#Route 66 Theme | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

stellarbit · 1 month

Text

Shadows of the Order

the sad batch x reader

5.5k words themes hurt and comfort

You were separated from the Batch when Order 66 was executed on Kaller. Even as a Jedi dropout you weren't safe. Left behind, you have to recover and restart in the world after the Republic. You'd hoped to never run into Clone Force 99 again, but that hope ran out one day. featuring: a b1 battle droid

You know who deserved better? The clones. You know who else? The B1 battle droids. So I stuck a clanker in here for funsies. Had a ton of fun writing this. Hope y'all enjoy a little anguish. I'll be doin a spicy one next.

You fought alongside Clone Force 99 for a long time before the Battle of Kaller. Before Order 66. After meeting the padawan, Caleb, at the rendezvous point, you’d split off from the group to assist a team of troopers on the mountain while the boys joined General Bilaba.

The troopers you encountered recognized you from your days with the 501st. Despite your repeated efforts to clarify that you were no longer a Jedi, they seemed unconvinced. Fortunately, after dispatching a group of droids, the remaining Separatist forces were routed towards the main front, allowing your group to do the same.

As you neared the midway point down you noticed the troopers falling back. Sliding to a stop in the snow, you turned back. There were about 10 of them, all standing around one holding a holocomm of a hooded figure. Half of them looked at you in sync, fixing the grip on their guns, the rest followed a heartbeat later.

The hairs on the back of your neck stood on end. Somewhere far down the mountain you heard screaming and blaster fire at the same moment the troopers turned their guns on you. You took off away from the troopers before the first shot rang out.

“Get the Jedi!” A lone trooper pierced through the chaos.

Quick thinking led you to drop a stun grenade, followed by another, as you sprinted onward. The explosions managed to incapacitate some of the troopers, but not enough. Switching your blaster to stun mode, you sought cover behind a nearby tree, emerging only to neutralize the nearest clones before a shot hit your right shoulder, propelling you into a desperate sprint away from them.

With escape and evasion as your only viable options, the Marauder seemed too distant to reach in time. Instead you aimed for a waterfall you spotted while landing. It was a slim chance, but your best hope for losing the troopers.

As you fled, you deliberately dug your fingers into the wound on your shoulder, leaving a trail of blood in your wake. It was a risky move, but if you had any hope of evading capture, they needed to track you. When you saw the water through the trees you wasted no time in ripping away your chest plate. As soon as you got to the crest of the waterfall you launched your chest plate over the edge.

With one glance over the cliff, you gritted your teeth, pressing into your injured shoulder, crouched, and lowered yourself over the ledge. You grabbed high over the ledge and drug your bloody hand back down over. One more look below to ensure a safe landing spot and let go. Relying on the Force to guide your descent into an alcove leading behind the cascading water.

Once there, you swiftly shed the remaining pieces of armor, discarding them into the rushing stream as you shifted farther into the veil of the waterfall.

When you finally heard the troopers at the cliff edge, all you could do was listen, wait, and hope they fell for it.

“Looks like she tried to scale down,” one of them remarked, his voice carrying over the sound of rushing water.

“There! In the water, I see her armor!” Another trooper's voice rang out, sending a jolt of panic through you as you desperately sought cover. Their voices dropped too low to hear before you caught the tail end of the conversation.

“Confirmed, Commander Grey. The Jedi has been neutralized. Visual confirmation obtained,” a trooper reported, the cold finality of his words chilling you.

The clone trooper paused, most likely receiving transmission. “Yes sir. Alright boys, we are to rejoin Commander Grey and head out. His forces eliminated Bilaba and Clone Force 99 took care of the padawan. Gather the stunned troops and let’s move out.” That was the last thing you heard before the troopers left.

Your heart stopped. The blood in your veins froze. You lurched for something - anything - to steady yourself on. One moment everything was normal and the next you were being gunned down by clones you risked everything for. Clone Force 99 took care of the padawan.

There wasn’t enough air in the tiny alcove to think, the waterfall was too loud, the water hitting your face too cold. Desperately, you gripped the slippery rocks as your legs gave out.

Nothing made sense. Questions raced through you, each more unsettling than the last. Had all of the clones turned on the Republic? Why were they targeting Jedi specifically? Clones that served with General Bilaba for years suddenly gunned her down.

Nothing added up. If the orders affected all clones, there was a good possibility that the Bad Batch was also following them. Despite their independent streak, they were still clones, some orders had to be followed. It was a sobering realization - one that left you feeling vulnerable and nauseous. You weren’t going to be safe until they left. If they left.

The thought of aiming a weapon on the members of Clone Force 99 cracked something inside you. Besides, it was foolish to think you had a chance against all of them. With an entire army of reinforcements, attempting to take them on would be nothing short of suicidal.

Survival became your sole focus. There was no time to dwell on what went wrong or how to escape the planet's unforgiving terrain. For now, all you could do was stay hidden, biding your time until the coast was clear.

One by one, you discarded your armor and any identifiable markers into the water. It wasn’t about shedding your identity; it was a practical decision, one you could handle. Not long after, the sound of footsteps echoed from above. You pressed yourself against the rock again, your senses on high alert.

An eternity seemed to passed before the person moved. “The Jedi target was neutralized. If she’s not already dead, she’s as good as it.” It was Crosshair’s voice, cold and detached.

There was another moment of silence before you heard Tech’s voice, “Affirmative. Blood stains indicate she attempted to scale down the cliff and subsequently fell.” His tone was as clinical as ever but you almost fooled yourself into thinking there was something else to it. “Pieces of her armor are wedged in the rocks below. Crosshair is correct, if she did not perish on impact the likelihood of her survival is negligible. We need to leave.”

They weren't out there to rescue you; they were there to confirm you were dead.

It was all too much to process. Every muscle, every bone, every nerve in your body seemed to fail, leaving you a trembling mess. When the two men finally left, you didn’t know.

“We don’t leave our own behind.” You heard Hunter’s voice and heard his lie.

They left you. You fought for them, yet they hunted you down and abandoned you.

Long after night had fallen, you mustered the strength to climb out of the alcove, your injured shoulder protesting every movement. Descending into the battlefield, you searched for a salvageable ship and supplies. Amidst the wreckage, you stumbled upon the one thing you weren’t looking for.

General Bilaba’s lightsaber. She must’ve lost it in the struggle. Such a valuable thing lost to the snow and wreckage, not even retrieved. Disposable. You held the cold metal in your hand before tucking it away.

You found one ship that might manage to get off the ground. Nearby, you spotted a partially disabled battle droid, still in remarkably good condition despite its current state. It appeared to have been incapacitated by a stun grenade. As you examined it, Tech's lessons on droid maintenance flooded your mind, particularly the techniques for reprogramming them for combat purposes.

Kneeling beside the droid you flipped it onto its back to access programming. You’d pulled it off before, reprogramming battle droids to counter attack. You just never thought you’d need the skills like this.

The process was far from seamless. You electrocuted yourself on the power supply, nearly damaged a circuit board while removing the restraining bolt, and the rewiring process dragged on longer than expected, especially under the cover of darkness.

Eventually, the battle droid sprung to life, clutching its head as it sat up. You lowered yourself onto one knee as the droid adjusted itself. "Where am I?" its questioning began, its metallic voice filled with confusion. "Is the battle over? Did we win?"

Hearing the droid address you instead of immediately engaging in combat felt oddly surreal, but given the day's events, it was perhaps the least strange thing. "What is your primary directive?" you asked, trying to gauge its functionality.

It clunked a hand against its head. "Huh, that's odd. I don't seem to have one."

That was a start.

You rose to your feet and offered your hand. "In that case, how about we team up and find a way off this rock?"

Its head swiveled from side to side as it processed the proposal. "You mean, I get to choose?"

You let out a small scoff and maintained your outstretched hand. "Your options are coming with me or staying here to rust."

"Fair point," the droid responded, almost cheerfully, as it reached for your hand. "So, what's the plan for getting off this dump?"

You gestured toward the ship you hoped to salvage. "Can you handle starship repairs?"

“Sure thing, boss. Want me to clean it up?”

You threw it a puzzled look, “Why would I-” You shook your head, “No, we need to repair it enough to get it off this planet.

“Well, that doesn’t make sense.” The B1 unit pointed at the ship. “That ship doesn’t need repairs, we just crashed it.”

Maybe picking a battle droid for an assistant wasn’t the best choice. “Was it your group that crashed it?”

“Yep!” It said too proudly. “Happens all the time. But I told you, this one doesn’t need repairs to fly.” The droid paused for a second, tapping a metal digit to the tip of its face, then added. “Yet.”

That didn’t bode well for survival. You waved for it to follow you, “Let’s see if you’re right.” Over your shoulder you asked. “What can I call you?”

“My identifier is OOM-672.”

Walking amongst dozens of disabled B1 units you mused, “Looks like you’re about to be one of the last OOM models in the galaxy. So why don’t we cut that down to O2?”

“Wow!” The way it vocalized almost added syllables to the word. “Yeah, O2 sounds much better! What do I call you? Master?”

You cringed at the sound of that. “I’m not your master, O2. We’re going to have to settle with being friends or buddies.”

“You got it, Buddy!”

Thankfully, O2 was right. The ship could fly and it had enough fuel to get you far from Kaller. Enough to get you all the way to the Outer Rim if you wanted. It was risky, but following the pattern of the day, it was your only chance at survival. You just didn’t let O2 pilot.

After the rise of the Galactic Empire, you and O2 settled on a planet in the Mid Rim. You scavenged and sold enough equipment from Kaller for a comfortable amount of credits to start off with. You pieced together a new identity, often concealing your face beneath a helmet and relying on a voice modulator. Being dead in the eyes of the Empire had its advantages.

The best way to stay hidden, you figured, was to stay in plain sight.

You wormed your way into ownership of a small inn. Although, your background as a Jedi and a soldier left you ill-prepared for running a business, and you struggled to turn a profit.

“O2!” You shouted from the lobby.

The battle droid sauntered in from the dining area. “Yes, Buddy?” The droid’s nickname for you always worked a smile out of you.

You tossed them a rusted-out metal part, which they scrambled to catch, their movements clumsy and uncoordinated. After a few failed attempts, they finally managed to grasp it securely. “The circulator for our boiler is busted. Can you head to the market and fetch a replacement? The parts dealer should have one available.”

“Roger, roger!” O2 chimed enthusiastically, ready to depart.

You yanked them by the shoulder. “O2,” You warned. “Do you remember how to pay?”

They rolled their head in an exaggerated display of weariness. “I know, I know - ‘charge it to the tab.’”

Raising an eyebrow, you waited for more. “And?”

O2 tapped a compartment on their chest, revealing a few credits inside. A result of some previous tinkering done by you. “And I have the extra credits.”

“And what’re they for?” You pressed.

“For ‘just in case.’” They replied

Stepping forward, you pushed the compartment closed. “In case of trouble, O2,” you reminded them firmly. Giving them a light knock with the back of your knuckles, you added, “Give me a call if you find yourself staring down the barrel of a blaster.”

As far as O2 was concerned, they had it easy. You rescued them from decommissioning and in return, all you asked for were simple tasks and the opportunity to tinker with their hardware. The tinkering, more often than not, turned out for the better - at least most of the time.

When you and O2 first arrived, the presence of a battle droid initially unnerved the townsfolk. However, they grew accustomed to O2's quirky demeanor. O2 was more goofy than intimidating almost by design. Plus, after a few instances of O2 causing trouble with the neighbors, they quickly learned to keep their hands off the droid. Often with a not so subtle reminder of a vibroblade at their throats.

O2 ambled through the town, exchanging waves with the occasional vendor. Stalls and shops lined the narrow, winding streets, colorful canopies providing shelter from the sun for the patrons below. Amidst the hustle and bustle, droids weaved through the crowds, delivering goods and providing services to customers.

As O2 approached the parts dealer, raised voices caught their attention. Nearby, at a fruit stand, a vendor held a pear just out of reach of a young girl. "That's not fair!" the girl protested, reaching for the fruit. "I already paid you!"

Deviating from their path, O2 made their way toward the girl. She appeared to be a young human with light hair, a visitor to the town.

"Hey, stop that!" O2 called out in their attempt at an authoritative tone. They reached the girl and bent slightly to address her. "Are you in trouble, young human?"

The girl turned to O2, visibly puzzled. After a moment of assessing the situation, she nodded slowly. "Uh, yeah," she replied, more confidently this time. "Yes. He's taking my money but insisting I still owe him more." She pointed a finger accusingly at the vendor.

O2 looked between the vendor and the little girl several times. When they finally grasped the situation, they exclaimed, “Ohh! You’re in trouble and need more credits. That’s perfect!” They poked open the compartment on their chest, revealing the credits.

The girl shook her head in disbelief. "N-no, I've already paid," she insisted, casting a disdainful glance at the vendor. "He's just trying to cheat me."

Raising a finger in a gesture of understanding, O2 interjected, "You're in trouble and these credits are for 'in case of trouble.'" They plucked out a few credits and pivoted at the hip to offer them to the vendor.

From behind the booth, the vendor's expression shifted to one of quiet annoyance, yet he begrudgingly began packing a bag with pears. "There's no trouble, O2," he retorted curtly, dropping the bag into the girl's arms. "Now, move along, kid."

