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ebodebo · 7 months ago

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Dinner, Dinner!

—jason misses your anniversary dinner, but makes it up to you… MDNI

"Would you like to browse our dessert menu, madam?" The waiter asks in a thick French accent as he stretches his arm out to pour your second glass of wine.

Your brain is fogged as your fingers fiddle with the stem of the glass as you swirl the crimson liquid around, splashing all sides of the glass.

"Madam?" The waiter repeats. You hadn't even realized you hadn't answered his previous question. You flick your eyes to his.

"I…um—sorry, can you repeat the question?" Your mind is clouded with a storm of fury and hurt. Jason, your boyfriend, had forgotten your anniversary dinner, leaving you to endure the sympathetic glances of strangers as they noticed the empty seat across from you.

"Of course, madam. I asked if you would like to see the dessert menu," the waiter repeats, his voice a distant echo. You turn your head to the empty seat in front of you, the thought of enduring the restaurant's atmosphere a daunting prospect.

"Could I just have the cremé brûlée?" You finally ask, your eyes still fixed on the empty seat, your voice trembling slightly. "In a to-go box, please."

It was the first dessert you and Jason shared at this very restaurant, three years ago today.

"Of course," the waiter said curtly, turning slightly before you raised your voice.

"And, um, could you take the other wine glass?" You awkwardly ask. He simply nods again, carefully placing the stem between his index and middle fingers upside down before turning away to tend to another table.

You should just leave.

It was clear he wasn't coming.

A light smile etched into your face as the waiter set the to-go box with the fancy dessert. You carefully reached into your purse, steadily gripping your wallet to pay. The waiters brought his hands up, shaking his head side-to-side.

"Please. No payment is necessary, madam. Enjoy the dessert," he says kindly. You sniffle, a stray tear falling down your face. You nod gently, issuing a strained, 'Thank you.'

He curtly nods, turning to go back into the kitchen. You gather your things, including the dessert, and move to walk out of the front door.

Upon stepping outside, you are met with the cold Gotham air. Your dress even sways in the wind as you walk, and your heels clank against the pavement.

The walk home wasn't too long, maybe six minutes or so, but God, did it feel like an eternity. All you could think about was how hurt and disappointed you were and what you would say to Jason when you inevitably saw him.

Your brain tried to conjure all the reasons he didn't show.

Did he forget, or did he purposefully not come?

Now, you knew it couldn't be the latter, Jason wasn't a dick.

He was just an idiot.

Your thoughts continued as you stuck your key in the lock and carefully twisted it to unlock your front door, pushing it open quickly.

You set your purse down on a table next to the door, glancing at a framed photo of you and Jason happily eating ice cream on Jason's birthday last year.

You felt sick.

You quickly flick your attention away as your eyes begin to well with hot tears, easing your way into the kitchen. You stand on the cold tile for a minute before getting a sudden inspiration rush.

You didn't want to think about him any longer tonight. You'd prepare a hot tea, watch a movie, or perhaps even read a good book.

Yes. That sounded like a fine plan.

As you were steeping the leaves in hot water, a knock on the front door pulled your attention away. You left the bag to steep and returned to the door. Pulling the door open, you were met with Red Hood—aka your boyfriend, Jason—gripping a bouquet of fresh flowers.

You're tempted to slam the door in his pretty face, but you don't—not yet, anyway.

"I'm an asshole," he says, his voice distorted from his modulator.

The sight was ridiculous; if you weren't so pissed, you'd laugh.

He realizes the absurdity of the situation. "God damn, fuckin' helmet," he irritably gruffs, ripping off his helmet. Your eyes widen, your mouth hanging open.

Anyone could simply walk by and figure out who the highly sought-after vigilante was.

"Jason, you can't just—get inside!" You grip his arm, dragging him inside the confines of your home—an action you immediately regret.

"Fuck, baby," he begins. "I'm—I'm so sorry," his tone is sincere as he anxiously drags his hands through his hair.

"I looked like an idiot, Jason," you breathe out, reaching for the bouquet of flowers he brought.

Hell, it wasn't their fault Jason was stupid.

"I know—" he says, following you into your kitchen as you fill a vase with water for the flowers.

"A fucking idiot," you snap, setting the flowers gently into the water. You reach for a pair of scissors. "I requested an extra wine glass when I sat down, and I had to be the one to tell him to take it away," you angrily say, snipping some of the leaves off.

"Baby, I'm really, really sorry. I got caught up—"

"Where were you?" You set the scissors down, turning to look at him.

"Dick needed some help scouting a potential crime circuit in Blüdhaven," he sighs. "He told me it wouldn't take long. Should've known better," he wipes his hand over his face, hissing at the contact.

Your eyes sweep over his face, taking note of the fresh cuts and bruises that now taint his face. Fresh blood prickled from some; others were caked in layers of it.

"Are you hurt?" You ask, concern lacing your words.

He raises a brow. "Don't worry about me, Sweetheart. I'll be alright. I'm more concerned about you," he admits honestly.

"You're bleeding," you observe, wincing at the sight.

"Just a hair," he lightly smiles. "I'm okay."

Sure, you were pissed at your boyfriend, but you wouldn't let him be in agony like he was.

He was bleeding, for God's sake.

"Let me clean them up," you simply say.

"No, no. I'm fine—" he began, shaking his head lightly.

"Please," you insist.

He huffs, then accepts defeat. He takes your hand stretched out and follows you to the bathroom. He sits on the toilet as you fumble through your medicine cabinet to gather band-aids and Neosporin.

"I hope it's okay. I, um, only have these band-aids," you awkwardly say, holding up a box with a familiar blue hero on the cover.

"Baby, why do you have Nightwing band-aides?" He questions skeptically.

"Dick brought them to white elephant last year, and I got stuck with them," you lightly laugh. "He's a horrible gift-giver."

Jason laughs. "Promise to remind me to take them off before I leave. He cannot see me with these on. He'd have a damn field day," he grumbles as you laugh.

"I promise I'll remind you," you affirm, pulling a small step ladder in front of him so you could sit before carefully squirting a bit of the ointment out onto your pointer finger and pressing it to each of Jason's cuts.

He barely winces or whines as you continue the action, delicately tending to each cut. His eyes wander to yours, focusing heavily with determination on what you are doing, even sticking your tongue out to concentrate.

"I don't deserve this," he heaves as you open some band-aids.

"What? To have ten Nightwing band-aides on you all at once?" You laugh, carefully laying each of the band-aids over the cuts.

He snickers. "That and you taking care of me."

You pull back slightly. "What?"

"I ruined our anniversary tonight. I left you alone in that restaurant and, look at you, still taking care of me," he exasperates. "I don't deserve you."

You frown. "Don't say that. I mean, ya, it was shitty, but just because you did something shitty one time or even twice doesn't make you undeserving of my love, Jason," you gently say, fingers moving to caress his jaw on their own volition.

He leans into your hand. "I just don't want to lose you. I love you."

Jason and you have exchanged hundreds, if not thousands, of "I love yous" throughout your relationship, but this one felt different.

It felt more like a sacred prayer spilling from his lips—a tender plea from the depths of his soul. It felt all that much more divine.

You found yourself leaning to kiss his lips, your hands moving to thread through his hair. His lips instantly moved with yours, and his hand gripped your cheek.

It was a tender kiss—an 'I'm sorry,' wrapped in an 'It's okay.'

As the seconds passed, the kiss became more fervent—urgent. You even slipped off the step ladder and moved onto Jason's lap. He welcomed you with open arms, encasing you tightly with each of his hands on your hips as you straddled him.

Your hands glided through his hair messily and eagerly as his hands massaged the fat of your hips. You let out a whine that Jason catches as he slips his tongue in your mouth.

You find yourself rocking against him, desperate for friction. He groans, gripping your thighs tightly as he stands with you, guiding you towards your bedroom.

Never once did your lips disconnect.

He gently lays you on the bed as he hastily sheds his boots, armored jacket, gloves, and pants. Your breathing is labored as you follow suit, gingerly slipping off your simple black dress and kicking off your heels, revealing your matching red bra and pantie set you had worn.

Jason stands in front of you in nothing but his boxers, eyes soaking you in.

"What?" You question nervously, feeling self-conscious with his eyes so focused on you.

"Did you—did you wear that for me?" He asks lazily.

Your lips quip. "Duh. Who else?" You giggle. "You like it?"

He lets out a dry laugh, moving to hover over your body, sticking his arm out to stabilize himself so as not to crush you. "I think I need to take a closer look," he cheekily says, moving his mouth closer to the strap of the bra, taking it between his teeth, pulling a little, then flicking it back. You let out a small whine, feeling the fabric snap back on your skin.

"Sure is sturdy," he observes, fingers coming to slip it down your shoulder. "And a nice color," he murmurs into your shoulder, sending goosebumps down your arm.

"Ya?" You idly question as his lips skim your collarbone.

"Mhm. It's very nice, Baby," he mumbles into your skin, fingers moving to skim the band of your panties. "And these," he begins. "Don't even get me started." He lightly nips your skin with his teeth, eliciting another whine.

His fingers slip under the band, pulling them down so they sit around your lower thighs. "Ah, there she is," he coos, cupping your dripping cunt with his hand.

"Jason," you moan, pushing yourself into his hand more.

"What, Baby?" His words were low and dragged out, almost breathy.

"I—I need more," you groan, hand moving to rest on his hand on you, encouraging more movement from him.

"I'll do you one better," he takes his hand away, making you frown, though he moves to slip his boxers down, showcasing his erect cock.

He strokes himself once before guiding himself into your entrance, leaning down to kiss your temple lightly as he pushes himself inside your cunt. You hiss at the contact, gripping his shoulders tightly.

He groans as one of his hands comes to grip behind your neck, and the other moves to lift your leg up slightly so he can grip your thigh, giving a better angle as he moves at a consistent pace.

A desperate mewl escapes your mouth as his pace fastens. Jason's hand has moved to rest on your breast in your bra as he throws his head back, groaning and spewing curses.

You sit up slightly, gripping his neck, pulling him down to your lips. He kisses you roughly, even sucking your bottom lip in the process. You bring your leg up to wrap around his torso, pushing him even more deeply; he groans as his hand slides to grip the hinge of your leg.

"Jay, I'm gonna—" You begin breathlessly.

"I know, Baby. I know," he purrs into your mouth. "Feel so good."

You grip his neck tighter, lips pressing into his shakily, as you feel yourself tighten around him. All you have had to do was moan his name into his mouth to have him following suit, even moving one hand to grip the sheets beneath as he comes.

You're both gasping for air. Jason eases himself out of you and plops beside you, pulling you close so your face rests on his chest.

"As far as orgasms go, that one was great," you pant, fingers moving to trace the lines between Jason's abs.

"Ya? Do I get a golden star?" He tuts, fingers playing with your hair.

"Sorry, Babe. I only give golden stars for extra credit," you jest, looking up at him.

"Extra credit, you say?" He asks, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. "I think I can do that." He lifts up abruptly, getting off the bed.

"What're you—" You begin to question before he's tugging you towards him by your ankles, planting his face in between your legs.

"Jay!" You shriek, though make no effort to move as his tongue lapses at your sensitive clit.

"I really want that golden star," he mumbles into you.

a/n: finally finished this fic that has been haunting my drafts for months upon months ( ͡ಥ ͜ʖ ͡ಥ)

reblogs & comments are encouraged!

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literaryvein-reblogs · 9 months ago

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more words for your fight scenes (pt. 2)

Arrive

admission, alight, appearance, arrival, billow, butt in, come in, cross, disembark, embark, enter, foray, get back, get on, go ahead, immigrate, influx, intrude, invasion, lance, light, lunge, penetrate, pierce, progress, reach, return, stalk, trespass, turn up

Illegal behavior

assault, backstab, bleed, break, bribe, buy, conspire, contravene, delinquency, disobey, extortion, felony, foul, graft, hara-kiri, holdup, imposture, infringe, intrigue, kickback, larceny, loot, misconduct, misdeed/misdemeanor, offense, pick, piracy, poach, rip off, rip-off, robbery, shenanigans, smear campaign, speculation, stick up, take, theft, treason, victimize, violation

Join physically

link, merge, mingle, piece, splice, tuck, unite, weld, yoke

Jump

bounce, clear, dive, gallop, hop, lunge, plunge, rear, recoil, skip, start, vault

Leave

abandon, back, blow, bolt, break, break out, cringe, dart, depart, desert, deviate, digress, disappearance, distance, draw back, ebb, embark, exit, fall back, flee, fly, get along, get out, goodbye, go out, jilt, light out, maroon, parting, push off/push on, quit, recoil, renunciation, resign, retire, run, scram, segregation, shake off, shrink, strike out, takeoff, threads, trousers, vacate, withdrawal

Prepare physically

acclimate, accustom, braid, brush up, bundle, coat, disguise, domesticate, dress, embattle, fine-tune, fix up, fortify, gear, gild, gloss, grease, habituate, knit, make up, modulate, overhaul, pad, plaster, polish, prepare, preserve, primp, reform, refrigerate, regenerate, rejuvenate, renovate, round, set, shine, smear, square, strain, toughen, training, weather

Pull

drag, extract, lug, pluck, schlep, strain, tow, twist, wrench, yank

Push

advance, back, barge in/barge into, billow, blow up, bulge, burst, compress, crowd, crush, depress, drive, extrude, force, indent, insinuate, jam, jolt, knead, mash, mob, notch, poke, prod, protrude, pump, repel, roll, shove, slam, squish, tax, tip, trample, wrestle, wring

Weapon

A-bomb, armament(s), arrow, atom bomb, battery, bullet, catapult, defense, explosive, firearm, gun, missile, nuclear weapon, ordnance, rocket

NOTE

The above are concepts classified according to subject and usage. It not only helps writers and thinkers to organize their ideas but leads them from those very ideas to the words that can best express them.

It was, in part, created to turn an idea into a specific word. By linking together the main entries that share similar concepts, the index makes possible creative semantic connections between words in our language, stimulating thought and broadening vocabulary. Writing Resources PDFs

Source ⚜ Writing Basics & Refreshers ⚜ On Vocabulary ⚜ part 1 Writing Notes: Fight Scenes ⚜ Word Lists: Fight ⚜ Pain

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13tinysocks · 2 months ago

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My Dead Girlfriend

The sun shines on you once again, the past stretching behind you like a shadow. You escape one madman just to begin a search for another.

Tw: Homophobia

[Invincible Variants X Reader]

[Part one] [Ao3] [14] [16] [Chapter Index]

15 * Better If You Don't [5.2k]

"I feel it now,

The ghosts,

Of people who still exist but shouldn't."

Down the Drain - Sewerslvt

"There's nothing here." He said.

"But he said-" Tracksuit patted the walls, looking for a cartoon trapdoor on the slick cave walls. They were at a dead end miles and miles away from the central cavern. Every other path they tried re-looped back on themselves or were also dead ends. Maskless knew there couldn't be anything, he had mapped the area himself but was so hopeful, so hungry, he went along with Tracksuit, feeling fruitlessly in the dark.

And now he was going to die. Because it was a set-up, Phantom luring them away so he could have his way with you. He was expecting to find the fire dead and the main cavern empty. He couldn't have predicted what he walked into.

"Jesus Christ." Tracksuit nudged Phantom's bruised ribs with his foot. "Is he alive?"

The central cave was a wreck, the cots scattered, some floating in the water, others smoldering in the fire pit. But there was also structural damage, deep indents pressed to the floor, a Phantom shaped hole in the wall.

A rattling breath followed by a modulated cough told them Phantom was very much still alive. Maskless wasted no time, "What happened?"

***

The cave air grew heavier every time the story was told and re-told to every Mark who turned up. Omni immediately left to scour the wastes for Scars and Lensless. Mohawk and Gray weren't far behind. Leaving Maskless and Tracksuit alone with Phantom who'd dragged himself onto a cot. He'd live, would be walking again in a few weeks. Viltrumite bone could knit itself together without medicine. Still, Maskless did his best to set the bone right and wrap it. He'd prefer Gray do the deed, but he was gone so fast there was no chance to ask.

Phantom was insistent, desperate, that they leave. Go look for (Y/n). But Tracksuit and Maskless didn't care enough, didn't need you to survive. If anything, the disappearance was a good thing, one less mouth to feed. Tracksuit would miss staring at your ass but it's not like he could change things. You were definitely kidnapped by those freaks and definitely dead. No more suffering, you were better off dead anyways. You got the easy way out while he had to live- one friend down because that's what you were. He pushed the feelings that thought evoked down.

As dusk came, the trio returned, unsuccessful in finding the duo. So they laid in wait, hoping against reason they'd come to the fireside to gloat or show off your severed head.

"Did they also attack the ugly guy?" Tracksuit looked through the porthole, to the starless night sky. "Haven't seen him since earlier."

Omni turned on Phantom who clutched his purple-ish chest. Never alone long enough to slip away. "Well?"

"He-" Phantom suppressed a groan. Talking hurt. Breathing hurt. Everything hurt. But he had to sell the lie. "He tried to keep her away when they-"

"What are we talking about?" Lensless touched down with a smile. Head swiveling, immediately noticing your disappearance. "Is she peeing?"

Scars descended, landing beside him with a scoff, "Probably out pity fucking that ugly freak."

The whole room seemed to go packed-gunpowder tight. Omni was in front of them both, hovering off the ground to be inches taller. "Where is she?"

Lensless blinked. "What?"

Omni had him by the throat. Veins popping on his forearm with the grip. "What have you done to my wife?" Lensless choked. Both hands coming up to pry his grip away. Gone before he could escape. Omni realized Lensless couldn't answer if he was dead. "Tell me, now."

Lensless swallowed, cracked his neck, and grinned. He'd been joansing for a good fight out in the wastes and it looked like he was going to get one.

Though he was curious, "What are you talking about?" He looked past Omni, to the others and their death glares. "Did he go apeshit while we were gone? Aw, wait, shit- did you miss us that much big guy?"

He ducked under Omni's fist. Laughing as he threw his own punch to Omni's gut. Wondering in the moments before bloody impact, how his blood would look, how it would taste.

The blow was blocked by a yellow glove. "Stop, you idiot."

Lensless looked to find Scars scowling. He considered turning the fight to him. Scars obviously thought he was the better, smarter of the two and Lensless agreed, he was sort of right, but also that he was a dick. A dick that liked the same things he did. Not quite a friend but definitely no enemy. He lowered his fist.

"What do you mean 'where is she'?" Scars words made Lensless remember. There was a mystery afoot. You were gone, apparently not out pissing.

"Don't play dumb, shithead." Mohawk was by his side in a second. "You took (Y/n). Where is she?"

The realization dawned on Scars. Something heavy and sharp twisted in his gut. A feral need pulsed behind his eyes to find your form but nowhere he looked housed you. Under the surface, he was boiling, yet he laughed in their faces. "You think I kidnapped her and came back to get my ass kicked?" He was sure he could take on most of them but Scars was no fool. He was clearly outnumbered, even with Lensless by his side.

Mohawk hadn't considered this. It was a... good point but he wouldn't accept it, "You're trying to keep up the routine so no one suspects you or something stupid like that. Yeah?"

Lensless furrowed his brow. "We've literally talked about this like a billion times. We were gonna take her, hide out, use her as bait to lure you, kill you, and eat you one by one. We wouldn't be with you lames if we had her- we'd be balls deep in some hole right about now."

Scars glared but Lensless didn't see the point in hiding things. Clearly, their plan wasn't happening if you were gone.

He was too busy grinning at Scars to see the fist coming for his throat. Lensless shot back, rammed into the wall. Broke through rock in a person-shaped hole foot after foot until he decided the pain was enough, it was his turn. He blasted out of the hole, teeth bared happily, fist raised. Omni waited for him but the fist was a feint. Lensless slipped behind the man and grabbed him by that stupid red cape that reminded him so much of dad. Laughed as he spun him round by the neck, stopping when he slung him into a wall.

Omni recovered quick, came back strong, "You-"

"We can't get answers like this." Gray's voice stopped him. Inches away from smashing Lensless's head in. The deed would be done, once he had some answers. He didn't back down. "Our comrade saw you take (Y/n)," Gray gestured to Phantom. "In the process you either maimed or killed the Viltrumite prisoner."

Lensless and Scars noticed Phantom wasn't on his feet or in the air waiting to attack, but hadn't seen the sorry state he was in. Now they watched like predators, peering over Omni's broad shoulders.

"If I attacked that one, he'd be dead." Scars says.

"Well, he's not." Omni growled. "You failed in your assassination attempt."

"Assassination what?" Lensless zipped around him, got close to Phantom as he could before Gray was in front of him.

"You've done enough damage," Gray says.

Lensless tried to peek around him, but Gray kept moving in his line of sight. He only saw Phantom's condition through momentary glimpses. "Uhm, yeah, I didn't do that. Did you, dude?"

"No."

Phantom rose off the cot, aching and groaning but managed to balance in the air above it.

"Stop lying." He huffed, holding his pulsing ribs, "I heard your voices before you came up behind us. I saw you kill him and take her." He came forward, just behind Gray. Weak but needing to sell the act that he was willing to fight for revenge, for you, wrongfully taken.

A smile broke out across Scar's cheeks. Stretching that old wound he liked so much. "Yer lyin' through your teeth." He laughed, once, twice, before it was a full blown belly-clutching fit that infected Lensless. Phantom bristled but tried not to let it show, this was not the reaction he was expecting.

Not stopping until Omni asked, "What's so funny?"

"You actually believe him?" Scars wheezed, shoulders still hitching.

"Has he threatened her the entire time we've been here?" Omni asked, though they all knew the answer.

Which made Scars smile stretch impossibly more, though the eye behind the busted lens gleamed with no mirth. Only a boiling, soulless fury. "That's good, man, real smart. You're not a half-bad actor either. One lil critique though-"

He was fast. Faster than Gray could turn, could defend, faster than Omni could grab his cape. He had Phantom by the throat with one hand while the other tore off his mask. Showing off his pasty pretty boy face and long hair dad would hate.

"Look me in the eyes and tell me it was me." Phantom's eyes- slate blue, Nolan blue- slid to Gray who'd come to his rescue, but paused when Scars didn't immediately rip Phantom's head off. Restraint wasn't something Gray (or any of them) associated with Scars. It gave their doubt merit.

Scars hand squeezed around his throat with a growl. "Don't look at them, look at me."

He knew the punch was coming. Caught it easily. Phantom was slower than him, even slower with pain. Punishment was immediate, a flex of Scars' hand around Phantom's. The crack of thin bones. Phantom writhed, kicked, thrashed in his grip but Phantom was a limb down and weaker, way weaker than Scars.

"The longer you make me wait, the more of you I'm going to break." Scars said. He saw it then, the beady glint of truth in Phantom's eyes. That burning malice Scars wore on his sleeve, hidden behind Phantom's mask and silence.

