#Load Transfer Tech | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

staycalmandhugaclone · 3 months ago

Text

Fool's Errand Pt 14

Part (14) of Fool's Errand, the next arc of Doc's Misadventures! If you're new, start at the beginning with Touch Starved!

For those who didn't read that Bane fic, I've been feral about FINISHING THIS DAMN ARC. So, apologies: I owe loads to responses, and I'm so, sooo grateful for everyone's kind comments! But it's done!! Finally! Now, I get to catch up on some fics I'm super excited to finally read, and will actually take some time to say hi to everyone 😅

Warnings: Reference to mortal danger, more brotherly teasing, angst, horrors of war, ableism toward a child, sexism if yuh squint, reference to medical procedures

WC: 9,027 (...oops)

Mandoa Translation: osik buurenaar - shit storm

I’d yet to meet the Alpha-class clones, but tales of their ferocity and intellect were legendary, as was their brute strength. I wondered if they stood taller than other clones, if a divide lay between them and their brothers because of differences neither could control. How would they measure against the unique men of this squad? Would they find themselves celebrating each other for what power stemmed from those differences? Or would that divide become even more pronounced amidst “defects” and “abnormalities”?

When I thought of the Alpha-class, I couldn’t help but picture some slight variance of Wrecker. Maybe they wouldn’t share that innate warmth and joy so pronounced in his mismatched eyes, but I couldn’t picture them without that stature so many immediately feared, without the shocking mass of muscle that gave his every movement a sense of command that was so readily abandoned beneath the ease with which he smiled and laughed.

Even if they shared some facet of his physique, there was a gentleness about the lounging man sprawled out atop his bed that I couldn't imagine mirrored in anyone else.

I looked at his hands, at the thick calluses and scars earned from a lifetime of danger and pain, and yet, when he touched me… I thought of those days when Tech writhed at the mercy of that wretched withdrawal, how tentative Wrecker's movements had been as he dragged his thumbs so carefully down my palm as though I might break at the slightest misstep. I thought of how small my hands looked beside his; how small I looked beside him, and I marveled anew at that gentleness. He could be a monster. He could use his strength and size to bully other's and instill fear. But, instead, he lowered his voice in the presence of a frightened child. He laughed when his brothers needed a moment of levity, and he touched me with only the softest of caresses. No. I couldn't imagine the alphas as sharing that gentleness. Even if there were some similarities in the breadth of their shoulders, there was a strength to Wrecker that few understood, and even fewer had the means of sharing in.

Bickering gradually shifted to boasting as Wrecker recanted the destruction wrought upon the Separatist transfer station after I'd had to leave, again surprising me with the revelation that nearly half of the hanger caved in from what I only then realized were strategic placements of bombs to target load bearing struts. That's why we’d been able to escape the planet with relative ease.

“You used over a dozen explosives to bring down half of a hanger.” Crosshair sneered. “I took out their secondary power transformer with one shot.” I rolled my eyes, my own attention tuned to the inflamed limb beneath my hands, watching for tension or flinching as I slid my palm firmly along tendon and muscle to gradually draw away the swelling.

“Hey, your target was meant to be a target! They were countin’ on it getting’ blown!” Wrecker argued proudly, but the way Crosshair's body suddenly tensed left us both hesitating.

“Clearly.” Silence followed the hushed growl, taunting what flicker of reprieve that moment of brotherly teasing had briefly allowed. Wrecker's expression twisted with every ounce of guilt and regret I could feel churning in my own gut, the slight misstep treading just close enough to remind all of us of the very horror I’d hoped we might help Crosshair forget, even if only for those precious few minutes.

Without warning, I stood, snatched the pillow from Tech's bed, and chucked it at the broody sniper, instantly earning something torn between a gasp and a shout as he shot up, clawing at the thin cushion, lips wrenched into a seething snarl. Wrecker was stunned for just a handful of seconds before letting out a barked laugh.

“Every single one of you only barely walked away from this Force-forsaken mission, but you did walk away.” My voice went quiet; firm. “Your eyes… Wrecker’s knee… Tech’s arm…” I didn’t mention Hunter… There was still too much anxiety surrounding his injuries… And I knew I didn’t need to speak his name for both of the men around me to wilt beneath the fear of how close we’d all come to losing him. Not even Echo managed to escape unscathed.

“Even by our standards, this mission was an osik buurenaar from the start, but I'm going to make damn sure you all heal up just fine.” Wrecker let out a quiet, humorless huff of agreement, gaze falling to absently watch the leisurely movements of my hands working over the swollen tissue surrounding his knee once more.

The rage faded almost reluctantly from Crosshair's face, pillow still held before him though now free of the way his fingers once dug into the miniscule padding.

“‘Buur-re-naar.’” He muttered after a moment, and I glanced toward the suddenly resigned man with a flare of confusion, a quiet, “what?” escaping before I’d registered what he’d said.

“‘Buur-re-naar.’” He repeated, more clearly emphasizing the flow of each syllable. “If you’re going to go around playing combat medic, at least get the damn swear words right.”

“Play?” I nearly snarled. Whatever taste of fire the word was meant to have, however, vanished beneath the laughter I couldn't quite silence, but Crosshair responded only by shoving Tech's pillow atop his own and making a show of lying back down.

“Ah, we used to say it the same way.” Wrecker dismissed with a lazy brush of his hand. “Prob’ly still would if Echo hadn't gone off on the lot of us anytime we said somethin’ wrong.” He added with a roll of his eyes, but there was such an obvious affection in the subtle upturn of his lips, it proved infectious, and I quickly found myself smiling softly as well.

“I suppose if I heard someone say ‘kraff' instead of ‘kriff', I wouldn't be able to take them seriously, either…” I muttered with a small huff.

There was still a heaviness weighing down the air in the bunk room, but it wasn't quite so tainted with that almost frenzied panic, and I vaguely realized that Crosshair wasn't shaking anymore, at least not enough for the metal frame of his cot to betray. His shoulders were still set beneath a lingering dread that sent a deep ache twisting through my chest, but his breathing was far more even.

I caught Wrecker's gaze returning to the raised bed endlessly, his own worry painting a subtle crease between his brows that lingered until his own breathing finally began to slow, body gradually sinking deeper into the thin mattress beneath him as the careful dance of my hands drew the tension from first his injured leg, and then the other purely for the glee of what pleasure that touch brought him.

“Started taking bets on him passing out like that.” Cross said dryly as Wrecker's snores echoed quietly around us.

“What? On if he falls asleep during a massage?” I tried to keep my relief secret at the simple evenness of his voice.

“Not ‘if'. We bet on how long he lasts.” I let out a small snort before reaching across the massive clone to slip his blanket over him.

“Most of you guys fall asleep at some point during them.” I retorted as I slowly pushed myself to my feet, arms raising to stretch over my head with a small grunt, and I relished the little rush of affection at his muttered growl of objection.

“What are my chances of convincing you to eat something?” I asked after a moment of silence. No… not quiet silence. The air cyclers hummed softly beneath the distant thrum of the engine in a gentle song that so easily faded into the background, but there was a comfort in it, in the promise it represented as we fled through the dim of hyperspace.

“Low.” He grumbled almost petulantly, drawing a snort from me.

“Too bad.” There was a subtle threat in the gentleness of my reply despite the warmth woven through the words, and something between a growl and a groan voiced his obvious disdain. I'd only barely begun to move when his hand suddenly whispered over my shoulder, freezing me in place. He remained pointedly turned away from me, and my heart broke upon noting the faint tremor still seizing through those nimble fingers. It was subtle but undeniably there.

I instantly reached up to cradle his hand between mine, touch delicate even as I shifted to press my lips firmly to his knuckles.

“Do you want me to stay?” I barely breathed the words against that callused skin, against the scars from too many injuries to remember as my thumbs trailed the ridges of tendons stretching toward his wrist. He hesitated, and I could see how tightly his jaw ground shut, but then he gave a tiny nod. I needed no further encouragement, hold tightening briefly before releasing him to climb the narrow ladder, movements careful as I crawled into the too small bed beside him.

He didn't fight the way I settled against him, arms looping around his head to let my fingers trail through messy, silver curls long since left in perfect disarray from too many hours trapped in bed. He merely let me hold him for a long moment, body stiff, but then he shifted into me, face hiding against my chest as his arm slipped around my back, clawing at the skin-tight fabric of my undershirt, and I knew this was something we’d never speak of later, that his pride would never have let him cling to me like this absent a need too great for words to ever begin to portray.

“After the war ends, I'm going to buy us a real bed.” There was a new kind of quite softening hushed promises whispered through the curls twirling between my fingers. “Something big… maybe a round one.” He said nothing; made no show of tilting his head in an eye roll I couldn't see nor scoffed with some mocking dismissal, but I knew he was listening. “Put it right in the middle of a room with lots of windows - keep you from sleeping in until noon.” That, at least, earned a small groan that left me chuckling softly against him.

“Maybe I’ll sneak out before you wake up,” I continued, lips just brushing against him, “surprise you with a cup of caf.” His hand slowly crept up my spine, head shifting ever so slightly toward me, and I was all too eager to answer in kind, heart leaping at the taste of him as though I hadn’t kissed him a hundred times before, as though I didn’t know every divot of his body as intimately as I knew my own. It was intoxicating, the ease with which I lost myself in him. It didn’t matter how chaste the caress of his lips was; how gently they pressed against mine with words he couldn’t bring himself to speak aloud, still, it left me breathless as he quietly pulled away.

“I’m sorry.” My arms tightened around him before that accursed apology faded, chest swelling with a carefully slowed, deep breath.

“I know.” I whispered back, cheek shifting delicately against him. “I know.”

I hadn’t meant to stay with him. I’d meant only to grant him a moment of reprieve from the terrors he wouldn’t be free of until those bandages finally came off, but the way he held me, the hesitation in how slowly that tension finally began to ease from his lithe form, the rare display of unconditional trust revealed only as consequence of forced vulnerability… how could I walk away from that?

Only after my arm had long since lost all feeling and the Marauder’s light faded with the automated façade of a night cycle did I began easing myself free of him. He barely shifted, the gentle ebb and flow of sleep still mediating unrushed breath as I slipped down onto the empty frame of Hunter’s bed.

No one had passed through the bunkroom in those few, precious hours I shamelessly squandered toying with silver curls and tracing senseless shapes atop now laxed muscles. I wasn’t surprised that Tech was surely still nestled in the worn pilot’s chair, but Echo’s absence left me growing even more anxious.

Footsteps carefully softened, I started silently toward the aft of the ship, but the rear cargo room was empty, and only Hunter lay within the medbay. I nearly walked away, intent on scouring the entirety of the damn ship to find the impossibly illusive arc trooper but found myself pausing at the offensive disarray of the room before me. Empty wrappers circled the misaligned cots like spent confetti, and the empty saline bag still hung over the mattress Crosshair had fled, crumpled blankets a testimony to his frenzied movements.

A few minutes… I could spare a few minutes to reclaim some semblance of order from the horrid chaos still so evident in abandoned vials of spent medication and crudely discarded syringes, and if I stole a couple seconds in between to merely watch the steady dance of that tiny line across the screen of the cardiac monitor, to slip my fingers against bronze skin and simply feel the heat of him, to count the lazy beat of his pulse and study the way his chest rose and fell with breath that I could still taste on my lips as I’d forced air into his lungs; if those brief, stolen moments saw me holding my own breath lest it tremble as I fought back regrets and what-if’s and if-only’s, then that was a delay easily dismissed beneath the weight of a relief I’d never grow weary of cherishing.

How many times had I done this? Lost hours in the meditation of cleaning and organizing and recording an inventory destined to prove inaccurate as supplies mysteriously vanished in the days to come? My bed now lay atop its frame once more. The trash was gone and the floors scrubbed clean of stains. I heard the clatter of my datapad hitting the counter before understanding why my grip had suddenly failed me, eyes wide even as I found myself frozen, some haunting doubt yet forbidding me from turning around, from glimpsing the source of that tiny sound. It was barely more than a huff, breath hitching in the echo of a pain transcending the residuals of sleep. But it was there.

Only when that faltered gasp just hinted at a groan did I finally turn to face him. Tension coiled through his jaw, brows twitching absent the strength to truly furrow above weakly pinched eyes, strained inhales bucking as broken ribs rebelled from the abuse, and, in an instant, I was at his side, knees aching from how harshly I dropped to the ground beside his cot, hands hovering uselessly above him as years of medical training abandoned me.

“Hunter?” His name left in a barely audible gasp, but it was enough. His lashes fluttered, some fleeting sound just catching in his throat. “Hunter! Hey-hey-hey, easy; you’re alright.” I don’t know what comfort he could find in the rapidly whispered words as I fought against a rushed flurry of too many emotions to begin to quell, but his head shifted toward me nonetheless, and when his eyes opened, when I saw the subtle hints of green woven through umber and gold, when I knew, free of that crippling uncertainty, that he saw me… that he knew me, I couldn’t help but sob, hands sliding so carefully about his cheeks as I leaned down to just touch my forehead to his.

“H… Hu-… d-dammit…” I couldn’t force my voice steady enough even to breathe his name, entire body suddenly trembling with the apex of a fear I’d barely allowed myself to acknowledge until faced with the blessed proof that it was baseless. He made no attempt to push me away, eyes open just enough to meet mine as I trembled against him, and when his hand managed to slide about my elbow, grip weak but undeniably there, I found myself sobbing even harder, shoulders bunching about my chest in some futile attempt to regain a control that was too eager to cave just as I so nearly managed to force myself to calm.

“Y… you can’t d-do that to me again.” I ordered, shameless of how hopelessly my voice broke, thumbs sweeping across still bruised skin with a tenderness that should have brought a flush to my cheeks. I wanted to ask what litany of thoughts danced behind those eyes; wanted to hear him recant the impossible breadth of incalculable possibilities he seemed to consider even now before allowing himself to respond, but something about the softness of his expression as I pulled away to better see him, the gentleness of his gaze as his head shifted in a tiny nod left me staggering far too much to even remember how to speak. Only when another too-deep inhale left him flinching in pain, did I finally remember myself.

“Don’t… don’t try to move, yet.” I ordered, chest bucking with a quiet sniffle as I turned sharply away from him, hands reluctantly abandoning his warmth to snatch at nearly supplies. “I didn’t think you’d wake up so soon, but this will kick in quickly.” He watched idly as I flooded his IV with pain meds.

“M… ch… ch’st…” I grimaced at the barely audible attempt at speech.

“Broken ribs.” I explained. I wasn’t surprised at how quickly his confusion shifted to something quiet, haunted, and I knew I didn’t have to explain further.

“We’re about a day out from the Vigilance.” I murmured. “Everyone’s on board – they even got the Senator out.” His eyes still held a darkness I knew only time might ease, but he gave another nod in response, this one quick; distracted.

When I found myself reaching for his hand, I couldn’t say if it was for my own comfort or for his, but neither could I deny the thrill in feeling how readily his fingers slipped between mine. It took only a moment longer for that clarity to fade, taking with it the tension and pain coiling through still exhausted muscles.

There were still too many uncertainties surrounding his condition to truly relax… I could still only guess towards how long he’d been down before I found him… how long he’d been dead. Five minutes… that all it took for a normal human to suffer brain damage. Hunter wasn't a normal human… but it felt like so much longer than five minutes had passed between the moment his comms went silent and when his heart finally began to beat again…

“I’m so sorry.” I whispered, pulling his knuckles up to brush lightly to my lips. “Maker, I’m… I’m so sorry…”

“Shh…” I didn’t think he was still awake, but his hand shifted to slip softly against my cheek, eyes glancing only briefly toward me before falling shut once more. “D’dn’t… do an… ‘nythin’ wr’ng…” He mumbled, lips barely shifting around words that sounded almost more akin to a soft growl than true speech as drugs and exhaustion left his already smoky voice an even deeper rumble.

“You were only there because of me…” I wasn’t sobbing anymore, but there was no hiding the depth of sorrow threatening to bring a fresh wave of tears sliding down my cheeks. “If you’d… I… I thought I lost you…” I barely breathed that devastating truth, fingers sliding delicately up his arm as though there was still some danger of him slipping away from something so simple as a rough touch. His thumb trailed along the ridge of my cheek, the movement faltering, stuttering, as though he kept forgetting he was doing it, but it was all the softer for it.

“M… ‘m here…” He murmured, face so perfectly laxed that it seemed only seconds before sleep might reclaim him, and there was something frightfully beautiful about that; that foreign calm softening his features; how young he looked absent the constant furrow between his brows from the crippling weight of leading his brothers through dangers far greater than any should be forced to suffer through. Like this, that faded tattoo looked almost comical against a youth that was so easily overlooked beneath the veneer of war-hardened soldier, and I couldn’t ignore how my heart jumped at the sight even as his touch finally stilled.

It was selfish… stupid… but I didn’t want him to sleep yet… I wanted to hear him whisper to me in that sleep-draggled voice; I wanted him to promise me that he’d be okay – that we’d be okay…

“… Hunter?” His name slipped from my lips before logic could force it back, and I found myself holding my breath as I awaited some response. My chest bucked with a jilted exhale when none came, jaw tensing against an entirely different taste of regret even as I strained to grasp the relief of being spared whatever senseless thoughts had led me to call out to him with that almost shy whisper.

Heart still racing, I carefully set his arm down before thoughtlessly reaching across him to resettle the blanket over his still bare chest as though it might ease the image of what dark bruises marred bronze skin from a memory too eager to forget those wounds in favor of gentler times; when he lay atop my bed for reasons veiled in therapeutic touch, and I didn’t find myself second-guessing our every interaction beneath a shame and guilt that had nothing to do with my profession.