The girl frowned at the man but did turn away. She looked up at O2 with a smile. “Thanks,” She pulled a curious face and stepped back from the droid for a better look. “You’re a B1 battle droid. What are you doing here?”

“I’m purchasing a new part.” O2 held up the broken circulator as proof.

She held back a smile. “No, no. I meant, weren’t all battle droids supposed to be decommissioned.” She gestured around her, “So what are you doing out here alone?”

O2 didn’t have time to respond when a man yelled, “Omega! Get away from that thing!” A male with a face tattoo shoved through the crowd and slammed the battle droid in the chest with the hilt of a blade.

“Whoa!” O2 yelled, stumbling backward into the fruit stand.

The little girl squeezed between O2 and the man. “Don’t hurt them, Hunter!” She threw her arms out to shield O2. “They were just helping !” Three other men arrived behind Hunter while O2 righted themself.

One of the men, with a socket for a hand, pushed to the front of the group and pointed his prosthetic at the droid. “Omega, you don’t know what that clanker is capable of.”

“Hey!” O2 whined in protest and shook a fist at him. “You can’t call me that!”

“Says who?” Growled the largest man of the group.

“Says my buddy!” O2 started reaching for its head to send out a comm when the fruit vendor grabbed his hand.

“O2!” He laughed nervously and patted the droid harshly, “There’s no trouble.” The vendor pointed a finger at the men. “I’m not dealing with their friend today, so move out.”

“Friend?” The big guy repeated incredulously.

The cyborg hovered his hand over the blaster at his hip. “Where’s your master, droid?”

O2 thrusted their head in a sassy manner, “I don’t have a master.”

Hunter moved Omega to the side and put his knife just below O2’s head. “Why don’t you take us to this friend of yours?”

“That depends.” O2 said skeptically. “Are you looking for an inn?”

Hunter passed a look to the men behind him. “An inn?”

“Only customers can come to the inn. So - are you looking for an inn?”

Hunter lowered the knife and jerked his head to say ‘get going’, “Sure thing. Now, let’s go.”

“Roger, roger.” The droid said with a little salute and then tapped his fingers to the tip of his face. “Say, do I know you guys?

“Move it, clanker.” The cyborg ordered again.

Back at the inn, you waited in the lobby reading through bank statements. The front door was open to the street, allowing you to hear O2’s distinctive footsteps approaching. You pushed away from and around the desk to greet them. “That may have been your fastest run yet. How much - oh!” You stopped mid sentence when a young girl trailed in behind the droid. Behind your headgear you smiled, “Did you make a friend?”

The little blonde waved up at you, “Hello.”

A dent in O2’s chest plate caught your eye. You motioned for the droid. “O2, what did you do to your chest plate?”

“Well, I didn’t do it.” The droid sassed, but moved forward and leaned down for you to inspect. You reached up, held their head, and moved it side to side for inspection. Other than the dent they were fine. You patted their face in relief when, from the corner of your eye four figures filed in.

You went stock-still at the sound of a familiar voice, Hunter’s voice. “You own this clanker?”

This was it. This was the day you died.

Giving O2 one last pat, you turned to face the Bad Batch standing in your doorway, as formidable as ever. Hunter led the group, with Echo on his left, Tech on his right, and Wrecker flanking Echo. Crosshair was conspicuously absent. Their mismatched armor was newly painted in vibrant colors.

Silently assessing them, you took a moment to compose yourself, shoving your fear and anger as deep as you could. Their demeanor said they didn't recognize you and you needed them gone before they did.

"Sure," you replied vaguely, your voice muffled by the voice modulator. Keeping your gaze fixed on the clones, you instructed O2, "O2, grab my satchels from the back." Without hesitation, the droid complied.

"What are you doing with a separatist battle droid?" Echo's voice bristled as he stepped forward. "Do you realize how dangerous that thing is?"

Images of Echo tending to your wounds flooded in, abruptly interrupted by the recollection of red blaster shots narrowly missing your head.

"OOM-672 has been reprogrammed," you replied, waving your hand dismissively. "They no longer pose a threat and wartime objectives have been nullified."

"Incorrect," Tech said as he tapped the side of his helmet to move his visor. "If the droid's reprogramming is faulty, it could revert to its original directives at any moment. Depending on the data stored in its memory, that could prove dangerous should it fall into the wrong hands." He advanced toward O2, pointing a finger. "Allow me to examine it—"

“Their programming is fine.” You instinctively took a step back, bumping into O2 with the bags you requested. One had spare credits for bribing them out of your parlor and, in case that didn’t work, the other contained a blaster and Bilaba’s lightsaber.

As you sorted through the first bag for credits, you spat, “No one lays a hand on the droid except me. Especially not a bunch of clones." With a flick of your wrist, you tossed a handful of credits at Hunter. "Now get out of my lobby.” You made the mistake of addressing them as clones and hoped the odd comment passed over them. They obviously didn’t look like other clones to the untrained eye.

"Oh!" O2's voice chimed in recognition, but you swiftly raised a hand to silence the droid.

“Do we look like we work for the Empire?” Wrecker asked, almost growled, with hands on Omega’s shoulders.

Hunter glanced at the credits before tossing them back. “Just let us look at the droid,” he urged.

Without missing a beat you caught the credits, brandished the blaster, and aimed it at the leader. Immediately, the other brothers aimed their blasters at you. "Got a malfunction in those helmets?" You gestured toward the exit with your weapon. "I said leave. No stranger gets their hands on my droid."

“Strangers?” O2 stepped to your side and pointed at the group of clones. “They’re not strangers. We know them.”

Your blaster dipped for a moment, frustration nipping at you before you firmed up your grip. “O2, knowing someone for five minutes doesn’t mean you know them.”

“Just calm down.” Hunter said slowly.

“Five minutes?” The battle droid shook their head in confusion. “We go waaay back.” They hummed a thoughtful sound. “Although they did stun me on Kaller.” A chill gripped your spine at the mention of Kaller.

"Kaller?" Omega's gaze flitted between the men around her. "Where's that?" The rustle of shifting armor filled the lobby as the four men exchanged glances, their blasters trained still on you.

“Who are you and how did you get that droid?” Echo's voice carried a forceful edge as he pushed you.

“Get out.” You repeated with more venom. “Clones follow orders. That’s an order.”

Hunter slowly raised his hands, removing his helmet and revealing his tattooed face. The sight of him made it hard to breathe through.

"We're not with the Empire," Hunter declared. "And we're not big on following orders, either."

"Liar!" Your scream reverberated through the room, the voice modulator straining against your volume. Something flickered in Hunter's expression.

For someone with no skin in the war, you were proving to be awfully reactive.

"Hunter," Tech intervened firmly, prompting you to swing your blaster in his direction. "Look at that blaster." You glanced down at your weapon, seeing nothing out of the ordinary.

“What about it, Tech?” Hunter asked.

“That blaster has nonstandard modifications. Only five like it exist.” Tech explained, his tone serious.

“Not the time to be admiring blasters.” Echo snapped.

“The issue is,” Tech shot an annoyed look at his brother. “They are my modifications.” His grip relaxed slightly. “We have four of them and the other was - ”

You fired a shot at Tech before he could finish and attempted to fire another when Hunter lunged at you. He knocked the blaster from your hand and swung for your head. Wrecker shoved the kid behind him while you and Hunter exchanged blows, his hitting much harder than you remembered.

You saw Tech activating a stun grenade as O2 reached for your blaster. Yanking a vibroblade from your hip, you rammed the hilt of it into the side of Hunter’s head, causing him to stumble back. Swiftly, you lurched in the way of the stun grenade, intercepted it, and threw as far as you could behind you.

Echo took no time in disarming and disabling O2 while Hunter regained his senses and grabbed for you. His touch was a breath away when you thrust out your hands and blew him back with the Force. Before Hunter could register what happened, Wrecker grabbed you by the neck, and yanked you from the ground.

You clawed at his hand but couldn’t stop the giant crushing your windpipe and ripping off your headgear.

Seeing your bare face, livid and unable to breathe, shook Wrecker and gave you the chance to slam your feet into his stomach. He dropped you to the ground where you writhed and gasped for air. Your dropped blaster was nowhere in sight, but the other satchel was.

Still retching for air, you threw a hand out and the lightsaber flew to you. Green light blasted out of the hilt, parallel to the ground and putting a thrumming barrier between you and the clones.

“A Jedi?” Omega said in wonder, poking her head around Wrecker. Wrecker, notably, didn’t push her back behind him.

They all lowered their weapons and Tech, Echo, and Wrecker removed their helmets. Different shades of shock on all of them. “Sarad?” Tech spoke softly.

“Stay away from me.” You growled from the ground. Slowly, you repositioned yourself, strengthening your stance to pounce or run.

“We thought you were-”

“Dead?” You cut Wrecker off and cut a look at Tech. “Guess you aren’t as thorough as you think.” At that, Tech’s eyebrows hit his hairline.

“We didn’t follow that order.” Hunter interjected.

“Liar!” You lashed out. “I heard the troopers. ‘Clone Force 99 took care of the padawan.’”

Hunter started lowering himself to your eye level. “We let him escape.”

Echo stepped forward, his eyes avoiding yours. “We thought you were dead,” he admitted. He closed his eyes for a moment before finally meeting your gaze. “We thought the other troopers got to you, but we came looking for you as soon as we could.”

You didn’t dignify him with a response, in your eyes the only thing they deserved were holes through their chests.

Out of all of them, Tech stood the straightest, his demeanor showing no sign of shame in their handling of the situation. Still, he thought carefully on how to say what he needed, his hands clenching and unclenching as he processed it.

When he locked eyes with you, it was clear he’d considered his words meticulously, repeating the process in his mind multiple times before coming to the same conclusion

“With your blood and broken armor, there were two plausible outcomes,” he began, counting them out with his fingers. “First, that you perished either by the troopers or the falls. The second, that you…” His gaze momentarily shifted away, seeing your armor in the rocks. “... that you escaped.” Returning his gaze to yours, he continued, “In both scenarios, our intervention would have only made things worse. And Crosshair-”

You jumped to your feet in a challenge, Hunter quickly positioning himself between you and the others. “I don’t believe you,” you hissed, swinging the saber to the side before snapping it back in front of you. “So finish what you started.”

Hunter maintained his steady gaze as his brothers holstered their blasters. “We won’t fight you,” he assured, his tone resolute. Your eyes darted between them, searching for any sign of aggression. Seconds stretched on but the men held their ground.

“He’s telling the truth,” Omega whispered, joining Hunter at his side. "All clones were programmed to follow that order." She cast a meaningful glance at the men surrounding her. "But their altered states made them immune to the order."

For months, anger had been your constant companion, fueling you through each passing rotation. Anger at the Jedi Purge, at the failures of the Republic, and most of all, the seething rage at the Bad Batch for leaving you behind to bear the weight of it all alone. Months of grief and pain don’t just disappear.

The room seemed to warp and blur around you, your grip on the saber beginning to falter. Clinging to it tightly, you gritted your teeth, fighting to maintain your composure. The world snapped back into focus when tears finally breached your resolve, slipping down your cheeks unchecked.

“Then….” your arm dipped before falling limply at your side. “You left me for dead.” Your voice cracked and the words came out in a sob. “You left me behind.”

You thought the pain of them hunting you was the worst thing you could experience. The realization of abandonment was worse. A tight knot formed in your stomach, threatening to make you sick.

Driven by months of simmering anger, you shook your head through your tears. , “I survived without you, and I’ll keep surviving without you.” You let the green light of the saber fade. “So just leave.” The last words came out less like the command you wanted it to be and more like plea.

Wrecker ‘s eyes went wide, “You think after all this time,” he gestured toward you, “when we just got you back, we’d just leave?” A defiant look passed over him. “Sorry, not happening.”

“Sarad,” Tech spoke like it was just the two of you. YoYou closed your eyes briefly, savoring the familiarity of his tone. For a moment, you thought they might all disappear, as if they were never there. “Leaving you was a choice we never wanted to make. But it was the choice that led us here and ensured your survival. Keeping you alive was more important than keeping you by our sides.” He nodded, standing firm in his choices. “Your survival was the only acceptable outcome.”

The lightsaber grew heavy in your hand.

Wrecker reached out with a pleading gesture. "The regs would've— we couldn't..." He faltered, searching for the right words, but Omega touched his forearm and urged him forward.

Wrecker stepped through his brothers and although you flinched like you might run he reached out and touched your face. First with one hand and then a second when you tried to turn away. Holding you like that, seeing you safe in his hands, made it hard for Wrecker to ever imagine letting go.

Tears continued to flow down your cheeks, falling over his hands. Wrecker swept them away with his thumbs before pulling you into his arms. "Sorry, Sarad. We're sorry."

Your hands hovered on either side of you, it was the first time you’d truly touched another organic lifeform since Kaller. The lightsaber hit the ground and you fell into Wrecker.

You’d let yourself feel angry at them all those months alone, but, in an instant, it was overshadowed by the grief of having been without them.

Pulling just out of Wrecker’s embrace you rubbed away the remaining tears. “I’ve missed you.”

“We missed you too.” Echo answered for the group.

