from the Master Hunter." The Phantom Troupe, a name you had only heard in passing, a whisper of a threat, a gang too small to matter back then. But now, seeing Kurapika’s face, you realize how much had changed and how much you had missed.

“Where were you that day?” Kurapika’s voice was low but steady, each word laced with a simmering rage that seemed barely contained. "I read stories about you... Master Hunter, the one who made crime vanish like mist before the sun. When my people were slaughtered, I didn’t fear, because I knew—you would come. You would hunt them down for me."

The pain in his voice was like a knife twisting in your chest. “I waited years for you! Held onto that hope until I had no choice but to become the hunter I needed.”

His voice cracked, but the fury within it did not waver. "You let them walk this earth after what they did to me... to my people." His hands clenched into fists, his knuckles white, his breath ragged. And then you saw it—the flash of scarlet behind his gray contacts, the burning rage of his clan's curse, the anger and grief all mixed into one volatile storm.

A lump formed in your throat, and you swallowed hard against it. The weight of his accusation bore down on you like a physical force. In your absence, the world had shifted and twisted, and you had been powerless to stop it. You had lost your Nen that day, the day you had lost everything.

That’s why you weren’t there.

The same beast of burden now latched onto him had once latched onto you. You had failed him, and his words cut deep into whatever was left of your fractured soul. If only you had known... If only you had hunted them when they were small, a mere whisper of a threat. If only…

But you hadn’t. And now you were facing the result of that failure.

Your silence hung heavy in the air. You felt the burn in your eyes, the sting in your throat, and the weight of every decision and every choice you had made that led to this moment. There was nothing you could say to erase the pain in his eyes—the sense of betrayal that seemed to radiate from him like heat.

Kurapika's expression hardened, his jaw tightening, his eyes narrowing to slits. “I need justice,” he said, his voice colder now, like a blade drawn against a stone.

You drew a deep breath, fighting against the rising tide of emotion within you. “Justice is a fine line, Kurapika,” you replied quietly, meeting his gaze with a steady resolve. “And revenge can blur it until you don’t know which side you’re on.”

His jaw clenched, his eyes burning with a mixture of fury and something deeper—something fragile and almost broken. He turned away, shoulders tense, his footsteps heavy, as if carrying the weight of the world on his back. A part of you wanted to reach out, to stop him, to pull him back from the edge. But you knew better than to force it. He had to find his way, just as you had.

“Kurap-” Izunavi began, his voice edged with concern, but you raised a hand, silencing him. Your eyes remained on Kurapika’s retreating form, watching as he disappeared into the trees, swallowed by the shadows.

“Let him go,” you whispered, the words barely more than a breath. "I’ll talk to him later... once he’s cooled off."

Izunavi hesitated but finally nodded, trusting your judgment. You stared into the forest where Kurapika had vanished, the weight of his words still heavy on your heart. You knew that if he continued on this path, it would lead only to more pain and more loss. You weren’t sure you could bear to watch someone else descend into the same darkness that had swallowed you whole.

You had to try for his sake and yours.

“How far is he in his Nen?” you asked, breaking the stillness. Izunavi turned, his expression solemn.

“He's a determined, quick learner, but he’s already made those terrible vows for his Nen ability. It’s been five months since he started, and he’s planning something for September 1st.”

Next month, you thought. Not much time. “Is it related to the Troupe?”

“Positive.” Izunavi’s response was immediate; his voice edged with tension.

You sighed deeply, feeling the familiar heaviness in your chest. Another lost child, another soul standing at a precipice. The memory of the children from Meteor City flickered in your mind—those small, eager faces filled with both mischief and hope. Even now, you could remember the way they looked up to you, their eyes wide with wonder and something more—something like belief.

Chrollo, Feitan, Phinks—all those troublemakers who had once felt like yours in some way despite being the same age. You had often wondered where they were now, how life had treated them, and if they had stayed on the path you had hoped for them. Maybe, when all of this was over, you’d find them again. Just to see. Just to know.

Izunavi’s voice pulled you back. “His vows are monstrous, Y/N. I don’t know what he sacrificed, but his chains are still out of control. He’s powerful, but he can’t command them yet.”

“Chains?” You repeated, an eyebrow arching in surprise. “That’s his ability?”

Izunavi nodded gravely. “Yes. He wants to bind the spiders to hell with them.”

A small, amused laugh slipped past your lips, as that did sound like something he would say. Then your expression turned serious. “Izunavi… I’ve lost my Nen. If I decide to teach this boy, will you be my eyes?”

Izunavi blinked, momentarily stunned, but he quickly nodded, his gaze steady and filled with a new understanding. “I will,” he promised softly. “But... are you ready for this?”

You took a breath, the weight of your own words settling within you. “I wasn’t Netero’s best hunter just because of my Nen.”

You could still feel Nen, even Mother’s Nen whenever she came to you, like a whisper at the back of your mind, a gentle reminder of the power that once flowed through you like a river. You hadn’t lost your instincts—if anything, losing your Nen had sharpened them. It was like losing a sense and gaining another. You could feel things now, in ways that other Nen users couldn’t—like sensing the shift in the air before a storm.

Izunavi hesitated for a moment, then spoke again, his voice a little softer, a little more unsure. “Y/N, you can do it? Teach him? With your Nen gone…?”

You looked at him, a small smile playing on your lips. “I can.”

Izunavi seemed to consider your words, then nodded again, more firmly this time. “Alright,” he said. “I’ll be your eyes.”

Your gaze drifted toward the direction where Kurapika had stormed off, your thoughts tangled with the past and the present. You knew the path he was on—you had been there yourself once. And you didn’t want Kurapika to stain his hands as you had stained yours, even if it was for what you believed was “good.”

If you could help him find another way—if you could keep his hands clean, you would. You were willing to stain yours all over again for the sake of keeping him from the blood that had already marked too many lives.

You had to operate in his shadow. Teaching Kurapika while also trying to beat him to the Phantom Troupe would be no easy task—especially if you had to do it behind his back. There was still so much you didn’t know. The years you spent disconnected from society left gaps in your knowledge. You couldn’t deny it, and the thought made you clench your fist. At least you could still rely on the physical strength of the L/N bloodline—but even that might not be enough. What if the Phantom Troupe’s Nen abilities were stronger than you anticipated? If they were all together, no matter how much experience you had, they could easily overwhelm you by sheer numbers.

What if you couldn’t protect Kurapika? The thought sent a shiver up your spine.

This was a mess just waiting to explode.

Izunavi watched you quietly, sensing the shift in your mood, the old scars being reopened, and the new purpose forming in your heart. You felt the stirrings of a familiar resolve—a quiet, burning fire that refused to go out.

“Let’s start now,” you said, meeting Izunavi’s gaze with a calm but determined look. “We have until September 1st. I won’t let him fall.”

You followed Kurapika as the sun began its slow descent, painting the sky with hues of orange and pink. Shadows lengthened, and the woods grew quieter, the sounds of the day's creatures giving way to the night’s. You had given him time—enough time, you hoped—for his anger to cool and for his heart to steady. But you knew that the embers of rage didn’t die so easily; they could smolder for a long, long time.

You found him near the lake, sitting against a tree with his knees pulled up, his blonde hair catching the last rays of sunlight like threads of gold. He stared blankly ahead, lost in thought, his face a mask of quiet resolve. You watched him for a moment from a distance, letting your presence be felt without imposing yourself. You knew words wouldn’t be enough—not yet, not for a boy with a fresh wound.

Slowly, you made your way toward him, moving carefully and deliberately, leaving space for him to turn you away if he chose. He didn’t look at you, but he didn’t push you away either. That, in itself, was something. You took a seat beside him, leaving enough distance between the two of you to let him feel unpressured but close enough that your presence was felt. You let the silence stretch, understanding that sometimes it was the only thing that could truly speak.

After a while, you finally broke the silence, your voice soft, almost tentative. "You want to hunt the Troupe, right?"

Kurapika didn’t move at first, his eyes still fixed on the water. When he finally spoke, his voice was quiet but resolved. “I don’t have a choice.”

The words hung between you, heavy with finality. You have heard that before, spoken in different ways by different people. It was always the same. A choice made in desperation, when the soul felt trapped by the past, by the need to correct something that could never truly be fixed.

“You always have a choice,” you replied softly, your tone neither reprimanding nor coddling. It was simply a statement of fact.

Kurapika shifted, his hands tightening around his knees. “Not when it comes to this. Not when it comes to them.”

You glanced at him out of the corner of your eye, studying the lines of tension etched across his young face. He was still so young—too young for this kind of rage to live so deeply inside him. But rage wasn’t something that cared for age, wisdom, or even reason. You knew that better than anyone.

“They took everything from me,” he continued, his voice harder now, laced with bitterness. “Everything. My family, my home, my future. I can’t just let that go!”

You exhaled slowly, a quiet sigh that was lost in the soft rustle of the wind through the trees. “Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting,” you said gently. “It doesn’t mean forgiving either. But this path you’re walking... It’s not just about revenge anymore. It’s about who you become at the end of it.”

Kurapika’s eyes flicked toward you then, sharp and wary like he was expecting a lecture he’d heard a thousand times before. But you weren’t here to preach.

“I’m not asking you to stop,” you clarified, your gaze still on the water, the gentle waves reflecting the dying light. “I know that’s not an option for you. But you need to be careful, Kurapika. Rage has a way of consuming everything in its path. It’ll burn through you if you’re not careful. Until there’s nothing left of the person you used to be.”

He was silent for a moment, absorbing your words. The tension in his body hadn’t lessened, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—uncertainty, perhaps. Or maybe it was understanding.

“I can control it,” he said, his voice quieter now, but the determination in it was unmistakable. “I have to.”

You nodded slightly, acknowledging his resolve. “Control is important. But you also need balance. Power without purpose is dangerous, even to yourself.”

Kurapika frowned, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Purpose? My purpose is to kill them.”

You turned to face him fully then, your eyes locking onto his. “And after that? What happens when they’re gone? What’s left for you?”

The question caught him off guard. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. For a moment, the hard façade he had built around himself seemed to crack, and you saw the lost boy beneath. A boy who had lost everything and didn’t know how to live without his hatred to guide him.

“That’s why I’m here,” you continued, your voice softening. “I’ve walked this path before. I know where it leads. If you’re not careful, you’ll reach the end of it and find that nothing is waiting for you on the other side. Nothing but emptiness.”

Kurapika’s hands slowly unclenched, his fingers tracing the edge of his sleeves as if grounding himself in the present moment. He didn’t say anything, but you could see the conflict in his eyes.

You reached out then, gently placing your hand on his shoulder, a rare gesture of comfort. “I’m not saying this to stop you,” you said, your voice low, almost a whisper. “But I am saying you need to think about what comes next. After the bloodshed. After the vengeance. What will you be left with?”

Kurapika lowered his head, the weight of your words sinking in. The silence stretched between you again, but this time it wasn’t filled with tension. It was a moment of quiet reflection.

“I don’t know,” he finally admitted, his voice barely audible.

You gave a small nod, squeezing his shoulder lightly before pulling your hand back. “That’s okay. You don’t have to know yet. Just... don’t lose yourself in the process.”

For a long moment, Kurapika didn’t move, his gaze fixed on the ground, deep in thought. When he finally looked up, there was a new clarity in his eyes, though the fire still burned there, too. He wasn’t ready to let go of his vengeance, but at least now he was starting to see the danger in letting it consume him completely.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he said, his voice steady but quieter than before.

You nodded again, satisfied for now. It was a start. He would need time to fully understand what you meant, but at least the seed had been planted. And as much as you wanted to protect him from the pain of the path he was walking, you knew he had to walk it for himself. All you could do was guide him along the way.

As the last traces of daylight disappeared from the sky, you stood up, brushing the dirt from your pants. “Come on,” you said, offering him a hand. “Let’s head back before it gets too dark.”

Kurapika hesitated for a moment before accepting your hand, pulling himself up to his feet. He stood beside you, his gaze lingering on the horizon for just a moment longer before he nodded, turning to follow you back toward the camp.

As you walked side by side, the soft sounds of the night surrounding you, you couldn’t help but glance at him, the weight of the future heavy between you both.

The journey was far from over...

© eyesofbong. All rights reserved. Do not plagiarize my work. If you see this content on any account that is not mine, please report it. My work is only available on this platform and on AO3 under the name @eyesofbong

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underoossss · 2 months ago

Text

Let me help - Miguel O’Hara – 2

pairing: miguel ohara x f!reader

warnings: none

an: I wanted to continue their story so here’s a part two! these two get close and realize some things 🗣️

part 1 | masterlist

★★★★★★

“And then he shows up in his spider suit and a tutu around his waist!” You exclaim, arms going up in the air in an animated gesture.

You’re retelling your day to Miguel. He’s sitting on your couch –in your new apartment– lounging back and listening to you with an amused look on his face. He’s traded his suit for sweatpants and a grey t-shirt, looking relaxed and at home at your place; like he belongs there more than your carefully selected plants. You steer clear from that line of thought, there’s no point in believing he can like you more than a friend. You’re his friend, that’s why he’s so caring. Why he helped you find, furnish and paint the apartment. Why he always lets you hang out with him even if it’s just to scroll on your phone next to him while he works.

You’d finished your patrolling earlier today –there were no villains to catch– and had your ballet class with seven other variants of Spider Gwen before coming home and showering. Miguel arrived an hour ago, bribed by the idea of fresh double chocolate cookies you were going to make. He’d worked for them though, being your sous chef as you prepared the dough and warmed up the oven. Now you’re sitting sideways on your cream-colored couch, clutching a pink throw pillow to your chest as you laugh at today’s surprise.

‘How was your day?’ Miguel had asked and it somehow led to you telling him about Scarlet Spider showing up to ballet class to learn how to dance. He’d claimed you had an unfair advantage in battles, and he wanted to improve his fighting too. You had no idea what he meant, but who are you to keep him from learning something new? The anecdote he gave you to tell Miguel is a bonus.

“And did Ben, do it?” He asks, eyes scanning your face like he’s done from the moment he opened a portal to your living room. You’re not sure what he’s looking for when he does that, all you know is that you’ve noticed him doing it more frequently and that he must stop. Your heart stalls in a wonderful sort of panic every time he does. “Finish the entire class?”

“Yes he did but–” Your words are cut off by the sound of your timer going off. “Hold on handsome, I gotta get the cookies out of the oven.”

