#I can keep watching moments like forever and I would never get tired of it

[fionnalovesanimeboysandholo]

Another moment of Lucy saving Natsu by hugging him from behind. Savor this and add this to your collection

[timeisacephalopod]

I've kinda seen some pushback to the idea of representation in media and I don't necessarily think it's bad to point out actual rights are more important than Disney's thousandth first gay character that's fine, but I've had a LOT of people comment on my works about asexual characters and tell me what I wrote changed their life-and it's always that phrase- because they now have the language to describe what they feel. I've had people who ARENT ace or aro comment that what I wrote finally made a concept they didn't understand make sense, or that the way I explained things was interesting and enlightening and I'm kind of a mediocre writer who hasn't written anything in ages.

Like idk, if reading something from a writer who is fucking around and only somewhat talented can genuinely impact someone because they've not seen anything like them reflected back at them in life or media I don't think pushing for representation in media is as "needless" as some people seem to think and caring about that doesn't mean you don't care about more "important" (although if you think seeing people like you in media ISNT important it's because you already have that representation or are privileged enough to not care if you do, in which case maybe pipe down) stuff. Hell, I even got a Facebook message ages ago from someone who found a comment I left in an ace group about QPR's and what they meant to me and how I perceived them and the person no joke said what I wrote two years before they even found it changed their life forever because they finally knew what kind of relationship they actually wanted.

So like sure, of course there's always bigger fish to fry them diversity in media (you know, like diversity in real life lol) but I don't think it's as frivolous as some people are beginning to act like it is. At least not if you're an aspec person it's not, I STILL don't see ace characters almost ever and I'll bet my whole everything if I asked a writer of a show why they'd tell me that EVERYONE has to be in a sexual relationship and characters that aren't won't sell and are boring- I say this because in film school I had a teacher TELL ME every character needed to basically be sex obsessed and when I pointed out a GREAT MANY CHARACTERS are not revolved around sex (Supernatural stars two brothers, I pointed out) and when she asked if I had love interests I was like ??? That doesn't matter- using my aforementioned supernatural example almost all their love interests die or get mind wiped because at the end of the day that's not what the story was about. So actually I think writers who act like that teacher need like 50 reality checks, and representation in stories isn't unimportant and also support indie writers you'll probably find more funky shit there then Disney anyway lmao.

And also even the asexual characters I DO see in media don't remind me at all of myself even if I appreciate the effort, but they never feel real or genuine and their sexuality doesn't get a lot of exploration so 🤷🏻‍♀️ I actually could use more media focused on characters that I can genuinely see my sexuality reflected in in a meaningful and narratively impactful way because I've got nothing.

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tormented Spirit | 2

Part 1 2 3

"Is it such a sin to stand up for yourself?" you mutter as tears blur your vision. The way he reacted was visceral, instinctive even. "You never have to stand up for yourself ever again," says Daemon, reaching a hand to you, "come."

Daemon Targaryen x Hightower!Reader | 4k+ | cw: fem!reader, reader has brown hair, wife!reader, twin!Gwayne, arranged/forced marriage, canon divergence, alternate universe, smut (piv, loss of virginity, fingering, semi-public sex, Daemon talking you through it), DD:DNE, panic/anxiety attacks, daddy issues/child abuse/family problems, mentions/depictions of mental/physical/psychosomatic illness, mentions/depictions of death/suicidal ideation/murder, ye old misogyny, angst, typos, etc.

A/N: i am surprised I got as many comments as I did on chapter 1 🥺🫶 it's not that I think my writing is bad... Well... Idk it felt aimless when I started so I am grateful for the positive reinforcement. 👉👈 I am once again asking for more pls comment n reblog I would love u forever if u did | cross posted on ao3

Tagging: @arabellasleopardcoat

Daemon heads to your chambers, eager to shake you awake and ruin your morning once more. When he arrives to the room, he stops in his tracks, disappointed to see you were risen. That is, until he realizes the state you were in.

You roused long before the sun had and could not find sleep no matter how badly you searched. You decided to draw yourself a warm bath in hopes of finding sleep in the tub; you only find more restlessness and simply accept your fate.