Looking between them all, you felt like the world was a little safer. There were a few things standing out to you though. First being the little girl with them and Crosshair’s absence.

Immediately reading you, Hunter touched Omega’s shoulder. “A lot has changed.”

"I can see that," the girl smiled warmly at you, her expression oddly familiar despite never having met before.

Tech breezed past you, heading straight for O2. He knelt beside the droid, adjusting his goggles before turning to you. "So, you really salvaged this droid from Kaller?" You affirmed with a nod, prompting a look of mild disturbance from Tech. "And it's proven to be useful?" Another nod from you. "Well, that's just as surprising as your survival," he remarked, his tone tinged with genuine curiosity.

"Be kind to O2," you interjected, joining Tech by O2's side to rouse the droid. "They're my friend."

Echo scratched the back of his head, a sheepish expression crossing his features. "That's... going to take some getting used to."

Omega joined you and Tech, her eyes wide with fascination as Tech began to point out various features of the battle droid. A smile tugged at your lips as you watched the interaction unfold. The inn you had purchased never truly felt like home, much like Coruscant and the Jedi Order before it.

But here, amidst the Bad Batch, you finally felt a sense of belonging. You were home.

393 notes · View notes

emeraldeyes23 · 8 months

Text

The last two illustrations to celebrate the BANANA FISH anime’s 5th anniversary have finally been revealed✨

Theme: “Ash and Eiji's journey across the United States".

Illustration #3 - West Coast

Illustration #4 - Amusement Park

Here are all the illustrations together:

1) Route 66 🛣️

2) Cowboy🤠

3) West Coast 🍦

4) Amusement Park 🍭

Aren’t they adorable? 🥺❤️

#banana fish #ash lynx #eiji okumura #official art #merchandise

262 notes · View notes

letsquestjess · 9 months

Text

My Symphony - Part 1 (Tech x GN!Reader)

Summary: After Tech hears you playing music, he can't help but listen, slowly falling for the musician tugging on his heartstrings.

Word count: 2.7K

Warnings: Putting an 18+ / MDNI on this one since there is a slightly heated bit in the middle. Mentions of injury and death. Set pre-order 66.

A/N: This one has been quite long in the making but I finally got it finished. Enjoy!

Part 2

-- -- -- -- --

Mumbling quietly to himself as he reviewed his daily schedule, Tech made his way down the blinding white corridor, scratching absently at the itch on his chin. His brothers had already fallen behind on their duties, so he reorganised the items to accommodate any contingencies.

Wrecker usually spends an extra twenty minutes in the mess hall around this time of week, he contemplated, analysing the pattern of delays from previous weeks. And Crosshair and Hunter are still occupied by their disagreement over the bunk situation. Deep ridges settled between his brows and he clicked his tongue.

The end room emitted a delicate melody, tender notes muffled by the room’s sound insulation. He paused by the partially open door and stole a glimpse of what was inside. Rooms in this section of the city were mostly abandoned, but a staff member sat at the Pantoran spinet, pressing at the instrument and mollifying a lullaby in a tempered arrangement of tones and pitches.

Music ebbed and flowed in perfect rhythm, and Tech lowered his datapad. As you focused your attention on creating that blissful sound, your eyes danced from key to key, and a serene smile formed on your lips. Mellow harmonies merged to create a soothing theme that eased his worries and allayed his brilliant, yet always racing, mind.

A set of footsteps approached, and springing into motion, he darted away from the soft sounds and headed for the simulation centre to wait for his brothers.

But the harmony never left him. In the weeks that followed, he still felt the vibrations in his chest and often found himself humming your tune as he tinkered with his latest project. Your music had built a home in his mind, haunting him in the most welcomed way possible, and he purposely began taking the same route to linger outside whenever you played. At first, he wondered if the instrument’s frequency had hypnotic qualities, but after conducting some thorough research into the matter, he concluded that it simply had a pacifying effect on him.

Finding some free time after lunch, he made his usual trek to the training facility and slowed at the euphoric vibration filling the vacant corridor. Rather than checking through the door as he normally did, he opted to sit on the floor outside and let the music wash over him, eyes fluttering shut as he tilted his head against the wall. Every shift and lull caressed him, whispering sweet words and-

“Tech?”

He bolted upright as soon as he saw Hunter looming over him with folded arms and a lifted eyebrow.

“What are you doing?” his brother asked, amused.

“I was… I was merely…” Tech prepared to fire his excuses, but the rich melody behind him continued to play, continued to turn every rational thought to mush. As it stopped and the door slid open, he was saved from one embarrassing situation and launched into another, whirling round and coming face to face with the musician he’d been admiring for weeks. He shoved his goggles up to the bridge of his nose and cleared his throat.

You smiled apologetically at the two clones and scanned the deserted corridor outside. “I wasn’t playing too loud, was I? Didn’t think many people came this way.”

“No, of course not, we were…” Seeking to ignore the knowing smirk his brother aimed at him, Tech stood up straight. “I overheard you several weeks ago. You are exceptionally skilled.”

A breath snagged at the compliment, and ignoring the flush of heat rising, you stepped aside, inviting them into the hushed hum. “If you have some time, you’re both more than welcome to come in and listen.”

“I have places to be,” Hunter stated, “but I’m sure Tech would love to take you up on that offer.”

The clone in question nodded, his jaw clenching against the urge to reprimand his brother for his behaviour. He made a mental note to have a stern conversation with him about it later.

As Hunter strolled away with a tickled grin plastered on his face, you prompted Tech into the room and encouraged him towards the array of chairs. Introducing yourself, you slid onto the cushioned bench behind the spinet. “I didn’t realise anybody came here anymore,” you said. “I thought this part of the city was mostly used for storage.”

“It is, but I discovered a route that gets me to the training facility three minutes quicker,” Tech replied.

“And it leads you right past here?”

“Precisely.” He chose the seat closest to you and scanned over the assortment of badges on your left sleeve. “You work in the data department.”

“Mostly archives,” you sighed, arranging the sheet music and selecting one from the middle. “It can get pretty boring in there but occasionally something interesting shows up.”

With a slight shrug, you began to play, hands floating up and down, and back again to inspire the instrument to sing. The song started peacefully, affectionately, like a friendly explorer coaxing a frightened animal out of hiding. An impassioned lilt of treble notes soared and Tech hung onto every alteration in sound, eyebrows lifting of their own volition as though to follow the stirring rise.

You suppressed a grin at the reverie in his gaze. It had been a while since you’d had an audience, and never one as enraptured as this.

* * *

After your initial meeting, Tech became a regular visitor, often finding reasons to stop by and listen while you played. He conducted his research while in your melodious company, and you quickly found a sense of ease in his presence, admiring his directness and his curiosity.

“Would you like to sit with me?” you asked one rainy afternoon, the elements battering on the ceiling. His eyes flicked up from his datapad and the amber speckles glistened at the proposition.

“I assumed you would need adequate space in order to play comfortably,” he said.

“There’s plenty of room for you, me and the music,” you jested, tapping the vacant spot next to you on the bench.

He approached with a hint of hesitation, but seeing that you could still perform unhindered by his closeness, he relaxed and observed in fascination. Up close, he distinguished each keystroke and the length of the notes as you held them in place, assisting them to shine just a little longer. He was accustomed to the cacophony of war, to blaster fire and the shrieks of the fleeing and dying, but your music sounded like pure starlight and the notion warmed him.

“If you want, I can teach you a few basics,” you said, pausing your pleasing tune. He responded with a keen nod, and you helped him position his gloved digits over the lower level of keys, encouraging him to apply a gentle pressure. “Now, go up a set. That’s it. And up again.” Step by step, you instructed him from one end of the spinet to the other in a series of precise scales and the odd false note. “Okay, keep that going.”

A graceful composition sparked from your fingertips as they glided effortlessly across the top level to harmonise with his rhythm. Concentration occupied his expression, but you picked up on the hint of a grin at your united effort.

As you finished your song on the lower set of keys, his thumb grazed yours, light and controlled. No longer focused on the music, his reverent gaze fixed onto you.

Instinct drove his movements, shaky hands abandoning the musical instrument to find the curve of your waist and cradle your cheek. Seconds ticked by endlessly in a palpable silence. As though a switch had flipped, he abruptly retreated. Alarmed, his demeanour coiled in on itself and his leg bounced.

“I apologise, I am not sure what came over me,” he said, embarrassment blossoming pink on the tips of his ears.

“It’s okay, Tech.” You guided him to your waist and your cheek again, and he melted into your touch. “I’ve been thinking the same. Wanting the same.” His guard slowly eased, but you sensed the vulnerability in his movement. “You can tell me what you want.” Noting him struggling to form a sound, you leaned a little closer to whisper in his ear, “Or you could show me if that’s easier.”

An endearing furrow scrunched at his eyebrows, and you almost saw the thoughts circulating, calculating his next step. He gradually raised his eyes and held them steady, determined not to look away this time. The scent of standard issue shampoo welcomed you into his space and you set a tender kiss on his cheek, letting him adapt to the experience. Like a tightly wound coil snapping, he was on you.

Hesitancy vanished as he surrendered wholeheartedly to his desire to feel you. Eyes squeezed shut, he studied every fluctuation of your lips as though it was his only purpose, to chart the gradual developments, the tender, the passionate, the clambering, urgent need to be part of each other.

The datapad on the sheet music stand beeped and Tech detangled himself from your comforting embrace with a grumble, shooting the infernal device a cursory glance. “A briefing has been called.”

From the way he pursed his lips, you gathered he wasn’t thrilled about going, but you didn’t want to risk him getting into trouble. Certainly not on your behalf. “Go,” you told him. “I will meet you here after dinner. Might even play you some more songs, if you’re lucky.”

“Already am lucky,” he said in his love-drunk haze, squeezing you close to him and only releasing his grip once you insisted he get going. Gathering his belongings, he gave you one last kiss and headed out into the silent corridor.

Tech didn’t meet you after dinner. You paced between the instruments and listened to the persistent click of your steps until exhaustion finally led you to your quarters. After sending him a quick message, you tried to settle down for the night, but the quiet was deafening and sleep only came when you were too drained to do anything but rest.

You woke with a start to the sound of your shrieking alarm, and your heart raced as you fumbled for your datapad, searching for any messages. Inbox empty, you got yourself up and prepared for the day ahead.

The weeks seemed to blend together in a monotonous blur of loneliness and worry until you received news of Clone Force 99’s disappearance during a covert mission. Upon discovering the reports, you made a beeline for the music room and settled at the spinet in silence. Unable to touch a single key, to hear a note without your fear boiling over, you clamped a hand over your mouth and bawled. Your tears dribbled through your fingers and onto the old instrument, salty droplets mixing with the dust on the peeling redwood.

After a while, it all became a distant memory, and you stopped visiting altogether. The kiss was vivid in your mind, and you couldn’t help but think about what might have been if you had asked him to stay with you. But wondering about it now would accomplish nothing. What was done was done, and all you could do was wait.

Bleary-eyed and still half-asleep after another restless night, you traipsed towards the archives and passed a group of clones congregated outside the mess hall, deep in discussion.

“Yeah, it was definitely Clone Force 99,” a clone said to his brothers. “By the sounds of it, they almost got caught by Seppies. Nasty stuff. Couple were brought back on stretchers. Don’t think they’ll be out of the med bay soon.”

Your thumping heart drowned out the rest. Everything you had endured over the past month shattered, crashed, burned, hurt more than you could handle, and you hurried along inconspicuously.

It couldn’t be true. Tipoca city was always abuzz with rumours, and this was merely another. But in the recesses of your mind, in the house of all your dread, you saw Tech lying lifeless on a stretcher, transported home through blankets of rain and howling winds.

You took a diligent breath and straightened your clothes, forcing yourself to slow your flurried steps as you made your way to the medical facility. Beyond the doors, the clone on duty signalled for you to retreat.

“We have active surgeries going on here,” he said. “Unless you’re hurt or there is an emergency, I can’t help.”

“No, I…” You could tell he wasn’t going to let you see Tech, and you glimpsed the badges on your sleeve reflecting in the mirror behind his desk. “I work with data management,” you told the medic. “There were some reports about Clone Force 99, but they were scrambled. I was sent to talk to one of them to clarify a few things.”

“Afraid not,” the clone replied. “Two are in surgery and the other two are getting checked over. I’ll send someone to your department as soon as I can.”

You refrained from asking for more information about who was in the operating theatre. Instead, you nodded your thanks and departed to the one place you knew held some solace. Darkness hid the instruments and the benches until you switched the lights on. It seemed odd returning after weeks of avoiding it.

The spinet, untouched since you’d last played it, beckoned you, promised sanctuary and shelter from your pain. As you wriggled to get relaxed on the bench, the smooth discoloured keys tickled your fingertips, cold and forgotten.

You ran through the practice scales and drove headstrong into the melody that had been haunting you: the tune you’d played almost six months ago when you had found Tech in the hallway and invited him in. Fateful notes mounted and swelled like a gushing river, tearing out of you to expand in the current of song placed earnestly by your hands. Every atom of your soul poured into the music as you rocked forward and your fingers ached from the obstinate pressure.

“If you keep pressing the keys in that manner, it will wear them down considerably.”