Leaving the throw pillow on the couch you stand and walk to the kitchen, Miguel’s stare a warm feeling as you pass him by. The sage colored walls you painted are washed in golden light as you turn on the light and proceed to turn off the oven. The decadent smell of chocolate fills the air the moment you take the cookies out and set them on the counter; a closer look confirms it’s going to be a delicious batch. You don’t know when Miguel left his place on the couch to follow you, but he’s leaning on the doorway when you turn around.

“You can’t eat them yet babe, they’re too hot.” You shake your head, an inevitable smile on your face as you meet his eyes. How is it that one person can make you feel so much joy? It’s been two months since you moved away from home with Miguel’s help, and though you’ve worked hard on yourself to be yourself more freely, you can’t deny his encouragement and support has made the process even more joyful. His presence alone brings you a sort of calmness you’ve never felt before.

“You should see how happy you look.” Miguel says as softly as his eyes gaze at you, again. With a fond shake of his head, he moves closer to stand in front of you, your back to the kitchen counter. “It’s good to see you happy.”

You look up at him, your smile turning sheepish as you meet his soft stare with an unsure one. “Happy in my home world, you mean. I’m always happy when…” I’m with you, you want to say but bite your tongue. “I’m in the society. Which brings me back to the story.”

Moving away from him and perching on the opposite countertop you pick up where you left off. You also purposely ignore Miguel’s searching gaze; it’s like he knows you’re changing the topic –you kind of are. Instead, you crisscross your legs and continue your story. “So Ben goes through the class and leaves a changed man. Poor guy couldn’t feel his toes. 889 Gwen was teaching the class and she’s all business. She had him do pointe shoes on his first day can you believe that? He nailed the jumps though, gotta give him credit for that.”

“He kind of signed up for an advanced class pulguita, what was he expecting?” Miguel chuckles, motioning with his hand for you to go on as he moves to stand in front of you again.

Everywhere you move, he follows. As if the universe knows you’re trying to keep your distance to conceal your feelings, yet it pushes him closer to you to see if you’ll break. You honestly might.

“You’re right.” You laugh softly, accepting his hand when he reaches out. It makes your stomach flip. “I don’t think he’s ever coming back to class.”

“Probably not.” Your friend concedes, pretending to think about it.

“But then as all of us left the studio –you so kindly let us use, thank you again– three variants of me were walking the opposite way. They were repulsed by the idea of me doing ballet! Can you believe that?” You shake your head in amusement, eyes focusing on the cooling cookies. “What’s their deal?”

“All variants are different; you know their backstory is different than yours.” Miguel shrugs, his voice shifts into something almost sad when he notices the liveliness in your tone disappear. “I know you wanted them to be like all the Gwens.”

You frown, meeting his eyes briefly before looking away. He’s right, you were disappointed when they didn’t get along with you. You were different, a little more playful, had a little more fun; you didn’t see being Spiderman like a chore, it was something you were chosen for. There’s no use in saying it didn’t hurt when they acted this way because it did. Not finding a friend in yourself kind of messes you up.

“You’re right.” You mumble, lost in your thoughts. “They don’t care if they have friends or not, where I hate loneliness; they’re stoic but I cry if I get mad; they hate you and I love you and…”

You sense a skip to a heartbeat that you assume is yours as you sigh and look at Miguel. “And they hate ballet. Ugh, I got sidetracked, where was I? In the story?”

Miguel grins, a warm thing that flusters you right away. “You saw your variants as you left ballet.” His voice’s gotten low and soft, like a sweet caress to your ears. You love it when it does that, however rare it may be.

“Right! You should’ve seen their faces, the Gwens thought it was funny.” You chuckle, then furrow your brows. “Is it right to say their face when it’s also my face? I mean they’re technically me? You’re the multiverse expert here.”

Miguel takes a step closer, his height casting a shadow over both of you. You look up at him –you’d curse how tall he is if it wasn’t so attractive to you. “It’s their face.” Miguel says, briefly squeezing the hand that’s holding yours. “There’s only one you.”

Your stomach flips at his words, at his proximity, at the look in his eyes. The air around you changes, charged with something new but still familiar. It makes your heartbeat louder in your chest and even though you want to shy away from Miguel’s gaze –the one that’s not left you the entire evening– you can’t. Instead, you take your time and look; if he does it, so can you. You’re not expecting it to leave you so breathless.

It's not only his handsome features. It’s the openness and vulnerability shining in them as they all but adore you that makes your mouth run dry. You backtrack to all your previous interactions: his guidance when you joined the team, him helping you move in, the way he holds you close when you’re overwhelmed, the silent way you communicate when you’re both working in his lab.

“Have you always looked at me like this?” You ask, a breathy whisper between the two of you. Both of your hands holding one of his tighter, grounding yourself in the present moment.

Miguel’s free hand moves to cup your cheek, and you lean into his palm with the overwhelming need to be close to him. He nods. “Probably as long as you’ve loved me.”

His words make your eyes widen and Miguel smiles as your mind races to figure out when he could’ve found out. “Oh.” You squeeze your eyes shut.

They hate you and I love you.

Miguel’s hand on your cheek shifts to hold your chin gently, prompting you to open your eyes again. “It’s true, you know? I’m in love with you.” You confess again, knowing he values honesty. Knowing you can tell him everything, yet never realizing it could be this easy.

“I should’ve noticed sooner.” Miguel shakes his head, placing a gentle kiss on your forehead. You’re sure he catches the shaky breath that escapes you, and the thrumming of you heart but you don’t care.

“I should’ve too.” You beam up at him, your blood buzzing under your skin with joy. “But I was too busy not letting it show that I didn’t notice how obsessed you are with me, babe.”

You begin to laugh at Miguel’s eyeroll, but he promptly shuts you up with his lips on yours.

It should be embarrassing, really, the way you melt in his hold and sigh at the feeling of finally kissing him. His soft bottom lip and gorgeous cupids bow you’ve wanted to touch for so long. Miguel’s arms go around you and press you close to his body, his shoulders hunching as he bends down to kiss you better. And it’s not embarrassing, not when the way he’s kissing you shows you he’s wanted you just as much. The subtle graze of his teeth soothed by his lips, and the way he opens you up to him.

It’s passionate and slow, intoxicating in the best way. The two of you savoring of the feeling of intimacy you’ve been craving. His hands begin to wander, like he doesn’t know how to pull you any closer, while yours get to finally touch his hair and relish in his answering hum. It’s crystal clear to you, now. The pull between you and Miguel was always meant to be –that’s why your variants hate him and you adore him. That’s why you were close from day one.

“There’s only one you.” Miguel repeats his words from earlier, they’re whispered over your lips as you pull away. The tip of his nose rests next to yours, and you peck his top lip self-indulgently one more time.

“You might be biased.” You tell him, beaming up at him and rejoicing in the way his eyes soften. They look and look and look, and now you know what it means. “Or you want a cookie.”

“Both.” Miguel’s breathy chuckle is music to your ears as he takes a step back to let you hop off the counter.

“We could eat these watching a movie?” You smile over your shoulder, moving the cookies from the baking pan to a plate. “Hm?”

Miguel takes the plate of cookies and moves back to the living room instead of answering. “Come on, pulguita.” He says over his shoulder, relaxed and at home in your apartment.

“I should be offended when you call me that, you know.” You grin, grabbing napkins and joining him in the living room. “It’s not my fault you’re tall.”

“It’s not mine that you’re short…” Miguel smirks, then his features soften. “Pulguita.”

Hiding your joy and all the love that’s been locked away for so long seems impossible, so you don’t. Instead, you climb on Miguel’s lap where he’s settled on the couch and kiss him again, a barely-there brush of lips. His hands find your hips, fitting there perfectly like they were made to be there.

“You’re lucky I like it when you call me that.” You’re still delighted at the evening’s turn of events, and it must show on your face because Miguel leans in to kiss you again. Like he can’t help not to.

“I meant what I said earlier.” He whispers, looking into your eyes; serious but loving, Miguel in a nutshell. “I love seeing you happy.”

“I’m so happy.” You nod, happy tears gathering in your waterline as you compare the terrible thoughts and feelings of the previous months with your current life. How you thought everyone would be better off without you, but now notice the impact your love and care have on others. The man in front of you being an example. “It seemed impossible back then, but I am now.”

With a gentle touch, Miguel wipes a happy tear with a grin on his face. “That’s good, mi amor.”

“That one’s new.” You murmur, kissing the corner of his mouth before leaning back. “Miguel….”

“Hm?”

“It’s thanks to you, you know?” You say softly, focusing on your finger tracing his cheekbone. “I’ve done my part but… thank you, for everything you did to help me.”

Miguel begins to shake his head but your hands on his cheeks stop him. When his eyes scan your face, they find the sincerity that lies there because he looks away briefly in vulnerability. “You don’t have–” He starts then stops himself, grinning at your shining smile. “You can count on me for anything.”

“I know, but enough feelings or else I’ll cry again.” You whisper with a head shake, shifting on the couch so you’re sitting sideways again –your side to his front. “Pick a movie, handsome.”

Miguel takes the cookies from the coffee table, offering them to you as he turns on the TV. You never would’ve thought this could happen; that choosing your happiness would look like this. With the man you love, in your own place and doing the things you bring you joy. It feels like a dream, even more so when Miguel brings your body closer to yours as whatever movie he chose starts.

★★★★★★

reblogs are always appreciated 🥹

#miguel o'hara #atsv miguel #miguel ohara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x you #miguel ohara x reader #miguel ohara x you #miguel o’hara x fem!reader #atsv fanfiction

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strawbeerossi · 1 year ago

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Fearless

Pairing: Unsub!Fem!Reader x Spencer Reid

Part Description: Weeks after the incident with Cat and her death, Spencer is left with vivid dreams that make him question his job, his morals, and the path he took to protect the innocent.

Content Warnings: Coarse language, night terrors, mention of masturbation but nothing explicit, unsub!Spencer makes an appearance, violence, death, ambiguous ending.

Word Count: 2.2K

Part one || Part two || Part three

Navigation || Masterlist || Request

Highly anticipated part three and the end of a very brief series. I’m confident it’s gonna leave y’all wanting more for the way I ended it soooo feel free to message/ask for scenarios and one shots regarding Unsub!Spence

Lightning strikes, lighting up the alley where Spencer had doubled over, hands on his knees while he took in a deep breath. Blood splatter was on the side of the abandoned brick building, a body slumped in place.

This wasn’t something that went according to plan, the feeling of rain soaking the suit stained with crimson. He didn’t know what came over him. It was like he was.. He was a shadow of his former self.

He enjoyed pressing the blade of the knife deep within his victim’s neck, the way blood managed to spurt onto his face. It gave him a rush, a hit of adrenaline that was stronger than any drug he could’ve done.

There was an awakening inside of him, a burn deep in his gut that was almost arousing. He didn’t have any erectile issues, so he was curious on how stabbing a man could bring out such animalistic feelings.

The man who made an oath to protect innocence, the man who worked for fifteen goddamn years of his life to rid the world of darkness now falling into a dangerous addiction that not even the BAU would be able to stop.

Spencer’s eyes were popping open, a thin veil of sweat covering his face as he was quickly sitting up on the bed, head tilting to the side to look over at the bright light of the alarm clock.

3 A.M.

His eyes were shifting over in the direction of the body in bed beside him, Y/N’s body stretched out as the moonlight was giving a pale light into the quiet bedroom. Spencer let his hands come up to rub his face tiredly.

Pulling the duvet off of himself, he was quietly getting out of bed. Last thing he needed was to wake his girlfriend up and be at the risk of being questioned. His feet were quietly shuffling on the carpeted floor in efforts to quietly get to the bathroom.

A shower won’t hurt.

These nightmares had been consistent for the past few weeks, ever since the incident with Y/N and Cat. Spencer had killed unsubs before, people who had given him no other choice. They always haunted him, a once young man who was struggling with facing the darkness of his career. As he got older, his empathy and emotions stayed intact.

Until he went to prison.

Prison made him have to survive in whatever means possible. He’d gotten beaten, he watched another inmate who became his friend have his throat slit in front of him, he was even tampering with a batch of drugs he had to distribute. He had to be strong, not show his fear or weakness.

When he found out that Cat was behind the absolute hell he endured, he wanted nothing more than to kill her. He wanted to watch the life drain from her eyes when he choked her to death, to have that smug bitch succumb to his bare hands. He wanted to outsmart her and win this whole game once and for all.

Well, he managed to do that, a bullet to the brain being something that he had to settle for. Instead of seeing her face, instead he was faced with yet another dilemma; Y/N. She was a murderer, darkness looming behind her sweet exterior. She lured men in, using her charm and sex appeal to catch them at their weakest. He’d learned it very early on in their relationship, it being too obvious.

No normal woman disappears at all hours of the night wearing the best clothes and looking like a delicate, beautiful doll. He let her do it, as horrible as it was. He loved her and refused to lose her, no matter what the circumstances would be. Prison was hell, he’d been there. He wouldn’t send the woman who he’d fallen in love with to the wolves. There was a sick part of him that loved it. Loved the idea of her brutality coming out with another man and then her quickly getting cleaned up to come home to him.

As he was recalling the night in question, Spencer sucked in a deep breath as he was turning on the shower head. He still couldn’t believe he’d killed Cat. He thought that it would haunt him, that the whole ordeal was going to be nothing but another bucket of trauma dumped in the bottomless pit in his brain.

However, it awakened something different inside of him. He loved that he killed her, he loved watching her body fall like dead weight, he loved the sight of the blood on his girlfriend's face as she looked at him in pure shock.

There was a low groan that left Spencer’s lips, cock hard at the thoughts of taking care of the one woman who tortured him for years. It took thirty minutes before his thick ropes of cum were going down the shower drain, his sins being washed away for the time being.

After cleaning himself up, it wasn’t long until he was quietly sneaking back into the bedroom. He didn’t bother with clothes, just sliding under the sheets while his gaze was on the alarm clock again.

4:25 A.M.

Insomnia was starting to set in. Six hours worth of sleep isn’t the worst thing.

The movement in the bed had the other body shifting under the sheets, a soft yawn leaving the woman’s lips as she was slowly rolling her body over to face her boyfriend. “Nightmares again?” She asked in a hushed tone, her soft touch bringing him out of his thoughts. “Yeah, you can say that.” He said softly while letting an arm drape around his girlfriend’s smaller frame.

