#HOOOO MY GOD

[thecapricunt1616]

Reporting live; I have been found dead in a DITCH

[theloveinc]

i need to be kiri’s chubby lil housewife who’s always getting doted on and bred and cuddled and- i need to be sedated im so in love with him

BREAKING NEWS: housewife sedated after being too in love with her husband😩😩😩 TUNE IN FOR more about her big breeder daddy AT EIGHT!!!!!

(no but forreal... need to be the wife all his friends are jealous of, who makes pastries and snacks for the agency every week and and is called his sidekicks' bonus mom, who brings all his babies in to say hi and get kisses when he's not on patrol...................then gets to fuck in his own personal office shower when they're being watched by other heroes.... and then conceives again...............)

[distant-velleity]

someone hold me because penacony got me devastated in ways i could only express through page-long ramblings

[fagmolloy]

i need to go home and not be doing this rn

[yellowsubiesdance]

but ohhh my god, that first fight was so beautifully animated, looooord

[sevinite]

farcille ohhhh farcille,,, my sillies my sillies

[gods-boxershorts]

oh hello 🥴 I have only thots in my head now. Echo's voice really do be activating all the kinks huh

fill me with your echo

Echo x Reader PWP/Smut 🔞 Word count: 3.1k

TBBAW 2023 @tbb-appreciation-week

DAY 2: Echo NSFW Prompt "Aroused by their voice"

Author's note: Is this late? Yes. But it was still inspired by that prompt, so credit is due. Please, accept my humble story. I wanted to try something, and it got... complicated (for me). I had never written dirty talk before, but I think I managed to get it where I wanted. -sunset

Ao3 Link

tags/warnings under read more

dividers by @saradika

Warnings: Masturbation / Guided Masturbation / Dirty talk / Voice Kink, /Praise Kink (slightly) / Comm Sex / No specific pronouns are used, but reader has a vagina / Basically, PWP, I am not interested in the logistics of comm sex, this is very indulgent. Echo is not a blushing virgin, and I'm here to prove it.

“412 traffic, F-17, inbound for landing.”

The voice crackled through the communication system in your small office, and you jumped from your seat before Wina could get to it.

“Here 412 traffic, landing pad is clear,” you breathed out in your smoothest voice possible, while Wina tried to take away the mic from you. You were not scared about using a little bit of violence when necessary, so you smashed your hand on her face to keep her away. You were scared of stabbing your fingers with her Zabrak horns, though, and probably stop it and give me the mic filtered through the waves.

“Wonderful,” the voice on the radio answered, and you were able to discern the smile that would be probably accompanying the word. You melted a little, as usual.

With a little trepidation, you tried to calm your heart and prepared yourself to make the conversation as long as possible. You even pretended to be confident enough to use the name you have learned from your interactions.

“How is everything, Echo? Any problems? Do you need me to send some droids there to fix the ship?”

“No, no, we had no trouble out there, don’t worry. You are always so thoughtful, thank you, Fourtwelve.”

“My pleasure, Echo.” Seeing that you were not budging, Wina finally gave up and moved away. She shouldn’t even be in your office, in the first place, she was just noisy. You turned your whole body towards the comm, triumphantly. “You sure you don’t want— I mean, any of you need something else? I could come down there and take you some rations.”

You grimaced inwardly at the hint of desperation in your voice. When the signal came back, a hint of a chuckle could be heard in the background, and you felt your cheeks grow hot.

“Shh, I said!— Uh, I don't, no, no, really. You are an angel, but there’s no need for that.” Someone shouted coward in the background. “But I appreciate it, really, I do. Thank you, Fourtwelve. Over.”

The static felt like a slap in the face. You slumped into the chair and let out a heavy sigh. It has been the shortest conversation since the first one, and the disappointment sat heavy on your chest.

“I wanted to talk to some men, and you had to ruin it. You get strangely overprotective with that clone.”

You turned your chair to face the intruder in the room and frowned at her. “This is my job, if you want to talk with men, go to a bar. Besides, I’m not overprotective about anyone! It’s just that the last time you handled the comms, you made such a lascivious pun that I still have second hand embarrassment every time I think about it.”