Abruptly halting mid-press, the reverberations deteriorated, and you shot from your seat. Tech’s weary eyes met yours as he braced himself on the door frame. The blotchy red and violet smudges beneath his lower lashes crinkled, and he grappled to keep himself upright.

Without a word, you offered him your arms to lean on and he stumbled into you. You noted the bruises and cuts, the bandage wrapped around his bicep, and the way he limped and leaned to the left.

In measured movements, you eased him onto the bench and let out a surprised yelp when he tugged you down. “You had me worried,” you said, mindful of his injuries as you nestled into his lap. “I thought… I didn’t know if…”

Nose nuzzling your neck and arms caging you closer, he gave you a murmured, “I’m sorry.”

Those whispered words wrenched at your heart and you shook your head at him. “Don’t apologise. It wasn’t your fault, and I am just glad you’re okay.” His usually bright eyes stared at you sluggishly and you traced your thumbs along his unscathed jawline. “Are your brothers all right? When I went to the med bay, the medic told me two were in surgery.”

“Hunter sustained multiple shots to the chest and Wrecker got caught in an explosion,” Tech explained. “I have been assured that they will both recover, but it is going to be a slow process.”

“And Crosshair?”

“Minor injuries like mine.”

You wanted to ask more, but all you could think about was his body close to yours, alive and warm. The two of you were together, and that was all that mattered. “You should have gone to your barracks and got some rest.”

“I did not know what to do,” he said, so small and fragile, and unlike him it plucked at your composure. “The medics would not let me stay once they were certain I would be all right, so I came here.” The corners of his lips rose gingerly in a tired but determined smile to be brave for you. “I came here to my symphony.”

As you shifted cautiously and sat down next to him on the bench, you gently guided him to lie down and rest his head in your lap. He adjusted his position until he found a comfortable spot and his breathing evened out.

“Perhaps this will help,” you said, playing a slow lullaby. Sweet notes drifting between you both, you stroked your hand through his hair to soothe him with your touch and the music you hoped would bring him some peace.

TAGLIST (Message if you’d like to be added, 18+ only)

@freesia-writes @the-hexfiles @theeyesofasoldier @savebytheodoresnonjosestuff @skellymom

184 notes · View notes

sequinsmile-x · 8 days

Text

The Albatross

The dizziness she’d been trying to ignore suddenly takes over, her vision turning into a pinpoint before disappearing entirely. She falls, narrowly missing hitting her head on the corner of her desk, and she slips out of consciousness.

Her last thought is of her family, their happy faces staring down at her from the picture on her desk.

A reimagining of Route 66, in which Emily experiences complications from an old injury.

Part 1/2

-x-

Hi friends,

This is based on a message I got over on twitter from the lovely Suu <3 As soon as she sent it to me I couldn't stop thinking about it and here we are.

I settled on this being a two parter, and part 2 will be up over the weekend!

I really hope you like it, and I will anticipate the yelling. <3

(Also, lets appreciate the fact it took a week and a half for me to use a TTPD song as a fic title. That's growth haha)

-x-

Words: 2.6k

Warnings: injury, canon compliant themes

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

She feels awful the moment she wakes up, her limbs impossibly heavy as she forces herself out of bed, pain in her abdomen pulling a groan out of her as she stands up. She takes a moment to try and blink away the discomfort, briefly dizzy with it as she hisses and rubs her stomach, only driven forward towards the door when she hears her son cries from the next room.

“I can go get him, sweetheart.”

Emily smiles as she turns to look at her husband, shaking her head as she continues walking out of their room, “You get all day with him, I need my snuggles.”

She winks at Aaron as she leaves the room and heads towards the nursery. She groans again as nausea rolls through her and she pauses, leaning against the wall as she breathes through it. She’d felt off-kilter the last few days, nausea, exhaustion and pain that she put down to her periods and hormones still being out of sync after she’d had Issac six months ago. She knew she was still adjusting post-pregnancy but she hated that she still didn’t feel in control of her body. She blows out a breath and walks into the nursery, a smile spreading across her face as she looks at her son, a sympathetic whine leaving her as she walks him over and picks him up, his cries immediately muffled by her skin as he buries his face against her neck.

“Oh tell me all about it, sweet boy,” she says, pressing a kiss to his temple, patting his back soothingly as she settles into the armchair, “Mommy’s got you.”

Issac grabs at her shirt and presses his face into her chest. She chuckles and adjusts her shirt, expertly unbuttoning it and unhooking the cup of her bra with one hand, a trick that months ago, when Issac was tiny and seemingly endlessly fragile, felt impossible. Aaron had told her that she’d be a natural, patiently talking her down from every edge her anxiety pushed her towards as her due date drew near, a loving smile on his face as he told her that she was already an amazing mom to Jack, and part of her was furious he was right. A stubborn streak in her that she’d never been able to get past that she felt bubbling in her gut whenever he’d smile at her, a hint of I told you so pressed into his dimples whenever he watched her with Issac.

She rests her head on the back of the chair as he latches on, her eyes closing for a moment as she hums to him. She looks down at her little boy and sighs contentedly, everything else disappearing for a moment apart from the two of them. She runs her knuckles down his cheek as he feeds, his skin still as soft as the day he’d been born, and she feels familar love warm her from the inside out.

“Mommy has to go to work today,” she says quietly, tracing her fingers over his dark hair. She hears the floorboard outside of the nursery creak, a specific spot they’d avoid if they knew Issac was sleeping, and she smiles, “But I bet if we ask really nicely, Daddy will bring you in for lunch so I can see you both.”

She looks up as the door opens and Aaron walks into the room, just like she knew he would, and he smiles widely at her, “I’m sure we can manage that.”

Before they’d even started trying for a baby they discussed what would happen with their careers. It hadn’t felt right to either of them for them both to continue working at the BAU. After a lot of back and forth, and more than one argument, they’d settled on her staying and him moving on. It felt right for them, and she knew Aaron had been keen to do it - wanting to learn from the mistakes he’d made in the past. In the end, he’d decided to leave the FBI altogether, content to stay at home whilst Issac was still so young. He taught a class at the academy a couple of times a week to stop himself from going completely insane, but she knew he enjoyed it. In her worst moments, she was almost jealous of the time he got with the boys, but she wasn’t ready to leave her work behind yet. And for the first time in her life, she had what she’d always wanted - a family to come home to.

The last thing she’d anticipated was that Strauss would offer her the Unit Chief position. Aaron hadn’t been as shocked as Emily had been and she later found out he’d been the one to recommend her, something that she’d briefly been mad at him for, not wanting anyone to think it was just because she was married to him. He’d assured her, as had Strauss, that it was nothing to do with that, that her history and skills spoke for themselves. She’d returned to work in her new role when Issac was three months old and, despite the added stress, she loved it.

“Good,” she says, looking down at Issac as he pulls away from her, smiling softly at him as she passes him over to Aaron when he reaches for him. She winces as she lifts her arms, the ache in her abdomen turning into a sharp pain as she hands the baby over. She tries to cover it with a smile as her eyes meet her husbands, “I’d miss you too much otherwise.”

Aaron frowns at her, concern licking at his insides as he rests Issac against his shoulder, patting his son’s back as he looks his wife up and down, “Are you okay?”

She clears her throat and nods, standing up and clenching her teeth as the dizziness returns, her head hazy as she steadies herself on the crib for a second, “I’m fine.”

He sighs, stepping towards her, “Em-”

“I said I’m fine,” she snaps, immediately feeling guilty as she cuts him off. She sighs and closes the gap between them, her hand on his arm as she squeezes it, leaning in to kiss an apologetic kiss against his lips, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to snap. I’m fine. I’m just tired.”

He isn’t sure if he believes her, but he knows not to push her, not now anyway, so he nods, kissing her back, “You should get ready, you don’t want to be late.”

She nods and kisses him once more before she kisses Issac’s head and leaves the room. She rubs her eyes and pinches the bridge of her nose as she walks back into the master bedroom, the start of a headache pressing at the back of her eyes.

She tells herself that she’ll be fine once she has a coffee and she gets ready, taking time to say goodbye to her boys before she leaves, making sure Jack has the homework she’d helped him with the night before in his bag.

It’s gone 11 am by the time she accepts that she isn’t well, the morning dragging by like syrup, time slowing down around her as her headache and stomach ache gets worse, her vision blurry with it as she tries to do her paperwork. She knows she’s taken her bad mood out on the team, her door and curtains closed as she sought out solitude in her office after complaining about how behind they were with their paperwork.

She eventually gives in to the fact she needs painkillers and she stands up to get them from her purse. The dizziness she’d been trying to ignore suddenly takes over, her vision turning into a pinpoint before disappearing entirely. She falls, narrowly missing hitting her head on the corner of her desk, and she slips out of consciousness.

Her last thought is of her family, their happy faces staring down at her from the picture on her desk. ___

Aaron readjusts his hold on Issac as he steps into the elevator, chuckling as he turns his attention to his son who was seconds away from trying to put his father’s visitor badge in his mouth.

“I don’t think so, buddy,” he says, unclipping it from his polo shirt and moving it out of Issac’s reach, smiling when the baby frowns at him, a look written all over his face that Emily would always say was all him. He tickles Issac’s stomach and smiles as the baby giggles, a sound that never fails to make Aaron’s heart swell in his chest, “You excited to see Mommy?”

Issac babbles in response as the elevator doors open onto the BAU’s floor and Aaron sucks in a breath as he steps out into the hallway that he’d once walked every day.

It was strange being a visitor in a place that had been so significant in his life. He’d built his career here. He’d lost his first marriage to this place and met the love of his life here too. A constant give and take that had formed decades of his life. He’d known horror and joy and gut-wrenching sadness in between these walls, and he knew he could never regret a second of it, not when it had led him to the life he had now.

“Hotch and Little Hotch,” Derek says, his smile wide as Aaron walks into the bullpen, the nickname for Issac that Emily hated slipping free easily when she wasn’t in earshot, “What are you guys doing here? Where’s Medium Hotch?”

“Jack’s at school,” he explains, ignoring his eldest son’s nickname too, “Issac and I are taking Emily for lunch,” Aaron says, frowning when he looks at his wife’s office, the closed door and shut blinds unusual, “Is she in a meeting?”

Derek shrugs, “I don’t know man, she’s not in a good mood though.”

“She isn’t?” He asks, thinking back to that morning, how she’d snapped at him before immediately apologising, something that hadn’t happened since the early days of Issac’s life when they barely slept at all.

Aaron feels the concern he’d felt earlier return, a churning in his gut that he doesn’t fully understand, an instinct he can’t ignore that something was wrong with his wife. She’d not been feeling like herself for days, he knew that, but she’d pushed him away whenever he mentioned it. She claimed it was her period regulating after having Issac, or that she was tired after a long day of work.

Derek shakes his head, “She told us all we’re behind on paperwork and then shut her office door” he says, reaching out and ruffling Issac’s hair, smiling when the baby giggles, “You’d better put your cutest face on Little Hotch, be a good boy and cheer up your Mama for the rest of us.”

Aaron chuckles politely and then nods towards Emily’s office, “We’ll go cheer her up, right buddy?”

He smiles as he almost walks into Dave on the walkway, a wry smile on the older man's face, “You’re here to cheer up our fearless leader I assume?”

Aaron hums and nods towards Issac, the baby getting fussy as if he could tell his mother was near.

“I brought the big guns,” he says, knocking briefly on Emily’s office door before he steps in, “Hi sweetheart…”

He drifts off as he takes in the scene in front of him, time slowing down as he looks at the scattered papers and the chair jutting out at a strange angle. For a moment, as he looks at his wife lying on the floor, he can’t quite take it in, his breath caught in his chest as he stares at her, a ringing in his ears that he can’t shake off, memories of finding Haley laying in their old bedroom years ago flashing across his vision. A grim showreel as it feels like his past collides with his present.

His senses come back all at once as Dave steps into the room too, his gasp pulling Aaron back to the present, time returning to normal speed so quickly it hits him square in the chest, making him breathless.

“Emily,” he says, his voice shaking as he hands Issac over to Dave, grateful when his friend takes his son, his hands already out and waiting. Aaron doesn’t feel pain as his knees hit the floor, doesn't feel the ache spreading through his joints as he touches Emily’s slack face, trying to wake her up with nothing more than his touch, “Emily, sweetheart, I need you to wake up.”

His nerves fray as she doesn’t respond, her head lulling to the side as he tries to gather her against him. Panic swells in his chest as he hears Dave yell out for someone to call an ambulance, the chaos from the team in the bullpen driving Issac to burst into tears, his cries only increasing when Dave thwarts his attempt to get to his parents.

Aaron looks up at Dave, his eyebrows furrowed as JJ and Derek enter the room too, the latter getting on the floor with Aaron, kneeling by her side like he once had in a warehouse in Boston.

“The ambulance is on its way,” Derek says, his voice tight, the pleasant nature of their conversation just minutes ago feeling like nothing short of a lifetime ago.

“How long has she been like this?” Aaron demands, looking back and forth between them, anger flaring in his chest when they all shake their heads, guilt and panic painted across their faces, “When did any of you last speak to her?”

“She asked to be left alone,” JJ says, her voice shaking as she takes Issac from Dave, doing her best to calm the little boy down, “We didn’t…we didn’t know.”