“Mmm, I’m sorry.” She spoke softly, face nuzzling in his chest as her eyes were fluttering shut. She wasn’t aware of his urges and Spencer felt that was best. He’d warned her that he’d kill her himself if he found out she was going back to her old ways, yet here he was developing a thirst for blood that he couldn’t quench.

Spencer was a lot of things but a hypocrite wasn't one of them. At least, he liked to believe that to be the case.

The next few weeks were the same. Although the nightmares got more vivid, his blood lust worsening the itch became more urgent to scratch. He felt like he was losing his mind, the need overshadowing any form of reasoning.

That’s how he found himself here, at a bar. He told Y/N that he was going out with the guys for the night, the idea of sneaking behind her back to do the very thing he chastised her for made him feel a new rush.

Getting caught by the police wouldn’t happen but getting caught by Y/N; That could definitely be a possibility.

After years of being the good guy who caught the notorious serial killers who ruined lives, it was his turn to use every ounce of knowledge he had to avoid getting caught. He knew establishments that didn’t have cameras, even some where you can pay to remain anonymous.

He’d chosen a place where he could keep his anonymity, the woman at the front taking the payment and letting him through, not getting a name nor number. Spencer covered his bases, an oversized hoodie covering his head as he walked into the building. It was a bar, a dimly lit bar that was any murderer’s dream.

He had made it to the bar, ordering a drink for himself as his gaze was scanning over the faces in the bar. It was mostly men and women looking for affairs, there being another building down the street that offered rooms for the night. Now, Spencer couldn’t be seen in the area after they left, so he had his own plan. Tonight was going to be the night.

However, his mouth ran dry when he heard a familiar voice, head snapping over to see his girlfriend at the same bar. What the fuck? Did she learn nothing? Why was she here?

Like Spencer, his girlfriend had urges that needed to be fulfilled. She’d found out about this man in particular from police reports. She stalked him for weeks, learning his routine and secrets. That’s how she landed here tonight.

The couple briefly locked eyes, Y/N’s eyes widening from surprise as she was staring into the familiar honey colored irises. Instead of coming over to profusely apologize, a smirk was pulling onto her lips as she grabbed her drink from the bar while she was leaning over to the unknown man beside her, the two talking quietly amongst one another.

She’d giggle, put her hand on his upper arm, even lean in closer to whisper sweet nothings. There was a burning sensation inside of Spencer. There was jealousy and anger beginning to bubble over the surface. Was she doing this on purpose?

The male was pushing the glass he’d been nursing away as he approached his girlfriend and the man sitting beside her. There was a feeling of power that Spencer felt when he was heading over. “Hey, I noticed you two from across the bar.” He began, that awkward tight lipped smile on his face. “I’m not used to things like this but I was wondering if you two wanted to come with me to the next bar?”

Y/N was playing along, a gasp leaving her lips as she gripped the bicep of the black haired man beside her. “We should! Who doesn’t like making friends?” She asked, an eyebrow raising as she let her tongue run over her lower lip in a slow and deliberate motion.

Spencer wasn’t gonna do what she thought he was going to do. There was no way.

Like the idiot that this guy was, he was shrugging and agreeing to accompany the two to another bar. “It can’t be so bad, right?” He asked as he let an eyebrow raise, a smile on his face.

Oh. If he only knew.

The couple and the unsuspecting victim were heading out of the bar together, the woman letting her arm link with the attractive stranger’s beside her. The night brought a quiet atmosphere, the streets being empty. The side of town they were in wasn’t too sketchy but things happened there plenty of times.

As they were walking past an alley, Y/N and Spencer shared a glance; one where she was almost daring him to make a move. He took up the dare, quickly grabbing the male by his collar before shoving him against the brick wall closest to them. “Didn’t your mother ever teach you not to blindly trust strangers?” The woman spoke up while shaking her head in faux disappointment. “Sweetheart, you had such a promising chance!” She taunted while glancing up at Spencer, anticipating his next move.

While reaching into her bra, it wasn’t long until the woman was holding up a switchblade. “Are you gonna be a man or do I have to show you how to do this?” She taunted her boyfriend, smirking as his darkened eyes were focused on her. “You better watch your mouth or you’ll be the next one in this position.”

She should've been the one in this position. After all, she corrupted his mind. She made him push himself into being a man that he feared he would become, the woman being the driving influence of all of this stress and all of these violent thoughts.

As the blade was gripped in his hand, his knuckles were turning white. There was a small voice in the back of his mind begging him to be rational, however it was being overshadowed by the feeling of sheer power the moment that the blade punctured the skin.

“Stabbing someone thirty times would actually be quite tiring,” Spencer inferred, balling up his fist as he was hitting his thigh thirty times to emulate the stabbings in the intensity of the story told through the stab wounds. “You’re right. This would have worn anyone out.” Gideon agreed, the sheet being pulled back as they were inspecting the victim in front of them.

“The question is, what pushes someone to violence of this degree?” Elle was asking, her arms crossed as she was combing over any reasoning in her mind.

“We need to figure that out.” Jason stated as he was looking between the two young agents. “What causes a psychotic break?

Trauma. Anguish. Pain.

Fifty stabs and slashes did the trick for Spencer, the knife finally falling out of his hand the minute that the lifeless man was falling like a weight. Did he really just do that?

“Wow, Spence.” Y/N brought him out of his trance as she was bringing a hand up to cover her mouth. “You said that I was brutal but look at-”

She was cut off as her body was being slammed up against the wall behind them, eyes widening. Although before she could plead for her case, she was cut off by a rough kiss, one that was enough to knock the wind out of her entirely. With his bloodied hands falling on he hips, the woman was letting her eyes flutter shut as their kissing got heavier, displaying a dark realization.

Spencer liked it.

As he kept her planted against the brick wall, he pulled from the kiss and let out a huff of air. “We need to go.” He murmured, stopping to pick up the knife he’d previously dropped before grabbing Y/N’s hand. It was only a matter of time before some drunk asshole was stumbling upon the dead body and he’d rather avoid the issue.

Running through the night, the two had intertwined fingers, laughter filling the quiet night air as the realization of their actions had set in.

The world had scarred Spencer for far too long, it was his turn to scar the world back. This was his chance to reclaim his power and strength after many years of having it slowly stripped away from him.

This was the start of his story.

This was his turn to act in self indulgence, to enjoy himself for what he liked.

The best part was?

He’d never get caught.

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writing-until-i-drop · 3 months ago

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Wildflowers For A Hangman Ch. 4

Summary:

Daisy, a career novelist, moves in with her college best friend Phoenix who has been permanently assigned to Top Gun with Dagger Squad. She finds herself instantly connected with a cocky pilot who's soft only for her and Jake can't help but want to know everything about her. When the past comes knocking at both of their doors, will they stand together or fall apart?

Or: The Dagger Squad can't cook and Jake falls in love with a woman who makes a mean lasagna while they work their personal trauma.

Jake "Hangman" Seresin x writer!femOC | 18+ (eventually) minors dni. Fluff, smut (eventual), idiots in love, past trauma.

A/N: Cassandra isn't speaking to Daisy and her work suffers but a call from her brother should make everything better, right?

AO3 Link

Previous Chapter

Cassandra wasn’t cooperating today and I knew better than to try and force it. Instead, I tried my hand at writing something overtly and didn’t make it a full page before scrapping the entire project. I’d had a few boyfriends before but none of them had given me the foot-popping, sparks-flying, kind of romance people wrote about.

In a desperate attempt to get something done, I wrote a few paragraphs more of an abandoned project about a kid detective trying to solve the theft of a neighbor’s lawn gnome. It wasn’t my most inspired piece of work, one of the many reasons Jason had told me to drop it, but it felt good to write something.

After completely throwing in the towel, I cleaned the apartment and made a double batch of M&M cookies, snacking on the chocolate candies as I went. Once the kitchen was cleaned again, I realized that I had made enough cookies to feed an army without an army to feed.

Daisy: Movie night at our place with the daggers?

Daisy: I may have stress baked

After an hour, Natasha responded affirmatively and I decided to run to the store for more snacks. While debating between Dorito flavors, my phone rang, Harvey’s picture flashing on the screen.

“Hey, Harv,” I greeted him, adding both bags of chips to my cart. “How are my girls?”

“Driving me crazy as usual,” Harvey laughed and I felt a bit lighter inside. There had been a point in our childhoods where I felt resentful that Harvey could be so happy but my therapist and a healthy dose of prescriptions had helped me past that. “How’s life in California?”

“Hot,” I joked. “The sun’s insufferable but it’s good to be living with Tasha again. She’s got some great friends that I bribed with cookies into accepting me as one of them.”

“Of course you did, your cookies could broker world peace.” I chuckled, waiting for Harvey to cut to the chase as I continued to throw all the snack foods I could find into the cart including frozen pizzas and chicken wings. “August is coming to an end.” There it was. I sighed but stayed silent, “How are you doing, DeeDee?”

“I’ve already scheduled the flowers to be sent to their graves and-”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”

“I’m fine, Harv. I’m keeping busy, trying not to think about it.” Something fell behind me and I nearly jumped out of my skin, white-knuckling the cart. It was like a switch flipped, all of my nerves lighting on fire, the acute paranoia I’d worked so hard to rid myself of sprinting to the forefront of my mind. The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end as Harvey’s voice faded into a soft buzzing. Was someone watching me? No, no one was watching me. I tried to shake off the feeling, moving at a snail’s pace through the aisle. I looked down at my feet and I could have sworn I saw red despite the canvas being black.

“Daisy?” I heard my name through the fog, “Daisy Louise? DeeDee, you’re okay. You’re okay, everything’s okay, DeeDee.” Harvey. Harvey was calling for me. Where was he? I had to get to him. “I’m okay, DeeDee. I’m safe.” The fog pulled away and I was on the floor of the frozen aisle, my phone beside me.

“Harvey?”

“I’m here, I’m alright, DeeDee.” He soothed, “Are you okay?” I grabbed the phone, tucking my head between my knees.

“I’m okay, Harv. I just…”

“I know, it’s okay. It’s normal but you should call Natasha and have her pick you up.” That was completely off of the table. I could handle this by myself, all I needed to do was get to my feet and everything would be okay. “I love you, DeeDee.”

“I love you too, Harvey.” I sat on the floor with my head in my hands for a few seconds after hanging up, evening out my breathing until I didn’t think I was going to pass out anymore. I struggled my way through checkout, my mind drifting and then snapping back to reality with everyone off-kilter sound I heard or thought I heard. But when my hands were shaking too hard to put the keys in the ignition, I put my pride inside and called Tasha.

“Phoenix’s phone,” Coyote picked up and I nearly ended the call, “Daisy?”

“Is Tasha there?” Fuck, I sounded like I had been crying. My voice wavered, full of emotion.

“She’s in the air, what’s wrong, Daisy?” Coyote was all business and I appreciated him for it.

“It’s fine, nevermind,” I even failed at convincing myself that things were fine. Coyote sighed then replied in a soft, quiet voice.

“Daisy, Nat told me that sometimes you have anxiety attacks. Is that what happened?” Damn it. Natasha had helped me through more than her fair share of them in college, it only made sense that she would tell someone important to her like Coyote.

“You can’t tell anyone,” I sighed, “I just, I’m at the grocery store and I don’t know if I should be driving home like this.” I heard Jake’s voice in the background and tensed, “Don’t tell Hangman.” Coyote chuckled,

“Yes, ma’am. Alright, there’s two ways this can go. I can ask Mav for permission to come get you or I can call Penny.” Neither option sounded preferable. “Penny’s going to ask a lot of questions because she’s a mom and then she’s going to tell Mav anyways. I will ask no questions because I’ve already got an idea of what’s going on.”

“As long as Mav’s the only extra person in the loop,” I relented. “And Javy? Thanks.”

Javy showed up in his flight suit not long after and I was distracted for a second by just how handsome he was. Natasha’s taste in men had gotten a lot better since college.

“Do you want to stop for food on the way back? Sugar will make you feel better after an adrenaline dump like that.” I nodded, thanking him again for showing up. “You’re part of the squad now, Daisy, no thanks necessary.” The sentiment warmed my heart, a soft smile appearing despite the embarrassing situation.

“Can we get Wendy’s? It’s my favorite.” A spicy chicken nugget and a Dr. Pepper sounded amazing right now. Javy messed my hair like a big brother,

“Whatever you want.” After a few minutes of listening to the radio in silence, Javy glanced over at me. “So, what do you think of Hangman?”

“What do you think of Tasha?” I shot back, not expecting him to answer but he took me by surprise.

“She’s one hell of a woman and a fantastic pilot.” Javy grinned like a lovesick idiot and I found myself smiling too, “I’m lucky she gives me the time of day if I’m being honest.” He glanced over at me again, still smiling and I rolled my eyes. “Your turn.”

“Hangman’s a flirtatious ass,” Javy barked with laughter, pulling into the Wendy’s. “But Jake’s nice and he listens to me when I go on my rants about random shit. Like, I swear he probably listened to me talk about Sherlock Holmes for an hour the other night.”

“Hour and a half,” Javy snickered, “We timed it.” I couldn’t even be mad, laughing with him.

“Not even Tasha would let me go on like that! So yeah, I think Jake’s pretty great.” I brushed my hair into my eyes to hide my blush, “Anyways, I’ll take a spicy number ten with a Dr. Pepper, please.”

“Do you want a frosty too?” Yep. Natasha’s taste in men had definitely improved.

After cooing over me like a mother hen and calling Harvey to let him know I was okay, Natasha took Harvey to get his car. After taking a shower and finishing the large frosty Javy bought me even when I told him not to, I felt a lot better. Well enough to respond to the texts Jake had been sending me.

Jake: Everything okay?

Jake: Coyote told me to mind my business and that you were fine but I want to hear it from you

Jake: Phoenix also told to mind my business

Jake: Honey I need to hear it from you

Jake: If you don’t text me in ten minutes I’m coming over

I rolled my eyes but the butterflies in my stomach took flight, swirling in delight that Jake was concerned for me.

Daisy: Listen to Javy, pretty boy. I’m fine

Jake: Too late

“If this boy isn’t careful, I’m going to fall in love with him,” I whispered to the empty kitchen, ripping open a packet of M&Ms.

“Hey,” Daisy greeted me with a lazy smile, throwing back a palmful of M&Ms. Something was off about her but I couldn’t put my finger on it just yet. I was going to figure it out though, you could bet on that.