I couldn’t bring myself to even attempt to rest. Not when he slept so peacefully barely a meter away; not when Crosshair lay curled atop his own bed in the neighboring room suffering beneath injuries threatening his very identity. I needed to calm down; to breathe; to quiet those raging emotions lit anew beneath the terror of losing him and the blistering relief following in the wake of seeing his chest rise, of hearing his voice and feeling his touch and knowing it would never be enough.

We didn’t have sonics on Agamar. There was no reason for them. Water was plentiful and clean, and there was no substitute for the numbing pleasure of feeling it wash the tension and dirt and anxiety away. Only luxury vessels could afford to waste the extra weight and space needed for such extravagances, however, and the pulsing pressure callously beating the grime from my skin offered none of the gentle clarity I’d hoped for upon hiding myself away in the utilitarian fresher. At least I was clean…

The Senator had nestled himself among a handful of spare blankets with Areeya in the cabin, and neither stirred as I made my way toward the narrow ladder dropping down into the cockpit. Tech wasn’t studying his datapad, nor was he tinkering with some half-built weapon or tool or “upgrade” to the Marauder. He was merely watching the infinite trails of stars shooting past us at speeds I couldn’t begin to comprehend.

I didn’t sit down in the empty co-pilot chair, instead granting whatever unspoken excuse or forgiveness or feigned ignorance I needed to lower myself to the ground beside him, back pressing against the uncomfortable ridge of dented durasteel framing his seat as my head tilted just enough to rest against the side of his thigh. From the corner of my vision, I saw how quickly his attention shifted, wide eyes studying me with a confusion I should have felt guilty for causing.

“Are you… alright?” He asked hesitantly, hands torn between releasing their hold on the controls and grasping them even tighter.

“Hunter woke up.” It wasn’t an answer, but those few words held far more value and interest than any false platitudes I might offer, and Tech instantly responded with a flurry of relief and hope and then dread as that silence lingered. “I think he’s okay.” I added far too belatedly, earning a sharp breath from the brilliant pilot. “It was just for a minute… Painkillers knocked him back out pretty fast.”

“But he seemed… coherent?” Tech pressed, hesitant to allow himself to cede the fears lingering in the unknowns.

“There wasn’t time to really assess him, but… he was aware.” I explained, knowing such a meager reassurance would offer just as meager a balm to the what-if’s still hovering over us.

“I think Echo’s avoiding me again.” I continued with a heavy sigh.

“I do not believe so.” He responded after a brief pause. “We were just discussing the redesign of his upgraded prosthetics. He’s been working on them in the gunner’s nest during flights.” Surprise and understanding rushed through me, gaze turning back toward the ladder as though there were some chance I could see him from here.

“Huh… that’s… that’s good.” I murmured, and I couldn't say with any certainty if the relief in my voice outweighed the disappointment. Logically, I knew there was likely little I could honestly contribute in light of the incredible breadth of knowledge shared between Tech and Echo, but a part of me had hoped he might still find a reason to seek me out, if only for some fabricated uncertainty regarding nervous system integration or proper fitting of the socket, or just to share in the progress they'd made… but there was still too great of a divide between us… too much confusion toward where we stood with each other… too many blameless apologies neither would accept. And the non-stop sprint from one mission to the next offered little chance of privacy in which we might talk it through…

“When is this going to end…” I think I hated myself for letting those words escape, for letting him hear the weight in them, the threat of a hopelessness we couldn't afford to feel lest it rob us of the will to keep fighting.

“I presume you're not referring to our rendezvous with General Kenobi's flagship.” It wasn't a question, and I didn't need to voice the answer screaming in the pregnant silence that followed as eyes barely open beneath the remorse and weariness that had forced me to purge that wretched plea from myself to begin with rose just enough to see a heartbreaking glimmer of concern staring down at me through topaz lens.

“Traditionally, enlisted servicemembers are deployed for no more than one point five cycles between mandatory leaves… Medical emergencies aside, you haven't taken-"

“Don't.” I interrupted quietly, begging him to rid even his thoughts of what he was implying. “You… your brothers… This is it, for me.” I let my head shake almost lazily against his leg, dismissing the very notion of changing that. “I don't have anything else… I don't want anything else.”

“I'm… not sure that level of dependency would be considered healthy.” My face instantly pinched in offense before noting the teasing glint just toying with the edges of his lips enough to draw faint creases along the corners of his eyes.

“I know your sleep schedule, Tech… You really don't want to talk to me about unhealthy dependencies.” I shot back, challenge clear even through the grin lighting my words, but his smirk only grew.

“Clones were designed to have far superior tolerance to both physical and mental deficiencies.” He didn't brag with that haughty lilt intent on belittling others, nor was it quite accurate to call it pride as he recanted that sales pitch I so loathed every time I heard it in the almost musical cadence of the Kaminoans, but there was an air of confidence driving his boast that was so hard to argue with… still…

“Don't give me that ‘superior genetics' osik! Tolerance doesn't make you immune to going days on end without sleep.” I retorted with a scowl ruined by the smile I couldn't fight from my lips. “Especially now with your arm practically hanging off…” His lips bunched, gaze dropping to the thick bandages about his still immobilized arm with an impatient exhale that sent a sharp flare of guilt through my chest.

Head pressing just a touch harder against him, I raised my hand to lightly brush against his elbow, the touch aimless beyond the compelling urge to offer some reassurance amidst a silent apology.

“The war…” he didn't look at me as he spoke, the elegance of his voice lowering into something just shy of a whisper, “An ending of some manner is inevitable, of course… and though it is impossible to say with total certainty, statistically speaking, the Republic appears to have a far greater likelihood of victory.” There was something teeming beneath words not necessarily meant to offer comfort so much as to state simple fact, something dark and forbidden but too dreadful to ignore. “Unlike the Republic, the Separatists forces are dependent on very few, individual leaders, namely General Grievous and Count Dooku, both of whom often participate directly in armed combat despite the obvious shortcomings of such a strategy given how vital their lives are to the war effort.” I could hear him tapping softly against his other thigh, alternating between his ring and middle fingers with an almost frenzied pace.

“Tech?” I barely breathed his name, a gentle, worried question sown into my voice that quickly drew his eyes back to mine for just a moment before returning pointedly toward the viewport. He wasn't tapping anymore; the muscles atop his jaw bound tight as he thought over what he might say next.

“You speak of the war ending as though it will solve more problems than it will create… but for us… for clones… We have no place in this galaxy beyond the battlefield.” I couldn't breathe as he finally purged that horrid truth, watching aghast as his lips drew into a thin line even as they shifted for a moment longer in silence before continuing. “There are more than twenty million clones currently serving in the Grand Army, in addition to those still in training on Kamino.” He spoke slower, now, allowing the brief moments of quiet to scream everything he wasn't supposed to say, everything he wasn't supposed to think.

“I fear it would be naïve to assume a government reluctant to provide adequate funds for even basic supplies during active war to willingly support the clones once that war is won.” There. There was the heart of that darkness. It wasn't rare to hear him speak with disinterest or even disdain toward matters he believed to be obvious or simply irrelevant, but this went far beyond that. Poison seethed beneath a flurry of repressed emotions: rage, frustration, hopelessness, sorrow, fear… He was suffocating beneath it, body nearly vibrating despite the icy calm in eyes still studying the star trails gleaming through the duraglass.

“Hey.” The gentle murmur left on a slow breath. My arm draped tentatively over his lap, knees curling beneath me as I turned to face him, to reach for him with an almost desperate need to offer some glimmer of comfort or, if none could be found, to join him in that darkness if only so he wouldn't be alone in it. “I don't know what's going to happen,” I answered, voice only just loud enough to twirl through the air between us before fading absent the faintest echo to prove they’d ever existed as my fingers trailed softly up his cheeks, “and I wouldn't know where to begin with fixing any of that… but I meant what I said.” The depth of the promise burning through my words finally managed to draw his gaze back to me, and I held him even more gently for it. “This is it for me… whatever happens… I'm with you.” He was silent for a moment longer, but I watched as that fury slowly quieted, and I didn't know if I wanted to sob or scream or rage at its loss.

“There is high probability that peace may see us all homeless.” What sharpness that warning was meant to have dulled beneath the tentative hope that only grew as I offered him a weary smile.

“I've been homeless since Wolffe blew up my ship.” I answered with a shrug, and my heart leapt at the tiny huff of laughter it drew from him.

“Manual labor is also a possibility.” He pressed, almost teasing me.

“Are you really going to question my brute strength again?” I shot back, unable to stifle my own laughter at the blush dancing up his neck that he couldn't hide regardless how quickly he turned back to the viewport.

“You’re a medic.” That flare of lightness faded, his voice going quiet once more. “You would have ample opportunities for employment outside the GAR.” My touch shifted purposefully back down his jaw, willing his gaze to return to me.

“And you're a genius.” I replied, a tenderness to my voice that I could only hope might reach him. “In all the time you've known me, have I ever given you reason to doubt me?” He stared at me in silence for a long moment before answering.

“No.” My smile only grew, aimlessly tracing the lower ridge of his goggles with my thumb as though there was some hope of sweeping away the line I knew they'd leave in his softly tanned skin.

“I said I was staying until you told me to leave… might put up a fight even if you tried.” I added, nose scrunching beneath a coy sneer. His lips started to pull into a grin but paused, stifled by a sadness I wasn’t expecting and didn't know how to begin to address.

“Hunter and I already planned it out, you know.” I whispered it, as though revealing some secret conspiracy, head tilting to rest against his thigh once more as I looked up at him. “We’re going to become explorers. All six of us.” The skeptical frown that overtook his slender face was a far more welcomed sight than that sadness was, and I didn't hesitate in sharing the joy it brought me, my own lips stretching wide as I beamed at him.

“We’ll settle foreign worlds… discover knew lifeforms… establish relations with never-before-seen sentients… again.” Despite himself, that little smirk again played with lips bunching in a vain attempt to hide the subtle interplay of pride and excitement at the memory of being the first to manage communication with those nearly subterranean, insect-like inhabitants that had so nearly killed me with their poison arrows, the wealth of discoveries he got to make and record and share with the galaxy because he was able to learn their language in a matter of hours, and I couldn't help but echo that excitement.

“As alluring as that plan might sound, being “explorers" is unlikely to provide the credits needed for such a lifestyle.” He reminded unapologetically, a very real concern that I was perfectly happy to ignore.

“So, I'll freelance here and there.” I replied lightly before adding, “‘Ample opportunities for employment outside the GAR.’ Right?” He rolled his eyes but didn't argue. He didn't need to. We both knew it was an impossible dream… but that's what dreams are for: granting a glimpse of better times and better places absent the limitations of a reality far too unforgiving of factors beyond anyone’s control.

“It would be far more logical – and lucrative- for us to freelance.” I thought over his reply for a moment before shaking my head, expression falling.

“I don't want you to have to fight anymore…” I whispered, shifting slightly so the words were muffled against his leggings, “especially not in someone else’s war...”

He didn't respond, and when I finally looked back up at him, I understood why. The beauty beyond the viewport was forgotten, as was whatever embarrassment or doubt had pulled his gaze so pointedly away from me. He stared at me as though he'd just solved some great mystery, and the answer was something he wasn't prepared for, something he couldn't fix. He stared at me as though that knowledge would haunt him for eternity. There was a sadness to it, but it wasn't marred by regret. There was guilt, but there was also gratitude, and when his hand finally abandoned the controls, when he let himself reach for me, the backs of his fingers just brushing the hair from my eyes before sliding down to the curve of my jaw as though mapping the planes of my face by touch alone, I found myself consumed by the weight of that silence. I felt no need to break it, to offer either word or touch in return, but nor could I breathe beneath it, as though the slightest movement might scare him away.

He was the first to breach that quiet, but he did so gently, chest swelling with a slow breath, eyes closing for just a moment before again returning to the viewport, but he didn't pull away, hand instead shifting to softly cradle the side of my head, gloved fingers sliding carefully through locks of my hair, and, with a sigh full of my own relief and gratitude and exhaustion, I nestled more comfortably against him, legs stretching out across the cockpit floor as my cheek rested heavily atop his thigh, relishing in that moment of quiet with him for however long it might last.

“I carried your worthless shebs down the damn mountain. If you can’t even manage a ‘thank you,’ the least you could do is let me sleep.” I shouldn’t have been surprised that their first interaction after so nearly losing each other would be to fight, but I couldn’t keep my shoulders from sinking beneath a low sigh.

“You shot me.” Crosshair snarled, and I had to keep from rolling my eyes as I began carefully unwrapping the bandages about his head, silently thrilling in the relief of hearing the clarity in Hunter’s voice.

“I stunned you.” Hunter retorted with nearly the same degree of annoyance. “You’d been screaming for half a klik – made sure every damn clanker in that forest knew exactly where we were.” I felt Cross stiffen, his thin lips pulling into a subtle frown as his hands tightened around the edge of my bed, and I had to bite back the cringe pulling at my own lips, the worry that maybe I should have allowed them some separation, at least until tempers weren’t already strained beneath injury and fear. He’d almost refused to enter the medbay despite his eagerness to be free of those dreaded bandages, relenting only after I threatened to drag him there by force.

Those threats haunted me in the moments that followed; in the hesitation jilting his every movement despite how vehemently he tried to hide it; how violently he refused to hold onto me for guidance even when he nearly tripped over Hunter’s mattress in search of my own, waking the Sargent with a start.

“I’ve carried each and every one of you,” I grumbled loudly, “You don’t see me moaning about not getting a damn ‘thank you’… and I told you to let me help – won’t be doing either of you any favors if you go falling over each other like that…” I added sternly to Crosshair, silencing them both.

We were mere moments from finally reaching the Vigilance, and I knew how much worse Crosshair’s anxiety was sure to get the instant he stepped foot off the Marauder without the use of his eyes. I’d initially intended to wait another day, but his scans were promising enough to relent if only to spare him that added dread.

“There’s still bacta on your eyes,” I warned, voice softening, body leaning forward just enough to subtly press my thigh against his knee in a silent offer of reassurance, “So don’t freak out when everything’s still blurry.” He answered only with a small grunt but didn’t pull away from my touch. I could see how closely Hunter was watching us, his own breath held despite the strain it surely placed on his ribs in those final moments before the wrappings fell away.

Crosshair didn’t move for a moment longer, eyes closed in a final display of that heartbreaking fear; clinging to that last moment of uncertainty for what glimpse of denial it granted before he’d have to face the reality of his injuries.

When he finally forced those sharp eyes to open, his entire body went taut.

“I know.” I murmured gently, hand whispering over his. “Blurry is okay. What we’re worried about is dark spots; gaps where you can’t see anything.” He tried not to show that growing panic, but his brows furrowed further together with each passing second, and I found my movements hurrying if only to keep him from falling too deeply into his own thoughts.

“I want you to keep your eyes on mine, Cross. Using your peripherals, let me know when you can’t see my finger.” I didn’t bother reminding him that everyone had a blind spot, that the small junction where the optic nerve connected to the retina robbed everyone of a sliver of sight so small as to be unnoticeable, aware of how familiar he was with not just the general anatomy of human eyes, but of every way in which his own eyes differed, how they were better. Still, his hand tightened even more around the lip of the bed when my finger wandered toward the edge of his vision.

“There.” It was only because of how intimately I knew him that I heard the hint of panic in that hushed word.

“Anywhere else?” I asked, cadence carefully even as I slowly moved my finger before him.

“No.” It wasn’t a whisper, but the relief was so consuming as to rob even the rasp from his voice, and I readily mimicked that relief with a gentle smile, thumb trailing softly along the edge of his hand, heart jumping when he released his grip on the mattress to tightly lock his fingers through mine.

As I repeated the test on his other side, I remembered trying to guide him through an exam to test the range of motion in his hands after a complication threatened the nerves stretching down his arm, the skepticism in his deadpan glare as he watched me model the movements. There were no reservations now; no doubt toward my motivation nor skill or devotion, and that only heightened both the stress in bearing the responsibility of their care as well as the joy of helping them through injury or illness or insecurity.

“Now the fun part…” My warning was lost beneath the mirth still lighting my voice, and he had to force himself to pay attention. “We still need to rinse that gel out.” Even that failed to sour his relief, and I found myself murmuring lest I breach that precious moment of calm. “We can do that in the fresher – let you clean up a bit easier after.” I offered, earning an almost dazed nod from him as I stepped back, hand tightening once more around his before sliding away. “Let me grab a few things, then I’ll be right behind you.” He hesitated only briefly, mind belatedly making sense of what I’d said before pushing himself to his feet.

He paused once more just before reaching the door, attention shifting down to where his brother still lay in a slight daze of his own, though one of medication more than euphoria.

“Thanks.” It was quiet, but no less earnest for it. Hunter held his gaze for a moment in silence before giving a small nod, a flare of something ancient and powerful and safe burning in his eyes. He’d nearly died – had died – saving his brother, and that look screamed just how willing he was to suffer that agony a thousand times over if it meant his family would be okay.

“He was awake,” I murmured, still watching the door long after it slid shut behind the lithe sniper, “when I was… when I was trying to bring you back.” I hesitated before looking toward him, an apology screaming through my eyes even as I continued speaking, my own worry about how that trauma might yet haunt Crosshair superseding the fear that I was revealing truths he might never have wanted revealed. “I’ve never seen him like that…” He didn’t respond for a moment, jaw tensing with a guilt that left my heart writhing in my chest.

“… how long was I…” He didn’t say it, narrowed eyes staring blindly through the far corner of the room.

“I don’t know.” I answer quietly. “A few minutes?” A silence stretched between us; a silence that wasn’t meant to be broken for want of guidance or reassurance.