Phantom snarled, tried to headbutt him, but was again, too slow. The sound replaced with the wet snap of Phantoms forearm, bone jutting out through kevlar.

"You-!" He caught a flash of the others, hovering behind Scars. Wondering. Untrusting. He knew he should've built better interpersonal relations.

"Aaannd that's time, onto your left." Scars grabbed his good arm, the one beating against his chest. Was poised to snap it clean off when a foot to his ribs send him careening off.

Scars hit the wall while Phantom hit the ground, scrambling for his mask. To not be naked and under so many judging eyes. He could lie with the mask on, but without it he was unsure. Things were always so much easier through a barrier of fabric.

It was about time the others realized, lying or not, Phantom was the last of them to see (Y/n) alive.

"Enough," Omni said over the two. "I don't care who did what. Where is my wife?"

"I don't know." Scars and Phantom both said. Scars rose from the rubble, muscles flexing, properly pissed because hadn't these idiots figured it out by now? He wouldn't pussyfoot kidnapping (Y/n). He'd have fucked her on the cave floor and left their bloody, combined juices as a calling card.

"Wait." Lensless counted off on his fingers. He'd been separated from the camp for some time but he still had the chore rotation memorized. Always counting down to when he could be alone with you. "Wasn't it your turn to watch her today?"

Attention turned to Maskless who had already been considering fucking off before this got any worse. He wasn't scared per se, but blame could technically fall on him for Phantom getting jumped.

Better him than me, he thought but said, "He told me he found food." Finger pointed to Tracksuit.

Tracksuit burned his brain cells in a space-weed smoke stack daily when not trapped in a wasteland. He never finished school and when he was enrolled, he flunked almost everything. Even gym by pissing off to fuck and smoke behind the bleachers. Him having an intelligent thought was as rare as finding diamonds digging in cow shit. He felt like Einstein when he said, "Wait. Wait. The bald guy told me he found food." He pointed to the cave they'd been in, "So we went to look for food so you," one arm crossed over the other to point at Maskless, "left (Y/n) with him," his hand twisted again, pointing at Phantom, "and while we were out looking for food, all that stuff happened and like... We never found the food the bald guy said was there... So like... You know."

"You left!?" Mohawk barked. Ready to pounce at whoever moved first. Angry at everything. At nothing. At the fact that you weren't here. At the fact that you could be dead- again.

"I left her with him!" Maskless gestured to Phantom. "It's not my fault they attacked!"

"We didn't." Lensless said.

"And why should we believe you!?" Mohawk said.

"I mean, you shouldn't, but I'm not lying." Lensless replied with a shrug.

"So he just beat the shit out of himself?" Mohawk gestured to Phantom, trying to gather himself on the ground.

"He wasn't alone." Scars said looking to Lensless, "He had a partner. Pretty smart, trying to make it look real but," he cracked his neck, stretched out his arms, "I'd never leave a weakling like him breathing."

He lunged.

It was chaos from there. Scars slamming Phantom through layers of rock, breaking into and out of cave systems. Some they'd discovered some not. Omni and Gray raced after them while Lensless and Mohawk shredded the main room apart fighting each other. Leaving Maskless and Tracksuit outside of the action and not particularly looking to be a part of it.

They shared a look across the freshly bloomed hell, and an alliance was struck. Tracksuit grabbed the rest of the Emperor meat. Maskless grabbed basins and filled them with water. They were gone as Mohawk punched Lensless through the wall, as Scars battered Phantom around, avoiding Omni and Gray's pursuit, ripping apart the caves wall by wall until the whole thing collapsed.

Last they checked, days later, and found the ground above the caves had sunken miles down. Everything was gone, filled with dirt. Along with everyone. Leaving Tracksuit and Maskless alone in the desert, thinking it was over, thinking they'd have to kill one another for food once they ran out of Emperor and starting starving.

***

"That's it? They're all dead then?" You sat by the fire but didn't feel the warmth.

It'd been hours since Maskless pulled you out and you re-met with the sun. You were in and out of consciousness as the sun crossed the sky. Sweating for the first time in days while lying still in the sand, Maskless pulling together a makeshift splint. They'd dug themselves out a camp in the concrete ruins of what used to be a skyscraper. All the windows long since smashed out, all the paint peeled away.

When you woke up, really woke up, you tried to get them to take you back. Take you to Mark because he needed help. Maskless covered your mouth, let you beat at him while you screamed. You punched and punched and punched and bit and kicked until exhaustion and the truth caught up with you. He didn't have to tell you but you knew. Mark was gone.

Only when he saw that dreading acceptance cross your face did he let you go. Truce shaky. Both of them were unsure if you'd lash out. You were unsure if you should or shouldn't lash out. You wanted to make them take you back despite the obvious truth you couldn't fully grasp. You didn't see the body. The wound. Whatever that bloody thing in his hand was. You knew you should fight, make them take you but part of you was too cowardly to go back to the cave. Terrified you'd be trapped all over again. So you stayed and listened while they filled you in on the happenings of the last two weeks. Thirteen days, actually, but when Tracksuit corrected you, you looked like you were going to bite his head off.

The two glanced at one another. Haggard looking with longer hair and growing beards. Tracksuit kept his mask on but the hair poked out the sides. He'd complained of itchiness but made no move to remove it.

"Not exactly." Maskless conceded. "The others are around."

"Yeah and batshit crazy," Tracksuit added.

"All of them?"

"Yes." Maskless said.

You nodded shallowly. Watched the bugs dig in and out of the sand around your legs. They had followed you up here. Showed up when you were still unconscious, digging up from the sand and chattering quietly. Maskless was confused when you mentioned the nursery. Apparently, there were no other caves except the main one, filling with sand. They'd collapsed, the queen-fed larvae crushed. You were the only thing left that smelled like the old queen's pheromone. The bugs around you now, were the last of the species, the last thing you had to hold onto, the last pieces of Mark.

Some of them were de-shelled and boiling in the basin now. At some point, Maskless left to fill the bowl which had been empty for days. The duo apparently took turns while you were out, eating bugs and drinking cave water. They didn't technically need to eat more tonight but they were both still hungry and you had practice making your little friends edible.

They didn't bring up Mark. Not after your initial outburst.

"We split into groups after the big fight. Kinda unanimously decided it'd be better if we all fucked off, you know?" Tracksuit said. "We've been chillin' together. Wonder Boy and that stick-up-the-ass guy are rolling. We run into 'em sometimes, leave each other alone long as we give 'em updates on if we seen you or not. Mohawk dude's on his own but all three of 'em have been lookin' for the others. Wonder Boy said those two shitheads got away. And that other guy..."

"You agree, right? He should've been here by now."

Thirteen days in the dark. Thirteen days of isolation, re-traumatization, light deprivation.

"He's leaving us down here on purpose."

Phantom never came back. Left you to rot. Left Mark to regress. Left everything to fall apart because Mark was right. He was obsessed just like the others. He who snatched you up after you killed Psychopomp, who hid you away the first night in the desert, who wanted you all to himself with no competition in the way. He gave you a tracker and ignored the emergency alert because that meant Mark was cracking up, fucking up.

It was Phantom's fault things had ended up like this.

"Where is he?" You barely recognize your own voice. It was hoarse, throat raw from earlier screaming. Eyes burned, all cried out.

Tracksuit surprised by the intensity, asked, "The School Shooter guy?" Mohawk would be glad the name stuck.

But you were not calling him that, "Phantom."

Tracksuit took a hissing breath, hand going to the back of his neck. "Well... Uhm..."

"Tell m-" Your head bowed as if weighed down by the blood rolling down your nose. Your body telling you to quit while you were ahead. Mark soaked up your power like a bloody, bloody sponge. You still smelled him on you. His blood crusted your tank top brown, dried on your skin and made it itch.

You felt like you were trying to walk on a boat, though you were sitting. You leaned back on your palms, trying to retain a shred of dignity. "Tell me." You croaked as the blood ran over your lip.

Tracksuit hesitated, a little more humane. Maskless didn't care, just wanted the conversation to be over faster. "For a day or two, we didn't know if anyone else was alive. Ended up running into Wonder Boy and his sidekick but not the others. They didn't know either. Wasn't long after that the screaming started."

"The what?"

"Ya'know, like... screams of torture?" Tracksuit said like it was nothing. "I'm surprised you didn't hear them." Maskless shot him a look. "Oh, right. It's usually pretty quiet out here but every once in a while this guy screams loud as fuck."

Since his partner didn't elaborate, Maskless did, "We think it's Phantom." He felt stupid saying the name but you seemed offended by the other one.

"Or he's dead and those goofballs are torturing each other to death?" Tracksuit added helpfully.

"The others haven't intervened?" You hope Phantom was still alive. Hoped, prayed to God. You were in dire, thirsting need for revenge.

Tracksuit shrugged. "Dunno. Every time we see 'em they only ask about you 'n food. I'm sure they know where those two are 'n sometimes it's quiet. Quiet enough you think it's over, then boom another night of distant screaming."

"What direction is it coming from?"

Tracksuit spluttered, splayed out his hands. "You stupid? You don't go towards tortured screaming."

"Mark is..." You can't say it. If you say it, it'll be real. "Everything that happened is his fault."

"Everything that... Dude, you had it made in the shade! Fuck, if I was you, I wouldn't come back up here for nothin'. Speaking of, why aren't we kickin' it down there right now? Like, what even happened, dude?" He pointed to your wrists, raw from rebar, your cheeks, blooming with bruises, "And where's that bald guy?"

Maskless elbowed him hard in the ribs. After he'd flown you out, he returned with Tracksuit to eat and drink. By then, the falling sand had buried him completely. He didn't bring up the corpse. Thought it wouldn't help things. Knew his counterpart would be stupid and tactless.

Thirteen days worth of memories smack you in the face so hard they shake your tearducts into working again. You raised your head, snarling a smile, thin tears streaking your cheeks. "What happened? You want to know what happened?"

"Uh yeah, that's what I asked." But he didn't sound so confident now. Tracksuit was strong, a killer, uncaring for human and alien life. Nothing scared him, but navigating other's emotions was not a strong suit. He hadn't seen you cry no matter what crazy shit went down, didn't know why you were now. Frankly, he was a little uncomfortable and off-put by the visual as your chest started to shake with hiccuping breaths. If this was your reaction he could only imagine what had happened. "It's just a question, jeez."

"He fucked us, that's what happened. He knew what would happen. He knew." You were starting to sound like Mark. Days ago, you'd condemn the thought, be annoyed by it but now the anger was like a mother's swaddling comfort. "We were going to work together. Make it without you assholes and he-" You don't know if you were sobbing or laughing. Felt like both. Maybe it was. "Mark was good to me. I think I could've really loved him but I-" Tracksuit leaned forward, thinking oh, this is going to be good. Maskless pulled him back while you wiped your eyes.

You couldn't finish the sentence. Couldn't go on. "Where is Mark?" You asked Maskless who'd taken you out, who had seen you laid beside him.

"I buried him." He didn't need to tell you the sand did it for him. He was heartless but not cruel.

"That's nice of you man but like, shouldn't we eat him?" Tracksuit was ignored by you both.

The tears came faster, hotter, running messy down your face, slipping down your nose, getting into your lips. "I want see him."

"It's..." Maskless blinked and it was suddenly years ago. He was in front of his house, sweet and eighteen. William's car was pulled to the curb, Burger Mart for two waiting in a greasy bag in the passenger seat. Dashboard dinging, driver's side door open. Blood in the street. The neighbors screaming, running into their houses, they didn't know if wouldn't save them.

Dad held William by what was left of his narrow neck. The rest of him, mostly skin and some subcutaneous fat, was laid on the lawn. Mom stood in the window, hands over her mouth, tears on her cheeks.

"This is who you've been dating this whole time?" Nolan was planning on telling him about the murder of The Guardians soon. Pulling him to the side of Viltrum, but this expedited things. Mark wasn't supposed to be keeping secrets from him, not like this.

He knew Mark was a soft, funny boy by Viltrumite standards. He'd told him and Debbie months ago he thought he liked boys. Nolan could excuse it. On Viltrum, romance wasn't a thing. Unneeded. The only coupling that occurred was heterosexual for the sake of procreation. It was a foreign Earthly concept, but one he thought inconsequential. Debbie said it could be a phase, many teenagers went through them. Nolan thought he'd get a girlfriend eventually, settle down, and forget about that unproductive nonsense. Give him grandbabies that'd fight for the Viltrum Empire.

But no.

He'd been dating that wispy, waste of oxygen for years behind Nolan's back. Today he'd come with flowers and a cheap drug store 'Happy Anniversary' card while Nolan was leaving the house. He was too slow to hide it, simple and human. He had tried to backtrack, lie and say it was for his girlfriend, but Nolan knew what William was. Still, Nolan beat the truth out of him. Then tore him in half for what he'd done to his son- for holding him back and making him soft even by human standards.

Mark threw himself at his father who let William's skinless, twitching body drop- splat- to the street. Dad won. Beat his face half in. He thought he was dead, the last thing on his mind William's puddle of a body. But his Viltrumite body wouldn't let that happen, he could come back from almost anything- as long as his heart was intact. Broken as his was.

In the time he was healing, the Earth was overtaken. Everything he'd known gone. Burnt and torn in the resistance. He was forced to join the empire, enforce Viltrum's rule on Earth. When Angstrom came along and offered him a way out he took it without question.

His eyes opened. William was dead. The planet was not cured of the Viltrum cancer. He was sitting across from some girl who was in his seventh grade science class and was crying about a bald, dead version of himself. And he thought God had a sick sense of humor.

"...It's better if you don't." He finished.

Your stomach churned. It was bad. Oh God, it was bad. It had hurt. He was dead and dying hurt the whole time. He didn't want to do it. He wanted to keep you safe in his twisted way and you made him do it. You killed him. Not just snap his neck or bite off his tongue but something so gruesome someone like Maskless was trying to hide it from you.

Your hands pressed to your eyes so hard you saw stars. You couldn't stop crying.

Tracksuit was very uncomfortable and wanted the sound to stop. He took a shot at comfort, overrated as he thought it was, "Hey, uhm. I'd kill his crazy ass if I was stuck in a cave with him too. I totally get it. You did the right thing."

Maskless considered punching him in the throat. You only cried harder. There was no comfort or solace offered after that, but at least they let you grieve in silence.

***

You don't know when you slept, only that you woke up to blistering heat even in the building's shade. Tracksuit leaned in the doorway to the desert, watching you stand and lean hard on one leg. "Took you long enough."

You ignored him, sitting up and stretching on your own time. You saw Maskless not far behind him, also watching. Waiting for you as well. He walked over, reaching out to offer you a piece of rebar he bent to act as a crutch.

"The others will want to see you." He dropped the scrappy, stitched cave map at your side. They'd gone back to the main cave in the days after and found nothing but the map and stalactite stools. You'd been wearing the soldier pants and tank top when they found you, no sign of your armor or chest plate. "We might be flying awhile. You'll need to cover up from the sun."

You didn't answer, took the cane and the fabric.

"Wha- Hey, that's my hammock!" Tracksuit cried as you wrapped it around your head and shoulders.

"You'll live," Maskless said, gathering up some things before stepping out the pit and hovering above the dunes. "Come on."

Tracksuit clicked his tongue. Wordlessly given the chore of carrying you along. He scooped you up, one bicep under your knees, the other supporting your back. You clung to him, numb and dry eyed. You could fight but you don't. Just let it happen, hot wind whipping at your face as you thought about Mark under the sand. Thought about revenge. Omni and Gray had information on Phantom, you didn't care about anything else. The trip felt short with your brooding, the wind slowing as Tracksuit lowered to the dunes.

You should've known it'd be a tent. Bigger than the first with more supports. Trash woven roof flattering in the sandy wind Tracksuit kicked up as he landed. "Knock, knock."

195 notes · View notes

smallestapplin · 5 months ago

Note

Can I request some cute Soundwave stuff? 👉🏻👈🏻 Maybe human reader bringing him some of their favorite songs and trying to dance with him despite the huge height difference.

I am so down bad for this thank you.

You smile up at Soundwave, finding his curious head tilt adorable as you held up a device for him to look at. Earth technology is so primitive compared to Cybertrons, so it takes him a moment to realize it’s a music device? But it’s so small.

“Inquiry : what is this?”

You chuckle before gesturing for it back, “It’s my phone, silly! I was hoping, since things have been steady, I could show you some songs I like, maybe I could make a playlist for us.”

The large mech’s visor gleams down from where you stand on his desk, staring down at you knowing you can’t read his hidden expression, and for once Soundwave is grateful for that, you can’t see his optics go wide at your words or the small smile twitching on his dermas.

A playlist for just the two of you? He could make one, in fact he could make personalized songs for you, maybe-

“Soundwave? It’s alright if you don’t want to hear Earth music, I won’t make you.”

“No, please proceed, I want to hear what you like.” He sets his data pad down, his attention fully onto you and your tiny device. The music is too quiet to start, but Soundwave always comes in with a plan, using your phone’s Bluetooth to hook it up to his own systems.

You look happy, even swaying to the upbeat music and singing a long to your catchy love song. Humans are strange, you are strange, yet his spark pulses as he feels like you’re directing it at him.

Such strange words, but he’s quick to catch on and mentally replace the human words with Cybertronian terms, making it clear what it’s about.

“C’mon, give me your hand, or your finger. You need to loosen up.”

His visor brightens and the music skips a beat before swiftly getting back on track, are you asking him to dance? You’re so much smaller than him, so so tiny, and yet he finds himself mindlessly agreeing. Your tiny hands wrap around his index digit, pulling slightly to get him closer and to follow your beat.

He feels like he’s back on Cybertron before the war, care free, doing what he loves after work. Soundwave easily begins to follow, his hips swaying and pedes moving to the beat as if in a tango with you, moving and swinging you around his desk, dipping you gently.

Spark thrumming at the sound of your gleeful laughs and giggles, he can’t help joining you in your joy with soft laughter of his own. It feels silly dancing like this, yet you two move in sync, matching each others rhythm. There is a comfort in knowing that, as he records your smiling face, how you look up at him with such raw love and adoration. He’s moving before he can even process it, picking you up in his servo, catching you off guard, and holding you face level with him.

“Whoa! H-hey, a warning next time, yeah?” You laugh, sitting sweetly in the center of his servo.

Your eyes sparkling as his mouth guard retracts, letting you see his lips for once, even in the time you’ve been together he’s never liked taking it off, but now?

“May I kiss you?”

Your cheeks feel like they are burning, eyes widening at his request, but how you’ve always wanted to.

“I’d like that.”

There it is again, the music skipping a few beats, as if affected by his emotions. You stand up carefully, walking closer to him as he moves you closer to his face plate. It’s a bit awkward, but it’s so pure in his optics, how your much softer lips press against his derma, by this point the music is a jumbled up mess unable to play right from the flustered mess of a con before you.

You are all he wants, everything he damned.

Brain module racing for ideas on what songs to make you, what earth songs he could add to it, anything just he needs to make it for you.

“Thank you for the dance, Soundwave.”

He almost wanted to kiss you again the second you pulled away from him.

“Request : can we do this again?”

Your joy is infectious, almost as much as you getting to see his smile, though only briefly as his mask is quickly brought back up, hiding his lips from your view again.

Your heart racing knowing you must be special to him for such an act.

“I’d like that very much.”

#transformers Soundwave #transformers g1 Soundwave #transformers x reader #transformers Soundwave x reader #transformers g1 Soundwave x reader #transformers fluff

207 notes · View notes

achillesuwu · 6 months ago

Text

Well guess I made it even more yellow (code below !)