You hear Daemon's entrance and turn to him from the vanity you were wallowing. You were half dressed. Your corset was undone and you had given up on braiding the sides of your head. You smile weakly at him, "good morrow."

Nothing about your tired, sullen eyes agreed with that, and it irritates him to know that you're one of those people. Pretenders.

"Well, finish up then," Daemon furrows his brows, "get dressed. We have yet to accomplish our task."

You mimic his expression, brushing your dark hair back, "task?"

He rolls his eyes, "I do not believe yesterday counts as an introduction."

Upon realizing he meant the introduction to Caraxes, your body tenses. You look sick. You stand to try and convince him out of it, but Daemon reaches you before you can get on your feet. He places a hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. Your heart thunders when he brushes your hair to one shoulder. He secures your dress from behind, and your breath grows heavy as you watch him from the mirror.

"It is not so bad, riding a dragon," the prince says to plant a false sense of trust in you, "who knows? You might enjoy it."

There is an unnatural warmth that spills across your form when your husband then completes your braids. He weaves in a manner far gentler than Gwayne ever has. It makes your lips part.

He brings you to your feet. Daemon takes in your expression, lips curling slightly, "there you are, wife."

Your brows knit.

He knew his artificial gentleness has you off-guard. There is no better moment to have you do his bidding than now.

One might be surprised to know that Caraxes actually enjoyed having you on his back, as did Daemon, not because they suddenly liked you— gods no, but because the sound of your screams were oh-so satisfying.

You could do little else but release cries of terror as you clung to your husband from behind. Daemon made it a point to do flips and all sorts of unnecessarily moves whilst flying, hoping your hold would falter. The time you spent in the air felt like eternity. It seemed your husband was set on touring the entire 7 realms.

You never thought you would be so ever happy to see the pit. The pit could not say the same about you however. You spill your guts out to the floor exactly like the first time you were here.

Daemon makes a face. He turns to the keepers and orders them to clean your mess up, lest it get on Caraxes' claw.

Woe is you who is forced to repeat the exact thing the next morning. You could not even plead your case, for your throat was sore. The sound of your screams this time were not as entertaining to Daemon, as your voice is hoarse. At some point, the terror is too great, you cannot scream. Because of this, he cuts the flight short in boredom, excited instead at the promise of watching you suffer through another retch. But, oh, by the gods, were you an inconveniencing woman.

Instead of remaining consistent, you just had to make a show and faint into him, did you?

He could not care less for you, which is why he chucks you off into the arms of a dragon keeper, but the damned old man could no longer carry such a weight, and so he was begrudgingly forced to throw you over his shoulder and bring you to a maester himself.

In truth, he'd all forgotten about his wife fainting until the next morning, when he came to the maester's quarters to ask for something to soothe his hammering head from his heavy drinking the night before. He was, in fact, offended, when the maester insinuated that he had come to check up on his bride.

Before he could give the greying maester a piece of his mind, he hears a terrible voice barking from the ward. Its grating timbre made it clear to Daemon that Lord Hand Cunttower was off on a yapping session again.

He walks deeper into the room. Weeping sounds become audible.

"—no, you do not understand," Otto snaps, hunched over at the side of your bed.

Ah, twas you who was being terrorized.

You dare not turn to your father, for you knew your throat would only tighten more that it already has. You force yourself to take deep breaths, but it's easier said than done. You remain still on the bed you laid on.

"You must sire as many children as your body can take, or you will die," the man says.

But you were dying anyway.

"The process will not be pleasant."

Nothing is pleasant.

"It will hurt-"

Everything hurts.

"-but it is a better fate than-"

"Enough!" you snap, glaring at him with angry, red eyes. You repeat, though your voice is weaker, "enough, enough, eno-"

Otto gravely speaks your name. Your body recognized the danger, but having realized upon waking up to the face of a maester, it mattered little where or who it came from, you were destined to hurt- to die.

"Do not fall complacent be-"

"You are no longer my lord," you quip. Sweat forms on your nape. This is the first time you've ever interrupted your father.

He is gobsmacked. He is bewildered. His back straightens, "what?"

You feel yourself descend into heavy fraught. Your saliva tries to choke you.

"What," he presses, "did you say, girl?"

"You are my father," your voice falters, "but not my lord."

