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blooming-violets · 24 days

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Hear me out :

Peter is jaded after Gwen, it’s before the events of NWH, and he’s slowly starting to fall in love with a woman he’s (literally) ran into at the library. She’s intellectual, kind, but is also a little jaded like Peter. Slowly, he has seen hope in her chestnut eyes. He is starting to see a future.

One night, Peter is listening to the police scanners and hears the code for an armed break-in, and it’s library girl’s apartment complex’s address.

He swallows, angry chills run up his spine as he hears her apartment number called out.

What does he do, Katie? How would he react?

I'm With You || TASM Peter Parker x fem!Reader

Trigger Warnings: stalking, sexual assault of a woman (being masturbated over by a man and touched w/o consent), nudity, crass language, gun usage, armed break-ins with the intent to harm a woman living alone, being tied and gagged against her will, violence from Peter/Spider-Man with a tiny bit of gore

It’s a damn cold night.

Peter tugged his jacket close around his body as he jogged the last few remaining steps into the public library. His overdue books were hidden inside the satchel at his side. He was about a month late in returning them and the library was almost closed. He wanted to get them in before he forgot. If he waited another day, he would never remember to bring them back.

As he rounded the corner, he tripped over someone’s outstretched legs. Being a man of his talents, he quickly corrected his fall to land effortlessly back on his feet with the elegance of a ballerina making a graceful leap.

Quizzical eyes stared up at him.

The woman on the floor was leaning with her back against the bookcase with an open book in her lap. She looked more annoyed at him for tripping over her instead of apologetic for having her legs across the aisle.

“Watch where you’re going,” she grumbled.

She lifted the book up to her face, blocking him back out.

Peter let out a breathy laugh of disbelief at the audacity of this bitch.

“Excuse me?” He said, agast.

She peeked her eyes over the top of the book to stare him down, “Dude, get lost. I’m busy. Not my fault you’re clumsy.”

“You tripped me!” He read the cover of the book she was reading. The Making of the Atomic Bomb by Richard Rhodes. “Doing a bit of light reading, I see. First it’s tripping innocent strangers and next it’s world domination? Is that it?”

He caught the smallest of smiles tug at her lips hidden behind the book.

A singular butterfly fluttered around inside his stomach at the sight. The feeling was enough to grab his attention. He quietly admired her. Legs still stretched out in front of her. Zero regard for the space she was taking up. He kind of liked it. She didn’t give a shit.

Peter turned and left her to her book, not wanting to bother her further, and headed to the front desk to deal with his late fees.

A week had passed and he was back in the library. He had no real purpose for being there today other than he liked the smell of the books. They made him feel relaxed. He liked to walk down the aisles and let his fingers graze across each bump of their spines. Every book he touched, filled with another story, another world, hundreds of lives under the tips of his fingers.

“Hey,” a feminine voice hissed from between a gap of books on the other side of the shelf.

Those eyes. He blinked back at them, peering between the shelves, trying to place where he remembered them from.

Then it hit him.

Atomic bomb girl.

“Can I borrow your height?” She whispered, keeping her voice low to be respectful to the people studying on the other side of the room. Unlike the last time he saw her, it was a Thursday afternoon and the library was full with students.

Peter slipped into the next aisle. She pointed to the book she wanted on the top shelf, just out of her reach. He plucked it down for her and turned it over in his hands. Relativity: The Special and the General Theory by Albert Einstein.

She eyed him with an intensity he wasn’t used to, like she was seeing straight through his skin and into his soul. Her eyes were captivating. He wanted to get lost in them.

“You’re the unbalanced, trippy guy, right?” She asked.

Peter smiled. Last night he stood on one foot on top of the Empire State Building spire just to admire the view. He was more balanced than she would ever know.

“You mean, am I the one you tripped? Yes.” He handed her over the book. “You’re into science, I see, atomic bomb girl?”

“I’m into learning. Whatever form that may come in.” She took the book and tucked it under her arm. “Thanks, trippy.”

“Peter,” he called after her as she spun around to walk away. “You can call me Peter!”

The library became his new home. He took every opportunity to attend in the hopes of bumping into her again. Some days were a success, other’s a failure, but he found himself wanting more. Every time she had a new book and every time he would find the same one to read after her. It wasn’t weird. He was just…trying to find quiet ways to relate to someone new.

So he told himself.

Peter had forgotten how to talk to women after Gwen. It had been so long since he even attempted to date anyone.

“Are you stalking me?” She asked one evening when she walked into the room to find him sitting on his laptop at one of the tables.

He glanced up and shrugged, “I was here first this time. Maybe you’re stalking me?”

She smiled and slid into the seat across from him, “I already have one stalker. I don’t need another. If you’re into me, you better just grow a pair, and ask me out now.”

Peter grinned, “I’m…wait…okay.” He ran a hand through his hair, sitting up straighter, completely letting the stalker comments fly over his head as he got flustered. “Would you like to go on a date with me? Right here. Right now. If you say ‘yes’ then it’s already starting.” He closed his laptop to give her his full attention.

Her eyes widened and she settled happily back into her chair, “Alright, Peter, was it? Nice to meet you. This is an interesting choice of restaurant for a first date. Not what I would have chosen for our dinner and a movie night. I didn’t see a kitchen when I walked in but I chose to trust you.”

“This is the finest establishment the borough has to offer,” he feigned a gasp. “Don’t you insult my choice of restaurant.”

He raised a finger in the air, pretending to call over an imaginary waiter, “Hello, yes, I will take your finest bottle of wine for the table to start. The more expensive, the better. And I will take a big, giant steak for myself and, perhaps, a nice, small salad for the lovely lady?” He shot her a cheeky wink as she let out a laugh.

“Fuck you,” she giggled.

Fucking him was exactly what she did.

They continued their imaginary dinner date in the library until it closed, the librarian kicking them out and shooing them out the front door. They walked into the chilly night air, stopping at a bodega at the street corner to grab a few snacks, as they made their way to her place.

He had slept with other women since Gwen passed but this time was different. There were feelings involved. Feelings that were still in their infancy. Ones that were just sparking to life. But they were there. He didn’t just want to fuck her and run. He wanted more than that. He wanted to stay. He wanted to grow and cultivate whatever path they were headed down. He wanted this to be something.

He was ready to try dating again.

She rolled over in the bed, naked and relaxed, staring up at the ceiling, “That was amazing. You really know how to use that tongue of yours for more than just being a dick. I’m impressed.”

Peter chuckled, “Oh, please, your tongue was nothing to scoff at either.”

It really had been one of the best blow jobs of his life.

He leaned on his side, propping his head up with his hand, and gazed happily down at her, “I want to take you on a real date. Saturday night. To an actual restaurant.”

She hesitated. A shadowed sadness darkened her eyes which she quickly pushed away, “Okay. I think I can do that.”

Peter frowned, “Something wrong?”

She shook her head, leaning over to kiss him as a distraction, “Nope. When you leave, can you leave through one of the side doors? Don’t walk out the front of the apartment.”

That was his cue to leave, apparently. He chewed anxiously against his bottom lip. Maybe he was misreading whatever he thought was going on between them. Maybe she wanted a quick fuck and nothing more. Come to think of it, when they entered here, she had snuck them in the back door, too, making him walk a few feet behind her like they weren’t together.

Maybe she was in a relationship and cheating on her partner with him?

“I’ll see you tomorrow, yeah?” She offered, casually urging him to get out of the bed. “Text me. I stuck my contact in your phone earlier.”

Peter left feeling more confused and unsure than when he entered her place.

He lifted his phone as he walked through the streets, searching the contracts until he found her under ❤️Atomic Bomb Girl❤️, and he smiled down at it. A heart. Maybe he was overthinking things. Maybe her front door was just broken. He always went straight to assuming the worst.

Someone slammed into his shoulder, jostling him out of his thoughts, and he glanced behind him. A large, buff man glared back at him. He looked to be in his late fifties and was balding. His massive arms bulged under his tight fitting, worn down leather jacket. He reached out to clamp a hand down around Peter’s upper arm.

Peter frowned and tried to jerk away, “Dude, it was an accident, chill.”

“Did you fuck that girl up there?” That man asked, nodding his head back to her apartment building. There was a crazed desperation in his voice. “I saw you following her home. Did she spread her legs for you and whore herself out? Did you get a good look at that tight, little pussy? Tell me, what did it look like? You take any pictures? I’ll pay you for them.”

Peter jerked his arm out of the man’s grasp, scowling in disgust, “What the fuck? I have no idea what you’re talking about. I wasn’t following anyone. I was meeting a friend who lives there. Fuck off.”

The man leaned forward and inhaled his scent causing Peter to jump back.

“I can smell her on you,” he growled as his eyes rolled back into his head. “That’s her perfume. I know because I bought it for her. You were fucking her.”

That was enough.

Peter shoved the older man off of him and jogged around the corner, waiting until he was out of sight before throwing himself up onto her building roof, peering over the edge to keep an eye on him.

He was just pacing back and forth outside the apartment door, mumbling to himself and fidgeting with something in his pocket.

“Freak,” Peter muttered under his breath.

He pulled up her contact and sent her a text: Some crazy old dude just ambushed me outside your place. Asked about you. Maybe don’t go outside tonight. I think he’s not right in the head.

He saw three bubbles appear as she started to text back but then they disappeared again, leaving him hanging.

Peter shrugged it off. He stayed and kept watch until the man finally wandered off down the street.

The night before he was supposed to take her out on a date, Peter was laid over his bed in his Spider suit sans mask. His police scanner let out more static of nothing as he waited for something, anything, to happen. He was bored but it was too cold to hang around on a rooftop somewhere. He would stay in the warmth of his bedroom unless something exciting came his way. They had been texting back and forth nonstop for the last few days and calling each other every night to talk for hours. He liked it when she sent him pictures of things she was doing around her house during the day. She was adorable and he looked forward to whenever his phone would buzz.

As if on cue, it vibrated across the mattress next to him.

He lifted it up in a gloved hand to read the text. A frown settled over his face as he read it.

Atomic Bomb Girl: ha ha ha i win u lose dontever touch wat is mine again

Right as he was attempting to decipher what she was talking about, taking note of how drastic of a change of text from her usual ones it was, the police scanner lit to life.

“All available units to Linden Boulevard, Oak Ridge Apartments, floor three. Multiple calls of gunshots heard and one reported casualty of a security guard. Suspect is wearing dark clothes, caucasian older male, considered armed and dangerous. Approach with caution.”

His senses exploded in a panicked wave of tingles. That was her place. Her floor. The image of that strange man assaulting him on the street after he left came back to hit him like a ton of bricks. Peter looked back at his phone as the pieces fell into place.

Oh, fuck.

Quiet, controlled anger replaced the panic. His heart rate steadied as a calm chill fell over him. His jaw locked in determination. He reached for his mask, tugging it over his stone cold, deadly expression, and he leaped out of his open window.

Peter Parker no longer fucked around when it came to protecting the one’s he cared about. This was personal.

He arrived at the scene in record speed, landing directly on top of a black S.W.A.T truck as it pulled up. He rapped a fist down on the hood to get their attention.

“Feel free to sit this one out, boys!” He called down to them. “Spidey’s got you covered! I’ll be in and out in minutes. No need to worry. Focus on crowd control. I’ve got a date with a balding fucker. If all goes well, it’ll end up with a quickie in the back of a cop car, as I ride his ass straight to prison.”

Peter threw himself up onto her building, scaling to the third floor and around to find her window. He knew exactly where he would find his perp. His masked face popped up in her bedroom window. It was empty and quiet. He slammed his fist through the glass, slipping his hand inside to find the lock, and shoved it open wide enough for him to shimmy through.

From inside, he could hear muffled cries. Whimpers. They were different from the whimpers he had been able to elicit out of her the other night but he knew them all the same.

Silent as a shadow, Peter crept around the corner. With her hands tied behind her back, her shirt ripped open so her bare chest was on display, and thrown against the couch was his girl. The gun man stood above her. A pistol was aimed directly at her forehead. From this angle, he couldn’t quite make out what was going on, but it looked as if the man was masturbating over her. Trails of mascara ran down her cheeks and she let out muffled cries against the heavy amounts of duct tape blocking her mouth as she struggled to break free.

His anger flared but he tried to push it down to manable levels. He had learned over the years that getting too angry made him sloppy. He needed to control it. Work with it. Tame it into something he could use as a weapon instead of making it a weakness.

Peter crawled up her wall and onto her ceiling, prowling towards the man. Up here, he had a clear view. His dick was out and he was frantically jerking it as fast as he could at her breasts. Her eyes widened in fear but then flashed with hope when caught sight of Spider-Man crawling across her ceiling.

He hadn’t even done anything yet and he already felt pride. She felt a sense of safety around him…even if she didn’t know it was him behind the mask. It made him cocky. Made him want to show off.

When he was directly behind him, he silently lowered himself upside on a web until his face was hung directly behind the assailant.

“I’m actually surprised you can even get it up,” he quipped, keeping his voice light, despite the rage eating at his stomach. “I didn’t know something that small could get hard.”

The man whipped around, his dick flopping against his leg, as he sputtered in shock. His pistol went off, firing aimless at the wall behind Peter’s head.

Peter held up his hands in mock surrender as he jumped to his feet, “Whoa, there, tinycock! Don’t go blowing your load so soon! You’ll miss out on all the fun.”

There was no doubt this was the same man he had met outside the other day. His eyes were crazed with an unhinged, desperation that reeked of a man off his meds. Peter made sure to keep the man’s eyes on himself, holding his attention, instead of on her.

“What’s a sad sap like you doing out of the psych ward? Were you a good boy and managed to snag yourself a day pass?” Peter clasped his hands together like he was excited for him, voice dripping with sarcasm. “And you used it to visit your daughter? Aww, that’s so sweet. Wait a minute.” He pretended to just now notice the man’s cock hanging out of his pants. It had gone soft and shrunken up like a scared little mouse. “Is she…not your daughter? But you’re so old. And she’s so young. I guess I don’t see any resemblance. She’s really pretty and you’ve got-” He motioned a hand around the man’s face. “-all that. Something tells me that there’s more going on here. Wanna tell your pal Spidey all about it?”

The man was silent, blinking in a shocked awe at the masked hero, before finally snapping out of it. Spider-Man always excelled at talking his bad guys into circles with his stream of conscious babbling. The gun raised towards his head but, quicker than the man could even process, Peter had latched his hand around the barrel and crushed it in his grasp with the same ease as one might squish a can of soda after they finished drinking.

“Whoopies,” he joked. “Looks like your gun broke! I wouldn’t pull that trigger if I were you. It’ll explode right back into your face there. On second thought, maybe give it a go! It might improve what you’re working with!”

The man faltered, looking confused and baffled down at his crushed gun. He clearly wasn’t the brightest bulb in the box. That was okay. Peter didn’t need him to be intelligent. He just needed him to be unarmed.

Which he now was.

Peter grabbed him by the scruff of the collar and turned him around to face her, “Do you see that girl there?” The man’s eyes glazed over as he stared down at her exposed breasts. Peter quickly threw a hand over the man’s eyes to block them, manhandling him around like he wasn’t twice his size. “I take that back. Don’t see that girl there. Use your imagination. Remember her face. You know that girl? Yeah, that girl. The one you tied up and assaulted? The one sitting in front of us, scared out of her mind and traumatized. I want you to remember her. Because if you ever, and I mean ever, even think about her again, if she ever crosses your pathetically shriveled up mind, if you ever say her fucking name, speak about her, think about, look in her direction, or ever come near her again…”

Peter dragged him over to the living room window where the slew of police were barricaded outside. He could hear the S.W.A.T crew moving up the stairwell now towards them and knew they only had a few more precious minutes of alone time. He shoved the man up to the window, raising his arm to force him to wave limply at all the cops down below.

His voice lowered to a dangerous growl. Any playful, sarcastic essence it once held in the presence of his girl disappeared so only the man could hear him.

“If you ever fucking touch her again,” he breathed. “I will toss you off of the Empire State Building and laugh through your entire fall down to your grizzly end.”

With his hand still clutching the man’s collar, he jerked him back and smashed his face directly through the glass window. He heard her muffled scream of shock behind him but he knew she would be alright.

A shard of glass stuck out of the man’s forehead, blood dripping down over his half closed eye, and Peter flicked it off down onto the street below.

“That was for trying to taunt me over text,” he whispered in the dazed man’s ear. “I don’t play nice with men like you. Want to see what it would feel like falling to your death? Here’s a little preview so you’ll be sure to know exactly what you’ll be in for if you ever even think about my woman again.”

Peter reeled back and tossed the man straight out of her window, head first, sending him down to the cops below. If he let his anger win, he would have never set a web straight after him, but she was watching and he didn’t want to be that person. She had gone through enough without having to see her Saturday night date murder a man in front of her.

The web latched onto his back at the final moments to break his fall. His legs may have crumpled against the ground…just a little bit…but he was alive. It was more than he deserved but the cops could deal with him now.

Peter spun around to look back at her. She was quietly sobbing, muffled by her gag, but held a look of relief on her face. She brought her teary eyes up to meet his, or where she thought they would under the mask, and gave him a short nod of thanks.

The S.W.A.T team was nearing her door. He could jump out the window and allow them to help her get free or…

She clung onto him, her head buried in his shoulder, as he soared them down the street and away from the commotion below. She cried softly. He wasn’t sure if it was from fear or the trauma or that fact that New York’s very own Spider-Man had just stolen her from her home but he kept a firm hold on her and kept whispering reassuring words in her ear.

Eventually, he landed them on top of his own apartment building, setting her down gently onto her bottom.

She gasped for breath, reaching up a hand to wipe the tears from her eyes, “I always…wondered…what it would be like…to fly…” Her chest was heaving between each gasping word. “Turns out, it’s terrifying. Still, thank you, Peter. For saving me.”

He shrugged, “It’s no problem. I was just doing my- hey, wait!”

She gave him a sneaky smile, still shivering and teary, but proud of herself for figuring it out.

“What?” She asked, innocently. “You think I wouldn’t know your voice? I’ve been listening to it for hours every night over the phone for the past few days.”

Peter reluctantly reached a hand up to pull off his mask, “You’re good.”

Despite having already guessed his secret identity, she still looked surprised to actually see him without the mask on. He squatted down in front of her to seem less intimidating.

“So that was your stalker, I take it?” He asked.

She nodded, giving a sad sigh, “The one and only. He’s a joy, isn’t he?”

He plopped onto his ass and crossed his legs, giving her a shrug, “I don’t think he’ll be bothering you again. I may have had some, ahem, choice words to encourage him to find new hobbies.”

She smiled again, blinking back her tears, “Thank you, Peter. Or, should I be calling you Spidey from now on?”

He laughed, rolling his eyes, “Look, this is a big deal! You better not go running your mouth or else I’ll have to have some choice words with you, too.”

He liked hearing the sound of her laugh, especially after everything she just went though, and he knew she would be okay.

“I have a date with Spider-Man tomorrow,” she giggled. “How exciting.”

Peter chuckled, “The excitement wears off quickly, trust me.”

She scooted closer to bring her mascara streaked face inches from his, “Somehow I doubt that.”

#andrew garfield #the amazing spiderman #tasm #peter parker #tasm peter #tasm peter parker #tasm x reader #tasm fic #tasm peter x reader #tasm peter fic #tasm peter parker x reader #tasm peter parker fic #spiderman #spiderman fic

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devilish-mirage · 2 years

Text

Cute

Steven Grant x Fem!Reader

Summary; A boring night at the inventory with Steven somehow turned into a rather interesting row of events when you discovered just how easily flustered your co-worker really is.

Tags; Reader loved to tease Steven, idiots in love, mutual pining (sort of), suggestive theme, fluff, fluff, fluffy goodness!, Subby Steven and Dom Reader vibes, Marc and Jake as Steven best wingman, Donna cockblocking us, this fic used a lot of cheesy pick up lines

Word count; 2,4k

A/n; thank u as always for translating the Spanish sentences, bebé <3 @friendlyneighbourhood-parker

Masterlist

You huffed tiredly, silently celebrating when you scanned the last item in the box but then you caught the sight of another box not too far away from you, the box was full with unscanned items making you groaned in annoyance.

You sighed, deciding to take a quick break from that nauseous repeated motion. Propping your chin in the palm of your right hand, you shifted your eye sight to your co-worker who shared your unfortunate fate, Steven Grant who sit just a few feet away from you on another desk full of unscanned items.

The man's eyebrows furrowed every now and then when the old scanner doesn't work, you cringed when he dropped an item down, you saw him muttered something underneath his breath and picked the item back up.

He always come with messy hair and wrinkled mismatched shirt, today is no exceptions, as if he had no time to iron them properly. Did he not care about his image in the working environment? Well, you guess that's why he's always late.

You sometimes wondered why he's still working here. Donna, the manager of this section doesn't seem to like him at all and if you're being completely honest the pay is not that good either.

Truth be told he's a pretty passionate person if it came to tour guiding, you've seen him multiple times cosplaying as a tour guide, why didn't Donna gave him the part anyway?

He shifted his gaze towards you slowly as if he's afraid of getting caught but alas you caught him in the middle of the act, throwing him a lazy smirk making him quickly looked back down at the item on his hand, as if it was the most interesting thing in the room.

"Cute." You muttered, smiling widely as you watched him try to get a grip on himself. Placing both of your hand on the desk, you straighten your back, softly calling out for him, your voice rang through the empty room loudly.

"Hey, Steven?"

He looked back up immediately, shouting his answer, "Yes!" you saw him cringed at himself before he cleared his throat, "Y-yes?" he said again, quieter this time.

"Do you know what bees make?"

You felt yourself smiled at his confused face, "Honey?" he hesitantly say his answer making you grin wider at him.

"Yes, honey?"

You saw how his eyes went wide as saucers and he opened his mouth, stuttering the words but you didn't really cared about them right now, the only thing that mattered is how adorable he looked as he crumbled beneath your stare.

Stumbling and looking anywhere beside your face as his cheeks reddened at that simple sentence that you just said.

You really think he awoken something in you and you're not complaining. You felt the smile grew wider on your face. Oh, you'll know the days would fun from now on.

That was the first of many times you'll tease him with cheesy pick up lines.

"Hey, can I borrow a pen?"

You suddenly appeared behind him, smiling widely at his figure as he searched the item on his body, "I didn't bring any."

"How about a pencil?"