#footer .group,

.post fieldset fieldset,

fieldset fieldset {

background: none;

}

#header {

background: #000 url('https://media.archiveofourown.org/news/milestones/2024-08-seventeen-years-otw/2024-08-seventeen-years-otw-pattern.jpg');

background-size: 350px;

}

#header .heading a,

#header .primary .dropdown a:focus,

#header .heading a:visited,

#main .pagination .current,

h2 {

color: #ffe8b4;

}

#header .clear,

#footer {

border-color: #000000;

}

#header .actions a[href="/menu/fandoms"],

#header .actions a[href="/menu/browse"],

#header .actions a[href="/menu/search"],

#header .actions a[href="/menu/about"] {

color: #DEB887;

}

#footer ul {

background: url('https://live.staticflickr.com/7284/9616997915_4194b6c6f7_h.jpg');

background-size: 350px;

}

#footer ul li:nth-child(1) ul,

#footer ul li:nth-child(2) ul,

#footer ul li:nth-child(3) ul,

#footer ul li:nth-child(4) ul {

background: rgba(0, 0, 0, 0.0);

}

#header .primary {

background: #8a1a10;

}

#footer {

background: #8a1a10;

}

input[type="text"],

textarea,

select {

background: #191919;

color: #DEB887;

}

select:focus {

background: #2a2a2a;

}

option {

background: #191919;

color: #DEB887;

}

#work form fieldset.work.meta dl dd.warning.required fieldset,

#main form fieldset.work.meta dl dd.warning.required fieldset {

color: #DEB887;

}

#bookmark-form form {

background: #2a2a2a;

color: #DEB887;

}

#error {

color: #000000;

}

fieldset,

.verbose fieldset {

border-color: #404040;

background: #000000;

border: 1px solid #595959;

}

.search [role=tooltip] {

background: #333;

border: 1px solid #666;

}

#main a:visited {

color: #c88937;

}

#main a.tag:visited:hover {

color: #111;

}

body,

.group,

.group .group,

.region,

.flash,

form dl,

#main .verbose legend,

.notice,

ul.notes,

table,

th,

td:hover,

tr:hover,

.symbol .question:hover,

#modal,

.ui-sortable li,

.required .autocomplete,

.autocomplete .notice,

.system .intro,

.comment_error,

.kudos_error,

div.dynamic,

.dynamic form,

#ui-datepicker-div,

.ui-datepicker table {

background: #000000;

color: #FFE4B5;

border-color: #800000;

outline: #111;

box-shadow: none;

}

#header .actions a:hover,

#header .actions a:focus,

#header .dropdown:hover a,

#header .open a,

#header .menu,

#small_login,

.group.listbox,

fieldset fieldset.listbox,

.listbox,

form blockquote.userstuff,

input:focus,

textarea:focus,

li.relationships a,

.group.listbox .index,

.dashboard fieldset fieldset.listbox .index,

#dashboard a:hover,

th,

#dashboard .secondary,

.secondary,

.thread .even,

.system .tweet_list li,

.ui-datepicker tr:hover {

background: #191919;

}

a.tag,

a:link,

#header a:visited,

#header .primary .open a,

#header .primary .dropdown:hover a,

#header #search input:focus,

#header #search input:hover,

.userstuff h2,

#dashboard a,

#dashboard span,

#dashboard .current,

.group .heading,

.filters dt a:hover {

color: #DEB887;

}

#header .dropdown .menu a:hover,

#header .dropdown .menu a:focus,

.splash .favorite li:nth-of-type(odd) a,

.ui-datepicker td:hover,

#tos_prompt .heading,

#tos_prompt [disabled] {

background: #111;

color: #ffe8b4;

}

#outer,

.javascript,

.statistics .index li:nth-of-type(even),

#tos_prompt,

.announcement input[type="submit"] {

background: #000000;

}

#dashboard ul,

dl.meta,

.group.listbox,

fieldset fieldset.listbox,

#main li.blurb,

form blockquote.userstuff,

div.comment,

li.comment,

.toggled form,

form dl dt,

form.single fieldset,

#inner .module .heading,

.bookmark .status span,

.splash .news li,

.filters .group dt.bookmarker {

border-color: #2a2a2a;

}

.group.listbox,

fieldset fieldset.listbox,

#main li.blurb,

.wrapper,

#dashboard .secondary,

.secondary,

form blockquote.userstuff,

.thread .comment,

.toggled form {

box-shadow: 1px 1px 3px #000;

}

#dashboard .current,

.actions a:active,

a.current,

.current a:visited,

span.unread,

.replied,

span.claimed,

dl.index dd,

.own,

.draft,

.draft .unread,

.child,

.unwrangled,

.unreviewed,

.ui-sortable li:hover {

background: #000;

border-color: #191919;

box-shadow: -1px -1px 3px #000;

}

input,

textarea {

box-shadow: inset 0 1px 2px #000;

}

li.blurb,

.blurb .blurb,

.listbox .index,

fieldset fieldset.listbox,

.dashboard .listbox .index {

box-shadow: inset 1px 1px 3px #000;

}

#footer a:hover,

#footer a:focus,

.autocomplete .dropdown ul li:hover,

.autocomplete .dropdown li.selected,

a.tag:hover,

.listbox .heading a.tag:visited:hover,

.symbol .question {

background: #ffedc5;

border-color: #988352;

color: #111;

}

#header #greeting img,

#header .user a:hover,

#header .user a:focus,

#header fieldset,

#header form,

#header p,

#dashboard a:hover,

.actions a:hover,

.actions input:hover,

.delete a,

span.delete,

span.unread,

.replied,

span.claimed,

.draggable,

.droppable,

span.requested,

a.work,

.blurb h4 a:link,

.blurb h4 img,

.splash .module h3,

.splash .browse li a:before,

.required,

.error,

.comment_error,

.kudos_error,

a.cloud7,

a.cloud8,

#tos_prompt .heading {

color: #ffe8b4;

}

#greeting .icon,

#dashboard,

#dashboard.own,

.error,

.comment_error,

.kudos_error,

.LV_invalid,

.LV_invalid_field,

input.LV_invalid_field:hover,

input.LV_invalid_field:active,

textarea.LV_invalid_field:hover,

textarea.LV_invalid_field:active,

.qtip-content {

border-color: #8a1a10;

}

.splash .favorite li:nth-of-type(odd) a:hover,

.splash .favorite li:nth-of-type(odd) a:focus .splash .favorite li:nth-of-type(odd) a:visited:hover,

.splash .favorite li:nth-of-type(odd) a:visited:focus {

background: #ffe8b4;

color: #111;

}

a:visited,

.actions a:visited,

.action a:link,

.action a:visited,

.listbox .heading a:visited,

span.series .divider {

color: #BC8F8F;

}

.actions a,

.actions a:link,

.action,

.action:link,

.actions input,

input[type="submit"],

button,

.current,

.actions label,

#header .actions a,

#outer .current {

background: #191919;

border-color: #222;

color: #eee;

box-shadow: inset 0 -8px 4px #232323, inset 0 8px 7px #191919;

text-shadow: none;

}

.actions a:hover,

.actions input:hover,

#dashboard a:hover,

.actions a:focus,

.actions input:focus,

#dashboard a:focus,

.actions .disabled select {

color: #999;

border-color: #000;

box-shadow: inset 2px 2px 2px #000;

}

.actions a:active,

.current,

a.current,

.current a:visited {

color: #DEB887;

background: #191919;

border-color: #DEB887;

box-shadow: inset 1px 1px 3px #000000;

}

.delete a,

span.delete {

box-shadow: -1px -1px 2px rgba(255,255,255.25);

}

.actions label.disabled {

background: #222;

box-shadow: none;

}

ul.required-tags,

.bookmark .status span,

.blurb .icon {

opacity: 0.9;

border: 0;

}

#outer .group .heading,

#header .actions a,

fieldset.listbox .heading,

.userstuff .heading {

text-shadow: none;

color: #DEB887;

background: none;

}

#header .actions a,

fieldset fieldset,

.mce-container button,

.filters .expander,

.actions .disabled select {

box-shadow: none;

}

fieldset fieldset.listbox {

outline: none;

}

form dd.required {

color: #eee;

}

.mce-container input:focus {

background: #F3EFEC;

}

.announcement .userstuff a,

.announcement .userstuff a:link,

.announcement .userstuff a:visited:hover {

color: #111;

}

.announcement .userstuff a:visited {

color: #666;

}

.announcement .userstuff a:hover,

.announcement .userstuff a:focus {

color: #999;

}

.event.announcement .userstuff a,

.filters .expander {

color: #eee;

}

#ao3 skins #ao3 skin #ao3

294 notes · View notes

evenvillain · 7 months ago

Text

dark flat ao3 skin v2.0

1. log in and go HERE

2. click button "Create Site Skin"

3. name it whatever

4. copy/paste code from below in "CSS" field

5. "Submit"

6. make sure you clicked button "Use" HERE in the list of skins

7. change it as you like

CSS:

outer .region,

footer .group,

.post fieldset fieldset, fieldset fieldset { background: none; }

body, .group, .group .group, .region, .flash, fieldset, fieldset fieldset ul, form dl, textarea,

main .verbose legend,

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#ao3 skins #ao3

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jungkoode · 5 months ago

Text

OFF-LABELS | O4

"examination room"

You’ve spent four years convincing yourself that your brother’s best friend is just being nice when he remembers your coffee order, quizzes you on neuroanatomy, or lets his touch linger a second too long. Because there’s no way that the golden boy of Seoul National’s medical program might actually be flirting with you. Especially when he keeps saying things that could be perfectly innocent… if only he didn’t say them in that voice.

next | index | wc: 2k

↦author's note : You ever write something and think "maybe I should go to church"? Yeah. So. This happened. Apparently my brain decided "what if we took medical equipment and made it unholy?" Dedicated to everyone who's ever had an attractive medical professional tell them to "open wide" and died a little inside. Also thanks to my one (1) med student friend who had to answer way too many questions about vagus nerve testing without knowing why I was asking. I'm so sorry.

The fluorescent lights hum overhead as you hover outside Room 317, clutching the neurology textbook to your chest like armor.

You shouldn’t be here.

Caleb’s text still glows on your phone screen:

𝐡𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐫: 𝙷𝚘𝚜𝚎𝚘𝚔 𝚜𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚑𝚎’𝚜 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚘𝚏𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚟𝚊𝚐𝚞𝚜 𝚗𝚎𝚛𝚟𝚎 𝚙𝚊𝚙𝚎𝚛. 𝙶𝚘 𝚋𝚘𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛 𝚑𝚒𝚖 𝚊𝚝 𝚂𝙽𝚄𝙷.

You count the ceiling tiles (twelve) before knocking.

The room smells like antiseptic and the bergamot tea he drinks during night shifts.

“Chip.” Hoseok doesn’t look up from the EKG strip he’s analyzing, surgical penlight tucked behind his ear. “You’re blocking the light.”

You sidestep the portable otoscope charging by the door. The space is all sharp edges—stainless steel cabinets, framed diplomas, his white coat draped over the back of a chair still warm from his body.

“Page 214,” he says, sliding your marked-up paper across the desk. Red ink bleeds through the margins. Insufficient clinical correlation circles your thesis on autonomic nervous system responses.

Your throat tightens. “I cited six studies—”

“Case studies aren’t lived experience.” He finally meets your eyes, thumb brushing the penlight. “You can’t quantify a gag reflex through PubMed.”

The air shifts when he stands.

“Sit.” He nods to the exam table, its crinkled paper sheet protesting as you perch on the edge.

“I’m not your patient,” you say too quickly.

His laugh is all teeth. “Would you prefer I bill your insurance?”

The overhead exam light clicks on. You flinch at the sudden brightness.

“Relax.” His knuckle grazes your jawline as he adjusts the lamp. “Just demonstrating research methodology.”

He rolls the stool closer, knees bracketing yours.

“Let’s say…” His penlight traces the column of your throat, the cool beam skimming over your pulse point. “You wanted empirical data on vagus nerve stimulation.”

Your traitorous pulse jumps under the light.

“Theoretical,” you rasp.

“Mm.” The stool creaks as he leans in. “Hypothetically—if a patient claimed nausea—” A flicker of movement, then the glint of polished steel between his fingers. A tongue depressor. “—would you take their word for it? Or verify with a hands-on assessment?”

His meaning is clinical. Technically. In medical exams, the vagus nerve can be tested by pressing a tongue depressor against the back of the throat, triggering the gag reflex. A strong response might suggest hypersensitivity. A weak or absent one? Neurological impairment.

But that’s not what he’s asking. Not really.

The textbook slides from your lap, thudding against the floor.

His thumb finds the hinge of your jaw, applying just enough pressure to tilt your head back.

“You need proper mentorship,” he murmurs.

“Mentorship.” The word barely forms.

“Mm. Palatal anatomy. Gag reflex modulation.” His nail scrapes the tender skin behind your earlobe, where the auricular branch of the vagus nerve lies—just another pressure point, another test. “Essential for any aspiring neurologist.”

Overhead, the Code Blue alarm blares—a real emergency, somewhere beyond this room. Neither of you move.

“This is—”

“Academic?” He tilts your chin up with the tongue depressor, just shy of pressure. “Ethically sanctioned? Necessary for your… what was it? Comprehensive understanding of brain-gut axis pathways?”

Your own citation, thrown back at you, laced with velvet implication.

His pager vibrates against the desk.

A reminder. A warning.

“Well, Chip?” He pockets the device, but his eyes never leave your mouth. “D’you want to practice?”

Somewhere down the hall, a defibrillator charges. The crash cart rattles past the door. And you—

You’re already nodding, fingers curling in the paper sheet as he snaps fresh gloves over those surgeon’s hands.

“For science,” you whisper.

His smile cuts through the antiseptic air. “Naturally.”

"Open." His voice is clinically detached as he positions the tongue depressor. "Wider."

You comply, heart thundering as he leans closer to examine your oral cavity. The exam light catches his glasses, making his expression unreadable.

"Good girl. Now stick your tongue out—just like that." His free hand steadies your chin. "Interesting. Your tongue control is quite developed."

Heat floods your face. You try to respond but can't with your mouth open.

"Shh. Focus on breathing through your nose." His thumb traces your jawline. "We'll start shallow. See how much you can take before the reflex triggers."

The metal slides deeper.

"Swallow for me."

You do, fighting the urge to gag.

"Again." His voice stays perfectly level. "Notice how your throat accommodates the intrusion? That's neuroplasticity at work."

Your thighs press together involuntarily. He continues as if he hasn't noticed.

"Most people choke at this depth. But you..." The depressor ventures further. "Remarkable control. Have you practiced this before?"

You make a strangled sound of denial.

"Breathing's irregular," he notes. "Try to relax your throat. Yes—just like that. Let it slide deeper."

Your hands grip the hem of your shirt as saliva pools in your mouth.

"Fascinating response." His tone remains purely academic. "The stimulation is triggering excess secretion. Perfectly natural biological reaction."

Your face burns hotter. There's no way he doesn't notice how you're squirming.

He glances down—just once—at where your thighs are clenched together. A gentle smile curves his lips.

"Tell me, Chip..." The words float soft as gauze. "Do you always get this wet during medical examinations?"

Your eyes go wide.

"Excess salivation," he clarifies, innocent as morning. "It's a common autonomic response to oral stimulation. Though yours seems... particularly robust."

The paper crinkles beneath you as you shift.

"We should document this," he muses. "For research purposes, of course."

The depressor glints under clinical light as he presses it deeper.

“Don’t fight it,” he murmurs, thumb settling at the corner of your mouth. “Relax your epiglottis.”

You try. You try. But all you taste is sterile metal and the faint salt of his skin where his thumbprint ghosts your lower lip. His thighs tighten imperceptibly against yours, a human vise steadying your traitorous tremors.

“There we go.” His voice drops to a velvet hush, the kind nurses use with combative dementia patients. “Good girl.”

Your pulse thrums where his thumb rests—so close to slipping past your teeth, so close to feeling the heat of your tongue.

His nail catches on the swell of your lip, dragging downward as if testing pliancy.

“Fascinating,” he murmurs, though you’re not sure what he’s referring to anymore—the depressor sinking another fraction of an inch, or the way your throat flutters around it. “Your vagal response is… delayed.”

You whimper.

He cocks his head, penlight sweeping across your uvula. “Pain?”

You shake your head minutely, terrified to dislodge his thumb.

“Discomfort?”

Another shake.

“Then what?”

The question hangs between you, syrupy and dangerous.

His thumb presses harder, blanching the pink of your lip white. You can’t tell if he’s pushing the depressor or if your body is pulling it deeper, some primal part of you craving the stretch.

His exhale ghosts your cheek. “Saliva production’s increased thirty percent since we began.”

You’re drowning in it—a slick, shameful pool gathering under your tongue, threatening to spill.

“Swallow.”

You obey, throat working around cold steel.

“Again.”

The third time, a bead escapes the corner of your mouth. His thumb swipes it away before it can fall, the pad rough against your chin.

“Remarkable,” he breathes, rotating the depressor slowly. “No gag yet. How far do you think—”

His glasses slip.

It’s barely noticeable—a millimeter descent along the bridge of his nose—but his whole body stills.

For one fractured second, you swear his demeanor falters: pupils blown black behind smudged lenses, lips pressed into a bloodless line, tendons standing rigid in his neck.

Then he’s back—gentle, smiling, Hoseok—retracting the depressor with a soft click.

“Clumsy me,” he chuckles, adjusting his frames. “Should’ve used the head strap.”

You don’t mention how his hand shakes. You don’t mention the splintered wood where he gripped the depressor too hard.

You must be imagining things.

You must be making correlations where there’s none.

He checks his pager, all brisk professionalism. “Duty calls. You did well today, Chip.”

Chip. The nickname now lands between your thighs.

You nod, swiping at your damp chin. His gaze follows the movement, lingering on your glistening fingers.

“Here.” He offers a tissue—crisp, folded—with a smile that crinkles his eyes. “For the salivation.”

You take it. He doesn’t let go immediately, fingertips brushing yours.

“We’ll continue next week,” he says, and it’s not a question.

The door sighs shut behind him.

Left alone, you stare at the ruined depressor. The wood’s fractured where his grip faltered, grooves carved by clenched fingers. You press a thumb into the deepest dent, imagining the force required—the control overridden.

Down the hall, his laughter floats through an open doorway, warm and easy as he chats with a colleague.

Normal. Harmless.

You bite the tissue between your teeth, tasting bergamot and salt and lies.

Your lungs burn as you push through the apartment door, endorphins still singing through your veins.

The run helped—three miles of pavement pounding your inappropriate thoughts into submission. Three miles of not thinking about surgical hands or tongue depressors or—

"Morning, Chip."

You freeze.

The water bottle slips from your grip, hitting the floor with a hollow thud.

Because there he is—Hoseok—lounging on your couch like he belongs there, like he hasn't been haunting your dreams for weeks, like you haven't been actively fleeing every time you catch a glimpse of his white coat in hospital corridors.

"I—" Your voice cracks. "Caleb didn't say..."

"He's in the shower." Hoseok's smile is gentle. Always gentle. "You've been busy lately."

It's not an accusation. His tone is light, conversational. But something in the way he says it—in the careful way he watches you over the rim of his coffee mug—makes your stomach drop.

"Yeah, I..." You scramble for an excuse. "Classes."

"Mm." He sets his mug down with deliberate care. "Interesting. Because I asked about your attendance."

Your heart stops.

"Just checking in," he continues, voice honey-sweet. "Since you missed three anatomy labs."

The air feels too thick.

You're suddenly aware of how you must look—flushed from running, hair escaping your ponytail, compression leggings clinging to every curve.

His eyes track a bead of sweat rolling down your neck.

"I—had other commitments."

"Did you?" He tilts his head, expression perfectly concerned. "Because Dr. Park mentioned you've been switching sections. Always picking labs when I'm not assisting."

Fuck.

"That's not—" You swallow hard. "It's not like that."

"No?" He stands, and you realize with dawning horror that he's blocking your escape route to the hallway. "Then what's it like, Chip?"

The nickname lands like a physical touch. You back up until your spine hits the door.

"Because it seems," he continues, voice impossibly soft, "like you're avoiding me."

"I'm not—"

"Three weeks." He takes a step closer. "Three weeks of missed labs. Declined study sessions. Running away every time I visit your brother."

Your chest feels tight. "I haven't been—"

"Nice outfit, by the way."

The compliment throws you off-balance.

He's still smiling, still gentle, but there's something else there—something that makes your thighs press together unconsciously.

"The color suits you." His eyes drift lower. "Though I wonder if you're getting enough circulation. You're flushed."

You're not flushed from running anymore.

"I should—" You gesture vaguely toward your room. "Shower."

"Of course." He steps aside, ever-courteous. "Wouldn't want you catching cold."

You bolt past him, careful not to brush against his chest. But his voice follows you down the hall:

"Oh, and Chip?"

You freeze, hand on your doorknob.

"Next time you skip labs?" The smile is audible in his voice. "I'll have to schedule a private make-up session. For your academic benefit, of course."

The door closes behind you with a click that sounds like a threat.

You slide down against it, pressing your thighs together as your hand creeps beneath the waistband of your leggings. Because you're weak. Because you're stupid. Because even his threats sound like kindness, and you're going to hell for the way that makes you feel.

In the living room, you hear him laugh at something Caleb says. Normal. Friendly. Like he didn't just pin you to a wall with words alone.

Your fingers slip through embarrassing wetness as you bite your lip to stay quiet.

→ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓: @cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @somehowukook @just-reading-dany @sanarin @billy-jeans23 @stuti2904 @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

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hanasnx · 2 months ago

Note

i need ND-5 so bad... I want to ride his shiny face :^(

FACE RIDING — nd-5

“ but there’s something about us i’ve got to do / some kind of secret i will share with you ” 🪽

MINORS DNI 18+ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 .ᐟ ✉️ | star wars. NOTES. had to anon. need nd so bad. WARNINGS. fem reader ノ established relationship ノ size difference ノ sexual content ノ smut ノ oral (f receiving) ノ fem orgasm ノ praise (f receiving) ノ droid sex but no p in v ノ cute dirty talk + endy talking you through it ノ fluff ノ voice kink (m + f receiving).

“I—ah!” you cry, your hand on your chest tightening to pinch your nipple between your knuckles. “N-D…” you sigh, your thighs relaxing as you sink into your seat—so to speak. ND-5 hums low and gravelly through his voice modulator, and it sends a shiver down your spine. “Sounds like you’re purring.” you tease with a grin, ending it with a coy bite to your bottom lip. The sheen of sweat shines on your skin, and your hair looks like you’ve just been through a couple rounds… ND thinks you resemble some kind of goddess. He can see you just over your mound while you scrub your little pussy raw on his face. He doesn’t mind the fluids in his filters, he’ll do a thorough deep clean and replacement session later.

Positioned delicately, you’re able to ride the tip of his nose, your slit rubbing back and forth on whatever purchase you can seize. The grate of his “mouth” provides a willing and foreign sensation, but far be it from the both of you to deny whatever your clit chases.

“You look…” Beautiful. The word is lost on him while he watches you carefully, your head tips back as you suck in a breath, swelling your chest into your hand. Even though he’s got a face full of pussy right now, it doesn’t mechanically stop him from being able to speak—just muffle him. However, the sight of you often crashes his train of thought. His hinges clutch onto the fat of your hips, the machinery in his arms creating a piston-like movement as he sets your pace for you. It’s harder this time, firmed up by his impatience to see more of you like this. Your back arches as he takes the control from you, a pitchy keen snapping out from the back of your throat like an elastic band—the kind of audible marvel that has him entranced. The symphonies a human voice is capable of like yours captivates him, lures him in and keeps him. Your nipple, puffy and pebbled, is rolled between your index and thumb. He studies the act curiously tilting his head and somehow that adds to your pleasure.

“Oh, fuck! Fuck, Endy, what’re you doing to me?” you cry, whipping your head forward to lock eyes with him. It’s hard to be surprised as a droid, but he can’t help but wonder exactly what makes this work for you? Cold metal is hardly the most accommodating place for such soft tissue like the pulsing muscle between your legs… and yet you look at him with such desire. You can’t stop yourself now, he can’t refuse you, and here you are humping his face until that little human surprise at the end. He’s waiting for that little spurt of secretion that happens after enough stimulation.

“I’m trying to make you cum. Is it working?” he replies to you in that classic ND-5 kind of way. It’s a brand of charm that works well on you.

There’s something endearing about his honesty, and it causes you to scoff in response, dazzling him with your pearly teeth in the low light—the hazy whites of his eyes being the only source of it in this pitch black room.

You nod to him, and from now on you hold his gaze. He juts his chin deliberately, a slow movement paired with his hands drawing you down and forward, dragging you into the kind of roll he wants your hips to follow. Instead, they brake and stutter, a powerful shudder crawling like electricity up your spine until your teeth chatter. “Ah, you’re close.” he drawls in a taunt, like this is a game. You have half a mind to hit him playfully, but you can’t reach anything when his head’s clamped between your thighs.

“Endy…!” you whine unconsolably, the heel of your free hand batting the headboard to help him understand your small bout of frustration.

“You can do it. Here, like this.” he directs as he’s still moving your hips for you, but now he can feel less of your resistance. You’re trying to compete. “Easy now.” His instructions—his voice, it’s all too much to handle.

“Don’t—ah! You’re gonna make me—“ It hurts a bit. It hurts to sit right at the edge and you feel like you’re overstimulating yourself for nothing, “Endy, please.”

“That’s it, that’s it. Just a little longer.”

Those pretty sounds he loves so much come spilling out of you in waves while you struggle to breathe. Your orgasm crashes down, body seizing up as you try your damndest to keep your eyes open for him instead of their instinct to squeeze shut. Even expressionless, you can tell he likes gazing into them at your peak.