“I’ll asked Wrecker to bring you your datapad.” I sighed, finally moving to gather my supplies. “And a shake.” I added more firmly, glancing back to catch his eye to clearly voice the unspoken threat. He answered only with a small smirk, and I didn't hide the weight that fell from my shoulders in that moment. He was okay. Crosshair was okay. Wrecker, Tech, and Echo were all healing. Maker, we'd made it…

“I’ll come back to check on you soon.” With that parting promise, I finally followed after his brother, arms locked around jugs of saline and large flush syringes.

“Good luck.” He called after me, and I made sure he could hear my scoffed laugh of a response.

If there was some great difference between the Vigilance and the Negotiator, my untrained eyes couldn't see it: same interplay of muted grays lining the hanger floors and walls; same curtains of blue light illustrating massive shields, same precise orchestra of soldiers marching in perfect synchrony across the gaping stretch of space between transports.

No… not the same… Surely the soldiers hidden beneath the ivory and gold armor of the 212th weren't the same as the ones I’d walked past so many months ago on the Negotiator. Those men were gone… How many? Why? Part of me wanted to blame the General, to shout at him purely to grant my rage and sorrow some outlet greater than merely allowing the anger to simmer in my chest. I wanted to accuse him of callously throwing away their lives, ask if he even knew the number of clones killed under his watch… but I knew that rage was born of a sorrow he felt just as keenly.

I’d only spent maybe an hour with the Jedi master; back when my own armor still gleamed white and I’d barely begun to develop some early taste of acceptance from the men who now held more of my heart than was right or proper or fair. Back then, I kept waiting for him to justify my prejudice, to shift blame and dismiss me with little more than rote reassurances and empty promises. Instead, I’d left that meeting with a sense of comfort, tentatively confident that he wasn’t there purely to placate me but to earnestly try to help. He cared. And I found myself mourning him just as strongly as those who’d fallen with his previous flagship, certain that he would never be free of the weight of loss growing ever heavier with each day the war continued.

General Kenobi was there when we landed, flanked by teams of medical staff with the Marshal Commander at his side. I saw them from only a fleeting glance, attention focused on addressing the pair of medics that had broken off from the main group to help transport Hunter. Tech, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Echo stood in formation behind the Senator. It was the first I’d seen of the arc in days, and there was a bittersweetness in that, in finally finding him only now when circumstance forbade me from speaking with him, not while Tech was providing as succinct of a debriefing as he was capable of and I was moments from taking my leave to oversee Hunter's care.

“I'm not sitting in that thing…” The words snarled from just within the Marauder where one of the Vigilance's men awaited with a hoverchair.

“The hell you aren't.” I snapped, shoulders pulling back as I turned an impatient glare toward the man leaning hazardously against the metal doorframe, jaw clicking shut around the curse burning atop my tongue to see him standing at all.

“It’s just outside the hanger. I'll walk.” He pressed with an impatience of his own.

“How about I neutralize those pain killers? See how eager you are to argue then.” His eyes narrowed with a slow, tense exhale just shy of a growl. “Chair or gurney.” I continued sternly. “Those are your choices. Or I can see if General Kenobi wants to do that force thing and magic you over there.” I added with a devious smirk. His lips drew up in a scowl just enough to flash a glimpse of clenched teeth, but, begrudgingly, he lowered himself into the hoverchair. The trooper behind him didn't linger, instantly moving forward before the unruly Sargent could voice further objection.

“Miss?” A voice called just before I started after them, and I turned to find the Senator approaching me, a confidence in his stride that was frightfully absent from eyes left almost timid from all he'd had to endure since his capture. He'd barely spoken to anyone beyond his daughter during the flight, movements almost neurotic beneath the desperate need to keep her close, to keep her safe, and none of us could truly begrudge him for that self-imposed isolation. Now, though, he’d ventured across the handle of meters separating us, for the first time since boarding the Marauder leaving the girl just beyond his reach.

“Senator.” I greeted with a small bow of my head.

“I… I just wanted to thank you.” There was still a slight tremor to his voice, and I wondered how he’d be able to return to politics after this, how he’d sleep knowing exactly what it meant to put himself and his family the spotlight like that.

“Just doing my job, sir.” I replied, though the automatic response wasn't without warmth. Still, he quickly shook his head.

“You took care of my girl… There's nothing in this galaxy that means more to me than her…” he pressed, and I had to bite back the flare of annoyance with a slow breath.

“I treated her injuries… but they were the ones who took care of her.” I said firmly, nodding to where Areeya was bouncing happily from Tech to Crosshair before, steps just a touch more hesitant, treading to Wrecker. The towering man instantly lowered himself onto a knee, and I cringed at how it surely strained the injured joint, but his scarred face was nothing but gentle as he smiled at the child. She tentatively reached for his hand. I couldn't hear what he said, but it left the girl giggling loudly, tiny fingers clutching onto him.

“He went back for her – hobbled through a burning ship with a dislocated knee because he was the only one who knew where she was.” I told him quietly as we watched the scene unfold. I vaguely noticed Tech's attention shift to watch the handful of troopers escorting Hunter to the medbay, and, with a final flurry of words, started toward us.

Areeya released Wrecker to free her hands for some frenzy of movements I was too far away to even try to interpret, and my heart jumped to see Wrecker respond in kind, movements hesitant and clumsy, but even from where I stood, I could see how the attempt left the girl bursting with glee, and without warning, she threw herself forward, arms straining to wrap around his broad chest.

“She’s… she’s signing.” The senator gasped.

“Yes…” Tech hummed thoughtfully. “We were curious as to why she was initially so opposed to that form of communication when she clearly has a fluent grasp on the language.” The father seemed to deflate around a heavy breath, eyes never once leaving his daughter.

“She… overheard her mother… My wife means well, truly, but… she doesn’t have much patience for our daughter’s… unique preferences.” He explained tensely. “She worries that, by giving Areeya an alternative to speech, we’re enabling her mutism.” I tried to speak, but Tech quickly cut me off.

“On the contrary, limiting anyone, particularly a child, of some means of communication is more likely to further isolate them and harm both social and mental development.” There was an edge to his voice, and I wasn’t surprised to note the subtle line forming between narrowed brows. “Whether her mutism stems from a reluctance to speak or an inability, neither is grounds for depriving her of what means of self-expression she does prefer.” I half expected the senator to balk at his blunt words, tensing in preparation to get between them, but the man before us merely closed his eyes beneath a weariness that left my heart aching for him.

“I know.” He barely whispered, looking back toward his beaming child. “…I know…” With little more than a final, shaking breath, he started toward the girl once more, steps slow; heavy.

“You okay?” I asked quietly. He didn't look at me as I whispered it, but I could see the stiffness in his shoulders as he watched the man approach Wrecker next.

“I'm eager to see the results of Hunter's scan.” It wasn't an answer, but it was enough. I let out a quiet sigh before nodding and, shoulder brushing lightly against his, turned to finally follow the path toward the medbay, allowing myself some solace in the safety of finding ourselves on one of the most prized ships of the GAR, in the knowledge that, here at least, I could finally see that my men received the care they needed, the care they deserved, even though I knew that this glimmer of respite was bought by blood and was doomed to be stolen from us far too soon.

Click here or message me if you'd like to be added to a taglist!

Click here for my Masterlist.

Taglist: @arctrooper69 @eclec-tech @jennrosefx @echos-girlfriend @starqueensthings @manofworm @merkitty49 @idoubleswearimawriter @abigfanofstarwars @chopper-base @daftdarling222 @pb-jellybeans @bacta-the-future @rosechi @legalpadawan @drummergirl1701 @6oceansofmoons @dangraccoon @ji5hine @dathomiri-mudpuppy @mooncommlink @inneedoffanfics @totally-not-your-babe @delialeigh @callsign-denmark @blondie-bluue @ray-rook @iabrokengirl @arcsimper5 @rndmpeep @amorfista @flawsandgoodintent @passionofthesith @followthepurrgil @heidnspeak @roam-rs @foodmoneyandcats @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @9902sgirl @captainrex89 @waytoooldforthis78 @msmeredithrose @mythical-illustrator @sleepycreativewriter @anythingandeveythingstarwars @littlefeatherr @thegreatpipster @melonmochii @totallyunidentified @mickeyp03 @hipwell @echos_pile_of_bones @leotawrites @Asgre_Thar @fruityfucker

59 notes · View notes

a-pastel-edgelord · 11 months ago

Note

Hiii. I saw ur inbox was open so I wanted to throw some brain rot at you?? I saw ur tags for the post u reblogged with Kyotani.... PLEASE GO ON. Great with kids, loves being around them, working with them—but never wants one himself? Would his partner be the same? Would he consider it with the right person? Is he immune to baby fever? SAVE ME FROM THIS TORMENT PLSSS ❤️ tyily

That was a hot fucking minute ago anon, but 🆗 tagging @mintmatcha because my idea was spawned from their text post.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

"You good?"

"Yeah? Why wouldn't I be?" You look up at Kentarō with a blink. The paper plate you'd been loading with food, is placed onto the end of the buffet table. "Is something wrong?"

The evening has been so nice—as far as you know. It's just a small cook out within the Sendai Frogs group. Tsukishima had surprisingly offered his backyard, and Koganegawa managed to procure a grill from somewhere. Daisho and Mika brought a generous amount of meat while you brought the veggies and rice. Yamaguchi and Yachi are going to arrive a little later with watermelon and booze (as an apology for having to work regular nine to five jobs). Tsukishima's older brother is in attendance as is his girlfriend(?) Saeko—she insists everyone call her by her given name.

There's laughter, music and good food. Everything is as it should be. So why does Kentarō look... anxious?

"Nevermind." He shakes his head as if to clear it. "Eat, go grab a chair."

You nod, picking up your plate and eyeing him as you go to sit. You find an empty spot next to Mika. Daisho just got transferred into the team from the Tamaden Elephants. Apparently he and Kuroo go way back. You can hear Tsukishima complaining about him with Daisho providing enthusiastic support.

You fight to keep a grin off your face and you end up catching Mika's eye. "Tsukishima's favorite pastime is shit talking."

"Oh, I'd call it Suguru's hobby!" You both laugh. "How long have you and Kyotani been together?"

Is this what Kentarō is worried about? Mika isn't the least bit scary. "Since highschool graduation actually. He confessed to me after the ceremony."

"Oh, so you two went to the same school!"

"Nah, I went to Date Tech—I was the manager of the volleyball team. Kentarō and I met through a local gym that had volleyball nights. Then our teams played against one another." You raise a cup in Koganegawa's direction, he promptly drops what he is doing to wave back—spilling water all down his front. Mika laughs again but you just sigh. "He skipped his own graduation ceremony just so he could cheer me on at mine."

"Wow! That's so romantic!" She sighs dreamily. "That'll be a good story for your kids, huh?"

Ah. Of course, you think, they wouldn't know. "Kentarō and I aren't going to have kids."

"Huh?"

You shrug, forcing nonchalance into your expression. "We talked about it and decided we're good as we are. We've gotten quite a bit of grief from our families about it too."

You don't look at Mika, not wanting to be disappointed. You like her, you don't want to give up being her friend. A hand falls on your shoulder. You meet her gaze, it's firm. "It's your business. A child is not a decision to be made lightly."

Relief, cool and sweet, sweeps through your bones. A smile blooms across your features. "My thoughts exactly."

You search for Kentarō, finding him rolling his eyes at Koganegawa's wet shirt. You barely have to stare at him for more than a second before he snaps his gaze over to you. You hold the contact, giving him a gentle wave. He signs to you, all good?

Yes, you sign back, all good.

#kyotani x reader #hq x reader #kyotani kentaro x reader #kentaro kyotani #sendai frogs #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fanfiction #hope this saves you from your torment anon #reader insert #i may write more of this actually #v cute #gender neutral reader #anon and judas sitting in a tree #hq fluff

89 notes · View notes

bangtanhoneys · 17 days ago

Text

GRACE TOUR DIARY: April 18th 2025, Paris & London

APRIL 17TH & 18TH - PARIS & LONDON��

By 11 p.m., the Accor Arena was nearly empty, the roar of thousands now replaced with the low thrum of forklifts and voices calling cues. Crew members were still packing the final load of flight cases, while stadium staff swept through confetti-strewn aisles and folded up stray banners left behind. But backstage, things had calmed. The storm had passed.

The dancers had already been loaded into waiting cars bound for the hotel, where they’d have a night to rest before flying to London the next day. The rest of the crew, stylists, choreographers and techs, were finishing up the last of their clear-out, boxing up costumes, coiling wires, and sealing wardrobe trunks, ready to be shipped overnight and getting themselves ready for their flights tomorrow.

For Grace, Seokjin, Hana, Sejin, and two of their security team, it was time to move.

The transformation from onstage icon to just Grace had already happened. The makeup was wiped clean, her blonde hair brushed out and braided into a loose plait. She wore soft grey joggers, a hoodie two sizes too big (one of Seokjin’s), and trainers, her essentials tucked into a crossbody bag. Seokjin had changed too, into jeans and a sweatshirt, low cap pulled over his brow.

Sejin led them through a dim corridor behind the arena, one only known to staff, skirting past final pockets of lingering fans and the last security checks. Just beyond the rear gates, their SUV waited with engines humming and doors already open.

“Jet is ready,” Sejin confirmed, helping Hana and the bodyguards load the remaining luggage into the boot, bags that had been packed that morning in preparation for the overnight jump to London.

Grace let out a long, exhausted breath as she folded into the cool leather seats. The cushions swallowed her up, and she leaned her head back, eyes fluttering closed for a second. Seokjin reached across the seat and rested a hand gently on her thigh, grounding her with a soft squeeze.

“You still buzzing?” he asked as the car pulled away from the venue, the glowing Accor Arena slowly fading into the rearview mirror.

“A little,” she murmured, her voice low and raw. The adrenaline still fizzed at the edge of her nerves, but she could already feel the weight of fatigue pulling at her. “But I’ll sleep. I always crash after.”

Paris was slipping into its midnight hush as they made their way through the city. The streets were still alive, late-night cafés, neon-lit corner shops, and taxis ferrying concertgoers back to hotels and train stations. Fans had scattered, some to AirBnBs, some to hotels, some to friends’ couches, some still clinging to the experience as they scrolled through fancams under streetlamps. But the buzz of the night still hung over the city like smoke from fireworks.

The drive to Le Bourget, the private jet terminal on the outskirts of Paris, took just over half an hour. When they arrived, the sleek black jet was already waiting for them on the tarmac, engines silent but prepped.

A chill wind whipped across the runway, and Grace shivered as she stepped out of the car. Seokjin, without missing a beat, transferred their carry-on bags into one hand and pulled her in close with the other, his arm wrapped warmly around her shoulders.

Airport security was brisk; there were no lines or press, just a few nods and a flash of IDs as they moved through the private terminal. Sejin’s planning had smoothed every wrinkle before they even arrived.

They silently crossed the lit runway, the hum of night surrounding them. Inside the jet, the cabin was softly lit and inviting. Tea, warm towels, and a spread of late-night snacks were waiting. Blankets and slippers had already been placed on the leather recliners. Hana and Sejin sank into their usual spots, immediately reaching for laptops and phones, already looking ahead to the schedule for London.

Grace curled up near the window, knees tucked beneath her, a blanket pulled up to her chest. Seokjin took the seat across from her, slipping off his cap and stretching out.

“Try and sleep,” he said gently, watching her eyes already start to drift shut.

From his chair, Sejin’s voice floated back. “We’ll be arriving in Luton in just over an hour.”

But there was no response from Grace. Her eyes had barely fluttered shut before sleep claimed her completely, her body sinking deep into the leather seat.

The flight was smooth and quiet. When they finally touched down on British soil at exactly 1:30 a.m., the cabin lights dimmed further as the door was opened to the cool London air.

Grace stirred only slightly, barely awake, as she descended the steps with Seokjin’s steady hand guiding her. She breathed in the damp, familiar scent of the UK, rain-kissed tarmac, that somewhat cool but somewhat warm breeze, something nostalgic. She was home finally.

On the tarmac, the team went through swift border checks, thanks to pre-cleared documentation arranged by Sejin, and were escorted directly into a waiting blacked-out SUV. By 1:45 a.m., they were in motion, cutting through the quiet roads of early-morning London.

The city was hushed in a way it rarely was, the skyline silhouetted against the faintest edge of dawn. Grace leaned her head against the window, eyes closed again. Seokjin sat beside her, arms crossed but relaxed, already half-asleep. In the seat behind them, Hana scrolled through a final list of tomorrow’s press briefings while Sejin reviewed venue security logistics and any news from HYBE.

Within minutes, both Grace and Seokjin had drifted off again, lulled by the gentle rhythm of the road.

Forty minutes later, their SUV pulled up to their hotel on Canary Wharf, the Thames glinting in the dark and the iconic O2 Arena glowing in the distance

“I’m awake… just about,” Grace mumbled, rubbing her hands over her face as the car began to slow. Beside her, Seokjin let out a long yawn and stretched, blinking at the ceiling like he wasn’t quite sure what country, or time zone, they were in. But the moment the SUV doors opened and the cool London air hit them, it all came rushing back.

Luggage was quickly offloaded: suitcases, briefcases, carry-ons, garment bags, the organised chaos of a touring team in motion. The hotel staff were already waiting in the lobby, discreet and efficient, checking them in with ease of experience. They’d taken over the top floor entirely: Grace and Seokjin were in the penthouse suite, while Sejin, Hana, their stylists, security, and crew were just down the hallway. The dancers would arrive later in the morning and occupy the next floor down.

“Wow,” Grace whispered as she and Seokjin stepped into the suite. They both stood still for a moment.