“Pft, whatever. You need to relax, this is not even a real job. You don’t know how to have fun, I’ll entertain myself somewhere else.”

You didn’t make any more comments as Wina turned around and left the room. She was extremely annoying, in a rage you stood up and locked the door in case she decided to come back. You were more at ease by yourself, which, even if sounded hypocritical, usually allowed you to talk with some men. A man in particular, actually. But Echo had already commed, he would probably be on his way to a canteen with his brothers, and you didn’t have the chance to speak with him this time.

Echo. You were still giddy at actually knowing his name. It had all started a month or so ago. You were a volunteer in a group that was trying to give clones a chance after they were discarded by the newly founded Empire. It started as something simple, but as time passed, and the Empire started showing their true face, the operation became quite daring and secretive. It was almost like one of those holonovels, about rebels, and freedom fighters on the frontiers, fighting evil by day and having torrid romances by night. In reality, though, your job was pretty dull. You were basically a receptionist; you took messages, managed the landings of your allotted small Coruscant hangar, and occasionally dispatched droids if they were needed. Someone had to do it, though.

One uneventful night, a new voice came over your comms. Well. Not new-new. You had heard that same voice thousands of times, but this one had something that made it stand over the others. It was huskier, angrier. It made you wonder what his owner had witnessed to be so angry at the galaxy, but at the same time speak such soft words to you. You had timidly inquired him and Echo had actually told you some stories from his past, a short version at least, you had no doubt there was more to it. He had told you about his lost brothers and being the last one of his batch, about being imprisoned and then rescued by new brothers, and even how he had adapted to being a cyborg.

He also asked about you, if out of politeness or legit interest, you didn’t know, so you had told him the basics, very, very quickly. You preferred when it was him doing the talking. You were in awe at what he had lived through, but to your shame, you couldn’t help the other reaction you had at his stories. Truth was that he could have read you the Communication System Manual, and it would have turned you on all the same. His voice was like spice to you, the more you listen to it, the more you wanted. You had never tried one, but you had to guess this was what trying on aphrodisiacs felt like. You craved it, you wanted to have it whispered in your ear late at night, his naked skin on yours, and his hand exploring your body, while those angry tones melted away into sweet moans.

The static did scare you this time, and you took away your traitorous wandering hand from your thigh. Not the time to indulge in wildly inappropriate fantasies, not that it would be the first time. Since nothing else seemed to come from the other side, you tried to contact them.

“Here 412 traffic, do you copy?”

Static again. Whoever was on the other side didn’t seem to find their words.

You were about to tell them to find another pastime and leave your channel alone, when his voice cracked again through the speakers.

“Hey, Fourtwelve.”

“Echo,” you gasped, and thanked the Force that you had released the button, saving you the embarrassment of Echo hearing his name coming out of your lips like that. You cleared your throat, pressed it again, and tried to appear nonchalant. “Echo, good to hear from you again so soon.” Yes, nailed it. “Is there any problem?”

“No problem at all. I—” he hesitated and you waited patiently. If while waiting patiently you bounced your leg rapidly, he didn’t need to know. “I just wanted to talk with you, but you seemed busy earlier, and there was many people around here as well. Is it now a better time?”

“Yes!” His chuckle should have made you feel embarrassed, but it only fuelled your thoughts. If his rough voice was sexy, his low laugh was damn near Dark Side inducing.

“Good, I am glad. I really appreciate our chats.”

“Me too, I love your voice.” In your excitement, it took you a moment to register what you had said, but his silence at the other side gave you plenty of time. When your brain caught up, your face burned, and you started to ramble, trying to cover up your slip. “I mean, I love your stories, the ones you tell me, with your voice, so that’s what I meant. Because that’s what I hear, so, I cannot listen to the stories without your voice, obviously. So, I really love that you have… a voice with—”

“Stop,” you gulped down the rest of the sentence and clamped your legs by instinct. His tone of voice had been gentle but authoritative, as someone used to scold a child. But you weren’t a child, you were very much an adult, that was having a strong reaction to a man’s voice through a comm. “Good, mesh’la.”