Otto's face warps.

Your breath grows shorter and shorter, "my liege lord is my-" pant "-husband, and what he-" pant "-desires, I will-" pant "-do."

Daemon's ears and brows perk at your misplaced loyalty. Part of him wants to laugh out loud and make himself known, but then he sees, even from where he stood, how it got Otto twisted. He chuckles to himself instead.

Your father enunciates as though he means to stab you with them, "you stupid fucking whore."

You crumble like chalk. You fall into another round of body arresting tremors. Your chest is tight and you screw your eyes painfully shut. It becomes apparent to Daemon, as it would anyone who'd witness, where your condition sourced. Otto grabs your shoulders, "you know nothing of-" but then recoils.

Daemon shoves him away, glaring as he says, "unhand her."

Otto manages to balance himself, but he looks as though the veins on his temples were about to pop. He clenches his jaw, "I am speaking to my daughter."

"You mean at her," his silver hair slips over his shoulder as he turns to you, "she does not look like she can hold conversation."

"This is personal matter," Otto steps forward.

"Mmm," Daemon turns back to him, "I do say, I am glad to have interrupted," he shifts on his leg, linking his fingers together, "a dutiful husband should know all personal matters of his wife. Don't you agree?"

Though you were still wrestling with yourself, you heard every word. You knew if you did not interject, they will fight each other for your carcass. You feel lightheaded, but you force yourself to open your eyes and speak.

Of course, the only sound you manage to make is a strangled and pained one.

Otto averts his attention to you, and tries to come to your side.

Daemon steps in front of him and tilts his head back, "oh... I would adore it if you give me a reason to kill you."

You choke out, "Daemon."

Your father stiffens as he looks past the said man to inspect you, missing the way said man smirks. Otto turns back to Daemon, feeling bile spread in his mouth as the prince says, "see. She does not want you."

Otto's lips curl and his hands ball into fists.

Your husband waves a hand, "go away. You're clearly upsetting her."

Otto does the most to remain calm, "she is my da-"

"She is my wife," Daemon snaps, imposing upon him.

You gulp with difficulty as you catch the way your father's jaw clenches. You force yourself to sit up and open your mouth to speak, but everyone's attention is averted to the Kingsguard that walks into the room.

Daemon's forehead curls at the Cargyll knight, "my prince. Lord Hand."

"Which one are you?" asks the prince.

"Arryk, my prince."

"State your business, Arryk."

"I-"

"I requested a ward for the princess," Lord Hand answers instead.

Daemon makes a face at him and chuckles dryly under his breath.

Arryk looks between the two again then slowly continues, "I and my brother have been awarded the honor of serving ward to the Princess of Dragonstone. I take first watch today."

Daemon chuckles again, "a bit late, aren't you?"

The white cloak stiffens then bows, "I was just given word this hour."

"Hmm. Well, Arryk," he motions, "why don't you go escort the Lord Hand out of the room before someone dies."

He stiffens again, but turns to the said man nonetheless. He does not question it and merely does what was instructed.

Or at least tries to.

"I do not trust you with my daughter's well-being," Otto steps forward, pointing a finger to the ground, "you are the very reason she is in that bed."

Daemon gasps dramatically. At this point, you finally had enough wits about you to speak, "please-" but your voice is easily drowned out however.

"Do you not remember thanking my brother for the, what was it," the prince pretends to think, "joyous union? Or would you like to watch me stake my claim upon he—"

Otto's face twists in horror and repulsion, but that is not why Daemon's words are cut short. It is because of the cold, clammy, trembling hand that takes his own that he looks down. He watches as you sigh out, "leave us, father."

The said man turns to you in grave offence. In your fear, you do not notice the betrayal that is mixed with it. His anger flares and he scoffs. He gives you one last look, and you knew exactly it was just that. This would be last time he would ever look upon you. When he storms away, you feel it in your chest: this is the last time you will ever call him father. You were forsaken, truly forsaken.

Otto is seen out by Arryk.

Your hand slips from Daemon's, as you no longer had the strength. You muster all your remaining energy to reach the drink propped on your bedside table. It was a futile attempt though, as instead of grasping it, you knock it over, which only leads you into another fit of tears.