The lamps were on, casting a warm, golden hue across the space, just enough light to navigate without harshness. The floor-to-ceiling windows had been left uncovered, revealing a breathtaking view of the Thames and the glowing white dome of the O2 Arena across the water. It dominated the skyline, perfectly framed from every room in the suite. Down below, Grace spotted a few crew members creeping around the venue, already prepping for the coming days.

“Right,” Sejin said behind them, checking his watch. “Wake-up call at 10 a.m. We've got a full schedule, half press, half free time. So both of you, try and get some decent sleep.”

With a few more soft instructions, the team slipped out, the door clicking shut behind them.

Seokjin was already padding across the suite, shoes kicked off, heading straight for the bed like a man on a mission. Grace lingered at the window for just a beat longer, arms folded as she gazed out at the view.

“I’m home,” she said softly, almost to herself. Then louder, with a smile, “Back in good old England.”

She kicked off her shoes beside Seokjin’s and crossed the room to join him, the city outside glittering like a welcome.

APRIL 18TH - LONDON

It wasn’t an alarm that woke Grace, or even Sejin knocking at the door. It was the soft sound of boats drifting along the Thames, London already alive and moving, the city’s usual hustle carrying on without pause or permission.

She peeled open her eyes to see it was 9 a.m. A full hour before the team would arrive to get them moving. With a yawn and a long stretch, Grace rolled over to find Seokjin still fast asleep, mouth slightly open and snoring into his pillow. It was hard not to laugh, harder still not to take a photo.

She slid out of bed and wandered to the window, where the curtains had been left open. Outside, boats passed by in rhythmic lines and the O2 Arena stood proud across the river. Down below, she spotted the first truck arriving, loaded with equipment for her show.

After a long shower and a proper cup of tea (thank God for British teabags), Grace sent a quick message to her mum: "Morning from an overcast London."

She attached a photo of the O2 in the distance.

It wasn’t long before a reply pinged back. A picture of her mum, dad, and Min-ji grinning over a plate of chicken arrived, along with the caption: "Evening from Seoul! I’ll be sending Seokjin my list later. Say hello to the city for me."

Her mother had been born and raised in London, so had her grandparents, and theirs before them. Grace had never met her grandparents; they had passed before she was born. But her father, Sung, often shared stories of her grandmother: a small but fierce woman who once asked where on earth Korea was and then fell in love with the man who came from it. Her grandmother had tried every Korean dish Sung introduced her to and had proudly taught him how to cook the perfect Sunday roast. She’d passed just before Grace’s mum learned she was pregnant.

“Where am I?” a groggy voice pulled Grace from her thoughts.

“You are currently in London, capital of England, and it is 9:35 a.m.,” she said, turning to hand Seokjin a mug. “Proper tea, too.”

He blinked at her, barely awake. Everything about him screamed let me sleep another five hours, as if he’d just finished the concert himself instead of her. Still, ever the supportive boyfriend, he took a sip, paused, then frowned and walked over to the coffee machine.

“Heathen,” Grace teased with a grin. “Shower is amazing, by the way. You’ve got like twenty minutes before the cavalry arrives.”

He grunted in response. Another grunt came from the bathroom as he shuffled that way, coffee in hand.

Grace set to work unpacking the essentials: toiletries laid out on the bathroom counter (timed just as Seokjin stepped into the shower), gaming consoles, phone chargers, purse, and a few comfort items. Clothes not selected for the day were hung neatly, and a quick check of the weather forecast, of course it was drizzle, meant sandals were out and trainers were in.

And, right on schedule, there was a knock at the door. The team had arrived.

“Morning,” Sejin called out as he stepped into the suite, followed closely by Hana, a couple of managers, and the head bodyguard. One by one, they filtered into the living area like a well-rehearsed routine.

“Everyone’s looking bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Grace quipped as she began handing out mugs, motioning toward the kettle and coffee machine. Predictably, in true Korean fashion, everyone made a beeline for the coffee.

Sejin glanced around, clearly taking attendance.

“Seokjin’s in the shower,” Grace answered before he could ask, settling into a chair near the window with a fresh cup of tea in hand. Now that she was properly caffeinated and dressed, she felt far more human than she had an hour ago.

The suite had fully come to life now. Laptops were opened, notepads flipped, and the sound of coffee being brewed was matched only by the shuffling of papers and the quiet murmurs of coordination. Grace, still curled into her seat by the window, sipped her tea while scanning the familiar, focused energy in the room.

Sejin cleared his throat and stood in front of the low coffee table, tablet in hand.

“So, today’s a fairly easy one,” he began. “Tomorrow is a full press day, interviews, TV, radio, all of it, so we’ve got an early start, which is why we’re keeping things light today. In two hours, you’ve got the tour conference. We haven’t really done one since your solo debut, and there’ll be a Q&A section afterwards for both the press and invited attendees.”

He glanced down at his tablet. “That should run from 10 a.m. to roughly 1 p.m. After that, the rest of the day is yours.”

“I think just relaxing and grabbing some proper food would be good for the whole team,” Grace replied. “And I know Seokjin wants to see a few things, but depending on timing, it might make sense for him to go out with a team tomorrow while I’m tied up with the press.”

“I can take him,” Hana offered. “We’ve got more than enough staff to manage both of you.”

Sejin nodded. “That works. Just keep in touch with the driver and comms.” He tapped to the next part of the schedule. “And Sunday, you’ve got a full day of rehearsals. Venue access opens at 1 p.m., and you’ll be in until around 11:30 at night. So, if Seokjin doesn’t want to go exploring on his own, you’ll have the morning free to do something together.”

Right on cue, Seokjin emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed but still towel-drying his hair.

“I’m happy to go with the flow,” he said, voice casual. “Let’s keep both options open. I know Grace’s eomma is going to have a shopping list for me anyway.”

Grace laughed while nodding in agreement. “She said she’d be sending a list over later.”

Sejin tapped a few more things on his tablet, double-checked the schedule, and then flipped the cover shut.

“Right,” he said, straightening. “Let’s get some breakfast going. Everyone else is still flying in from Paris, so the glam squad won’t be here in time to get you sorted.”

Grace rolled her eyes, smiling as she finished the last sip of her tea. “It’s not like I don’t know how to do my own makeup. I’ve already got my outfit picked, too.”

Without a word, Hana stood and disappeared into the bedroom to inspect what Grace had laid out. She returned a moment later, gave a single approving nod, and sat back down, silent confirmation in Grace’s book.

“Okay,” Grace said, standing. “Breakfast it is.”

Breakfast, complete with every traditional British item on the menu, was utter chaos in the suite, but it was the kind of chaos that brought comfort. Plates of eggs, sausages, toast, beans, tomatoes, and hash browns filled the table, while tea and coffee circulated in equal measure.

It gave the team a chance to breathe before the day kicked into high gear. No talk of press schedules or stage layouts, just laughter, casual conversation, and catching up on life with the people they’d been working alongside for years. For a moment, it didn’t feel like a tour. It felt like home.

Grace’s makeup didn’t take long. She kept it minimal, just enough to look polished on camera without overdoing it. Her outfit followed the same principle: clean and smart. Dark jeans, a crisp white blouse, a tailored navy jacket, and black heels. Simple yet confident.

The last time Grace or Seokjin had been in London was for BTS’s sold-out Wembley concerts in 2019. Now, she was back, this time for her own sold-out shows at the O2 Arena. It was a venue she had never stepped foot in before, and today, she would walk through its doors for the first time, for her tour conference and then for her own two concerts.

It took twenty-four minutes to reach the venue, despite it being just across the river. The route wound along the motorway, past graffiti-laden walls, and through the Silvertown Tunnel.

“Such a roundabout way to get to a venue,” Seokjin remarked, glancing at the map on his phone.

“London for you,” Grace sighed, watching the blur of concrete and rain-slicked roads pass by. They weren’t in the iconic heart of the city, but even from here, she could see the O2 Arena starting to peek through the skyline, its white dome and yellow support towers rising like a distant monument.

When it finally came into full view, just beyond the curve of the road, Grace let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. Up close, the O2 was colossal, more imposing than she expected. And now, she wasn’t just arriving. She was entering it as the headliner.

They cleared security quickly and were ushered into the venue through a staff entrance tucked discreetly along the side of the arena. Inside, the space was already alive with movement. Crew members moved with practised precision, checking lighting rigs, adjusting backdrops, and testing microphones. Cables coiled across the floor like veins, while rows of press seats were being aligned with military efficiency.

Though smaller than the main stage area, the event space carried its own kind of gravity. Banners bearing Grace’s name, alongside the HYBE and Big Hit logos and the tour title, hung neatly along the walls, softly illuminated by a cool blue-white glow. At the front stood a long desk draped in a crisp white cloth, a single microphone on top, a glass, and two bottles of water—simple, but focused.

Large screens cycled through a carefully curated slideshow: stills from her music videos, behind-the-scenes concert shots from the tour so far, and, inevitably, footage of BTS from their last London performance together. It was a nod to where she came from and who she still carried with her.

The journalists and panel attendees were being guided through the space and allowed a quick walk-through before the main event. The buzz of conversation echoed softly through the room as everyone settled into their roles.

Sejin checked his watch, then looked over at Grace. “We’ve got about an hour before the conference starts,” he said. “Plenty of time.”

Before Grace could finish taking in the event space, Hana was already tapping her on the arm.“Come on. Outside. You’re taking some photos in front of the arena,” she said, already steering her toward the exit.

“In the drizzle?” Grace groaned.

“It’s basically London’s version of sunshine,” Sejin said with a smirk, trailing behind. “Besides, you’re headlining the O2. No way you’re skipping a photo op.”

Grace rolled her eyes but didn’t argue. There was a quick stop near the doors to touch up her makeup and hair, a travel-sized mirror flashed in front of her, and an umbrella was handed over to keep her dry, at least until the cameras were rolling.

The staff entrance opened out onto the main plaza, where the O2 Arena rose like a modern coliseum, its white dome and yellow support towers looming against the grey, misty sky. The pavement glistened with recent rain, and the air smelled clean and damp, so unmistakably London.

“Alright,” Hana called, already lifting her phone into position. “Let’s give ARMY what they want.”

Grace stepped forward, posing effortlessly, one hand in her pocket, a soft smile, then a dramatic look off into the distance. The poses shifted quickly from serious to playful. She threw up a peace sign, did a mock bow, and at one point, Seokjin appeared in the background mid-jump, photobombing like he was back in the maknae line.

She nearly doubled over laughing. “What are you doing?”

“Adding charm,” he said innocently.

She thought it was over, until Seokjin appeared beside her, holding up his phone in selfie mode.

“You know we have to,” he said with a grin, already framing the shot. Grace gave him an exaggerated look of exasperation which was mixed with fondness, then leaned in.

Click.

The photo was up on Seokjin’s Instagram before they were even back inside: “Conference day. She’s got this. #O2Takeover #GraceInLondon #PowerDuo”

Within seconds of Seokjin’s post, the comments section exploded. Likes poured in by the thousands, and ARMY from every time zone jumped into the replies, flooding the comment section with purple hearts, crying emojis, and rapid-fire praise.

@minyoongiedaydream: “NO ONE TALK TO ME I’M EMOTIONALLY UNSTABLE FROM THIS PHOTO #GraceInLondon”

@bts8tillinfinity: “Grace in front of the O2 looking like she already owns it?? The era we were promised.”

@hobislightstick: “The umbrella, the coat, the misty backdrop… she’s giving BBC drama lead who also just casually headlines a world tour.”

@londonarmyxoxo: “Not me crying on the DLR because I live twenty minutes from the O2 and she’s right THERE!!!!!!!!!! someone breathe for me”

On Big Hit’s official Twitter and WeVerse accounts, Hana had already uploaded one of the photos of Grace. The caption read: “From London to Manchester to Seoul to Wembley… and now to the O2. London, it’s nice to be home.”

Within seconds, it began trending on Twitter, especially as the live feed of the conference went live, drawing in fans from around the world. Screenshots flooded timelines. Hashtags shot up the charts. ARMY was already tuned in, ready to witness the moment.

Back inside, the shift in atmosphere was immediate. The noise from the outside plaza faded, replaced by the low thrum of controlled movement, staff voices over walkie-talkies, distant mic tests, and the quiet shuffle of final preparations.

Grace handed off the umbrella and coat, already feeling the familiar hum of adrenaline settling beneath her skin. Her heels clicked softly as she followed Sejin and Hana back through the corridor, deeper into the heart of the venue.

They paused outside the holding room just off the stage. “Ten minutes,” Sejin said, glancing at his watch. “Short intro video, then you’re up.”

The lights in the hall dimmed slightly, and Sejin leaned in to speak quietly into his headset. Grace could hear the crowd beyond the curtain now, muffled but buzzing with anticipation. She caught faint notes of the opening music starting to play, an instrumental version of In My Head.

A tech peeked around the corner. “Two minutes.”

Grace turned toward the mirror one last time, smoothing her jacket, and Seokjin reached over to smooth her hair down her back. She gave him a small smile, to which he gave her a wink in return, reaching down to take hold of her hand and give it a solid squeeze.

As the livestream clock ticked down, tens of thousands of ARMY across the world watched from phones, laptops, tablets, some at desks with earbuds in, some curled up in bed, some gathered in group chats already screaming in all caps.

The screen went black for a moment. Then the intro started.

A short, cinematic reel rolled across the screen: Grace on stage during her debut tour stops in Seoul, Los Angeles, Chicago, New York and Paris. Snippets of choreography. Behind-the-scenes laughs. Her walking into venues. One quiet moment of her watching a rehearsal from the wings, silhouetted by purple light.

Then came the voiceover: “From Manchester to Seoul, and now back in London after five years, please welcome Grammy award-winning, Grace Chu, of BTS.”

The audience inside the venue erupted into applause. Not thunderous stadium cheering, but a powerful wave of recognition and pride, deep and heartfelt. The cameras flashed as she appeared from the side of the stage, and the moderator stepped to the side, allowing her to go up on stage first, where she bowed to the crowd. Even if she was on home soil, it was hard to break her Korean habits.

“Good morning, everyone,” she said with a smile after she sat down and took the microphone, thanking the moderator as they poured her a glass of water.

And with that, the conference began. Grace spoke candidly about the tour, how she’d helped plan it with her team, and how each stop was carefully chosen. She mentioned wanting to come to Europe specifically, having been away from home for so long, and how she understood the frustration of European fans who often felt overlooked in favour of America and Asia.

Then came the questions, unfiltered and unrehearsed. None had been pre-approved. Some were from major newspapers, others from music magazines, a few from industry professionals, and even one or two from fans sitting near the back. The flow found its rhythm quickly. Some questions were sharp and insightful, others lighthearted and warm. Grace navigated each with the confidence of someone who knew herself well, but never with arrogance. She laughed when it was natural, answered thoughtfully when it mattered, and let silences speak when the weight of the topic called for it.

There were tender moments, too. One fan asked how she coped with loneliness during the group’s hiatus. Grace's honest answer left more than a few eyes glistening. Another moment brought laughter when she jokingly called Seokjin her “tour manager-slash-photographer,” complete with an exaggerated eye roll.

The atmosphere stayed electric but respectful. The press was engaged but professional. The fans, invited in small numbers, were quietly emotional, some clutching banners or wiping at their eyes as she spoke about the connection between her and ARMY as something that would “outlive noise, doubt, and even distance.”

And then it happened. An older man stood in the middle press section. His posture radiated smugness, his reputation infamous. The moderator hadn’t moved quickly enough to skip him. He didn’t even wait for a mic.

“You’ve talked a lot about your artistry today,” he began, voice heavy with condescension. “But let’s be honest, there are plenty of people who say you only made it this far because you were the only woman in BTS. That you were more of a PR decision than an actual talent. Some even suggest your relationships with certain members did more for your career than your music ever did. So really, what do you say to people who think you were just the bed warmer in the band?”

The room recoiled. A ripple of gasps spread across the venue, keyboards stopped clacking, and translators froze mid-sentence. A chair scraped sharply across the floor. From the side of the stage, Seokjin moved with deadly intent, but Hana was quicker. She caught his arm with both hands and held tight.

“Don’t,” she hissed. “She’s got this.”

Meanwhile, Sejin stepped forward fully into view, body tense, a pair of security guards flanking him now, waiting for the signal. The air was molten with tension. But Grace didn’t flinch. She picked up the mic slowly, her eyes fixed on the man like a scalpel finding its mark. Her voice was low, calm, precise, and absolutely blistering.

“Isn’t it interesting,” she said, “how no one ever questions a man’s place when he’s successful?” She paused. Not a blink. “I’ve trained, sung, danced, and worked for over a decade. I’ve helped write the music you probably downloaded. I’ve stood on stages around the world with six men who love me like a sister and one who loves me for me. None of them ever treated me like a prop or a rumour. So if you think I’m here because of anything but my own work, you’re not insulting me. You’re insulting them. And worse… you’re showing the world how little you value women.”

She leaned back slightly, letting it land. “I’m not here to be tolerated. I’m here because I belong. And if that’s too hard for you to accept… maybe you’re in the wrong industry.”

She set the mic back down. In her mind, she could practically hear Namjoon’s “mic drop.”

The room was silent, choked, stunned silence. The man who had spoken opened his mouth again, but no words came. His face reddened as Grace tilted her head, eyebrows raised in polite expectation, as if daring him to try again. He didn’t.

She’d heard this before, sexist slurs in Korean, racist barbs about her mixed heritage, snide remarks from industry insiders who never saw her as more than a supporting role. But she was done shrinking. The conference carried on, but the energy had shifted. The mood, once light and warm, now burned with secondhand embarrassment and quiet fury on Grace’s behalf.