@HANASNX 2025 | do not copy, plagiarize, or steal

#indy: drabbles #ch: nd-5 #nd-5 drabble #nd-5 smut #nd-5 x reader #nd-5 x you #nd-5 x y/n #nd-5 imagine #nd-5 fanfiction #nd 5 smut #reader insert

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mychoombatheroomba · 2 months ago

Text

Bleed

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 58

You and Leon face down your nightmares.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

Chapter Index

TW for blood and gore, death, and knife injuries dealt to basically everyone involved

In just two seconds, Leon was reminded of why you were a soldier to be feared.

A few quick moves, no mercy, no hesitation. Just what Krauser had trained you for. Your arm - the one that held your pistol - pushed out and down, knocking the enemy soldier’s rifle away. Keeping it away from you. Leon saw it just as the smoke rose towards the two of you, blurring the world as distant gunfire echoed. Dina and Valeria. They were alive. Fighting. But the only way Leon could help them now was by dealing with the immediate danger.

A danger that you were halfway to dealing with yourself in the next breath, as you brought the helmet in your other hand across, cracking the hardened shell against the Umbrella soldier’s gas mask. The soldier’s head was knocked to the side, the nozzle of the mask out of the way. There was a little grunt, the sound processed through a modulator.

The choking that followed was more clear, as you brought that same arm in, your elbow finding the soldier’s now-exposed throat.

Leon couldn’t see the expression of the soldier as he tried to stagger back. As he took a hand off his own rifle to reach for his throat. He couldn’t see your expression, either, as you wove you moved your other hand up, the one that held your pistol, and leveled it before one of the red lenses.

No opportunity to call for mercy, no chance at anything more than a strangled cry as you pulled the trigger.

That red lens shattered, then, as in just two seconds you’d taken a life. As a man’s blood painted the gas mask you now wore. A man who, perhaps, had been there the night your life had been destroyed-

⧫⧫⧫

No.

This wasn’t him. This wasn’t the man who’d given you your scars.

This soldier died too easily to be him.

And you . . . you wouldn’t fall so easily this time.

⧫⧫⧫

You dropped your helmet, taking the dead man by the shoulder instead. Guiding him as he fell. Using his body to shield yourself from the bullets that followed so quickly after. Leon didn’t think of the abject horror of what had just happened.

Instead, he moved to cover you, firing around the corner as you cleared the gap, taking refuge behind a smaller crate as you let the body fall.

You became little more than a dark shape of a person, the gas obscuring you from view. He could see you kneeling behind that crate, quickly snatching the rifle from the man you’d slain-

And then having to scramble away as another soldier rounded the corner and opened fire.

Leon was there, though, providing you with covering fire. Even as he felt his breath come sharper, because he knew that any of the bullets fired his way could find him. He hadn’t shrunk away from the Hunter, though, and he wouldn’t shrink from this, either. Not as the shootout grew more intense, as he squeezed the trigger of his rifle, trying not to be lost in the fact that he intended to kill. To take a life in order to protect yours.

He couldn’t regret it, though. Not as he saw you still moving out of the corner of his vision, ducking around the container before disappearing from his field of vision. Alive. For now.

He would keep you that way.

Krauser’s lessons came to him, then, a schooled violence well-etched into his bones. Krauser’s lessons and yours, reminding him that attacking the same way and from the same direction over and over again would mean failure at best and death at worst. So he dropped down to a knee, waiting for a pause in the gunfire aimed his way. Then, he leaned out just enough to take aim, as fast as he could manage.

It was fast enough to land him a hit, bullets clipping the shoulder of one of the Umbrella soldiers, just as they moved to take cover again. There was a cry that Leon could hear all too clearly, even amidst the gunfire. Not yours, or Dina’s or Valeria’s. Good. He could hold on to that.

⧫⧫⧫

And you could take advantage of the moment Leon had bought you.

You could kill these men to keep yourself and Leon alive.

You fired, then, and the wounded soldier was dead. One less obstacle between you and survival.

Between you and revenge.

So, you kept fighting.

⧫⧫⧫

He could be thankful for that, as he pressed his back against cover once more. Breathing heavy. Trying to think of what-

It was pure chance that he looked to his other side; that movement away from the battle he knew of caught his eye. Pure instinct that made his body move as a figure holding a knife came towards him out of the smoke. That had his left hand leaving the barrel of his rifle so he could try and block the thrust aimed at his throat . . .

And pure pain as he miscalculated, and the knife went through the palm of Leon’s hand. He could almost hear the rasp of a familiar voice in his head.

Nothing quite like the threat of real steel, is there?

Behind his gas mask, Leon’s eyes widened as a split second suddenly came to last a lifetime. His breath left him in a startled gasp as, for that first moment, he only felt the impact. The way it rattled his arm. Then, when he saw the blade, glinting red and silver, protruding from his glove and the hand underneath it, he felt a searing and breath-stealing agony.

But the worst part, the part that the pain almost made him miss, was the voice that followed.

“Nice to see you again, Kennedy.”

If you freeze up out there . . .

Leon knew that voice. He would recognize it anywhere, after all that had happened.

Reed.

All of these details that he took in, within such a small frame of time - the pain, the shine of the blade, the red of the gas mask lenses in front of him - all of it was just as quickly drowned out by the familiar realization that death was just that split second away.

. . . if you give the enemy a second to act . . .

Adrenaline saved him from the pistol that nearly pressed against his gut. He saw the secondary attack out of the corner of his eye and his other arm shot out, rifle still clutched in his undamaged hand.

. . . then you will die.

The gun went off, and Leon’s entire body tensed. He couldn’t think, not past the terror and the pain and the thoughts of my hand my hand my hand-

A thought that was all but intensified as Reed pulled his knife hand back, ripping the blade free in a splattering of blood. If the pain of the initial stab was bad, this was worse. So, so much worse. Enough that a snarled cry escaped Leon, a call of alarm as he registered only the new hole in his hand-

⧫⧫⧫

And your heart stopped, because you knew that voice. You knew who it belonged to. You knew that Leon was hurt.

Just as you knew, as that second Umbrella soldier rushed you when his gun clicked empty, that you couldn’t do anything to help him.

Not as a knife was pulled on you and-

⧫⧫⧫

He just barely survived another moment.

Tear gas seeped into the wound as Reed stepped back and the blade came free. The agent created some distance - just enough to raise that pistol once more, his shape partially obscured by smoke. Leon found himself looking down the barrel of that gun and even that was enough to override the pain shooting up his arm. He ducked, and he didn’t have time to flinch as Reed’s gun went off, barely missing him. Instead, he just raised his own rifle in his undamaged hand, squeezing the trigger and praying.

A cry of pain was a brutal reward for that faith, but Leon would take it, as the masked traitor before him took a bullet to the thigh. Even that was a fraction of what Reed deserved. In the moment that he took to look down at his wound, Leon was moving, scrambling to get around the corner of the cargo container.

He had to hope that you were handling the soldiers there, or he would be dead in an instant.

Shapes moved in the grey air as he pressed his back against the metal, his head whipping to his left to look. To see if he would die for taking this chance. No bullets found him, and with the smoke he could only tell that three figures were locked in a fight to his side. One of them had to be you.

Blood poured from his hand, the poisoned air making every nerve there burn and boil. His head spun from the pain and the need to survive. He knew he wouldn’t have long before Reed rounded that corner, seeking to end the fight . . .

And he was rushing towards you anyway, taking a few sharp breaths to focus himself as he pointed his assault rifle behind him. He shrugged the strap off his shoulder as he moved, squeezing the trigger in a spray of covering fire. With any luck, it would keep Reed from following for just a moment. Long enough to dash down the width of the cargo container and around the crate where you were fighting not one, but two soldiers.

Two wounded soldiers, Leon realized, as he rounded the corner just in time to see you redirect one of their own knives down into its owner's leg.

⧫⧫⧫

He screamed as the knife plunged into him.

You’d never thought to hear a man wearing that gas mask scream. Usually, in your nightmares, it had been you on the end of that knife, your voice crying out from the shock.

That wasn’t him, either, then. You didn’t think that he would have screamed like that.

⧫⧫⧫

But there was little time to celebrate the small victory when the soldier you’d just stabbed kicked his uninjured leg up, and slammed it hard into your chest. Leon didn’t doubt that you had the beginnings of bruises there from where armor had stopped bullets short of killing you. Bruises that would no doubt flare in pain as you were pushed back and away. You wheezed as you stumbled, right into the waiting attack of the second soldier.

An attack that would have ended your life, if you were a millisecond slower.

The gasp of air you took in launched Leon into action, his eyes set on the soldier who’d kicked you. Who now prepared to move towards you, even with a knife still in his leg.

Leon would make sure he never reached you.

You caught the other man’s forearm just in time to keep a knife from sinking into your throat.

And Leon kicked his boot out, slamming it into the handle of the blade in the other man’s leg.

⧫⧫⧫

It was Reed, wasn’t it? Who had told you to exploit injuries?

Let his comrades learn the lesson.

⧫⧫⧫

The soldier behind you had taken a bullet from Leon earlier. And shrapnel from the grenade had made his other arm slow.

So you threw your free elbow down and back, just as the man’s boot connected with the back of your knee. As he tried to switch the knife at your throat to his other hand, your attack made his body curl up in pain. He cried out, and Leon saw as you leveraged his arm, then, using your now-lowered center of gravity. You’d done it with Leon countless times before.

What Leon had never done, was hear a shriek of absolute agony as he cut into someone. The pain Leon himself was feeling didn’t let him show much mercy. He could, and likely would, reflect on that later. When he wasn’t facing down an enemy. When his life or yours weren’t at risk of ending. Then, if he survived, he could hate himself for what he’d just done. Now, though, there was work to do.

So he did what he had to do, not stopping as he watched the knife in the man’s leg twist under his boot. As he knew the muscles in its wake were ripped and torn. He dropped his now-empty rifle, and your own knife was in your hands before Leon’s weapon clattered to the floor.

The two of you struck almost at once. Leon had to block a counter attack with his wounded hand, letting out a hiss for his effort. A near-scream. And then his blade was driving into flesh, just as he glimpsed yours do the same.

⧫⧫⧫

Into the throat. No surviving that. No chances.

This wouldn’t be the beginning of their revenge stories. This would be this soldier’s last night, his last act, and you, his last sight. So much finality . . .

⧫⧫⧫

And so many firsts.

The first mission, the first time Leon had been out of the country he now served, and the first time he’d killed living people, with bullets and now with a blade. This one felt all the more sickening as Leon felt the man go slack, nearly losing his knife as the body fell. He pulled it free at the last second, opening a river in the man’s throat.

No time to think of it. Not when Leon only just ducked behind the cover of the crate as bullets whizzed past him.

Leon pressed his back to the crate just as you righted yourself, joining at his side as you took your pistol from its holster once more. Leon took that second to breathe, however uneven it was. To look down at his hand, his fingers trembling as he beheld the bleeding wound that now marked his palm. That went all the way through to the other side-

⧫⧫⧫

And for the first time, your rage faltered. Your eyes caught on Leon’s hand, on the way he held it at his chest, examining it through the gas around you both. Gas that had to be stinging against an already painful wound.

They’d cut into him. They’d drawn blood from him, just as they had with you.

They’d killed Hellman. Unleashed monsters on you. Hurt Dina. Shot you. They’d cut into Leon. Fresh wounds added to the scars you already bore.

It all filled you with something indescribable. Something living and twisted and dark.

⧫⧫⧫

Breathe.

Breathe through it.

He had to be ready. He had to keep you both alive. He had to warn you of who it was that remained, whose bullets had nearly just ended him, and who had stabbed a hole through his hand.

⧫⧫⧫

“Reed. It’s Reed.”

The name brought clarity through the pain. Sharpened focus amidst the chaos. It clashed hard against the worry you felt, and it won.

He was here. He was within reach. Whoever the man was who’d nearly gutted you in Finland, you wouldn’t be able to tell if his was one of the bodies at your feet.

But Reed? Now, you would be damn sure that you put him in the ground.

And you would get your chance all too soon, you realized, as Leon sucked in a horrified breath, and through the clear lenses of his gas mask, you glimpsed alarm. He called your name in a warning and you turned, just in time to raise your pistol, firing just as a shot was fired at you in turn.

⧫⧫⧫

Leon couldn’t say if you were hit, in that moment. He could barely think of what to do, with his knife in his only good hand, all while the other stung from the wound Reed had dealt him. He didn’t have a way of helping you.

A way of protecting you.

Anything but the beginnings of an attempt to sheathe his blade and to swap it out for his pistol instead, only to stop when he saw you slip forward. Your knife in one hand, your gun in the other, moving towards the corner of the crate. Towards where Reed had just taken cover once more.

And there was no doubt it was Reed as that familiar, indifferent voice sounded through the modulator in his gas mask.

“And is that the Sergeant with you, Kennedy? Good. I’ll bury you together.”

You wouldn’t wait for Leon. You wouldn’t wait for anyone, he knew it. And he wouldn’t wait for something to happen to you.

So he followed suit, forsaking his gun and clinging tight to his knife and all the training that he’d been given with it.

You got to Reed first.

⧫⧫⧫

You would kill him.

⧫⧫⧫

Your gun pointed around the corner, and Leon saw something knock it out of the way as you fired. Heard you grunt as your hand was slammed hard against the metal at your side. The pistol knocked against the crate, then, before it fell down to the concrete and Leon made a split-second decision. He could go around the crate. Flank Reed from the other side, but it would waste precious seconds. Seconds they may not have. So instead, he did as Krauser had taught him, following his instincts.

He almost took a bullet to the head for it as you evaded a shot, slashing at Reed’s arm to keep his gun from being aimed at you.

Leon yelped, but kept moving, ducking low and arcing around you, towards Reed’s side just as the man slashed at your leg to get you to back up. Leon was on him, then, using the momentum of his steps to move, his body turning as he kicked a leg back and out, aiming low. Aiming at the side of Reed’s knee, ready to inflict another wound on the man who’d poisoned dozens of people. Who’d turned what little peace Leon had on its head. It was the first time in his life that Leon could remember wanting to truly, wholly hurt someone.

The agent was faster, though, even with the bullet wound in his other leg.

He stepped back, making Leon’s attack hit empty air, and then a gun was pointed at Leon once more, the threat of its barrel making him strike out desperately with his knife. He had to get the gun out of the equation.

You knew it too. That became all too apparent when you rejoined the fray, and the fight began in earnest.

⧫⧫⧫

You would make him pay.

⧫⧫⧫

Your hand shot towards the pistol, trying to get control of it. To keep it away from you and Leon both. And just as quickly, Reed wove that arm away, delivering a counter cut to your wrist, one that landed and drew red, before he was pointing the gun at Leon once more.

His wounded arm screamed in pain as he redirected the man’s gun, ducking under it as he arced it over his head. The sounds of the world were hidden behind the ringing in his ears as he stabbed forward with his knife, only to have to avoid Reed’s blade slashing for him.

Moves and countermoves. Two versus one. Almost like that night not so long ago, where Leon and you had been smiling while facing down a man you both cared for.

There were no smiles now. Reed didn’t even bother with any scathing remarks. There was nothing but the need to survive. Not as the three of you fought for control. Control that was briefly arrested when Leon caught Reed’s arm, the one with the gun. You were there in an instant, grabbing the agent’s other arm. Leon’s left hand was slippery with his own blood, but he wrestled for control of the gun all the same. He felt tears stinging his eyes as he struggled. As Reed kicked out with his good leg, nearly buckling your knee.

But Leon held true, until at last he wrenched the man’s gun fully from Reed’s grip.

There was no time to celebrate that victory before a helmet cracked into Leon’s head, hard and fast. His gas mask was smashed against his face, and Leon blinked in a daze. With that, the pain to his head was added to as Reed’s elbow crashed against the gas mask. The pistol slipped out of Leon’s bloody hand, and he only just kept his grip on his own knife.

That was when Leon felt the familiar sting in his lungs. The blurring of his eyes.

His mask was compromised. It took only that breath of tear gas to tell, and as soon as he felt it, his heart pounding harder in his chest. Was it normal tear gas? Or had Umbrella altered it? Would breathing even a bit of it kill him? He couldn’t know. All he could do was keep fighting.

He reined himself in. Kept himself from breathing. He’d fought like this before, after all.

Even so, by the time his vision cleared enough, he saw you and Reed locked in a struggle, his blade nearly at your throat while yours was stopped just short of his belly. “Fucking traitor!” you snarled as the two of you struggled, your eyes full of fury behind your gas mask-

And just as Leon went in with his blade, you were knocked down, your leg hooked out from under you. You crashed to the ground hard, just as Reed whirled and blocked Leon’s attack. The agent’s good leg struck back at the same time, lightning fast, and cracked into your head as you tried to rise, and Leon was met with the sinking realization that you were losing.

That you both could lose this fight, and what it would mean if you did.

⧫⧫⧫

Death. Plain and simple. For you and for him.

Even as your head spun and you wheezed there on the ground, you knew that much was true. You knew it as you watched Reed brace his empty hand around the back of Leon’s neck-

⧫⧫⧫

Then hook both legs around his middle. Even as strong as Leon was, the weight and momentum was too much. He was falling then, with Reed rolling to take Leon down. To pin him to the ground. Leon’s knife hand was stuck, pinned against Reed’s chest, and he cried out in pain as he was forced to use the other one to stop Reed from driving a knife into his neck.

⧫⧫⧫

And you knew that only you could save him. Only you could stop this.

So you forced yourself up, even as the world spun for your effort. You didn’t need to know any direction but one, though:

Forward.

You had to strike quickly. Use every advantage.

Like the hole you spotted in Reed’s leg. One that Leon had, no doubt, given him.

You just had to-

⧫⧫⧫

Hold on. For as long as he could. But with his lungs stinging and his eyes watering and his hand his hand his hand -

“You shouldn’t have come here.” The agent's words were barely audible, snarled as they were to him.

Leon’s arm was buckling, his strength succumbing to pain. He could see the blade coming down, his end spelled out so plainly before him. He was going to die. He would die in front of you-

But it wasn’t Leon’s strength that caved in. Instead, the pressure bearing down on him let up in an instant as he was forced to turn to his side. Your blade arced towards him and Reed had no choice but to raise a defense. All of that, just to hide your true attack. Your other hand struck low, punching directly at the darkening patch of fabric on Reed’s thigh.

⧫⧫⧫

It was the first time you’d ever heard him scream. The first sound of pain you’d heard him make. You were glad that you were the one to bring it out of him.

You pushed down against his block, your head spinning as from the blow you’d taken. Blood dripped down from your scalp and over your gas mask, running lines of red over one of the lenses. Reed drew his knife away from Leon’s block, then, moving it towards you-

⧫⧫⧫

And then stopped short as Leon shoved his now-free blade up, parting fabric and skin and finding a home in Reed’s gut.

Leon couldn’t see the man’s face, but he could see the way his body stiffened, the way his attack faltered. Even so, he wasn’t down. Monsters were always hard to kill, weren’t they? So of course he would slash towards Leon, even as the knife was wrenched free of him. Of course he would stab at you, only to have you block him just in time.

But no matter how skilled or strangely strong he was, there were two blades against him.

⧫⧫⧫

And you’d fought him before.

You’d fought Krauser and Leon and Hellman and everyone else, every day you could, in preparation for this moment.

He wasn’t the man who’d started you on this path. But that didn’t make it any less sweet when you caught his blade against your chest. Control the blade. Leverage- but even wounded, he was fast. Faster than he had any right to be. He flicked the knife to his other hand quickly, and you knew in your splintered heart where he would attack. You knew, because it was undefended and he was cruel and he knew you were weak there.

But for as fast as he was, he’d only ever faced you when you were healing and building yourself back up.

Now, you were fast enough to match.

His blade went for your side, just as you knew it would. Right where your scars lay. It bit into you, but only surface deep. Your own blade stopped it, pressing hard down and into Reed’s arm. Down, in and up , as you snarled, pushing the razor metal up his forearm. As you carved skin from muscle and bone.

And Reed screamed.

⧫⧫⧫

Leon had never heard a scream like that before.

It almost made him pause, the sound making his blood run cold even amidst the rush of combat.

But he couldn’t stop any more than you could, so he rose, ready as Reed practically threw himself back and away from you. Right into Leon, who wrapped one arm around Reed��s own and kicked the back of the agent’s knee.

The agent might have kept on fighting, then. He almost did, even as Leon’s knife slid in against his throat. It wasn’t even the sight of you and your bloodied weapon that stopped him, but rather the second silhouette that slipped in behind you. One that made Leon nearly flinch before he heard a voice that filled him with relief.

“Don’t fucking move, asshole!” Valeria looked like a phantom as she appeared from the haze, her own mask hiding her face. Leon could only thank whatever powers that be that she was real. That his friend was standing there, alive. With the gas seeping through his damaged mask, Leon could only just make out the shape of her rifle trained on Reed.

“It’s him,” you told her, moving quickly. Your hands worked quickly, undoing the clasps before you practically ripped his helmet and mask off.

And sure enough, though Leon had to strain to see it, was the face he’d thought of when he let anger and loss sink into his heart.

⧫⧫⧫

The face you’d pictured, because you needed someone to direct your anger towards. Someone to blame. Someone to stand in for all the faceless monsters who’d taken everything from you.

This was the face of the man you wanted to hurt more than anything else in the world.

And you had him at last.

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#leon kennedy x reader #leon s kennedy #leon kennedy #resident evil x reader #resident evil 2 #resident evil 4 #resident evil #between the bones #gender neutral reader #leon kennedy x you #no y/n

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covid-safer-hotties · 7 months ago

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Also preserved in our archive

By Stephanie Soucheray, MA

Two new studies add to the growing body of literature on the lasting effects of long COVID. In the first, a study of 114 patients with long COVID in Israel, researchers found high rates of depressive disorders (46%), generalized anxiety disorders (21%), sleep disturbances (76%), and reported cognitive changes (95%) among those diagnosed with the condition.

In a second study, Centers for Disease Control and Prevention (CDC) researchers find that the prevalence of long COVID-19 in the US population in 2021 was 29.9%, and 77.2% of those with long COVID had not returned to pre-COVID health within 8 to 60 weeks after infection.

The first study, published in BMC Infectious Diseases, was an online survey given to long COVID patients composed of several established questionnaires, including the Generalized Anxiety Disorder (GAD-7) for psychological distress, the Subjective Cognitive Decline (SCD) questionnaire for cognitive decline, and the Pittsburgh Sleep Quality Index (PSQI) for sleep disorders.

The participants had an average age of 44 years, and 29 were men (25.4%) and 85 were women (74.6%).