You said, he shook his head to the side softly, his eyes softened, frowning slightly at your direction. "That too, sorry."

You mirrored his frown, sighing softly before muttering, "Damn, then how could u draw my attention every single time?" out loud.

You looked up and met his eyes, you can't fight the smile from forming as he stood there, in silenced with his eyes wide open- like a deer in highlights.

He gulped, feeling himself getting nervous underneath your stare, he always find you to be so pretty and confident, it's intimidating.

"I- uh,"

He stuttered making you hummed softly at him, leaning closer so you could hear him better, not missing the way his breath hitched when you're just inches away from him.

"Go on, Steven. Let me hear you."

He couldn't said it, not when you're like that. The way his heart is beating so loudly reached his ears, he's afraid that you'll hear his rapid heartbeat.

"Nevermind,"

He muttered, looking down on his shoe as he held his breath, you smell so good but he doesn't want to feel like a creep.

"I think there's something wrong with my eyes," You suddenly said, without wasting a second he looked up again, eyes boring straight into yours.

"Are you alright? Do you need anything?!" he unconsciously leaned closer with a worried mixed with panicked expression, too busy worrying about you to notice how startled you looked at his action, he also didn't notice how the glint in your eyes slightly shine.

Oh? What's this?

"I can't take them off of you, Steven."

He shut his mouth before letting a breath out. You're just so- You almost had a heart attack when he suddenly looked back, facing his back at you.

"I- Is that Donna calling me? I gotta go!"

He looked back at you and nervously smiled at you, nodding his head repeatedly and stumbling his way to the back.

Your gaze didn't left his back until he's completely out of your sight, shaking your head softly while smiling.

"Cute."

Ever since that day you've noticed that Steven has been very busy. Donna did in fact called for him a few days ago, she assigned him a couple works to do, sadly you only share a few of them and you didn't want to admit it but you kinda miss that easily flustered coworker of yours.

Thankfully you just finished this week meeting, too busy staring at Steven to noticed that all of your co-workers has left the both of you on your own.

When you finally did realized, you caught yourself waltzed your way to him, smiling slightly as he focused on his notes instead of his suroundings, he always got lost in his own world, that's such a Steven thing to do.

"You should really try (Insert the name of your country here)'s foods."

That's the first thing that you said to him. He looked up, smiling softly at your direction as you stood next to him. It's been a few days since you've talked and he also share the same feeling as you did.

"Oh- of course, I've been meaning too. "

You nodded your head, looking ahead for a second before shifting your gaze towards him again, smiling as you said the word, "I have a recommendation."

"What is it?"

"It's-"

"Wait, Let me write it down, I don't want to forget it." he cut you off, looking down again to grab a pen and tried to find an empty page on his note.

You chuckled at his behavior, leaning slightly towards him, "Me."

The pen on his grasp halted, did you just said what he thought you did?

"Excuse me?"

You raised an eyebrow at him with an innocent expression, "I'm from (country)," stepping closer to him with each word that fell from your lips. "You could try me."

He unconsciously stepped backwards, his hands trying to grab anything that could help me calm down but he was met with a wall.

"But you're not food?"

He nervously smiled when he felt his back already hit the wall behind him, you hummed at him, letting your gaze fell to his lips for a moment.

"I don't know, why don't you try and find out?"

His breath hitched once you brushed your fingertips on his forehead, brushing away the hair that covered his face.

"Are you guys flirting again?"

You looked back and stare at Donna who already folded both of her hand in front of her chest with a deep frown painted her face.

"That could wait." She said, her voice was slightly louder and tinted with annoyance as if she knew you were about to mock her.

You smiled at her direction but let out a, "It really couldn't." under your breath.

She only motioned her head to the side, silently asking you to follow her.

"Bummer." You let out another breath, looking back to where Steven is. He stood there in all his awkwardness as he watched the two of you interacted.

"I'll see u in a bit, Steven."

You winked at him and turned your back, making your way to the door, you wouldn't let the teasing end of course, you purposely sway your hips to the side seductively.

You slightly turned your head and caught a glimpse of him checking you out, you giggled. He's really easy to read, such a cute fellow.

"All you have to do is flirt back, Steven."

"no es tan difícil, hermano." (It's not that hard, brother)

"It is, Jake!"

He suddenly shouted to the mirror, his face fell, immediately regretting his action the next second.

"I'm sorry," he said, shaking his head, "I'm just really nervous around her." he looked back up to stare at his alters, "I don't know what it is."

"Really?" his alters only raised their eyebrows at him, he could clearly heard their tone, it was lanced with a lot of sarcasm, "You really don't know?"

Steven bit his lips, gulping his saliva down as he thought to himself before saying the words that was on his mind, his thoughts about you.

"She's just that pretty, alright!" He finally admitted, "She's confident, kind, also she's very good with words."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah! She also smells really nice, I swear the way she smiles light up the room like how could someone look so-"

Steven suddenly stopped mid sentences, while both of his alters shared a knowing look to one another.

Oh, oh. The realization came to him and it hit him like a train, he looked at his alters who looked back at him with a teasing smirk plastered on their face.

"Did you finally get it?"

Steven only nodded his head without a word, too embarrassed to say anything, he palmed his forehead as he tried to hide his blush.

Steven strode inside the inventory in confidence, today's the day, today is the day he'll finally threw a pick up line at you and caught you off guard, he also planned to ask you out, he took a deep breath.

"Don't worry, we got your back."

"así es." (That's right)

He silently thanked his alters, sitting in his place, his gaze already fixated on your face.

You could felt your skin getting hot because how hard he's been staring at you.

"No pick up line today?"

He said making you let out a small laugh, shaking your head slightly to the side you said, "I have no pick up lines in mind because I only have you in my mind right now."

He nodded his head, nervously gripping his jacket before taking them off, it's getting pretty hot.

Gulping as he repeat the pick up line that he picked. You wouldn't know but he spend a lot of time arguing on which pick up line is the best.

"Um, y/n?"

"Hm?"

You hummed at him, not looking up and continued to scan the item in your hand.

"What's your last name?"

You raised an eyebrow at that, that's new.

"L/n," you said, putting the item down and finally meeting his eye, he could almost felt like he'll melt. "that's my last name."

"C-could you spell it for me?"

He cursed himself in his mind, how could he stuttered?

You didn't really pay any mind to it and spelled your last name for him, slowly letting the alphabets fall from your lips as you keep your eyes still at him who seem to be writing them down, you wonder what's it for though.

"It's kinda hard,"

You stood up, "Let me help you write-" already making your way to him before he cuts you off, "Wouldn't it be easier if you change it to Grant instead?"

"That's right, Steven!"

He heard both of his alter said at the same time, making him somehow proud, the feeling fill his chest as he looked up, a proud expression sits on his face but it quickly shifted to a panicked one when he realized you're staring him down with a smirk, both of your hands were on the table.

"Oh? Is that so?"

"Stay strong, hermano!" (brother)

"Keep your feet to the ground!"

"Y-yes,"

"Can I really have it, Steven?"

"Don't back down now!'

You leaned closer, lifting his chin with your fingers so he could looked up at you, you could see how his pupils dilated, "Hm?" that teasing smile of yours never leave your face as you leaned closer to him, your eyes fell to his lips.

"She's really cute from up close though."

His alter said making him furrowed his eyebrows when he heard them.

"Jake!"

That's Marc, Steven unconsciously nodded his head in agreement, Marc always has his back.

"What? You disagree?"

"No, you're right."

He almost fell, surprised that his only hope was agreeing to what Jake's said.

"She's really my type too."

"I might have her all for myself-"

Steven cut Marc's word, gulping as he braved himself to said them, "I can give it to you if you want." he can't lose you, no, especially not to this idiots.

"Hey!" they both said at the same time and Steven just outright ignored them.

You lift your eyebrow, tilting your head to the side.

He took a deep breath, looking at you directly, throwing all the anxiety and nervousness out the window, "Grant. My last name."

You let out a weak laugh that made him swore he almost fell down on his knees by the sound of it, it was heavenly.

"Y/n Grant,"

You hummed at him, placing your fingers on your chin as if you're thinking about it.

Steven could felt his heartbeat beating hard through his ribcage when he heard you said that, once again afraid you'll hear them. He knew you did though.

"I like the way it sounds."

Should he buy a ring on his way home? How many kids do you want? What should he name them-

"Wait, you're moving too fast, Steven!"

He blinked, Marc's right, you putting your first name and his last name together was making him imagining things far in the future.

"Does that mean I could take you out for dinner?"

'That's a good start, right?' He thought to himself and he could hear his alters agreeing on the back of his mind.

You let out a giggle, "Yes, I would love to." smiling as you said the word you've always associates with Steven, "Cute."

#steven grant x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant #moon knight #marc spector #moon knight x reader #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #steven grant x you #moon knight fanfiction #moon knight au #marvel moon knight #mcu moon knight #mira writes shts #moon knight fluff #steven grant fluff

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sserpente · 1 year

Photo

A/N: Requests from four anons and some of my own ideas. I thought in honour of Tom’s Jonathan Pine look making a comeback and the prospect of a Season 2, now is the perfect time for some spicy spy action! Enjoy, everyone!

Words: 2881 Warnings: smut

After Roper’s death, a lot in our own life changed. You moved away from Spain and back to the UK with a fresh start in your suitcase. Your new job in the publishing industry enabled you to meet the authors of the books you were passionate about and you could help discover new talents whose stories would enrich countless readers’ bookshelves.

It was peaceful now. Safer—for at no fault of your own, it hadn’t always been like that. You were young when you fled to sunny Spain to discover yourself, learned Spanish to the point of fluency and started a job at the local library that regularly held readings for both adults and children.

It all went well, for a while. Right until little Danny Roper stepped foot in the library for the first time, accompanied by two brooding bodyguards and a charming British gentleman you, for some reason, instantly mistrusted.

Richard Roper, a wealthy businessman with a mansion all to himself. Perhaps it was unfair to assume he had blood on his hands because of how heavy his wallet was but your instinct had never betrayed you before. Soon, little Danny Roper regularly came to visit the little library, took part in the readings and had you recommend new stories to him, always under the scrutinising eye of his bodyguards or his father.

On the night of Halloween, everything changed. The kids loved the spooky holiday. They were allowed to wear costumes for the themed reading that night and you spent the entire evening before long after the library had closed decorating for the occasion. The sweets you had bought for the kids to eat had come out of your budget but seeing their wide eyes upon entering the small library on the 31st had been worth every single penny—or cent, in this case—spent.

Danny Roper came too. Dressed in a mummy costume with a face full of paper-white make-up and armed with an orange pumpkin basket for his sweets, he was one of the first kids to make himself comfortable in the reading corner in the front row. But there was someone else with them that night. Someone you had never seen around before. He didn’t look like a new bodyguard but he was handsome. Blue eyes, a sharp jawline, high cheekbones, a five o’clock shadow, and dark-blond hair you instantly felt the urge to ruffle. Your heart skipped a beat when he locked eyes with you for the first time. You could practically feel his intrigued gaze burning through your skin when you read some child-friendly Halloween stories to the kids and from then on… he kept on coming back. Sometimes in the company of Danny and his bodyguards, sometimes alone. And each and every single time he asked you for recommendations for a new horror book, borrowed one, and returned the old one giving you detailed and positive feedback that he usually delivered with a charming, British smile.

You realised soon enough that his regular visits were but an excuse to see you again—but he remained distant, never made a move to ask for your number or a date. Perhaps it was for the best, you thought at the time. If he was with Roper then he was not to be messed with, a dangerous man to be around, and not the type of guy you should wish to be affiliated with.

“I’m glad Danny asked me to join him on Halloween. You have made this place truly special,” he had said one day. “Have you known them long? The Ropers?”

Alarm bells. Alarm bells loud and clear had rang in your head and almost drowned out the sound of your book scanner when he’d slid yet another horror novel towards you on the counter.

“Only for about a year. Danny has picked up so many children’s books I will need to restock to find new novels for him at this point. Richard Roper donated ten thousand euros to the library back in January.”

“Are you the owner of this library then?”

“Oh no, I only work here. But I am in charge of all the boring accounting paperwork.” Whatever had lit up in Jonathan’s blue eyes, was gone again before you’d had a chance to analyse it. But it had been suspicious enough for you to gather all of your courage, and look around briefly to ensure you were alone.

“I… can I give you some advice? Leave. As long as you still can. Something’s not right about this man. I don’t know what that poor kid is caught up in but my hands are tied,” you had told him with a lowered voice.

Jonathan had frowned at you, pressed his lips together to a thin line. Then, without another word, he had picked up his novel and left the store.

The following night, he’d appeared seemingly out of nowhere after you’d closed the library for the day and asked you out for dinner. One dirty martini afterward led to two and that very same night, you fell asleep in Jonathan Pine’s bed in a luxurious hotel room he was staying in for reasons he had not elaborated on much.

A couple of evenings and more passionate sex—the best sex you’d ever had—later, you had shown him the donation certification, complete with all the relevant bank details. Confidential data which could have gotten you into big trouble, both with the library and Richard Roper himself. A few more nights after that… Jonathan disappeared for a while and you realised that he had only used you—and your body—for information.

It had baffled you back then, when, almost a month after, he showed up on the doorstep of the library, beaten, bruised, and half-dead. No police, no hospital, he had murmured over and over and you, having fallen in love with the man unconditionally, had hidden him and nursed him back to health. For weeks on end, Jonathan Pine lay low in the cellar that acted as an inventory for the library, living off of takeaway food you smuggled down to him day after day. He told you everything. How he had been sneaked into Roper’s family as a spy to put an end to his schemes at long last, how Roper sold deadly weapons that killed hundreds of people, and how incredibly sorry he was for putting you in all this danger.

One night, while he was still recovering from his injuries and you stayed in the library with him to make sure he didn’t develop a fever, he whispered your name in his sleep, hands blindly attempting to reach you, touch you, explore you, and pull you close.

He confessed he was in love with you the morning after and a few weeks later, after Roper had finally been arrested, you moved back to the UK with him. Here you were now, climbing up the career ladder in the publishing industry.

Jonathan had left his spy days behind for now and accepted a job as the night manager in a lovely hotel in the heart of Switzerland over the winter. You’d be apart for a few months and it had broken your heart to hear of it even though you were more than happy for him and the opportunity he had been offered.

Two weeks after his departure, your boss had asked you to join her on a business trip to that very same hotel to meet with an internationally best-selling author whose next book series was going to be translated into thirteen languages.

Jonathan didn’t know you had just landed in Switzerland. He didn’t know you were coming to stay at his hotel. The name the rooms were booked under was your boss’ assistant who Jonathan had never met before. Needless to say, when you entered the lobby and the warm air enveloped you welcomingly, scaring away the Swiss winter air, his stunning blue eyes widened. You failed to suppress your smirk, knowing very well how much he was struggling with remaining polite and professional—after all, you were with your boss and her assistant.

“Good evening! Sorry, our flight was delayed a little. I’ve got three rooms booked under the name Elsa Higgins?” the latter greeted him.

“Ah, yes, Ms. Higgins! Good evening, ladies. Please, allow me to welcome you to the Meisters. My name is Jonathan Pine and I’m the night manager. May I offer you any refreshments?”

Your boss shook the snow off of her beret and began taking off her winter coat. Jonathan was by her side instantly, helping each and every one of you out of your winter gear—even though with you, his touch lingered for just a second too long, his fingertips brushing against the back of your neck. You shivered. Fuck, you had missed him so much.

“Thank you, Mr. Pine,” you mused, watching him struggle a bit with how you addressed him before he poured you all a glass of champagne. Then, he moved behind the counter to sort out your rooms and hand you your keys while the concierges busied themselves with your suitcases and disappeared out of sight quickly.

“Our concierges will be taking up your luggage at once, as you can see. Is there anything else I can do for you in the meantime? Have you had dinner yet?”

“We have, thank you. We’re just very tired from the flight. Could you show us to our rooms? This hotel is so big, I feel like I’m gonna get lost!”

“Of course, dar-, Miss. Please, follow me.” He caught himself before the word “darling” could escape his lips. Chuckling to yourself, you stared at his sexy back and entered the lift right after him.

“He is so hot!” your boss whispered to you. Heavens, he was. He looked so handsome in that navy blue suit and the white shirt… and that tie! You had to remember to get rid of those damp panties of yours later and sneak them into his pockets somehow—because the mere thought of him taking off that tie and using it to bind your wrists together got you so wet you had to clench your legs on the way up. If only your boss and her equally yearning assistant knew you regularly had the pleasure to fuck this man…

Jonathan was reluctant to leave you behind after letting you know about the breakfast times, the pool opening times, and that he was at your service for anything at all, at all times during the night. And oh, you might just take him up on that offer…

“Thank you, Mr. Pine. I’ll be sure to call if I need anything.” You excused yourself to the bathroom and when you came back, yours and the door of your boss were still wide open, denying you the privacy you craved. Besides, Mr. Jonathan Pine had to remain professional at work. You chuckled once more, making quick work of stuffing your spoiled panties into his suit jacket. He pretended not to be fazed by it but for a spy, he was pretty bad at hiding how much he was struggling with keeping his composure.

But that was only the beginning. You were feeling adventurous tonight. And so, after wishing your boss and her assistant a good night, you got ready for bed, making yourself comfortable on the soft mattress and the lavender-scented bed sheets completely naked, and then used the phone on the nightstand to call the reception. It was shortly past two am by now. Surely, the lobby was deserted.

You hummed contently when he picked up and purred your last name with a seductive ‘Miss’ in front of it into the speaker. “What can I do for you?”

“Oh, you see… I’m so lonely in this big suite, Mr. Pine. So very lonely. Is there a way you could keep me company? I am so tense from the journey,” you mused, dragging out your last “so” to the point you could hear him breathe heavily on the other end of the line.

Jonathan cleared his throat. There was absolutely no way he hadn’t discovered yet just what exactly you had shoved into his pocket. He was probably clutching at it with his free hand right now.

“Ah, well, I am afraid our masseuses don’t start their shift until seven am, Miss, but perhaps I can arrange some other… form of… relief for you.” His voice became raspier and darker the more words escaped his lips.

“Really? That would be quite wonderful. You see, Mr. Pine, the sheets are so soft and comfortable, I figured I don’t even need any sleepwear.”

Jonathan took a deep breath. A short moment of pregnant silence followed and then, “I’ll be right up, Miss.” With that, he hung up.

You giggled to yourself, counting the seconds. He must have taken the steps, for only forty-three strikes of the second hand on the clock above the massive sofa in the suite later, you heard a gentle knock on your door.

Rushing over on bare feet, you hid behind it as you opened it for him to conceal your nakedness from the bright lights in the hallway, the both of you drowning in comfortable darkness and only the pale moon shining through the massive windows illuminating both your features as soon as he’d closed the door again behind him.

“I have ten minutes,” he murmured out of breath before his lips came crashing down on yours. You laughed against his mouth, his feverish urgency instantly infecting you. Jonathan’s touch was like a fire ignited inside of you by the single stroke of a match. Step after step, he guided you back towards your bed without ever breaking the battle of tongues you fought out, his hands exploring your naked curves and kneading your butt cheeks thoroughly before pushing you down on the mattress.

Jonathan was above you within a fraction of a second, one of his knees keeping your legs apart, his hand snatching your wrists and pinning them down above your head. Finally, he released your lips to let you catch your breath for a moment.

“Naughty girl, slipping your used underwear into my pockets… you little tease…”

“Aw, I thought you’d appreciate my little gift,” you mocked—your chuckle soon turned into a moan, however, when he gently bit the underside of your left breast, followed by his tongue tasting your nipple.

Jonathan’s dark growl was unlike anything you had ever heard from him when his one free hand struggled to undo his belt and the buttons of his suit trousers. You were pretty certain he hadn’t even taken his shoes off but by the time he finally managed to push the fabric down to his upper thighs, he was as hard as a rock, his red tip leaking precum teasing your entrance.

There was no need for him to prepare you. You had been soaked and ready for him ever since your arrival at the hotel. Jonathan wasted no time. He positioned himself swiftly, pulling your legs apart even further, and then, sheathed himself inside of you with but one fluid movement.

The both of you moaned in unison, his forehead resting against yours. Jonathan kissed you again when he pulled out to thrust up into you, your hips bucking to meet him. His free hand remained where it was—right between your legs where your bodies were joined.

As he fucked you hungrily, his fingers quickly found a little toy to play with—and knowing Jonathan, he was a skilled lover. He had you on the brink of orgasm in no time, his rhythm relentless and his strokes hard.

You arched your back the closer you crept to the edge, breaking his kiss to gasp for air and throw your head back which he instantly took as an invitation to taste your neck and assault it with gentle licks, bites, and kisses.

It was the moment he released your wrists and placed one of your legs on his shoulder to rut into you even deeper, his tip brushing against all the right spots, that made you come undone underneath him. Clenching around his length, he fucked you through your climax until he too found release, only fuelling your arousal when you felt ropes of his seed coating your walls, his member jerking inside of you until eventually, he stilled and embraced you without ever pulling out of you.

“How are you even here?” he finally asked. “I’m so happy to see you, darling.”

“That I could tell.” You grinned, grinding against him and eliciting a little whimper from him in the process. “My boss is meeting a client here. She asked me to come with her, it was quite last minute. I could have called you but I wanted to make it a surprise.”

“You most certainly did surprise me, darling. You know… I think I quite enjoy you calling me ‘Mr. Pine’.”

Your grin grew even wider. “Lucky for you, we’ll be staying the whole weekend, Mr. Pine.”

Jonathan growled once more. He was on you again to stifle your laugh and had you cumming for him again long before his ten minutes were over.

A/N: Well that was fun to write! ;-)

#jonathan pine #jonathan pine imagine #jonathan pine x you #jonathan pine x reader #jonathan pine smut #the night manager #the night manager imagine #tom hiddleston

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teaspoonnebula · 4 months

Text

The Final Problem Illustrations - Deliciously Detailed Edition

'Cos I'm really tired of only seeing some of these either in terrible quality or behind a paywall. Feel free to take it do stuff with them! Print it out, stick them on your wall, idk.

(I could this waaaay better if I had a book scanner and I'm looking into borrowing the use of one, but until then...)

Funnily enough the line on this that looks like a crease seems to be printed on the page?

Look at his FACE!

Some casual trainspotting:

Just having a fun day out.