The conference wrapped up swiftly after that. The final questions were answered with professionalism, but the warmth had cooled, the earlier camaraderie replaced with a quiet, simmering solidarity. Grace stepped down from the table, and Sejin was already there, guiding her gently but firmly by the arm. His eyes didn’t leave the man who’d asked the question, not for a second.

There was nothing in Sejin’s expression, but everything in his posture said calm but dangerous. He leaned in briefly to one of the venue staff as they passed through the wings, his voice low but decisive. Grace didn’t have to hear what he said to know what it was.

That man would never be allowed near a HYBE event again. Not while Sejin was breathing.

The moment Grace was in Seokjin’s arms, she let out the longest breath and simply closed her eyes, pressing her face into the fabric of his jacket. No words needed to be said. There was nothing he could offer that would fix what had just happened, only the warmth of his arms and the steady presence of someone who knew her better than anyone else.

He tightened his hold around her instinctively, one hand cradling the back of her head, the other wrapped securely around her waist. Over her shoulder, Seokjin’s eyes locked with Sejin’s, who nodded once, already on the phone.

"Yes. His credentials, publications, and full access history. I want everything flagged and pulled. Permanently." Sejin paused, voice calm but firm. "No, we won’t be issuing a statement. Grace handled it… better than any of us could’ve."

“ARMY’s already doing the digging,” Hana added, eyes fixed on her phone, thumbs flying as she scrolled. “They’ve found his Twitter. It’s… not going well for him.”

Sejin chuckled as he hung up the phone and leaned over to peek at Hana’s screen. What he saw wasn’t flattering for the reporter, but it was absolutely hilarious. HYBE’s legal team wouldn’t need to lift a finger. ARMY was already out in full force, defending the one person who had always defended them.

“Let’s head back to the hotel,” Sejin suggested, his voice softening as he glanced at Grace. “We’ll make some tea, breathe a bit. If you still feel like going out after that, we’ll figure it out.”

Grace let out a long breath and nodded. “Yeah. That sounds good.”

She wasn’t crying. She wasn’t angry. But the disappointment sat heavy, old, familiar, and quietly exhausting. For now, all she wanted was stillness. A moment of quiet before she faced the world again.

They slipped out through the staff exit just as the last of the crowd was beginning to filter out. The drizzle had stopped, replaced by cloudy sunshine. Grace tugged her blazer tighter around her frame as Seokjin gently guided her into the waiting SUV. Sejin and Hana followed, the doors shutting behind them with a soft, sealed finality.

No one spoke for a while. The hum of the road, the muted blur of London outside, and the occasional ping from Hana’s phone filled the silence. Grace leaned into Seokjin’s side, resting her head on his shoulder while his fingers laced gently through hers in his lap. It wasn’t until they crossed back over the river, the O2 shrinking behind them, that Sejin caught her gaze in the rearview mirror.

“We can drop everything for the rest of the day, if you want,” he offered gently. “No pressure.”

Grace shook her head. “No… I want to go out. Just after a break. Tea. Maybe a nap. Then we’ll pick somewhere.”

Sejin nodded. “Done.”

Back at the hotel, the suite welcomed them with warm lighting and soft silence. Someone from the team had already sent up a tray with pastries and sandwiches. The kettle was full and freshly boiled, like someone had known exactly what she’d need.

Grace kicked off her shoes and sank into the corner of the sofa while Seokjin disappeared into the kitchenette. Within minutes, he was back, two mugs in hand and a plate filled with a little of everything. He handed her the tea first, settling beside her without a word.

For the first time all day, Grace allowed herself to truly exhale. The conference had gone well. She had handled herself, and she wasn’t about to let one man derail what was meant to be a triumphant homecoming, one that was long overdue.

Seokjin shifted beside her, holding out the plate. “Where do you fancy going for dinner?” he asked softly.

Grace reached for a sandwich, a tired but genuine smile forming on her lips.

“Somewhere good,” she said. “Somewhere that feels like a celebration.”

After lunch and a two-hour nap, and a few more cups of tea, Grace changed into something a little more relaxed, black jeans, ankle boots, a soft beige sweater and a trench coat thrown over the top. Her makeup stayed minimal, and her hair was pulled into a low, neat ponytail. Seokjin followed suit, dressing down but still looking effortlessly sharp.

They took the whole team with them, consisting of Sejin, Hana, the rest of the managers and the bodyguards. While they didn’t need the whole team, Grace wasn’t leaving anyone out who needed the moment to simply breathe and be tourists with time to kill.

The late afternoon sun had finally broken through the grey, casting a golden hue across the Thames as they drove west. First stop: Westminster.

Grace leaned toward the window as they passed the Houses of Parliament. The spires of Westminster Palace stood proud against the sky, Big Ben’s tower gleaming in the sunlight.

“I always forget how pretty this city is when it’s not soaked in rain,” she said, almost wistfully.

Seokjin smiled beside her. “I think it’s prettier with you in it.”

“Cheesy,” she muttered, but her cheeks flushed all the same.

They slowed as they passed Westminster Abbey, then turned along the edge of St James’s Park. The driver stopped long enough to let them hop out for a short walk. Grace tugged her coat tighter, the breeze sharp but not unpleasant. They strolled quietly, letting the city’s familiar rhythm wrap around them, the rustle of trees, the hum of traffic, the distant toll of bells.

They paused at the edge of the park, where Buckingham Palace loomed in the distance. Tourists snapped pictures, unaware of the two idols tucked into the shadow of a large tree while their team stood away, taking pictures of their own and admiring the park they were in.

“You think your mum ever snuck off here when she was younger?” Seokjin asked, watching pigeons scatter as a jogger passed.

“She used to say this was her ‘daydream park’ when she was a teenager,” Grace replied. “Always thought she’d end up in a place like this, but instead she met my dad and moved halfway across the world.”

“She probably thought you’d end up doing something safer,” he joked.

“She probably still does.”

By early evening, the car was weaving through central London, the city glowing now under a sky streaked pink and lavender. Neon lights began to flicker on as they turned down the Strand, drawing to a stop just outside STK Steakhouse.

The manager greeted them personally and whisked them to a semi-private booth tucked away near the back, dimly lit and warm. The interior buzzed with low music, stylish locals, and tourists alike, but Grace felt wrapped in a bubble of calm.

They ordered steaks, sides, and a bottle of red wine, the kind of meal that told her body and soul it was allowed to rest.

“I needed this,” Grace admitted between bites. “I really did.”

Seokjin reached across the table, curling his fingers around hers. “You earned this. All of it. Even the steak.”

She laughed, reaching over to steal the steak on his fork.

As the evening rolled on, surrounded by the team that cared for them, they let themselves be just Grace and Seokjin. Not headlines. Not stage personas. Just two people in love, in a city full of memory and meaning, building something of their own.

And across the street, tucked among flickering billboards and late buses, a few ARMY lingered, not approaching, not intruding, just smiling from a distance and letting their queen have her moment.

They wrapped up their evening with desserts and another bottle of wine, the team and them leaving the restaurant happy and content. They returned to the hotel quietly and ready for bed. Just the soft ding of the lift, the gentle hush of the penthouse hallway, and the comfort of their shared space. Grace slipped off her boots first, then leaned against the glass wall that looked over the glittering city skyline.

“Tomorrow’s full press again,” Sejin reminded them, tapping notes into his phone. “Early start. Get some sleep.”

They all nodded, the weariness catching up at last. Hana disappeared to her room. Sejin followed soon after, leaving Grace and Seokjin alone.

She changed into pyjamas and curled up on the couch beside him, a hot water bottle made and tucked up in bed to get it warmed. He handed her another cup of tea, then pulled the blanket over them both as the muted sounds of the city drifted through the window.

By the time Grace drifted off to sleep that night, fans all across London, and far beyond, had already filled social media with candid snapshots of her day in the city. Photos taken outside the O2 showed her in front of the arena with her umbrella, laughing mid-pose, the famous dome in the background. One tweet captioned:

“She stood in the London rain like she owned it. O2 Grace era is real. #GraceInLondon”

Another fan had caught her and Seokjin walking through St. James’s Park, bundled up in coats, holding hands as they strolled beneath the trees. “Didn’t want to bother her… but seeing Grace and Seokjin just existing together in the city? I’m crying. #PowerDuo #LondonGrace”

A short clip from across the road caught Grace pausing in front of Westminster Palace, her face turned toward Big Ben, golden hour lighting her silhouette. “Grace Chu, daughter of England, standing where history stands. She is the moment. #GraceInLondon #QueenEnergy”

Even a grainy shot of her smiling at the hostess in STK Steakhouse was posted, captioned:

“She’s had a day and still shines. Hope she had the best meal ever. #GraceDeservesTheWorld”

ARMY began compiling the photos into threads, creating digital trails of where Grace had been, like breadcrumbs. Each new post added to the growing wave of love and admiration, laced with gentle reminders: don’t crowd Grace or Seokjin while they’re in the city, only share sightings once they’ve moved on.

It wasn’t just excitement. It was respect. Protection.

And the city, in its own quiet, rain-washed way, had welcomed her home.

#bts 8th member #bts eighth member #bts female member #bts additional member #bts fic #bts fanfiction #gracechu #seokjin x oc

21 notes · View notes

silentmagi · 1 month ago

Note

Awkward Arrival:

First headcanon off the bat, 2 in 1, a name and thing, tessa’s design of what she call’s “protection model drones” are different then disassembly drones a few key ways

1.Sturdier build and only slightly more humanoid but overall still a drone.

2.Weapons are more varied and customizations/attachments for weapons can be spawned via a 3d printer that’s designed to look like a satchel at either hip, and a new weapon can be uploaded to the cloud at any point (I imagine Uzi would be happy to lend design schematics to see what a version of her railgun would look like on a PM drone body) but the weapon swap system is a bit slower to load the weapon,a 0.5 second slower to be exact (eldritch magic be damned, tessa got close).

3.no oil hunger thankfully but there is alot more oil acting as the blood of this machine.

4.backups of personal memory of the unit are done CONSTANTLY and the drone themselves is their own admin.

5.has tools for repairing regular drones as well in the arsenal

6.has a version of the patch installed in their hardware, allowing transfer of solver users into PM drone bodies

7.has a sharp knife-tipped usb with a copy of the patch on it as apart of the weapon arsenal

8.instead of the color scheme of the yellow and black of safety tape, its green and red.

Her J was of course the first subject, and also managed to free her from solvers admin controls and gave her memories back.A lot of digital tears were shed that day because solver implemented a false memory of her killing tessa, which Tessa removed before giving admin over to her jaybird.

2nd headcanon: The spaceship base is the most self-indulgent looking home of tessa, her interests on full display, she has found and made a station for oxygen tank refills, there is more futuristic stuff, mainly lots of old food and water producing related tech (thankfully J has watched her and she has a green thumb)

3rd headcanon: Tessa has had to learn how to make ammo and make new weapon designs to deal with dd’s due to the last planet she was on, picked it up from a old weapon smith colony on the same planet(they were the weapon supplier during the solver war)

1 Question: how is cyn feeling amidst all of this as she watches from the back of her own mind?

Awkward Arrival

I love the idea that Tessa would make the Protection Model Drones (PMD), with the Solver's Disassembly Drones (SDD) being inferior knock offs.

Probably would have them based off construction drones to start study, and just add some armor without cutting functionality.

The greater variety would make up for the delay in making a weapon, especially once Uzi gets the greenlight to have some fun making more weapons. She actually is slowed down due to upload speeds.

Probably also took care of the heat problem that caused the oil hunger.

Great idea, cloud back ups every hour, and a full system back up at night.

They are uploaded to the cloud for the weapons under a sub folder.

Excellent touch for them to have that patch, and that it's updated.

File number 00003 is the USB penetration unit.

This is her gift to the universe so the Christmas Colors are thematic.

J needs therapy, Tessa needs therapy, EVERYONE NEEDS THERAPY! No, group therapy is not kissing Tessa, Jaybird, get it together you two... NOT THAT WAY!

I could see her making it an even fancier mansion than her parents could imagine, and every inch is full of her interests and love. J keeps her alive by reminding her to use the food and water machines.

I could see her developing a love of kinetic and beam weapons over ballistic weapons. She gathers all blueprints she can find, no matter what.

1 Answer: Cyn is glad to see the two of them, and hopes that they can stop her, and the monster she has become.

#AU Summaries #Awkward Arrival #Murder Drones #rainofdauwuand0w0

22 notes · View notes

originalcollectionartistry · 1 year ago

Text

I always knew... SFW

Hey all!

I'm so sorry I haven't posted anything lately... things happened and I didn't have the energy to write.

Echo's sequel is coming, I just need to edit. I have a Tech fluff in the works and I promise I'll for Wrecker and Crosshair soon.

Anyway, here's a Hunter fic for you! I do have a smutty part 2 planned for this one, I just need the energy to write it.

CW: Angst, emotional torment, jealousy, idiots in love, protective Hunter, Hemlock trying to manipulate reader

Word count: 2673

___________________________________________________________

Once you had settled in Pabu, you thought the missions were over but no. You still went on missions for credits, or to help Phee retrieve some artifact. You didn’t mind, but it always felt like they were becoming more and more dangerous with less chance of all of you coming back alive. When you did all come back alive, it was a different opponent you silently fought on Pabu.

You didn’t know what it was about Shep’s sister-in-law that made your skin crawl. Only that she was a sweet talker and could manipulate very easily. Phee was always cordial with her, but Tech and Echo made their distrust very clear while being polite. What you didn’t like was how all over Hunter she was. Hunter never made it clear whether he was interested or not which made you on edge. The way she was flirting and touching him made you feel sick every time you saw it.

“You, okay?” Wrecker elbowed you, snapping you out of thought.

You looked around and saw everyone staring at you expectantly. Hunter’s face was set in an unreadable way, so you didn’t know if he was annoyed or concerned.

“Hm, yeah,” you smiled. “Just a bit tired. What did I miss?”

You were re-briefed on the newest mission and your role in it. You were to sneak with Tech and Echo to retrieve the information needed for Rex about Hemlock’s location on Tantiss while Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair were to draw fire if it was needed, Phee was the getaway driver while Tech was occupied. While Echo plugged into the station, Tech would go on about decryption and you would scour for all relevant information as Echo transferred and moved files around, all while keeping the alarms off.

Hunter looked at you expectantly and you nodded. “Yes Hunter, I know what to do.”

“Alright. Let’s stock up and head out in 4 hours,” Hunter ordered.

You all dispersed to stock up on rations and equipment and as you left, you saw Meela saunter up to Hunter, practically laying herself on his chest. You heard her compliment his commandeering and how he was so strong for your team. You rolled your eyes as Hunter looked down at her and thanked her before taking her waist and moving her elsewhere. You gagged slightly before moving things onto the Marauder. Crosshair noticed and chuckled a little. Everyone knew of your crush on the sergeant but at your request (begging) the squad swore to not tell Hunter. Besides, it was best for him to figure it out on his own.

“You’re really not going to say anything?” the sniper snarked as he loaded his shooter above his bunk.

You glanced over from your spot, where you were loading rations into the compartments. You shook your head and kept quiet. You really didn’t want to have this conversation, especially with the chance Hunter might walk in at any time.

“Alright then. Keep your secrets sarad. He’ll find out eventually.”

Hunter joined you not long after. He made orders to move out earlier than expected. Wrecker shoved his equipment in the compartment before settling into his bunk, Echo and Tech finished upgrades on the ship and you closed your compartment to finish stocking once you were on the move.

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

“Gods sarad! Can’t you go faster?” Echo asked desperately. “They’ll be on us any second!”

“Two more seconds! I’ll find it!” You were frantically sorting through files while Tech decrypted everything. You made a sound of success and told Echo which one to grab.

The mission went wrong from the get-go. You weren’t counting on motion sensors or silent alarms. The Empire typically used overwhelming numbers and force to counter an opponent but this time it was a shock to you all when Crosshair commed almost instantly once you were inside that you needed to move fast as there were troops converging on your location. Hunter and Wrecker distracted some troops and drew their fire but there were still troops coming.

Echo disengaged from the station and Tech unplugged his datapad. You all drew your blasters and set out to rendezvous at the ship. You all ran frantically, exchanging blaster fire behind you.

You didn’t look where your foot landed and tripped, falling flat on your face. Echo and Tech paused, and you screamed at them to keep going. You’d be fine! The mission was more important. They hesitated but saw you get up before they were rushing off to the rendezvous point.

You got yourself up and shot the four troopers surrounding you. You ran to catch up, but a trooper was able to stun you from a blind spot. The last thing you saw was troopers surrounding you and picking you up before you blacked out.

This was not good. I’m sorry guys… I’m sorry Hunter.

______________________________________________________________

You had assumed you’d be transferred and thrown into a cell but as you walked around the room you’d been given, you wondered what Hemlock’s game was. You sat on the bed, hoping this wasn’t some sort of seduction tactic. Hemlock wasn’t your type. Your type was back on the Marauder, being flown back to Pabu to see his ill-defined girlfriend. Whether or not Hunter knew, you saw Meela draped over him in a supply closet before heading out and he had made no move to remove her. So, with a broken heart, you walked on, pretending to not see them.

“Still wondering if your clones will find you?” a voice resonated behind you.

You turned and found Hemlock standing in your entryway. He placed something on a shelf near the entranceway before approaching you, a smirk on his face.

You shrugged. “That depends entirely on if they got away or not. I told them the mission comes first and to not risk their lives for me. So, Royce Hemlock, if they escaped then they’ll probably return to our base. It’ll be a while before they notice I’m gone.” You hated saying it, but you felt it a little bit true. The batch had their own lives blooming, and you didn’t know if you were part of it.