The high rates of sleep disturbances and cognitive changes, including brain fog and memory loss, were the most significant findings. Social support negatively correlated with psychological distress, with those who reported more social isolation during their long COVID illness having worse mental health outcomes.

“Personality traits and social support were found to modulate symptom severity, with conscientiousness and social support appearing to confer protective effects, while neuroticism was associated with greater risk,” the authors said. “These findings highlight the potential for psychological interventions to alleviate distress in Long COVID patients.”

More than 75% of patients did not return to health The second study, published in Clinical Infectious Diseases, used data collected in 2021 to assess long COVID prevalence. Notably, the authors found 30% of those infected with COVID-19 in the pre-Delta period (March to December 2020) developed long COVID, or post-COVID Condition (PCC).

Among those, 3 out of every 4 patients did not return to prior health within 60 weeks of initial infection.

Certain symptom clusters were associated with not returning to pre-COVID health, including respiratory problems, gastrointestinal symptoms, and chronic fatigue syndrome-like symptoms.

“Understanding PCC symptom clustering may provide insight into pathophysiology, severity of PCC, and management for patients who have not returned to their usual state of health after SARS-CoV-2 infection,” the authors concluded.

Study links: bmcinfectdis.biomedcentral.com/articles/10.1186/s12879-024-10308-0 academic.oup.com/cid/advance-article-abstract/doi/10.1093/cid/ciae632/7929829

#mask up #public health #wear a mask #wear a respirator #pandemic #covid #still coviding #covid 19 #coronavirus #sars cov 2 #long covid #covid is airborne #covid conscious #covid is not over

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the-catch-center · 2 months ago

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SPATIOTEMPORAL CATCH CENTER (SCC) DOSSIER: INTERCEPTION REPORT 77-Ω4-Δ13

SUBJECT FILE: Temporal Deviant Class-IX (Unauthorized Identity Ascension & Market Path Manipulation) INTERCEPT ID: TD-922-5x | CODE NAME: “Cicada Orchid” APPREHENSION STATUS: Successful Temporal Arrest, Mid-Jump Interception REASSIGNMENT PHASE: Stage 3 Conversion Complete — FULL IDENTITY LOCK DATE OF INTERCEPTION: March 2nd, 2025 (Gregorian), during Transition Protocol Execution to 2076 FORCED TEMPORAL REINTEGRATION DATE: June 17th, 1956

I. ORIGINAL IDENTITY – [PRIME SELF]

Full Name (Original, Earth-2025 Reality): Landon Creed Marlowe Chronological Age at Apprehension: 29 years Nationality: Neo-Continental (Post-Treaty North America) Biological Condition: Augmented Homo Sapiens – Class 2 Physical Stats at Intercept:

Height: 6’4”

Weight: 243 lbs

Body Fat: 2.1%

Neural Rewiring Index: 87%

Emotional Dampening Threshold: Fully Suppressed

Verbal Influence Score: 97/100 (Simulated Charisma Layer active)

Psychological Profile: Landon Marlowe was a prototype of hypercapitalist self-creation. Having abandoned all conventional morality by age 17, he immersed himself in data markets, psycho-linguistic mimicry, and somatic enhancement routines. A hybrid of postmodern narcissism and cybernetic ambition, he believed history should be rewritten not through war, but through wealth recursion—self-generating economic monopolies that spanned both physical and meta-market layers. By 2025, Marlowe had begun the Vaultframe Project: a forbidden consciousness routing protocol allowing a subject to leap across timelines and self-modify to fit ideal environmental conditions.

He had already initiated Stage 1 of the Phase Ascension:

Target Year: 2076 Final Form Name: Cael Axiom Dominion

II. TARGET FORM – [PROHIBITED FUTURE IDENTITY]

Designated Name: Cael Axiom Dominion Temporal Anchor Year: 2076–2120 (Planned) Occupation/Status: Centralized Financial Apex Authority (Unofficial title: “God of the Grid”) Intended Specifications:

Height: 6’8”

Skin: Synthetic/Epidermech Weave (Reflective, Gleaming Finish)

Mind: Hybridized Neuro-Organic Substrate, 3-layered Consciousness Stack

Vision: Perfect (Microscopic + Ultraviolet Layer)

Muscle: Fully Synthetic Carbon-Tension Architecture

Voice: Dynamically Modeled for Maximum Compliance Induction

Personality: Pure calculated utility — no empathy, full response modulation

Psychological Construction: Modeled on a fusion of 21st-century crypto barons, colonial magnates, and AI-governance ethic loopholes. His projected behavior matrix would’ve allowed him to overwrite traditional economic cycles, insert himself into every transaction on the New Continental Grid, and displace global markets into dependence loops. He would have achieved Immortality via Economic Indispensability by 2085.

[OPERATOR'S NOTE – TECHNICIAN LYDIA VOLSTROM, FILE LEAD]

"He thought he was the evolutionary end of capital. We've seen dozens like him — grim-faced tech prophets dreaming of godhood, all forged in the same factory-line delusion that intelligence and optimization should rewrite morality. His 'Cael Dominion' persona was practically masturbatory — gleaming muscle, perfect diction, deathless control. The problem with arrogance across time is that we always arrive faster. We waited at his jumpgate exit vector like hounds in a vineyard. Now he will die quietly, shelving dusty books in wool slacks while children giggle at his shoes."

III. REWRITTEN FORM – [REASSIGNED TIMELINE IDENTITY]

Permanent Designation (1956 Reality): Harlan Joseph Whittemore Date of Birth (Backwritten): March 19th, 1885 Current Age: 71 years (Biological and Perceived) Location: Greystone Hollow, Indiana – Population 812 Occupation: Head Librarian, Greystone Municipal Library Known As: “Old Mr. Whittemore” / “Library Santa” / “Harlan the Historian”

Biological Recomposition Report:

Height: 6’2” (slightly stooped)

Weight: 224 lbs

Body Type: Large-framed, soft-muscled, slightly arthritic

Beard: Full, white, flowing to chest length — maintained with gentle cedar oil

Hair: Long, silver-white, brushed back, unkempt at the sides

Skin: Tanned, deeply lined, blotched by sun exposure and age

Eyebrows: Dense, low, expressive

Feet: Size 28EE – institutionally branded biometrics for deviant tracking

Shoes: Custom brown orthotic leather shoes with stretch bulging

Hands: Broad, aged, veined, arthritic knuckles

Glasses: Oversized horn-rimmed, 1950s prescription style

Wardrobe:

High-waisted wool trousers (charcoal gray)

Thick brown suspenders

Faded plaid flannel shirt, tucked in neatly

Scuffed leather shoes (notable bulge around toes due to foot size)

IV. MENTAL & SOCIETAL RE-IMPRINT

Primary Personality Traits (Post-Warp):

Kind-hearted, emotionally patient

Gentle-voiced, soft-spoken, slightly slow in speech

Deeply enjoys classical literature, gardening, and children’s laughter

Feels “he’s always been this way”

Occasionally hums jazz under his breath while shelving books

Writes slow, thoughtful letters to estranged family (fabricated)

Routine:

Opens library at 8AM sharp

Catalogues local donations

Reads to children every Wednesday

Tends a small rose garden behind the building

Engages in local history discussions with town elders

Walks home slowly with a leather satchel and a cane

[OPERATOR’S NOTE – FIELD ADJUSTER INGRID PAZE]

"Watching Marlowe become Harlan was like watching a lion remember it's a housecat. I’ve never seen a posture break so beautifully. He twitched at first — his back still tried to square itself like the predator he was. But the warp wore him down. The spine bent. The voice thickened. By the time his hands were fumbling the spines of leather-bound encyclopedias, he was gone. I almost felt bad when the first child ran up and said, ‘Santa?’ He smiled. Like it made sense. Like it was the right name."

V. DEATH RECORD

Date of Death: October 21, 1961 Cause: Heart failure while trimming rose bushes behind Greystone Library

He was buried in a town he never technically existed in, beside a wife who never lived. His obituary described him as “a man of kindness, wisdom, and humility — who asked for nothing and gave more than most ever know.” No one will remember that he once sought to become Cael Axiom Dominion.

[FINAL NOTE – SENIOR INTERCEPTOR V. CALDER]

"Marlowe played the long game, but his crime was arrogance. You can stack capital, sculpt the body, and forge a god’s name — but time always wins. He wanted to be immortal. Now he’ll live only in the margins of children’s drawings, mistaken for Santa, fading like a dog-eared library card. Perfect."

#male transformation #ai generated #ai art #caught and reintegrated successfully

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kiss-me-muchoo · 2 years ago

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𝐇𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐛𝐢𝐫𝐝 || 𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎’𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲_you’ve been lost for a day, and Miguel is worried. And it’s all because you’re not a science girl, thankfully your boyfriend is there to help you with your biochemistry class. 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬_age gap not specified (I’m 19, I can’t help it), idiot lovers, implied sex, fluff, Miguel best bf, civilian! shy! Insecure! reader, implied Mexican reader. 𝐀/𝐍_this is based on my favorite song of the movie, hummingbird. Listen to my playlist tho <3

♪ ♫ My Miguel O’Hara playlist. ✰ Index (+ fics here)

Hi, I might be busy, but leave a message. Love u…. *beep*

Miguel smiled, thinking the love u you had as a voicemail was only for him.

But soon he grew irritated. You hadn’t answered your phone for the whole day. You hadn’t even touched the device he had created for you to contact him through his gizmo.

“Why the sad face? Is it because your girl hasn’t answered?” Lyla asked appearing beside him. Miguel only eyed her.

“No.”

“Mmh… Even civilians have busy lives. Just because they aren’t spiders doesn't mean they don’t have responsibilities” the AI said trying to do a wise tone.

“I know, Lyla.” Huffed Miguel, clearly annoyed.

“Well. Then don’t worry, boss. Your girl is okay” You were smart, and Miguel knew you were fine. It only was strange, because you always answered.

“Oh, Peter and Gwen asked permission to come and see you” Once again, he rolled his eyes. Miguel could already hear a silly comment coming from Peter and Gwen cheering him.

“Tell them to be quick”

“On it, boss” With that Lyla disappeared.

Miguel could not wait to leave the HQ and call it a day.

…

By the time the sun was about to start fading, Miguel was able to finish a mission and report and leave everything ready for the next week. The HQ was okay and all the anomalies were safely contained.

He knew it would be easier to find you with his suit.

Most of the people in Nueva York lived in apartments, futuristic and minimalistic ones. Miguel lived in one of those. Until he met you.

Not so long ago, when an anomaly was causing chaos, he saved your life. An angry venom was about to devour you when he appeared.

He thought you were a kid. But later he learned it was your first year of college just when he was finishing his Ph.D...

Long short story, both fell in love at the very beginning of summer, but he waited.

He waited until turned twenty to be your boyfriend. Because your mother disapproved of him.

Your house was in a decent neighborhood. The street had these rectangular houses that were built upside down with long crystal windows and terraces as rooftops.

But you weren’t there.

Your window was open, but no signs of you.

“Damn it, where are you, y/n?” He mumbled, hanging from his bright web in your window.

Huffing, he activated his mask again and started balancing across the city.

He even thought about calling your father. As the man seemed to tolerate Miguel; offering beers and exchanging tastes in music at every gathering. But your boyfriend knew he didn’t have to worry.

Although Miguel didn’t possess a spider-sense, he knew you were not in danger.

And he almost missed to see your tiny silhouette.

He stopped on the balcony of an apartment complex.

The smell of coffee invades the whole avenue.

Your seating, alone. There’s a cup beside your laptop and a book is splayed. You seem very concentrated. Miguel thinks your furrowed brows and hand under your chin are cute.

Peace floods him after finding you.

Relief assaulted him when you started collecting your belongings. You thank the waitress and you leave, putting on your earphones, and carrying your big tote.

So he smirks.

You are humming one of your favorite songs, and finally, you finished all the modules of all your classes.

You can’t wait to go back home and call Miguel. You had missed him so much and-

“What the hell?” You yell as you are pulled towards an alley.

Miguel is there. Suit on, imposing height coming closer to you.

You cross your arms over the red shiny web around your waist.

“Oh look… You don’t own me from Lesley Gore started playing” you say with sarcasm, showing him your phone.

“You didn’t answer any of my calls” Deep down, you knew he was worried. And it made you feel guilty.

“I know, I’m sorry. I’ve been busy with school” Suddenly, Miguel remembered you had started a new college semester. And everything made sense.

“Tough course in specific?” He asked, his mask disappearing to your eyes, meeting his gorgeous face.

“Uh—, actually… yes”

“Why you doubted?” You blushed. And more embarrassed you felt.

“I was struggling and I didn’t want to ask for help. Especially to you” Miguel was confused. His web let you go, but he came closer to you. The way he was so tall and broad made you feel like a rag doll, always having to look all the way up to him.

“And why is that?”…”

“Silly me completely forgot the biology of drugs was biochemistry in disguise” Miguel laughed. He actually laughed and to that point, you were red like a beetroot.

“You’re so stubborn, muñeca” The music had stopped at that point. Putting your phone inside your bag was a good idea to avoid his deep gaze.

“What? I don’t want you to know how much of an idiot I am. I’m not a science girl and you know that…” Miguel stopped smiling.

You had said in the past that you were ashamed. Because you weren’t special like him. You were just a normal girl living a boring life. While he was Spider-Man, he was the leader of a whole group of people like him. He had a job besides that. Miguel was successful, and you were soon to become something. Yet, you were lost.

“We’ve talked about this, y/n. I’m not with you for pity or something. I just happened to fall in love with the most sweet and caring woman I met in the middle of chaos” he had mentioned his late daughter. The mother wasn’t in the picture. Miguel never knew who was his partner in that universe.

And yeah, on Earth-929, he had seen this woman named Dana, but it didn’t last. He never felt in love.

“I know, Miguel. I know that very well, bebé” You pull him closer to you, and immediately your lips welcome him. He closes his eyes and completely leans towards you.

After missing you the whole day, he melts in your lips, savoring each second his skin is on yours. Allowing himself to feel happy.

“I would still look like a bimbo if you ever tried to help me” he laughed, a long laugh, before venturing again into your soft lips.

“Then I’d look like a himbo if you introduced me to arts and literature” both of you giggle, hugging in the middle of a dirty alley.

“Your parents are out?”

“Yeah. They went to visit my abuelita for the weekend. She’ll come next week so I declined the trip to stay and learn about enzymes” Your man nodded.

“I’ll take you home. And I’ll stay with you these days” The news made you really happy. Miguel had stayed with you before. But most of the time it was just a single night. You barely visited his apartment.

“Wait till my parents find out” As you giggle, he rolls his eyes.

“We can keep it a secret”

“Oh, so romantic of you” Miguel feels like a puppy when you start smooching his cheeks. He said he would never grow a beard because he didn’t like it. You had said loved him however he decided to look, but honestly, you really loved his clear face.

“Just for you, mi vida” When you met him, he was this grumpy giant who hated physical contact. Now, he was still a grumpy giant but loved physical contact, just yours of course.

“Wanna go watch the sunset?” He asks holding your waist. You nod, you would never say no.

“Hold tight” his strong arm envelopes your hips, and you hug him so tightly. And the pressure of being lifted appears suddenly, startling you.

As Miguel starts balancing across the city, he notices your head buried in his neck, which makes him smile under the mask.

“This isn’t new, muñeca. You are missing the view” Slowly, you open your eyes, but you don’t dare to move your head, the wind obstructing your view, but across your stubborn hairs, you can see Nueva York.

The lights of the cars, every single highway, the sounds of news on big screens. But the most beautiful view is Miguel and you and his arms. Every skyscraper is a mirror for you and your boyfriend. You can see how small you look compared to him.

As you start approaching your neighborhood, you have to close your eyes again.

You can feel how hard he loves you by the way he holds you as if his life depends on it.

“I don’t like the way my stomach churns every time we do this” you admit on his ear.

“Good to know we are already here, bebé” Pink, purple, orange, and yellow make your eyes collapse as you encounter the most beautiful sunset you’ve ever seen.

Miguel lets you go. He lets you walk across the rooftop and appreciates you for some seconds.

“It’s beautiful…” you almost whisper, referring to the sky.

“It is…” but he means it about you.

You were his miracle. A safe miracle that came in the most unexpected moment.

“It’s a fruit punch sunset…” You’re worried because you hear Miguel laughing again, which is weird. You turn around to encounter him smiling at you.

“Really? A fruit punch?” You’re blushing again.

“Okay… It’s a summer sunset” he knows you’re annoyed. Because he laughed earlier and now again.

“I’m sorry, mi chiquita. It’s a fruit punch sunset” he admits hugging you from behind.

His soft hair brushes your temple, and his hands around your stomach make you put yours on top of him.

“I love so much” he whispers.

“I love you too, Miguel” Everything was all too well with you. And he intended to keep it that way.

…

Again, that little scrunch you tended to do once you were stressed or highly concentrated.

“Okay… so enzymes are?…”

“Proteins.” You answer shyly.

“Correct”

“And where does the substrate bind with the enzyme?” He is testing you, and you don’t like it. But it’s for your own good.

“The activate site?”

“Good girl” You send him a bad look and he just chuckles.

“See? You’re not dumb, mi amor. You’re very smart” You bump your head with his shoulder.

Both of you are in the kitchen, on the table actually. All of your books are displayed with notes and pens.

“I really want to be done with requisites” Miguel sighed.

“I had to take three English courses when I was in college, y/n. And believe me, I wasn’t the most brilliant. My essays used to have red marks all over” you giggle.

“I don’t think so, you’re a genius”

“Just because I developed this thing with Lyla doesn’t mean I am a genius,” he said pointing at the gizmo in his wrist.

“Oh, Lyla. I miss her” you admit.

It had been a couple of weeks since you visited the HQ for the last time.

“I can take you next week. Actually, I’m strongly thinking that I might need help with the reports” proving that you were very smart, Miguel remembered the system you developed for the spiders to accommodate the reports filled after an anomaly attack.

“Oh stop it, Jessica said it would be fine”

“Jess had actually stated that having you would be very helpful” It surprised you.

“Really?”

“Yeah. A lot of people like having you around the HQ. Peter’s kid especially”

“Mayday?” Miguel nodded. Remembering how fussy the baby got after hearing your voice in a voicemail you had sent to your boyfriend.

“She’s a newborn, Miguel”

“So? She’s like two months old. She already knows you” you shrug. Remember the time you met Peter and how he told you his wife and he wanted to have a kid. A couple of weeks later he broke the news and you had crocheted the baby’s first plushie. A pink little spider girl.

“I love Mayday but don’t use her to make me your assistant” Miguel kissed your nose.

“Why would I do that, mi vida?”

“Because you’re a cheeky asshole” breaking a record, Miguel was laughing again.

“Ay, corazón. No seas así”

“I’ll think about working more time at the HQ. Qué tal?” He nods.

“That would make me very happy”

“Nah, you just want to have me around like your rag doll” Miguel smirked, so you gently punched his chest.

“I’m not in the mood to keep learning about DNA, enzymes, and monosaccharides” you admit rolling your eyes and pushing your head back in the chair.

“Well, I’m in the mood to teach you anatomy now” Your eyes widen, and you start giggling.

“Fine. But not on the couch. Last weekend Mom was this close to finding my ripped panties under the pillows” Miguel couldn’t help but laugh at your index and thumb almost brushing.

“Don’t worry. I won’t throw away your panties. But for sure I’ll rip them apart”

“See? Cheeky asshole”

“I’m just being honest” You would never get tired of how serious Miguel sounded every time. Even when he was saying nasty things. It was in his nature to be sassy.

“Yeah, yeah. Now take me to bed and do what you’re good at” Carrying you in his arms, he hurried to take you to bed.

He gently placed you over the sheets. And before anything, he made sure to show how much he loved you. By kissing your lips like he always used to.

“Miguel?” You ask suddenly.

“Yes, preciosa?”

“I think I forgot everything about steroids… Oh no,” you want to face-palm yourself.

“It’s okay. I’ll make you remember everything, muñeca” As his kisses traveled through your jaw and neck, you relaxed. Finally, let the heat flow across your body.

“First thing, steroids help growth energy, metabolism, and reproduction, bonita” reproduction, naughty ideas start to cross your mind.

Like the morning your parents left to get some things for a gathering, and he had you sweating and crying under him on your floor carpet. But beyond that, you only have eyes for your Miguel. The only thing you seem to need in life.

Your strong and beautiful geneticist boyfriend.

You are unsure of how you ended up by his side. Dating the infamous Spider-Man, visiting the HQ of the Spider Society, and dealing with everything all together.

And he held you tightly the whole night.

Even when things would change in less than a year. With new piers joining, Miguel growing obsessed with keeping in harmony the spider-verse, grieving his past. And how he would traumatize a teenager in hopes of saving everything. Miguel would see you dying thanks to the spot, and the only way of preventing that was making you a spider too. The changes after that would be big. Even with all of that, both of you thought the same; you were in the correct pair of arms, and hopefully, you’d stay long. If not, forevermore.

____________

special mentions_ @freehentai

#miguel o'hara x reader #miguel o’hara imagine #atsv miguel #miguel o'hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara x y/n #spider man: across the spider verse #accross the spiderverse #spiderman atsv #atsv x reader #peter b parker x reader

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13tinysocks · 2 months ago

Text

My Dead Girlfriend

Days pass. Patience grows thin. Deathbed talk begins. You pull the last straw and are taken somewhere new.

[Invincible Varients X Reader]

[Part one] [Ao3] [11] [13] [Chapter Index]

12 * Two Inches? [9.2k]

"Nice, nice!

Are you a virgin?

Nice, nice!

What color are your panties?"

Nice Nice - Dazey and the Scouts

"We need to tell everybody." He couldn't look away from that massive white thing. Hard-shelled with soft, crabby flesh underneath. His mouth watered just looking at its twitching mandibles.

From behind him, "No."

Baldie turned, brows pressed together. "Why not?"

Phantom watched him, feet away, keeping eyes and ears out for approaching company. No one was coming.

"(Y/n) likes you." He says instead of answering directly. "If you ask her to come with you alone, she will."

Baldie's mouth fell open. Now he was starting to get it. "But... You just said all that stuff about not splitting up."

"Because I had to." Phantom said, modulator softly echoing off the cave walls, "To keep the peace until we could talk. This is the safest way to do it."

"We can't just keep this from every-"

"You saw what those two did to her." Phantom cut him off, surprising even himself, "How easily they took her from you. I had to get her out of that situation. We only survived because they decided they were done playing. Do you really want her to be around people like that?" His throat itched. Vocal cords thin and raw after ten seconds of jabbering.

"Then we tell everyone but them." Baldie reasoned, though the voice in the back of his mind agreed. To take the hoard that was you and run.

"If we're all together, they'll find us. It has to be just us." Phantom finishes, cards splayed across the table, hoping Baldie would fold.