IT'S FINE

TOTALLY FINE

#the final problem #sydney paget #illustrations

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arctic-shard · 4 months

Note

scp-012 causes whoever saw it to continue the notes using their own blood and if that person were to finish a section of the sheet, the person will kill themself declaring the piece is impossible to finish, I just thought it would be interesting gift for the Yellow Lord.

Bumping this up the queue because the furnace is broken and my office is too cold to work in, so drawing is out for now ( I can set my laptop up anywhere, but hauling out the peripheries like the scanner is Too Much Effort and I have no space for it in my temporary workspace. ) But I can write, and while I could just do a little illustration for this, the idea intrigues me too much to leave it at that anyway.

Dunno how old you are @randomlbirdo, so here's the warnings: No sex happens but there's a couple mentions of Odious as a sexually-active being. Self-harm, sort of, does it count when you're not doing it to hurt yourself, you just need to feed blood to a cursed artefact?

----------

The Unending Crescendo

The Yellow Lord Odious has an anomalous object stolen from the Foundation. It can resist the curse, but it can't resist a challenge …

---

The Lords of Alagadda, much as they considered Earth a backwater world, still kept an eye on it with their agents and cults. It was a wild place, full of emotion and stories and creativity and Alagaddans craved those things.

The Earth also contained the SCP Foundation - not a threat, but something to keep tabs on. The Foundation meddled with Alagadda occasionally, which was what initially drew the attention of the lords, but what kept their attention were the artefacts the Foundation had hidden away in storage. In their attempt to keep anomalies out of the hands of their fellow humans, the Foundation had gathered them up into convenient boxes that a determined Alagaddan Lord could borrow whenever it pleased.

There were ways to smuggle things in and out of Alagadda unchanged. They involved complicated alchemical wards and rituals, but it was doable.

This was not what the Yellow Lord, Wearer of the Odious Mask, was thinking about at the moment. It had put such plans into action weeks ago. It was busy in its study, sketching out musical notes as it played them - primary hands on the violin, secondary to write. The wastebasket nearby was overflowing with torn and crumpled sheets. Aside from the desk, the room contained dozens of musical instruments, including the organ it used for practice. The grand pipe organ of il Palazzo dell'Ira was in the audience hall.

Odious snarled as a knock on the door distracted it. Not that it was making any more progress than usual, but what if this time the notes were correct? It set down the violin with uncharacteristic gentleness, crumpled the sheet and threw it in the general vicinity of the wastebasket, then stalked to the door and flung it open.

A servant stood there, struggling with the weight of a gold case covered in alchemical symbols and the Yellow Lord's brand. The servant tried to lift the case to present it, but the gold was too heavy. "My Lord, I have the artefact. But do be careful with it."

The servant flinched under Odious' glare, the Yellow Lord not deigning to answer vocally. How dare this lesser being be concerned for it and not hateful? Odious was no apprentice alchemist who needed warnings, Odious was one of the great powers of Alagadda. But it did note how reluctantly the servant parted with the case, not because it wanted to protect Odious but because the artefact inside pulled at it. Odious had prepared for that - once the case was locked, only Odious could open it again, protecting its lessers from the artefact's curse. Odious needed the servant alive to deliver it, after all.

Odious chased the servant away, locked the door, and set the gold case on its desk.

It was one of the contradictions of Alagadda that Alagaddans were not themselves creative. The Humours were muses, sparking creativity in lesser beings but incapable of true creation themselves. Mirth was too stupid to care about this and Diligence even seemed to prefer copying, but Odious was different. Its role to be discontented, and one of those sources of discontent was that it was unable to compose its own music. Every time it tried, it only heard other composers - not mere influences but the core of the work. Nothing in its own compositions was Odious.

Deep in its twisted heart, Odious longed to be heard. Perhaps the only one who truly knew Odious was the Hanged King itself as it plundered Odious' mind for new sensations. But did the King really know it? Was it only interested in the hate Odious was created for and ignored its soul?

Odious could scream and use telepathy and fuck and torture, but these were all crude methods of communication compared to music. Music was pure. If Odious could just compose something of its very own, if it could write its Self in musical notation, maybe it would finally reach someone. Maybe someone would finally understand.

Maybe the King would be proud.

Millennia of failure had left it desperate enough to dabble in unknown magic. It drew a key from one of its pockets, licked the teeth to coat them in its bile, and opened the gold case.

Inside was a single sheet of music, penned in blood.

Perhaps it would accept Alagaddan ichor as a suitable ink.

Odious could feel the pull of the artefact. The page wanted blood. Odious denied it for now - no mere artefact could usurp the will of a Humour. Instead it set it on the desk. It hummed the melody as it read the score.

An interesting piece. Bold and jarring, but Odious quickly determined that this artefact wouldn't solve its problem. The score didn't change with each new blood donor, the music was using the blood to complete itself. Odious could add nothing to it but ink.

Odious lifted a hand to rip the paper to shreds in frustration, but changed its aim at the last instant to tear scratches in the table. It had put in an effort to claim this artefact. It would be more of a waste to destroy it immediately. Perhaps Odious could figure out the mechanism of it, to craft a page that it could wring out its heart over and write its own soul.

The melody had intrigued it. How would it sound with more parts played? Music was the purest language, playing the score would help Odious understand the artefact. It set the page on a music stand, settled itself beside the organ, and picked up the violin again.

Odious played perfectly. It always did. It had a passion for instrumental music from its awakening and had practiced for millennia. Two hands for the violin. Six on the organ - it didn't need to look at it to hit every note and pull every stop correctly.

The music was a discordant cacophony, mere noise to someone without Odious' experience. There was something in it, a pattern just at the edge of understanding. And the music just kept building. It shouldn't have been possible - a crescendo can't build forever, there needs to be a release or at least lessening of tension, but it never came. The single page somehow held thousands of lines of music, and the music swelled and built up and up for hours, frustrating and leaving Odious desperate for a conclusion, like an orgasm that just wouldn't come off …

The score ended so abruptly that for an instant Odious thought it had died. But it couldn't be dead, it had been dead before and its dead husk's hearts didn't hammer like this, its lungs didn't heave like this when it was dead. With shaking hands, it lowered its violin.

The violin had a chin rest made of Alagaddan porcelain-chitin, one of the few substances that Odious' bile couldn't destroy. It hadn't helped - Odious had leaked so much from its eyes and mouth that the bile had overflowed and scorched the instrument. Odious threw it aside and glared down at the music sheet.

"Where are you going with this? How do you end?" it hissed, taking the glove off one of its secondary hands and slicing the soft palm open with a talon. Thick, black ichor dripped onto the page and formed more notes.

Odious read the new lines. No conclusion, just more build-up. But it had to be near a resolution. It had to end. Odious ruptured some inner chambers in its body to send more ichor out of the wound.

The notes continued to form.

Odious wasn't going to let a piece of paper defeat it.

It picked up a new violin and readied itself beside the organ. There was no place to start from but the beginning - to begin in the middle would be an insult to the piece.

Odious could focus on regenerating its ichor to drip on the page and play the violin and play the organ. And, just to show the page who held the power, it sang the melody as well, a sharp, wordless soprano. It was the greatest musician in Alagadda, in all the lands of the Nevermeant, possibly even the multiverse. It was going to play the piece perfectly and to the end.

Hours later it reached the part written in its own ichor and kept playing. Odious was going to make it to the end. It was going to find the conclusion.

---

Odious woke up stiff and aching, staring up at the ceiling of its study. It tried to strech but couldn't move.

Finally awake, my lord?

The Ambassador. Odious managed to turn its head to find the hateful creature delicately unfolding the crumpled balls of paper from the wastebasket. It had no face, but Odious knew it was sneering at its attempts at writing music. Odious flexed its arms, recognising the feel of rope around them. "What are you doing here?"

Amusing myself by reading your pitiful efforts to create, my lord.

"Fuck you. You interrupted my practice."

The Ambassador huffed. Practice? You allowed yourself to be possessed by a mere artefact. I had to bind you to pry you away from it, all while you screamed that you had to finish the song.

While the Ambassador prattled, Odious managed to curl around to drip bile on some of the ropes to burn them away. With a few arms free, it began untying itself. "Where is the cursed music sheet?"

Back where your stooge took it from.

Perhaps the artefact was more dangerous than Odious had given it credit for, if the Ambassador itself had deigned to remove it from Alagadda. It was the humans' problem again. "What do you care what I do?"

I do not.

Which meant that it had been ordered. Which meant that the Hanged King had sensed something wrong with Odious and sent its servant to sort things out -

Odious' thoughts were interrupted by the Ambassador's laughter. Is that sentiment I sense in you, my lord? Does the Seething Prince long for daddy's approval? For shame. Our King will be most disappointed.

Finally free of the ropes, Odious lunged for the Ambassador. It stepped out of the way and Odious ended up tackling its own desk.

When Odious untangled itself from the furniture, the Ambassador was gone. Odious howled in rage, at the loss of its prey, at the Ambassador's taunts. You twist my thoughts! I don't want love and approval! I don't want softness! I am everything I am meant to be - I am hate and anger and passion and violence - and I am the best at it! I play my role perfectly! I want -

Odious needed to be perfect. Nothing less was enough. It had to be so perfect that no one could ever find flaw, not even itself. It was a hard way to live, a crescendo without end. If it was perfect, then people would finally notice all it did for Alagadda and appreciate it, instead of taking the rituals and concerts and efforts for granted. It did what it was meant to do but nobody cared that it did it well, they only noticed when Odious made a mistake, so Odious had to be perfect, perfect, perfect …

I want …

The ending Odious craved was to become so hateful, so despised that the Hanged King itself grew angry enough to blast it out of existence. To be seared into oblivion by the hate of a god … glorious. Perfection.

But Odious also wanted to lay its head in the Hanged King's lap, feel the desiccated fingers stroke its hair, and know its efforts and work were seen and appreciated. To know that it had succeeded at being the Yellow Lord, at being Odious. To know that the King was proud of it. To be able to rest, just for a little while.

Triumphant fine or quiet diminuendo, there could be no applause, no rest, until the play was over.

I want to know how it ends.

#alagadda #yellow lord odious #yellow lord alagadda #scp-2264 #scp-012

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hwaightme · 1 year

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The Chemistry of Christmas

❄️ pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader (+implied woosan) ❄️ genre: fluff, christmas, opposites attract, mutual pining ❄️ summary: How could two people with such different views hope for the same thing? You, a logical and ambitious professional hiding a torrent of emotion within just to pave your future. Kim Hongjoong, your kindhearted and gentle friend and co-worker, who wants nothing more than to live in the moment. In this battle against time counting down to Christmas, will you be able to find your forever and make your wish come true? ❄️ wordcount: 10.6k ❄️ warnings/tags: language, explicit mention of alcohol, some get drunk, suggestive (very much so at times so minors please be mindful), ateez is a research group, christmas getaway, reader is ambitious and got that powerful energy, shy hongjoong, opposites attract, tension, back and forth, woo tormenting hwa like no tomorrow, hj and reader are nanoscientists, a bit of a work au, lmk if anything else ❄️ a/n: hello everyone! I'd like to wish you all a very merry Christmas and thank you from the bottom of my heart for the love and support you give. I am wishing for this celebration to bring you joy and adoration! I hope you enjoy this piece, and stay tuned for more to come! Reblogs, likes and follows always welcome <3

Magic in the air.

As though by a mysterious force, the city transformed in unison to a festive wonderland, much to the delight of its dwellers and visitors alike.

From the gorgeous trees to the intricate storefront decorations, to the aroma of sugar and spice travelling in the air from the cosy markets, the season was truly the one that kept on giving.

If that was not enough this year took things up a notch, with impressive snowfall for the majority of December. The quaint suburban neighbourhoods had come to look like miniatures from beloved fairy tale stories, while the high streets and city centre had taken on an astonishing glow. The temperatures kept on dropping, while the hearts of those around kept on getting warmer.

For you, Christmastime was most probably the best time of the year. You adored wishing merriness to the assistants at your favourite shops. Walking past the myriad of houses with wreaths, spotting Christmas trees glowing within and seeing people simply living in the miracle put a pep in your step. The exclusive beverages that were released just this time of year instantly were on your list to try, and never failed to cheer you up, ready for the day ahead.

And that was the secret behind how you came into work, beaming, in the depths of the ‘gloomy winter’, cheeks and nose flushed from the biting cold. The institute, where you were proud to be a fulltime researcher in the nanoscience department, could not escape from the cheer either and as you traversed the many corridors of your second home, the offices and laboratories bore hints of the season, be it in a stray bauble or bell on a door handle, or a bow pinned to a wall.

As you turned the corner, you did your research group’s usual routine of saluting the skeleton you permanently borrowed from the medicine department, now dressed up as Santa Claus. You were careful to not spill the tray of hot drinks you had picked up on the way as you completed the gesture. Noticing a couple more holiday cards set down on the floor under it, you hummed in approval. This was what academia was all about, folks. Slow and steady, you swiped your card on the scanner right above your office’s handle and followed with a practiced push down and shouldering of the door. This space was shared between you, and eight other fantastic researchers – all of you recent graduates, brought together by

The office was fairly large albeit bland, with space for nine desks – all in threes, with one to the far left against the wall, and two rows facing each other in the centre of the room. Each sported an ancient monitor and computer that were left unchanged because they still worked and were the only system that could be trusted with running the expensive and time-consuming simulations. A dramatic irony for any budding scientists-to-be who were all about innovation and equated research to being on a spaceship straight out of a science fiction movie. To the right was the ‘recreation station’ – a line of furniture collected from yard sales and second-hand shops, namely a duo of flimsy terrace chairs under the far window, a couch that had to undergo extensive treatment to get the stench of cigarettes out of it, and one of the better investments: a movable cupboard that housed kitchen paraphernalia and a microwave.

This was where you set down the tray, out of fear that if you were to tempt fate any longer, you were going to bring less than welcome floor decorations to the shared space. Besides, you did not want to be scolded by the resident cleanroom aesthetics activist, who was already giving you concerned glances from across the room. It was still surprisingly empty, given the time. You glanced at the clock on the wall, barely making out a 8:30AM on the dot behind the snowman face that someone taped on. You sure knew how to time your commutes down to a t. Right, time to get started.

“Good morning how is everyone doing?” you called out to the four men who had already arrived and were sleepily checking through their emails.

The chorus of greetings and friendly waves as they got out of what was a near trance was enough to remind you why you were grateful to be working here. Even on days when all of you were busy, or when life was continuously throwing stress tests, all you had to do was call out, and they would be there.

The youngest of the crew, Jongho, was quick to get up and saunter over to you. He looked expectantly at the drinks, while you took off your hat and ruffled your hair.

“Good morn’, Y/N, I see you are starting off early with the celebrations huh?”

“Never too early to pre-game, man, never too early. Here is your americano, by the way.” You turned to pick out the coffee, still piping, and passed it over to your colleague.

“Life saver, thanks.”

You watched in awe as he took a sip with a completely straight face, your own mouth feeling the ghosts of a burn. Fighting the shudder that was about to run down your body, you decided to unpack the carrier tray fully, and leave the rest of the drinks at their respective target desks. While doing so, two of your other close colleagues, Seonghwa and Yunho, approached you, pretending as though they were not about to snatch their beverages and run into hiding. You raised an eyebrow as Yunho did a little crab-like sidestep around you, having spotted his requested latte and wanting to reach for it.

“Go ahead, be my guest.”

“Thanks, and guess what, the Christmas crackers that had been delayed have arrived this morning!” he fist pumped the air as you thanked him for agreeing to sacrifice his apartment for any extra deliveries.

Once more, you turned to Seonghwa, who gave you an appreciative grin once you informed him that he was to receive a hot chocolate. Afterwards, you were quick to position the drinks on the respective four desks closest to you, saving your order and that of the man who was now standing before you, for last.

“Good morning, Y/N, thank you so much for this. Exactly what I needed.” He expressed, his musical voice washing over you.

“Good morning, Hongjoong.” You could not help but drop your voice into a half-whisper, unable to retain the previously more friendly and confident composure upon seeing his glinting eyes. Gazing at you as though, in that moment, you were the only one to exist in this space.

He pointed at the coat that you were yet to take off, inquiring “need help with that?”. You happily obliged.

He had to be the closest thing there was to an embodiment of benevolence. Ever since you had met him in your second year of university, him being your senior and assistant in one of your classes, you noticed just how natural it was for him to connect with others, make them feel seen, understood, and appreciated. He was the type of man to sacrifice time even for the smallest of troubles, and you had seen him staying late again, and again, to help your peers with their work, their projects, and on the odd occasion, life troubles.

You had been amazed his having never treated the evident exploitation in an outwardly aggressive manner, instead independently choosing to sit and answer question after question, treating them all equally and repeating himself without a single inkling of doubt that he was merely doing his job. Initially you decided that this was not for you to inquire into, Hongjoong being fully capable of figuring things out for himself as a hardworking and high-achieving student. But that decision had not lasted even an hour, as in the class you had discovered obvious signs of fatigue. When you had heard your peer question him about his personal life and he fell into an awkward silence, you took it as a green light to steal him away, practically dragging him out of the door and wildly tapping in numbers on the coffee machine. Coincidentally, it was also winter then.

Since that exact moment, you and Hongjoong had become partners in crime. You would never admit it out loud, but he had been at the forefront of your mind when choosing what you were going to do with your life after university, even though you had told yourself time and time again that there was no chance, and that you should reduce your feelings to the nanoparticles that you studied.

As much as Hongjoong was there for you, his altruism and innate ability to bring people together, to lead, had unintentionally put some distance between you. Not that he could notice. He was oblivious to how you yearned for even a minute more of his time. He was likely unaware of how he was making you feel as he helped you take off your coat, hanging it on the rack with indescribable gentleness. How you melted like a snowman in the sunlight at his small gestures, how he took great care to let you walk to your workspace first and followed you with the early morning brews. If you had to describe what he was to you, to put it simply, he was your Christmas.

In a way, he was the opposite of you. You were that loud, heart on your sleeve type, bouncing off the walls if the energy in the room was right and sinking into the darkest brooding if you were to sense it. For the most part, you had figured out how to convert this energy into high octane work fuel, and no matter if you were going up or down on the roller coaster that was life, you found a way to use it. Be it by burning the midnight oil and letting cortisol guide you writing your thesis (which you had scolded Hongjoong for before, but he had graduated by the time the honour was bestowed upon you, so he did not have to know), or by repeating that everything was going to turn out okay like a mantra. You laboured away at bending the natural twists and turns of the ride, which was so unlike Hongjoong, that you could not help but be drawn to him and his inimitable openness.

You were one to feel hard and deeply, no matter how hard you tried to supress it. And this was both a curse and a blessing. To your advantage, you could enjoy the small moments, like you and four of the eight wonderful people who you had the honour of calling your friends after some time working together, sitting in the quietude of a cosy office that acted as your base of operations. Much to your disadvantage, you were very acute to Hongjoong’s presence immediately to your right, as he pushed his seated form closer to you. The rolling chairs hit one another with a soft thud as he leaned further forward to position his elbow securely on the desk and rest his head on the palm of his hand.

“Are you looking forward to the party tonight?” for a split second his voice sounded almost desperate, as though he was searching for something, or seeking confirmation. Any worry that you might have caught on his features quickly dispelled, however, as you mirrored his position and responded, studying him.

“Of course, I am. Getting to celebrate my favourite season with my favourite people, what more could I ask for?” you were not going to mention that you were looking forward to seeing Hongjoong sporting an ugly Christmas sweater, as commanded by the mutually agreed dress code, though you had no doubt that he would be able to pull anything off. On Halloween he managed to make a Despicable Me minion-inspired costume look a bit too good.

“Probably for your secret Santa to have actually taken their job seriously this year around, unlike-”

“Hey, Mingi was… considerate.” You interjected but failed to make a strong point as you recalled the hilarious combination of a nachos packet and a box of tissues, wrapped in paper that insinuated it was suddenly your birthday.

Whilst Hongjoong had been mortified, and Mingi was stock still, ears burning, the rest of the group had a blast breaking down into a laughing fit that had returned many times over the evening. This selection had obviously been made just after an event three days before the exchange, when you had knocked into Hongjoong full force, making him spill distilled water over much of your top.

“If you say so, but I bet this year is going to be much more exciting,” he winked. Luckily, he did not spot you stiffen at the action, as he was momentarily distracted by a notification, alerting him of a meeting he had to attend soon.

“Do you know who my secret Santa is, by any chance?” you tried, fluttering your eyelashes in a playful manner. He hummed, and lightly shook his head in disapproval, though his lips were curling into an adorable smile.

“Ah, I cannot neither confirm nor deny that, besides why would I ruin the anticipation? Patience is a virtue, etcetera, etcetera.”

“Says the guy who literally tried to speed run the preparation of a colloidal solution.” Seonghwa chided, looking over from his seat at the two of you, causing Hongjoong to make a sharp turn in his chair and argue that ‘it was an experiment and that he wanted to see what would happen just once’.

This was the never-ending debate of your office, so intrinsic to its function that you all ended up agreeing to set aside parts of the official group budget and of any new funding for something you had deemed ‘chaos expenses’ or, as once kindly called by Yeosang when someone had tampered with the electron microscope, ‘dipshit insurance’. You laughed at the exchange between the oldest members of your group, an unbeknownst to you, sent a shimmering light into your brunette deskmate’s chest.

He would do anything to hear your melodic laugh, or to watch your features soften as you let go of any stress that had plagued you. Thus, he had taken great pains to work behind the scenes for you, be it intercepting some unnecessary paperwork or figuring out laboratory access times for the entire team so that you could have your favourite slots. Sure, these were acts that benefitted everyone, but only your ‘thank you Joongie’ remained with him. The first thing he had taken note about you was just how valuable time was for you. How you spent it, where you spent it, with whom. So, he did the best he could to try to give you time that, as of late, had become his worst enemy.

In a way, you were the opposite of him. Whilst Hongjoong was one to strive for attempting every single thing in the book that was to do with whatever his passion was at a given point in time, you were one to be highly selective and strategic in your decision-making. As soon as he had spotted you in that one class for which he tutored, you gave off the impression of someone who already had everything figured out, or at least carried themselves very well, head held high and prepared to fight for what you wanted.