Aaron clenches his teeth, desperately trying to make sure he didn’t lash out at his friends, that he didn’t say something he’d later regret. He turns his attention back to Emily, his hand tightly around hers, lifting it to kiss her knuckles, his lips grazing her wedding rings.

“Sweetheart,” he begs, not caring who was there to listen, who was there to watch the cracks form in his once impenetrable facade, “Please, wake up.”

The silence he gets in return is deafening, overriding the panic in the bullpen and his son’s whimpering cries from the other side of the room.

___

Emily groans as she wakes up, her head spinning as she tries to make sense of what’s happened, of where she is.

She looks around the street she finds herself in, at first unsure when she’d even left the office, and she frowns as she spots a movie theatre, finding herself drawn to it. She pauses outside, the familiar feeling of being watched burning at the back of her neck, goosebumps making her shiver as they spread throughout her body.

“Hi Emily, it’s been a long time.”

She freezes at the sound of the familar voice. One she’d heard on tapes more than she’d ever heard in person, the joy that would always flow from it in family videos so different to the last words she’d ever spoken. Words Emily had heard down a phone line back when Aaron was just her boss and Jack wasn’t her son.

She sucks in a breath as she turns around, her eyes wide as they meet the hazel ones their son had inherited.

“Haley?”

-x-

Tag List:

@ssa-sparks , @ptrckjcne , @lyds102 , @glockleveledatyourcrotch , @hotchnissenthusiast , @danadeservesadrink , @ssamorganhotchner , @emilyprentissisgod , @notagentprentiss , @freesiasandfics , @emilyshotchniss , @thecharmingart , @paulitalblond , @hancydrewfan , @camille093 , @whitecrossgirl , @moonlight-2-6, @rawr-jess , @florenceremingtonthethird, @jareauswife , @ms-black-a , @beebeelank , @aubreyprc , @zipzapboingg , @psychopath-at-heart , @criminalmindsgonewrong , @fionaloover , @kinqslcys , @prentissinred , @ccmattis-22 , @denvivale317 , @thrindis , @hotchsguccitie , @cmfouatslota77 , @alexblakegf , @aliensaurusrex, @prentissxhotch , @emobabeyy , @victoiregranger , @stormyweatherth , @wanderingdreamer009 , @ssablackbird , @luhwithah , @lex13cm , @prentiss-theorem, @dont-emily-me , @mrs-ssa-hotch , @jocyycreation, @itsmytimetoodream , @hotchnissgroupie, @controversialpooh, @capsshinyshield , @canuck-eh

Join my tag list here!

#aaron hotchner #hotchniss fanfic #emily prentiss #aaron hotchner x emily prentiss #emily prentiss fanfiction #aaron hotchner fanfiction #aaron x emily #hotchniss fan fic #hotchniss fanfiction #hotchniss

51 notes · View notes

deadmotelsusa · 1 year

Photo

Santa Claus, Arizona was founded in 1937 by Nina Talbot, a real estate agent from Los Angeles. In an attempt to bring attention to the area, she opened multiple Christmas-themed attractions, including the Christmas Tree Inn, pictured here. In the 1940s, the Inn was noted to be one of the best attractions on Route 66, though it is actually several miles off Route 66 on Route 93.

Sadly, Talbot was never able to attract buyers to the area and ended up selling the town in 1949. In the 1970s, Santa Claus became less popular and fell into disrepair. By 1983, new owner Tony Wilcox put it up for sale, but was unable to find a buyer at the asking price. The last remaining business closed in 1995.

Sources: PlacesThatWere and Joseph Sohm on Shutterstock

#santa claus #arizona #christmas tree inn #then and now #deadmotelsusa

454 notes · View notes

justsomerandomfanfic · 7 months

Text

Sleeping Beauty - Dean Winchester X Female Reader

Title: Sleeping Beauty

Dean Winchester X Female Reader

Additional Characters: Betty OC (Mentioned), Mrs. Peterson OC (Mentioned), Sam, nicknames, Steven OC (Mentioned), Fanny OC, and Paul OC

Requested by: Sue!

WC: 5,982

Warnings: Reader has narcolepsy, information was gathered by the requester, sleep attacks mentioned, nicknames, bantering, teasing, cursing, Supernatural canon violence mentioned, blood very briefly mentioned, gun mentioned, jealousy mentioned, flirting mentioned, one-night stands mentioned, Dean's a bit insecure, cuddling, slight angst, and fluff

You always had the talent of falling asleep anywhere. Whether that be in the car during a couple hour drive or on the couch after reading a good book. Though those seem like typical places one could sleep. By the words 'falling asleep anywhere' you really did do such.

And it didn't matter if you had a good night's sleep the night before. Everyday, almost all day, you'd end up falling asleep more than once. More than ten times most days. Whether for a couple of hours or a couple of minutes. It was something you didn't really control most of the time. One of the many perks of narcolepsy. Note the sarcasm.

You didn't have it as a kid. It sort of just came to you when you were a teenager. You started feeling incredibly tired throughout the day, your body begging to sleep, and sometimes you ended up doing such. Which really messed up your schedule. And got you in a bit of trouble in school. People didn’t understand and it took a bit to finally get diagnosed.

It was sort of random too, never attacking at a specific time or anything; either happening after you ate something or spoke to someone. But every time you woke back up, you always felt sort of refreshed.

But over the years, the symptoms lessened to a point that it was liveable. More liveable than it already was. You didn't hesitate getting out of bed in the mornings, or worried that much about how others would perceive you when out and about. Yes, there were tough days, but you made it through. Like you always did.

It was difficult to find places to work, especially with your disability. But you did have one. It took you a bit to find a place that was accepting and understanding after you told them about your narcolepsy, but you found one.

Betty's Diner, right off the highway on Route 66, Kansas. Little ol' Betty, the owner of the small 50's themed diner, was an angel; you were sure of it. She was so understanding and considerate of your condition and never got mad if you were late to a shift or went a bit overtime on your breaks.

You were a waitress, working six hours five days a week. Getting to serve whoever came into the diner with a smile on your face. From trunk driver's to small families enjoying their family meals on discount Sunday, you had practically seen them all. Nothing really surprised you. You'd see a lot of different types of folks enter the diner and leave with full, content stomachs.

Though, one day, new faces entered the small diner. Two men, both rather attractive in your book, entered the diner; the small bell signaling their arrival. The first man was very tall, you guessed taller than six foot, with broad shoulders, and ear-length brown, wavy hair. The second man, slightly shorter than the first, was wearing a red flannel and dark blue jeans, had an Ivy-League sort of haircut; either dark blonde or brown, you couldn't fully make up your mind.

You were behind the counter when they walked over, and you quickly looked away and wrote down some nonsense on your small pad of paper to pretend that you were busy. It had been a slow Tuesday afternoon, not a lot of hungry customers, only old Steven who lived about a mile away came for his usual and Mrs. Peterson who came for a piece of Betty's famous pecan pie. Other than that, the day had been slow and quiet.

You looked up at the two men when the counter bell was gently pushed, making you blink a couple of times. Your eyes ghosted from both men, going from Mister Ivy-League, to the tall one, and back. You gave them your best 'customer service' smile, your pen between your pointer and middle finger as you began to fidget with it; tapping it lightly on your pad of paper.

"What can I get you two?" You asked, voice light and what some regulars at the diner had only described as 'sunny', as the two men turned to look over at the small menu that was taped to the back of the cash register.

The tall one cleared his throat briefly, giving you a small smile as he answered, "I'll have the 'Polly Pot Pie', uh, size small." To which, you gave him a nod and quickly wrote down his order.

You then turned your attention to the second man, allowing yourself to let your eyes wander over his face. You couldn't help but notice how striking his green eyes were and the small freckles that littered his cheeks on his lightly sun-kissed skin. After a moment, Ivy-League spoke up, turning his gaze up to you. "What would you recommend, sweetheart?" He asked, and his sudden affectionate name made you take a small breath in before you snapped yourself out of it.

"Well," You cleared your own throat, placing your hand on your chest momentarily, "I rather like the 'Southern Sloppy Joe' and the 'Betty's Beef Burger.'" You pointed to the menu with the tip of your pen, a bit nervous to meet his gaze.

The man gave you a small, charming grin, leaning to rest one arm on the counter. "I'll take that burger then and…" He glanced at the menu before looking back at you, "I'll also have a slice of the apple pie."

With that, you dropped your eyes from his rather intense gaze before continuing; you could feel your heart hammering in your chest, "Alright, is this for here or to go?" You then asked, writing their orders down quickly, waiting for their answer.

"To g-"

"For here," Ivy-League interrupted the tall one, making you look up from your pad of paper with a raised eyebrow.

"Alright, well, you can find a place to sit. Fanny will bring you drinks. And your order will come out in a couple minutes." You spoke before the tall one spoke.

"Thank you…" He looked at your name tag, "Y/N." He then gave you a smile, Mister Ivy-League doing the same.

"Yeah, thanks, sweetheart." He thanked you, his pretty green eyes reluctantly leaving yours before leaving to follow what you could only assume was a friend or family member. It was like this man was trying to give you a heart attack or something.

With that, you let out a sigh, your heart calming slightly as you headed to the kitchen window. "Hey, Paul! We got a small pot pie, beef burger, and apple pie!" You called to the man.

Paul wandered over, wiping his hands on the small towel hooked on his waist. A thin layer is sweat on his brow from the hot kitchen. You and Pual had gotten pretty close from your two years of working at Betty's. He was sort of a father figure for you. He always had a smile on his face, cracked terrible dad jokes daily, and always talked so highly of his wife and three daughters. You loved how much he doted on them.

Taking the ripped paper with the orders, Paul nodded slowly, you could practically see the gears turning in his head, "Alrigh'," He began, "Be out in ten."

Nodding with a smile, you headed around the counter, going to the very few customers that were in the diner before the mysterious men arrived. As said before, Tuesdays were pretty slow, so there weren't a lot of people around.

Stepping around the counter, you felt a small wave of sleepiness, and you knew you'd have to sit down or something soon. But you thought you'd at least check on the customers before rushing to the back break room. Practically speeding around, you kept a smile on your face as you checked on the diner-goers. Refilling their waters if needed.

You are thankful you had Fanny with you in your shift. She also went around with you after getting drinks for the mysterious men. She glanced at you periodically, knowing by now that you were slowing down. Fanny was a great friend of yours. Only in her mid forties, she worked at the diner as a second job to help pay for her kids' education. She was keen on her two boys having a good education and getting into a good college. She was quite motherly with you, and so seeing you wobble slightly when you stepped, worried her.

Checking on the fourth and last group of customers, you sluggishly moved to the side of the counter, gripping onto it as you let out a breath. Your eyelids felt very heavy as your head began to nod, it was hard to stay awake anymore. Your whole body felt as if you hadn't slept in two days, maybe three. Your limbs felt incredibly heavy and you couldn't stop a small yawn from escaping you. Trying to muster the strength to open your eyes and get to the break room, you tried to move, but before you knew it, you were asleep.

Dean sat back against the red, leather booth, arms crossed as he looked around. His eyes momentarily landed on you before looking off at the small jukebox playing some 'Patsy Cline' song. Sam was doing pretty much the same, minus looking over at you. He was busy playing around with the salt and pepper shakers on the table before observing the art hanging on the walls; from old ads from the 50’s to illustrations of pinup girls.

"Nice place," Sam spoke up, finally looking over at his older brother, who gave him a nod, looking away from you.

"Yeah, it is nice." He spoke, his thoughts occupied at the moment making Sma roll his eyes.

"Yeah, don't think I didn't see the way you were looking at the waitress." Sam spoke, letting out a sigh, "And still are…" Dean looked over at his brother.

Dean only shrugged, "She's alright." He replied simply, even though in reality, to Dean, you were definitely more than 'alright.'

Sam rolled his eyes once again, a small smile forming at the corner of his mouth, "Whatever you say." He muttered, taking another sip of his water.

Letting out a sigh, Dean couldn't help but look back over at you. The 50's style outfit you were wearing was nothing short of adorable. Your hair was pulled away so it wouldn't get in your eyes, though soft, little wisps of hair gently framed your face. And the smile on your face lit up the room, making it feel so much warmer than it really was in the diner. Dean swiftly turned back to stare down at the table, his hand coming up to pull at the collar of his plain, black shirt. Feeling heat creep up his neck, he knew that his gaze had lingered for longer than strictly necessary. You were just too damn attractive to not look at.

Now Dean had had his fair share of relationships, flings, and one-night-stands; being a hunter, it was hard to make and keep long, deep, and meaningful relationships with others who weren't also hunters.

Now it wasn't like Dean hadn't ever found a waitress attractive, he had certainly done so many times before. But the way you looked right now… You were just so goddamn beautiful. And all you were doing was just standing there, talking to another customer. Hell, Dean wouldn't be surprised if you were an angel.

Though, Dean's thoughts were quickly interrupted when he heard someone yell out your name.

Turning his head, Sam followed, seeing that you were now laying on the ground. People around gasped and murmured to each other as Fanny went over and knelt down beside you, raising your head into her lap.

Dean got out of his seat in the booth quickly, making his way over with furrowed eyebrows, worry clean in his eyes.