Baldie's mouth opened, closed, opened, closed. He knew he should do the right thing. Refuse. Tell everybody. Band together, kill Lensless and Scars with everybody else. Establish peace. Live with and eat bugs forever. Find friendship and understanding in the only person who could really understand what he went through- the other versions of himself.

But he just couldn't.

He'd waited four years in hell only to find your bones. Watched you be civil to the others, Viltrumite loyalists and enforcers and leaders. It made him sick, the idea of you with them. Any of them but him. Phantom must feel that way too.

He was no fool. Alternate motives were guaranteed in a situation as suspicious as this. "How long have you known about this place?" Was double-speak for, 'Did you find this before or after we ate a guy?'

"Not long." Phantom lies, "Three days."

Baldie nods shallow before spinning, neck cracking like a whip. "You're only telling me this now because, what? You think I'm stupid? You think I'm easy to kill?"

Phantom backed up, hands raised defensively. "No." He says, shaking his head, voice small, hunched over, feigning doe-ishness.

"What's stopping you from killing me when I bring her here?" Baldie's prowling closer now, fists clenching, "What's stopping you from just taking her yourself? Why are you telling me this?" Veins pop out on his scarred neck, pulse throbbing in his clenched fists. He's still angry about you letting Lensless and Scars go. He doesn't want, he needs to hit something hard as he can.

"Because you can make her happy." Phantom says, "And I can't." That makes Baldie pause. "I wish she liked me the way she likes you, but I know it won't happen. I'm okay with that. I just want her safe." It's a lie but a well-told one.

Baldie relaxes but not fully. "If you ever fucking try to touch her, I will kill you." He only says it because you're not here to hear him say it, because he couldn't say it to the ones that hurt you. Then and now. He had dreaded coming home from prison and you being scared of him, his appearance and the scars that festered underneath. But the you now wasn't scared, you were starting to cherish him. He was afraid now, of fucking it up a second time.

"Understood," Phantom said because this is exactly what he wanted.

"I-" Baldie took a breath, squared his shoulders, "I also need some time to figure this out. This," the bug queen, the cathedral, the never ending cache of food, "is a lot." But most of all, he needed to figure out how to tell you.

***

Your phone was gone. Off the rock you'd left it on to play music and die on. You'd asked around unhurriedly. Not like it'd be any help but the comfort of something not from this shithole was alluring. Something to hold and know you had existed before this and would hopefully exist after. But nobody knows where it went. Though Lensless (when you saw him next) claimed he took it and tried to get you to force him to tell the truth. You didn't even try.

Gray was dodgy, not about the phone, but about you. He couldn't seem to hold conversation with you for more than two seconds at a time before flying off somewhere with something better to do. He'd always been that way, but he'd been shorter with his words and was staring at you a whole lot more. Despite this, he wasn't a suspect. You doubted he'd want anything to do with your phone, even if it was working.

You were rotting and they all saw it. You couldn't explore long. The torches you'd been making out of soaked, then slightly dried wood and cloth never last longer than a half hour. You couldn't go to the surface, ceiling too high to even consider scaling out of. Not like any of them would let you anyway, not with Scars and Lensless roaming the wastes during the day. Hiding out somewhere hidden so those who wanted them dead couldn't even kill them in the daylight. Or maybe they were hiding, waiting to pick them off one by one. No one knew what they were planning.

Scars and Lensless always came at night because they'd yet to find another source of food. The peace was paper thin. They ate and didn't attack or kidnap you. Your horde of bodyguards let them stay in the shade for a few hours. We don't hurt you and we get to eat. Not exactly an even exchange.

Personal agendas were always thick in the air now. It was only a matter of days until the food was gone. They could go without awhile, but as soon as you began to starve, there'd be another death and another. Everyone was planning to be the last one standing, to die in the desert with you. The truce wouldn't last much longer but for tonight, nobody mentioned it.

Gray marked day twenty on the wall. He kept count for the sake of rationing. Meager scraps of what hadn't rotted remained. Only you would eat tonight, the small hard pieces of Emperor jerky that always got caught in your teeth a reminder.

Hopelessness isn't in the air, it's already sunken in, become a part of each of you. People were starting to think about dying or finding a way to make this all work long term. But without food? It would not.

The deathbed talk started lightly, a reprieve from their thoughts and the empty expanse around them.

"I could really go for mom's chicken parm." Maskless says, watching you nibble on small pieces of Emperor meat.

Tracksuit's mask fluttered when he laughed, "Your mom cooked?"

"Yours didn't?"

So began talk of Debbie Grayson. Another universal constant, but she was dynamic through the multiverse. Tracksuit talked about a distant figure he never liked much. Maskless implied kind acceptance, the love some of them yearned for. She stood up to Nolan and died for it. Mohawk laughed in his face. Bragged about how he came to your world partly to kill her himself again.

"Did you?" Omni asked, sounding suspiciously interested. Like he'd had a similar idea.

"Nah." Mohawk kicked at the ground. "Wasn't home. Any of you dicks find 'er?"

Nobody had.

Lensless claimed a weak, once loving mother who stepped aside when the Viltrum Empire came to Earth. Struck by grief at the death of her husband at her child's hand. They lived together through the change Viltrum brought to Earth. What was left of it after the slaughter Lensless brought down. She was a ghost. Wasting away as the world was rebuilt into a utopia. The last time he saw her, she was hanging in her closet. He said this lightly, with the same smile he always wore.

Scars grinned at the story, told them that Debbie Grayson's body would never be found in his world. Left it at that. No one wanted to know.

Gray was confused by all of this. The death. The alien versions of his, "Mother raised me on Viltrum." Turned heads. "She likes it there."

Baldie stirred, agitated by the idea. Mom was good, she was just. She was taken from Earth just like he was. Brought to Viltrum, not in a cell, but still imprisoned. Dad gave him updates in between beat-downs on his cell floor. She had stopped talking, stopped eating, had to be put on life support to stay alive. Nolan refused to pull the plug. He kept his wife unwillingly alive as a self-inflicted vegetable. Baldie wished he could've escaped another way. Seen mom one last time, taken her off that horrid life support and let her rest in peace.

But he kept his mouth shut. He felt if he opened his mouth at all, the cave secret would come spilling out. He hadn't figured out how to tell you. Where to tell you. When. How you'd react.

Phantom hadn't spoken at all since he'd talked with Baldie those days ago. Something about Mom and Viltrum made him spark, contempt thick in his voice. "As breeding stock?"

Gray turned to him, "That's not what I said."

"Dad said that's all humans were good for," Phantom said.

***

"Is she with child?" The Viltrumite doctor asked as they all stepped into the sterile room. White on white on white. Technically, only Mark needed to be in attendance for his physical. There had been plenty of appointments since he was the first human-Viltrumite hybrid and the Empire desperately wanted to know how he was developing. But his parents came, they always came because they cared. Humanity's customs had rubbed a dent into Nolan's character. The other Viltrumites didn't approve but he still conquered planets, if not more effectively than before- excited to return to his family.

"No." Debbie said firm. "We've already told you, we're not-"

"You brought the human woman to breed did you not?" The doctor looked square at Nolan. Debbie was beneath him.

"I feel it's better to focus on Mark until he develops his powers." Nolan said as Mark climbed onto the table for a full body scan. He was seven, small for a Viltrumite boy his age but Debbie was sure he'd hit a growth spurt soon.

The doctor watched numbers flash on a screen. Mark's vitals, muscle and bone density. Hardly different from a full blooded Viltrumite. "He will soon, Nolan. It would be prudent to begin procreation immediately."

"I said no." Debbie snapped.

The Viltrumite doesn't turn to address her. "You should consider your mission on Earth a great success, Nolan. We were unsure of human-Viltrumite compatibility before, but by the time he's developed his powers- he'll be strong as a full-blood. The Empire thanks you for this knowledge."

"Uh, yeah sure." Nolan internally wilted at his wife's hard stare. "But you don't need me to have more children do you? There's so many Viltrumites and humans to do that for me."

The doctor's hands balled to fists. "You know?"

It's a secret Mark isn't privy to. Debbie isn't privy to. Nolan knows. There are only fifty full-blooded Viltrumites left in the galaxy. Their bloodline thinning in other mixed races. The Empire is weak, desperate. Mark the greatest success yet.

"Yes," Nolan said.

"Then you know what you must do."

***

"There are other humans to do it for him." He says, the parallel is like a hammer to head. The population of Viltrum had thinned further since then, but there were still others to carry the mission. He could just... No. No, he couldn't defect like that, it wasn't like mother. The Empire wouldn't even allow you to be considered if you couldn't procreate. Even if he wanted to, he was stuck in the desert. No way of returning to his Empire. Still, he looks to you and finds a cringe he feels the need to reset. "The parents of our hybrid children are not forced into what they do. It is bad for the child's physical health if some human practices are not done during pregnancy and early development." Only in hybrids. Viltrumite babies weren't so needy. Remembering himself, a tiny, keening and a desperate thing, made him embarrassed to not be full blooded.

Your expression only worsens. You did not like that. He is confused, what he said was very humane. He left out the part that humans were selected by health and fertility, that many did not meet their qualifications. Some did not wish to serve the empire, so they would be killed until another was found. Rinse, repeat. After awhile, all participants are willing.

"Wait." Tracksuit's accent cut the tension. "You were on Viltrum from day one, yeah?"

"I was born there." Gray said, proud. It was like a badge among the lesser versions of him.

Tracksuit's fingers snapped. "That makes so much sense!" Gray doesn't ask, so Tracksuit continues, "You know, why you're taller than the rest of us!"

Looks were shared. "He's not-" Then. "Wait- Hey! Stop hovering for a second!"

Gray, who perpetually seemed to hover above the ground except for when he slept, did as requested. Gasps rang through the cave. Marks stood beside him. Hands going from the top of their heads to the middle of Gray's chin. All of them were the same height, except for Gray. Two, maybe three inches taller than the rest.

There was outrage from some. Gray did not care. Height did not matter on Viltrum, through he suspected his difference was due to a different level of gravity throughout his lifetime. Odd, yes, but he can only focus on you and your faraway expression. What were you thinking about? Were you not impressed with his height? Didn't Earth women like taller mates?

He is so focused on you he nearly doesn't catch Phantom's quiet words.

"She'd rather die than live on Viltrum." The whole time he'd been simmering, building up the strength in his throat.

Gray looked to him. Saw past his modulator and mask, and knew he was a hurt, aching, little boy on the inside. One he could've been, had he not been raised to be strong on Viltrum. Gray pities him, but feels no compassion. A bleeding heart was just that, a bleeding heart. Weak, soon to die.

"Your mother is dead, yes?" He says more than asks. It's a guess, an educated one. The human-raised among his ilk were too transparent with their feelings.

Phantom jerks as if struck, voice a growl like what he says will hurt him. "Dad killed her."

Weakness. "If she resisted, then it had to be done. She was not strong enough for The Empire or your father. My mother was, and she still serves The Empire." He says as if his mother didn't only have one child. As if he didn't cherish growing up surrounded by his parents love and attention. She had not done everything she should have for The Empire and he still loved her, his father loved her. He too was weak, but unlike Phantom, would not show it.

Phantom bristled under the mask. Tense. Ready to strike. But he looks at you. Remembers what's at stake. Forces himself to relax.

Mohawk's cackle hurts his ears, "Maaaaan! You can't be sayin' that shit to this dude!" His thumb jerked toward Phantom, "Dude looks like a school shooter!"

Phantom took the abuse on the chin. He'd take all he needed to because soon enough, he'd show them all.

***

Scars and Lensless touched down, made their gross, sexual commentary. Toed the line. Maskless built the fire, Gray marked day twenty-two.

You eat beside Tracksuit. Friendship an undercurrent you keep hidden at these fireside. The others would be weird, territorial. Scars and Lensless might fucking kill him. You hoped they didn't hear you pour your heart out to him about Mark. Knowing your luck? They probably had.

Another night of tension. Conversational scraps. No one had found anything in the caves or the desert. Until.

"Alright, I'm bored." Mohawk shot a pointed finger your way. "I gotta know, how was he in bed?"

You almost drop your jerky. "Excuse me?"

"You heard me. How was fuckin' Daddy's little clone?"

You'd been avoiding the topic for days. Avoiding Omni for days. He had his own cot now, had for days, but he pushed it right up next to yours. Sleeping next to one another, ignoring his chatter, trying to get him to sleep on his cot and not roll onto yours in the night. All you cared about was if he would kill you or not. Since he wasn't trying, you didn't need to talk to him. Still, he tried. Over and over to catch you out alone and you continued to dodge. Using your powers to get someone else to be around. He was smart and knew the others shouldn't know. Liked keeping a secret between you both, until he didn't.

"I told you twelve times already, we didn't have sex." Your lies sting him. The first time you denied it, he didn't mind. It was survival. But now? You sounded grossed out by the idea of him inside you. As if your body hadn't been begging for more. As if he hasn't tasted you on his fingers.

"Sure you didn't." Mohawk snickers. "Yelling at him for that long?"

"Dude," Tracksuit swallows a wad of meat, "I'd tell you if she was fuckin' some guy. It's like, bro code man."

Mohawk snorted, "I'm just sayin', if we were alone for that long? You would not be yelling at me." His brows do a stupid jig on his forehead. You want to throw your jerky at him but you needed it. You'd used your reserves for the day on shutting Scars and Lensless up for an extended period. They seemed to come to the fireside just for your control. Work it out until your nose bled or you passed out, then leave into the night.

"If we were alone that long, I'd kill you." You say.

He bit his pierced lip in a grin. "I'd like to see you try."

"Say that stupid shit again and I will."

Omni had had enough. The secret was doing no good for your relationship. He said loud and clear for the whole desert to hear, "Is it so bad that I made love to my wife?"

Your jerky finally drops out your hand as you stood. "You-"

Mohawk slapped his knee. "Knew it! I knew it!"

"We didn't!" You glare at him, trying to stop him with your eyes.

Omni levels you with a too-serious glare. "We did and it was beautiful."

"No!" You hands go to your head. You do not have the energy to deal with this.

Mohawk clutched his chest, laughing so hard he may vomit. "Him! Him first?! Ain't no way!"

Your control on Lensless and Scars snapped. Lensless shot up, arm raised, "Me next! Me! Pick me!" While Scars watched you with a small, knowing smile. He'd already known. Guessed or heard somehow. You could never tell with this freak.

"Oh God." Tracksuit ran a hand under his mask.

"Wait." Mohawk stopped. "What about bro code? Were you in that pussy too!?"

"No." Omni said at the same time as you.

The unity made Mohawk stop laughing. Taking stock of the situation, the way you stood in front of him, trying to mask your anger in a way you wouldn't if he was lying. If he was lying you'd make him jump into the fire, but you just looked anxious now, barely contained.

"You actually fucked her." It's not a question. Omni didn't joke. "I should cut your dick off." Mohawk wanted to say little but considering they were the same person? Definitely not little.

"You will not." Omni says, smile cocky enough to make them all bristle, "But I didn't need it."

Mohawk's hands go to the shaved sides of his head. "Fucking-!" He'd done plenty of that in his day, especially since your death to fill the void. If anyone knew about meaningless sex it was him but you fucked him, another version of him, and not him him. It was a total betrayal, a slap in the face, a Coalition of Planets data pad under the mattress.

Nothing seemed more healing to him then being buried in your pussy. Negging you was flirting for him. He was just trying to get in your pants, then your heart. He'd thought the teasing would bring you closer together. He'd had a plan but now all he wanted to do was kick Omni's ass for existing.

He stood. Omni stayed seated. "Do you really plan to attack me, Little Man?" Mohawk doesn't see but feels his eyes flick up and down. It was obvious who the scrawniest was out of all of them, Mohawk himself. Nothing to sneeze at in terms of physique but compared to Omni's brick wall body? He stood no fucking chance.

But he knew his physique didn't matter, that he was more durable, better than all of them combined. And he wouldn't take such a insult in front of you.

"Yea-"

"Take a breather." You say. Mohawk shoots hard into the night. You hold control long as you can.

"I appreciate the assist, my love but l-"

You hold up a hand shutting him up. "I'm not your love or your wife. That was the whole fucking point of what we did." You turn to the rest, the official news hitting them all at once. "And if any of you assholes have a problem, I'll send you out until you can act like adults. Jesus Christ."

Gray felt strangely disappointed. You couldn't help the repopulation effort but you'd still had sex just to have sex. Why? He never understood why his parents did what they did. Never got to lay his version of you down himself. Baldie tells himself you're only human. Needed to let off steam, but he angsts anyway. Lensless and Scars look to each other. Seeming to physically brew up punishing ideas. Maskless didn't care. Tracksuit hoped Mohawk wouldn't come back and murder him over an assumption.

Phantom sat content. Upset, yes, but content knowing this information would push Baldie further to his side. All evidence of Omni's mark on you could be erased anyway- once Baldie was out of the picture. If everything went his way no one else would touch you ever again.

***

You sat on the ground in total quiet. Alone for the first time in forever in the central cave. You couldn't remember who was on babysitting duty or where they'd gone. You continued knitting garbage together on your bare arms. Everyone had a cot now, but you wanted a blanket that wasn't Omni's cape after that shit he pulled last night. You'd slept against a carved bench by the fire while he tried to call you to bed. You ignored him until the only sounds you could hear were the fire and your teeth chattering.

You were exhausted and your whole body ached, and every time you fucked up the technique, you swore. It'd been getting harder to keep your emotions in check. You were always partly starving, bored, afraid for your life. You were fraying at the edges and didn't know how much more you could take.

"Hi."

You nearly jumped out of your skin. Falling forward, scraping your elbows on the cave floor, garbage fabric falling to useless shreds on the ground. You twisted, ready to bark out a kill order.

Phantom stood. Hand poised like he was going to touch your shoulder but thought better of it.

"What?" You gathered your limbs under yourself, trying to look more composed.

He notices you're slow to do so. You were not as afraid of him as the others. Unsure, reasonably so, but not enraged by his closeness. This was a good sign.

He reached into his belt. You'd never seen him turn out his pockets, had no idea what was inside. Mind racing that he was going to pull out a weapon, superhero murder gas or something of the like. Instead, he holds a small flat disc. No larger than the center of his palm.

"For you." He held his hand out, palm open, waiting for you to take it.

You ogle the thing with a frown. "It's not going to cuff around my wrists right?" You remembered the thing he'd thrown at you in Sydney. What you guessed it was but it was never confirmed to be. Remember what Scars had brought with him to subdue you. You suppress a shiver.

"No." He says, smile soft in his voice. "I used this when I knew I didn't have the time to follow a suspect." His thumb pressed on the disc's center and out popped a suction cup. Another press and it was smooth once more. "I did a lot more work for the GDA than the others."

He assumes anyway. Those lazy, immoral rats didn't care about the planet most of them grew up on. Not like Phantom did. He did everything he could to protect it. He still remembers what Dad said to him that horrible day. A sneer as he said "his hobby was cute," right after leveling their family home, after killing you. Just remembering spiked his heart rate.

He forced himself to breathe. Be level, calm. He held his arm out a little further but didn't dare touch you. Careful not to set you off, the poor, scared little mouse that you were.

"Or," he started, nervous under your attention, "to keep covert operatives safe." He flipped the disc on its side, slid a hidden track down to reveal a slim red button. "Press this and I'll be alerted. I'll come right away." He slid the hidden compartment shut and waited.

He wanted to keep an eye on you. Keep you in the palm of his creepy hand. He wanted to...

You were always in the same place. Always under threat of Scars and Lensless suddenly swooping down and snatching you up. This wasn't about stalking, it was about protecting. After all, he had saved your life from them, and your own stupid mistake.

You took the thing, slow, like you were scared if you moved too quick his predator instinct would spring and he'd grab your arm. But he holds himself perfectly still. Feeling the euphoric thrill that is your fingers grazing over his palm through kevlar. When your touch leaves, the sensation lingers.

You turn the thing over and over in your palm. Testing the weight and muttering, "Where was this a few days ago?" Before sliding into the pocket of your soldier pants. Its weight is near imperceptible but you feel it tugging at your hip. A real, solid comfort. A promise.

You realize you're being an asshole.

"Thank you." You say. Hoping he doesn't take it and his promise of protection back. Machine Head was always so quick to take privileges like that away. You worried but a lightning speed pick-pocketing doesn't occur. You relax. "For this and the other day. Those guys are uhm..." You look up through the porthole as if they'd be there waiting. They aren't. You don't want to jinx it. "It's good to have someone like you on my side."

He nods. All talked out for the day. Chest ablaze with the praise.

"It's good to have someone like you on my side."

He picked up your trash and re-knit it before you could think about doing it.

"It's good to have someone like you on my side."

He brought Gray's cache of trash to weave closer. Sat by your side and passed you pieces as you went along. Quietly enjoying your company.

"It's good to have someone like you on my side."

***

Dinner tonight was a broth of Emperor's bones to be sipped out of cups of dry clay Gray baked in the sun. He only made bowls for those two because if he didn't, they'd have an excuse to drink from yours. It was not that he cared for your comfort, why should he if you couldn't help him complete his mission but... There was no mission in this wasteland. He tells himself he's trying to keep the peace, to do the most rational thing in a hopeless situation. You were needed for morale, the others and not his of course.

You tilted the bowl to your lips and let the poor excuse for hot soup slide down your throat. Scars watched your throat bob. Wanting nothing more than to drink the liquid out of your mouth after a long day of desert dwelling with Seven. He settles for drinking his own share.

Scars is watched himself. Nobody trusts him not to try and take you to the sky again. Maybe even take you away for good. He hadn't made his move yet, but it was expected soon. For tonight, he did the same thing he had for the last week.

"Stop avoiding the question, Dregs." Piss you off on purpose, asking personal questions and making assumptions about your previous life. You didn't understand why he did it. You always shut him up and he was too pussy to attack even with Lensless in a room full of your personal bodyguards. Sometimes you thought he was getting off on bothering you, on not letting you have any sense of peace. But he barely fought back, letting you shut him up and bite back.

"Be quiet." And he was. Thank God.

Your nose hadn't started to bleed yet. Your powers should be weaker from eating less and less these last few days but you were on a roll tonight.

"Why are you getting so defensive?" Lensless baited. "We've been plenty vulnerable with you about our lives. Why can't you do the same thing for us? Just tell us who came up with the name!"

"Leave."

The cave whooshes with a rush of air. The kindling scattered to the floor. Regathered by Omni before they can burn themselves out. You nod thanks. The cave was insulated from desert night chills but it was no camping trip, you needed the fire.