Daemon curses and shakes his foot that's gotten soaked. He did mean to snap at you for it, but you were already clearly suffering. Your breathing is short and it seemed like you were mumbling something.

He hunches over in an attempt to hear you, "what?"

It takes a myriad of repetitions for him to realize you were apologizing.

His face contorts, "gods," what pathetic creature had he been given to?

Daemon's upper lip curls and he can no longer bear the sound of your whining any further. He calls for the maester, asking for another cup of water because you had knocked over your own. Just as the maester goes off to get you another drink, he remembers he came here for his own affliction because his head begins to hammer again. He rubs his temples and sits on the vacant bed besides yours.

"Here, my prince," the maester says upon arrival, "milk of the poppy enough for the both of you."

Daemon squints as the man places a tray on your bedside table. Daemon is handed a cup first, but does not drink it until after he watches you be helped to drink your own fill. After, the maester promptly leaves with a curt nod. The drink does not take effect on you until after Daemon finishes his own

Your voice shakes, "t-thank you."

Daemon puts his cup down.

"You did not have to come," you say softly.

"Do not flatter yourself," he scoffs, "I did not come for you. I came for my headache."

"Yet it remains," you turn to him, face tight and gleaming from all the tears you've shed, "you did not have to come."

He stares at you for a moment. You looked so frail, so devoid of hope. Truly, death would be mercy to you at this point.

Just then, ser Arryk returns. He finally sees you and gives you a deep bow, "princess."

Being addressed as such makes you feel sad... and lonely.

"I am ser Arryk Cargyll. I will be your ward, along with my twin brother, Erryk, who you will meet after my shift." The kingsguard straightens up, "I will do all that I can to ensure your health does not falter and that you are always seen to."

You think of your own twin as you take in the man's features. The idea that your father purposefully chose twin brothers as your ward made you feel sad and sick, but it was hardly Arryk's fault Otto liked mocking you, so you smile at him, "I have a twin."

The man nods, offering you a smile far more genuine than yours, "aye. Ser Gwayne Hightower. He is deft with the short sword."

You turn to your hands, recalling just a few days ago when you had watched him train. Your lips curl upwards, "though, not as good as I."

Daemon pulls his head back, face contorting. He is taken aback when Arryk's sniggers. The latter nods, "perhaps you will show me your tricks, my lady."

There is a twinkle in your eye as you turn back to him, "perhaps."

Daemon raises a brow at the interaction and decides to stand, "come," he reaches a hand to you, "some fresh air would do you good."

Fresh air? Your jaw slacks and you turn to Daemon with a fallen expression. Be as it was, you were no fool. You did not believe your husband had your best interest in mind, and yet, it was not like you had much of a choice. Against yourself, you to take his hand.

He pulls you up and Arryk comes to your side to assist you. He helps you to your feet, hand on your arm and shoulder.

Daemon is annoyed by his fussing. "Yes. Very good, Cargyll. I can manage to bring her to the dragon pit myself."

You close your eyes and sigh. Just as your dreaded.

"Dragon pit?" Arryk repeats.

"Yes. She needs fresh air." The prince narrows his eyes, "do you contest me?"

Arryk releases you and shakes his head, "I would not."

"Good," he motions with nod, "out of the way then."

You see, after being scorched by the fire of your maker— your father, the sight of Caraxes emerging from the depths did not strike as much fear into you as it did before. In fact, the promise of malice from the beast felt... cathartic, and for once, you welcomed Daemon's insistence on being brought to its maw.

You stumbled against Caraxes' scaly cheek. Having done nothing but lay in the maester's chambers, your hair was not tied or braided in any way. As the wind blew, it tickled against the dragon's face. Caraxes did not seem to enjoy the sensation, and so he growled and snapped his teeth.

Daemon was quick to chastise his mount, and for that, he did not realize your lack of self-preservation. Oh, but Caraxes did; he even growled again, only to be met once more by your unflinching demeanor.

Daemon would only realize your change after taking flight and landing on a beach. Upon dismounting, Caraxes takes it upon himself to screech as you hover. The prince doesn't know who is more bewildered, him or his dragon, when you screech back.

Your neck veins pop and spit comes out of your mouth at the intensity of it all. A harsh wind blows your hair and your skirt. You heave after releasing such a harsh noise.