"Is she alright?" Dean asked, noticing your chest rise and fall softly; you were at least breathing. But you must have had quite a tumble.

Fanny brushed her fingers behind your head, pulling back to see no blood. "She's alright," She let out a sigh of relief, and at her words Dean's visibly relaxed as well, though he was curious as to what happened. As was Sam, peering over his brother's shoulder down at you. His mind was already racing with theories.

"What happened?" A different customer asked from their booth, their soup sitting forgotten in front of them.

"Don't worry," Fanny only shook her head at the person's question, slowly helping you up, your head landing on her shoulder. "This happens a lot, but she's fine."

Before Dean, or Sam for that matter, could offer to carry you, Fanny lifted you in her arms easily; surprising both men.

And that was when you first met Dean and Sam. It was awkward, sure, but nowadays, you, Dean, and Sam would joke about it if the story was ever retold. And that had been two years ago.

From that day on, Sam and Dean would come almost twice a month. Three, if you were lucky. Sam would always get some sort of salad and Dean would always get a slice of apple pie. They both became regulars and every time they entered the little diner, the closer you got to the both of them.

So, there you were, sitting on the couch in front of the TV in the bunker, popcorn in hand in a small plastic bowl as you watched some cowboy movie that you knew Dean would love, if he hadn't seen it already. It was hard concentrating on the movie, your mind feeling a bit hazy as you tried to pay attention and take note of what the characters were saying, but all the information was just slipping away.

Slowly chewing the popcorn that was in your mouth, you blinked, staring at the TV before your head began to loll to the side, your eyes shutting as your body fell to the side, thankfully, your head landing on a pillow. You didn't know how long you were asleep until you jolted awake.

Raising a hand to your head, you scratched at your scalp lightly, blinking repeatedly before looking around you. The TV playing your movie had already gone to the credits, making you furrow your eyebrows and frown slightly. You must've been watching a movie.

Hearing the bunker doors open, you turned to watch Dean and Sam enter, Sam shaking off his boots and setting his gun on the small table by the door. He wandered off to either shower or hide in the library, but not before giving you a small smile and a wave in greeting. Dean ended up doing the same, taking off his boots before looking up and giving you a smile. That smile that always made your knees weak and your heart race.

"Hey there, sweetheart," He greeted you, going over to the couch to sit beside you, "You alrigh’?" He then asked, noticing that you looked a little spaced-out, but nonetheless making you smile right back at how sweet he was being; had always been with you. Though your cheeks felt incredibly warm, taking note of how close he was sitting next to you.

"I'm alright," You dropped your hand from your hair, "I think I must have had a sleep attack or something. I don't really remember putting on this movie." You gestured to the TV, making Dean look over to see the end of the credits roll by.

"Well, that's okay," He looked back over to you, his arm resting up against the back of the couch, the tips of his fingers brushing against your hair, "We can always rewatch it later. You know how much I love cowboy movies." He spoke, somehow knowing it was a cowboy movie before pressing a quick kiss to your temple, and standing. "I'm gonna shower, and then order us some pizza. Want your usual?" He asked, backing up towards his room, to which you nodded.

"Thank you, De." You thanked him, as Dean just gave you a wink.

"Anything for you, sweetheart."

Once he was out of sight, you let out an almost dreamy sigh. You had thought in the beginning of living with the two brothers that you might become a burden, that they’d tire of you and want you to move out of the bunker. You couldn’t even count on your fingers the amount of times you fell asleep on them when on the couch, or having a short sleep attack while conversing with either brother. And Dean was indescribable, truly. He was so understanding of you and your condition, even after hard days when it was difficult for you to go through the day, he was there. Dean was always there for you. Always there to make sure that you were in a safe place if he noticed a sleep attack was coming. Always there to bring you to bed or the couch if you fell asleep in an awkward place for a long time. And always there to explain to you what had happened if you needed him to. And you were incredibly grateful.

Your heart would always race and your chest would feel warm whenever you woke up with your favorite throw blanket over you and a soft pillow under your head after long sleep attacks on the couch. And it didn't stop there, Dean would leave you little notes around the bunker for you. Because of your condition, you were sometimes prone to forgetting important information, so Dean would leave little post-its around, on your bedroom door or on the fridge. He usually did it before he left for a hunt with Sam, letting you know that he was out and that he'd be back. All of these things, these little things that helped you so much throughout the day, made you fall hard for Dean Winchester.

It was quite obvious for Dean, and even Sam, that ever since he met you at that diner, Dean was smitten. And Sam knew that too, Dean hardly went to his usual pie place anymore, opting to go to the diner you worked at. To see you, but to also get some pie, but mostly to see you. He'd walk in, either by himself or with Sam tagging along, noticing the bright smile on your face widen as you looked up from behind the counter, your eyes meeting his. Dean would subtly flirt with you, loving your infectious laugh as you then asked him what he'd like to order. But you knew the answer. He'd always order the same thing, a bacon cheeseburger and a slice of apple pie. He ordered that so often in fact that Betty just added his order to the menu as ‘Dean’s Special.’

The only thing was, neither you nor Dean thought to maybe confess these feelings that were growing for one another. You thought that Dean wouldn’t return your feelings. He was Dean Winchester. A hunter of demons and all kinds of creatures. He was gorgeous, with stunning green eyes and silky dark blonde hair that could make a girl swoon. He could have any girl, anyone for that matter. During the time that you knew Dean, after a successful hunt, he'd most of the time go to some hotel with some woman he found at the bar. It hurt whenever Dean came back home after a one-night stand, seeing his hair ruffled slightly, one of his flannels held over his shoulder, and his right boot not fully tied. And it hurt when you'd look over to the other side of the bar, only to see him flirting with someone. Sam knew, and you knew that he knew. But you were glad that he didn't say anything. He'd just rub your shoulder, a small frown on his face. It hurt when he called you those sweet nicknames, kissed your forehead, and gave you that charming smile of his.

But, Dean hadn't stayed the night with anyone in a long while, but you didn't want to give yourself any false hope. Maybe he was just too tired after some hunts to go out to the bar to find anyone. Again, he was Dean Winchester... He could have anyone he wanted. And honestly, you tried to reason with yourself, he probably thought of you as a sister; just like Sam.

Dean didn't see you as a sister at all. You were so much more than that. And that was why Dean hadn't gone home with any women in a long time, none of them were you. And Sam knew, and Dean knew that his younger brother knew about his growing feelings toward you. Sam knew the first day they met you. Sam tried reasoning with Dean but with no luck. 'Just tell her,' he'd say, but in Sam's words, Dean would chicken out. Dean couldn't tell you. You were perfect. And you deserved so much better than him anyway. He was nothing special. Just plain ol' Dean Winchester. Dean, who had been hunting for practically his whole life, and whose said was filled with pain and sadness. He couldn't burden you with this. You had enough to deal with, without him adding on to that. And that was why it was so hard to tell you. He wanted to tell you, he wanted to be selfish. But, for the first time in a very long time, Dean didn't want to mess up and lose you.

But with every glance, every interaction, both you and Dean found it harder to not say anything about some of the events that had taken place during the past couple of weeks.

~~~

Dean had been leaving the War Room, passing the library, Dean stopped. Taking a couple of steps back, Dean peered into the library, seeing you curled up on your favorite armchair, asleep. A smile tugged at the corner of Dean’s lips at the sight. It had only been about three months since you came to live at the bunker with himself and Sam. It was all by accident really, how you had come to learn about Sam and Dean’s line of work. Well, what really happened was Dean accidentally blurted it out. It wasn’t his fault though, you were just so easy to talk to. Dean hated talking about it, Sam still liked to bring it up.

Making his way inside, Dean walked over to you, taking a moment before slowly taking the open book from your lap. Making sure to keep the book open on the page you had left off on, Dean read the front cover, taking note that you had been reading the first 'Lord Of The Rings’ book. Finding the worn receipt that you used as a bookmark, Dean slid it between the pages and shut your book, leaving it on the table for you.

Turning back to you, Dean bent down and slid his arms under your back and legs before picking you up into his arms. Dean didn't think you would want to stay in that awkward position any longer than you had to be; all scrunched up. Looking down at you, Dean held his breath as you let out a small unintelligible mumble, only to let it out when you just nuzzled into his neck. Dean froze for a moment, the feeling of your warm breath on his neck sending shivers through his body before he started walking again. He mentally shook his head. He had carried you to your bed many times before, this was nothing new to him. Dean continued his walk to your room, nudging your slightly ajar door open with his foot before stepping in.

Placing you gently on your bed, Dean pulled out the blanket from under you before placing it over you; the blanket reaching your chin. Leaning down, Dean pressed a small, chaste kiss to your forehead before straightening. Freezing, Dean's eyes widened slightly. He hadn't done that before. That was new. Dean shook his head, turning away quickly before heading out of your bedroom. Making sure to close his door behind himself, Dean made his way back to his own room, closing the door quietly behind himself. Laying down on his own bed, Dean sighed heavily. What was going on with him?

~~~

The road had been a bit bumpy, but that didn't stop your body from taking a nap. Laying on the leather seats of the Impala, your legs kicked up on the seat, resting on Dean's lap as he drove you to the diner for your shift. With one hand on the wheel, Dean's free hand was on your calve, his thumb brushing against you softly. He glanced periodically at you, seeing you somewhat peacefully asleep. At a red light, Dean turned to look at you, a small smile on his face before he turned back to look at the road.

Soon after, you sat up, sluggishly as you rubbed your left eyelid with the palm of your hand. Moving your head to lay more comfortably against the back of the seat. As you were gaining your bearings, Dean's smile grew, "Good mornin', sleeping beauty." He commented lightly.

You smiled, your eyes meeting him briefly, "How long was I out?" You asked, checking your watch on your arm. Usually in the mornings, your need to sleep would last no more than fifteen to twenty minutes. You made sure to sleep on the way to work, during your lunch break after you ate, and before dinner. You hated fighting the drowsiness, so it was always easier just to take those small naps during the day. It definitely made the day more bearable.

"Uhm, not long, twenty minutes max. We're almost at Betty's." Dean glanced over at you once more, pausing his small caresses on your calves. "How are you feelin’?" He asked, a soft concern in his voice.

You shrugged a shoulder, your smile never wavering as you looked at Dean's side profile, "Still tired, but better." You assured him, voice soft and heart filled with fondness. It wasn't long until Dean pulled into the parking lot of Betty's, turning off the engine as you shuffled your legs off his lap. Letting out a sigh, you turned to Dean who had been already looking at you, making your cheeks feel a bit warm. "Thank you for driving me, De." You thanked him, Dean giving you a nod in response.

Dean had been driving you to work for the past couple of months, even though you said you were fine with taking a cab or something. Dean, on the other hand, insisted that you’d let him drive you. You felt pretty bad, not wanting to feel like a burden, or making Dean feel as if he had to take you - even trying to pay him for all the gas he used driving you there and back. But Dean wasn’t having it. He told you that you weren’t a burden, and that you didn’t have to pay him. All he wanted in return was a slice of apple pie, and you were more than willing to give him that.

"You call me if you need anything, alrigh'?" He requested, reaching over the console and taking your hand into his own, squeezing it gently. The simple action of him holding your hand had you feeling warm again.

You nodded, smiling warmly at him, "Yeah, I know, Dean. You tell me every time you drop me off. You don’t have to worry." Letting out a little laugh, you pressed your free hand to your mouth, a small wave of drowsiness going through you. In reality though, Dean had only said those words a good handful of times; you were just messing with him.

You couldn’t recognize the look in Dean’s eyes when you brought your attention back to him. You watched as he slowly licked his bottom lip before he reached over with his free hand and placed it on the back of your head. His fingers sunk into your hair, bringing you close enough to place a gentle kiss on your forehead. Your breath hitched ever so slightly at the sudden affection from him. But, you were happy that he showed you such affection. For the rest of the working day, you had thought about that forehead kiss, almost constantly when you weren’t helping customers.

The forehead kisses were a pretty new thing between the two of you. Dean had first done it after he got back from a pretty bad hunt. Rushing down the stairs only to bring you into his arms. You didn’t know what had happened during the hunt, and you never asked. You knew whatever did happen, it shook Dean. Which was a feat within itself.

You had looked over Dean’s shoulder, eyes meeting Sam’s as you silently asked him what had happened, but Sam just gave you a small shrug before leaving the room. You just let out a sigh, wrapping your arms around Dean, not even caring about the blood on his brown jacket or the terrible smell reeking off of him.

Pulling back slightly, you had kept your arms around him as you looked up at him. “Are you alright?” You asked, voice soft, seeing how his green eyes glinted in the light of the room.

Dean said nothing, mustering up a small, almost sad smile before he leaned forward to press a kiss to your forehead. You remembered that you felt so warm but so light at the same time. Your heartbeat quickening as your eyes fluttered shut. He held you for a moment more, as if he was cherishing the moment - as you were - before he let go of you and left the room.