“Hmm,” Hemlock mused. “It must be hard not knowing if you have a place with them. Not knowing if they value you to come for you.”

You raised a brow. Your boys cared for you as their own. You were a family. What in the Force was he talking about? They had to come back for you… right?

___________________________________________________________

“WHAT DO YOU MEAN SHE’S NOT HERE?” Hunter roared. “You three were supposed to be here before any of us!”

Phee looked concerned, she’d never seen the boys this angry or upset before. You were clearly more important to them than they led on. She knew you were their medic and an integral party of their little family but with the way Hunter was acting and the others reacting, it was clear they cared for you much more than she thought.

“We have to go back for her!” Omega begged. She nearly lost Crosshair to the Empire. She wasn’t about to lose you too.

Tech sighed, “She was right behind us. She told us to keep moving after she fell, and we heard her breathing heavily behind us. Besides, we have no idea where she is. For all we know she’s been moved and detained. It’ll be more prudent to regroup and plan. Maybe she’ll find a way to escape and alert us.”

Hunter stared into one of the monitors on the ship, staring at the picture you all took of each other after a successful mission. Your smiling face, adrenaline filled eyes, messy braids, and everything about you. Over his dead body he’d abandon you now.

“We’re going back for her.” He growled. “Now.”

Tech looked at the ships communication system and noticed it flashing. “That may not be necessary. It seems she’s found us,” he said, noticing the comm channel matched yours.

Accepting the comm, Hunter’s face set in a hard line, seeing Hemlock’s face.

______________________________________________________________

Smirking in the clone’s face, Hemlock set the communicator down in a position that showed you and him in the bedroom. He wanted to play a game and let these clones know just how disposable they were to you.

“So,” Hemlock started, muting Hunter’s end of the call. “You believe the clones don’t care for you? That’s not like them. Their sense of family and loyalty is remarkably well-known.”

You grimaced, wanting him to stop talking. You knew that about clones. Everyone knew that about clones. You fought alongside them for 2 years. You knew the loyalty clones felt to each other and their generals; before Order 66 of course. It was their genetic specimen, Jango Fett, that gave them their sense of loyalty. Mandalorians were notorious for their family strength. It was like they were genetically incapable of not taking children under their wing or forming a family. You’d heard stories of Jango only wanting an unaltered clone to raise as his son, and other Mandalorians taking foundlings and orphans and giving them a home.

“You don’t need to remind me. I know them well enough.”

Smirking, Hemlock swiped a lock of hair behind your ear. “Oh, but you said you didn’t know if they noticed you were gone. Do you not feel a part of their little family?”

Wrecker and Omega were such mischiefs that you rarely saw them unless they were hungry and eating. Echo was usually on his own or with Rex, Tech was with Phee and Hunter… gods knew if he was with Meela a lot of the time. You made a face and Hemlock noticed the flare of anger in your eyes.

Looking over, he saw Hunter and Omega screaming silently from the comm, begging you to see them. The game the doctor was playing was deliciously agonising for them and he was loving it.

“Perhaps it’s time you found a new family. I’m always looking for an assistant. Especially one familiar with medical practices.”

You side-eyed the doctor, sensing the flirtation and desire to have you change to his team. To join the Empire.

“No. I have no desire to leave them. I just… It’s hard being in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. Especially when they love someone else.”

Smiling wider, he set his trap. “Ah, unrequited love. I’m guessing a certain sergeant hasn’t noticed your affections. They’re clear as day to everyone around you, how has he not noticed?”

Hunter was hitting the durasteel beside him, screaming for you to look at him.

“NO! Of course, I noticed! I could always sense it!”

The batch watched helplessly as their medic was interrogated and teased and their sergeant cried helplessly that he cared. They never noticed how sad you were, loving the security they had on Pabu. Crosshair grimaced, looking silently to Wrecker and Echo, both of whom knew like he did of your affections towards Hunter. They just never guessed how torturous it was for you to keep it hidden. You wore your heart on your sleeve, hiding your feelings must've been draining.

“I always knew… I just didn’t want to risk losing you…” Hunter felt useless and powerless. He wanted to scoop you up and hold you tightly, promising that you’d never feel this way again. They failed you; Hunter failed you. They failed in making you know and assuring you of your place with them and their love for you.

You scowled. How dare this small man try and worm his way into your good graces through false sympathy. “I don’t know what your game is Hemlock. But regardless of my feelings, my sergeant is happy with his partner and the others are content. As long as he’s happy with Meela, I don’t care how I feel.”

Hunter’s head shot up. Meela? You thought he was with Meela? Meela was the one hitting on him! He never cared about Meela! He just didn’t want to hurt anyone so restrained himself from touching her, even if to remove her from his space. He couldn’t bear to even be near the woman with how thick she laid it on, regardless of his rejections. He had told Meela many times that he wasn’t interested and that his sights were set on someone else, but she wouldn’t let up. When she came onto him that day in the supply closet, he was sure if he pushed her away, he’d push her into the wall and cause injury.

“I mean, Meela is lithe and beautiful and smart and witty and quick.” You ran your hand through your hair, messing it and giving Hemlock a sense that you were losing control of yourself. “I mean, she’s the whole package! Who am I to that? Just some civilian that was assigned to them. They didn’t even need me!”

How could you say that? Of course, they needed you! You made the team better! They would probably be all dead if not for you! Hunter’s fists were tightening until he could feel himself leaving indents under his body glove.

“Tech is the smartest man alive! He was perfectly capable of acting medic without me!” Tears bloomed in your eyes, hating how easy this man was pulling these fears out of you… supposedly.

Hemlock smiled in Hunter’s direction, loving the look of helplessness in the clone’s eyes.

“Sounds like they took advantage of you and your talents.” He wiped a tear from your cheek. “A lovely young woman such as you? Anyone would be lucky to have the honor of your affections.”

Sighing, you allowed yourself to decompress. “No… they never did that. It was wartime. I was never a priority. Love was never a priority, not even for me.”

Hemlock was getting frustrated with you. Every time you would walk into his trap, you’d slide yourself out of it. Which was the game you were playing.

You clued into what his intentions were pretty quickly. The good doctor wanted to make you insecure and question your place with Clone Force 99 so you would join him and gain a sense of security. It was very amusing to you, to see him start to flounder. He kept trying to set you up to become sad and turn against your family and it was so funny to you. As insecure as you were about your place with the batch, they were loyal to you and you to them.

Eventually you saw the communicator by the door and saw Hunter near tears and you realized he heard everything you’d said. You smiled and subtly nodded to him, letting him know you were okay. Your family was coming for you, and you’d wait for them forever.

“Well,” Hemlock stood, smoothing his robes out. “I’ll leave you to your thoughts. We shall see if your clones come rescue their medic.” He “calmly” stormed out, gripping his gloved hand in anger. As much as he wanted to hurt you, you were more valuable alive and well and could bargin.

“Tech, you get those coordinates?” Hunter asked frantically. He wasn’t going to make you wait anymore then you had to.

Nodding, Tech quickly punched them into the navigation system and set off to your location.

Hunter had a new mission now. His mission was to bring you home, tell you his feelings and love you for the rest of his life. He had been yours for years now; since the Clone Wars started and since you were assigned as their medic. Your loving nature, wit, intelligence, charisma, and so much of you and who you were made Hunter weak in the knees. As your commanding officer, Hunter had to maintain a distance and so while he made it clear he cared for you as a part of the squad, he made sure to swallow his feelings, so he didn’t compromise you.

Settling in his seat, he swore that would change. He would ask to make you his and love you for as long as time allowed him.

I’m coming cyare. I’ll find you soon.

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

I hope you all like it! I took some inspiration from @arctrooper69 series "As iron sharpens iron" which is awesome and y'all should read it! (I hope thats okay!)

Anyway, like I said above, I do have a smutty part 2 planned but life has overwhelmed me so it might be a hot minute for that!

Enjoy!!

#ao3 fanfic #the bad batch #sw tbb #hunter x reader #tbb hunter #tbb hunter x reader #star wars the bad batch #fanfic #hunter angst #idiots in love #protective hunter #jealous reader #clone simp #tbb fluff #hunter fluff

86 notes · View notes

sunshin3babeart · 6 months ago

Text

My wife and I finally finished ALL of Venture Bros and I have been cooking up this beauty the whole tiiimmme.

I had an Venture Bros OC back in like 2005 but remember NOTHING of them so here's Dr. Holly Hart. *waves hands*

She's about the same age as Rusty, a well-known roboticist, and is a HUGE bitch. xD Despite what media coverage would tell you.

Of COURSE she's paired with someone and whoever can guess who it is gets a free bust art of their fave Venture Bros character lmaooo

Intro writing under the Read More~

"Our top story tonight: World Renowned Roboticist Dr. Holly Hart sits down with us for an interview on her visit to the US! Hailing from the UK, Dr. Hart has contributed to humanitarian efforts the world over! We catch her tonight after spending the last couple years supplying disabled children with hi-tech prosthetics! What an absolute angel. Don't miss out at-"

"Ugh. What a load of crap." Rusty grumbled, promptly turning off the TV.

"Friend of yours?" His bodyguard asked from behind the couch.

"Hardly." The former boy adventurer replied, "We both went to State. She was a transfer student and we had a couple classes together." Rusty threw up some air quotes, "Absolute angel" my ass. She's the biggest bitch I've ever met."

Brock shrugged his shoulders, "Well, doesn't look like you'll be seeing much of her with the compound out here in the middle of nowhere."

- Two weeks later, at a convention -

"Oh my GOD, that is THE Dr. Hart!" Billy Quizboy gushed, jostling his drink, "The QUEEN of the modern robot. Do you think she'd like to look at my hand?"

Brock grimaced a little, "Sorry, Doc. Guess I uuhh... Spoke too soon."

"No no. This one's on me. Just my fucking luck." Rusty replied, drowning himself in his drink.

#Venture Bros #Venture Brothers #Venture Bros OC #OC #Original Character #Dr. Holly Hart #Sunshine Art

34 notes · View notes

srjsteel · 2 months ago

Text

How Are Dowel Bars in Rigid Pavement Enhancing Load Transfer Amid Rising Steel Prices?

Dowel bars in rigid pavement have become increasingly crucial components in modern infrastructure projects, providing essential load transfer between concrete slabs while maintaining structural integrity. As construction costs fluctuate with market dynamics, these specialized steel elements merit deeper examination, particularly as HR coil prices continue their upward trajectory across global markets. The strategic implementation of quality dowel systems offers a compelling solution for engineers facing budgetary constraints while refusing to compromise on pavement longevity.

Rising HR Coil Prices and the Pressure on Pavement Design

Highway and airport pavement designers face mounting pressure to optimize material usage amidst volatile steel market conditions. Since 2023, HR coil prices have experienced significant volatility, creating ripple effects throughout construction supply chains. This cost pressure extends to various steel components, including dowel bars, which traditionally require substantial raw material inputs. Engineers now face the challenge of maintaining performance standards while adapting to these market realities.

The Role of Dowel Bars in Concrete Pavements

The fundamental purpose of dowel systems in concrete pavements is to transfer loading between adjacent slabs while permitting necessary horizontal movement during thermal expansion and contraction. This seemingly simple function represents an engineering triumph that significantly extends pavement service life. Recent innovations in dowel technology have achieved remarkable efficiency improvements—some newer designs deliver equivalent performance while using up to 18% less steel than conventional systems. This optimization arrives at a critical moment as TMT bar price indicators show persistent upward pressure.

Optimizing Material Efficiency Amidst Rising Prices

Construction material efficiency has become non-negotiable as HR coil prices reflect broader economic uncertainties. Advanced dowel systems incorporate specialized coatings that significantly reduce corrosion potential, directly addressing a primary failure mode in traditional installations. These systems demonstrate superior performance in accelerated testing protocols, showing minimal deterioration even after simulated decades of service in aggressive environments. The resulting lifecycle cost benefits become particularly compelling when material costs remain elevated.

How TMT Bar Price Trends Affect Project Budgets

Industry experts note that the TMT bar price trajectory continues to influence project budgeting across infrastructure sectors. Forward-thinking contractors increasingly adopt high-performance dowel technologies to maintain profitability while delivering superior results. The precision manufacturing of these components ensures consistent load transfer efficiency that exceeds conventional alternatives, reducing stress concentrations that typically accelerate pavement deterioration.

Performance Benefits of Optimized Dowel Systems

Laboratory testing confirms that optimized dowel systems significantly outperform standard alternatives in fatigue resistance tests. This performance advantage becomes particularly valuable when considering the escalating HR coil prices affecting construction budgets nationwide. Projects utilizing premium dowel systems report crack reduction averaging 37% compared to traditional installations, directly correlating with extended pavement lifespans and improved ride quality metrics.

Advancements in Dowel System Design Amid TMT Bar Price Pressures

Material selection strategies have evolved substantially as TMT bar price volatility compounds project planning challenges. Engineers increasingly specify corrosion-resistant dowel systems that maintain optimal performance even in challenging environmental conditions. These advanced systems incorporate precisely engineered geometry that optimizes load transfer while minimizing material requirements—a critical advantage amid persistent raw material cost pressures.

Longevity and Cost Control Through Strategic Dowel Selection

Infrastructure longevity depends heavily on these often-overlooked components, with proper dowel selection delivering disproportionate performance benefits relative to their project cost impact. As HR coil prices remain a significant concern for project planners, the strategic implementation of high-efficiency dowel systems offers a practical pathway to control costs while enhancing results.

Conclusion

When evaluating rigid pavement solutions for critical infrastructure, considering advanced dowel systems represents sound engineering judgment rather than unnecessary expense. These specialized components deliver outsized performance benefits that remain compelling despite material cost pressures, offering a practical pathway toward sustainable infrastructure development in challenging economic environments.

0 notes

kapilasteel · 2 months ago

Text

Dowel Bars in Pavements vs. Buildings: Key Differences

Structural integrity in production initiatives depends heavily on the right choice and implementation of reinforcement materials. Dowel bars function as essential load-switch devices throughout concrete joints; however, their software varies notably among pavement creation and construction systems. These specialized steel components provide crucial help in each context while serving fundamentally special engineering functions.

The Fundamental Role of Dowel Bars

Concrete structures require strategic reinforcement to face up to hundreds of environmental stresses. A dowel bar's capabilities as a smooth, cylindrical steel element that creates a mechanical connection between adjoining concrete sections even while still taking into consideration controlled motion. This twin capability makes these components critical in modern-day production systems.

In pavement programs, a properly hooked-up bar dowel allows horizontal movement from thermal enlargement at the same time as proscribing vertical displacement at joints. Meanwhile, building structures utilize the bar dowel in another way that specializes in structural connections among beams, columns, and walls. These fundamental variations stem from the distinct stress styles every production kind experiences.

Pavement Applications: The Load Transfer Mechanism

Highway and airport pavements constitute the most commonplace software for dowel bars in transportation infrastructure. Pavement dowels, in most cases, transfer wheel loads throughout concrete joints, stopping differential vertical movement that ends in cracking and untimely failure.

These specialized bar dowel systems generally have easy, round profiles with precise diameter-to-duration ratios optimized for pavement thickness. Concrete highways rent dowels covered with specialized materials to lessen the bond, allowing necessary horizontal movement while keeping vertical alignment. The spacing, diameter, and setup depth comply with unique engineering specs developed through decades of pavement performance research.

Quality TMT bar manufacturers produce specifically formulated steel for pavement dowels, specializing in corrosion resistance and cargo-bearing capacity suitable for transportation packages. Unlike traditional reinforcement bars, pavement dowels go through specialized processing to attain ideal roundness and regular diameter—critical elements in pavement overall performance.

Building Applications: Structural Connections

Building systems rent dowel bars in fundamentally one-of-a-kind configurations. Rather than focusing on load transfer throughout movement joints, constructing dowels normally creates structural connections among concrete elements that are solid at exceptional times or serve as reinforcement anchors.

The bar dowel in homes frequently takes the form of deformed rebars with mechanical anchorage structures. These additives switch anxiety, compression, and shear forces between structural elements in multistory buildings. Building codes dictate unique necessities for improvement length, anchorage information, and force-switch mechanisms that vary considerably from pavement specs.

Many TMT bar producers provide specialized building dowels with threaded ends, mechanical couplers, or headed terminations designed mainly for structural connections. These engineered structures permit unique force transfer at the same time as accommodating production tolerances inherent in building initiatives.

Material Considerations and Selection

Material selection represents perhaps the most important difference between pavement and constructing dowel applications. Pavement dowels face constant exposure to moisture, de-icing chemicals, and high temperature fluctuations, necessitating specialized corrosion protection systems. Epoxy coating, stainless steel, or composite substances frequently defend those components.

Building dowels, while still requiring corrosion resistance, face distinct environmental conditions. Leading TMT bar manufacturers produce construction-specific dowels with yield strengths, ductility, and weldability optimized for structural applications as opposed to pavement overall performance. The metallurgical necessities differ significantly among these packages.

Engineering Standards and Quality Control

Transportation governments hold stringent specifications for pavement dowel materials, while building dowels comply with structural engineering codes. This regulatory divergence creates awesome supply chains, with specialized TMT bar producers focusing on both the pavement and constructing creation markets.

Quality control tactics additionally vary considerably. Pavement dowels undergo testing for load switch performance and durability under repetitive loading, and at the same time, bar dowel structures face assessment for structural integrity and force-transfer capacity under sustained loads.