In truth, perhaps Caraxes is more perturbed as, unlike Daemon's who presses forward, the beast pulls back and shakes his head. He bleats as he watches his rider grab your arm.

The prince means to berate you for your insanity, but then, gods, you rather conveniently succumb to another arrest to your heart and lungs. He does not know why he catches you when your legs give in but he knows exactly why he suggests: "get in the water."

You look up at him, your glassy eyes meeting his violet ones.

He lets you crumble to the ground and bends down to undo your dress, "a swim would do you wonders."

"N-no- you will regret-" you sputter.

But Daemon ignores you, not that it took much effort, for you were incoherent soon enough.

He pulls you out of your dress until you're in nothing but your slip. You sob, and he hushes you, assuring he will be by your side. He removes his tunic. Soon, he is dragging you down deeper and deeper, and you are choking and spitting saltwater.

Daemon decides to simply release you and wait until your body floats lifeless. With how you were gasping, it would not take long. He turns his head when his face is splashed by your flailing arms. When he looks back, the water is calm and your body is nowhere to be seen.

... well, that was rather quick.

He waits for a moment, watching bubbles float up. After a while, he purses his lips and decides to go back ashore. He should have done this sooner.

He freezes when you emerge in front of him, pushing your brown hair off your face. He is perturbed by the serenity across your features; it was as though you were reborn.

You sigh, "I told you you would regret it."

Daemon blankly stares at you.

"There is a great river in Oldtown," you wade around, "the water there is not nearly as pleasant or warm as this, but still... swimming was one of the only ways I could calm myself."

His jaw clenches. He does not even try to hide his disappointment.

You lick your lips at it and turn to Caraxes, who was happily soaking in the sun from the sandy shore, "take heart. Your dragon might entertain himself by eating me yet," you turn to him, "or perhaps my Lord Hand will kill me himself."

His face twists, "what?"

You shake your head and roll your eyes.

He pulls his head back, offended and confused by your sudden nerve.

You allow your body to float up in the water, "you need not pretend. I know you long to kill me."

Daemon is insulted by your brashness. He grabs your floating hip and pushes you down until you're once again face to face. Not a semblance of fear is on your features. It only angers him further.

He snaps, "I could have your tongue for that."

He cannot deny the way his stomach rolls when you place your hands by the base of his neck. The complete change in your temperament puts him on edge. Have you been playing him all along?

"Would it not be simpler to have my head?" you speak plainly, as though you were genuinely curious of his response.

His nostrils flare.

Before he can act, you are swimming off. You emerge from the water, dripping wet. Your clothing is sheer and hugs every part of your body, leaving nothing to the imagination. He could not help but look, but then he was sorely insulted all over when you pet Caraxes head and he lets you.

It was a twisted hallucination. He is suddenly reminded of the milk of the poppy he'd drank; you've probably poisoned him and planned all of this with your cunt father like the conniving whore you really were.

You do not hear him emerge, but only know he did because he is upon you. He forces you around through a severe squeeze on your arms, "what is your game, Hightower cunt?!"

Your body seizes, but you do not succumb to the thundering of your heart, as you had just been relaxed.

He shakes you, making you gasp, "SPEAK!"

"There is no game!" you whimper.

He chuckles dryly, shaking you harshly once more "perhaps it should be said that need I no assistance from my dragon to kill you."

A shiver runs down your spine, "please-"

"Then tell me th-"

"-just do it."

The sound of Caraxes huffing brings Daemon back to reality. And yet it takes you speaking, "just kill me," for him to realize you meant exactly what he thought.

He stills where you descend into further torment. He knows then that it is true. There was no plot, or at least not one where this creature of agony could ever oversee. You were calmed by the water, but not cured. Very truly, he thinks again death would be mercy, convenient for him as well. Yet, in his nature, Daemon does opposite of what he is told and pries his hands off. He mutters under his breath, "ao mūdas run," you terrible thing.

You sob, as if you understood him.

You shed tears unlike the others he's witnessed; there is no panic or fear, only pain.

"Surely you agree it is better than living this way."

The clarity of your voice takes him aback. He turns away, uncomfortable of your sudden agency.