You feel your control on Scars start to slip. "Stay quiet." You close your eyes. Feeling power loosen on Lensless, even at a miles distance. By now, his mind is free but his body is not. You focus. Try to keep them both evenly controlled. You'd never had a workout quite like this. Regular human beings were so easy to control you were unused to challenge. Hadn't even had any resistance from non-psychics until that day on the roof. You wouldn't say it but the exercise was welcome but you almost started looking forward to making fools of them over the nightly bonfires- showing them all you had something they couldn't control. You.

While you were focused, Mohawk hits you where it hurts. "By all means, leave those dickheads in the dark but why not tell the rest of us? We're buddies by now, yeah babe?" He knows your hold would break if you added another Mark to the roster. You can shut those assholes up, but not him.

"None of your business." You grit out through ground teeth. Feeling Lensless's mind wriggle in your hold. You clamp the mental prongs down.

He really shouldn't agitate you but you'd been avoiding him for days now. He just needed you to look at him again after that moment of union in the caves. "I think it is," Omni says.

Mohawks brows shoot up in surprise but he takes the advantage, willing to work with anyone if it meant getting under your skin. "See, babe? Everyone wants to know, even this shithead."

You scowl at Omni, concentration waning. Scars mentally slashing at your power with steely claws.

"Shut up."

"Think of it like a campfire story, ya'know. You can even change the names around if ya want." You don't budge. Mohawk pouts, "Come oooonnn, I showed you mine, you show me yours isn't that how the sayin' goes?"

"I said," your eyes snap open, control gone from the others, "shut up."

It's Mohawk's turn to go quiet. Lensless returned to the fire in a snap that again, scatters the wood. The fire is restacked before you notice a change in light.

"Idiot." You tsk at a finally shut up Mohawk.

"Did I miss anything?" Lensless asked.

"Just our dear Dregs getting defensive over the tiniest of questions." Scars said.

"I'm not defensive." You say, defensively.

"Then tell us." Mohawk goaded. Your hold already gone with your concentration.

"Yeah, I wanna know why you're so hot and evil and stuff." Lensless said.

You scowled. None of them were stopping this line of questioning. Why the hell was Mohawk working with Scars, who he tried to kill last week, to get information out of you? Why the hell weren't Phantom or Gray stopping this?

On the flip side, Phantom wanted to know. He knew you'd be upset if he asked. But the cool-headed image of him in your head wouldn't crack if he stayed quiet. When you stopped being angry you'd think it was survival move to stay quiet. Not speak against the majority.

Gray shouldn't let the tensions rise, he knew, but you were so vexing. All he needed to do was let the others crack your brain open for him.

Baldie tried to stop it, weakly. "She doesn't want to talk." Said as a mutter because he craved knowing all of you, but knew if he said nothing, you'd be pissed.

"Stop white-knighting, dude, she's not gonna fuck you." Mohawk said and that shut him up. Fighting all of them was a stupid idea. But leaving in a huff, leaving you alone, was a stupider idea. The best thing he could do was sit by your side as silent moral support. Back your play.

"I'm not fucking any of you." You say.

Mohawk scoffed. "You fucked Wonder Boy over there."

You lean forward, elbows to knees, "Yeah, and not you." That made his smirk crumple.

He forced it to bounce back. "Not yet."

"Mmm, no." You say, a lilt in your voice, "Thing is, I just don't think you're all that attractive." It's a lie but one you try to sell. Happy to bruise an ego. "I never thought the Mark in my timeline was either. With him," you jerk your head toward Omni, "I just needed stress relief and we were in the dark, so who really cares?"

Mohawk's lips purse like he'd sucked a lemon. "Funny you say that." He shifted, pulling something out of his back pocket.

Your phone. Caligula's belly flashing on the lock screen, fully charged.

"Give me that." You don't want to waste what power you have left, not yet. "How is that even working?"

"No shot." His shit-eating grin returns, "You could'a been explorin' the caves all this time, playing your stupid music-" Your eyes shift around, wondering who told. "We got crazy tech in these suits, babe. I had Art put a phone charger in mine cuz I kept missing your calls while I was workin' and you'd get pissed!" He slid the phone into a seam on his bicep, surly enough the charging sound dinged. He pulled it out. "-But you didn't think to ask cuz you're such a prissy bitch."

"You want to call me that again?" It's a dare.

One he doesn't take because he has the upper hand. "So I started goin' through ya phone." He flips it to himself and unlocks it with a swipe of the thumb. "Can't believe your passcode's the same." He laughs, tapping at the screen.

"Oh no, you beat my Tetris Lite high score." You say, because there's nothing incriminating on your phone. Aside from vague text chats with Machine Head and Isotope. "What's your point?"

"I'm so glad you asked." A few more taps and he where he wanted to be. An old photo album automatically downloaded to your phone from the cloud. You never looked at it, never cared to. Images carried over from your old phone before Machine Head issued you a new one, decked out with all sorts of encryption tech for secure messaging and calls. You didn't need pictures of your old work schedule or study notes from high school. But you never found the time or energy to delete them.

He flipped the phone over, stretched out his arm and panned the image around the circle. Letting everybody take in the truth. You, five years ago, kissing Mark's cheek, him grinning stupid at the screen. Your third or fourth date, the best so far. It had been your lock screen for months.

"Still think I'm unattractive?" Mohawk smirked.

Caught red handed. Your words catch in your throat. All of them processing what you had been to Mark. Even in the vaguest terms. Their hopeful puppy dog eyes. The memory of being happy and younger.

Mohawk started swiping through the pictures. One after another, in the short moments after the first. A cheek kiss to a lip kiss, the both of you blushing and smiling. "Doesn't this bring back memories, babe?"

Phantom feels his heart melt. He'd taken those same photos with you. Lensless had too, though with a lot more tongue. Baldie had too, but he'd been too shy to go in for a kiss on the lips. Omni was never one for selfies, thought they were a waste of time. But that didn't stop him from collecting photos, asking friends or strangers to snap some when you were out. He remembers you making fun of him for how serious he always took it. Mohawk had plenty pictures of you on his phone that he hadn't brought along. Mostly of your eyes looking up at him pleadingly, lips stretched over his cock, tears messy on red cheeks. He was deeply disappointed not to find anything similar on your phone. Scars didn't know you young, but liked where this was going. The look on your face, the rage, the humiliation- oh so sweet.

Gray did not have any photos of you. Photos for fun weren't a thing on Viltrum. Tracksuit had plenty of nudes on his phone, mostly of himself. Now, he was glad he hadn't brought his phone. A little glad he was witnessing true reality TV trash in real time but still, he felt bad for you but- come on, drama like this doesn't come around every day. Maskless watched on less enthused. Here we go, more het-slop drama. Fantastic.

"Give me that," you warn low, "give me that right now." You're saving your power now. Strategizing how to hurt him best in one big burst.

"Or what? You'll tell me to shut up?" He swipes through another photo. Mark's back to the camera, your head over his shoulder, locked in a hug. "Man," he whistles through his teeth, "you've got a lot of these. Wanna know the best part?" He asks the others, not you. "These are years old and she still has 'em-"

"I meant to delete them!" You can't help the outburst.

"And I went through 'em all, we stop showing up right around..." He stopped at your last photo of Mark. "Here. 'Bout five years ago," according to the photo app metadata. Mark sat across from the camera at a fancy dinner table. He was late to his own reservation, leaving you embarrassed and feeling like an inconsiderate dickhead. But when he came with roses in hand and you forgave him right away. You'd never been on a date like that again because not long after- you were through.

"Shit," Lensless took the phone, Mohawk let him have it, "We rock a suit, huh?"

Scars leaned over his shoulder. Frankly disgusted by how sweet his own face could look. "Rocked her right after this picture was taken I wager."

"No!" You should kill them all. Like, actually. You couldn't do them all at once though, you were deciding who to hurt.

"Why haven't you taken any pictures with him in that long, huh?" Mohawk went on. "Trouble in paradise, babe? You know, you'd never have any with me." Bullshit.

Omni took the phone out of Lensless's hand. Swiped through the photos himself. You looked so sweet, so happy, and alive. Nothing like you did now, with your dead-tired eyes and permanent scowl. He knew what happened to you in vague terms, the jail sentence and the subsequent assassin position. He jumped to the conclusion that this dimensions version of him was a stupid fuck up who didn't put a ring on it, and couldn't protect you from the world. He'd given up on you like a fool. But it was lucky for him, he supposed. He knew for sure now, despite your denials of his love, you could and would love him back. One day.

"We were friends." You lie back, "He was just affectionate-"

"Friends?" Mohawk cackles, "Yeah, cuz I tongue-fuck all my homies. Really, babe? I thought you'd come up with something better than that. What? Are you embarrassed?" Clearly, you were. "Cuz you kept alllll these pictures after he broke up with you?" It's a guess but dead on.

The quiet rage is confirmation enough.

There is a collective internal glow of pride in everyone. You were in love with him at some point. Some part of you kept the evidence. You could love him back, the collective thought. Save for Tracksuit and Maskless, who were both thinking this was a little much. Who both felt bad for you. Who both knew they'd rip Mohawk's skin off if they were in your shoes, but make no move to do so.

Mohawk didn't know when to stop, slinking forward to get in your face. "Aww, baby... Are you still in love with him? That's so stupid and sad."

"Punch yourself in the balls. Hard as you can."

You feel a rush of air and he's on the floor, writhing, clutching his family jewels, tears pricking the edges of his eyes before you can process your nose starting to bleed. You wobble on your feet, avoiding Baldie's balancing touch. You turn to Omni with Gray hovering behind him. Feeling things he couldn't truly explain.

You say, "Crush it." Before you consider that you'd need the flashlight.

Glass and metal splinter to the ground. Omni opened his hand, impressed you controlled him like that, but he doesn't think it'll happen again. Blood is coming out your nose in thick drops now. You wipe them away with the back of your hand. Head starting to throb as you walk slow, purposeful back to Mohawk. Still groaning.

You kneel. Everyone falling away but the two of you. Him in sweet, glorious pain, and you high off his agony. "You wanna know who gave me that name so bad?" His face is to the ground, trying to hide how much it hurts like the tough guy he is. You grab his hair in your fist, pulling his head up easily because despite everything, he'd always melt in to your touch. "You did."

They want answers so bad- they'll get 'em.

"My boss Machine Head, that robo-dick I murdered- he took it and ran with it because it upset me. You said I was the dregs of society- something stupid like that- and left me to rot. He thought it was so funny Dregs, his de facto murder-torture guy, isn't that nice? I was his favorite, you know? Machine Head always had these fucked up requests and I'd do it because I didn't care. I knew he wouldn't check, not because he trusted me, but because he knew I had nothing else. One guy, I made him skin himself alive with a potato peeler. Got pretty far before his body shut down. Another, I made him choose who to shoot first, his wife or his mistress- they both died, yeah, but man, him turning on his wife like that? Crazy." You didn't mean to ramble but you were. You were just so pent-up and angry, that a reminder of your Mark, the life you could've had, had you unwinding yard by yard. It was easy letting their flawed logic win for once, and it felt damn good. They had hurt you.

"I could've been something. When I met Cecil, he wanted me to work for him. Mark could've made that happen, but he let me fuck around New York murdering people for some drug-running robot dickhead." Mohawk's eyes began to clear of pain. Were rapt on you and your anger and how transparently awful you were. "I loved him so much, and now-" He's looking at you like he loves you and you hate it; say the nastiest thing you can think of, "If I ever get back, I'm killing his family, starting with that dumb bitch Eve. So no, you stupid motherfucker, I'm never going to love you and I'm never letting you fuck me."

You stand, emboldened by the silence. "Any more questions?" You only look at Mohawk. Curled, clutching his balls, but slowly, purposefully smiling at you.

"I think that about covers it." He says, voice weedy.

"Can you do me next?" Lensless asked.

You were sapped of power. Couldn't if you wanted to. You also shouldn't, he'd cum but still, he'd hurt and you wanted them all to hurt. You say nothing, gather up a premade torch. Held it out to Tracksuit to light with friction- much quicker than the fire that didn't much like damp-ish cloth. He does, no questions asked. He'd also want to take a hike after all that.

You picked a cave and started. Not before saying, "Fuck you all."

Then you were off. You don't let yourself stop and cry until you were triple sure you were out of hearing range. Even then, you go further, further, until your torch burnt down to the quick and singed your hand. You drop it, clasping the skin, crumbling to the ground as the first angry tears sprang forth.

You hated them. You wanted them to die but you needed them to survive. Why couldn't they just be normal? Couldn't they understand you were a different person? And now they knew your dirty secret. Sure to hold it over your neck like a guillotine.

You'd scream but they'd hear. Come running. Come mocking. So you sob as quietly as you can into your hands.

"I'm sorry he did that to you." He says.

You jump. Grab the smoldering remains of the torch off the ground and throw it at the voice, despite how it burns your hand. "Go away!"

The torch bounced off Baldie's chest, fell to the ground, all light dead on impact.

"I know you're upset but..." He knows Phantom is near. Lurking. Can hear his mostly disguised breathing. He'd left after you when the bickering fizzled and Lensless and Scars left out of boredom. Phantom followed because he knew- Baldie had made up his mind.

"Upset? I'm not upset!" You forcefully rub at your cheeks. "This is nothing."

He frowns, though you can't see it. "I have something to show you."

"I don't care." You say. "I don't want to see anything that isn't Mark's dead body. Okay? Just-" You take a wobbly breath, "Fuck off. I can't do this anymore."

The admission almost pulls a sob out of you, and you have to fight to hold it in.

"I know," it's soft, "I know, that's why I need to show you. You don't have to see any of them."

You're fighting to hold in sobs, barely processing what he says, "Please. Just go."

"(Y/n) I-"

"Die." You splutter without power, "Just drop dead or go away. I'm done." Soon as the words come out your hands go to your head. You almost did it again. You didn't want him to die, not really.

The sobs come harder. You're hysterical. Soon to crack and scream and then he wouldn't be alone with you anymore.

He scoops you up in his arms. Apologizing, keeping his grip gentle as possible as he flew deeper into the caves. Back to the hidden entrance he'd visited and re-visited since Phantom told him of its existence. You beat your fists against his chest, his neck, his face, but he couldn't be angry at you. He was angry at them for making you feel so low.

He doesn't speak as he moves the rock, floating inside, and sealing the tomb behind you both. He sees Phantom's silhouette as the rock slid flush to the wall. An agreement passed quietly between them.

You heard movement, unable to place the exact sound. Like Styrofoam peanuts squeaking past one another. But there was no way there'd be Styrofoam peanuts here. You blink, looking around but seeing nothing in the absolute dark. The air felt different here, wetter, smelling of sod and sulfur.

"One sec." He said, floating down to the ground with the least amount of creepy-crawlies. In the times he'd come back, he started the beginnings of a camp. Stole away supplies from Gray's material cache to make your own cots. Picked a spot a few feet up from the bug rivers where you could watch but be in no danger if you decided to hop down and explore.

He clacked two rocks together. Sparks rained as the fire pit he'd built lit. He blew, added more kindling from the pile he'd prepared, nurtured the fire in a matter of milliseconds. The light illuminated the cavern around you, but your eyes could barely process what you were seeing.

You were beside her, yards away. Sat in a high chair at her bug court. The massive white thing that was some mutated sand-mite-termite-whatever-the-fuck queen. She did not notice or care about the fire. Did not mind your sudden presence. Her mandibles twitched as her children flitted in and out of her mouth.

"What the fuck?"

Your brain doesn't even think of food. Water. Too stuck on the giant bug. But you know what it means, these are the first living creatures you'd seen since arriving over three weeks ago.

"We can stay here." He says soft behind you, sure to give plenty of space for you to process. "We have everything we need." You don't reply, jaw dropped open, taking in the sight. The bugs skittering in and out of their dens set into the walls. "You don't have to go back and deal with them ever again."

It's like a dream come true. Too good to be true.

You don't feel yourself speak. "They'll come looking."

"They haven't found this place yet and if we stay quiet, they won't. But I'll be honest, I didn't find this place myself. Someone else did."

You turn, eyes wide, "Who?" God, don't say Scars. Don't say Lensless.

"He wants to tell you himself." He knew it'd matter to you who it was, but Phantom asked him not to tell. He was cagey about why. "But he's helping us. I think tomorrow he'll stage your disappearance and join us. It's nobody bad, I promise."

"I-" You look back to the bugs, undulating below. None of them cared you existed. Minding their own buggy business, not begging you for sex or love or attention. If Baldie brought you here they were likely not venomous. They didn't attack or swarm or even run away. "We'll really be safe here?"

"I'll make sure of it." He said.

Something in you breaks. Resolve or dignity.

Because you lunge at Baldie, tears returning. Stuff your face to his chest, arms going tight around his forearms and middle. The hopelessness that'd become a part of your everyday slowing leaching out in his hold.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you," it's muffled against his chest. His arms wriggle easily out of your hold and drape over your back. He pulls you closer, inhaling your scent, feeling your skin, and is at peace.

"It's alright, I've got you."

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beskarinhyperspace · 1 year ago

Note

Hiya 🥰 if you’re still taking requests could I ask for a one-bed trope, touch starved, Din Djarin 🙏

Say less

___________

Lust in hyperspace.

“Din, my name is Din Djarin. I want you to scream it tonight, can you do that for me sweetheart?”

AO3 | Wattpad // MASTERLIST

*Mature, Explicit, NSFW*

wc.2k / Din Djarin x Fem reader.

Sum; You need transport but first you need to help a Mandalorian out.

Long live the razor crest, One desperate and touch starved Mandalorian, nipple play, fingering, p in v., din djarin is a sweet talker. edging, nicknames, no y/n

___________

You could hear the sound of blasters firing from afar as you rushed inside the ship. Hands on your knees, you were trying to calm down your breathing. Mando followed you behind, quickly closing the trap before moving up a ladder. “Hang tight!” You heard him yell from what you imagined was the cockpit. You looked around scanning the room for something to hold onto and grabbed the edge of a metal table bolted into the floor, feeling the weight of your body being pushed back as it entered Hyperspace.

As the ships stabilized, you removed your small backpack. Seeing the back of the Mandalorian climbing down the ladder, walking towards you. He looked you up and down, tilting his helmet on the side. “Are you hurt?”

You shook your head, “No I’m fine.”

“Good, then I suggest you wash yourself and rest. Today was a long day and tomorrow will be just as so.” He took his gloved index to point you a door at the back of the ship, “That's the bedroom and there’s the washer.” Now showing you another door closer to the where you were standing. “The towels are in the cabinet underneath the sink, I’ll come join you back down in a moment.” Turning back to go climb up the ladder.

You stepped out of the fresher all cleaned up from a well-deserved shower. Wearing a loose shirt and pants that were probably a size or two bigger than you. You looked around, noticing that almost all the lights in the ship were turned off. Maybe Mando went to bed. Maybe he had followed his own advice, you tell yourself as you moved towards the back of the ship. You felt a cold breeze crawling up your legs which made you rush to the door, picturing yourself already getting warmer under the covers.

As the door swooshed open, you saw the Mandalorian lying in bed. Already stripped of his beskar. Only having his clothes and helmet covering his frame. You frowned, noticing how small the room was. It had to be a little bigger than a closet if you were completely honest. You stared back to him more than confused and he chuckled low seeing your reaction, “I’m a solo traveler, there’s only one bedroom on this ship. Don’t worry, it’s only temporary. We should be on coruscant tomorrow evening.” he says, leaning more into the wall behind him as you approached the bed.

“Right, temporary..” you nodded, climbing in bed with him. He pulled the covers onto you, making sure you had enough space before shifting and making himself comfortable. After he turned off the light on a panel on his side, you could still hear his soft breathing coming from the modulator. “Do you always sleep with your helmet on?”

You sensed him tense as he watched you. Taking a moment to reply. “I- never slept with someone else without my helmet.”

“Ever?” you asked curiously.

“Well, no I mean, no one ever slept in my bed..”

“Oh” you reply simply. “Well, we're both going to sleep. I can wake you up if I need to get out of the room. I promise not to look.”

He takes a minute considering your words. He knew you were trustworthy. That's actually what he liked most about you. “You promise?”

“Yes, I promise.” You replied softly. Smiling to yourself as you hear the hiss of his helmet. He sat up, putting it on a shelf at the end of the bed before coming to lay back down at your side.

“Hum, Mando?”

“Mh” he hummed.

“Would you have another blanket by any chance?”

“Are you cold?” Maker his voice was soft. It was the first time you had heard it so clear and crisp without any filter and it was enough to warm you all by itself.

“Hum, just a little.”

“I should've told you that it could get cold in space, especially when traveling in hyperspace.” He shifted closer to you. “Is this better?”

“Uh y-yeah, it's fine.” You let out, swallowing thickly.

He chuckled coming even closer, pressing his chest to you. You could feel his lips brushing against your neck, “And this? Is this, okay?” You nod, breathing heavily as his bare fingertips were moving gently on you.

It didn't take long before to feel his hardness on the back of your thigh as he held you tighter to him. Trailing his lips here and there on your neck and jaw. Being soft and gentle.

“Have you ever kissed someone?”

He shook his head, “no you’re the first woman I’m tasting.” Bringing his fingers up to your chin, turning your head slightly towards him.

He hummed, pushing his plush lips against yours as he cupped the side of your face. You couldn't help but start to grind your ass slowly back on him. Trying to get rid of some tension building up between your legs.

The movement made him grin against your teeth. “You have no idea how long I've been wanting to do this.”

You gasped as you felt his hand grabbing your breast before squeezing it softly. “Show me, Mando.”

He growled low in your ear, “Din, my name is Din Djarin. I want you to scream it tonight, can you do that for me sweetheart?”

Your throat was dry as you tried to swallow. He had barely even touched you and yet you were already out of breath. “Yes”

He moved his hand under your shirt, going straight for your hardened nipples. Toying, pinching them gently but intentionally. “Yes what?”

Your body starts moving on its own as he switched between them. “Yes Din”

He growled even deeper, “good, that's a good girl..”

You could've sworn you felt your pussy clenched at his praises. No one had ever talked to you this way and coming from someone else you might've questioned it, but this was different. This was Din. You couldn't get enough and wanted more. Responding with a soft moan as he brought his lips back onto your neck. Licking everywhere he could taste skin. Lifting your upper body more towards him, he takes off your shirt. He took a moment feeling your breasts in his palms, pressing and massaging them harder as his desire grew.

Coming down to kiss you, he takes your mouth into his. Pushing and swirling his tongue with yours. He looked famished as he moved lower. Kissing your breasts before licking you flat under one of them. You moaned in response, feeling yourself twisting with anticipation. He chuckled softly, “I’m sorry to tease you like this” he says, catching his breath a little. “It's just that, you taste so good and, and I want to taste you everywhere I can. Is that okay with you?”