On the days when he doubted himself, Hongjoong would refer to himself as a jack of all trades, but master of none. The jack who never quite got why you had asked for his help in tutoring you anyways, but oh how grateful he was. You had appeared beside him, a saving grace, when he was about to collapse after over twenty-four hours of no sleep, vision blurry, struggling to process a single phrase. He could put up a powerful front, sure, and when he had presented his research at conferences, or was a representative of the university, and then the institute at various exhibitions and open days he was commended for his eloquence and ability to draw a crowd in. But that was what it was – a front. As soon as he was back to his and Seonghwa’s shared apartment, he wanted nothing more than to curl up and enjoy a steaming cup of coffee and let his mind wander. Reassess his work, seek unique paths to innovation, imagine what discoveries lied out there, waiting for him. To him, ironically, science was an art.

In his eyes, you were what should be under the word ‘scientist’ or ‘researcher’ in the dictionary. Every bit a logistician, you were the goal setter, the ambitious future leader. Leaving the experimental work to your collaborators, you were one to seek rationality and clear-cut formulas, to describe phenomena once and for all. You were driven to find truth in mystery, and positioned yourself as someone who was patient, strong-willed and would not veer off a path you had your mind set on. He had observed that you were equally as selective with who you were to allow to be part of your closer social circle, and very clearly knew your likes and dislikes.

This was why Hongjoong was confident that his blooming feelings were one sided. It was a dreamer versus grounded realist situation, but the dreamer could not help but fall. And fall deep. If he had to describe you in the spirit of the season, you would be a winter night. Freshly fallen snow, illuminated by fairy lights strung on pines next to whimsical brick houses, from which peered the domesticated fashionistas, adorned by baubles and garlands. You were the silent night, calm and bright.

When he had drawn your name out of the Santa hat that San was approaching everyone with a mere three weeks ago, dread filled him to the brim. It was the first time, since he had come to terms with his not so platonic feelings towards you, that he was being given the chance to give you something. And he was not going to let this slide as a silly tradition that was meant to be there for laughs and eventually, for the gift. No, he wanted something bigger, something that would be valuable to you, or at least make you reminisce.

After a bombardment of your respective inboxes by yet another email chain from one of the seniors, both of you settled down to get to work, pausing only to greet the late comers who had collectively groaned in discontent, comically lamenting the now lukewarm drinks. As you typed you took glances at Hongjoong out of the corner of your eye as he reviewed some notes he stored in a tattered manila folder, delicate ring-adorned hands flicking through the pages. It was easy to fall for the undivided attention he was capable of giving. It was especially easy for you, being someone who could not stop rushing, with a permanent tunnel vision. This was why you loved Christmas, and at this time of year, wanted to believe in miracles.

Hongjoong could sense your intermittent observation with his half-turned body and prayed you would not notice the light nervous tremor he was battling to hide. Albeit it was barely there, like snowflakes ending their dance on warm gloved hands, it was enough to envelop him and make him lose sense, anchoring only to your strong and sanguine being. As he began to gather his belongings and gave you and his friends a light wave to signify his departure to meet with his supervisor, his mind travelled to tonight.

During the year when the entire group had begun working together, and moved into the office, the door of which he had just propped open, by a shared initiative and the lack of desire to drift home to their families earlier than necessary, they had organised a new tradition for themselves. A break from the regular holiday routine in the form of a friendly get-together, with specially curated Christmas playlists, movies, mulled wine (perhaps a little bit too much mulled wine), and every other practice or interpretation that they could think of. So far, there had only been two such events, but not a single one of the large friend group could imagine celebrating in any other fashion.

This year, the festivities were bound to be different for Hongjoong. This year he was finally not foolish enough to deny that all of his wishes were dedicated to you, and that he wanted to be more than background music, more than someone on the side lines to you. Though you sat side by side, saw each other more often than the comfort of your own homes, this type of closeness was not enough for him. Hongjoong could imagine a barrier between you and him, a construction of whosever doing. He was sure you did not need him.

Much as you were sure he had never attributed anything aside from common courtesy and platonic affection to you.

Both you and Hongjoong, unbeknownst to one another, were wishing for the same thing this Christmas.

There was a major change of setting for the party from last year, when the nine of you had been crammed into the apartment that San and Wooyoung shared. By a stroke of pure luck, an uncle of Seonghwa’s had decided to travel abroad for the entire duration of the holidays, and upon hearing that his nephew was to be celebrating with what was presented to him as ‘highly professional company’, offered to give free reign of a cottage outside of the capital to the group. Under Seonghwa’s strict supervision, of course, but that went without mention.

After the clock had striked the mandatory early end to your workday, the group had scrambled to make it in time for the train, arriving at the station with only minutes to spare, and wading through swarms of travellers about to make similar journeys. The near miss had sent you reeling, but you bit back the string of curses and melted into bliss once you had taken in the shared optimistic mood of the crowd. Somehow, even the slow walkers with monstrous suitcases that were ready to burst did not phase you as you sank into your seat by the window.

You glossed over the platform and antique buildings that lined the tracks as the train departed. Previously polluted and unsightly, with soot caking the ventilators and any stone within immediate line of fire from the screeching train brakes, it was now laying under a blanket of glistening white, dormant until the winter chose to retire.

Hongjoong was equally mesmerised, peering over your form while unzipping his hefty bag to take out a camera. It was a vintage number, one he had stumbled across during a trip to an artisan market, and after tinkering with it for what had turned out to be a total of two months, selected it for this trip.

He was adamant, even being questioned repeatedly why he had an affinity for a camera that required film whilst he was working on nano electronics, that this camera was the best way to tell the story of the next couple of days the group was staying at the cottage. And he knew that you would be the first to understand.

As you pressed yourself into your seat to let Hongjoong snap a picture, took his concentration on the scenery behind the viewfinder as amble time to regard and commit the artist behind the camera to memory. How a stubborn lock of rich onyx locks hovered right over his soft brow, having made its escape out of the woolen hat he wore. How his glasses with a delicate golden frame suited his sculpted face perfectly, even tilted down to give way to the apparatus in his steady hands. He was one for keeping memories, snapshots to highlight the priceless instances that others plead for in times of need.

"Stay like that for a second." His dulcet tone took you out of your daze, and you shook your head in embarrassment, realising that he probably caught you ogling him.

"What?"

"Just do it for me, please?" He repeated himself, camera at the ready.

"Oh, come on, don't waste film."

"Who says waste? You'd be the best part." He whispered, unable to return your scrutiny and studying the leather detailing on the body of the camera.

"Cringe, but I'll let it slide." You finally uttered, laughing airily, and striking a pose.

Right when you were in motion, not a thought in mind except about the anticipation of the celebration ahead, Hongjoong snapped a segment of that joy, more satisfied than he let on.

Playful, you shifted in your seat and moved to place your hands over his. You were likely pushing it, but with the seasonal buzz fuelling you, your usual stoicism and preference to influence others with words only, could be stored. Despite the fact that you were of the opinion that you were not right for Hongjoong, and that you did not possess the delicate, nurturing aura he deserved, you were enticed by competition and challenge. Seeing him be friendly to others, going from meeting to meeting to appease even those who had much to learn from him, made you want to fight for his attention. You wanted him to be captivated by you, and you alone.

You took pleasure in his widening eyes and lips parting, as though in longing. It almost made you believe that he too, wanted something more than just the normal chatter about the superficial that you shared, and his avoidance of being in the same room for extended periods of time when it was just the two of you. As his orbs dashed from left to right, up and down, you scanned every part of his oh so irresistible face, and only shared with him a smirk to describe your intentions. In a blink you pried the prized possession out of his slackened grasp and in one swipe got the attached strap over his head. Simultaneously, all hints of the near sadistic taunting evaporated, and you were back to being an upbeat, jolly passenger on her way to indulge in festivities.

"Now you. Pose, Joongie!"

Your transition from an overwhelmingly intense stare down to now giggling and instructing him, singsong and almost childish, drove Hongjoong wild. It was as though under your outwardly collected and amiable demeanour there was a turbulent river, dangerously alluring and intoxicating. Much to his dismay, the moments you let this side of yourself shine through were few and far between, as rare as a blue moon.

It had not been the first time he had encountered this version of you, however. The first, one he did not need photographs of to burn into his retinas, was when he had completely forgotten about his promise to attend the institute-wide New Year's party last year, instead remaining in one of the laboratories, immersed in modelling the design of a nano robot that had been giving him much trouble.

When it was already approaching an hour before the monumental strike of midnight, you had appeared off to his side like a shadow, a lab coat loosely draped over your shoulders and, underneath it, revealing a breathtaking cerulean blue dress that highlighted all of your best features. He gulped. You were beautiful. So beautiful that it left him terrified.

Placing your manicured hands on his stiffened shoulders, you had purred in his ear, demanding he were to join you that instant at the party, adding that it was lonely without him, especially in a sea of tipsy researchers. He had not dared to even try saying anything in response, having become impossibly malleable putty under the challenging, unreadable once-over you gave him that he swore burned his skin.

And when during the party itself you had rapidly disappeared from his company, busying yourself with entertaining far too many of his colleagues for his liking, he came to the revelation that the one who he had considered to be his younger colleague, an ambitious professional who he had enjoyed working with and had a bond with all the way from his evolution through university, had control over his very being.

After that night, all he could envision when you approached him in the laboratories was that New Year’s. Hongjoong was afraid of just how much he yearned for your touch and for your command, directed at him, unintentionally sultry. So, he had made it a point to try use his friends as buffers between him and you, even though it was going against all that he wanted and needed and led to the others figuring out pretty quickly that he was not indifferent.

The first had been Seonghwa, who, admittedly, did well in maintaining his composure when Hongjoong grew undeniably shy around you, but then made the great mistake of mentioning the tension in the lab offhandedly to the resident chaos bringers. And once San and Wooyoung knew, everybody knew. Except you, because what would be the fun in that, right? A couple of times he had been threatened with being locked in a closet with you until he confessed, mainly by Jongho who sat on the other side of him in the office and was fed up with the dynamic that his recently single self did not want to deal with. Every time Hongjoong fought back with promises to confess later, and later, until now, nearing exactly a year since, he felt almost out of time. There was an urgency in his actions in the weeks approaching tonight, and your teasing wasn’t helping at all.

He swallowed his desire to close the space between you, and mimicked how you had posed for him, causing another chuckle. Soon enough, he too, was immortalised in that roll of film, your two photographs as mirror images of one another.

The rest of the journey outside the capital had passed as smoothly as it could, since you did not have to suffer the fate of being sat in front of or behind any of your rowdier friends, namely the discord duo and two of the tallest members of your group, who only needed a small catalyst to turn into hilarious menaces. They had occupied a four-seater with a table on the other side of the carriage and, after Yunho revealed a set of Cards Against Humanity that he had hidden in his mini suitcase, were now cackling uncontrollably at round after round. Eventually, Yeosang, who had previously been fully immersed in daydreaming with his noise-cancelling headphones on, decided to join them, and left the group dumbfounded at his beating San’s five-point lead.

Jongho was right behind you, typing without a minute’s pause on his laptop, and Seonghwa, who had occupied aisle seat behind Hongjoong, was in his own world, disconnected from the turmoil two metres away from him, probably zoning out to ASMR. The entire ride was dedicated to you and your seatmate, and after running out of things that you and him in your positively excited, but nervous states had deemed appropriate to discuss, agreed to share earphones and listen to some festive jams to set the mood. Soon enough, you were both quiet, with Mariah Carey’s hit taking on a slightly different meaning than last season.

“Wooyoung, please be careful and don’t fall down from the table. As much as I do enjoy cleaning I don’t want to clean a crime scene-” Seonghwa’s voice rang out across the house as preparations for the party were in full swing.

“I DO WHAT I WANT, MOM! And I am doing important work here, look at this beauty!” the younger retorted after putting finishing touches on the festive arrangement he decided to do on the living room chandelier, and hopping down from the piece of furniture, spiderman style.

You had to admit, it did not look terrible, though perhaps just a tad garish. At least he tried. You shrugged to yourself and turned back to place the final bauble on the Christmas tree that Jongho had been tasked to find and lug to the cottage as soon as you all had arrived.

The cottage was located on the outskirts of a small town, though even saying outskirts made the settlement appear much larger than it was in reality. It consisted of houses dotted around the wintery landscape and some clusters built up closer to the station and the high street - a single line dedicated to all forms of shopping and recreation now converted into a quaint Christmas market. The residents had not disappointed when it can to decoration either, with their porches and roofs made to look as though the walls were supposed to be made of gingerbread. When the group was making the trek to Seonghwa’s uncle’s vacant abode, you had also spotted a church a little further out, its gothic spires appearing to pierce the rapidly darkening sky and stained glass glowing from what had to be a myriad of candles within. This location looked to be a perfect holiday hallmark movie set.

As soon as you all dropped off your belongings in various rooms, with you being given the honour of having your own one, everyone got to work. The plan of operations, consisting of phases and checkpoints, was under administration of the two eldest, and yourself in the role of what Mingi had called ‘vibe control’, seeing as you were deemed the most festive of the lot considering how overjoyed you were to discover the utter beauty of the place where you were to stay the next few days. Phase one, which was performing a last minute venture to buy up drinks and food and, the crucial element - the tree, had been successful, and transitioned into Seonghwa and a snacking Yeosang cooking up a storm, Jongho and Yunho totally not trying to trip each other up into the deep snow while hanging decorations on the cottage’s façade, and the rest of you running around from room to room, leaving traces of glitter in random nooks and crannies as you tried to not totally ruin the otherwise tasteful interior design with festive visual noise.

For the most part, it ended up looking well put together, and you were proud of the Christmas tree that had been mostly your focus. Aside from the moment when Hongjoong approached you, beaming, a cardboard box in his hands.

“Is this a bomb?”

“Yes, totally, as if Christmas hasn’t already exploded in this house.” He countered, stretching his arms further out to hand the box to you.

“Good point. Then what-” you stopped mid-sentence as you revealed a set of what looked to be homemade tree décor. Test tubes and miniature conical flasks corked up and containing liquids and suspensions of various vivid hues. The creator of the set had to have been skilled, as the corks had very neatly attached metal eyelets, to which the much-needed strings were tied. You hooked one out of the box with your finger and admired how the shade of the contents changed with the flashing lights you had wrapped around the tree.

“Where did you find this?”

“I made it.”

“WHAT?” you shrieked, instantly covering your mouth as you did not want anyone to join in on your conversation just yet. Thankfully, at the same time the front door was flung open and the duo who had been outside ambled in, arguing about something to do with phosphorescence versus fluorescence.

Hongjoong, cheerful, was more than pleased with your reaction. During one of the events hosted in early December by the department head, you had been impressed by an arrangement of clamps that were positioned in a tree-like formation, each one holding a colourful test tube. He had wanted to replicate that moment, that sensation, for you, and so spent a week sprawled on the floor of his bedroom, gluing things together and practically recreating Heisenberg’s lab in his kitchen to make the substances. He had striked exclusively under the cover of night, which had scared Seonghwa out of his wits when he was awoken by the rumble of the kitchen extractor fan and strolled in to discover Hongjoong fully decked out in a face mask, goggles, silicon gloves, and pyjamas with teddy bears on them.

“You are going to take a photo of this beauty after we are done right?” You were ready to give him countless pecks on his cheeks with how adorable he looked blushing.

“Sure.”

“Let’s make this a chemis-tree then. Help?” You passed the test tube you were holding to him and set the box down carefully on the ground between you. In comfortable silence, you two moved around the tree, occasionally handing items across, in a tranquil symbiosis.

Hongjoong savoured the moments you accidentally brushed your hands with his, and inadvertently took in the light scent of your perfume as you snaked around him to re-hang a bauble in the shape of an angel. He wouldn’t be able to guess what brand it was even if he tried, but what he was sure of was just how well it suited you. With white floral top notes giving way to something much deeper and darker, it was your daring magnetism in a bottle. A stark contrast to the sweater you were wearing – a red, grey, and white combination with a design depicting reindeers dashing through the snow, with some hearts and trees dotted around along with ornate bands at the cuffs, base, and collar. You truly embodied a variety of contrasts, an enigma that drew him in.

You hovered for a moment, deep in thought as you spun the angel with your fingers, letting a sigh escape you as you hung it on a not yet overloaded part of the tree.

“What’s up?” Hongjoong was curious, seeing that the little toy had evoked a new emotion in you.

“Just remembered how when I was a kid, I loved to make snow angels. Like, really loved it. Did not care how deep the snow was, just let me lie in it and I was happy.” You recounted fondly while Hongjoong turned his shoulders to completely face you. Standing closer than friends should be.

“Let’s do it, then.” He was feeling courageous, wanting to repay you for your flirtations on the train ride to the cottage. You laughed, lightly tapping his shoulder.

“I think I am too old to do that sober now, need a bit more Dutch courage to go hop in a snowdrift.”

“I’ll make sure to give you a big mug of mulled wine then, angel.” He informed; his expression rather coy. You liked this kind of Hongjoong. Not wanting to drop the tension, you took the tiniest step forward, and murmured, low and slow:

“You go down with me, darling.”

Before Hongjoong could respond to your concealed provocation, a yell from an incredibly vexed Seonghwa near deafened you.

“WHO THE FUCK TURNED ELF ON THE SHELF INTO A STRIPPER? I SWEAR WOO IF IT WAS YOU, I WILL REARRANGE YOU LIKE A LEGO SET-”

“YOU’LL NEVER CATCH ME ALIVE!”

Now that sounded about right for a domestic, festive scene. You and Hongjoong immediately began to search for the exhibit, finding it at the top of the stairs, where an innocent elf was made to be wrapped around one of the railings in a suggestive pose, and when a flash of bright red hair zoomed past you with an ashen blonde ball of anger following right behind, you guffawed, not stopping until your ribs began to hurt.

Poor Seonghwa had yet to find the other elves that were set out in unconventional poses and hidden in random places around the house. You personally had spotted one inside the bathroom cabinet and decided to let it be. Out of sight out of mind. An act commended by San who was tiptoeing out of one of the bedrooms, three more elves dangling from his clenched fist. He had simply given you a nod and placed his free index finger to his lips, which you did too in response, tapping a couple of times to show solidarity.

After the wave of life-or-death tag, and the gathering of the entire group in the living room, with Mingi having finally come down after napping through the majority of the prep, you breezed through setting the table, arranging Secret Santa gifts under the tree by transferring them from a grocery store bag that had been hanging on the office door for a week to avoid anyone having any clues, and then, finally, getting to sit down, take a deep breath, and simply enjoy.

Every bit of this was incredible. The food, the company, heck, even the stripper elf that Seonghwa ended up not having the heart to take down because ‘he did not want to be a Scrooge’. It was obvious that with every passing hour, the buzz was getting to you all, as the chatter was getting louder and louder, the jokes more and more ridiculous, and the questions more and more personal.

You were amidst an animated conversation with Yeosang about wanting to try snowboarding sometime and planning an imaginary trip to some mountain range far away when you were suddenly called for by Wooyoung, who was sitting at the far end of the table from you.

“Hey, Y/N,” he slurred a little, having been ‘taste-testing’ the spiced brew since before dinner, “are you dating anyone?” Yeosang grimaced, mouthing a ‘good luck’ to you, knowing that once Wooyoung entered his relationship talk state, he was near unstoppable unless some extreme topic change was made.

“Bro your boyfriend is sitting right next to you, and no thank you I don’t want a threesome.” You quipped, inducing a ripple of chuckles across the group. But Wooyoung would not let up, even though San was repeatedly nudging him under the table.

“Nooo… you know what I mean. Just generally. Like, do you have a designated mistletoe partner?” you did not like where this was going. Not one bit. Hongjoong, who was sitting on the other side of the table, right in front of you, visibly tensed, alarm bells ringing in his head.

“Uh, not at the moment.” You could not exactly lie, nor did you want to, seeing as the person you would not mind taking that role was right there, and for some reason looked oddly fearful.

“Great!” He exclaimed, and in a matter of seconds was standing on his chair, bending over the entire table, holding a mistletoe branch… over the table and not so discreetly changing its angle from you to Hongjoong, and back again.

You locked gazes. Panic rose in your throat. You did not enjoy this feeling; control being taken away from you, your friend toppling you over and shining a spotlight on you. And now a metaphorical knife was being wedged into your heart from having to witness what you perceived to be as total unwillingness in Hongjoong’s every fibre. Did you want this? Yes. Like this? Hell no.

Seconds passed like hours of torture, and each sound seemed to have amplified thousand-fold in volume. Lost, you were unable to decide your next course of action. Logic, your go-to for any situation, had failed. Emotions were a wreck. Oh, how you wanted this to stop. Anything you had hoped for until this moment shattered before you, scattering agonising pieces in all directions.

Was this his chance? It must be. Had he been sitting next to you, the space would have been no more in an instant. But the separation, once again that damn barrier, now also in physical form was preventing him from following through with what he wanted to express. This did not mean that he did not think Wooyoung had pulled a dick move, especially towards you, but Hongjoong had imagined what it would be like kissing you under the mistletoe. Wishful thinking, it seemed. All he could read across the table was discontent, and the recoil unlike that of a cat’s. He was running out of the time that he had wanted to give you.

Before either of you could do anything, Wooyoung gave out a yelp and almost toppled onto the remnants of dinner, saved only by a very quick to react San, who wrapped his arms around the slipping legs and weighed them down. Everyone was quick to turn their heads to the culprit – Jongho who was sitting unperturbed, arms crossed over his chest. Yeosang had been the saving grace, whispering for the youngest to figure something out in ‘Jongho style’. So, taking one of the apples from the fruit bowl, he took aim and hurled it with all his might where the sun did not shine.

“My bad bro, I hit the wrong head.”

Wooyoung was doubled over, and the mistletoe was lying all but forgotten among the randomly arranged side dishes. Seonghwa was failing to stifle a satisfied laugh, while Mingi was quite literally gasping for air, hiding his face in the tablecloth as Yunho was rubbing his back, a grin on his face. You let out a breath you did not know you were holding, and you absent-mindedly picked at your sweater.

“Right!” Hongjoong clapped to get everybody’s attention, wishing for nothing more than to move on from this ordeal. “How about before we get too drunk, we do the gift exchange, yeah? And DJ-Mingi, blast the tunes a little louder, it’s Christmas after all.” He pointed at the taller male, who was currently wiping tears from his eyes, still breathing heavy from the fit of giggles.

“Aye aye, captain!” he saluted and in a couple of strides was at the Bluetooth speakers, which now began blasting Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree.

As everyone got up and headed to the huge u-shaped sofa, something stopped you. Mystified, you noticed that the mistletoe branch was gone.