0 notes

badbatchsprincess · 1 year ago

Text

Heated ~ pt.18

Pt.1 ~ Pt.2 ~ Pt.3 ~ Pt.4 ~ Pt.5 ~ Pt.6 ~ Pt.7 ~ Pt.8 ~ Pt.9 ~ Pt.10 ~Pt.11 ~ Pt.12 ~ Pt.13 ~ Pt.14 ~ Pt.15 ~ Pt.16 ~ Pt.17 ~ Pt.18 ~ Pt.19 ~ Pt.20 ~ Pt.21 ~ Pt.22 ~ Pt.23 ~ Pt.24 ~ Pt.25

Masterlist

Summary: This is an ABO Bad batch!Poly x Omega Reader smut with a plot. This takes place as an AU before order 66. Y/N previously served under the 501st before being transferred to Special Forces 99. This is her adventure with these rowdy Alphas in a quickly changing universe.

THIS IS AN ABO AU ABOUT THE BAD BATCH (NO CANON OMEGA!) Due to the unfortunate situation of her name being Omega… Omega the child from the canon series is not going to be apart of this fanfic/porn with a plot. I feel obligated to put this warning in because it makes my skin crawl thinking anyone could make that mistake.

Warnings: Violence, gore, kidnapping, Tarkin is a creepy hoe, Crosshair being a dick, Dom!Crosshair, smut, orgasm denial, spanking, mate bonds, Pip is influenced by Crosshair’s presence

DADDYYYYY'SSSS HOOOOMMMEEEE!

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

“I can’t believe she’s alive, sir.” You heard a woman’s voice echo in your mind. Her sound was unfamiliar to you.

The second thing you noticed was the mechanical whirl of the cold floor below you, everything was cold. Except for the warm softness under your throbbing head. Staying entirely still, you waited for your body to catch up with your hearing. You recalled your trauma training, wiggling each toe inside your boot, then moving up each joint and muscle throughout your legs before testing the response in your other extremities. It helped get your mind grounded in your body again as you lay on the cold ship floor.

Based off the smells, you knew you were no longer with your pack. This was new territory which only means one thing….

You’re in imperial custody.

You heard Crosshair’s familiar silvery voice mumble something back to the woman but decided you were going to try and figure out your situation first, listening before acting. He was close by you deduced, probably standing guard over your pallet on the floor. You were also aware that you had very limited time before you’d get to wherever they were taking you.

Listening a little closer, you heard plastoid armor shuffling all around you, there must be soldiers in the jumpseats lining his transport vessel. You heard the whirl of the ship knowing the engines were located on the under belly making it a newer model. Tech told you about their engineering. Usually the engine cores are located on the back of vessels, but new military class ships with loading ramps build the engines into the floor.

“What happened to her?” The woman asked again probably referencing the cut to your head and whatever sorry state you were currently found in.

“She got injured from that helmet they had on her.” Crosshair said shuffling his boots, he was standing right above your head.

You felt the air shift around you and sensed someone was coming near you, “She looks…stronger… than most omegas.” She said skeptically. You could feel the woman kneeling behind you as he observed your form.

“She wasn’t like that the last time I saw her, but she has been running with mercenaries.” Crosshair put a toothpick back into his mouth.

“That doesn’t seem normal for her kind.” You felt her lightly brush a curious finger tip over your collarbone but Crosshair’s snarl stopped her.

That was when you decided to act.

Crosshair’s second in command let out a startled gasp when you suddenly flew up off the pallet wrapping your legs around her neck in a vice grip making her claw at your legs as you squeezed the life from the soldier.

“Kriff.” Crosshair shot up off the wall but you got up quickly knowing you’d have to keep your distance from him. The second in command rolled her side, heaving, trying to get oxygen back into her lungs.

You sprung into action, taking the other storm troopers by surprise. You reached into your back belt where Hunter had put his blade and you gripped the handle firmly bringing it to your front. The first trooper that tried to grab you got his forearm slashed deeply making him scream and retreat. You then brought the knife down harshly into his neck kicking him away from you to bleed out.

“Get her under control!” Crosshair barked out nearing you.

You grabbed another trooper kicking him in the chest sending him backwards into Crosshair while you turned on the others using your blade to cut and slash your way through the mob.

“What the fuck!” One of the soldiers exclaimed as you expertly kicked out his knees and brought him to the ground using the knife and your vast knowledge of the human body to end his life in an instant.

“Omega!” Crosshair yelled but you ignored him. The severed bond seemed to have also prevented his alpha command from working. You were free from his influence.

Crosshair suddenly realized his one fatal mistake… you had been trained… by Echo.

He watched you cut down his men like they were nothing more than canon fodder. It was shocking. More of his men came flooding into the blood bath hearing the commotion.

You snarled at them flipping yourself through the air using your boots and beskar armor to bash them down into the durasteel floor with a harshness you were unaware you carried. When you reached down to grab a discarded blaster, Crosshair’s second raised her blaster aiming at you.

“Do. Not. Kill. Her!” Crosshair pushed her weapon to the side watching the plasma bolt burrow into the side of the ship. You watched her miss, and you turned on them, aiming your own gun and pulling the trigger. They both dodged out of the way in time, but you unleashed your training on the other unsuspecting troopers.

“I’ve never seen an omega do that!” You heard his second yell over the bangs.

“She’s no average omega.” Crosshair pressed himself into the crate keeping himself out of your range, “Set it to stun.”

He peeked his head out from behind the crate to find you heaving, covered in crimson blood, taking a trooper down into a flurry on the ground. Hunter’s blade had gotten knocked from your hands in the fight but that didn’t stop you.

If Crosshair wasn’t so set on his mission to detain you, he would have stopped to admire your work. He guessed all those months with his brothers, you had changed. No longer were you the meek little republic medic, but you had turned into a warrior.

“She’s going to kill the whole company if we wait any longer.” His second, Wren looked anxious. She was the best solder coming out of the imperial military academy. She was specifically selected for this very delicate mission which seemed to go in a direction neither of them had anticipated.

“We can’t hurt her,” Crosshair drilled into the two of them, “Nothing can hurt her!”

“I got that, but she’s fucking feral!” Wren scrunched back against the crate as a bloody helmet went flying by, “She’s going to tear apart the ship.”

And just like you had with Echo, it was like you got a whisper in your ear and you knew exactly what Crosshair had planned to do. He was between you and the cockpit of the ship. Mate or not, you were getting to that damn cockpit even if you had to kill the bastard to get there.

Just as you sensed him and the female trooper emerge from behind the crates, you spun, grabbing one of the flailing troopers by the collar, using him as a human shield for Crosshair’s stun ray. The young trooper dropped like dead weight and you watched as the woman pulled her trigger in your direction. You just stepped out of the way letting the stun ray fly right past you into a trooper behind you.

You used your boot to kick a discarded riffle up into your hands flicking off the safety.

Wren and Crosshair aimed for a second shot, but you beat them to it. It was like your body was moving on its own accord. Like something took over you…

You momentarily wondered if this is what it’s like being Crosshair. If so, you felt powerful. It was like nothing you’d ever experienced before. There was such cool collectedness. Such pure concentration.

Raising the weapon up and tucking it into your arm, you unloaded onto their crates missing Crosshair by, well, a hair. You heard him curse and duck while Wren threw herself down onto the ground to duck for cover.

“You’re going to take me back to Bracca now!” You snarled with a voice that didn’t even sound like your own. It was something silvery and wicked.

Crosshair’s voice was breathier than usual, “Learn some new tricks huh, omega?”

“You have no fucking idea.” You fired a few more bullets reminding him you still had the gun.

“I can’t take you back, Pip.” He said grabbing one of his plasma reflectors. He tossed it onto the wall watching you through the reflection.

You crept closer stepping over the gargling troopers who had fallen victim to your blade.

“Fine.” You smiled viciously, “Then I’ll kill youm and take the ship back myself.”

“You can’t do that mesh’la.” He sounded cocky, “You forget… you’ll die too.”

You smiled devilishly, “That’s no longer a concern.”

He furrowed his brow as he very slowly reached for fire puncher. Wren watched him anxiously clenching her own blaster. What the hell did you mean by that?

“Our bond has been severed, alpha.” You taunted.

Crosshair’s stomach knotted… what did you just say?

“Notice how your commands no longer work on me?” You kicked one of the destroyed helmets forward making Wren flinch. Never had she ever seen an omega like you.

You chuckled, “Your brothers made sure I’d be severed from you.” Bending down, you picked up the bloody knife holding it in your free hand. It was like Crosshair’s base instincts were flooding your entire being. It was thrilling. Having a peek inside his brain was like being dowsed in chilled spring water.

“Thats not possible.” He bit out watching you raise your weapon.

“But it is sweetheart.” You noticed the curve of his second’s back bowing out from behind the crate carelessly.

You locked onto your target hoping to roust her out of her hiding spot to get a clean shot.

Crosshair had to time his shot perfectly, or it would just be you and him. And while he was confident he could take you in hand to hand, you may not let it get to that point if you keep acting like a fucking ARC trooper. Fucking Echo maker kark it.

He watched you tighten your grip and peer down the scope, “What? Nothing to say?”

He remained silent, focusing on aiming his own shot perfectly through the reflector. Right as he sensed you squeeze the trigger, he quickly pulled his own. He heard both you and Wren shriek, as your bullet graze Wren’s back, while his bullet knocked the gun from your hands. He stood up in an instant ready to stun you when you threw Hunter’s knife with all your force, watching it soar through the air rotating at the speed of light. Crosshair just barely stepped out of the way to made his shot while the tip of the blade sliced through the side of his skull just missing his ear.

He watched you collapse into the puddle of blood with a thump as he pressed his palm to the side of his head feeling the blood pour.

He did it.

He made the shot.

Wren whined in pain and he set down his riffle to check on his second. He flipped her over seeing the angry red canyon you’d carved through her back all the way to her opposite rib. That was definitely going to leave a scar. The alpha screamed in agony as Crosshair maneuvered her to keep her off her back.

Then he ran over to you. Your stunned body lay amongst your victims. He almost couldn’t believe the brutality in which you killed them. It was like you had been trained your entire life in combat. There was no way Echo could have conditioned you that quickly. He was stunned. He looked around at the ship seeing all the blood splatters and stray bullets. It looked like a butcher was in here. He just couldn’t believe what he was seeing.

“Has the target been detained?” The pilots asked from the cockpit.

Crosshair radioed back, “Yeah, but let command know we’re going to need a clean up team.”

He stared down at your limp figure, you were covered head to toe in his men’s blood. He shook his head still shocked you had caused so much violence, Wren’s pained cries echos off the durasteel walls drawing his attention away from the slaughter.

~~~

Crosshair had taken extra precaution and used a pair of binders to keep your wrists detained as he slung your body over his shoulder. You dangled limply as the landing ramp opened up to the comfortable warm Nabooan air.

On the tarmac, a team of hazmat troopers arrived to carry away the deceased, and a squad of medics came to help Wren while the remaining two pilots exited the ship with Crosshair. He didn’t miss the way the entire garrison stared in absolute abject horror at the tiny bloody omega on his shoulder.

He heard their murmurs and knew that they were discussing his infamous mate.

You had become quite the conversation after Tarkin made it his upmost top priority to track you down and retrieve you with no expense spared.

Crosshair had also torn apart the base when he first felt the bond sever. He knew his outburst had reached every corner of the imperial base with gossip. Of course everyone was beginning wondering who this important omega was, and why she was so important to Tarkin’s favorite soldier and the empire itself.

Crosshair heard the whispers and the gasps at seeing you and the damage you had caused on the way over here.

“Is that her?”

“An omega did that?”

“Is that her blood?”

“Did he do that to her?”

The hushed comments continued as Crosshair crossed the landing pad carrying you inside. Tarkin was alerted immediately that you had been found and brought back to Naboo upon entry to Nabooan airspace.

“Is this her?” Tarkin asked approaching the sniper curiously.

“Yes.” Crosshair replied coldly.

“What happened?” Tarkin observed the dripping blood on his pristine floors from your bound finger tips.

“She killed the entire squadron.” Crosshair adjusted his grip on you.

“Alone?” The admiral questioned. His skepticism was evident.

“Yes.” Crosshair said plainly, “It appears my batch mates have been training her in close quarter combat.”

“How many of your men?”

“All of them. She nearly had the captain too.” Crosshair watched Tarkin circle the two of you looking very pleased, “She killed the medic that treated her on Bracca, but he insisted I get her to a bacta tank. She fell nearly two stories during an explosion.”

The admiral hummed in displeasure. He gestured for another medic who came running over to them, “Get a medical team prepared to treat her. She must make a full recovery.” Tarkin ordered.

Crosshair watched the medic leave and return with a stretcher which Crosshair carefully set your body down on. The sniper and the admiral keeping a close pace behind the medic as he pushed you towards the medical wing.

“Has she always been vicious?” Tarkin questioned bending down to get a look at your face.

Crosshair noticed a small audience gathering in the halls trying to get a peak at his mate, “I’ve heard stories of her past, but I haven’t witnessed it myself until today.” Crosshair said, “Her violence had been instinctual… protecting pups.”

“Very good.” Tarkin approved, “I want you to take good care of her. She’s a remarkable specimen. She must remain in optimal health.”

“Sir?” Crosshair questioned.

Tarkin gave him a tight lipped smile, “I want you to retire being a soldier and be her… Alpha. You may keep her, as I am sure you desire that now that you know she is in fact alive”

“Just so I’m clear, you don’t wish for me to serve the empire any longer?” Crosshair was confused. Tarkin didn’t want him to be a sniper anymore?

Tarkin gestured for Crosshair to enter into the medical lab before him.

“You will continue to serve the empire but you have a new purpose.” Tarkin explained as the two of them trailed towards the new residential sector. “Your mate is a very rare variant lupine. She is not to leave this facility as she is integral to our new project. She’s a very unique specimen indeed.”

“Rare variant?” He questioned, watching the beta scientists carefully lift your limp body up into the bacta tank. They removed the binders and started peeling off your boots and outer layers before beginning the sequence to drop you in.

Tarkin watched the process as well, “Her kind is not bound by monogamy like the rest of us. I was skeptical at first, I don’t believe she knows what she is either. Most of her kind have been hunted into extinction.”

“May I ask what you need her for?” Crosshair felt a tinge of anxiety simmer in his stomach. His alpha instincts weren’t liking this. He just got you back, he wasn’t letting anyone take you from him. Not now.

Tarkin explained, “We are looking for the most effective way to replenish our military. Sure, mandatory conscription is convenient, but it has been made very obvious to us that the clones were and are superior soldiers. We wish to bring forward another generation of warriors made from clone DNA and…” He gestured to your limp body. Crosshair tensed and bit back a snarl.

Tarkin continued, “However, we understand that the omega picks her mates, as she has with you and other clones we discovered through some… interrogations.”

Crosshair knew he was referring to Captain Howzer. His fists tightened slightly. The jealousy he tried so hard to repress was rearing its ugly head.

“She has a natural disposition for attraction to clones, she’s extremely intelligent, and as we have now learned, she has a calling to violence. She’s the perfect candidate for our program, and due to her very rare genetic variation she isn’t bound to monogamy, which means more pups… my head scientists believes that she will be a remarkable specimen for a new cloning program.” Tarkin clasped his hands behind his back.

Crosshair forced himself to take a silent breath.

Tarkin wishes to clone you?

He watched the blood caked to your skin dissolve in the bacta solution as you floated peacefully.

Crosshair looked sideways at the Admiral, “You wish to clone her, then breed her clones with other clones?” Crosshair was trying to follow along. The empire wanted to create an entire generation of clone offspring… using you…

“Precisely.” Tarkin nodded curtly.

Crosshair turned and looked to the admiral waiting for the catch.

Tarkin just smiled and looked up at his favorite sniper, “Keep her happy and healthy, those are yournew orders.”

Crosshair nodded. This has to be the strangest set of orders he’s ever received. He watched Tarkin spin on his heel and head for the door.

The Admiral was about to leave the medical bay before he angled his head looking over his shoulder back to Crosshair, “and I expect you to complete the mate bond, and pup her, as soon as possible.” Tarkin paused waiting for Crosshair’s response.

Crosshair just nodded, trying to make himself speak “Yes, sir.”

Tarkin gave a satisfied huff as he marched out of the facility. Crosshair just stared blankly at the empty walk-way trying to even begin to understand all the information he just received.

This just got a lot more complicated.

~~~

The sharp taste of bacta coated your mouth making you smack your lips together trying to clear it. Your mouth was unbearably dry and when you tried to open your eyes, you felt like they had been welded shut. You groaned rubbing at them trying to will your eye lids to obey but they were heavy.

When you were able to finally crack them open, you blinked a few times trying to adjust to the lights. You then realized you were perched on a squishy bed under a thick duvet cover. Never in your life had you ever felt such soft sheets. You ran your hand over the white cottons before forcing yourself to sit up.

The disorientation came to a screeching halt when you noticed the looming dark figure in the corner of the room.

There lay Crosshair, still as a statue, seemingly asleep upright in a lounge chair.

You sucked in a breath going entirely still. You were suddenly afraid your movements would wake him.

You couldn’t remember much, but all you knew was that you needed to get the hell out of here… where ever here is…

Slowly, you shimmied your legs out from under the duvet before hopping down onto the plushest carpet you’d ever felt. You realized you were in nothing but a silk slip as your bare legs were now exposed to the comfortable air. Nothing about this was making any sense, what the hell is this place?

You crept forwards keeping your feet light and a concentrated eye on Crosshair’s form. He hadn’t moved one bit as you crossed the massive bedroom.

Just as you were about to open the door…

“Omega.” His voice made you freeze in place.

He still hadn’t moved, nor opened his eyes. You could hear your heart beating in your ears feeling like a little prey animal under his predatory aura.