“Hey, Wildflower. How are you feeling?” She rolled her eyes like she didn’t have a care in the world but her shoulders tensed. Coyote had been tight lipped over why he had left work early but with how both he and Phoenix were acting, I knew it had to be Daisy and that had spun me up into a twister of anxiety that eased a little seeing her.

“I told you I was fine, see?” She gestured down her body. Daisy was in cartoon pajama shorts that showed off her pale thighs and a tank top, her endless curves on display from top to bottom. I swallowed hard, my mind filled with thoughts of running my hands over her hips, spreading her knees, and eating Daisy for dessert on Phoenix’s counter. “I’m perfectly fine.”

“You look fine as hell, sweetheart,” Daisy blushed hard, her chest and cheeks burning red. “But you know it’s not your body I’m asking about.” I crossed the room, needing to put my hands on her even if I shouldn’t.

“Okay, Hangman,” She grumbled, using my callsign like she always did when I said something flirty. My hands landed softly on her hip and her cheek, forcing her to stay close and look at me. Daisy relaxed, eyes fluttering shut. “I’ll be fine, Jake,” She whispered and I felt myself melt. This girl had no idea that I was putty in her hands.

“Of course you will be,” I promised, “Because I’m going to be right here by your side.” Daisy smiled, eyes still closed, nuzzling her cheek like a cat into my hand.

“You’re laying it on pretty thick again, Hangman.” God this girl. She didn’t believe a word that came out of my mouth if it veered even the slightest bit away from platonic. I had my work cut out for me but when she opened her dark eyes and smiled at me like I hung the stars and the moon, I knew I was up to the task. “Do you want a cookie?” What I wanted was to kiss her forehead but a cookie would work for now.

The rest of the daggers showed up a little bit later and while Daisy played the role of the perfect hostess, I pulled Coyote off to the side.

“Should I be worried?” Coyote glanced over my shoulder to where Daisy was and then shrugged.

“I don’t think so, at least, not at the moment anyways.” My heart clenched, needing to know more but he shook his head before I could ask. “Nothing about this situation is my business to share, man. When she’s ready to tell, she’ll tell.”

“We should watch a horror movie,” Bradley suggested, the loud agreement of the squad interrupting our conversation. Coyote patted me on the shoulder, heading for the kitchen. When she was ready to tell, she would tell me. I had to trust that that would be the case. Right?

“Hangman, get some food before Bob eats it all!” Rooster shouted for my attention. Bob was blushing with a plate piled high with food, praising Daisy’s homemade mac and cheese so that’s what I scooped up first. I didn’t miss how Phoenix was hovering behind Daisy, watching her like a hawk. I said a little prayer, hoping that Daisy would find the right moment to tell me what was going on sooner rather than later.

With a plate full of snacks, we all scattered around the living room. Daisy came right to me with a blanket, a blush on her cheeks, not looking me in the eyes as she took a seat beside me. She was the one person without a plate of food and turned me down when I offered her some of my chips,

“I’m not hungry,” She whispered, bringing the blanket up to her chin. “Javy got me Wendy’s.” He was Javy to her now? I glanced over at my best friend, who was not so subtly making eyes at Phoenix while she and Rooster argued over what horror movie we were going to watch. Rooster won when he threatened to tell a story that had Phoenix slapping a hand over his mouth.

It ended up being about some demon who was influencing people to murder others but the special effects weren’t all that believable. I much preferred a 90s action flick or, when alone, a Hallmark movie on occasion. With every passing minute, Daisy inched closer to my side, the blanket moving higher up her face. Seizing the opportunity, I dropped my plate on the table and wrapped an arm around her shoulders, bringing her close.

“Not a fan of horror?” I whisper, she shook her head, eyes locked on the screen as the possessed man picked up a hunting knife.

“Murder,” She whispered back, her hand tentatively resting on my thigh.

“Aren’t you a crime novelist, sweetheart?” I teased, trying to ignore how good it felt to have her hands on me.

“That’s different,” Daisy insisted, jumping at something on screen but I wasn’t watching the movie anymore, my focus was solely on her. Daisy looked terrified. I shifted sideways and pulled her face into my chest, forcing her attention off of the movie and whatever it was that was scaring her so much. Her hand moved from my thigh to my chest, fingers digging into my shirt.

“It’s okay, I’ve got you, baby,” I whispered into her hair, kissing her head. “It’s just a movie.” Daisy went limp in my hold and I pulled her sideways onto my lap, Bob looked and quickly looked away but it didn’t seem like anyone else noticed. Not that I would care if they did, if this was what Daisy needed, then it’s what I was going to do. I squeezed her thigh gently and began stroking my thumb back and forth, “I’ve got you.”

“I know,” Daisy whispered into my shoulder. After a moment she added, “If I’m too heavy-” She stopped when I squeezed her thigh,

“You can sit on my lap whenever you want, Wildflower.”

“My gentleman,” She sighed and I felt a glimmer of hope. She didn’t call me Hangman.

Next Chapter

#jake hangman fic #jake seresin x oc #jake seresin #hangman x oc #jake hangman seresin #wildflowers for a hangman fic #top gun maverick #top gun fanfiction #natasha phoenix trace #fanfic #javy coyote machado #pete maverick mitchell #coyote x phoenix

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junowritings · 5 months ago

Text

Been going through a bit of a bad batch kick and got inspired by a prompt so I wanted to try my hand at writing a lil something!

Huge thanks to @itscanonfellas for helping me with this and putting up with my rambling!

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A Reprieve

Tech X Reader

Warnings: None, just pure fluff really

Prompt: 1. Firefly outside on a dark night.

prompt list x

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With the Empire a constant threat breathing down your neck, respite was a luxury rarely afforded and often downright ignored for the sake of survival. It was to be expected, you knew what you had signed up for traveling with your wayward band of misfit clones - but with each day of endless running and hiding, it was becoming harder to remember times that you weren’t bunged up in the Marauder for a mission or being chased down on a supposedly ‘safe’ planet.

Whether it was your own wishes spoken into existence, or something out there in the universe had taken mercy, your break finally came in the form of blaster fire.

You were never good with technology, but judging by Echo’s grumbling as he assessed the damage on the monitor, it wasn’t very good, whatever had been hit. Something about being a pain in the shebs to fix, but manageable. You didn’t speak much Mando’an but you felt you could connect the dots on that one.

The ship would have made the journey back to Ord Mantell just fine if a little slower than wanted, but with the job done and no one particularly eager to return to Cid’s parlor, there was no rush to get back planetside just yet.

Instead Hunter had relented, landing the Marauder for a quick pit stop, settling onto the first small planet that was far enough away not to draw unwanted attention.

This temporary stop is probably the most peace you’ve had in months. Dense treelines stretch out as far as you can see on all sides, rich with flora of all kinds that Hunter double checks are safe before he lets anyone even get a foot off the craft.

There are small bodies of water dotted across the grassy terrain and you can’t take a few steps without stepping in one on your path through the grass. They go no deeper than knee-length, a fact quickly discovered when Wrecker had jumped straight into the nearest one - expecting a puddle only to sink straight down to his boots, water flooding through the crevices much to his annoyance.

You and Omega had laughed at his plight, until he’d rounded on you both and you’d scattered, avoiding your own watery fate from the hands of your bomb expert. Once the initial scan of the immediate vicinity flagged no dangers – and the three of you had made a fine show of kicking up water, Hunter had allowed you to take off to - for the lack of a more professional word, play.

It’s nice to see Omega get to be a child, the moments are few and far between and the girl is so clever, it’s hard to remember she’s only been around for 13 cycles.

You allow yourself this moment, splashing around and soaking your fellow teammates whilst the ship is getting fixed. Hunter watches from the sidelines - supervising to make sure they don’t get too out of hand.

At least until Omega catches Hunter in the watery crossfire that was originally meant for you. You both freeze. Wrecker bellows with laughter somewhere behind you all. Hunter slowly turns to face Omega, hair dripping into his face, covering his tattoos so he looks positively menacing.

Omega takes off running first with a cackle, already anticipating when Hunter follows in hot pursuit. It’s an unfair fight, Hunter’s legs are longer and the man’s got unnatural speed, but Omega’s crafty and uses the terrain to her advantage.

Of course, just as you start to cheer Omega on, she trips head first into the puddle at her feet, disappearing in a spray of water. Hunter trudges his way through the marsh and pulls her out by the collar, much like a bedraggled Lothcat.

That signals the end of the battle for the new planet; Hunter tucks Omega under one arm and takes her back to the safety of the Marauder.

From inside the vessel, there are very loud complaints that water should be kept outside of the ship and that included Omega in her current state. This of course is ignored.

“Well, party’s over.” Wrecker wades his way back to dry land, beckoning you to follow which you do - at a much slower pace.

You’re both sopping wet when you reach the grassy bank and you decide you’re not going to risk Echo’s or Tech’s wrath on this one, leave that for Omega and Wrecker. “I’ll just be a few, if you need me you know where to find me.”

Wrecker shrugs, like he doesn’t understand the want to be outside alone, but allows you this piece of solitude “Don’t forget, this ain’t over, next planet we’re on it’s victor against victor.”

Technically, there had been no victor - Maker you weren’t even aware it was a fight for the title, or what this title was. Still, you’ll allow Wrecker to have this. You shoo Wrecker away with a grin. He jabs his two fingers at his eyes and then towards you, which you mimic before he disappears inside the ship.

“Wrecker, for the last time you are not a mop, wring yourself out before you step foot on this ship.”

Even from outside the ship you can hear the impending scolding and you snicker as your own shoes squelch with each step.

The last slivers of sun are gone by the time you flop onto the bank, squeezing out what water you can from your hair and clothes, before splaying out onto the grass.

A chill settles in now that you’re not stomping through puddles, but the cool breeze is welcome after your tussle on the marshy battlefield and you stretch out, breathing deep. The air smells of wet soil and fresh grass and you give yourself a moment to just enjoy something that isn’t stale air and smoke.

Almost on instinct, your eyes flutter closed, basking in the feeling while you have it. Your senses are nowhere near as refined as Hunter’s - which, considering how loud things can get on the Marauder, the poor man must suffer terribly - but like this you catch the little things. The wind simpers, making a low howling sound as it blows softly through the breaks in the treeline, masked only by the dull hum of the ship.

If you strain your ears you can make out the commotion inside - can hear Wrecker arguing that his armor’s still good to wear even though it had been dripping buckets earlier. You catch Omega grumbling something about drying her hair herself and grin, knowing that the kid’s not going to escape Hunter’s grip till she’s not a walking water balloon skulking around the Marauder.

The bickering is playful, void of any of the stress that’s been bubbling among the crew for too long. The batch had needed this excursion even if at first it had been an inconvenience - things were content, relaxed for the first time in a long while.

All too soon, however, this tranquility would be over. No doubt it won’t be long before you get the call to head back and the illusion of peace will shatter. You frown. It’s a sobering thought, an unpleasant reminder of the routine the whole team will fall back into once you leave this planet behind. You want it to last longer - to forget about anything that exists past this planet's atmosphere, so the galaxy doesn’t feel like it’s crumbling apart for once and it’s not your job to try to patch up the cracks. If for just a few more hours.

With a sigh, you run a hand through your hair – damp but thankfully not soaked. With any luck you’ll be able to sneak onboard without catching as much flack as Omega and Wrecker did-

“Have you been banished from the ship for any particular reason?”

If anyone asks, no, you don’t almost jump out of your skin at the sudden noise, and you definitely don’t narrowly avoid slipping down the bank as you dig your heels in and scramble to look up. You have to crane your neck back to see his face, but your blood pressure is still cussing out Tech for the scare the moment you recognize the clone standing behind you.

“Me? Banished? Never.” You mock gasp taking the shock in stride as you clutch your chest - partly for dramatics but also to check that your heart’s still beating. Somehow that doesn’t seem to convince him - not that you have the best track record anyway - so you shrug.

“Thought I’d dry off before getting onboard. Wouldn’t wanna add to the indoor pool Omega and Wrecker have got going on in there.”

Tech looks positively miserable at the reminder of the mess, sighing. “Well the sentiment is appreciated. At least one of you has the sense not to risk waterlogging the ship.”

You go to argue that he’s exaggerating - it wasn’t like they’d been that badly drenched. Until you remember Omega was more water than girl by the time Hunter had carried her back into the ship, and Wrecker wasn’t any better with half the marsh stuffed in his gear. Point taken.

You half expect Tech to herd you back onto the ship. If he’s out here, then that means the Marauder’s patched up and ready to go - Tech’s never one to leave a job half finished. But he doesn’t. Instead he pads over to the space beside you, making sure it’s dry before taking a seat on the bank, unclipping his datapad from his belt and bringing it to his face.

Blinking you roll over to get a better look at him, watching Tech tap away at the screen with no urgency. The wind picks up, ruffling his hair and cutting through the silence that stretches for a moment. When had his hair gotten so long? It had been short and slicked back when you had met so many moons ago, now it curled just past the ear - still kept meticulously out of his face. You supposed there weren’t many options out in deep space, you couldn’t imagine being caught by the Empire with half a head done.

And you weren’t about to trust Wrecker and his clippers either.

The silence is almost comfortable, settling between you until Tech speaks again, not sparing a glance from the machine.

“I suppose statistically there are worse planets to land on.” He muses, almost to himself. You were sure he was until he gave a sideways glance in your direction “Though we won’t be interrupting its tranquility for long, we will be space worthy within the hour.”

“Ah. Done already?” Propping your cheek in your hand, you tilt your head trying to catch a glimpse of his screen - with no luck. You’ve always wondered what he types away on that thing. Maybe it’s his diary.

The image of a teenage Tech writing all his secrets in a data pad, hiding away what he had done that day or who had gained his highest admiration, makes you smile, and you hide it in the palm of your hand.

“They were simply routine repairs” Tech reassures “The blaster fire compromised a few controls. Nothing I could not fix, naturally.” from anyone else that would be bragging, but knowing Tech it’s as easy for him as he makes it sound, probably could have done it in his sleep if he was so inclined. Not that he does, mind you.

A pause, then he glances up from his data pad finally in your direction. “You sound disappointed?” there’s a questioning to his tone, like he’s unsure why exactly you would be disheartened having to leave this little haven.