A very strong reaction.

You were sure he could hear your deep breathing, but he chuckled again and couldn’t find in you the will to care. “I’ve been dying for you to say something like that for a while, so you are not taking it back now. Please, tell me, what do you love about my voice?”

It didn’t escape to you that he had made his voice deeper, rougher. He was enjoying this. It was true that you had been flirting with him, but not even in your wildest dreams you had envisioned him actually responding this way. For all that you knew, he hadn’t been paying attention to it. He apparently had, and had been waiting, no, dying, for you to take the next step. You were aware that this conversation could change the nature of your interactions forever, and you were going to seize it like a bounty hunter with their price.

“I love how deep it is.” Maybe not your best line.

“You can do better than that,” he encouraged you, not unkindly.

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes, your fingers clawing at your thighs, trying to control the pent-up energy that was growing inside you. “It is gruff, but caring, I don’t understand how.” You readjusted yourself on your seat, almost vibrating out of your skin. “It is hypnotic, mesmerising. Sexy.”

Echo hummed at that, and it spurred you on. You wanted to hear that again, you needed to hear every single noise that voice could give you.

“Every time I hear your voice, it is like you're grabbing me by the nape, firm but softly, and forcing me to listen to it. I can’t move, I’m captivated. It gets inside my chest and drives me crazy, makes me feel alive. It makes me want to go to my knees. It makes me want to behave and to be mischievous at the same time.”

“Fuck,” Echo groaned at the other side.

Your breath was heavy and laboured, you felt hot, and even if you were alone in the room, you could feel the weight of his presence. You weren’t sure what possessed you, but it seemed he liked it.

“All that… from just my voice?” It seemed he liked it very much. His voice has turned into a husky drawl, and you whimpered a little. “What else? What else do I do to you? Tell me, cyar’ika.”

There was a pretty obvious consequence of his voice, the dampness of your underwear a cold reminder right now. You pressed your hand into your core, trying to soothe your growing need, and another pitiful whine escaped you.

“What was that, cyar’ika? What are you doing right now?” His words were soft, whispered, but they were commanding, there was no ignoring them.

“I’m—“ you pressed harder the heel of your hand against your clit, the simple act of telling him out loud what you were doing was sending shivers down your spine. “I’m touching, ah, myself.”

“How? Tell me,” he snarled, like gravel on his throat.

“I’m pressing my hand against me, rubbing it a little,” you gasped at the end, involuntarily.

“You are going to do something for me.” He sounded breathy, almost like he was talking too close to the comm. His voice was just a rustle, but for you, it was deafening. You uttered a breathless yes, and he continued. “You are going to touch yourself, and I’m going to tell you how to do it, understood?”

You opened your eyes at that and inhaled loudly, feeling your cunt palpitate at his words. There was only one answer to that. “Yes, sir.”

“Oh, Maker,” he groaned, and then laughed softly, the smirk evident on his voice. “Aren’t we discovering kinks today?”

You laughed as well, a little more breathless than him. Sat back and widened your legs, waiting for him to continue.

“Listen to me, cyar’ika. Take your hand, and get it inside your clothes. Slowly, there is no rush.”

You stopped for a moment, your hand hovering over your groin, and thought about what you were going to do. In reality, you barely knew him, you had never seen him in person actually! And yet, since the beginning, there’s been this connection, not only were you aroused by their voice, but there was something else pulling you to him. If you believed in such things, you could be tempted to call it predestination. You were going to start by calling it a fun time. You took a deep breath and obeyed him.

“What else? Tell me, Echo,” you threw back at him in a pleased murmur, adding some more since he seemed to like it. “Please, tell me what to do, sir.”

“Oh, you naughty thing. Maker, you are going to be so good, don’t you? But first, reach with your fingers to your pussy, don’t really touch it yet, just feel it and answer me, are you wet?”