"I have been this way since I can remember," you confess, "and they've all have counted my days for just as long."

"Why must I bloody my hands for you?" he squints, "if you despise living so much, do it yourself."

Your laugh is haunting. You shake your head and wipe your face, "I am not as brave as you. I could not even kill the fishes Gwayne caught for me, though I ate them."

Daemon is unmoved, twice so at the mention of your brother.

"And Gwayne..." you sigh, "he would blame himself." You turn to your feet, warmed by the sand beneath it, "I would not do that to him." You shake your head again, "but again, take heart," you smile, "it will happen soon enough."

His forehead curls.

"I can feel it in my gut," you rub your belly, "it is putrid and festering... whatever it is."

He tilts his head, "then do me a favor and wallow in silence—" he walks off, sparing one last glance, "and try scheming with your cunt father somewhere you will not be caught."

You manically laugh and rip at your hair, "he is my illness, if it is not plain to you."

He stops and turns back to you.

"I am the way that I am because I-" you poke your chest, "am he, had he been born a woman." You rub your sternum, "he loathes me because he is I. I am his hair, his nose, his temper, his... weakness, only amplified because I did not inherit his cock.

"When I pray..." you sniffle, "sometimes I think the gods keep me alive for I am his reckoning— that I must torment him for all the years he has tormented others... tormented me."

Daemon watches the salt from your eyes join the salt on your slip. He stares at your pert nipples then watches you chew your lower lip. He licks his own, "did you mean what you told him?"

You watch as he inches closer, "what?"

"That he is no longer your liege lord," he reaches for your arm, "that I am."

"I-"

Daemon pushes the shoulder of your slip dress down.

Your hand darts to his chest, "i-it is the truth."

He hums and tilts his head. You gasp when he kisses your neck. He licks the saltwater off your skin, enjoying the sound you make when his teeth graze you, "very well then."

Goosebumps form when he pulls your skirt up your thighs.

"It would be beneath a prince to withhold aid for such a tormented spirit."

You do not speak for soon his mouth is claiming yours. It is not as horrid as you imagined it would be. You did not think someone who's shown nothing but aggression could behold you so tenderly. You shiver when he continues to rid you of your sopping clothes. When you break away for air, you manage to mutter, "someone c-could see."

Daemon's expression is changed as stares at you and pushes you to the ground. You gasp as you find yourself atop the garbs he already managed to remove. He undoes his breeches, "who? My dragon?"

You do not know if he means Caraxes.

"You are my wife," he drops to his knees, grabbing yours, "the sin lies with the looker," he pushes your legs apart, "not us."

You bite your lips, feeling the the need to repel him, but decide against it. You simply close your eyes and dig your fingers into the sand.

His loins burn at the sound of your sigh. He sinks into you and relishes your submission. He wraps your legs around him and rocks his hips into yours. You mewl and dig into his back. He bites your lobe before whispering, "you belong to me."

You scratch your nails up his back as his rocking hips send bolts of pleasure in your body.

"Say it."

"I-I-" you heave, "belong to you."

He squeezes your thighs, "you are to do what I so desire."

Your gasp softly when he grabs your jaw, making you turn to him.

"-especially if it is against your father, yes?"

You gulp, unable to speak. You simply nod.

Daemon's eyes become hooded. He releases your jaw, claiming your thigh again, "good."

You both remain this way, kissing and rubbing, but then you begin to grow impatient. You bring your mouth to his to catch his attention but do not kiss him. He is taken aback by your unintentional tease and digs his fingers into your flesh. This is why you whimper as you speak, "you- can... enter."

He is broken from his trance, "what?"

"I," you scratch his skin gently, as if to encourage him, "know you are ready. You do not have to hold back. I am accustomed to pain."

He knits his brows, then tilts his head, "how could a virgin know such things?"

He watches bashfulness claim you. You shake your head, "I read it."

"Did your book not tell you it need not be painful?"

"I-" you let out a loud noise when you feel his fingers touch your womanhood, "Daemon-"

He purrs at the sound of his name, "I will show you how good it can feel so that you can tell your father all about it."

The horrifying thought does not even register as he makes you feel things you did not know possible. You begin to shiver and whine, but it is entirely opposite to what your body is accustomed to. Your breath begins to shorten and you instinctively begin to panic, but Daemon's voice keeps you grounded.