“Well I don’t think any of us wanna be stranded, Tech.” Absently you run your hand through the grass, tugging a few blades between your fingers. Maker, how long had it been since you’d gotten to touch real grass? “Just a shame is all. I was getting used to it.”

“It?”

“Yknow, this” You gesture around. “The peace and quiet-”

As if on cue, a crash rattles the Marauder, Wrecker’s cackle echoing from inside; making you startle and Tech sigh like he was expecting it. After a moment it settles, the rocking slowing and you turn back to Tech.

“Okay maybe not quiet - you know what I mean.”

Tech gives a hum of acknowledgment. “I understand. Between missions from Cid and maintaining a low profile, there’s been little else. Rest has been difficult.”

For him more so than most, you want to add. You can’t remember a time since joining the crew that Tech’s had more than a Powernap. You’ve found him curled up in the pilot’s seat a few times, or face down on his datapad for a couple clicks when things quiet down. But anything longer than that? Maker, you can't tell if that’s just a Tech thing or if the rest of the batch have the same struggle.

You wouldn’t blame them, not after everything they’ve been through.

“Though the amount of water brought back aboard is less than ideal, this brief excursion has been…” Tech trails off, like he’s trying to find the right word. “It’s…nice.” He decides and you chuckle.

“Eloquently put from a man of many words.”

You catch him rolling his eyes behind his goggles, the hint of a smile tugging at his lips, but he doesn’t comment further on the sarcastic comment.

Conversation lulls so your attention wanders elsewhere. The water around you has settled without several pairs of boots stomping through it. You can see why Wrecker thought they were just puddles - the only indication otherwise is the reeds that sprout up around the marshy underbrush, standing tall and almost glowing against the deep blue reflection of the-

Wait.

There’s a blue light beginning to glow between the reeds, which is new. You change directions; lying flat on your belly so you can peer over the edge into one of the little pools, trying to make out what the source of the light is and where it’s coming from. Tech begins leaning closer as if to pull you back from the edge.

“I wouldn’t advise-“ Tech goes to warn you but you beat him to it with an excited gasp.

“Fireflies!”

“What?”

Sure enough the source of the light is indeed fireflies, or at least, something that resembles them. There’s dozens of them; they weave in and out of the reeds, appearing from small pockets around the pools and slowly rising up into the darkened sky, generating a hazy blue bioluminescent light.

You lean back at the revelation, pushing yourself a safe distance from the waters edge as they begin to emerge and fan out across the terrain, their numbers increasing with every second. What had once been a sea of browns and greens, is now an artwork of azure blue.

There have been many wonders that you have come across exploring the galaxy, only multiplied further by the arrival of the batch. And yet sights like these never get old - little pockets of something far removed from the chaos of the universe just waiting to be discovered.

In another life you could stay here, longer than an hour, longer than a day, if only for the promise of such a sight waiting outside of the ship every night. But with that a distant wish you settle for just now, entranced by the vibrant hues that makes the whole place glow like it’s alive.

“It’s been a while since we’ve seen something pretty that hasn’t immediately tried to kill us.” Your sigh is wistful as you pull your legs up to your chest, chin resting on your knees as your eyes trace patterns of the lightshow generated by the myriad of luminescent insects.

“I agree. Though what you have found ‘pretty’ in the past has been notably questionable.”

You clutch your non-existent pearls at the jab, mouth aghast.“Really? Name one time I’ve been questionable!”

“I distinctly remember you calling a rancor ‘adorable”. The quotation marks Tech makes with his free hand earn him a glowering look as you jab an accusatory finger at him.

“Muchi was adorable!”

“Was that decided before or after almost being trampled in her rampage?”

…Fair point. That point of course is promptly ignored as the sky is suddenly far more fascinating than deigning him with a retort that just proves him right again.

With night rolling in, many of the fireflies have wandered from the marshes, meandering overhead and dotting about the skyline above you. They blend into the sky, merging alongside the myriad of stars until you can hardly differentiate the two in a canvas of breathtakingly dark hues. It’s a humbling kind of beauty, and you take your time idling the moments away admiring the sapphire speckles of light buzzing through the air for a while, mesmerized by the simple wonder before you turn to see if Tech’s watching too.

Only to stifle a chuckle.

A firefly has perched itself on the rim of Tech’s goggles, a tiny little thing that casts a soft blue glow over the yellow tint of his lenses. He hasn’t noticed, face still half buried in the datapad in his hands, laser focused on whatever he’s working on.

As much as you’d love to see how long it takes to notice his new companion, as the seconds tick by the urge to point it out is too great and a minute later you cave.

“Tech.” He hums in acknowledgment but doesn’t look up. It’s only by the third call that Tech finally deems it necessary to tear his gaze away from the device, and there's no hiding the little grin on your face when he tilts his head to face you.

“I think you’ve got something there.” you tap a finger beside your temple just above your right eye, mirroring where his goggles rest on his face.

Of course he connects the dots quickly, and on instinct Tech brings a hand up to adjust his goggles. You half expect the firefly to take off the second he does so, and though its wings flutter briskly to keep itself balanced it doesn’t budge. In fact the little bug uses the gesture as a bridge to climb across the frame and onto his glove, pattering delicately down the fabric before coming to settle on one of his knuckles, where it stops with a deciding flutter.

Whether emboldened by their fellow firefly or drawn in by its light reflecting off of Tech’s glove, it doesn’t take long for a few other fireflies to break from the formation above your heads and move to join the insect.

Before you know it, several of the little things have come to rest on the back of his hand, essentially using the clone’s hand as a landing pad. For what it’s worth Tech doesn’t even flinch at the development, even though the glow is now bright enough that he looks blue right up to his wrist.

If Tech wanted to, he could easily ward them off with a shake of his hand. Surprisingly, he doesn’t. Instead he places his datapad onto his lap, maneuvering his hand to better view these miniscule guests who have made his hand their temporary perch.

Fearless little things; they hardly move an inch as he does so. This time your laugh at his plight doesn’t go unnoticed and Tech gives you a side glance at the soft sound, wordlessly questioning what you find so amusing with an arched brow.

“They must like you.” You tease, grin a little squished with how your cheek presses against your knee when you tilt your head.

“Unlikely.” Tech is quick to dissuade you of the notion, no doubt pulling on the well of knowledge knocking around in his brain as he continues.

“It is merely a lack of socialization.” He explains, twisting his hand to allow you a closer look. “This planet would rarely see interference from outside influences, and natural predators are limited in such a way that they lack the reservations for caution. Simply put, they have no reason to fear us.”

You nod sagely, like you understood more than the last third of what he’d just said. You’re more focused on admiring the fireflies now that they’re a little closer. Though there’s some distance between the two of you, you can make out that the light the fireflies admit isn’t one stagnant color. No, they instead seem to cycle through several shades of blue - from azures to royal tints that remind you all too fondly of the tumultuous hues of deep oceans.

When you look up to point it out you’re surprised to find Tech's attention is solely on you. Warm brown eyes regard you intently through tinted lenses, and you instinctively give yourself a once over to check that you don’t have any bioluminescent plus-ones of your own. Upon finding none you’re puzzled and begin to ask what’s wrong; only to pause when he nods as though resolving an internal matter in his head.

“Very well - come closer.”

“What?” Brows furrowing your expression scrunches up in confusion. What is he-?

He doesn’t explain, instead shifting positions so that his whole body is facing you. “It will only take a moment. Just raise your hand - like so.”

Curiosity wins out and you do as he asks, scooting closer and holding out your hand with the palm facing upwards as Tech demonstrates. Your legs knock against the knee pads of his armor and you have to readjust yourself a few times to get comfortable, but eventually you get settled so you’re sitting face to face.

Satisfied with your cooperation Tech’s free hand moves to catch your wrist. It’s a small gesture, but your whole arm prickles like a shot’s gone through your system as you freeze. His touch is gentler than you’d anticipated but the weathered material of his gloves takes some getting used to as he steadies your hand, the warmth a stark contrast to the cool night air.

“Do I need to ask what you’re doing?”

“You can, though it is far easier to show you if you are patient. Now try not to move.”

Easier said than done when he’s holding your wrist like that, and even more so as he brings both hands to cover yours. Your gaze snaps up to Tech’s face, attempting to gauge what’s going through that brain of his. His expression is frustratingly neutral so you have nothing to clue you in on his train of thought. You’re about to bite the bullet and just ask when-

“There we go.”

“Huh?” blinking, you glance down at your connected hands and finally realize what he’d been doing.

The fireflies have taken advantage of the new connection and transferred from Tech’s hand to your own. They tickle as they pad across the bare skin of your palm, leaving it tingling in the wake of their tiny legs as they fan out along your palm. A faint prickle settles all the way up to your fingertips as they potter about, reminding you vaguely of static - you have to wonder if that’s got anything to do with the electrifying colors that they display.

You giggle, wiggling your fingers slowly and their wings flutter at the motion, that fascinating light flaring up brighter and bathing your fingers bright blue. No doubt your face paints a similar picture of the vibrant hue as you lean in to get a closer look, eyes alight in the dance of the emanating glow with a reverent awe.

“I believe they must like you too.” You catch the amused lilt in Tech’s voice as he speaks, breaking you from your reverie and echoing your own words back to you. You snort at the irony.

“Hey, that’s my line-“ you prepare yourself for another teasing jab, grinning despite yourself when you glance up and-

Oh. Oh. He’s a lot closer than before.

Tech’s hunched forward, assuming the usual posture when studying something of interest - definitely not good for his back, but that complaint has fallen on deaf ears for a few months at least. Now though he’s close enough that your faces are only a couple inches apart, and while Tech is focused on your hands you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

The soft blue glow of your surroundings highlights the sharper edges of Tech’s features, azure running along his cheeks and glinting off of his goggles turning them a deeper hue than the usual yellow. Beautiful, is the first word that comes to mind, eyes running along the curve of his jaw as he speaks.

“While it does not happen often, I must concede that you were right in your assessment.” There’s a hint of praise in his words, and that really doesn’t help your brain from overthinking this gesture.

It takes a second to remember how to breathe - since when has breathing suddenly become a conscious effort? Your inhale is sharp as you will your pulse to stop pounding in your ears - with no luck.

“Uh, Tech?”

“The bioluminescence they generate is both aesthetically pleasing and practical-”

“Tech you’re a bit-”

“-That is to say, yes, they are rather pretty.”

“Tech-”

“Yes?”

You startle at how fast his eyes are back on you, that intent gaze from before settled on you with enough intensity that you feel as though you’re under a damn spotlight. The hand cupping your wrist still holds you with a gentle firmness, and you’re pretty sure that your heart shoots straight up into your throat when you feel Tech brush his thumb along the radial pulse.

What were you even going to ask? Were you going to warn him of the close proximity? If you were you’ve no doubt that Tech would be quick to rectify the issue - but was it really an issue? Somehow the thought alone of him moving an inch away is a disheartening prospect.

You force the lump in your throat down, swallowing hard as your lips part with half formed thoughts before you think twice. “I…Tech, do you think-”

“HEY!”

A calmer person wouldn’t have jumped at the sudden interruption, would have heard the call coming from a mile away. You aren’t that lucky - you shoot up so fast that your head bumps against Tech’s with an audible click. The reaction is immediate, both you and Tech groan in pain; shooting away from each other to avoid any other potential collisions and the fireflies instantly scatter to the wind.

Fucking ouch.

You clutch at your head, the point of impact throbbing beneath your touch. That’s going to leave a mark for sure.

Your attention snaps over to the ship to locate the owner of the voice and cause for your newfound injury, just in time to catch Omega as she pokes her head around the hatch from inside the Marauder. Her hair’s curled thanks to the earlier dunk, messy blonde strands framing her face and slightly frizzed no doubt thanks to Hunter’s attempt to dry her off. The man probably scrubbed every last drop off of her poor kid.

“We’re ready to go!” She waves you over excitedly.

Just as quickly as she appears the young girl vanishes back within the ship’s interior, leaving you staring at the empty space she had just inhabited.

Just like her brothers - causes chaos and leaves just as quickly.

You look back over to Tech who is also clutching his own head; you’d gotten the worst of it, but the bump had clearly caused Tech some discomfort as well. He rubs the spot with a pout, wincing under the touch.

The situation is so silly, like something out of a holofilm and, despite the pain, you can’t help but smile a little. Still you at least have half the mind to make sure your skull hasn’t done any lasting harm to Tech. Once you’re sure there’s no more surprise interruptions imminent you shift to check in on Tech, bringing a hand to cup the side of his face angling his head to survey the damage.

“You okay? Didn’t cause too much damage did I?” His skin is a little rosy from the knock but thankfully there’s no imminent bruising - you don’t think anyone would be particularly happy with you if you’d injured the beloved brains of the group, Tech especially.

Tech waves off your concern with ease, though doesn’t pull away as you tilt his head this way and that. “I am fine, though the impact - while accidental - was less than desirable.”

An understandable sentiment, and an obvious one that makes you chuckle. “Well you can thank your sister for that one.” Saying this you give Tech’s cheek a pat, adding, “Or stay out of headbutting range next time.”

Tech huffs a little at the sarcasm but returns your smile with one of his own. “I’ll have to keep that in mind.”

“I’m sure you will. Now come on before they decide to fly off without us.”

While you clamber back to your feet on the bank Tech is in no such rush, taking the time to retrieve his datapad before rising to his feet. You move to head back towards the Marauder, taking a few steps before realizing that you’re making the trip alone. Looking back you see Tech staring out over the glowing landscape for a final time, quickly typing something into the datapad now safely back in his hands.

Tech mutters something as he does so but you don’t catch what. A click later he’s seemingly satisfied with the result and clips the datapad back to its rightful place on his belt, catching up and coming into step beside you in a few brisk strides.

The idea of a peaceful walk back to the ship all but goes out of the window the second another shudder rocks the spacecraft, and Tech’s sigh is one of knowing resignation as his pace picks up. Making a beeline to the hatch you can practically see the gears in his head turning, already forming what you’re sure is a warning on why giving the ship more damage than what it landed with isn’t a good idea.

Shaking your head you follow behind, a smile still tugging at your lips as you prepare yourself for what you’ll find the moment you step onto the Marauder. No doubt a new brand of chaos - but you don’t think you’d have it any other way.