“Go back to bed.” He said lowly.

You remained frozen trying to weigh your options. Run and pray, or comply and wait. Neither were good. And this was Crosshair, he was abnormally agile like his brothers. He’d snatch you up like a nexu.

When he realized you weren’t going to listen, he opened his eyes without moving a muscle. You felt yourself bite back a whimper as fear suddenly started to ebb its way into your nervous system.

You watched him stretch as he stood up loosing up the tight muscles from sleeping in that padded chair.

You backed up a step determined to run if he made any sudden movements. You also realized he wasn’t in his military kit either, he was wearing a loose black t-shirt and a pair of matching joggers. His feet were bare too. You hadn’t ever really seen him like this outside of your apartment. You suddenly began to wonder if you were back on Coruscant?

Well, this was certainly no apartment of yours…

“You need to rest omega.” He very slowly approached you.

You shook your head starring to feel like a disobedient child the way he was scowling at you.

“Y/N.” He snarled, “Wanna do it the hard way? Fine.” In a flash, he lunged at you and you scurried out of the way narrowly dodging his grasp. You screamed running from him as you crossed the room.

“Omega!” He yelled chasing after you, swiping for your ankle as you jumped across the massive king size bed and took off running on the other side of the room flinging yourself into the adjoining closet before locking the door behind you. He might be significantly taller than you, but you were speedier.

He growled pounding on the metal trying to figure out a way to open it. You quickly dismantled the locking mechanism giving yourself some time before he came barreling in.

Your heart was racing as you looked around trying to figure out a way out of this before he inevitably came to retrieve you.

“Be a good girl and open this fucking door omega.” You heard him from the other side of the door.

Looking up, you tried finding an air vent or something that could help you but you couldn’t find anything.

Remembering what Tech always said, you got down on all fours crawling around the clothes in the closet looking for a vent on the floor. When you noticed a difference in the wall, you pushed the clothes back revealing a grated vent.

“Yes.” You sighed crawling forwards to rip it from the wall. But to your dismay, it seems someone had already thought two steps ahead of you. The vent just led to a smaller one that no human could crawl through.

You heard the door panel whoosh open and spun around to see Crosshair marching towards you.

You stood up, ripping the clothes from the rail and started throwing them at him. He just batted them away unbothered by your attempt to stop him.

“Alpha please!” You whined backing up into the clothes clearly frightened.

Something in him switched and he stopped in his tracks. Maybe it was the sound of your voice warbling with fright, or how small you looked in the sea of black clothes, but he came to a total stop staring at you.

You were a lot less intimidating outside of the beskar his brothers adorned you with. You looked too small suddenly, not like the fierce warrior that took out his entire garrison with your rage just a few mere days ago. The owlish eyes that frantically searched for an out, made his skin crawl. You shouldn’t be reacting like this to him… he’s your alpha for kriff sake.

“Please.” You whispered the beg seeming like you were searching for something in him.

He sighed, “You can’t be up running around yet. You fractured two ribs and your pelvis from the fall.” He was the one now pleading with you, “Please, go back to bed.”

You took a deep breath trying to read him. Was this a trap? You couldn’t really tell, but you knew he wasn’t lying about your ribs. You could feel the ache with every breath.

Slowly, you stood inching towards him. He didn’t move a muscle, instead he allowed you to pass him before he followed you out of his closet and into the main sleeping quarters.

You saw him following you from the corner of your eye as you very tentatively crawled back up onto the bed settling back in the middle like you had beed previously. You kelt on the mattress watching him stand at the foot of the bed crossing his arms.

He stared at you intensely making your squirm in the silence.

“How did you do it?” He asked sounding pissed. Your heart began to patter.

You stared at him trying to figure out what the hell he was talking about.

He narrows his eyes, “The bond.”

You looked down at your hands fiddling with the sheets, “I was dying. You brothers took me to a planet where force sensitive wolves severed the bond to save me.”

He remained stoic as ever. It was unsettling.

“I thought you died.” He bit out harshly, “Nearly killed me.”

You whined quietly with guilt.

He bit at his lip missing his toothpick, “How are you fine right now? It feels fucking empty in here!” He jabbed a finger into his chest, “it’s torture!”

You just stared at his chest feeling your heart break for the alpha. You had thought about the kind of pain he might be feeling, those dreams kept you up at night. The others tried to convince you he’d be fine and that he probably didn’t feel much of anything, but you knew deep down it was so much worse.

His confirmation only made you feel more guilty. You studied his face better in the day light. He was skinnier than you remembered. It had been months running around the galaxy with your pack, while you had bulked up with muscles, your alpha across from you looked like he had been dragged through bantha shit for months on end. Even his hair was longer and mused from sleep. He looked so different.

He sighed seeming exhausted.

He reached forward to touch your ankle but you flinched drawing your limb closer to yourself. The look in his eyes nearly made you cry on the spot. He looked… horrified? Guilty? Disgusted?

“Omega.” That wasn’t the reaction he wanted from you. He also seemed guilty?

You were about to open your mouth to say something… anything… when the door to the apartments chimed open and a small army of medical droids floated inside.

He stood upright putting himself between you and the imperial doctor walking inside. The small beta man approached with his glasses and a data pad kind-of resembling Tech. You watched him hesitate in the doorway seeing Crosshair puff out his chest and cross his arms with a raised brow waiting for an explanation. There was no chance this man was stepping one more foot inside this room without Crosshair’s explicit permission.

Clearly, entering an alpha’s bedroom with his omega in bed wasn’t the smartest decision.

You instantly recognized the uniform which only meant one thing… you were in imperial custody. That also meant that whatever this place was, it was also imperial.

You peeked out from behind Crosshair getting the doctor’s attention he looked at you before looking back at the alpha towering over him.

You needed to start to devise a plan to get out of here.

“I-I uh, I uhm need to get new scans. If t-that’s okay?” The technician stuttered as Crosshair’s aura intimidated the hell out of the poor kid.

You realized Crosshair had made some kind of reputation within this new empire… and it clearly wasn’t one of rainbows and butterflies.

You smiled suddenly realizing you could definitely use this to your advantage…You were his omega after all. The kid noticed your grin as you suddenly settled back into the thick covers.

He slightly narrows his eyes watching your mischievous face turn sickly sweet as you opened your mouth to speak, “Alpha?” The tone of your voice was like a soft caress to Crosshair’s ears. You suddenly looked up at him mustering the most nervous look you could.

When he turned his attention to you, you squirmed uncomfortably making worried eyes at the medical technician. Crosshair’s protectiveness kicked into hyperdrive and he turned back to the beta, “Get out.”

“B-but!” He tried to explain.

“Now.” Crosshair stepped forwards making all the droids and the medical tech nervously back out of the room.

You smiled and waved at the technician making the kid sputter as he darted out of the apartment.

“The next person to walk in here without permission will not walk out, do I make myself clear?” Crosshair growled menacingly, locking the main door behind the kid.

When he returned you were leaning against the headboard watching him cross the massive bedroom. He gave you a knowing look, like he knew exactly the game you were playing with him. You crossed your arms over your chest pushing up your breasts watching him approach the end of the bed once again.

“You’re far more manipulative than the last time I had seen you.” He snipped and crossed his arms to match yours.

You eyed him, “A lot has changed.”

“Clearly.” He retorted.

You steeled yourself, “You tried to kill me.”

He stilled, taking a quick calming breath, “You defied direct orders.”

“I am your mate Crosshair!” You snarled leaning forwards on the bed unable to keep your voice from raising.

“Are you?” He narrowed his eyes.

You took a breath trying to calm the anger raging inside.

Maybe he didn’t view you as a mate anymore, not after the bond was severed. That thought hadn’t crossed your mind until now.

“Why am I here?” You lifted your chin trying to mimic his coolness.

“You are, or were, my mate. I serve the empire. You are to remain here with me, as it should be.” He replied coldly.

“And if we no longer have a bond?” You raised a brow.

He blinked slowly, “You are to remain here under imperial custody.”

“What do they want with me? They wouldn’t allow one soldier to send an entire garrison for one measly omega, now would they?”

“You’re not just some measly omega now are you.” He pointed a finger at you, “You have some explaining to do, cyra’ika.”

“I don’t have to explain anything.” You growled.

He scoffed changing the subject, “Where are they?”

You just stared at him. There’s no way you’d sell out his brothers to the empire.

“Do they know?” He raised a brow, he was referring to your special designation, “I’d presume so, you begged them to fuck you all the same.”

You felt your cheeks redden.

“I bet they kept fucking you too, huh sweetheart?” He leaned forwards placing one hand menacingly on the bed started to crawl closer, “Once they thought I was gone and out of the picture, they had you all to themselves.” The jealousy in his tone was evident. You knew he never liked to share.

“Did you know? All this time?” He was hovering over your covered legs making your heart race. The last time he looked at you like that, you had your nose pressed to his belly as you had taken him greedily down your throat.

You felt a sudden rush of heat flow through you at the memory.

“Know what?” You whispered.

He smirked, “What you are?”

“What am I, Crosshair?” You laid back on your back as he hovered over you keeping you pinned to the mattress beneath him.

He watched you swallow and noticed the unmarred glad still in tact. He smiled wolfishly down at you. He knew what you were, after Tarkin was explained, all the pieces fit together perfectly. However, he couldn’t help but indulge his jealousy, “You’re mine.”

He reached forwards gently making contact with your gland with his bare hand. Like a taught rubber band, you felt something snap violently into place making the two of you gasp violently and writhe on the mattress as an unbearable current zapped through your entire system like a lightening strike.

“Kriff!” He grunted trying to keep himself up and not crush you as he gripped at his sternum.

You wheezed pushing up at him suddenly feeling claustrophobic. You needed to get away.

Forcing yourself up from under the covers, you weakly crawled to the side of the bed wobbling on your feet suddenly overcome with the sensation of Crosshair everywhere.

His scent, his energy, his emotions… it was suffocating. You felt like there were two people inside you as you let out a cry feeling it all come to a freezing halt.

You clutched the wall trying to catch your breath. You spun around to face him as he hunched over the mattress. He looked at you wildly.

“The bond.” You breathed. It was intact.

Then came the burning desire.

You were suddenly possessed with the need to mate with your alpha.

You crossed the room practically jumping up into the bed crawling to him as he pulled you closer. You sighed feeling his skin against yours once again and you realized just now much you missed his touch.

You wiggled underneath him yanking at his shirt, pulling it over his head revealing his chest and a spattering of new scars you didn’t recognize. You also didn’t care. All you wanted was him inside you.

Like he could hear your thoughts, he smirked, nipping at your neck sending your nerves into overdrive. You were flustered everywhere and it was sending aching tingles down into the base of your belly.

You used your feet to push the waist band of his joggers down revealing the lack of boxers. You smiled and reached greedily for his cock starting to pump him rhythmically. He thrust into your hand as his breathing deepened clearly desperate for your touch.

“Omega.” He sighed almost silently.

He pawed at your silk covered tits before frustratingly tearing the straps to get access to you.

He kissed south, ignoring your squirming as he left your warm palm to lick and suck at your hardening nipples.

You cried out as he latched on with his warm mouth making you start to drip between your thighs.

“I’m still mad at you.” You whined pushing your chest up into his mouth.

“I know.” He tore the slip dress even further until it was fully off your body. His free hand slithered down between your thighs. You parted them eagerly as his fingers traced tight circles around your clit. You mewled grinding your hips into his hand as he worked you open.

You growled frustratedly wanting more, “Just fuck me Crosshair!”

He withdrew his hand and sat back on his heels before gripping your hips and flipping you over. He brought down a harsh slap against your ass making you scream.

“So, fucking bossy these days.” He teased rubbing the reddening area, “My vod let you get away with that, huh?”

You pushed your ass up into him ignoring his comments.

“Who died and made you empress?” He laughed sardonically.

You huffed as he brought down another harsh slap. You inched up the mattress crying out at the sting. You felt him nudge up behind you, pressing his thighs into yours, then you felt the tip of his cock brush against your dripping cunt teasing you with his warmth.

“Are you going to behave? Or are you going to be a little brat?” He spat at you pinching your welting ass making you squeal.

You snarled and whipped your head around to see his evil smirk as he trust forward in one fell swoop wiping that nasty look off your face in an instant.

You felt like the air was punched from your lungs as he filled you to the absolute brim. The stretch hurt, making you squirm, but Crosshair was merciless. He gripped your hips in a bruisingly tight hold as he pulled you back against his thrusts. You couldn’t recover from his brutal thrusts, all you could do was go limp and take what he was giving you.

“Give up so soon?” He mocked.

You could only relax, feeling yourself adjust to his presence while he abused your dripping pussy.

Your moans reverberated off the walls as his powerful thrusts rocked the king size bed against the wall. You clawed at the mattress trying to find purchase and push back against his onslaught. He chucked at your weak attempt as he leaned forwards to grasp the back of your neck in his hand, pressing you to the mattress keeping you pinned beneath him.

This felt so wrong but so damn good. Ugh. You mewled as he hit that perfect spot inside you, and suddenly the room was filled with the sound of your squelching cunt and his thighs smacking against yours. You couldn’t believe this was happening right now. It almost felt like a fever dream.

You reached your hand down between your thighs wanting to cum so badly but Crosshair knocked your hand out of the way to replace it with his own.

He rubbed soft circles edging you as he continued to thrust. You cried out feeling your climax approach and you squirmed around in his grasp trying to throw yourself over the edge.

You felt your end coming when Crosshair fully stilled inside you.

You let out a defeated whine feeling your climax slip further and further away.

“No!” You cried trying to push his hand out of the way and finish yourself off yourself, but he wouldn’t budge.

He leaned forwards pressing his mouth to your ear, “Where are they?”

Your body thrummed with arousal and anxiety… so this was how he was going to torture the information out of you.

He was seriously going to deny your orgasm until you cracked?

You whined pinching your eyes closed.

You heard him chuckle as he straightened back up continuing to thrust with a slower pace keeping you just idling on the edge.

You cried out desperately trying to push yourself back on him but he held you still.

“You don’t get to cum until you tell me adi’ka.” He smirked.

“Why?” You sobbed into the mattress.

He continued to stroke you just right making you shake. Your orgasm was starting to ebb into your field again and he seemed to sense it through the bond bringing himself to stop. You let out a deflated grunt as your joints shook with the need for release.

“Please Crosshair!” You begged.

He remained stoically still.

You felt tears pooling in your eyes, “Please let me cum alpha! Please!” You were on the brink of insanity.

“You know the rules sweetheart.” He reminded petting the raised welt of his hand on your ass, “Tell me what I want to know, and I’ll give you as many orgasms as you can take.” He lightly toyed with your clit making you shudder.

You sniffled gripping into the covers.

“I can feel you resisting.” He sounded curious, “I can feel it in the bond. Poor thing, you want to cum so badly don’t you little one?

You huffed trying to gather yourself.

“I know you’re a stubborn one.” He smiled nipping at your shoulder, “Good thing I’m stubborn too.”

You were karked. You were karked because you knew he wasn’t going to like your answer regardless.

“Please.” You whispered rubbing your face into the bed.

“Tell me little one, and I’ll make you cum.” He promised.

“You won’t like my answer.” You whined clenching around his hardness. He rewarded you with a little slow thrust trying to egg you on.

You sighed, “I don’t know where they are.”

He hummed speeding up his thrusts slightly giving you a small taste of relief.

“You know them alpha, they’re never anywhere too long.” You cried feeling him start to rub your under stimulated clit, “T-They were taking mercenary jobs for money. We were never anywhere longer than a day or two at most!”

“Why were you on Bracca?” He started to rub faster making you moan.

You stuttered, “T-the chips.” You sighed as he picked up this thrusts, “Wrecker’s chip was hurting him and I took them all out.”

“That doesn’t answer my question.” He slowed and you whined.

“I needed real surgical equipment. The old republic ships all had them!” You admitted. You were careful to leave Rex out of this. There was no reason for the empire to know he was alive and rescuing clone prisoners.

“Good girl.” He praised bringing his pace back up to the brutal pace you craved, “Now, was that so hard?” He couldn’t help but tease you.

You just groaned finally feeling your climax approach as he rewarded you for your confession. His skilled fingers brought you to the edge and swiftly threw you over and you came with a deafening scream. It was so powerful your entire body shuddered and convulsed as his thrusts got a little sloppy too before he came with a grunt.

He continued thrusting through his orgasm until he couldn’t take the stimulation anymore and pulled out watching as your cunt fluttered and his spend oozed out of you in creamy droplets. He watched mesmerized as you collapsed onto the bed totally worn out. The edging had been rough on you, and he realized he probably should have been a little softer on you since you were supposed to be in recovery.

He tried his best to catch his breath as he slid off the bed to hunt down a wash cloth. He came back to clean you up and then himself before he disappeared into the bathroom again. You curled up on your side pulling the sheets over you trying to still come down from your high. Your brain was laden with pleasure as you felt yourself drift off into peaceful sleep.

You sighed, escaping Crosshair and this place would have to come later.

These next few chapters are going to be fucked ngl, dirty Crosshair smut to come, and angstttttt

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Taglist: @substantial-exposure

@rains-on-kamino

@minimissmoo

@z-and-the-batboys

@aynavaano

@9902sgirl

@sideofhorny

@sxftiebee

@booksandtitts-blog

ALSO IF ANYONE WANTS TO BE ADDED TO THE TAG LIST PLEASE COMMENT BELOW, I KEEP LOOSING YALL IN MY ACTIVITY BAR LOL MY BAD

#crosshair #hunter #tech #wrecker #abo #echo #star wars #bad batch #smut #omega #tarkin #clone wars #tbb #rex #imperial crosshair

62 notes · View notes