The incident was brushed over soon enough, and the group was now losing their minds over each other’s gifts. This year, there was a very interesting mix of both humour gifts and genuinely meaningful statements, but that was to be expected from a Secret Santa where one of the rules was to ‘go ham’.

Yeosang wiped his forehead in mock relief as he was safe from torment: he received a giftcard to his favourite fried chicken delivery place and a t-shape tool for his skateboard – an ode to his most popular complaint being that the wheels did not feel right, or he swore he had to replace something. Yunho wasn’t quite so lucky, on the other hand, having received a tub of Vaseline with a printed note taped onto it that read ‘for the times that your supervisor fucks you over’ – it was a known fact that his supervisor, an elderly and angry man in his sixties, was notoriously hard to impress, and at this point probably made Yunho lose too many nerve cells.

You were Seonghwa’s Santa this year and tried your best not to show your delight at him basically bouncing on the sofa as he unwrapped the set of holiday-themed lint rollers that you had bought. Then, it was your turn and your friends followed your movements as you searched under the Christmas tree to pick out the gift with your name. Sitting back down on the couch, you spun it in your hands. The container was two centimetres thick and square in shape, leaving you perplexed as to what was behind the wrapping. You initially thought it could be an album by an artist you had been raving about recently but had to delete that from your mind considering it would be way over budget. You peeled away the washi tape that was holding the paper together to be met by a wooden box.

Turning it the right way around, you lifted the lid, and gasped. Inside was a necklace – a thin thread-like gold chain, and on it an intricate pendant – a tiny clock, its hands frozen on eight thirty. You were overwhelmed, but from your lips rolled out one word of gratitude after another. You ignored a now tipsy Mingi booing and calling out that it was probably over budget. Maybe you would have agreed seeing as that was technically a rule but shit, you were over the moon. You flipped the pendant around and spotted a message engraved into the back, so small that it was barely there – only for you to cherish and hold close to your heart.

Forever is composed of nows.

Emily Dickinson, you note. A poem you had quoted, time and time again. But not to just any audience. You look up, cautious. The gift unwrapping had moved on, with Jongho currently being the centre of attention, so you use the chance to seek out the one who you were sure was your Secret Santa. And sure enough, his attention was already on you. As you had wished so many times. Kim Hongjoong. Your Christmas.

He was praying that you would like the present. To the point of mumbling to himself and flittering his fingers over the throw on top of which he was seated. The idea had come to him when he had to stay late in the office, waiting for a response from his supervisor, who he had no idea had already left for the night. As minutes turned into an hour, and the only sound in the room was the ticking of the clock, with the outdoor noise having been absorbed by yet another snowfall, the pieces came together.

This quote encapsulated you both. On the one hand, you enjoyed it because the notion of ‘now’ being the way to shape the intangible future motivated you to remain organised, diligent, and focused on a specific path. On the other hand, he respected it for the interpretation that this forever had so many parts that it was crucial to not waste them on fixation and if they were to be captured, it was through the lenses of his beloved cameras. This collection of five words stuck a balance between Hongjoong and yourself, and explained that maybe, you were not quite so different after all.

The rest of the guys were tidying up the wrapping paper and some headed to the kitchen to carry the pot of mulled wine and the saucer, along with a champagne bottle Yeosang had produced out of the blue. You and Hongjoong let this particular ‘now’ continue for a little longer, knowing smiles on your faces, and the previous awkwardness over dinner erased. As you held onto the open box containing the invaluable message, you sauntered over to him.

“Thank you.”

He bit his lip as he lifted his head.

“May I?”

“Yes please.”

You turned and exposed your neck to him, moving your luscious hair to the side. Again, those black patchouli base notes that filled his head with only you. Hongjoong could finally pinpoint the rest of the bouquet, having recalled his housemate explaining the terminology after he had splurged on a luxury cologne and was trying to explain himself. He reached to take the necklace from the box, and not so accidentally caressed the sensitive skin as he clasped the lock. You explained that you wanted to see how it looked, so the two of you made a beeline for the full-length mirror at the entrance into the cottage.

You were inspecting the necklace in the mirror, still in shock at how it spoke volumes, nearing an inexplicable divinity. His body moving on its own accord, Hongjoong, who was standing behind you, gently placed his hands on your hips, and breath hot against your ear, complimented:

“I knew it would look brilliant on you.”

Your attention drifted back to Hongjoong, locking gazes with him through the mirror. He was all smiles, but for a split second you spotted something much more passionate. Intrigued, you wanted to test how far you could go before the man would snap. You were never one to back down from a game like this.

“Thank you, though I don’t think these clothes do it justice.”

“Hm?” you felt his grip tighten just a little, as his eyes shifted to your necklace once more.

“You know, maybe without them it would look even better, don’t you think?”

And there it was. The darkness only you could lure out from deep within him. A distant howl turned into a thunder, rolling across his body in waves. A man ready to do anything to drown in the turbulent river that had tantalised him for so long. A man lost in the silent night, at the beck and call of your voice that haunted him wherever he went. Hongjoong let out a shaky breath, his chest almost flush against your back as he held his head over your shoulder, level and mirroring yours.

“Do you know what you do to me?”

You smirked. He was still so heedful of you, navigating your ever-changing maze ever so slowly. But now, unlike before, you had a guarantee that the Hongjoong you had deemed to be attentive to everyone was, in fact, at your feet. You could finally read how he behaved around you. The adorable shyness, the inability to be alone with you for too long… it all made sense. Cute, precious Hongjoong. It was probably not the best conclusion to come to, but you felt powerful. Until the young man suddenly gripped your waist and spun you around, pulling you towards him until his face was so close you could count his beautiful lashes, study the intricate patterns of his irises, clouded over with emotion he had never revealed before, enticing you. He pressed his forehead against yours, eyes half-lidded and lips wet with his saliva.

“I’ll repeat myself, angel. Do you know what you do to me?” the pet name that had stuck with him since when you had decorated the Christmas tree slipped out, making you exhale sharply. You were enjoying this. Boy was getting braver.

You shifted the dynamic once more as you raised the hand that was not loosely holding the box and cupped Hongjoong’s chin, feeling him gulp at your boldness. You pulled away from him slightly, but only to observe as you traced his bottom lip with your thumb. It was so easy to make him melt once, after all these years, you appeared to have figured out the chemistry of Hongjoong. He shuddered under your touch, one hand drifting down back to your hip, attempting to press you against him, which you deny with a teasing poke of the box square in his chest.

“I can make an educated guess, darling.” Two could play the game as you enunciated the words so that each one fuelled his desire. Your index finger trailed under his chin, terminating the sensation with an instantaneous flick.

He groaned, desperate to end this push and pull once and for all, when you completely freed yourself while his mind was still enchanted. You had heard the others, still in the living room, getting louder, with someone loudly asking where you went. As if nothing at all had happened, you gave Hongjoong a lopsided grin and pointed at the doorway, informing him that everyone was waiting. Like hell they were, probably took notice of the absence at random and would have forgotten it then and there. As you ambled away, he bent over, stretching to try easing the unbearable tension under which he had been, thanks to you. Once more, he looked in the mirror, running a hand through his hair a couple of times, and yet the only thing he could see was your reflection.

Much of the rest of the night was dedicated to letting completely loose. Just like that night last year, you were purposefully oblivious to him tracking your every move. Paid no mind to just how attractive you looked, dancing to the pulsating beat of a song by The Weeknd that someone decided to put on. Evidently, champagne had started pouring. The night was turning into a blur for Hongjoong, as he struggled to process his actions. He had to plan something. And that something had to happen sooner rather than later.

He chose to slink away from the room right when now a very drunk San, Wooyoung and Seonghwa were recreating the infamous dance from Mean Girls to Jingle Bell Rock, laughter roaring in his ears and with his departure he finally managed to get you to turn and face him. He beckoned you to come to him with a wave of a hand, and turned to exit into the entrance.

When you followed and joined him, you found he was in the process of zipping up his winter jacket, having already tugged on all the woollen accessories.

“Where are you going? Stuff is wild in there.” You approached him to try and take his hat off, but he sidestepped towards the front door and silently motioned for you to dress up as well. Confused, but too interested to see the outcome of this bewildering proposal, you agreed.

When you signalled that you were ready by giving Hongjoong a double thumbs up, he grabbed the keys from a nearby counter and opened the door letting a chilly breeze hit you. You swore your mind was going through a thousand calculations a picosecond as you were trying to figure out the intentions of the man in front of you. This Christmas was definitely not like any other. As he walked further and further away from the cottage, until the lights emanating from the décor and from within did not hit the snow and you were hidden away from sight by a couple of evergreens, you repeated the quote that was now above your chest to yourself, letting go and trusting the man who was leading you into the landscape.

He stopped, waited until you caught up to him and were standing right next to him. And then, fell right on his back. You squealed in terror, assuming the worst. You peered at him, but were met with a very happy Hongjoong, who spread his limbs into a star shape, and began to wave them around. When you did not move, he stopped and shouted out, disappointment laced through his words.

“Y/N, didn’t you say you were a pro at making snow angels? Show me what you got.”

And just like that, you were also in the snow, giggling like the child you had been when you had done this last. Flailing around, kicking bits up in the air only for it to fall on you or him. You relished in the sensation, since it reminded you of something you had intentionally been repressing for the majority of your life – the ability to enjoy yourself freely, experience things that were not planned ahead and treating your existence as an ongoing work of art.

You were knocked out of your reveries with a snowball landing smack on your nose. You had not realised that Hongjoong had already gotten up and was aiming for another shot. It was on. You skillfully rolled away as he threw the winter weapon, picking up your own ammo as you did so. Once you were on your back again, the snowball was ready, and you got a clean headshot, having aimed for the sowed-on tag on his hat. As he was brushing snowflakes out of his eyes, you rose to your feet, hopping away and throwing two more roughly shaped ones. The game did not continue for long, though, because as you took some return hits you pounced on him, with the plan of attaining payback for the first snowball.

Both of you toppled on the ground and you laughed triumphantly, your body flat against his, nose to nose. While you were trying to push yourself up and get a grip on the ground to either side of Hongjoong, he pulled something out of the breast pocket of his winter jacket, raised it above the two of you, and pointed at it.

“Would you look at that? Guess we have to do something about it. Got any ideas?”

This man was unbelievable. That was one point on the endless list of why you were smitten.

“So that is where the mistletoe went!” you exclaimed, slowly leaning in.

“And this time I am not letting you go.” His promise sounding gruff, he pulled you in by the collar and finally, your lips collided.

The snow that had fallen from your clothing onto him rapidly melted as you sank deeper into the mutual craving. Starting slow, you got to know one another, keen to map out each sigh. You had fantasised about this for so long that it felt like you were in a feverish daydream. But nothing could compare to the real softness of his lush lips, the irresistible nips at yours and how he snaked under your coat and sweater, the coldness sending you into a frenzy.

As you repositioned yourself to gain more closeness, and as such grinded against him, you heard him hiss. He responded to your motion by pulling you closer and, his lips never leaving yours, tilting your head slightly to beg for entrance. You hummed in approval, mouth opening slightly to allow for his tongue to explore your further. Not letting him enjoy all the fun, you joined in the fight for dominance and savoured his addictive taste.

As you pulled away to catch your breath, Hongjoong looked completely at your mercy. Eyes still shut, panting, flushed and filled with want. He was beyond saving, left only as a vessel to be guided by you. There, illuminated by the moon and stars, you were ethereal. Your every angle and shapely curve was one he wanted to adore and worship. Your form, hovering above him, was nothing short of flawless. At the same time, within, you concealed a lethal sin, but one for which he would fall countless times, and willingly sacrifice himself for good. Your melodic laugh rang out over him.

“We are going to freeze out here-” You stated, unable to finish the thought as Hongjoong pulled you in again, growling against your lip and pushing himself against you. You sighed in pleasure as he dragged your scarf down to reveal your neck and planted rough kisses trailing from your jawline, stopping to claim you midway down. As you leaned over and peppered the side of his face with attention and nibbled his ear, sending a shiver through him, you stopped to purr:

“Though it seems you know a way to warm up.”

“You are a devil in disguise, Y/N.”

“Yours truly.”

“Mine?”

“And so are you.”

“Oh, come here.”

This was the kind of Christmas you were willing to enjoy every time of year. Together with the one who completed you in every way imaginable. From your ambition to his artistry, your tendency for timeliness to his tendency for timelessness.

Whilst you were opposites in some ways, you struck an unparalleled balance that made you stronger together. An enciphered, irreplicable chemistry that spelled ‘forever’.

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staycalmandhugaclone · 1 year

Text

Fever - Tech - Pt 6

If you're new, this all starts with Touch Starved!

Part 6 for Fever.

Febuwhump Day 11

Warnings: TW: symptoms of withdrawal, accidental drug exposure via fungal spores, high fever, reference to vomiting, delirium induced violence, guilt

WC: 4,723

Twenty-nine hours… for another twenty-nine hours, that fever ravaged him. Twenty-nine hours of strangled screams and desperate pleas. Twenty-nine hours of promising him the pain would end; of holding him as his stomach churned, and fighting against violent attempts to flee or fight or rip the IV from his vein. Twenty-nine hours of watching the doubt and sorrow steadily grow in his brothers’ eyes as first Echo and then Hunter took turns working alongside me to keep him safe even as they relentlessly encouraged me to choke down a few bites of rations and sips of water, tried to convince me to sleep but, even during those fleeting moments when I yielded, body settling restlessly atop Crosshair’s borrowed mattress, I found no reprieve as the worry coiled in my gut churned anew from his every cry of pain.

When the room finally fell into a strange quiet, I found myself hesitating; floundering in confusion from that foreign stillness. My eyes cautiously fell over the sleeping form atop my cot, blindly watching his torso swell with deep, unhurried breaths. I barely noticed my hand reach for the scanner, nor the way it shook in my unsteady grasp as I held it over him, vision faltering ceaselessly into unintelligent swirls of color as I struggled to make sense of the readings.

“Doc?” Blinking back some of that disorientation, I swallowed against the dryness cloying my throat, attention briefly flicking to Hunter before returning to the small screen.

“His… his fever broke.” The words sounded strange. Heavy yet somehow hardly there at all. “I need… I need to change the sheets… I don’t – I don’t want him to wake up in dirty sheets.” The scanner was no longer in my hand – I must have set it down as I began reaching for the dark grey fabric.

“Doc.”

“And-and clean blacks-he’ll want… he’ll want clean blacks…” Why was my voice cracking?

“Hey,” He called softly, but I couldn’t bring myself to acknowledge him, focus locked on the task lest something break inside me. “Hey-hey; Doc, look at me.” My entire body bucked as his hand brushed over my shoulder, a tremble stealing over me with such a sudden violence, I couldn’t begin to form a response before he gently pulled me to face him, and the worry in those umber eyes only fueled my growing distress.

“Okay,” The word sighed from him with a deep understanding that left what façade of control I’d clung to crumbling as tears pooled atop my eyes. Body deflating in a slow breath, his arms slid around me, holding me just enough to ease me against him. I tried to force out some words of dismissal, tried to prove that I was fine even as my shoulders jerked with each shattered gasp, mouth twisting into a scowl beneath the effort to restrain them.

“You did good, Doc. He’s alright.” His voice swept through my hair in a quiet rush of heat, sending a shiver blooming down my spine, and instantly I found myself clinging to him, hands clawing into his back, his shoulders, sobs screaming from me with every ounce of fear and exhaustion and relief I’d had to fight back for far too long; the crushing strength of his embrace the only thing keeping me from falling apart entirely.

“Alright,” He murmured against me, “It’s alright, now – you got him through it.” My knees threatened to buckle, but he merely held me tighter. “Shh.” A wave of static sent gooseflesh down my neck, my arms; body curling desperately into him in a moment of pure need, face pressed to his chest as I hid in his embrace. “Shh, just breathe, cyar’ika.” That word… “I’ve got you.” I’d heard it before; I was certain I had, but hearing it in the deep timber of Hunter’s voice left a flush of warmth rippling in its wake.

“Good… just breathe.” The quiet praise fluttered from his lips in a slow sigh, one hand beginning to drag tender circles over my back until I found myself wilting against him, convulsing sobs fading to trembling exhales. Still, he held me, broad form sheltering me from the world beyond his touch.

“We’ll get him comfortable; okay?” He continued in a gentle promise, shifting just enough to let his lips whisper atop my brow as he spoke. “Get him in fresh blacks, clean him up a bit; change the sheets,” I could hear the small smile in his voice, “But I want you to get out of here for a couple minutes – hit the fresher and find something to eat; get some sleep if you can.” Before I’d managed more than the beginnings of an objection, he added in that same quiet, “We’ll stay with him – take my bunk.” His cheek slid against my brow, hand abandoning that soothing movement to settle warmly over my jaw as he tilted my head up to let him touch his forehead softly against mine.

“That’s an order. Alright?” The terrible gentleness of his words robbed them of even a whisper of command, rendering it into a quiet plea that I couldn’t bring myself to fight, and I felt his relief ease the tension from those broad shoulders as I gave a small nod. “Alright.” He held me a while longer, until tremors no longer seized through me with each unsteady breath and the tears had long since dried from my cheeks before finally guiding me across the room, arm wrapped firmly around my lower back to steady me.

Echo and Wrecker stood waiting just beyond the medbay door, and I vaguely noticed Crosshair perched around the corner to the bunk room. It felt strange to finally step out of that room, and I found myself floundering a moment, unsure how to exist in a reality free of the constant need to stand watch of the man now soundly sleeping behind me.

“He’s…” I started, but my voice faltered, jaw shifting uncertainly for several seconds before remembering what it was I was trying to say. “His-his fever broke, so…” My eyes slid shut, willing myself to truly understand the words coming out of my own mouth, “He… he should… wake up soon.” A hum caught in my throat. I didn’t notice my legs waver until Hunter’s arm tightened sharply around me to keep me from falling.

“Echo.” At the quiet call, the arc quickly moved to ease me against him. I felt myself blink, mind belatedly understanding what was happening, and a sound broke over my lips that was meant to be some dismissal or reassurance or at the very least, something coherent, but the nearly choked grunt fell painfully short.

“Come on, Doc; mind if I hold on to you for a bit?” My gaze wondered blindly to find the brilliant gold of his eyes, jaw shifting only briefly before yielding beneath that terrible exhaustion and, with a heavy sigh, merely let myself melt into his touch. Some distant whisper of logic noted the footsteps treading past us as Wrecker and Crosshair joined Hunter in the medbay, but it took all of my focus to follow Echo’s slow movements as he carefully guided me away.

“Maybe you should get some rest, first.” He offered gently, pausing beside Hunter’s bunk, but I was already shaking my head, eager to rid myself of the sick and sweat and dread clinging to my skin. “Doc, you’re barely standing.” He pressed, barely whispering the words even as his hold tightened around me. Drawing a deep breath, I strained to drag myself back to proper awareness.

“M… I’m fine.” Still, the short words left in a mumble, but I managed to press myself forward, legs just steady enough to steal that first step before Echo quickly moved to stay with me.

“Okay-okay.” He murmured, shifting to hold more of my weight at the first hint of a tremble threatening my stride. I barely noticed the deep worry creasing between his brows as he reluctantly let me step away from him through the refresher doors; barely noticed the effort of peeling the fabric from my aching body or the unnerving sensation of the sonic pulsing mercilessly around me until my bones throbbed, but I was relieved to find a clean set of blacks awaiting me atop the counter once I was done.

It wasn’t until I pulled the top over my head, noted the several inches of excess length in the sleeves that I realized they weren’t mine. Crosshair. His scent just lingered in the dark fabric. I didn’t bother rolling the access fabric about my wrists and ankles, too weary to do more than bunch the material high enough up my calves to prevent me from tripping as my feet dragged beneath me to the door.

Echo was already there, pulling me back against him the instant his eyes found mine. I think I was already beginning to fade during the short walk to the bunk room, body sagging heavily against him, eyes refusing to open for several seconds between each tedious blink. Some gentle murmur danced around me, but the only thing that mattered was the comforting embrace of the bed rising up to meet me, the collection of scents surrounding me, the relief that I could finally sleep.

There was a fleeting moment of frustrated denial, of wanting to pointedly ignore the sound of my name floating through the darkness despite the little thrill that always accompanied hearing it whispered in the gentle voice, in knowing the gruffness so innate to his speech as he addressed his brothers always quelled into a tender murmur when he spoke to me. Still, the exhaustion pressing me mercilessly into the blissful warmth of a bed I knew wasn’t mine left me reluctant to abandon the comfort of sleep, not until he pressed in that same tender whisper.

“Tech’s waking up.” Chest jerking in a small gasp, my eyes instantly flew open, needing mere seconds to focus on Echo’s face; to note the small smile on his lips and feel a rush of relief wash over me in its wake. There was no urgency in his stance, no danger or cause for panic. “Thought you might like to be there.” I answered with a weary but earnest smile of my own, nodding as I forced myself to leave the bed. The supportive touch of Echo’s hand slipping over my lower back was unnecessary but felt right, and I found myself leaning gratefully into him.

“How long was I out?” I asked, voice thick with sleep.

“A good five hours.” He nearly praised, and I scoffed.

“One of these days, I’m going to force you all to redefine what ‘a good amount of sleep’ is.” I grumbled, but the laughter was clear in my words, and he let out a quiet chuckle, thumb absently brushing atop my spine.

As we entered the medbay, I nearly laughed anew at the intensity with which the others were studying the peacefully sleeping form nestled on my cot. Crosshair’s mattress was gone, and they managed to move both my mattress and Tech back to the bedframe protruding from the center of the far wall. Wrecker hovered protectively just bedside the bed, hand resting atop his brother’s shoulder, while Hunter leaned against the counter near them.

Crosshair, however, was tucked into the very corner, perfectly still beyond that little sliver of wood spinning absently between his lips as his teeth ground beneath nerves still raw from the chaos of the past few days. Even that tiny movement paused the instant his attention shifted, expression frozen in that same mask of suppressed tension, but something about the way he looked at me left me hesitating for just a moment, painfully aware of the way his gaze took in the entirety of my form still clad in his blacks with the briefest flick of those piercing eyes.

My brow hitched in a silent question, almost challenging him to voice whatever little quip might have sprung to mind in that fleeting look, but I didn’t wait for him to respond before continuing toward the bed.