There was a determination in his voice, Echo was a man with a plan, and he intended to execute it, and since that plan seemed to be your pleasure, you could not complain. You did as he instructed, even if you didn’t need it to know how drenched you actually were already. Every word that came through the comm, every gasp, and growl, breath and rustle, was making you whimper at the back of your throat without even touching you. You did that again for him, you whimpered, low and long, feeling your own wetness slide through your fingertips.

“I’ll take that as a yes,” he purred in a soft exhalation. “Slowly, I want you to put your finger down and circle it around your entrance. Yes, like that, I can hear your breath hitching, with just so little. You must be pretty sensitive, or is it just for me? Do you love my voice so much that it has you all worked up before we have even started? Keep circling it, mesh’la, keep gathering and spreading those sweet juices. They must taste so good. I wish I could be kneeling in front of you right now to taste it myself. Oh? Would you like that? That was a pretty filthy moan, I want to hear more of those.

“Now, cyar’ika, move your finger down onto your clit, drag it softly through it. Very softly, treat it like the precious thing it is. You sound glorious, you are being magnificent and oh, so obedient. Now press harder, back and forth, drag it back and forth harder. Faster, now. You must look splendid, I bet that pretty mouth of yours has a fantastic shape right now. Perfect for me. That’s enough, stop.”

You whined pathetically, but complied. A needy sound escaped your throat as your fingers twitched, right above where you needed them, and Echo made soothing noises peppered with praises that had you dangerously close to losing it. His voice had turned huskier and breathier in reaction to your moans, but he still sounded quite composed, unlike you.

“Echo, please,” a hoarse plea.

“Is Echo again, hmm? What happened with ‘sir’, I liked that one. But I have to admit that hearing my name on your lips, begging for me to keep talking is making me lose control a little, cyar’ika, and that doesn’t happen often, I can guarantee you that.

“Guide your hand down again, and stop at your entrance, is it there where you need them? Yes, I thought so. Now, easy, just one finger, sink it in. Maker, it must be so warm and soft. Out and inside again, like that. Easy, mesh’la, was that a pleased sob? You are being so good. I think you deserve another finger. Fuck, that one was good. Oh, what I would do if I was there right now, I bet you would enjoy my thick fingers up your cunt better than yours. I would fuck you with them until you were screaming my name. Faster now, yes, faster. I can almost hear the squelching noises every time you pull them out. Can you feel yourself clenching around them? Go on, feel it for me.

“Those shuddering moans are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever heard. Do you know how hard I am right now? It’s almost painful, I’m hard and hot just for you, just for those sweet little cries. I know you are almost there, your panting is getting faster. Hush, don’t worry, I have you, you have all my attention. I’m not even touching myself, so if you give me one good enough, I will go up there to your office and fuck you hard against your desk as a reward.

“Do me a favour, mesh’la, stroke your clit with your thumb. Now. Good, ner cyar’ika.”

You came with a strangled moan, your orgasm wreaking havoc through your body, legs cramping over your hand with your fingers still inside you. When you came down from it, soft sobs fell uncontrollably from your lips, and you touched your clammy forehead with your shaky hand, trying to recover control of yourself. The sudden silence at the other side made you recover quicker.

“Echo? Are you still there?”

“Yes, cyar’ika, I’m still with you, I haven’t gone anywhere,” he sounded restrained, but there was a painful edge to his voice that told you it was forced.

“Was it— was it a good one?” You asked him shyly, still trying to get your breath under control.

“A good… Oh. Stars, cyar’ika.” Echo groaned and cursed under his breath, but his next words were softly spoken, a touch of concern in them. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes, please, come here,” you said, more determined this time. You stood up and unlocked the door, but an accidental glance made you stop at your reflection in one of the panels. “Oh, wow, I look like a mess. First, I’ll need some time to fix myself.”

“Don’t even bother, ner cyar’ika, I’m planning on making a bigger mess of you. Over, Fourtwelve.”

The static at disconnecting the channel drowned your drawn-out moan, and you plumped down on your seat. It seemed that in this one, the receptionist managed to find a torrid romance for themselves at the end.

You couldn’t wait for your reward.