But that kiss, that kiss in the Impala felt different. A good different.

~~~

The bunker had been quiet, minus the TV playing that cowboy movie you sort of slept through. Pressed against Dean’s side, you periodically grabbed a couple of pieces of popcorn from the bowl in Dean’s lap, chewing slowly as you stared at the screen. You couldn’t believe a full year had passed since the two brothers walked into your life. You were trying to fight the sleepiness that you were feeling. You really wanted to spend more time with Dean.

Speaking of the man, his arm was wrapped around you, pulling you close. His fingers were gently caressing your forearm, tracing patterns into your skin. It made you smile, and you let yourself sink further onto the couch, resting your head on his shoulder. He chuckled lowly and pressed a kiss to your temple. “Comfy there, sweetheart?” he asked softly, teasingly, his ministrations on your arm pausing.

You moved your head slightly to look up at him, slightly startled at how close both of your faces were, "Yeah," You breathed out, not wanting to raise your voice so as to not ruin the quiet atmosphere. "I'm sorry in advance if I fall asleep on you." You said before turning back to the TV, rubbing your cheek against his shoulder; the smell of his cologne practically engulfing you.

Dean only hummed in return, his eyes staying on you for a moment more. The room was dim but the small lamp lit up enough of the room for Dean to see you clearly. Your eyelashes brushed over your cheeks, and his expression softened slightly. “It's okay, you're safe here,” He murmured, “I promise not to draw on your face with a pen as you sleep."

Laughter erupted out of you, shaking your head slightly as your shoulders shook. “Dean, that’s mean!” You playfully slapped his chest with a hand, making Dean pretend wince.

Raising his free hand in surrender, Dean let out his own laughter, “Just jokin’, just jokin.”

You only shook your head, turning your head to face the screen, “Sam was right, you are immature.”

“Wait, Sammy said that about me?” Dean asked, finding the small smirk on your face adorable before he let out a sigh, “In all seriousness, you’ll be fine. I’ll bring you to bed when you’re ready.”

"Thank you, De." You muttered back, turning your body slightly towards his to curl more into his side, eyes finally shutting.

"No need to thank me, sweetheart," Dean smirked lightly, turning back to stare at the TV screen, "I know I'm awesome."

~~~

Present day, Dean walked back into the room no more than thirty minutes later, a plain t-shirt on with gray sweatpants. His hair was slightly damp from his shower as he walked over to the couch where you were still sitting. Sitting beside you, Dean let out a sigh as he sat; his arm coming up to wrap around your shoulder.

“I ordered the pizza, should be able to pick it up soon,” Dean spoke, looking over at you as you paused your reading, placing your thumb in between the pages so you wouldn’t lose your place.

“Did you get those cheesy sticks?” You asked, watching as Dean’s smile widened ever-so-slightly.

“Of course, who do you think I am?” Dean asked in mock offense, and when he received a small shove from you in response he smirked. “I got your pizza, mine, and Sammy's. The cheese sticks too, so don't worry that pretty little head of yours." Dean teased, bringing his arm up to ruffle your hair slightly.

As he pulled away, Dean dropped his arm back around your shoulders, unable to pull his eyes off of you. You furrowed your eyebrows confused as to why he was looking at you with such tenderness, “Why are you staring at me like that?” You asked curiously, feeling a little bit nervous as his eyes stared intently into yours. You couldn't think for a moment, caught off guard by the sudden proximity as he fidgeted in his seat, unknowingly scooting closer to you.

“I...” Dean trailed off, staring down at you. His eyes glinted mischievously in the low light and you felt your breath hitch. ‘Why did he have to be so attractive?’ you had thought, heart racing as Dean just let out a shaky sigh, a small grin appearing on his face. “Nothing.” He only then said, making you let out a small, breathy laugh.

"You really are something, Dean Winchester," You teased, watching as Dean's cheeks flushed lightly, highlighting the many freckles placed there.

With that comment, he gave you a playful pout, but before he could say anything, Sam popped into the room. "Yes, yes, he is truly something. Now, something is going to happen to the two of you if I don't get my food." He spoke grumpily before heading back into the library.

Bringing your eyes back on Dean, his grin just turned into a smirk, his green eyes glancing from your eyes to your lips, and back, “Well, you heard him... I should be gettin' that pizza. Don't want little Sammy to have a tantrum.” With that, he stood up and grabbed his keys from the coffee table. You let out a sigh you didn't even know that you were holding as Dean turned to you. "Want to ride with me? I can tell you all about that time Sam and I found the source of all evil in a Vegan factory." He asked, twirling the key ring around his finger, the keys clashing.

Sputtering out a short laugh, you rolled your eyes, "Of course, just don't get all upset when I fall asleep." You answered, standing up, already feeling a bit sluggish as Dean wrapped an arm around your waist, your arm then wrapping around his; making your way up the stairs.

Once outside of the bunker, Dean leaned down to press a kiss to your cheek, "Wouldn't dream of it, sweetheart."

121 notes · View notes

most-datable-datable-bracket · 6 months

Text

ROUND 1 MATCH 66

Natsuki propaganda:

No Natsuki propaganda :(

Yoshizawa propaganda:

“As one of the three new confidants and teo new characters in Royal, I was kinda expecting her just to be there as eye candy as the base game felt very complete. But oh boy was I wrong! Her story arc doesn't kick off properly until the added final dungeon but even before then the story hooks to get you curious are brilliant. The entirety of the added dungeon really ties the themes of Persona 5 together perfectly and Yoshizawa is integral to this. In my first play through I went through her platonic route and loved it but on my ng+ I went romantic and somehow she only got better. Her interactions with Joker are sweet and compelling no matter the route but they really shine when she's romanced <3”

#natsuki ddlc #DDLC #doki doki literature club #Yoshizawa #Persona #Persona 5 #Round 1 #MDDC 2

21 notes · View notes

aheathen-conceivably · 6 months

Note

omg this is a totally weird question but will ur story be referencing the dustbowl that happened in the 30s? 😭 since our little pixels are in that area

Certainly not a weird question! Our little pixels are right on the edge of the Dust Bowl, more specifically, in the northwest corner of New Mexico. I’m currently working on an info post regarding two main geographical factors that are present in the fictional town of Strangerville, New Mexico, which are, as you pointed out, proximity to the Dust Bowl and the newly built Route 66.

You can see Gio begin to talk about the Dust Bowl and it’s effects here. It’s also why we’ve seen references to failing crops, unemployment, and the townspeople referring to Antoine as an “Okie”, a derogatory term for migrants from Oklahoma. This will continue to be a prevailing theme throughout the decade, and as we’ll see, a primary issue in tomorrow’s post.

#I wish I had the full info post available for you!#but me being me there’s maps and stats and long winded explanations #so it’ll probably be a few more days 😅#ask #answered

22 notes · View notes

kingfisherprince · 7 months

Text

Twenty Questions for Fic Writers

thank you @yoellglia for the tag! and don't sell yourself short as a writer, your fics are lovely

1. How many works do you have on AO3?

right now i have 35! hoping to reach 40 very soon because i have some oneshots and stuff in the works

2. What’s your total AO3 word count?

139,645 (damn that's more than i expected)

3. What fandoms do you write for?

at the moment it's tennis and cycling rpf, with other sports-adjacent things sprinkled in

4. What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

my most kudosed fic was hit by the bot, but the next five are grass stains when you kneel (tennis), sunflower white (cycling), fly to live (check, please), free pistachio ice cream (tennis) and polaris (cycling)

5. Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

yes! just because i always want to talk more and responding to comments / leaving comments has made me some of my best fandom friends

6. What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

there's a few but it has to be summer seemed to last forever because what is angstier than 34 days!jackparse ?

7. What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

well i like hopeful more than happy endings but the end of whatever a moon has always meant is quite cute

8. Do you get hate on fics?

not so far! hoping to keep it that way haha it helps to write for tiny sports fandoms

9. Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

nope.

10. Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

lord i used to as a kid but it never saw the light of day so i'll say no for this one (it was pretty crazy haha)

11. Have you ever had a fic stolen?

that would require people to want to steal it XD no, i simply don't write the types of fics that people seem to steal

12. Have you ever had a fic translated?

no.

13. Have you ever co-written a fic before?

a couple, not published on my account. working on one as well!

14. What’s your all time favourite ship?

i don't really do all time favourites, especially not for shipping in fic. in my view a ship is a tool to tell a story or to convey a theme, so i like whatever allows me to do that

15. What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

my cricket series ... i try not to give up on things but it's been a while.

16. What are your writing strengths?

i have gotten really good at body language and imagery which is something i practice a lot. i'm also good enough at grammar to break he rules on purpose now

17. What are your writing weaknesses?

i don't sit down and just write often enough, and if something is frustrating me i tend to write it in a rush and not give it the attention it deserves (the last couple scenes of firefly jars are s perfect example, although i am proud of that fic as a whole)

18. Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

i do it occasionally. i like to do it when it matters that it's in another language, like if the pov character doesn't understand it or a character making an effort to speak that language is a big deal. i don't include translations, and sometimes don't even italicize.

19. First fandom you wrote for?

on this account, cricket rpf.

20. Favourite fic you’ve written?

it's got to be route 66. my love, my life, my everything. i will update soon! ish. whenever my brain cooperates with me. of my recent fics i also really like your hand on my heart but that's a bit darker.

tagging @bluespring864 @strigimorphaes @softbrah @fftifft @polkadotjersey and @shambolicchaos as well as whoever wants to do it!

#this was fun i forgot how much ive done #writing #fisherkings fic #omgcp #tennis rpf #cricket rpf #cycling rpf #a game of tag

14 notes · View notes

starsscarmyceiling · 11 months

Note

Gimme some of that Clone Wars AU pls! Stirring the Sky

Hoooo ohhh man, Abby! The origin story to this one is actually pretty funny…and I know I’ve blathered on to you about my fics…BUT for everyone else…so a few months ago, an anon asked me if I had any sort of fic prompt ideas floating around in my head, which you can find here. And what do I do ofc??? Why, write out 5k worth of prompt ideas because a bitch over here can never stfu. And ONE of those ideas…I honestly got really attached to it and I was like…well oh NO I am going to have to write this, aren’t I?? It’s from the “Canonverse Divergent” section, I thought of this Clone Wars AU, and this is the original prompt I wrote:

“Clone Wars AU where Cal and Jaro are assigned to try and recruit the Nightsisters to try and get the upper hand in the war with Dooku (lol I wouldn’t say exactly a Dark Disciple route but that’s up to you). Merrin is voluntold (the opposite of volunteered) by Mother Talzin to try and become allies with the Jedi (they could have their own shady Nightsister ulterior motive going on as well), and Merrin reluctantly goes with the Jedi. And oooooooOoOooo wow the shenanigans that can ensue from that. (Merrin also has to try really hard not to lose her shit over leaving Dathomir for the first time in her life). I’d imagine a lot of frustrations from both parties. The clones mercilessly make fun of Cal and his Nightsister gf (but they also have to tell him what’s up). He thinks she’s unreasonably obtuse and rude, and she thinks he’s frustratingly smug/arrogant. Merrin could prove to be a definite asset in battle. Cal probably thinks it’s hawt 😳 OH NO SHE’S HOT SEE LOOK HOW WE GOT HERE WE LIKE TO HAVE FUN HERE.

Now suddenly she’s mysterious and complex, and he’s frustrated that he wants to know more. He’s actually the sweetest person she’s ever seen and she’s angry about it. She constantly has to check in with her sisters and it’s getting harder and harder to go behind his back or deny that she maybe might not hate him anymore she maybe even may want to smooch him WOAH who knows. They bond over feeling used in this war. Come on. You got it from here right?”

Soooo, YEAH…I gots a little too overindulgent in my thoughts and started writing THIS…but I am so very excited because it’s just the two of them being endlessly frustrated yet hotted up for each other at all times. All the clones ship it HARD. Merrin starts to grow attached to some of the clones that are very welcoming to her…actually fun fact…if you’ve read my fic “what’s grown between (surgery scars)” when Cal told Merrin about his clone trauma…I literally pulled what he was saying from this WIP…HEH…

ALSO, I honestly just want to live my best life and push forward my personal HC that I have of if Cal were older during order 66 or it never happened, him and Jaro would 100% have Jake and Holt energy from Brooklyn 99 agenda.

And I am so very excited to explore a lot of these themes that I’ve brought into my Merrical writing in a setting like this. Cal contemplating his feelings, his so naturally compassionate and empathetic spirit that wants to take care of everyone else before himself, and then someone like MERRIN steps into his life??? OOF I am gonna have some fun with this and the psychometric Jedi and space witch of it all. GOODNESS I am so excited for it.

AND SO…here is a long ass preview because I honestly didn’t know where to cut it off…Cal is answering a comm from their commander, Zand, on his and Jaro’s ship and well he may have sensed a presence while doing so…😏😏😏

When there was nothing there still, he turned once again to his original direction, but as soon as he did, there was a flash of green light and smoke, and suddenly, there was a figure there before him.

“There is no need to brandish weapons or administer threats Jedi,” she stated with her voice laced in malice, which ironically enough did feel like a bit of a threat.

Cal severely balked at this sudden interaction, “Who are you?”

The woman crossed her arms with still a severe expression on her face, “Does it matter? We are all just—unsettling to you anyway.”

His eyes narrowed as he put the pieces together in his head, “Were you—spying on me?”

Her expression changed to that of incredulity as she raised an eyebrow, “You left the door to your ship open.”

It was a bit shocking, her audacity as he bristled all over again, “Are you seriously blaming me for you trespassing onto my ship and listening in on my private conversation?”