#tbb #the bad batch #the bad batch x reader #tbb x reader #tbb tech #tbb tech x reader #tech x reader #the bad batch tech x reader #the bad batch tech #star wars tbb #star wars #star wars x reader #juno writings #this is pure fluff bc i wanted them all to be happy for a bit lmao #gonna try and write one for each of the batch and go from there!

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jerzwriter · 3 months ago

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Kaycee has had an exceptionally rough week and is nearing the end of her rope. That's when her secret boyfriend, Ethan, comes up with a plan to help them both recoup. But will their cover be blown? Book: Open Heart (Late Book 2 Timeline) Pairing: Ethan Ramsey x F!MC (Kaycee MacClennan) Rating: Teen Words: 2,300 Trope: Hurt/Comfort; Secret Romance Summary: Above A/N: Participating in @choicesaugustchallenge - Day 2 - Beach Date; also sundress & fireworks. I did not have time to edit much, so be kind :)

It had been the week from hell. Kaycee glanced at her watch and grimaced. Slumping against the nurses’ station, she rubbed her temples with a sigh as Sienna looked on sympathetically.

“I’m never going to make it,” Kaycee groaned. “Five more hours? Nope. I’m not going to make it.”

“You’ll make it just fine,” Sienna said with a reassuring smile. "But what’s going on?”

“It’s been a very tough week. Two double shifts, code after code, too many accidents, several difficult patient losses... I’m just... I'm burnt out. I need a break."

At that moment, Ethan approached the nurses’ station. Deeply involved in a conversation with Harper, he hadn’t noticed Kaycee at first, but he raised his eyes with concern when he heard the tail-end of her conversation.

“That’s a lot,” Sienna replied. “We've all had those weeks, and they're hard. So, besides the batch of Snickerdoodle cookies that I'll be making for you, is there anything I can do to help you?”

“I'll be fine,” Kaycee half-smiled, angry at herself for the tears rising in her eyes...she should be stronger than this. “But I could really use a hug.”

That’s all she had to say. Sienna jumped up from her chair and wrapped Kaycee in a warm embrace. “Hey,” Sienna whispered. “When’s your next break? Why don’t we take a walk to Derry’s? The change of scenery might help.”

“I’d like that,” Kaycee smiled softly. She wiped a tear that threatened to fall from the corner of her eye and turned back to the station. That’s when her eyes met Ethan’s.

His heart had been clenching in his chest as he watched the situation unfold. He understood her more than most, and with just a glance, he could see her pain and self-doubt forming. All he wanted to do was hold her, but he couldn’t. Not here. The rumor mill was already abuzz with gossip about the two of them, but they decided to keep their relationship under wraps. It was best for everyone, but at times like this, it didn’t feel ‘best’ at all.

All he could do was nod sympathetically in her direction, aware that this act alone could raise brows. After all, in the past, catching a resident in Kaycee's condition would have launched him into a tirade advising them to reconsider their career choices... now... he no longer felt that way, and it wasn’t only with Kaycee. He had to admit, she had brought a level of humanity back to him, one he thought for sure had been lost for good. Kaycee had changed his world for the better in so many ways, and here she was suffering, and he had to pretend he didn't see.

“Harper,” Ethan interrupted. “Would you mind if we scheduled sometime later to discuss this? I just remembered I have to tend to something right now.”

He headed to his private office and texted Kaycee to meet him there. In case prying eyes were around her, he made it professional but included a code they had created.

“Dr. MacTavish, can you please come to my office? I’m questioning your judgment on her treatment plan for the patient in 215."

“I’m questioning your judgment.” Kaycee hid her smile when she read those words. That’s what he told her the first time she told him that she loved him. “I question your judgment, Rookie,” he grinned. Now, when they sent those words to each other, it was code for "I need you."

Kaycee rushed to his office, assuming he needed help. When she stepped in, he greeted her with a stern gaze and gruffly instructed her to close the door. She complied at once, and by the time she turned around, he was already there – wrapping her in a warm embrace.

“What’s going on, Kaycee,” he said with a kiss atop her head. “I can tell you’re having a hard day.”

“I am,” she said, resting her head on his shoulder and clutching the lapels of his lab coat. "Don't worry. I’ll get through. Sometimes, it’s just... hard."

He led her to the sofa, where he watched intently as she talked. “It’s not one thing; it’s a myriad of things that all add up. I’m working more than usual this week, so I'm exhausted. I’ve had a bunch of difficult cases. I haven’t been eating or sleeping right, and...” she hesitated.

“And?”

“And sometimes all I want is my boyfriend to squeeze my hand as I pass him in the hall to reassure me that everything will be OK, but we can’t even do that.”

“Kaycee, you know I want to. It's just...”

“Shhh,” she smiled sadly, silencing him with a kiss. “I know why we can’t, and I agree with our decision. But that doesn’t make it easier.”

“It’s not forever,” he reminded as she nuzzled closer, her arms pulling her tight.

In an attempt at levity, he chuckled. “Hey, at least you didn’t catch anyone flirting with me today.”

Kaycee’s hand was already on the doorknob when she turned around and smirked. "Fifth floor, by the elevator. That damn nurse from peds that still thinks she has a chance with you.”

“You caught that?” Ethan winced.

“Don’t worry,” Kaycee winked. “You handled it like a pro.” She mouthed I love you, as she opened the door, and he did the same. The situation wasn’t ideal, but Kaycee had to admit she felt much better.

Unfortunately, Ethan did not. He loved and admired her more than he could express. He needed to offer her more than five minutes of support hidden in the shadows as if they were doing something wrong when nothing could be further from the truth.