“Yes, whatever you want, whatever you need.” You managed to answer, and he let out a deep sigh. Bringing his pillowy lips around one your sensitive nipples. Sucking and pulling softly at first. Taking his time to coat every single inch of your tit with his tongue. Leaving behind this wet and cold feeling that just made everything more agonizing. He flicked his tongue over your hardened pebble before going to the other one. Giving it the same treatment as the other. But you truly started to cry when he squeezed them, making it easier for him to devour them together.

You could sense your pussy pulsating with need as you grind yourself on his thigh. “Din..” you moan out.

He stopped for a moment, giving you some time to calm down. As he took your pants halfway down to your knees. Going over your panties, he glides his fingers quite easily over the fabric. “Maker cyare, you're already so wet.” Saying as he spread your slick all over your cunt. He moved slowly, taking his time as he was enjoying your little cries of pleasure coming out in waves.

He shifted, placing himself in between your thighs. Caressing the inside before bringing two of his fingers to your entrance as he pushed against the soaked fabric. Making you moan uncontrollably while he simply laughed. “Oh sweetheart, you should hear yourself. You sound so fucking sexy.”

You moan louder, “please Din..”

He chuckled and swiped his tongue flat over your slippery clit making your body jolt. “Yeah baby?”

You whimpered in response.

“How about this?” He says pushing your panties aside. Licking and twirling his tongue all over your pussy as if he was trying to clean you up from your own slick. “Mm, does that feel good?”

“Yes, maker yes.” You panted faster, “please I want more.”

How could he refuse you when you were begging him this way? The truth was that he would give you the world if only you asked but he figured that for tonight, this was better. “Anything you want.” he replied. Pulling both your pants and panties down before placing his hardness in between your legs as he came lower to kiss you.

He held your face, deepening the kiss before taking his cock with his other hand. Gliding just the tip in between your folds, poking softly at your entrance. He started to grunt as he felt your wetness quickly coating him. He didn't know how long he could last before he started to lose it. You were whining as he pushed in and out slowly, not yet fully going in.

As you were starting to be impatient you decided to push against it. Slowly sinking on it. “Fuuuck..” you heard him growling. “Maker cyare, go slow.”

You smiled through the darkness of his room. “Now you're the one making requests?”

He chuckled once more, “I’m sensitive. It's been a very long time and you're just, urgh so fucking hot.”

“What's going on Mando? Already about to cum?” You teased playfully.

But he didn't seem to have liked it as he forcefully slammed his hips into yours, now fully having you around him. You gasped at the sudden intrusion. “Such a brat, I told you to call me by my name.” slamming himself into you once more. “You give me no choice.” He says pumping himself in and out more and more intensely. You couldn't hold it much longer as he grabbed your hips, lifting them up slightly as he went feral. And you begin to lose it. Whining and crying from the pleasure over taking you. “Yeah?” He says between thrusts, “wanna cum baby?”

“Yeah” you managed to say almost out of breath. “Please Din, I wanna cum.”

He came rushing to your mouth, grunting his way to his end. Taking both of your ass cheek in his hands. Thrusting as fast as he could while making you reach your peak. “That's it sweetheart, cum, cum for me baby” his words worked like magic. Making your pussy pulse in an instant as you the both of you to came one after the other.

He lets himself leak inside you as he lets his head fall to your chest. Trying to catch your breath.

As the pulsing stops, he came back up to kiss you. You could feel his chest beating hard against yours. His hair wet and sweaty brushing against your forehead. You cupped his face in your palms as you swiped your thumbs over his cheeks and then his eyes, his nose and his lips, who were kissing your fingers as you did so.

“What color are your eyes?” You asked softly.

And he came down to kiss your jaw shyly, he replies, “brown”.

“I bet they're beautiful.” you almost whispered, feeling his mustache tickling the tip of your fingers.

He continued to kiss your lips, “not as much as yours.” Shifting his body to your side as he wrapped his arm, holding you by the hip. “Maker I swear, you're perfect.” He let out planting a kiss behind your ear as he squeezed you against him.

#mandalorian fanfic #mandalorian x you #mandalorian x reader #din djarin x female reader #mando x you #mando fluff #mando smut #din djarin smut

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snitchcrimsonwrites · 3 months ago

Text

Drawn Together-Chapter 7

Pairing: Tech x Jedi! Reader

The Bad Batch are on the run after the events on Pantora when they run into a mysterious stranger who offers them assistance. Who is this stranger, and how come it seems like they know, Echo? The story will roughly follow the events of the series.

Your first official mission with Clone Force 99 doesn't exactly go as planned, but don't worry, Tech has it covered.

Chapter 8

The hum of hyperspace resonates within the Marauder as you leave the safety of the desert moon far behind. This morning, you and the Batch took down your camp and set the hyperspace intervals for the lengthy journey to Ord Mantell to get intel from Echo’s source. After takeoff, each of you settled into the ship, and right now, that meant Omega was seated cross-legged on the edge of a seat beside Tech and Echo, her small frame nearly overshadowed by the pilot’s chair as she turned an old comlink over in her hands.

“I have my own comm device!?!” Her voice filled with disbelief and excitement. She gazes at it, worried it might vanish if she blinks. Her reaction causing Echo to raise an eyebrow, clearly amused.

Tech doesn’t look up from the console before him, his fingers moving swiftly as he calibrates the ship’s stabilization buffer. “Technically, it was Crosshair’s, but he doesn’t appear to need it,” he clarifies.

Omega’s eyes widen, and before anyone can stop her, she presses the side button on the device. “Echo, what’s your position?” she giggles, trying unsuccessfully to maintain some composure.

The action causes her voice to echo through the comm channels on the Batch’s other devices. Echo pinches the bridge of his nose, exhaling, while Tech sighs, a sound of practiced exasperation. “It’s not a toy, Omega,” he scolds.

Still smiling and exceptionally pleased with herself, Omega hops down, muttering something about getting prepped for the mission and skips down the corridor with Echo trailing behind, disappearing past the makeshift quarters. You step aside, greeting them as they pass. Once gone, you enter the cockpit and move quietly to Tech’s side. He mentioned needing to see you after taking off today.

“You’re late. According to your usual rhythm, you meditate twenty-seven minutes earlier,” Tech announces without turning around, sensing your presence with almost Jedi-like accuracy.

“A rare moment of unpredictability. You’ll survive,” you reply with a smirk.

At that, he glances over his shoulder, his lips twitching in what could potentially be interpreted as a smile, at least from Tech's perspective, and moves to the far side of the console to retrieve something.

“I took the liberty of assembling this for you.”

You narrowed your eyes, confused by what he could possibly have for you.

He crosses back to you, holding out a small square electronic device. You take it gently, index finger tapping on the screen. The interface of a worn data pad flickers to life at your touch. “It’s a modified datapad. I’ve applied a few linguistic reference suites, ancient dialect indexes, and some of the Jedi Archives’ salvaged language protocols I could track down. The ones I could decrypt, of course… Mostly.” He stops, waiting to gauge your reaction.

“This is... incredible. You didn’t have to do this.” You look up, meeting his gaze, surprised anyone would take the time to do this for you. For once, Tech doesn’t retreat; he stands there, watching you closely, carefully. Then, after a pause, he moves just behind your shoulder, stepping close enough that you can feel the warmth of his presence. He’s eager to show you more. He leans in, close but not touching, hands nearly brushing.

After a beat, he continues, “I also included custom encryption modules. If you like, I can teach you how to use them. I expected you’d like to protect your entries.” He hovers a hand above the interface, waiting for permission. “May I?”

You nod wordlessly and hand the datapad back to him. He steps in, the minimal distance between you nearly vanishing. He adjusts his goggles before his hands move across the screen with fluid precision, fully engaged in outlining the encryption tiers for you. Tech’s voice takes on a more animated tone as he continues.

“The core is based on a modular code I've been working on. The reference suite indexes evolve based on usage trends, so the more you work with it, the more intuitive it becomes. It’s… well, not exactly self-aware, but perceptive. I’m hoping the pattern recognition will become tied to your preferences. For example, you favor Tal’reesh glyph structures, so I front-loaded their contextual cues based on what you showed me.”

You glance up at him again, only half following now, but entirely absorbed in how he speaks. His brow is furrowed in concentration, his voice steady but tinged with excitement. He doesn’t notice how close he’s gotten, or if he does, he doesn’t mind.

“And here,” he continues, shifting the screen slightly so you can see better, “I replicated a few of the older archive filters. Cross-referencing is simplified. It’ll keep rare symbols logged for faster comparison. Oh, and I routed the power through a more efficient capacitor so you won’t need to recharge it for a while.”

You’re not sure when he stopped speaking purely to inform and started talking with pride, but it's clear this wasn’t thrown together; it was built, piece by piece, with thought and care. He pauses mid-sentence when he hears the subtle shift in your breath. You’re staring at him now, not the datapad.

“Why did you do all this?” you ask quietly, voice tinged with wonder.

Tech blinks, thrown. His fingers stop moving. His eyes lifted to meet yours. “I… it seemed obvious,” he says, brow furrowing again in confusion. “You enjoy this kind of work. You’re good at it. I saw an opportunity to facilitate your process more efficiently. Naturally, I would help.”

He sounds genuinely perplexed that you’d even need to ask. You laugh, but it’s soft and disbelieving. “No one’s ever... done something like this for me before.”

Tech tilts his head, “Something like what?” Still not comprehending.

“This,” you say, gesturing vaguely at the device, at him, at all of it.

Tech is quiet momentarily, goggles catching the light as his brow lowers again, “You make it sound… unusual.”

“It is,” you reply, too quickly. “People don’t usually notice what I need unless I ask. And even then… not always. But you just did it. You saw me.”

Tech seems to process that slowly; then, very softly, he says, “I see you all the time.”

That freezes you more than anything else. Your breath catches.

“I don’t mean—” he stammers slightly, as if realizing the weight of his own words. “I only meant… you’re not difficult to see. When someone is worth paying attention to, noticing becomes second-nature.”

You meet his gaze. “Thank you, that means a lot to me." Tech exhales, relaxing his shoulders as if your words touched a part of him he didn't recognize was tense.

—----------------------

A few hours later, the Marauder cuts through a thick urban smog, its dark form disappearing beneath the scattered skyline of Ord Mantell City. The ship’s engines cut, descending steadily before the hull touches the launchpad with a soft thud. As the cargo ramp hisses open, the familiar clanking of boots on metal fills the air as the Batch steps out, weapons secured but still vigilant, their eyes scanning the environment, always ready. You trail behind them, your blaster holstered at your hip, replacing the lightsaber safely tucked away in your pack. You tightly pull your short cloak around your shoulders, hoping it will offer some measure of anonymity, though you know blending in here will be a challenge.

The streets of Ord Mantell City twist into a labyrinth of narrow alleys, bustling with vendors selling everything from refurbished droid components to sizzling street food. The air is dense with the odors of exhaust, grease, and the constant buzz of urban life, reminding you of some fo the seedier areas of Coruscant. As you walk the throngs of outcasts, a mix of aliens, outlaws, and scavengers, scarcely notice the clones. A few nod or mutter at them, but most focus on their own affairs. You momentarily unwind, merging into the chaotic yet familiar environment.

Echo leads the group through narrow streets and shadowy alleys. He suddenly halts, lifting a hand to signal the others. “This way,” he whispers, gesturing toward a hidden cantina nestled between two dilapidated buildings.

Tech looks up at the dingy structure, scanning it critically. “Charming,” he remarks dryly, his voice thick with skepticism.

Inside the cantina, dim light flickers over patrons hunched over their drinks at scattered tables. The air smells of stale alcohol, mingling with the sharp, pungent scent of cheap smokes. Behind the bar counter, a green Trandoshan bartender wipes down a mug, her yellow eyes flicking over the newcomers with an air of disinterest.

Hunter leans toward Echo, his voice low so as not to alert the patrons.“Which one of them is Cid?”

“I couldn’t tell ya,” he adds with a shrug, glancing at Tech. “I’ve only heard about Cid—never actually met ‘em.”

Tech’s expression darkens, his eyes narrowing behind his goggles. “You’re just now sharing that?”

“You didn’t ask,” Echo replies, voice dry.

“Considering this was our only plan,” Tech mutters, “I find the timing… inefficient.”

Hunter steps forward, his tone calm but firm as he approaches the bar. “We’re looking for Cid. You know him?”

The Trandoshan bartender looks up from her work, her yellow eyes narrowing as she appraises Hunter. She gives a low, dismissive hiss. “Doesn’t ring a bell. You’re in the wrong place. So, unless you’re prepared to spend some credits, scram,” she snaps, jerking her head toward the door. “I don't run a tourist lounge.”

Hunter steps back, exchanging a look with the squad. This wasn’t going to be as easy as they thought. The team huddles near the door, silently discussing their next move, while you remain still, your eyes flicking between the Trandoshan and the clones. There’s something about her demeanor that sets you on edge.

As the clones deliberate, you spot Omega, her small form moving toward the bartender with a determined step. You fall into step behind Omega, your senses alert. You don’t trust that bartender’s reaction, and with Omega moving closer, you’re determined to keep a close watch. If trouble brews, you’ll be there, and as you do, the Batch’s conversation fades into the background.

“Great plan, Echo.”

Echo sighs, “I’m certain this is Cid’s place. The Jedi came here during the war.”

“Well, perhaps Cid heard about what happened to the Jedi and decided to leave.”

“What’s your deal, tiny? You and your friend need something?”

The Trandoshan’s tone is sharper now, though there’s a strange hint of amusement as her gaze flicks between you and Omega. “You’re Cid,” Omega states, no hesitation in her words.

Cid’s yellow eyes glint with surprise, but she doesn’t flinch. “You two are sharper than your friends over there.” She gestures toward the back of the cantina with a flick of her head. “Alright, come on. Follow me.”

“I found Cid,” Omega announces the news over her communication device, causing you to laugh out loud. She’s more perceptive than her brothers give her credit for.

The clones exchange surprised glances but fall into line, heading into the back of the cantina, where Cid ushers them into a dimly lit private room. It’s small and cramped and smells faintly of must and smoke permeating from the main room. As they all settle in, Hunter wastes no time detailing the reason for their visit.

“We encountered another woman on Pantora. Do you know who she is?” Showing off the visuals they had.

Cid scoffs, crossing her arms as she leans against a wall. “No, but I know a bounty hunter when I see one.”

Hunter’s brow furrows. “Can you find out who hired her?”

Cid’s yellow eyes flick over the room, her lips curling into a slight smirk. “That depends on what you boys do for me.”

The clones exchange uncertain looks, but Hunter remains steady, his gaze unwavering. “What kind of job?”

“Aw, look at those faces. You boys really are new to this mercenary thing.”

“Mercenary?”

“Not too quick, are you?” The room goes quiet for a beat, the tension simmering. She then jerks a thumb toward you and Omega. “I’m guessing these two are the brains of your little operation.”

“There’s a nice bounty on a kid named Muchi. Zygerrian slavers snatched ‘em up last week. They’re holed up on the far side of the planet, running a camp out of some ruined settlement. You bring me the kid, and I’ll get you your intel.”

—---------------------

The sky above Ord Mantell radiates shades of orange and grey as the sun dips behind the rugged cliffs, stretching long shadows across the landscape. Hunter guides the team toward the weathered remains of an old transport nearby, providing much-needed cover in the empty landscape. Ahead lies the fortified slaver camp, its outline illuminated by the flickering lights of sentries patrolling the edge.

Hunter signals the group to stop and crouches, scanning the area. Tech joins him, adjusting his electrobinoculars. “I have a visual,” he says quietly. “One child inside. I count two dozen sentries, scattered. Multiple entry points, but minor fortifications—nothing we can’t handle.”

“Simple smash and grab, like that time on Kuat.” Wrecker grins slightly at the memory of that mission, but the grin quickly fades as the seriousness of this one takes over.

“Echo, you’ve got eyes in the sky. Keep watch for any movement,” Hunter orders, his voice steady. Echo gives a sharp nod with his scomp hand and begins scaling the nearby ruins.

"Wrecker," Hunter continues, voice gruff, "draw the Zygerrian forces out. Tech, y/n, and I will grab the kid."

You position yourself a bit away from the group, gazing at the landscape ahead. Your instincts are heightened, attuned to the faint changes in the atmosphere, as you reach for your hip and draw your weapon in readiness, as your fingers close around the trigger of the DC-17 you borrowed, you long for your lightsaber instead.

Echo’s voice buzzes over the comms, “Two speeders circling the perimeter. The south side looks weakest, but patrols are tight. Movement east. Possible reinforcements.”

Without warning, the ground trembles with a low rumble, and a colossal serpentine beast emerges from overhead, hissing menacingly as it lunges, snapping its jaws at the group. Already primed, you react first, firing shots at the beast, only a handful of which connect, angering the creature further.

The remaining clones spring into action, weapons readied, but before they can shoot, the trap activates. A net of crackling electric wires falls from above, ensnaring the group in its potent charge. You and the clones are thrown to the ground as the electromagnetic restraints clamp shut around your wrists, binding them in place.

As the guards clamp down the restraints, you feel their stares. You suddenly realize why they’re staring, and not because they’ve learned your secret. They’re looking at you like a prized possession, with your features catching their attention in a way that makes your skin crawl.

“Look at her,” one of the Zygerrian guards sneers, placing a hand under your chin and lifting it to get a better look at your face as you pull away, uncomfortable with the contact. “Pretty one, isn’t she? Think of what we could get for her... separate from the boys.”

The remaining guards exchange glances, evaluating you and your companions. A chill runs down your spine at the thought, causing you to ponder how these guards would respond to a boulder hurled between them. However, you hold back, recognizing that it's not the right moment to reveal your identity, still feeling unsettled from the electric shock of those nets.

Despite being restrained and largely immobilized, the rest of the Batch reacts instantly to the comment. Echo steps closer protectively; Hunter clenches his jaw; and Tech has a look that could burn through them if set ablaze.

Wrecker thunders, “You touch her, and you’ll regret it!” as he struggles against the restraints, his muscles bulging as he fights to break free. For a moment, it seems he might overpower the chains, but a guard quickly steps forward, striking him with another shock. His body spasms, yet he grits his teeth, suppressing a pained response.

The Batch surrounds him, forming a protective barrier, causing the guard to retreat, wary of confronting four more unruly captives. You move in to assess Wrecker to ensure the attack didn’t inflict any harm, while Echo edges closer to Tech, speaking in a hushed but urgent tone.

"You got any plans, Tech? Because I’m not seeing a way out just yet."

Wrecker shifts uncomfortably, shaking off the shock and once more testing the strength of the restraints. "I say we let our little Jedi friend loose. Some Force action could do us a lotta good right about now."

Tech shot Wrecker a piercing look. "Absolutely not. Showcasing Force abilities would merely attract more attention, worsening this situation. It would put both us and her at risk."

"Even if I wanted to, that electric charge back there did something... off..." You sigh softly, lifting your bound hands and slowly flexing your fingers. There was a noticeable, slight, unnatural delay in the motion. You grimaced slightly, eyes narrowing as you watched your hand sluggishly respond.

Hunter paced briefly, glancing at the terrain as if it might offer escape. *"Then we need to reach Omega. If she’s still free, she’s our best shot at turning this around."

Tech raised a brow and tilted his head toward the canyon ledge above. "That won't be necessary."

A slim silhouette appeared on the ridge above. Omega to the rescue.

—-------

The silence on board the ship offered a soothing counterpoint to the chaos you had just escaped. Sitting near the cockpit with your hand in a cooling brace that Tech insisted on, you kept your eyes on the stars darting by the viewport.

Omega smiled but didn’t respond immediately. She continued to watch you.

"You okay?" she finally asked, her voice quieter than before.

You hesitated, your fingers twitching involuntarily once more. "I will be." Looking up at the others, you noticed Echo tuning his prosthetics, Tech continuing his analysis of the post-mission data, and Hunter silently leaning against the bulkhead with crossed arms and a soft gaze, taking it all in.

Back on Ord Mantell, you settled up with Cid and had a choice to make, but for now, that could wait. The squad was recovering after a successful mission. They had earned a few hours of peace.

Wrecker was in the midst of a booming reenactment, gesturing wildly with a half-empty drink sloshing dangerously close to the edge. Hunter and Omega sat across from him, listening intently as she leaned forward over a plate of fried root crisps, giggling softly while Hunter took a sip of something that appeared stronger than it probably was. Tech was perched on the booth’s edge, a datapad glowing in one hand, the other flicking through screen after screen of readouts from the mission.

You stood at the bar, sipping electrolyte water to ease fatigue. Thanks to Tech, you moved more easily now, but a stiffness in your shoulders betrayed the aftereffects of the charge trap. Your gaze shifts to Echo, posted near the cantina entrance, his hand tapping rhythmically on his leg. You meet his eyes and cross to him.

"Hey. Echo. Got a minute?" Tilting your head to a more secluded part of the bar.

"Yeah." He fell in beside you as you moved to the quieter alcove.

You folded your arms over your chest, eyes downcast as you spoke, your voice soft but heavy with thought. "Back on that outpost… I hesitated. Slower reflexes, maybe. Either way, I felt like I was partly responsible for us getting caught in those restraints."

Echo’s gaze fixed on you, his eyes scanning your face with the unwavering attention of a soldier. He shook his head slowly, as if weighing his words carefully. "You took a live current head-on and kept moving. That’s not failure. That’s fortitude."

You let out a breath, not fully convinced, but you didn’t argue. "Maybe. Still… I was thinking. Maybe you could help me with some advanced blaster drills. And…" You paused, tapping your chin, clearly mulling over an idea that had been with you for a while. "I’ve been wondering if a midrange rifle might suit me better. Something with more weight, something that packs more of a punch than a standard sidearm."

Echo’s brow twitched upward, interest clearly piqued. "You’re thinking D-16 class? Or more like a reconfigured Valken with a modular stock?"

“I’m not really sure. I need precision without giving up mobility. And something with a kick might help me stay focused. Stay grounded." You didn’t say “so I don’t freeze again,” but the implication lingered between the lines.

Echo studied you for a moment, his gaze steady, before he offered his thoughts. The two of you continued speaking in low tones, discussing modifications, recoil stabilizers, and ways to adjust scopes for quick, instinctive target acquisition.

Across the room, Tech's eyes flicked up from his datapad, his attention immediately snapping to the conversation. He didn’t turn his head, but the slight twitch of his goggles revealed that he was listening. His brow arched in quiet intrigue as he tapped a quick note into his datapad.

Y/n loadout upgrade. Hybrid staff. Combining kinetic and energy-based systems for offensive and defensive capabilities. Energy dampers? Soften blaster fire in high-stress situations. Consider custom tuning for force sensitivity. Ergonomic adjustments based on conductivity. Start prototyping tonight.

He muttered to himself, wholly absorbed in the task, already envisioning the work ahead.

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