This woman, who Cal only now after processing the last several moments did he start to take in her appearance, did give off such an intense energy in the force. Cal felt her ire, her disdain so much so that it almost made him feel dizzy.

A short breath escaped him as he shut off his lightsaber, and all she did was continue to glare at him. She was short statured with light gray skin and intense brown eyes. Her soft features on her face were adorned with tattoos that lined her forehead, her cheeks. And it was all coming to a head, feeling her emotions, his emotions of frustration, accost, but now he was also flustered, bewildered, and definitely anxious.

He hated to think, though it was sad, but true, that he thought she was astoundingly beautiful.

His mind tried to do a complete turnaround because that was very much besides the point, and he did his best to keep his mental shields up, having no idea what she was capable of as she finally continued to speak.

“Though Mother Talzin invited you here Jedi,” she said again with such derision to her words, “do not hold the false notion that you are in any way welcome.”

Cal almost wanted to laugh at her statement, his own ire stacking up again in his mind, and he actually welcomed it as it was much easier to process in the moment than anything else he was currently grappling with.

An exhale escaped his nostrils harshly as he kept up his glare, “Believe me,” he stated with his own contempt, clipping his lightsaber to his belt again, “I would like to get off this force forsaken planet as soon as possible.”

She tilted her head at him, seeming to descry in her own way, which caused the fringe of her silver blonde hair to slightly cascade into her eyes as they scanned over him. It made him—exceedingly uncomfortable for a multitude of reasons he really couldn’t dwell on at the moment.

“That is at least something we can agree on Jedi,” she uttered in a flatter tone than she had before, but still possessed an air of intolerance.

“I have a name you know. Don’t know how I’d get around the confusion of actually just going by the moniker of Jedi,” he stated in what was a mockery of her sardonic tone of voice.

She stood there still for several moments as she raised an eyebrow at him, which to him translated into some form of her being through with his banthashit.

“Jedi…the Jedi?” The Nightsister questioned with a genuine air of perplexment to her voice.

Honestly, once she said it out loud, Cal really wasn’t sure what he was even trying to accomplish. Was he trying to make a joke? Was he trying to be a smartass? Was he trying to break the tension? If Jaro was asked, he’d probably claim that Cal would try and accomplish all of the above.

“What, are you attempting to be clever or snide?” She asked as she began to take careful steps circumventing him, “Or just insulting? You think you can come to my home and disrespect me in such a way?”

Cal crossed his arms as he scoffed, “You’re the one who snuck onto my ship first, Nightsister.”

If she was going to address him in such a way he’d do it right back. He was feeling that petty.

Though, he very much resented himself when his mind flashed with the title ‘Nightsister, the Nightsister,’ and he had to hold back a stupid smirk.

She was temporarily out of his view, though he still felt her, always felt her as she too laughed humorlessly, “You are extremely full of yourself, aren’t you Jedi?”

The way she said it this time seemed to give off the same amount of snark he was emanating.

Cal waited until she was there in his vision again as he slightly upturned his chin to her.

“I bet you’d like to think so, wouldn’t you? Profile me, put me in a box of whatever your false perceptions of Jedi are,” Cal almost barked at her. Force, he didn’t even remember the last time he’d been so irritated with a person.

“And you are not doing the same to me? Making your own assumptions and insulting something you don’t even understand.”

Another scoff was in his throat, “Yeah, and let’s still not forget how you acquired such information from me.”

Her glare was fierce again as the disparagement was almost palpable on her face now, “I only was scoping out the situation because I have my people’s interest in mind.”

Cal realized he was flexing his arms now as they were still crossed over his chest out of sheer frustration, “You could have just asked me you know; I would have been more than willing to speak with you about any such matters that occur with my order.”

“And how was I to know this? All I have heard about Jedi is that they are liars and selfish thieves!” She exclaimed.

Again. He was taken such aback again at the gull.

“And where in the hell did you hear that? A Separatist the people The Republic is trying to stand against?” He said, but then he already had another retort on his tongue, “And for that matter, we were the ones that were invited here and ever since we arrived, all we have gotten from you is blatant disdain when we hadn’t even done anything!”

“None of us wanted you here!”

“That’s not my problem! Don’t take your misplaced frustration out on me!”

His statement seemed to give her pause, and Cal hadn’t even realized that they’d somehow managed to step closer and closer to one another in this skirmish and were definitely in one another’s personal space.

Kriff, how did I end up here?

Her eyes were narrowed up at him as he still found that anger, but he also cornered something else in them that was not easy to place.

“You should have never come to Dathomir Jedi,” she admonished in a strained tone.

A short sigh fell out of his mouth.

“Cal.”

For the first time, he found actual confusion on her countenance, “What?”

“Cal, my name is Cal Kestis, not Jedi. Again, I don’t go by Jedi the Jedi.”

Honestly, he wasn’t exactly sure why he said it. At this point he recognized they were both being assholes to each other.

Her eyes were all over him again though as she leaned back to cross her arms, “Do you think you are exceedingly hilarious, Cal?”

He didn’t know what it was. The concept of his nomenclature was always simple, straightforward concept in his mind, but there was something in the way that she said it, the timbre of her voice, that drove him insane.

And that sort of insanity seemed to have many faces right now, many of which were irritation.

Still, he crossed his arms all the same, “I am starting up my own comedy tour, actually.”

And never in his life, as he was already trying to convince himself that it wasn’t true, had he ever been so…aroused by the utterance of his own name.

This…he needed to get himself out of this situation now.

Her eyes scanned him again, “I do not find your antics the least bit entertaining.”

“Well, I guess I won’t be reserving the cranky Nightsister a seat, now will I?”

A narrowed gaze in his direction now. And he wasn’t sure how he felt—about being under her scrutiny.

“You are extremely arrogant and insolent,” she declared, her eyes still fierce, “but it is not as if that really matters, Cal.”

He was very much resenting the shiver that was sent down his spine.

SOOO YEH, hope you guys are as excited for this one as I am!!! I literally think these two don't even have the ability to be around one another and NOT be super horni right off the bat for each other haha.

SHENANIGANSSSS

#we like to have fun here #STOOPIDS #fanfic #my fanfic #merrical fanfic #sts #ask #merrical #wip title game

21 notes · View notes

zoeykallus · 2 years

Text

Imperial Crosshair x Jedi Fem!Reader Part 3/? - My Sweet Traitor - Fate

Warnings: Angst/Tension/Fluff/Sexual Themes/ 18+

___________

Things are getting intense in more than one way.

___________

What Happened Before:

Part 1 - My Sweet Traitor - You Never Should've Kissed Me

Part 2 - My Sweet Traitor

Part 3 - Fate

It felt strange to wear this uniform. The uniform of the enemy. But for now, it was your protection, like armor. Not impenetrable, but hopefully deceptive enough to get past the troopers. Your heart was pounding up to your neck, the streets swarming with patrols, troopers looking for the fugitive Jedi, for you. "Stay cool," Crosshair said quietly, "They're not looking for anyone in Imperial uniform." You were glad not to be alone, but you were equally incredibly concerned for his safety. If they caught you, Crosshair would be finished as well. A heavily distorted voice under a trooper helmet spoke from behind you, "Commander 9904, Crosshair!" You both stopped. Turned around. The sight made your blood run cold. You had seen this armor before. Black with red highlights. A Purge Trooper. You swallowed automatically but kept your composure, your arms crossed behind your back. "Cody," Crosshair growled. You blinked. Had you just heard right? Was that really Cody, the clone trooper you knew from before order 66, under that helmet? You hoped your cap was low enough on your face, otherwise Cody would recognize you in any case. "What are you doing here?", Cody wanted to know, "Your shift doesn't start for another six hours". His voice, distorted by the helmet, makes him sound almost like a monster. Crosshair says unapologetically, "Couldn't sleep, the thought of the fugitive Jedi wouldn't let me rest. I asked Sergeant Payne to accompany me". You couldn't see his face, but you sensed he distrusted you and Crosshair, it was clear in the Force. You said coolly, "You better have a good reason for stopping us and wasting valuable time in which the fugitive Jedi, could escape or find allies." Cody's head snaps in your direction, and you regret opening your mouth. His arm darts forward and you back away. He had tried to reach for your cap. "Show your face, woman!" he murmurs from under the helmet. As Crosshair put himself between the two of you, your pulse began to race. Now things were getting serious; this could mean the end. "How dare you attack an officer!" "I want to see her face!" rumbled Cody back, "That's no officer, I know that voice!"

You cursed inwardly. Why the hell did you open your mouth?! Cody drew his blaster, but Crosshair reacted faster, knocking the blaster aside and kicking Cody in the stomach. The Purge Trooper stumbled backwards, but had quickly regained his footing. You reached into the Force and delivered a blow to Cody that slammed him into the wall of a building. He went down unconscious. Crosshair tried to go after him, but you held him back. "He's going to get up and tell on us!" protested the Sniper. "Are you really ready to kill Cody?" you asked him. Crosshair gritted his teeth, he knew if he let Cody live he would have to flee with you, he would not be able to return. "God damn it!" he groaned, shoving you in front of him, "Up ahead, that's my shuttle!" You ran ahead of him to the shuttle, up the ramp and inside. Crosshair closed the ramp behind you and immediately rushed into the cockpit to launch the craft. "We need to get off the planet and into hyperspace before Cody wakes up again," he murmured. You nodded silently and hurriedly sat down in the co-pilot's seat. Your heart was racing, you were in the shuttle but far from safe, you were well aware of that. Everything could still go wrong. As the shuttle plunged into the black of space, you were immediately hailed. Crosshair ignored the radio messages, called up a pre-programmed hyperspace route and activated it. Only when the lights of hyperspace filled the shuttle's viewport did you allow yourself to breathe a sigh of relief. Crosshair, beside you, was incredibly quiet. He had never been a man of many words, but this time, his silence seemed strangely loud. You could feel his mind racing, he was agitated. He had just left his future with the Empire, his career, his old life behind to save your life. "I'm sorry," you said softly. He knew what you meant. He sighed, looked at you and said, "It was the only right decision. I couldn't leave you to them." "I don't mean this as a direct accusation but, you have already captured other Jedi, killed some, from what I've heard." Crosshair sighed again, looked back out into the lights of hyperspace and said, "You know full well that my feelings for you are the deciding factor in why you are not one of those Jedi" "Oh yeah? A few hours ago, you were telling me that these feelings shouldn't be, that I should have stopped them. Now you give in to them?" you ask calmly. He slammed his fist on the console and you winced, startled.

"It's not like I have a choice!" Crosshair stood up and paced restlessly in the cockpit. For a while you watched him, let him pursue his thoughts. But finally you stood up as well and stood in his way. "Please share yourself with me, Cross, you used to do that". He stepped all the way up to you. "Times used to be different," he said softly.

Your pulse began to race again as he leaned down and rested his forehead against yours, his hands tentatively moving to your hips at first, but then grasping. "I missed you," he growls softly, so softly that you almost didn't hear him over the low hum of the shuttle. You swallowed, feeling dizzy, warm and shaky all at once. For the first time ever, you were all alone, no longer subject to any authority that forbade your togetherness. The thought was exciting and a little scary at the same time. "I missed you too," you said just as softly. Shortly after, his lips touched yours, and you closed your eyes, your fingers digging into the jacket of his uniform, feeling like you were going to lose your footing and fall at any moment. The kiss was long, intense, his tongue chasing yours, gentle yet demanding. Every touch sent impulses through your body that made you automatically push yourself closer to him. He began to pull you with him, to the back area where the bunks were, when he pulled you there with him into one of the bunks, you became nervous. This was new, you had never gone this far before. He stripped your body, took off your uniform until you were naked in front of him, then he began to undress himself. You looked up at him, watching him do it, your pulse racing, your body a little shaky. When he finally lay over you, you swallowed, his skin was all hot against yours, he was literally glowing from the inside out. You felt his hard manhood resting on your pubic, had seen him moments before, caught a glimpse. He was pretty well-endowed. "I've always wanted you" he said in a smoky voice, "I've always wanted to feel you this way" "Cross..." you said nervously, "I've never.... This is all new to me. I'm a little nervous" He paused. "Oh...right, I should have guessed that actually". He kissed your heated cheeks and said, "We don't have to do this now if you don't want to." You said softly, "I feel the need to feel more of you, clearly, I'm just a little nervous.... Do you think you can be gentle with me the first time?" He smirked, "Of course I can."

Ko-Fi (If you feel like giving me some coffee)

@twinkofthedink

@tazmbc1

@kristinainspace

@ladykatakuri @inthemoshpitt

@whore4rex

@anndraco0523

@revan-posting

@dwarfnip

@ben-is-a-hoe

@ttzamara

@ilikemymendarkandfictional

@kaminocasey

@brynhildrmimi

@photowizard17

@moondust-24

@clone-whore-99

@dumfanting

@the-sith-in-the-sky-with-diamond

@moonstrider9904

@chxpsi

@nunanuggets

@andyoufollowyourheart

@kaliel2310

@eternalwaffle

@misogirl828

@thebahdbitch

@meshla-madalene

@ladykatakuri

@starstrucksimp

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@agenteliix

@puppetswithteeth

82 notes · View notes