He immediately checked their schedules; they were both off this weekend, and his wheels began to spin.

~~~~~

Saturday morning, Kaycee was waiting on the front steps when Ethan pulled up to her home. He smiled as she approached the car wearing his favorite sundress, a pair of sunglasses covering too much of her beautiful face, and a big floppy hat perched precariously atop her head. She was adorable, but he hoped this was just her style and not an attempt to disguise herself. After all, that’s exactly what he hoped to avoid this weekend. She slid into the passenger seat and squeezed his hand, giving him a surreptitious kiss on his cheek.

“You look adorable,” he smiled.

Kaycee lowered her sunglasses and shot him a look. “I’ll take it... though usually for hot with you... not adorable."

“You’re always hot,” he growled. Kaycee went to put her sunglasses back on, but he stopped her. “Nah-ah-ah. Take those off.”

“Why?”

Ethan reached into the glove compartment and retrieved a black blindfold. Kaycee raised a brow. “What’s that for?”

“I don’t want you to know where I’m taking you. It’s a surprise,” he held the blindfold up. “May I.”

“Fine. As long as this isn’t something kinky,” she smirked.

“It’s not,” he laughed. “At least not now.”

The ride was longer than expected, and at times, the blindfold became a bit annoying. But the constant conversation and Ethan not letting go of her hand helped. Then, he even put on her playlist, and she had to ask what he was up to. But all he did was chuckle and kiss her hand.

When the car finally stopped, and he opened her door, a smile crept onto Kaycee’s face. She could smell the salty air and knew they were at the beach at once. It had become a special place for him, though this summer hadn’t afforded them many chances to go. He helped her to her feet and untied the blindfold. She couldn't stop smiling when she saw where they were. The little cabin they had rented on the Cape once before was right in front of her.

“I thought this place was rented straight through next summer!” she beamed.

“It is,” he said, grabbing a bag from the trunk. “I’m not going to tell you what I had to do in order to get this.”

“Hey, as long as it has nothing to do with that hot nurse in peds, I’m OK with it,” she winked.

He took her hand and led her toward the front door. “It’s only for one night,” he said. “I’ll be sure to have you back for your evening shift tomorrow. But, I thought we could use some time away from Boston. I wanted to be someplace we can be ourselves and where we don’t have to hide. Here, I’m not Dr. Ramsey, and you’re not Dr. MacTavish – we’re just a couple – enjoying our time together.”

Kaycee’s face lit up. “God, Ethan... I love you,” she beamed. “But I didn’t pack. You didn’t say it was an overnighter.”

He lifted the bag at his side with a smile. “I packed for you. Besides, once we return here tonight, clothing will be optional.”

“I like the way you think,” she purred.

They spent the day strolling the beach, splashing in the surf, and stopping at quaint shops in town. Ethan took her to a little café that he used to visit with his parents years before and was delighted to see they still served old-fashioned egg creams, and he ordered two right away. He held her hand as they watched children flying kites, and he had to smile at how Kaycee stopped to make friends with every single dog they passed along the way.

“If medicine doesn’t walk out for you, I think a doggie daycare is the way for you to go,” he laughed.

“Please! Don’t tempt me!”

They sat on a dock as the sun began to set, their feet dangling over the side as they worked quickly to lick their ice cream cones to prevent the melted ice cream from falling onto their hands.

“What’s next?” Kaycee asked.

“Fireworks,” he grinned. “They’ll be starting as soon as the sun sets.”

Kaycee nuzzled her head into his shoulder, and his hand looped around her waist.

“This has been the perfect day, Ethan. This is exactly what I needed.”

It was what he needed, too. A day when they put their professional lives behind them. A day away from prying eyes and gossiping lips. He was just Ethan. She was just Kaycee. Just a couple lost in each other on a beautiful beach.... and they didn’t have to hide!

They were basking in the glow as the sun descended, and the fireworks were about to start. Kaycee giggled with anticipation as she held Ethan’s hand when...

“Ethan? Ethan Ramsey? Is that you?”

Ethan's body stiffened, and Kaycee’s heart skipped a beat. “Is that?” she asked, immediately dropping her hand from his.

“It is,” he sighed.

Peter Blumenthal, from Edenbrook’s Board of Directors. With him are his wife, Eugenia, and their daughter, Kimmie, whom Peter had been trying to push Ethan for years.

“Don’t leave me,” he winced, though he knew she had no choice. Adjusting her hat to conceal her identity, she managed to tell Ethan she’d meet him back at the cabin, and then she disappeared into the crowd that had assembled on the pier.

From a distance, Kaycee heard them exchanging pleasantries. She could sense Ethan’s discomfort in his voice, and she wished she could swoop in and save him, but she couldn't. Her hat bopped on her head as she moved along, apologizing as she bumped into people as she pushed her way through the crowd. She reached their little cabin and shut the door behind her just as the fireworks began, her face faltering when she realized they’d have to be missed.

She sat on the couch and waited for him to return. With each passing moment, she missed him, but in this instance, she got the better end of the deal. She knew how much he hated dealing with Board Members at work; she could only imagine how irritated he was having to do it now. Her heart fluttered with delight when she heard him at the door.

“Hey,” she beamed. “Are we safe? They didn’t see me, did they?”

Ethan sat beside her, wrapping her in a tight embrace. “If they did, they didn’t let on. They were too busy trying to marry me off to Kimmie.”

“Oh, hell no!” Kaycee laughed. “Sorry, Kimmie, but this man is all mine!”

"You better believe it!" Ethan looked at her with sympathetic eyes. “I’m so sorry it's like this, Kaycee. We shouldn't have to be a secret and I know how hard this is."

Kaycee waived her hand, easing his concern. “Baby, it’s OK. I don’t like it either, but we know why we’re doing it. In the end, we’re protecting me most of all. I worked too damn hard to get to where I am for anyone to suggest I slept my way to the top.”

“Well, on an up note, Edenbrook and Boston are rather progressive. If we were caught, there would be at least as many people who believed I was a vile man preying on an innocent young resident. So...” he grinned cheesily. “Both of our careers would be ruined.”

“Good,” Kaycee laughed, “That makes me feel so much better.”

Ethan pulled her closer, and they kissed passionately as the boom of pyrotechnics exploded in the distance.

Kaycee pulled away, a hint of sadness in her eyes. “It was a perfect day, Ethan. But I hate that we have to miss the fireworks!”

Ethan cupped her cheek, and she knew that look in his eyes. “I wouldn’t say we’re missing the firework,” he said, pushing her sundress strap off her shoulder and gently kissing the bare skin left behind. “We’re going to have fireworks right here, just not the kind that blow up in the sky.”

"Oooh," Kaycee groaned with delight. “I like that kind so much better."

"As do I," he replied, scooping her up and rushing to the bedroom.

While tourists and locals spent the night watching the spectacular show in the sky, Ethan and Kaycee spent it lost in their own world, lost in each other. While they wished they didn't have to hide at all, tonight, they had to admit, they wanted nothing more than to hide away—together.

@choicesficwriterscreations @openheartfanfics

Tagging others separately.

#open heart #open heart fanfic #open heart choices #choices open heart #ethan ramsey #ethan ramsey x mc #ethan x kaycee #choices #choices fanfic #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #choices stories you play

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heyclickadee · 1 month ago

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So. Here's another long Tech Lives, post, or at least the first half of it, anyway. I'm finding myself sort of over-explaining everything and the post was getting a little unwieldy, so I decided to split it in two. So, here's the first half of a "list" of things The Bad Batch left unresolved and which are also, coincidentally, connected to Tech in one way or another.

First, actually, before I get into the list I want to clarify what I mean by "resolution." Resolution doesn't just happen if something ends or stops. It's not automatic. Resolution is more about the resolution of tension in a subplot or a story. Tragic endings can have resolution. Happy endings can have resolution. Resolution just means the tension has been dispelled; that's all.

And second, I feel like I have to clarify this, but I'm not arguing that a Tech return was planned and cut at the last minute; I'm arguing that a Tech return was planned and either moved later or was always going to happen later than we expected. (I also think Tech is just to popular to stay dead even if that was the plan, but I'm still banking on this being a rare planned character return rather than a retcon.) All of my Tech Lives posts do honestly double as arguments for why it would be one of the worst handled character deaths if it were to turn out he's never coming back, but, that said, I am still arguing that the character's alive.

Third, in this post I'm talking about characters mostly as tools used to tell a story. So, when I argue that there would need to be some on-screen processing for Tech if he were dead because he's a main character, I'm not dismissing clones like Nova or suggesting that Tech is more important in the fictional universe we're looking at. I'm saying that he's a tool that's far more heavily used in the telling of this particular story, and therefore would need more dealing with than a more minor character.

With that said, here's the first six entries in the list. (The next post should be shorter even though there's, like, twelve more entries. I'm sorry.)

1. Crosshair’s reconciliation with the batch.

So, this is about 95% of the way there, since his relationships with Hunter, Wrecker, and Echo have been repaired and his relationship with Omega has been developed, but his relationship with Tech remains broken. The last time they spoke to each other things were tense, we know for a fact that Tech struggled with Crosshair choosing the Empire after the destruction of Kamino, and now Crosshair’s walking around knowing that Tech sacrificed himself during a mission to save him. Here’s the thing, though—Crosshair’s and Tech’s relationship could have easily been resolved without Tech coming back by the end of the series. All it would have taken was a single conversation—something as simple as:

Omega: Tech wouldn’t have blamed you. He thought it was worth it to try to find you. I did, too. That’s why I couldn’t leave you, Crosshair.

Crosshair: What if both of you were wrong?

Omega: I know I wasn’t. And Tech seldom was.

Now, I would prefer more, but that would be all that was needed for resolution of this thread if Tech was meant to be dead. You don’t need Tech alive to resolve it. Explore the idea that Crosshair is not going to get the chance to reconcile with Tech the way he got a chance to reconcile with the others, that he’s never going to see Tech again, and that they left off on bad terms. Make Crosshair come to terms with that and make that the resolution. Except…the show doesn’t even attempt to do that. It allows Crosshair to repair his relationships with the others while leaving his relationship with Tech almost completely untouched, and so we have the narrative thread of Crosshair’s reconciliation with the batch left incomplete because there’s one batcher with whom he hasn’t reconciled even though he could have without Tech there.

2. Crosshair’s guilt (and Crosshair generally):

So, Crosshair’s carrying around a lot of self-loathing for choices he did and choices he did not (but may not understand he did not) make for most of the show—I actually think his decision to stay with the Empire was made partly because giving the order to kill those civilians while still fully chipped really messed him up—but in season three we get another level of how he feels about what he’s done. He doesn’t just feel sort of vaguely bad about it or like no one will take him; at the end of “Confined” he tells Omega that she should leave him in Tantiss because he deserves to be there. And then in “The Cavalry Has Arrived,” he calls plan 99 and tries to convince the others to let him take the risk of going into Tantiss alone because it’s dangerous, and he uniquely deserves whatever might happen to him in there.

Crosshair grows a great deal over the course of the series and the season, and we do actually see an arc of him beginning to heal (he's repaired his relationships with the rest of his family and "The Return" allowed some processing for Mayday's death and the horrors of "The Outpost"), but this line reveals that this is one area where he’s still stuck. He goes from passively to actively suicidal and makes it clear that he still believes he deserves every bad thing that’s ever and will ever happened to him. And this is the last thing he says about himself; he never takes it back or gets past this.

This leaves his otherwise magnificent character arc just slightly undercooked. He hasn’t reconciled with himself yet. He hasn’t quite learned to live with his choices because he’s still trying to die over them. And the thing is, the other thing that line does besides establish that Crosshair has made no progress towards thinking that maybe he doesn’t deserve to die? It connects his guilt with Tech. “Clone Force 99 died with Tech! We’re not that squad anymore!” a line I discussed in my last Tech Lives post, is the preamble to Crosshair declaring he needs to go in alone. It basically reads like, “Tech’s gone, we can’t be who we were without him, and it’s my fault he’s gone so it’s my fault we’re broken, and I’m going to go get myself killed over it.”*

What happened to Tech isn’t Crosshair’s fault, of course, but even just going off of the parts of the story we know happened for sure, it’s easy to see how Crosshair could come to the conclusion that Tech falling is the unintentional consequence of his choice to stay with the more at the end of season one. After all, if he hadn’t, he wouldn’t have eventually needed saving from Tantiss and Tech wouldn’t have been on Eriadu looking for information about him in the first place**. If he’s feeling guilty over Tech, it would make some of his actions earlier in the season make more sense; insisting Omega should leave him, not bringing Tech up at all in his argument with Hunter (because I adore Crosshair but he is not a man who holds himself back from crossing lines like that when he’s trying to get under someone’s skin; if he didn’t needle Hunter about what happened to Tech it’s because he feels responsible for it), and so on.

And, again, Crosshair’s lingering sense of guilt could have been resolved. You don’t need Tech to come back to deal with it, not if he’s supposed to be dead. All you need is a single conversation, maybe a single line that could resolve both this and then issue of Crosshair reconciling with the entire batch. But the show didn’t do that. What it does instead is establish that Crosshair is still so wracked with guilt that he feels like he deserves to die and that his guilt is directly connected to Tech in the very last episode of the show and then left it there with no pushback. That didn’t need to happen! Crosshair’s guilt didn’t need to be tied to Tech. They could have had the hug (God I love the hug) and had that lead into Crosshair realizing that he wants to live for the family he still has in the next scene. All you need is a line! His guilt would have been resolved!

But Crosshair doesn’t get lines after Tantiss. We don’t even see Crosshair in the epilogue. He seems to be living on Pabu, sure, but—is he okay? Does he still thinks he deserves death and worse? We get no indication that he is or even that he's going to be. Are we sure he’s not a non-functioning alcoholic? We actually kind of need to see that he’s okay in order for it to feel like all the suffering he and the others went through (and Tech’s sacrifice) was worth it.

It’s not like Crosshair was a throwaway character, either. I kind of always got the impression that he’s something of a writer favorite—he’s the one who gets the big, meaty character arc. So the only reason I can think that the show didn’t deal with that lingering guilt or Crosshair’s reconciliation with himself is because it’s being dealt with later; and if we’re dealing with that later, and if it’s connected to Tech, then maybe we’re dealing with Tech later, too. (In fact maybe we’re dealing with Crosshair’s guilt later because Tech’s coming back later because, again, it would have been very easy to deal with in a sentence or two if Tech was supposed to be dead.)

*Sidebar: Wrecker’s rebuttal, if you can call it that, reads more like, “Hey, don’t get yourself killed over this alone. Let’s go get ourselves killed together,” than anything, in part because that’s sort of what they proceed to do. They go in, get their asses handed to them, almost die, and it’s only thanks to Echo, Omega, and the clone prisoners that they don’t end up dead or brainwashed.

**And it’s possible there’s something about the situation that Crosshair knows that we don’t. We never do find out why Crosshair’s stress tremor manifests the way it does. BUT WE AREN'T ACTUALLY SHOWN THAT FOR SURE.

3. Hunter’s other character arc:

So, I know this can be a bit of a touchy subject, because I know Hunter’s a weirdly divisive character, but I love Hunter. Hunter is great. He’s also, like all the boys, flawed and a little complicated—and he’s got two intertwined but still separate character arcs.

One, of course, and the main one of the two, is his arc with Omega; learning how to me more of a parent and brother towards a child and achieving the goal of being able to give her the childhood he knows she needs without the threat of her Kaminoan-designed purpose hanging over her. This arc is resolved beautifully, including Hunter being able to step back and trust Omega to direct her own life, and he achieves that goal of being able to give Omega that childhood. Hunter, uniquely of all the bad batchers, has found his new purpose in taking care of Omega.

His other arc, however, was an arc exploring Hunter’s role as a leader and what that means in the post-war period. This is an arc that has actually been set up remarkably well; we see Hunter struggling in his strange new circumstances, agonizing over what decisions to make and whether to make any at all, trying to balance being the CO of a team with no mission with still being responsible for the safety of his squad as a whole with allowing his squadmates their agency with also suddenly being responsible for a child who can’t take care of herself (at least not initially) and who therefore has to be priority. It’s a difficult balancing act, and not one that he always gets right, or even can get right given the impossible circumstances in which he’s placed. It’s something he struggles with so much, in fact, that he actually loses every single member of his squad, Omega included, at one point or another, either through freak circumstances over which he has no control, choices they make, or, in some cases, both. Losing Tech is just the most extreme example. But because losing Tech is the most extreme example, this secondary arc of Hunter’s is something that ends up tied directly to Tech.

It’s all there, and it’s something of which I think the show is very aware, but I think because it is a separate issue from that one subplot that was resolved (Omega), it’s not something that’s been resolved or unpacked yet. And the thing is, even with the whole losing Tech thing being at least moderately connected to it (less than losing Crosshair was, but definitely still connected), this is an arc of Hunter’s that could have been resolved in a single conversation even without Tech there. For an example that wouldn’t change the plot and wouldn’t add any screen time, shift Hunter and Crosshair’s argument in “The Return” away from losing Omega (the traumatic event at the end of season two that actually fuels all the conflict in season three) to losing Tech, and then have Hunter’s part of the conversation he and Crosshair have at the end of that episode after they start to reconcile be a little more open and explicit about what mistakes (losing Crosshair, losing Tech, losing Omega, etc) he feels his made. There you go. Again, you could do more, and probably should, but that’s all you would need to resolve it if you were forced to keep it to the bare minimum. But the story didn’t even do that.

Which…is not necessarily a bad thing as long as it’s an arc that’s going to continue moving forward.

4. Wrecker’s fear or heights:

So, Wrecker is sort of the one character who I feel like got the short end of the stick when it came to getting development—at least, so far. Most of his development in the show was frontloaded into the front half of season one; since then, he’s kind of been coasting along, still having development, but it being fairly incremental and in the background.

Which—something I’ve actually realized as I’m typing this is that the thing this story has done with the development of every single one of the adult batchers has been to take their development to a certain point that allows each of their relationships with Omega to be brought to (or almost to) it’s peak for the purposes of being able to complete Omega’s character arc, while also introducing and developing elements that are particular to the part of their arcs that aren’t connected to her, and then puts their development on the back burner to potentially be picked up later. It continues to remind us of the elements of their arcs disconnected from Omega (so we don’t forget that was happening) without pushing them much further or resolving them, and either puts them in a little more of a supportive role (Wrecker, I would argue Crosshair in the last ten minutes of the finale), or largely or completely removing them from the action (Echo and Tech). Hunter and Crosshair are the two whose arcs are most intrinsically tied with Omega’s, though Hunter's main arc is tied at the hip to hers, which is why he's the one who show's up in the epilogue; it's the culmination of her relationship with Hunter. Tech’s and Echo’s arcs are the least connected to Omega's arc directly, and Wrecker is in a middle ground.

ANYWAY, the thing about Wrecker is that most of the development he’s gotten happened in the front half of season one, and it centered largely around Omega; since then he’s developed a little—he comes across a touch more serious and tired in season three, for example, but what we’ve gotten for the most part (outside of fixing his relationship with Crosshair) have been reminders of possible points of conflict and/or development.

Little things, like periodically reminding us that he’s remarkably intelligent and great with demolitions and ordinance…without ever allowing that skill to play into the plot. Pointing out that he is still impulsive in a way that be helpful but can get him hurt…without giving him a chance to grow around that besides being a little more somber. Or reminding us that he’s afraid of heights…without ever allowing him to confront that fear. These are all things of which we’re reminded in the second half of the season, some in the last episode or two, they’re established and re-established, but they never really go anywhere.