“Breathe, guys.” The little tease escaped in a quiet chuckle. “If he wakes up to you all staring at him like this, I wouldn’t blame him if he panicked again.” Hunter’s jaw shifted stiffly a moment before he forced a deep breath in to his lungs, letting his stance loosen with the slow exhale.

“I know,” Wrecker mumbled guiltily, “We’re jus’ worried about him, is all.” I offered him a warm grin, hand sliding over his arm a moment before automatically reaching for my scanner. Echo didn’t follow me into the room, instead turning to approach the sniper. Crosshair’s eyes snapped to mine for barely a breath longer before turning his attention to the arc, head tilting slightly so I could only just see his lips shift around words too quiet for me to hear.

“Everything looks good.” I assured them as a list of vitals began dancing across the screen. Tech’s lashes fluttered slightly as I spoke, and I instantly felt my expression soften. Leaning down slightly, I let my hand sweep tenderly through his hair, treasuring the softness of curls now clean of sweat from that blistering fever and, allowed to dry naturally, had puffed out into a luscious mess. His torso swelled beneath a leisurely breath, eyes slowly cracking open.

“Hey Tech.” I murmured, willing a gentle warmth into every syllable. He stared dumbly toward me for a long moment, body lingering in that blissfully laxed trance as his mind slowly took in the stillness around us. Finally, those eyes widened, struck by a sudden realization, and, breath fleeing him in a trembling huff, closed amidst the violent flood of relief. Void of strength or shame, he didn’t fight the quiet sobs, tears falling unhindered into the pillow.

Wrecker’s fingers tightened around his arm, thumb tracing small circles atop the dark fabric. A moment later, Hunter moved to join us, silently reaching forward to grasp one of Tech’s hands in his, followed by Echo settling his hand atop his brother’s side. I was surprised to hear the door open behind us and glanced back just in time to see Crosshair vanish into the hall, heart sinking in confusion and disappointment, but, when he returned with Tech’s goggles I found myself beaming at him.

I was just finishing my report when slow footsteps trudged into the kitchenette. Tech still had a blanket draped about his shoulders, eyes half-lidded behind the familiar orange lenses of his goggles, but I was elated to see him finally well enough to walk on his own.

“Good morning.” I greeted warmly as he lowered himself heavily into the seat across from me and couldn’t help but laugh softly at the confusion that instantly pulled at his gaze.

“Per standard operating procedure during lightspeed travel, it’s currently…” He let the words fade at the sight of my teasing grin. “Ah, yes…” He relented, offering a wisp of a smile in return.

“Think you can handle a smoothie?” I offered, already pushing myself to my feet.

“Yes, that would be…” There was an air of distraction in his almost mumbled reply, “Yes; thank you.” I quickly prepared the drink before letting myself sink into the chair beside him.

“You okay, Tech?” I let the smile slip from my lips as I set the cup down before him. He started to answer, paused, and drew a deep breath before trying again, gaze locked pointedly on the absently dance of his finger atop the dinged metal of the table.

“After I was… exposed,” He finally managed to force the words out despite the nervous shifting of his jaw, “Wrecker has informed me that it was you who, well, carried me back… Is that correct?”

“Oh.” The sound of surprise escaped me before I could begin to restrain it. “Um, well… yeah for a while, at least. I think we were probably only halfway to the Marauder when Wrecker caught up with us, and he took you from there, but,” I gave a small shrug, “before that, Echo needed to provide cover fire, and I’d already given you something to start neutralizing the spores, so…” I let the words fall away, unsure why he’d bothered asking.

“That is… impressive.” He admitted, and I could see the deep flush creep through his cheeks. My face instantly pulled into a wide grin.

“Yeah?” I chirped, catching my lower lip between my teeth as I beamed at him. “What? Didn’t think little ol’ me could haul you around?” I teased, gently bumping my shoulder against his.

“Well… no, I didn’t.” He admitted, blush deepening, which only served to fuel my glee. He cleared his throat and reached for his datapad. “Here, I believe this is of interest to you.” He said quickly, eager to change the subject. I let my attention shift to the screen as he began to drink. Lyrics. I stared almost blindly at them for a long moment, mind seemingly incapable of properly reading them in those first few glances.

“Tech… what is this?” I heard the breathlessness in my own voice, fighting vainly not to risk allowing myself to assume, to hope as I turned wide eyes back to him. He seemed struck for a moment, whether from the intensity of my gaze or something else entirely, I couldn’t fathom, but I felt the air catch in my chest as I waited for his answer.

“Well, I thought that was…” He cleared his throat once more and, voice softening, began again, “It is an old folk song. It seems to have originated on Saleucami, but I believe it matches the” Before he could finish, I flung myself toward him, arms locking him against me hard enough to force a small huff from his lips.

“Is this… Tech how did you…” I could barely gasp the half-formed questions, body shaking with glee as I pushed myself away from him to see the shock in his eyes. Nearly hyperventilating, I looked back over the words as though reading them for the first time, and I could hear that soothing melody, felt how the words would dance amidst the notes I’d heard throughout the entirety of my youth.

“Can I- can you send this to me?!” I begged pushing his datapad back toward him.

“Of… of course.” He replied, fingers tapping absently atop the screen, and I eagerly wrenched mine from my hip to open the message the instant it arrived, throat already shifting around the lyrics in a something just below a whisper. A giggle caught in my throat as I turned back to him. He was slightly more prepared for the violence of my second embrace, only just tensing beneath my touch, but, when I pressed my lips to his temple, fingers slipping through his hair in a motion that had become painfully familiar over the past few days, his entire body went stiff.

“This is amazing, Tech.” I breathed the words against him, desperate for him to hear the depth of my sincerity, “You’re amazing… Thank you.” I rested my forehead against him for a moment longer before turning away, hand darting out to snatch my datapad as I started from the room in a rush, eager to toy with the newly revealed knowledge in the semi-privacy of the medbay.

“Um,” I froze as he carefully grabbed my wrist, gaze turning back to find him staring once more at the worn table, that anxiety again leaving him tense. I waited in silence as he struggled over the stiffness suddenly lodging in his throat. “I… I fear I also owe you an apology.” As though only just realizing he’d reached for me, he quickly pulled away with something like shame stealing over him.

“What? You don’t…” The way he glared as his fidgeting hands was enough to grant me a dreaded understanding. “Oh… oh, Tech, I hoped you wouldn’t remember that.” I sighed quietly, returning to the seat beside him. His jaw shifted but closed without offering a response. “Hey,” I called, hands sliding over his, and the absent movements of his fingers instantly stilled. “Tech, look at me.” The quiet plea only fueled his guilt as he pointedly lowered his gaze to the flooring beneath us.

I found myself reaching for him once more, but this time with a gentleness as my fingertips slid softly over the clenched muscles balled beneath his cheeks. Releasing a deep breath, I moved to stand near enough to rest my chin atop his head, touch easing him toward me in a soft invitation. He didn’t fight me, merely allowed me to hide him against my chest, thumb brushing lightly over his cheekbone as my other arm wrapped firmly around his shoulders.

“I know you know none of that was your fault.” I murmured through a soft smile, “You know exactly what happens to cognitive function with all those chemical imbalances, and I hope you now that I know it, too.” There was teasing lilt in my voice as I murmured the gentle reminders against him, head shifting to let my lips dance against the mess of curls still in a hopeless disarray from the his bedrest.

“I acknowledge that my emotional response is not driven by logic,” he admitted in something of a mumble, “but that knowledge has offered little relief. I… I nearly killed you.” He barely whispered the words, body shrinking against me, and I had to take a slow breath to reign in my own emotions.

“I’m sorry.” He startled as the apology fell from me in a tense plea, so taken aback, he finally allowed himself to look toward me. “Tech, I know what that kind of delirium can drive people to do. I should have taken precautions. That’s on me.” I stated firmly, “Not you.” I watched the beginnings of an objection form over his tongue, but he let that initial response die as his gaze fell to the skin below my eyes for any lingering discoloration.

“And this?” he asked, fingers pausing barely a breath from my nose. I scrunched it up in a hapless smile, delighted to see the gesture ease at least a touch of that guilt.

“Like I told Hunter: occupational hazard.” Before he could stop himself, his eyes rolled at the dismissive reply, and I let out a quiet laugh. With a final sigh, I pulled him back against me. He hesitated, but, slowly, let his hand sweep up my back, shoulders finally beginning to loosen.

In the day and a half it took to finally reach Kamino, Tech made gradual improvements. He still struggled to merely tread the length of the ship alone, but he was well enough to insist upon returning to his post in the cockpit despite my objections. The instant he settled into that familiar chair, however, the burst of comfort it brought him quieted my lingering concerns.

As we landed, Wrecker automatically moved to his brother’s side, arm locking the still unsteady man against him as they started toward our barracks while the rest of us gathered what few crates of supplies needed to be hauled out of the Marauder for restocking.

“CT-9902, you are to report to medical bay 7M.” I was moving the instant I heard that unnervingly melodic voice; could already feel my heart flooding my veins with adrenaline as rage sent sparks rippling down my fingers. Two lanky figures stood between us and the route to our barracks. One seemed more interested in their datapad than the man they were speaking to, while the other addressed Tech directly, and I could see the discomfort and hesitation growing in Wrecker’s expression, gaze flicking between his brother and the scientists before him.

“Oh kriff.” Hunter’s low curse flitted just beyond my awareness, attention locked on the Kaminoan reaching toward Tech’s shoulder. Lips wrenched back in a feral scowl, I threw myself between them.

“Don’t touch him.” The threat in my snarled words was unmistakable, and it left a suffocating silence in its wake that I found myself pointedly oblivious to. “Any questions regarding these men can be directed to me. Any procedure requests or additional testing will be approved and performed by me.” My knuckles cracked beneath taut muscles locking them into fists. The Kaminoans shared a hesitant glance before turning back to me with that air of superiority, and I instantly felt my shoulders draw back, head tilting slightly as my legs tensed.

“Try it.” I dared, willing them to test me if only to feign some illusioned permission to retaliate.

“I’m afraid CT-9902 is needed elsewhere.” My head snapped up at the familiar voice, surprised to see Shaak Ti gliding nonchalantly toward us. “I believe his medic has already provided a detailed report and has proven her capabilities in treating the exposure.” Her voice sang softly from lips held in an easy smile. “Please pass my apologies on to Nala Se, but I must insist on addressing Republican matters first.” The one with the datapad read over something for a brief moment, long fingers floating atop the screen before looking back to the Master Jedi.

“Very well.” They hummed, but I could hear the discontent in their voice before both turned and tread back through the hanger. Shaak Ti watched them a moment before turning toward me, brow hitched in a tiny smirk.

“Thank you, General.” I murmured, straining to force back some of the tension still coursing through my body.

“Such animosity will not award you any favors among the Kaminoans.” She warned in something just shy of teasing, but I couldn’t bring myself to feign even a whisper of that mirth.

“I couldn’t give two kriffs about earning their favor.” I spat, glare shifting to follow the retreating forms just as they vanished into the endless halls. The look of sympathetic understanding on her face threatened to send a blush up my neck despite how my teeth ground against it.

“I agree that some of their methods… aren’t ones I would prefer.” She relented, “But there is a need for diplomacy between us if a balance between our beliefs is to be reached.” I said nothing, unable to bring myself to yield in light of the memory of Tech’s desperate fears, and I didn’t doubt how effortlessly the woman before me could sense that as those dark eyes studied mine. She released a slow breath, the quiet of that simple act infecting me in a way I was hesitant not to call intentional.

“Given the… unique nature of this squad, I do not believe it would be wholly unreasonable to appoint a single individual to oversee the entirety of their care.” My eyes widened slightly, hope just beginning to ease the rage still coiling through my chest. “I will speak with the Kaminoans on your behalf, but you must earn this title by proving you can conduct yourself in a manner worthy of such a position.” She pressed, brow raising slightly. Drawing a deep breath, I stood tall before her, shoulders squared.

“Yes, General.” I replied formally, fighting back the relief and gratitude vibrating through me. She bowed her head slightly as she moved a hand to rest warmly atop my shoulder.

“Thank you for taking care of them.” She whispered those parting words with a knowing smirk before turning and, with the same unhurried grace, returned to the troupe she’d surely been speaking with moments before. The instant she was out of sight, my shoulders sank beneath a shuttered sigh.

After granting myself mere seconds to breathe, I turned back to find the others watching me with something near enough to shock to leave me frozen. It took a moment to gather myself, to think over the risky display of obstinance that had left them so taken aback, the stroke of pure luck in Shaak Ti’s presence that had saved me, and I knew I’d have done the same a thousand times over to keep Tech away from the Kaminoan labs.

“I keep my promises.” I explained simply and, without waiting for them to reply, moved to Tech’s side, arm automatically slipping around his waist to offer what support I could to help him to our room.

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renwyvernsims · 1 month

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Prev / Next

Night had fallen over Strangerville, and in the desert crater, Grian and Pearl had snuck through the fence surrounding the laboratory, creeping their way to one of the back doors.

As Grian began picking at the lock, Pearl watched with an amused expression. "Since when did you make a habit of breaking into top secret government buildings?"

"Ah, well." Grian rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly. "In my defense, I was with Martyn last time, and he did the breaking in, thank you."

"And you guys didn't think to invite me?"

"In my defense, you were sort of... not acting like yourself?"

Pearl snorted. "I mean, that could happen any time. You never know, it could happen right... now!"

There was a pause as Grian glanced back at his sister. A second passed. And then another.

Of course, nothing happened.

Seeing the half-nervous, expectant look on Grian's face, Pearl burst into giggles. "Come on, I said it could happen. I didn't say it was gonna!"

"Who says I was expecting anything to happen?" he retorted, unconvincingly.

"Excuse me, mister!" Pearl jabbed a finger at him. "You were looking at me like you thought I was gonna go all weird and plant-y again!"

"I don't know what you're talking about," Grian lied. "And oh, would you look at that, the door's open!"

Inside, Pearl wrinkled her nose seeing the papers and files strewn across the floor. "Yeesh... I know these guys were probably in a hurry, but would it have killed them to have tidied things up before they left?"

"I think cleaning was the last thing on their minds," Grian commented. "Why, do you wanna clean up after them?"

"Hah! Fat chance, cleaning up after you's bad enough!" She rolled her eyes.

"Oh come on, I'm not that bad!" Grian complained. Pearl just raised her eyebrow at him, as if to say really?

The argument over the cleanliness of the lab versus Grian's room didn't last long as they reached the sealed door.

"Looks like we're gonna need a keycard for this one," Pearl noted.

"Well, luckily for us, I happen to have one." He slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out the card that Myla had slipped him the other day.

Pearl gaped in surprise. "Now, how'd you get ahold of something like that?"

"Oh, you know," Grian hummed as he approached the scanner. "I made some friends who let me borrow it."

"I see." Pearl crossed her arms. "And are you gonna introduce me to these 'friends' of yours?"

"Uh, well, I dunno." He shrugged noncommittally. "Maybe? Maybe not?"

"Seriously?" Pearl frowned at her brother. "And here I thought we said we were done with secrets-"

The scanner chirped, and Grian interrupted her with a gasp. "We're in!" The grin on his face faded, however, as the doors opened with a hiss of air, and pinkish-violet particles flew out into the air. "Uh... That's fine, right?"

Pearl opened her mouth to answer, when a crash and a pained hiss echoed from the corridor opposite to the one she and Grian had entered through. "No time to worry about that, let's get out of here before we get caught!"

She tugged on Grian's arm, but he resisted "Wait, we don't even know what's down there yet!"

"Fine, we'll hide, but we can't stay here or we're gonna get caught!"

#sims 4 story #sims 4 screenshots #mcyt #mcyt sims #grian #pearlescentmoon #yessss this story is back!#sort of #i'm planning on reworking some of the stuff i'd already taken screenshots for #and reworking some of the story elements i had planned #but its all good #i think i removed the traits mod i'd been using for these guys too though #so i gotta redo their traits

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quinncupine · 2 days

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Obscured Chapter 17: A Little Help From A Wingman

Relationship: Izuku Midoriya X Reader

Word Count: ~4,000

Previous Chapter: Sixteen

Next Chapter: Eighteen

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Summary: Another installment, slowly but surely. Trapped at the gala, Izuku is in mortal danger, and no one is having a good time... except the villain.

Each step echoed in the narrow corridor, and you couldn't help the shiver that crawled up your spine as you passed through a cobweb. No one had been down here for a long time, and your mind was screaming that something sinister was lurking in the shadows.

The area under the stage wasn't enormous, so it didn't take you long to find the door leading to the basement hall. As soon as the door creaked open, bright florescent lights invaded your senses, blinding you for a hot second. When your eyes adjusted, you glanced around. He said to go right once you reached the hall. There were only a few doors, mostly operations rooms or janitorial closets. You passed a few before you finally managed to locate it.

The door was already opened, and a foreboding feeling filled your gut. Whatever was in that room, you didn't think you'd like it. But now was not the time to back down. You already involved yourself in this, and if it meant saving Izuku, then you'd do it. Creeping up to the threshold, you peered inside and stifled a gasp.

Slumped in the two chairs were the security officers who were supposed to be in charge of alerting the police if anything bad happened. They were taped stiffly to their chairs with tape slapped across their mouths. The pair looked pretty beaten, and you forgot your panic in favor of making sure they were alive.

A quick check assured you they were still kicking, and with a hard flick, you ripped the tape off their mouths. The taunt written on them was just too cruel, and you thought they should be able to breathe properly, even if they were unconscious.

"Someone will be here to help you soon," you muttered to them as you scanned the room. "Okay, okay, override controls." You scanned the wall until you found a large rectangle. "Bingo."

You pried open the metal case and looked over the controls. There was a pin pad and a finger scanner. You knew the code, but you certainly didn't have fingerprint access…but the guards did.

"Sorry about this," you whispered to the closest one, dragging his chair over. "I just need to borrow this.” Ripping the tape enough to free his arm, you pressed his thumb against the scanner.

The machine beeped and prompted the access code. You input the numbers Phantom had given you. How he knew the code, you weren't quite sure. There was probably a story there you were missing. It couldn't be a coincidence that he managed to stay standing.

And what about the others? You were so focused on making sure Izuku didn't die, you barely had time to consider what happened to the others. A grim possibility flashed through your mind - no, they were probably just out of commission.

You were pulled out of your depressing thoughts as the machine lit up with a few digital buttons. The screen prompted you to swipe the lockdown bar to deactivate the protocol.

"Finally, something goes right," you muttered, swiping down.

A resounding echo as what sounded like heavy metal moved above you. That must've been the security barrier lifting. Help was finally on the way. Now, all you had to do was deal with the villain, and Izuku could get the help he needed.

Two heroes were standing when you left. You had enough confidence in Bakugo to at least not die. That man was in the running for the most stubborn man in the world, right alongside Izuku. If anyone could beat the villain now, you would put your money on him.

"I'll come back for you both, I promise!" you said to the two guards.

Sprinting from the room, you made your way back towards the stage. The basement seemed almost like a labyrinth with a bunch of small hallways branching off in different directions. So your best bet was to come back the way you came.

Once you made it back into the crossover under the stage, you slowed down, breathing hard. You still hadn't recovered from your own ordeal, and those quirk vials seemed to really strain your body. You wouldn't last much longer, either. This was going to end soon, one way or another.

It was probably best to come up behind the stage, in case any villains were waiting for unsuspecting people near the hole. There was a small hatch behind the stage with a ladder. Hauling yourself up the rungs, you had to fight with the rusted door before you managed to force it open. Climbing through, you found yourself backstage in darkness. Multiple curtains blocked most of the light from seeping through, so you had to blindly stumble around until you found the slit to poke your head through.

When you did, your stomach dropped. Bakugo and Phantom were on the stage, nearly facing you. They seemed to be watching something on the big projector screen that had come down in your absence. From your angle, you couldn't quite tell what was playing on the screen, and there was no sound to clue you in. But whatever it was, it was horrifying enough that even Bakugo was cringing, looking more pissed off than you'd seen him in a long time.

Izuku's pained yelp shocked you back into reality. You looked in the direction you'd left him and froze. A cold wave of terror washed over you as you saw him pinned in Ikari's arms as they watched the screen. Ikari seemed to be enjoying whatever it was, but Izuku had fat tears in his eyes, looking shell shocked.

"Stop," he muttered in the silence," please."

Seeing him so vulnerable broke your heart and burned it with a seething fury at whoever would dare hurt him at the same time.

"No," Ikari pulled his hair to make sure he was paying attention. "You are going to watch what you did."

What was on that screen that could affect him so terribly?

"I want everyone to see just what kind of man you are," she leaned in close to him, squeezing his chin in her hand. "I want them to hate you just as much as I do. Smile Deku, the world's watching."

The world? Was she broadcasting this? As you leaned out further to try to see what it was, Bakugo must have caught your movement. His eyes darted in your direction, bright red eyes full of rage and…concern.

"Ah, there you are!" Ikari's voice rang out, startling you.

Your body was suddenly thrust into the air, and you were dragged out from behind the curtains with a shriek. Some invisible force had grabbed you, and judging by Ikari's outstretched hand, it was her doing. You'd felt this quirk before; at Inko's house.

"Y/N!" Both Izuku and Bakugo cried out as you were whipped through the air only to smash into the floor a few feet from Ikari and Izuku.

"Glad you could finally join us. Didn't want you to miss the movie." She lifted her hand, and you rose into the air, arms clamped on your side. "The camera work is a little shotty, but I think it gets the point across, don’t you think?"

She held a tight invisible grip on you as you twisted in the air, in full view of the screen. Any defiant words were lost in your throat as you saw what was playing.

It was the American subway station.

The one that still gave you nightmares. Izuku had you pinned on the railway, squeezing the life out of you. That memory was still too fresh, too raw in your mind. The scene flashed over and over again in your mind and your breathing picked up until it felt like you were reliving it, throat closing in your panicked mindset.

"Stop!" Izuku wriggled his head desperately, though the rest of his body stayed frozen. "I said hurt me, just me! Please, stop!"

"You know, Deku," Ikari slapped a hand over his mouth, muffling his cries, "I had years to think of the perfect plan. I had thought of so many ways to hurt you. But you know what I realized? The best way to hurt you was to hurt the things you loved the most and have you live with the consequences. After all, that's what you did to me."

She squeezed her empty hand and that invisible force tightened, constricting your already hysterical breathing. You groaned, struggling to do something to alleviate the pressure.