TagList! Let me know if you want to be added/removed, please

@motte-the-goblin @fenharel-enaste @nahoney22 @stunkbiggu @gt13tbbart @dangraccoon

[bug-molars]

Redrew my favorite meet them all frames! 💥

[lizardkingeliot]

the vampire show is about to murder us dead you guys

[essektheylyss]

I think Orym is a fascinating character in a way that is often underappreciated, because he is fundamentally a soldier, he was trained as a soldier, and that's... not a bad thing? It has no moral indication, and certainly doesn't imply that Orym is going dark. In fact, in the current circumstances, Orym acting as a soldier is very important and may actually get them through this in one piece.

I do feel that this aspect of his character is frequently approached in the fandom as an afterthought or even swept under the rug, or flat out viewed as a flaw to be overcome (especially given the overall landscape of military conflict in the real world), but being a trained soldier is not inherently indicative of specific morality or ideology. I think it's a judgment that also gets levied against paladins, because, much like any organized forces in fantasy are equated with modern militaries, fantasy worship is equated with Christianity (sometimes in the guise of 'organized religion' with all of its problematic connotations). It's incredibly black and white, and it doesn't fundamentally make sense in much of Exandria, but in this case especially.

You cannot fundamentally map the Tempest Blades onto any real life military, because the task of the Tempest, and Ashari culture as a whole, is protection against both extraplanar threats and also the malicious or misguided intentions of those on the Material Plane trying to fuck with the elemental planes. This is distinctly different even in universe from, for instance, Caleb, who was trained as an assassin in the name of nationalism, or Yasha, who was trained to be a leader in the name of tribalism.

And these two threats that the Ashari are tasked with resisting are both frequent, credible, and existential! Failing at this task is liable to have major sweeping repercussions for the rest of Exandria! It is highly probable that a soldier with Orym's training is expected to need to make incredibly difficult decisions in defense of the common good at more than one point in their life—decisions that would make every person who laughs at the premise of the trolley problem shit their pants.

And crucially, Orym wants his friends to get out of this. He has in fact already promised his entire life to ensure that they do, because he also fundamentally needs them to be able to do what they came for, without hesitation, because the singular mandate that he has devoted himself to is protecting the Material Realm from extraplanar threats, and regardless of the fact that the rest of them do not have the same training, that is also the task that the Hells have chosen.

If Nana Morri can get the Hells out in one piece, regardless of what choices they make, then their personal risk doesn't matter. I imagine that Orym isn't going to tell them that, because given the scope of the threat, there's not necessarily a guarantee that Morri can make that happen, so the rest of the Hells have to make the choice themselves to take the risk and trust that the others have their backs. And in the end, if Orym has to live with that no matter which way fate plays out, he will. He's already had plenty of practice.

They're at war, and that's how soldiers operate. Because when they're behind enemy lines, it's the only way missions get completed and they have a chance of making it back alive.

[hammerbacks]

[princess-self-shipping]

Thank you In Stars and Time for proving to my doubting ass once and for all that I am

In fact

Panromantic. Cause HOLY FUCKING SHIT-

[greatbigbellies]

I'm so glad I'm a freak about bellies. This shit is so much more fun than being normal and well adjusted about midriffs. Imagine seeing someone's tummy and NOT wanting it to get bigger and being allowed to touch it? I can't imagine.

[fagmolloy]

i need to go home and not be doing this rn

[bookwyrminspiration]

GRR GRR I HATE LEGACY. LASER RAPTORED!!!

[vitospaghetta]

How do you imagine Leon's place to look like and where do you think he lives? Some flat?

Also alaooo what do you think he does in his free time?

You have no idea how much thought I've put into this over the years.

Let me preface this with the fact that I'm specifically talking about original continuity Leon post-RE6 here, where he's a seasoned adult and has been in his career field for a while.

Leon more-than-likely lives in D.C. (he could also live in VA or MD but he strikes me as the kinda guy who would rather eat glass than commute, especially with D.C. traffic being absolute bullshit) in an apartment somewhere in the city.