The fear of heights is relatively minor. It’s not something he has to confront or which has to be resolved, but it’s something that’s definitely THERE (and which might be the closest thing to an inner conflict he’s got) and, well, I’d like to see Wrecker get the chance to confront it. Maybe he never gets over it, but he gets a better handle on it, or better tools to deal with it. But, the thing is, because of the way Tech supposedly “died,” because of when, where, and the way in which Wrecker was involved, Wrecker’s fear of heights can’t really be dealt with at all without also allowing him to deal with what happened to Tech on screen.

Once more, it’s not something that requires Tech coming back to be dealt with. In fact, you could make dealing with Wrecker’s fear of heights part of him processing that Tech’s gone. Explore the idea that he lost a brother to something that would be his personal nightmare scenario; give him a scenario where he maybe needs to go out over a cliff to help someone, his phobia is actually much worse now because of the whole Tech situation, he pushes through it anyway and in so doing both confronts his fear and begins to process grief.* One sequence, maybe two or three minutes long. It even gets close to doing this at points, because it keeps putting Wrecker in situations where he’s up high. Take one of those situations and push it a little further! There’s room. It’s not like the third season was trying to go anywhere fast. The last half especially is stalling for time. But that didn’t happen. Wrecker’s fear of heights remains basically where it always was.

*Not gonna lie, “Tech knew the risks,” does not strike me as something that someone who’s actually dealt with their grief would say. It sounds like something someone who’s been trying to not deal with it would say. He’s just trying to get Crosshair to not go get himself killed alone.

5. Tech:

Yeah, I know this one is obvious, but Tech isn’t resolved. And not because he didn’t come back.

One point on the handling of the aftermath of Tech’s sacrifice that I think has caused some contention in the fandom has been the discussion of the in-show processing, or lack thereof, of what happened to Tech. Part of the reason for the contention, I think, is that people are often talking past each other and not talking about the same thing when we try to discuss it.

Fandom focuses most heavily on character and character development—which is great! It’s fun!—and most often tuned to looking at fiction from an exclusively in-universe perspective. So when someone will criticize the handling of the aftermath of Tech’s sacrifice by saying it isn’t processed, I think there ends up being a misunderstanding, and people can sometimes take that as someone saying that the other characters aren’t sad that Tech is gone. Which is absurd—of course they are. We see the batchers after he falls, they’re gutted, that grief is raw. Of course they’re upset. It also isn’t what most people who say there was no processing are talking about at all.

You see, on-screen processing is not about the characters being sad. Not really. It’s about solidifying the loss, allowing the characters to move on, and, by proxy, allowing to audience to internalize the loss and move on as well.

For good examples of what on-screen processing for a character death looks like, see "Jedi Night," for how it treats the lead up to Kanan's death and "Dume," "Wolves in a Door," and, "A World Between Worlds," for how it treats the aftermath. Kanan has a little moment of goodbye with every single member of the ghost crew leading up to his death, and while it's true that in-universe this is because Kanan knows full well that he's about to die, those goodbyes are there for the audience too.

Then in the aftermath, we get each character working through their grief in different ways and each coming to a place where they're able to find consolation what he was able to accomplish and that he didn't die in vain (Sabine and Zeb discovering that Kanan took out Thrawn's tie defender project in the moment of his death), that he will always be a part of their family and a part of them (Hera talking things out with Chopper and adding Kanan to her kalikori), and in the guidance he was able to give (Ezra being directed by Dume and learning to accept Kanan's sacrifice in the world between worlds).

Through this on-screen processing the audience, for whom the processing is really meant is offered justification for why Kanan's death will be the new status quo going forwards, an invitation to let the character go, and, hopefully, consolation right alongside the characters. On-screen processing is sort of like…grieving by proxy. And, if you kill off a main character, it's something you absolutely have to do. Otherwise you are never going to get audiences that are predisposed to dislike main character deaths anyway to accept what's happened or even think the character is dead for real. (Basically, there's a REASON people in the audience are having such a hard time with this.)

Kanan, rather than, say, Hardcase, is actually a good character against which to measure what on-screen processing does and does not happen for Tech. He, like Tech, is one of six main characters, features in every episode before his exit, and develops a personal relationship with the POV protagonist. Because they are characters who occupy similarly important places in the stories that are being told with them, and if they are both supposed to be dead, you would expect the lead up to and processing in the aftermath of their exits to be comparable on at least some level.

They are not.

This is an understatement.

Because there isn't really any on screen processing for Tech's sacrifice. What we do get is some raw grief from our characters; Echo looking at the empty pilot's seat, Wrecker being too torn up to even get drunk, Hunter keeping it together because he's the leader and he has to, and Omega pointedly refusing to accept the idea that Tech is gone for good.* This lasts for less than three minutes (I timed it) before we slide right in to the next plot point.

Aaaaand that's where we leave that grief. It's not that the characters stop being sad. They don't. It's that the story freezes their grief in that raw place and doesn't allow it to develop into anything less painful which, in turn, also freezes the audience's reactions to Tech's sacrifice in that same very emotional place. We aren't given the opportunity to do that by-proxy dealing with it that on-screen processing provides.

We are not invited to let go of the character--in fact, Omega's outburst invites us to hang on and reject the idea--and any narrative meaning the sacrifice would have had is immediately undermined by everyone being badly injured and Omega getting taken before they can all get to safety anyway. Instead of clarity we get introduction of the broken goggles by Hemlock--the established untrustworthy villain and sadist who has a vested interest in getting Hunter to roll over and do what he wants--in a moment that simultaneously twists the knife and throws what even happened to Tech into question**. So, when it comes to Tech, we leave season two shocked, grieved, and confused.

Then, as we move into season three, we not only don't see any on-screen processing or…anything designed to make the audience accept the situation, we actually get the opposite. Tech's sacrifice is never actually talked about in the third season as a sacrifice, something that they're trying to honor, or something that bought the others the time and peace they're living with. In fact, it's never talked about at all. Not even in places where it would make sense to talk about it.

Yet the story doesn't completely drop (I know) Tech, either. He actually comes up either by name or by via pointed visual reference about once an episode, but never in a way that even tries to make the audience okay with the situation.

What it does instead is, well, poke at the wound. It's like the show is going, "Hey look, there's Tech falling again in the recap. There's his broken goggles sitting next to Hunter. Sure is sad, right? Tech taught Omega the plan numbers. Look at that empty seat in the cockpit next to Omega. Tragic. No one on this team knows how to decrypt anything but Tech. In fact, no one on this team knows about ANYTHING apart from Tech. Look at the empty space they're leaving between them when they stand! Sure sucks that Tech's not here! Hey, look at this mysterious Tech-shaped Tech-speaking individual in a mask! Here's Tech's girlfriend. Sure doesn't seem like she's over him, and look at how perfect they are for each other! Don't you want to see them together? Clone Force 99 is broken because they don't have Tech. Damn. Here's another couple shots of those broken goggles that we never made into anything besides an agony momento. Tech's not here and that's terrible. Have you thought about Tech today? Now you have. There is no comfort. There is only pain."

That's. Not. Normal. That's not even what a badly handled character death looks like, and it's not resolving the character, either. It's, again, doing the exact opposite.

Far from closing the box, the cumulative effect of these moments is to refuse to let the Tech box close and draw out the tension between what the audience largely wants to see (ie, Tech handled, one way or another but mostly alive judging by the sustained reaction of, "PUT HIM BACK RIGHT NOW!") and what is happening (no Tech). And the end result of making the choice to bring up Tech only in ways that highlight his absence (and how difficult that makes life for everyone) and/or poke at the wound of losing him in the first place without every having a moment of on screen processing or encountering any death tropes is to just make most of the audience unhappy with the Tech situation.

Now, one possible explanation is that the writers simply don't know how to write processing, but the way other major losses in the series are handled actually suggests the opposite.

When Echo leaves, we're given an episode for both the characters and the audience to process this drastic change in the status quo. Mayday was a single episode character who largely existed to push Crosshair's development, but we still got that quiet, intimate moment of processing in "The Return," an episode which largely exists to allow Crosshair to heal from his horrific experience on Barton IV.

And as for what a longer processing arc from this creative team looks like, well--there's the processing we get for the destruction of Kamino, which stretches all the way from "Kamino Lost," aka Kamino's funeral, to "Pabu."** And I feel like it goes without saying that the creative team knows how to kill a character on screen, since that's what they do with literally every named character besides Tech.

So, processing and clear confirmation is something they know how to do but chose not to for Tech, and Tech specifically.

Highlighting this even more is that the story doesn't seem to be unaware of what usually happens when a character dies or even common tropes that you would encounter or even write more or less by default in the wake of a character's death. It actually keeps presenting us with situations where it would be natural to tie Tech's plot-threads up and invite the audience to let the character go. The current last conversation between Tech and Phee, Omega talking with Crosshair in his cell in Tantiss, the fight between Crosshair and Hunter in "The Return," the meditation lessons in, "Bad Territory," even (I would argue), the archium scenes in both "Point of No Return," and, "Juggernaut" (I will be explaining what I mean about the archium scene in "Point of No Return" in another post; short version is that the scene is all about Omega not wanting to leave Pabu, not about Tech at all), and more are all scenes where both processing and real confirmation of what even happened to Tech could have gone without even changing the plot or adding any runtime. But it never happens in any of the scenes where it could; instead, the show sidesteps it every. Single. Time. Either by playing against the trope and refusing to let resolution happen or just avoiding the subject and placing the emphasis on something else.

And--okay. I have to give @eriexplosion credit for this idea, because it wasn't mine, but let's say that they were planning on having Tech come back and had to cut it last minute. You could actually still resolve Tech (badly, but it would still be there) with one line at the very end of the show. Instead of, "She'll be all right," be the last line of the show and the last thing Hunter says, have him say, "You would've been proud of her, Tech." Or, have Hunter say, "Tech would have been so proud of you," directly to Omega before she leaves. This would make Hunter never saying Tech's name or ever bringing him up in the season more of a gut punch, clarify that he didn't come back in the gap before the epilogue (there's currently nothing keeping this from happening), and would retroactively tie Omega's season three motivation to Tech's sacrifice. "Tech would have been so proud of you," is a no-brainer line I think someone would write without even trying to resolve something, it's RIGHT THERE. But the show sidesteps that opportunity too.

Basically, Tech remains unresolved, and not, I'm hoping, because it's just done badly in a unique way I've never seen before. It's more active than that. The show makes a balancing act out of never allowing the audience to forget about him or his absence, but it simultaneously avoids every single opportunity to actually deal with it like a gymnast tumbling through a laser maze. It's actually impressive--IF Tech is alive, coming back, and the story is just treating him like he's MIA until he does so.

If he's not then this is all baffling.

*This is an important point. Like it or not, The Bad Batch is a kid's show. A show written for older kids, sure, but still kids, and Omega is the POV protagonist, which means her emotional truth is one we should be paying attention to. You can go the entire of the rest of the, show including into the epilogue, without knowing if Omega thinks Tech is really dead or not. She says she lost Tech shortly after this scene, and can't lose the others too, but the context of "lose" in that sentence is the others being captured, she said the same thing about the very alive Echo when he left. She may well think Tech is alive. She could have been leaving a message on his goggles when she left them in the Archium. It's that vague. Yelling that Tech isn't gone and needs their help is the most explicit thing she says on the whole matter, and I do think that emphasis is important.

**Even if we take Hemlock at his word, something I see no reason to do, there's a reason why EZRA was the one to confirm Kanan's death to Zeb and not, say, Rukh, there's enough wiggle room in what he says for Tech to be alive and for Hemlock to have found the goggles and nothing else. Even if he found them on a body, remember that there are at least three dead stormtroomers who fall with Tech, and that Tech, who's established as capable of powering through some severe injuries, could have put enough of his armor on one of those before crawling away and finding a ditch to hide in. There is literally nothing saying this man is dead.

***I sort of feel like this is something no one (myself included) ever talks about, because the processing is largely done via Omega, and Omega is something of an afterthought in the fandom. Which makes sense, we're all more focused on the adult characters because we're mostly adults here, but Omega is actually the protagonist, has a great character arc, and the handling of the loss of Kamino and its aftermath through the eyes of a child is really well done. A lot of Omega's actions in season two are explicitly motiviated by that loss, and you can track how she feels about it over the course of the season. This is in stark contrast to the Tech situation and, no, I don't think they cared more about Kamino than Tech, or about Omega's relationship with Kamino more than her relationship with Tech

6. Tech's and Phee's relationship:

Nope, this isn't resolved either. Resolution of a relationship doesn't happen just because one of the people in the relationship falls off a cliff; you actually have to put a bit of work into it. And, once again, this is something that could have been resolved in a couple of lines, and in a couple different ways.

Option one would have been to resolve it before Tech even falls.

Do it with the conversation they have in "The Summit." Have it be a conversation where they both get on the same page and definitively decide that, yes, this is something they both want and are going to pursue once Tech gets back. Explore the fact that Tech doesn't get back and Phee is left with that. They've both made a decision and the resolution ends up being in the tragedy that they had both decided to be together, but fate decided it wasn't to be.

Alternatively, have that conversation be one in which they decide a romantic relationship isn't going to be something they pursue. I ship these two hard, but resolution could also be had in a version of that most current last conversation where they talk out wanting to be friends or not wanting the same thing out of the relationship, because that would still resolve the tension between them.

The conversation we actually got in canon, though, not only doesn't resolve the general will-they-won't they tension around Tech and Phee--it actually hightens it. It's an at-times sweet but fumbling, tense, non-conversation where they both end up pushing each other's buttons and talking (or not-talking) around one another in a way that draws attention to the fact that they are close and probably at the point where they need to talk about what's going on between them but completely fail to to so because neither of them are in a good headspace for it. And, because it's such a non-conversation (and because we end the scene with that long shot Tech watching Phee leave like he's mulling something over or there's something he wants to say but doesn't), we leave the will-they-won't-they tension hanging. Up in the air. Much like Tech*.

Even keeping the "The Summit" conversation as is, however, the TechPhee tension could still be resolved at some point afterwards without needing to bring Tech back or have him alive. Resolve the relationship via Phee being shown dealing with this relationship she almost had but which never fully blossomed. Show her coming to terms with not really knowing what would or wouldn't have happened. Hell, tie it to an arc about Omega coming to terms with Tech not coming back. Imagine a version of the archium scene in "Point of No Return" with Phee also there, and the conversation centering around the archium being somewhere Tech would like to be and/or letting Tech go. Done. You wrap Tech, Phee's relationship with Tech, and Omega's relationship with Tech up in one go without adding any screen time.

Best version of resolution here if Tech was actually supposed to be dead? Wrap the relationship up in the conversation in "The Summit," and wrap Phee's feelings up alongside a processing arc that happens with everyone else.

But, of course, that's not what happened. The conversation in "The Summit" was the purposefully awkward non-conversation we've already discussed, and we never see Phee dealing with the fallout of Tech's sacrifice in season three.

Part of that is because Phee has…very little screentime (*aaaauugghhh*) in season three, but the interesting thing is that Phee never shows up in season three without reminding us of that relationship she had with Tech. She brings him up in "Bad Territory" for no real reason, the one incredibly tense scene she has in "Point of No Return" has her almost running into the mysterious Tech-shaped masked guy, and then.

In "Juggernaut"

She shows up for a sequence that is wholly unnecessary for the plot--there were ways for the batch to get off Pabu, including having Echo show up instead since Echo has a ship and Phee drops the boys off with him in the very next episode--but does go out of its way to: one, establish that Tech and Phee were even closer than we thought and they were having conversations about Crosshair, a thorny issue we know Tech was having trouble with; two, that Phee is not even slightly over Tech and still talking about him like he's going to walk in a door at any second; and three, that Tech and Phee are perfectly matched in ingenuity, daring, piloting skill, and their ability to annoy the hell out of Hunter.

It's. It's not closing the box on these two! It's an escalation, it's ripping the box open and parading the open box around. Phee is criminally underutilized in season three and instead of using her under ten minutes (if we're generous) of screen time to wrap up a tragic relationship that wasn't to be, the writers choose to develop the relationship further without even having Tech show up and make the audience want to see them together even more. Look at her ship! It's painted orange and blue, just like Tech's jeans and armor! Look at her fly! They're perfect for each other! Don't you wish Tech were here right now to see this? It's terrible Tech isn't here right now! Isn't it?

It's LUDICROUS if the show is doing that and he's supposed to be dead. Just woeful mishandling all around.

If he's supposed to be alive, though, it makes sense not to resolve it. You actually want the audience to be reminded of that relationship, and you don't want to give any inkling of closing it out. You want to foster that tension in the audience and make them look forward to it being resolved. (Even if the resolution is happening elsewhere and highlighting the tension is kind of backfiring at the moment by making people more depressed about it. That's a whole other conversation.)

*I am. Aware. There is discourse around this scene. I'm not interested. My view? Phee was justified in being a little upset that a friend she cares about (and is more than kinda in love with) was walking out without saying goodbye. Tech knew it was going to be a dangerous mission and was justified in being way too overwhelmed to actually have the conversation Phee clearly wanted to have. Tech is an at least six foot tall highly trained combat vet who does not mask and is NOT shy about saying what he thinks; he saw Phee coming and waited for her instead of running into the ship and probably would have told her to get lost if he didn't want to spend time with her. Phee has been mildly flirting with Tech over a period of at least several months, she's not forcing him into anything. People trip over themselves while trying to communicate sometimes. It's not the end of the world. I'm so over the discourse around this scene.

**I'll get into this more on my next Tech Lives post, but The Bad Batch does have this delightful tendency to literalize its metaphors, so I'm not sure that's an accident.

That's it for part one of this post. Hopefully I'll get part two, where I talk about things like. "We don't leave our own behind," and the Omega hug thread up sometime in the next few days.

#the bad batch #tech lives #tech bad batch #i'm sorry but not sorry this is so long #I will overexplain everything #and then someday I will die #so anyway a lot of my interaction with TBB recently has been sitting there enjoying it #and then going 'AND ANOTHER THING' about the Tech situation

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