Izuku's muffled screams filled the air, eyes flashing dangerously up at Ikari.

"But before I did that, I wanted to ruin your reputation." She dropped you the ground with a heavy thump.

You rolled onto your side, curling in on yourself as you fought for breath that didn't come in fast enough.

"Stop!" you growled, still greedily sucking down air. "That's enough."

Ikari gave you an amused smirk. "Is it? And what can a quirkless nobody do to stop me?"

"I may be quirkless, but that won't ever stop me from helping the people I love."

"I think you spent too much time with this failure. You're starting to sound like him." She yanked his curls back and he flinched.

Steadying your hands beneath you, you slowly pushed yourself to your feet. "Get your damn hands off my husband!"

"Okay, I've had enough of-"

You thrust out your hands with an indignant scream, putting all your emotion into whatever was left of that temporary quirk. The air wavered and her words slowed until they were barely recognizable.

Blinking to yourself, you looked down at your hands, surprised you managed to do it.

"Hell yeah! Take that bitch down!" Bakugo yelled at you from across the room.

Right, you had the chance to actually do something. You rushed over and ripped her hands off him. She started to fall backward in slow motion. Izuku had gotten caught up in the quirk to, but when you tried to move him, he stayed locked in place. Whatever quirk she used, must have been similar to Rock Lock. Until she deactivated it or until the quirk wore off, he was stuck.

You stepped over to Ikari who was halfway done falling backward and kicked her squarely in the chest. It was only a taste of what she deserved, but you needed to focus on restraining her somehow.

"In my pocket!" Bakugo hollered. "I have a quirk blocker. Use it on that dumbass!"

"Right!"

You were really overworking your legs as you ran back to the stage, tossing yourself up and rolling onto your knees. Black stars danced in your eyes as you moved too quickly for your taxed body. Stumbling over to Bakugo, you searched his jacket pocket and found the injection.

"Just get it in a vein. It should work instantly." He said. "Hurry."

"Hey, she's moving faster now!" Phantom spoke up beside him, eyes darting over to the scene.

He was right. Your quirk was fading. She was starting to fall a little quicker.

"Go!" Bakugo ordered.

Leaping off the stage, you weaved through the debris and unconscious bodies and readied the needle. Just one jab and the threat would be mostly taken care of. After that, Bakugo would be freed and you had faith he could take her down. Nearing her, you lifted the needle with a war cry.

Ikari's back hit the ground and time resumed it's normal pace. She grunted and whipped her head up as you jabbed down. Her reflexes were quicker than yours. With one hit to your sternum, she grabbed your arm and twisted until the needle went flying from your hands. She used your own momentum and leaned back to flip you over, using her power to send you flying across the room.

With a cry, you smashed into one of the drink tables, splashing water over you in a wet burst. Drenched, you groaned and laid face down, curling in on yourself, reeling from the hit.

"Well played!" Ikari clapped, walking towards you. "I didn't think you'd be stupid enough to steal and drink one of Shizue's concoctions again. That was pretty brave. Stupid, but brave."

A small tink sounded from under you, and you glanced down to see the second vial. You gripped it in your hand, taking a deep breath. It may be stupid, but at this point, you didn't have much else to lose. She'd kill you either way.

You curled away from Ikari and began to crawl. You didn't want her to see what you were doing. As you crawled, you uncorked the vial and, in one quick gulp, down the entire thing.

The taste was putrid, and you nearly gagged it out before you managed to swallow the thick substance. It tasted like burnt metal - or that was your taste buds corroding. Either way, you had to stop and press your head into the ground as you hacked it down your throat, feeling a new wave of nausea enter your system.

The world swam, light and dark, bending together to form vivid shapes prancing through your vision. After a few minutes, you managed to get a hold of your senses and looked up. You felt sick and not at all empowered. Maybe this one didn't work. Maybe this really was a stupid idea.

"Crawling away now?" Ikari sneered as she neared you. "Is this what you resort to? Have some dignity."

"No, I'm just buying time." You turned to her, a defiant grin on your face.

She didn't like that. Holding her hand out, she grabbed you in that invisible force and threw you against the wall. Your body slammed into it with such force, the plaster cracked. A blow like that would've done some pretty severe damage, but you seemed relatively fine.

"You really are an idiot." Ikari laughed bitterly. "But you're still going to die."

Glancing down at your body, you saw the sharpened edge to your skin. It was Kirishima's quirk. It was something to protect yourself with at least.

"No I'm not." you growled. "I won't let you hurt anyone else!"

She narrowed her eyes and came within a foot of you. "Just because you have a new quirk for a few minutes, doesn't mean you can beat me."

"A few minutes? How long have you had this quirk?" you nodded towards her hand. "Must be a time limit on that."

"You really think I need a synthetic quirk to kill you?" The metal plates on her suit vibrated and melted off, hovering just above her. "I still have more power than you'd ever be able to handle."

"Good point." You took a deep breath and headbutted her as hard as you could.

She stumbled back, crumpling to the ground in a heap. The metal splattered onto the floor and hardened as she lost her grip on her quirk. This new quirk of yours had it's…well quirks. You'd have to compliment Kiri later.

But for the moment, you couldn't waste another second. As soon as she released you, you landed on your feet and sprinted back towards where you thought you lost the needle. As you ran, you spotted the white needle gleaming amongst the charred remains of a table.

Behind you, Ikari roared and you picked up speed. Your entire body ached, but you had to ignore it. You were almost there.

"Look out!" Phantom yelled and you glanced behind you.

Ikari was on her knees, sharp pointed spears of metal were hovering around her. A line of blood ran down her forehead and leaked into her eye, but she didn't even seem to notice, consumed with rage.

In one leap, you dove for the needle as she released the volley of metal spikes at you. You scooped up the needle with one hand and grabbed what remained of the wooden table as a shield. The spikes rained down around you and impaled the table. The sharpened point of metal poked through, stopping just inches from your nose.

In one breath, everything was still, then the metal started twisting, wriggling itself through the wood, trying to reach your face. You threw the table away and stumbled to your feet. All around you, the metal was reshaping, lifting back into the air.

You needed a distraction. Desperately looking around, you spotted the remains of an ice sculpture. The poor decapitated swan never stood a chance, but it might help you.

You raced towards it and scooped up the frigid head and dove behind a column.

“you think a piece of ice can save you?” Ikari’s laughter echoed around the hall.

With a deep breath you steeled yourself. You had one shot at this. Silently, you prayed that all those times helping Izuku practice his swings would finally pay off. Gripping the head you stepped out.

The spikes were waiting for the opportunity and they spiraled towards you the same moment you volleyed the swan head.

Your aim was true. The sculpture’s head soared toward Ikari, but a metallic barrier materialized in front of her, intercepting it at the same moment the spikes pierced your body.

“Y/N!” Bakugo cried out behind you.

From his perspective, you probably looked like a brimming pincushion. Yet it was Kirishima’s quirk that shielded you, though not for long. The spikes morphed and melted across your body, forming bonds to trap you in place.

Ikari approached, a smirk playing on her lips as you fought against her metallic clutch.

“You didn't honestly believe you stood a chance, did you?” she mused, still clutching the swan’s head. “You're just a sweet little nurse, ignorant of the world beyond those hospital walls. You don't have what it takes to be a hero.”

A frown creased your brow as she halted mere inches away. “I never claimed to be a hero.” Then you grinned. “But he is. Now, Bakugo!”

As she glanced over her shoulder, you grit your teeth. Ikari tensed, spinning around to counter the feigned attack. Taking advantage of the distraction, you reeled back and delivered a powerful headbutt. She staggered back and released you from her hold. You dropped to the ground and tackled her. The swan head tumbled beside her and you grabbed it, ramming against her throat.

She gagged and tried to claw it off but you held strong. A dark satisfaction crept into your thoughts. This was the woman who had inflicted so much pain on you. You wanted her to feel it. You wanted her to feel the crushing weight; that fear of death she'd subjected you to for weeks. She choked, struggling to breathe as you pressed down harder. Wide-eyed, it was the first time she'd shown any sign of shock. That small dose of fear in her eyes snapped you out of whatever dark state you’d found yourself in and reached into your pocket, pulling out the needle.

Her eyes bulged as you plunged it into her neck. She gagged and ripped the needle out, but the damage had been done.

There was a thud behind you. Onstage, Bakugo and Phantom had been released from their hold.

“No!” Ikari screamed and used all her force to kick you off. “You’ve ruined everything!” She growled as she staggered to her feet, her hair a mess, her eyes twitching, as she towered over you. “I should've killed you from the start!”

Gasping for air, you clutched your stomach after that brutal kick and twisted onto your butt to face her.

She snatched a splintered table leg from the debris and snapped it into two wicked stakes.

Eyes wide, you struggled to stand, your body teetering on the brink of collapse. Exhaustion and fatigue were setting in. You were nearing your limit. Fending her off in your current state, with or without a quirk seemed impossible. Despite that, you knew if you stayed down, you’d lose this battle.

With every ounce of strength you had left, you pushed to your feet, nearly blacking out with the effort. Those sharp, splintered stakes flashed in your vision. Kirishimia’s quirk had faded. Your body simply couldn’t handle the power anymore. If she struck you this time-

“Down!” Bakugo’s voice bellowed behind you.

That was something you could do. You let yourself drop just as an enormous blast roared above you, the heat of his quirk singeing your hair. The stakes clattered to the ground as Ikari was hit full force.

“I got this!” Bakugo said as he flew past you, slamming into Ikari.

It took you a moment to register that hed used his quirk. The drug must've worn off. Which meant-

“Y/N!” Phantom called out.

He was kneeling beside Izuku, hands pressed hard on the gaping wound in his chest. Izuku’s eyes were closed. Was he even breathing?

“No,” you crawled towards him until you built enough strength to stumble to your feet.

Bakugo could handle Ikari, especially now that she’d lost her quirk. The real problem was saving Izuku. It was a horrifying deja vu moment that you desperately wished was just a trick of the mind. But unfortunately, reality had a firm grasp on you tonight.

“Izuku!” You cried as you fell beside Phantom. “Hey, wake up.” Patting his cheeks didn’t rouse him this time. He’d gone cold and lifeless.

“He’s still alive,” Phantom whispered, pressing harder against the bleeding wound. “But not if he keeps losing blood.”

“He needs a hospital,” you searched your pockets for your phone only to come up empty. “We need to get help.”

“Come on, you and I both know he won’t make it to the hospital like this.” Phantom scowled. “Dammit Midoriya, you always need to make things so complicated don’t you. This is why I hate you.”

“He’ll make it!” You grabbed his head, rubbing his chest, trying to rouse him again. “He always makes it. That’s what makes him Izuku.” You shook harder. “You promised me Izuku! You promised me you would win this fight. The battle’s not over yet, so wake up!”

His eyes stayed frustratingly closed. You were in so much pain already, but your heart was starting to shred to bits the longer you stared at his deathly peaceful face. Your medical knowledge was fighting against your hope and prayers that somehow everything would magically fix itself.

“Step back.”

Phantom pried you off Izuku. You struggled against him, not willing to leave his side.

“I can stop the bleeding,” he held your fists tight and locked eyes with you. “It’s a temporary fix, but if we can get him the help he needs in time, then it might save his life.” He pulled you close, searching your face. “I don’t want to give you false hope. This is more likely to go wrong than it is right.”

You blinked back the tears and glanced down at Izuku. His lips were turning blue. He wasn’t breathing. That darkness that had grown around your heart was spreading. If what Phantom said was true, then there was still a sliver of hope left. You’d take it, no matter how small it was.

“Do it!” you pleaded. “Please, save him!”

Phantom nodded and released you. He took a deep breath and placed his hands on Izuku’s chest, just above his heart. Phantom closed his eyes and faded into a warm white haze before he vanished completely. There was a moment of stillness before Izuku gasped and opened his eyes.

“Izuku!” you grabbed his face and leaned over him.

His eyes were glowing an eerie white. The same white eyed glow as Phantom.

He blinked a few more times before focusing on you. “..he’s still unconscious.” It was Izuku’s voice that spoke but layered with Phantoms.

He was possessing him, You thought. A thought So wild you had to move right past it so you could focus on the matter at hand.

He sat up, clutching his stomach “I can control the blood flow but it takes a lot of energy. This won’t last long. We need to hurry.”

#my hero academia #izuku midoriya #boku no hero academia #izuku x reader #deku #pro hero deku #izuku midoria x reader #bnha #mha #katsuki bakugo #blood and violence #they are going through it rn #taken series

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marypsue · 1 year

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Anyway. Who here likes evil cheerleaders, melodramatic teenage goths, homoerotic loathing, Christopher Pike and Fear Street books, the Satanic Panic, and cheesy horror-comedy? Who here would like an exclusive sneak peek at the first chapter of Fearleading Squad?

Well, tough luck, because you're getting one anyway.

...

Bad Moon Rising

Steve was the first to go missing.

He had a last name, probably, but Avery didn’t know it. She was just used to seeing his lanky, zitty self, limp greasy hair and facial piercings and ill-fitting black clothes, reading a comic book with his feet up behind the counter of the Movie Gallery. Or seeing the rusted-out camper van he was rumoured to live in parked in the gravel lot behind the tourist information centre, where he sold shitty weed with about as much enthusiasm and entrepreneurial spirit as he brought to the video store gig. He was a fixture around town, as much a part of the landscape as the sign on the highway advertising the annual rodeo or the grain elevator by the train tracks. Something you saw so often that you stopped seeing it at all.

Until he wasn’t.

It was the van Avery noticed missing first. It took her a while to register that it was even gone. Steve was in the tourist info lot some days, and wasn’t on others. Avery never really paid attention, unless she wanted shitty weed, which wasn’t often.

So the camper van had been gone for a week or more before it really registered.

Once Avery’d noticed that the van was gone, though, it was impossible to miss. Steve was never at the Movie Gallery anymore, and when Avery asked the manager, Trish made a face and said he’d been a no-show for all his shifts for the last week and a half. “He might at least have had the decency to let me know he quit,” she grumbled, passing Trick or Treat under the scanner and accepting Avery’s handful of change. “Asshole threw off my entire shift schedule. I had to rework the whole thing from scratch.”

“Is that…like him?” Avery asked, and got a shrug and an eyeroll in return.

Even Arlon didn’t know, when Avery cornered him at the library to ask. Arlon Thwaite, who swore blind that his middle name, Wizzard, was an old family name and only by fortunate coincidence a Terry Pratchett reference, was one of maybe three people in the world Avery considered friends. He was also the most insufferable person she knew. But then, Avery was the most insufferable person a lot of people in town knew. Maybe that was part of the reason why they were friends.

“Yeah, he’s flaked on our last two Pathfinder sessions,” Arlon offered casually, in between reshelving Danielle Steel novels. “But he’s always flaking out on us for one reason or another. I didn’t really think anything of it.” He paused to look over at Avery, his eyes growing brighter behind the thick lenses of his aviator-style glasses as he offered, or maybe threatened, “If you wanted a seat at the table -”

“Over your dead body.”

“Don’t you mean, ‘over my dead body’?”

“No, because I’d kill you and desecrate your corpse before I’d play a tabletop game with that crowd of wastoids you call friends.”

A middle-aged woman with a truly impressive feathered bouffant, sitting in one of the overstuffed chairs by the window, looked sharply up from the Agatha Christie she was nose-deep in to frown at Avery. Avery threw the horns in her direction, and snickered when her frown got deeper and more alarmed.

“People in this town,” Avery sighed as she turned back to Arlon, who nodded agreement.

“She can act all innocent and scandalised. But she and her ilk are the biggest borrowers of these bodice-rippers.” He paused, holding up the copy of Fine Things he was tucking back onto the shelf. “And you know I once found pubes stuck in between the pages of one of these? I don’t even want to know what kind of horrors our patrons are committing against these poor, innocent former trees.”

Avery barely managed to stifle a horrified burst of laughter.

Arlon shrugged, and went back to reshelving romance. “Hope Steve didn’t skip town. He’s still got my copy of Neuromancer. And I don’t think he even started to read it.”

…

School started again three days later, and Avery mostly forgot about Steve and his mysterious disappearance. She had other things to worry about. Ms. Feldman, and her one-woman crusade against nose rings. The idiot jocks in shop class.

And the new girl in her homeroom.

“Why would any sane person move from LA to here?” Avery grumbled to Courtney, over her clingwrapped tuna sandwich. “What could we possibly have to offer that LA doesn’t?”

“Manure?” Courtney suggested. “Tornadoes?”

Avery had to stop herself from snorting chocolate milk out her nose.

“Tiffany Bright,” she said, once the coughing had subsided. The words seemed to warp her mouth into a sneer around them. “What kind of a name even is that? Might as well just call yourself Barbie Hollywood.”

Courtney took a sip of her Tab before cautiously offering, “She’s really not so bad. Seems nice. We’ve got tryouts for the cheer squad tonight, and she said she’d be there.”

“My condolences,” Avery said, and Courtney snorted.

…

Avery wasn’t obsessed.

There was just…something off about Tiffany. Something too fake about her perfectly coordinated outfits, her perfectly combed, perfectly curled perky blonde ponytail, her big, perfectly blue eyes with their fan of thick dark lashes, her perfect pearly smile, never too narrow or too wide. Something about how everything she said came out sounding faintly mocking. Something about how she looked at you, like she knew something you didn’t. Like she could see toilet paper stuck to your shoe or something stuck in your teeth, and she’d decided it’d be funnier not to tell you about it.

She got onto the cheer team. Of course.

“I just don’t like that bitch,” Avery grumbled to her beat-up black boots, behind the gym, where she was sneaking a cigarette and Mallory was trying to avoid breathing in her smoke. By the way Mallory was coughing into the pin-studded lapel of her hand-me-down denim jacket, it wasn’t working. Mallory’s dad worked in demolition, and she had seven older brothers and sisters. Avery didn’t think she’d ever owned a brand-new anything. “She’s such a kiss-up, acts like she makes sugar taste sour. But we don’t know anything about her. For all we know, she killed Steve. Shit, I’ll bet you five bucks she did kill Steve.”

“Oh, yeah,” Mallory agreed sarcastically. “For some kind of Satanic ritual, probably. Really seems like her style. Bet she ate him, too. I hear human tastes kind of like chicken.”

“Pork,” Arlon corrected her, and Mallory shot him a glare. “Human’s the other other white meat.”

“What is he even doing here,” Mallory demanded of Avery, darting a sidelong glare at Arlon, who’d gone back to ignoring her. “Don’t you have freshmen to try to corrupt to the dark side?”

“I don’t play with freshmen anymore,” Arlon said haughtily, giving his ginger ponytail a dismissive flick back over his shoulder. “After that last little shithead spent three whole sessions constantly yelling ‘I cast fireball!’ and trying to seduce everything with tits, I’ve sworn them off. They can get themselves corrupted by the dark forces behind tabletop gaming without my help. The only person I’m interested in corrupting is this one.” He nudged Avery with one shoulder, and she rolled her eyes.

“You’re never getting me to join one of your stupid games.”

“Maybe not,” Arlon admitted, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Maybe not. But you will listen to Rush.”

“How many times do I have to tell you -”

Mallory thwacked Avery square across the chest with the back of one arm, interrupting her. “Hey. That’s her, isn’t it?”

Avery looked.

It was, indeed, Tiffany fucking Bright making her way across the football field, unmistakeable and unmissable in her bright red nylon shorts and perfectly fitted pale pink tee shirt. The way her perfectly-curled ponytail bounced – and her perfectly-proportionate bust didn’t – as she jogged up to the brick wall beside the dumpsters where Avery was smoking seemed vaguely unnatural. So did the way the little gold cross she wore on a fine gold chain around her neck winked and flashed with each bouncing step, but never tangled, never twisted, never worked its way around to the back. The scrunchie tying back Tiffany’s ponytail perfectly matched the red of her shorts. And the stripe along the top of the slouchy white socks peeking out above her pristine white sneakers. Her smile was almost as white as the sneakers.

God, Avery hated her.

If Tiffany felt the same, she was hiding it well. “Hey. It’s Avery, right? Avery DiAngelo? You’re in Mr. Dancy’s homeroom?”

“Yeah.” Avery took a long, exaggerated drag on her cigarette, and puffed the smoke out toward Tiffany’s face. Tiffany, unfortunately, did not evaporate in the puff. She also didn’t start to look at all uncomfortable. Only vaguely annoyed. “What do you want.”

Tiffany gave her head a little toss, making her ponytail flick back and forth behind her like its namesake. “I was wondering why you didn’t try out for the cheer team. We’ve got a vacancy, and Courtney said she used to do gymnastics with you. That you were really good.”

On the list of things Avery might have expected Tiffany to say to her, that was at the very bottom. She had no idea what to say.

Thankfully, her friends had her covered.

Mallory took a step forward, putting herself halfway between Tiffany and Avery. Beside Tiffany’s wheat-gold curls, Mallory’s brassy box-dye blonde looked especially loud and cheap and fake, her mousy roots dark in the crisp September sunlight. “Who died and made you head cheerleader?”

The little smile that quirked up the corners of Tiffany’s perfect lipgloss-glistening rosebud mouth was, as usual, too knowing. Like something about what Mallory had said was funny, and not for any reason Mallory knew.

“Nobody,” she said, with that constant mocking edge and a flash of blinding teeth, eyes darting past Mallory to meet Avery’s. “Yet.”

God, Avery hated her.

She also kind of hated Arlon for snorting, like he actually thought Tiffany’s bullshit was funny. Honestly. Boys. Let a perky blonde say two words in front of them, and even the most determined nonconformist completely loses his mind and starts thinking maybe he’s got a chance.

A quick elbow to the ribs seemed to momentarily cure Arlon of that disease, though. He coughed into a fist, before hastily agreeing, “Avery’s not part of your juvenile cult of physical attractiveness. And doesn’t want to be.”

Tiffany smiled, a slow, spreading grin that showed off the blinding white of her teeth. Like she’d also caught that bit about ‘physical attractiveness’.

Avery applied another elbow to Arlon’s ribs.

She took one last, long drag on her cigarette, before giving the butt a flick. It landed on the crumbling asphalt right between Tiffany’s pristine white sneakers. Tiffany looked down at it, and then back up at Avery, with something other than sneering fake-friendliness for the first time since she’d come over.

“What are you still doing here,” Avery suggested, into Tiffany’s laser-blue stare.