As a federal agent, he makes a salary, which is something that is determined by things like the amount responsibility you have within the agency, your credentials/experience, your skillset, etc. Given his role and responsibilities within the D.S.O., he's easily a top earner. The top earners within the FBI make $153,000 annually, but it looks like top earners within the CIA can make more — like with all things, every agency is different. The D.S.O. obviously isn't a real agency, but as one that is held above all others (as far as authority within the criminal justice system is concerned), Leon probably receives a pretty cushy salary. Around $200,000 annually, easy. Income tax would fuck him over, but he'd still walk away with a reasonable amount per month to afford a $4,000+ per month apartment or to buy one and pay off a mortgage.

He can easily afford a one or two bedroom apartment in the city is what I'm saying. And I mean a nice apartment. We're talking granite countertops, stainless steel appliances, washer and dryer in-unit, floor-to-ceiling windows, in a modern building in a nice area of the city. An area that consists entirely of nice apartment buildings like the one he lives in. There's actually an area just outside of NYC that reminds me of the kinda area I can see him living in. I was there to take the ferry over into the city for a memorial/organ donation event I was attending last year.

The pics don't exactly encapsulate the full vibe, and these apartments probably go for millions due to the proximity to the city and being right off the Hudson, but it's quiet, safe, and filled with sporty people. Lots of folks walking dogs, jogging after work hours, and a sense of community amongst people that seemingly have their shit together.

He strikes me as the type to have a two bedroom apartment just for an office that he's hardly ever in. He'd want to live in a building that has a gym as an amenity because it's easier than hoofing it to a gym elsewhere, and a garage for him to put his car and the crotch rocket he's currently mourning courtesy of Maria.

As for the apartment's interior, I feel like it would completely lack personality or cluttered charm. There's a level of almost sterility to it, in that it's devoid of knick-knacks, personal photos, and encompasses a strong aesthetic of maturity. Everything in it is nice. There's tasteful artwork on the walls, and it's furnished with well-made and sometimes expensive furniture and appliances, because, as a childless adult, if Leon's going to spend money on only himself, he's going to spend it well. You get what you pay for, after all. There are obviously some traces of Leon's personality strewn about — skin care products in the bathroom, boots and leather jackets by the door, some books, laundry crumpled at the foot of his bed and piled by the washer/dryer, maybe a single sarcastic coffee mug somewhere in the cabinet — but there's no novelty.

Due to his constant bouncing around, he isn't home enough to put too much effort into it, and he hasn't had the luxury of certainty or normalcy in so long that all he wants out of his home is for it to look nice and be a comfortable place to sleep. He appreciates coming home to a place that is his, but it doesn't need to be a display of everything he's ever enjoyed. Even when he is home, he strikes me as the type to start going stir crazy when he sits for too long. The most amount of time he probably ever spent at home was when he was self-isolating and hitting the bottle really hard. There's also the generational element of Gen-X'ers being extremely lowkey about shit.

As far as what Leon does in his free time, I feel like he enjoys doing things that are out of the house due to the aforementioned inability to stay alone with his thoughts for too long. The man is constantly trying to distract himself to place distance between himself and his trauma, so where he might have been able to sit and watch a movie alone before, he struggles to now.

Leon's very extroverted, likable, and adaptable, so he probably enjoys being around other people, even if he's not actively talking to them. Though he appreciates silence as well, when he's kicking things around in his head and is trying to find some semblance of peace and a means to calm the noise. He might get a coffee at a shop right by his apartment where he's a regular and everyone knows him by name, or go for a run, or go shopping. Maybe he tries to make plans with those he cares about to go out for dinner, like he did with Claire in Infinite Darkness. Maybe he tries to catch a good sunset over the Potomac River. He goes to the gym, he rides his motorcycle around the city or takes a scenic route on the outskirts just for the hell of it, he meets up with a fellow agent and they do shots at his favorite bar.

I don't think he has hobbies, as in crafting or gaming or being too involved in any specific interests, but everything he does is fueled by his love of people, his appreciation for what good he has in his life, and his need for escape.