Tiffany blinked those blue eyes shut, for a second, giving her hair a toss as she fixed a smile back onto her face. This one was…not quite perfectly even, not like every other smile Avery’s ever seen her wear. Avery couldn’t look away, trying to figure out what it was that the smile was slipping away to reveal. “Avery hasn’t given me an answer yet. Have you, Avery.”

Her eyes bored into Avery’s. “Unless you always make your friends do all your dirty work.”

God, Avery hated her.

“If Courtney told you we used to be in gymnastics together,” she said, after a moment’s consideration, “then she also told you she’s tried a million times to get me to try out for cheer. What makes you think I’d do it for you if I wouldn’t do it for my actual friend?”

Tiffany’s eyes narrowed like a cat who’d just spotted a mouse.

“Nothing in particular,” she said, the bubble back in her voice. Along with that mocking, knowing edge that made Avery want to grind her teeth. “Fine. I’ll let it go. For now.”

She started to turn, ponytail bobbing, but stopped to glance back at Avery. This time, the smile was seamless. “But you’re going to find out. I can be very persuasive.”

The heel of her sneaker crushed Avery’s cigarette butt into the asphalt as she started to jog away.

…

“Hey, did you – stop screaming, it’s me – did you tell that Tiffany girl I was in gymnastics?”

“Avery!” Courtney slammed her bedroom door behind her, her Jack Russell terrier slipping through behind her with a shimmying little wiggle right before the door met the crisp white trim of the frame. “You have got to stop coming in that window without warning me first. Aw, Grady, how many times! Not on the bed.”

Grady looked up at Courtney from the pile of pillows at the head of her bed with his long, pink tongue lolling out of a wide, guileless doggy smile, and wagged his tail.

Avery reached out and gave Grady a scratch behind the ears, and his eyes sank shut in obvious bliss. Courtney rolled her eyes before she bounced down onto the tattersall-checked comforter, sending a pillow shaped like a stubby pencil crayon tumbling to the floor. “You’re the reason he thinks he can be up here,” she scolded Avery mildly, reaching out to give Grady an absent stroke herself. “You keep rewarding him for doing what I tell him not to.”

“Oh, like I’m the only one scratching his ears right now,” Avery teased back.

“You started it.” Courtney gave Grady one more good pat on the rump, before scooting back on the bed, grabbing another brightly-coloured pillow and hugging it to her chest. “And it might have come up that we did tumbling together as kids. Why?”

“Because your new best friend sniffed me out during gym class to ask me to fill a vacant spot on the cheer team.” Avery gave one of Grady’s ears a gentle tug. “What do you think, boy? Should I finally toss your mama a bone and join her silly pompom-waving airhead club?”

Grady barked, as if on cue, at the word ‘bone’. Avery stifled a laugh.

When she looked up, though, Courtney wasn’t smiling.

For a second, Avery thought she’d gone too far with the airhead comment. But Courtney didn’t even seem to have noticed. She’d drawn her knees up to her chest, ankles crossed, and she’d gone from hugging the pillow to gripping it like a life preserver. “Courtney?”

Courtney gave her head a little shake, her permed chestnut curls bouncing with the movement. The smile she forced looked wan and unconvincing. “Nothing. Just – I’m kind of glad right now that you always say no, whenever I try to get you to join. It’s just so not you. And now that we’re going into senior year…honestly, I don’t even know if I’m going to have time for the team.”

Avery stopped moving with her hand resting between Grady’s shoulderblades, his fur silky-soft and so warm under her fingers. “What? You live and breathe cheerleading.”

Courtney grimaced. She didn’t say anything more.

Avery sat up on the bed, Grady whimpering a little at the loss of her scritches. “Is that bitch making trouble for you? Because you’re still the head cheerleader, you know. Kick her ass out.” When Courtney only hugged her pillow a little tighter, burying the bottom half of her face in its poof, Avery added, “If you don’t wanna do it, I’d be more than happy to. I’ll take her up on her offer, and then you and I can -”

“Don’t.”

The force behind the single word surprised Avery into silence.

Courtney sighed, and leaned back against the white-painted iron frame that curved up along the long side of her bed like the back of a couch, where it was pushed up against the wall. “I can handle Tiffany, okay? She’s not the first new recruit who came in with a twisted idea of what being part of the cheer squad is all about. I just really don’t want you getting caught up in the middle of it. That wouldn’t be any good for either of us.”

Avery wasn’t sure why that stung the way it did. It wasn’t like she’d wanted to join the cheer team, anyway.

“Okay,” she said, uncrossing her legs and pushing herself up off the bed. “But then actually leave me out of it, okay? No more hot gossip about how I used to be able to touch my toes to the back of my head. I don’t really feel like being a pawn in you and Tiffany’s power play, either.”

Courtney shot her a tight-lipped smile. She didn’t look happy.

But all she said was, “Okay.”

…

A week later, Mallory turned up to school in a brand-new cheerleading uniform.

#mary writes #fearleading squad #you will be subjected to my original writing and you Will like it #yes i did name that redshirt that on purpose. i'm hilarious.#the chapter titles are going to form a playlist because that's a thing I can do!

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yura-is-best-girl · 5 months

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wish I could upload this in better quality but I havent had the chance to borrow a scanner lately so here we go

#azur lane #azur lane fanart #ting an

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the-little-moment · 1 month

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Part Eight

Words: 3,375

Warnings: None

Summary: Without the proper medical equipment available, Senna and Echo must take Tech to get his femur fused at the local free clinic.

This chapter was fun to write, so I hope you enjoy it!

Fragile

Senna sat in a worn plastoid chair in the only clinic in Ord Mantell City that took charity cases. And that was certainly what they were. From his place on the exam table beside her, Tech turned to give her a look that was somewhere between mournful and highly irritated and wouldn’t have been out of place on a dog that had just been done a terrible wrong. When he sighed, Senna reached up to pat his hand.

“There is a reason that thigh plates are standard kit, dear.”

The pilot frowned at her. “As I have explained before, my upper leg armor was abandoned in favor of greater mobility and ease of function.”

“It was abandoned in favor of more pockets.”

The doctor who ran the clinic returned as Tech was rolling his eyes at Senna.

“Scans came back,” the large woman announced, slapping a stack of shiny flimsi down on her heavily-scuffed rolling desk. “Transverse fracture of the femur.”

Tech gave the huff of all huffs. “As I said.”

The equipment in the clinic was officially the oldest that Senna had ever seen, some models practically ancient in medical terms, and she wondered what sort of dark magic was being utilised to keep it all running. Kriff, the med scanner in her belt pouch was more advanced than the machine the doctor had used to image Tech’s leg, much to the pilot’s obvious chagrin. Well, she thought to herself, not everyone has access to army issue. The doctor winced as the other woman smacked a beefy hand against her console and uttered a colorful curse that seemed to frighten it back into action. But still.

Maker knew they wouldn’t be getting enough credits from Senna to be able to fix any of this. When the squad had returned from Serreno, she had been shocked to see Wrecker carry a splinted Tech out of the ship. Cid had begrudgingly allowed Senna and Echo to borrow a rickety fossil of a speeder to take the pilot to the local clinic, a place Senna had marked early on in their stay in the city, just in case. The doctor who ran the Ord Mantell City Free Clinic was a human woman named Kichka Guiggan and she looked like the kind of doctor you’d have to be to run a free clinic in Ord Mantell City.

So far, the shining beacon of the city’s health system had offered up a battered receptionist droid behind a desk entirely encased in blaster-proof transparisteel, a shabby waiting room filled with the largest variety of ill and injured beings Senna had ever witnessed, and a smell strong enough to bother a woman who had been an army surgeon for almost fifteen years. Kamino had been sterile. That…was not a word that could be used here.

It was five hours of agonized waiting until Tech could be seen, but at least Senna had dosed him with the last of their stash of high-potency pain medication before they’d arrived. Besides a wide-eyed stare around the waiting room when they had first entered, the pilot had been quiet, seemingly content to use his datapad while Echo and Senna exchanged tight-lipped glances every time an altercation broke out amongst the other prospective patients. An irate Trandoshan male had just been stunned and tossed out the side door by a rusted security droid when Tech’s name was called.

Dr. Guiggan turned slowly from her monitor to pin Tech with an ice blue glare. The way she folded her freckled, muscular arms was deliberate, threatening, and had Senna half-convinced that she could take an injured Tech in a straight brawl. “Would you like to perform this procedure on yourself, then?”

Even from his disadvantaged position, the pilot remained undaunted. “That would be ideal,” he muttered.

“He doesn’t mean that!” Senna shot to her feet and threw Tech a threatening scowl of her own. If he kriffed this up after five hours in that waiting room, she was going to break his other leg. “He’s not himself right now. We apologize.”

The other doctor looked unimpressed as she met Tech’s frown. “I’m sure he’s better when he’s unconscious.” She ignored the pilot’s huff and turned back to her computer. “Well, I can get him in now. You’re lucky we just discharged a patient or there’d be no beds.”

Tech had opened his mouth to say something the woman would surely not appreciate, when Senna clamped her hand down on his arm. “Thank you very much. We’re very grateful.” The pilot turned his glare on her instead.

The woman humphed doubtfully before yelling down the hall for her surgical droid, an elderly FX unit that listed to the left as it rolled slowly towards them. “I need to scrub up. Try not to let him escape while I’m gone.”

When she had left, Tech folded his arms across his chest, a gesture that was much less impactful while he wasn’t wearing pants. “I doubt her qualifications. I would vastly prefer that you perform this procedure.”

Senna resisted the urge to press her fingers hard into her eyes. “I would vastly prefer that too, dear, but she’s the boss here. And I’m,” Senna lowered her voice, “not exactly supposed to be advertising myself right now, remember?” She softened as the pilot slumped. She knew what this was really about. “You’re going to be fine. I’ll be waiting right outside. Tech,” Senna wrapped her arm around his shoulders, “I won’t let anything bad happen to you, alright? This is…a perfectly normal doctor. She’s just going to do her job.”

The pilot sighed before reaching up to take her hand. “If this supposed medical professional renders my leg inoperative, I will be disappointed in you, specifically.” Senna saw the way his lips twitched up in a reluctant smile as she chuckled.

“I’d be disappointed in me too.” Privately, she thought it much more likely that some crucial piece of equipment would fail rather than Kichka herself, but she wasn’t going to say that in front of Tech. She was sure he hadn’t stopped calculating the related risks since they’d entered the exam room.

Senna had to return to the waiting room and Echo while Tech was being prepped to have his femur fused. The ARC looked up with a hopeful smile when she sat back down. “Had to fight off a couple Zabraks who wanted your seat.”

Senna snorted. “You did not.”

“How is he?”

“About as well as you’d think. He’s not happy, that’s for sure.”

“But they can fix it?”

“Yes,” Senna confirmed. “It’s just…”

When she paused, Echo reached over to pat her arm. “I know.”

“I hate that I’m not the one doing it.”

“I know.” Echo looked up as a clipboard bounced hard off the receptionist’s enclosure and the security droid started towards the offender. “This place sure is…”

“It sure is,” the doctor agreed. She was glad Echo was here, on edge without her blaster at her hip. Senna wouldn’t be that surprised if he had fought someone over her chair. She sighed and slumped further into the uncomfortable plastoid that was firmly, and unsurprisingly, bolted to the floor.

“Sorry, Sen.” Echo smiled down at the tired doctor.

“No, I’m sorry. You just got back. You should be resting.”

“Wrecker’ll be here in a bit. I’ll go back and sleep then.”

When she continued to look dejected, Echo used his teeth to yank off his glove and offered Senna his hand. “He’ll be fine.”

There was something about his voice, Fett’s voice, she supposed, that always sounded so authoritative, so sure. Senna smiled softly at Echo’s hand in hers, pushing the vision of Tech’s purple and black bruises away to concentrate on his pale fingers instead. She leaned her head against his hard pauldron, wishing she could rest, wishing they were anywhere but here.

Somewhere along the way, Senna must have developed a soldier’s ability to sleep through anything. Echo smiled to himself as her grip on his hand loosened and she slowly sagged against his arm. Now there was nothing to do but wait and keep an eye out for flying objects.

Echo had a grubby magazine balanced on his knee, slowly turning the pages with his scomp as the long minutes ticked past, but he wasn’t really reading. Half of his mind was focused on whatever the hell was going on with the other patients, and the other half, well…

Gregor and Rex had been gone by the time the Batch had returned from their ill-fated mission, the entire flight back from which had Echo dreading Senna’s reaction to an injured Tech. What a karking waste. At times like this, it was hard not to dwell on their long-expired one hundred percent success rate. It was also hard not to imagine how things might have gone differently if Crosshair had been at their side…and maybe if Omega hadn’t. Echo almost groaned out loud at the thought of his words on the Marauder. She was a good kid. A great one, really. He never wanted her to think—

“Patient ‘Tech’ is in recovery if you would like to see them.” Echo blinked at the med droid who was waiting for his answer. His eyes flicked up to the chrono on the wall. How had it already been two hours?

“Oh, uh, yes. Please.”

“Follow me.” The droid began to roll away as Echo turned to wake Senna.

It was nineteen-thirty and Wrecker still hadn’t shown up to relieve Echo. The ARC sighed and tried to get more comfortable on the hard bench in Tech’s curtained room. He hadn’t slept more than a couple hours in almost four days and, boy, was he starting to feel it. He needed a hard reset from everything that had happened on Serenno.

Senna turned at his unhappy shifting. “You doing okay?”

Echo knew he looked pained. “There’s something I didn’t tell you. About Serenno.”

When he didn’t continue, she nodded. “Go on.”

“Omega…went after the war chest, on her own, because she overheard me telling Hunter that—that all this was her fault.”

“What?” The ARC flinched at the look of horror on Senna’s face.

“It’s not—I didn’t mean it that way. I was just saying that, the way we’re hiding now, the reason Hunter wants to be so careful, it’s because they’re after her. I didn’t mean for her to hear it.”

The horror shifted a bit towards sympathy, so he went on. “I was just trying to tell him I knew that was why he accepted the mission, so we could disappear. But…well…if it was my choice…”

The doctor sighed. “You’d want to do more.”

“Doesn’t matter now anyway.” Echo shrugged miserably. “We didn’t get the war chest. Tech’s hurt. And Omega…I tried to apologize. I’d never want her to think that I regret…”

“I know, dear.” Senna looked over at Tech, asleep in the bed beside them. As Echo watched, she sighed, opened her mouth to say something else, then sighed again. “You weren’t wrong.”

“Maybe not, but…” Echo shifted uncomfortably. “I don’t know where the balance is, Sen. Hunter’s right to want to protect her and she’ll never be safe from the Empire. She doesn’t belong in this kind of life, but where else could she go?”

“She’d be miserable without all of you.”

“I know. I want her to be safe. I want her to have a good life. I just don’t know how to give her that and do what I feel I need to to fight the Empire.” Echo looked around frustratedly, as if the answer was hidden somewhere nearby. “What was your childhood like?”

That made the doctor bite her lip. “Not like this,” Senna admitted. “But I wasn’t born into a war and a family of soldiers. E,” she reached out to take his hand. “Sometimes the most important thing is knowing that someone loves you, and safety, and everything else, comes second. She spent so long down in that dungeon and now, all of a sudden, she has a family. We can’t take that away from her.”

Echo sighed deeply. “I know.”

“I think Hunter wants to be done fighting.”

“So do I. But the fight’s not done. Things were supposed to get better after the war, but they’ve only gotten worse. We’re the lucky ones, Sen. We can’t just give up now.”

“I know,” the doctor sighed and Echo squeezed her hand. “But I don’t blame him for being afraid of losing what he has, especially after Crosshair.”

Echo studied Senna as she looked down at their clasped hands. He hated how sad and tired she looked. He hated thinking that maybe part of that was because of him. “What do you want, Sen?”

“Me?” Senna looked up at Echo’s gentle question, then away from him to Tech, sleeping quietly in a papery, blue gown that she knew he must hate, so perfectly, horribly fragile, just like everything else she’d ever loved. “Too much, dear.”

They were quiet after that, waiting together for Wrecker to come relieve Echo from his vigil. The ARC had just begun to drift into a haze of exhausted half-sleep, head tucked into the corner of the wall and hand still in Senna’s, when a familiar voice was heard in the hall.

“Sorry! Sorry! Didn’t mean ta—here lemme get that for ya.” Echo cracked his eyes to look groggily at Senna, seeing her tired smile just before his brother’s bald head poked through the blue curtains. “Hey, sorry I’m late. Believe it er not, Cid’s already got another mission for us. Left her an’ Hunter in a yellin’ match.”

Echo groaned as he tried to work out the kinks in his neck. “Great. Wonderful.”

“Oh, and she says ya’d better get your ass back with her speeder.” When Echo glared at him, Wrecker chuckled. “Sorry, don’t shoot the messenger.”

What he’d really like would be to shoot Cid, but her too steady stream of work was an unfortunate necessity, at least for the time being.

Echo had just stood to trade places with Wrecker when a shout came from somewhere beyond the curtains. “Stay with Tech,” Echo told his brother before he followed a startled Senna out into the hall. In another moment, they had located the source of the yell, finding an overwhelmed Kichka in a procedure room four doors down.

Echo’s eyes widened as he took in the state of things. The red-haired doctor was struggling to restrain a flailing patient, an elderly Devaronian woman in a paper gown who, judging by all the cursing, seemed a bit unhappy with the doctor’s efforts to keep her in bed. Behind her was her FX droid, metal arms drooping towards an upturned tray on the floor. Medical instruments were scattered underfoot. Kichka looked up as he and Senna approached and Echo could see her freckled cheeks were flushed. “Little help?” She grunted as the patient grabbed hair from her bun and pulled. Echo ran to her side, holding the woman firmly down while the doctor depressed a tranquilizer into her IV.

“Sorry about that,” Dr. Guiggan panted once the woman had fallen unconscious, turning to lean heavily against the bed as Echo slowly released his grip on the patient’s shoulder. “She must have a resistance to the sedative. Sometimes they wake up a little confused. Course, Fixit here decided this was the perfect time to run out of juice.” Echo followed her sneer of annoyance to the dead med droid.

“Bad power cell?”

“Yeah, but I can’t afford to replace it right now.” Kichka raised an eyebrow as Senna stood and placed a reorganized tray on the table beside the bed. Echo could see the doctor’s blue eyes running across the perfectly aligned tools, each in its rightful place. She turned to Senna. “You seem to know your way around a hospital.”

Senna stiffened slightly, caught out, and Echo felt himself mirroring the motion. “Oh. I, ah, used to work in one.”

“Hmm,” Dr. Guiggan ran a critical eye over the smaller woman, “you a nurse?”

A flicker of a glance towards Echo and Senna nodded. “I am, yes.”

“Well, we could use some help here, obviously.” Kichka huffed and aimed a half-hearted kick at her depleted assistant. “If you’re interested. Can’t say it pays very well, since we run on donations, but I think what we’re doing here is important.”

Echo gave the slightest shake of his head as Senna looked to him again. Absolutely not, he beamed into her mind, but she turned back to the other woman. “I’m afraid I can’t present documentation.”

Kichka seemed to find the idea funny. “This is Ord Mantell,” she laughed, still holding onto the bed like it was the only thing keeping her upright. “It’s not my business what you’re hiding from, as long as you can do the job. Hell, it’s not my business if you’ve killed people, as long as you don’t do it here.” The doctor gave a long chuckle at her own joke. “I promise we do have more staff, but Yana-Xin called out today and Tej’s in some trouble with the Pykes, so he hasn’t been in for a while.” She sighed deeply. “Who knows if we’ll ever see him again. Can’t say the turnover rate is exactly low.” The doctor finished her depressing speech with a raised eyebrow. “So, what should I call you?”

Senna paused. The name Tech had used for her forged chain code was her grandmother’s. Best to stick to that. “Yusra.”

“Well, Yusra, talk it over with your friend here and let me know what you decide. Then we’ll see how much you know and go from there.”

Senna fought back a smile at the thinly-veiled, righteous indignation on Echo’s face, making a quieting motion at her side. “I will. Thank you.”

Echo followed the doctor back through the crazed waiting room and outside, waiting until the doors had squeaked shut before huffing under his breath. “I’m very tempted to say you should really let her see ‘how much you know’. You’re really gonna pretend to be a nurse here? You sure this is a good idea?”

His obvious worry for her was sweet and Senna couldn’t exactly say it was misplaced either, considering all they’d seen today. “I’m not the only doctor in the galaxy, dear. I’m sure Dr. Guiggan is perfectly capable. And," she shrugged, "where else could I be more useful than a hospital? This seems like the perfect opportunity.”

When he pursed his lips and looked away, Senna stepped closer and took his hand. “I’ll be fine. What you said, about wanting to help people, this is how I can do that. There’s clearly a need here. If this clinic didn’t exist, where would we have taken Tech?”

Echo softened as he looked down at their hands. “I’m glad we’ve got you, Sen. I just want you to be safe.”

“I’m glad I’ve got you too. And I will be. I’ll keep my comm with me all the time.”

“And a blaster.”

“Echo. Medical personnel can’t carry weapons, dear. It’s too easy for a patient to take it off of you; you know that.”

The ARC sighed so deeply that Senna almost laughed. No one’s disappointed sighs were a match for Echo’s. “I’ll be fine. Much safer than you boys will be on your little trips.” The doctor looked off in thought. “Maybe Omega should stay here with me while you’re gone.”

Echo gave her hand a squeeze as he laughed out loud. “You’re welcome to try to convince her. Good luck!”

“She does have medical training,” Senna frowned at his dismissal.

“Yeah, and she’s attached to Hunter like a Felucian swamp leech.” Echo chuckled as Senna dropped his hand in disgust. “Sorry, Sen.”

“Don’t compare your sister to a leech.”

“A cute leech.”

Echo laughed again as Senna whacked the back of her hand against his chest and went back inside. She paused, just inside the clinic doors as they closed behind her, and smiled to herself. What a beautiful laugh. The doctor sighed as she headed back to his brothers. If only life would slow down enough to let them breathe.

Taglist: @bad-batch-lurker @clonethirstingisreal @just-here-with-my-thoughts @freesia-writes @kybercrystals94 @lightwise @moonwrecked

#star wars the bad batch #clone force 99 #the bad batch fanfiction #star wars oc #dr divehdi #the little moment writes #tbb echo #not just the carcass but the spark #tbb tech #tbb wrecker

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