"Breathe," he licks your pulse, "it feels good, does it not? Breathe and think of how good I'm making you feel."

You are entirely subservient to him, to his baritone, to his fingers, to his hips. There is nothing but sand and Daemon. You whine when you feel a hard intrusion. The sensation is foreign, and it causes your belly to tense.

He kisses the line that forms between your brows, "relax, my wife. Now is not the time for pain," he hooks his hands behind your knees, "it's a time for pleasure."

It's all a blurry haze after this. Daemon moves into you in a way that makes you wonder how this could ever hurt. Every thrust sends ripples of bliss down your spine. Every hit draws out the lewdest of sounds from your throat. You understand then why they call it love making; you love every moment of it. Your bliss is heightened when he touches something inside you, and again, and again-

For once in your life, as your breath grows heavy, you do not feel like you're about to die.

Daemon alternates tempos, but ultimately resigns to fast and hard. He does not cease until your rigid body goes limp beneath him. The pressure in your stomach breaks into a million burning pieces, and just as it becomes all too much, he pulls out, propping himself up on one arm. You gasp at the heat the spills on your thigh as he strokes himself. Soon, his arm gives out and he collapses beside you.

You behold the mess of red and white between your legs, but find no shame, only arousal, which you did not expect. You turn to your husband, watching his chest heave, his temples sweat, and his tongue lick his lips.

He's... he's beautiful.

[pantherxrogers]

after hours - minghao x fem!reader

💜 pairing: bf!minghao x fem!reader

💜 warnings: fluff, making out, suggestive ending

💜 summary: you want your boyfriend, minghao, to stay the night. but, you're nervous about asking him. he knows the perfect way to soothe you.

💜 a/n: he looks SO boyfriend in these pictures 😭 i was listening to "after hours" by kehlani when i got the idea for this! enjoy!

divider by @cafekitsune

my masterlist

This is a work of fiction and is not meant to represent real events or the actual personalities of any K-pop idols mentioned. All characters and situations are purely imaginary. This story is created for entertainment purposes only, and no harm or disrespect is intended toward the idols or their fans. Enjoy!

you're surprised by how funny this movie is, and your giggle fills the comfortable silence. as you cuddle in closer, minghao's chest vibrates with a chuckle.

you glance up at him, expecting to find him laughing at the cheesy comedy on your tv screen. but, he's looking at you.

his warm, brown eyes are soft and drooping. your heart skips a beat, enchanted by the loving look in his eyes. it's getting late, but you can't bear to say goodnight.

the pair of you have only been dating for a couple of months, but it's safe to say you're head over heels for him. He's attentive and sweet and seems to know what you need before asking.

"what movie do you want to watch next?" he tucks a loose curl behind your ear, waiting for your response. his voice is gentle and slow, a telltale sign of his need for sleep.

your heart aches slightly. you can tell he's tired but neither of you wants to let go of the other. instead, you press a soft kiss on his lips. it's lazy yet intimate, that familiar feeling warms the pit of your stomach.

"hao, i can tell you're tired," you murmur, sitting up to cuddle further into his grasp. instinctively, his arms wrap around your torso. you could stay like this forever. lounging on your worn couch, surrounded by minghao's warmth and affection. but, you can't be that selfish.

"so are you," he teases, blowing a raspberry into your neck. "but, i want to stay here with you as long as you'll have me."

the sincerity of his words wraps around your heart, spreading warmth throughout your body. "i don't want you to leave," you whine, clinging to his form.

minghao's hands are silky and gentle, stroking your back through the thin material of your shirt. the motion is calming, lulling you into a state of serenity. maybe that's why you finally find the courage to ask what you've been holding in for weeks.

"would you want to stay the night?" it's nothing more than a whisper. luckily, your bodies are intertwined and your voice carries into his ear.

your heart thumps while you wait for his response. a million questions run through your mind. is it too soon? does he want to sleep in his bed? will he be able to make it to practice tomorrow? am i desperate? does he-?

minghao's thumb gently brushes over the wrinkle in your brow. he follows it up with a chaste kiss, erasing the little lines of worry.

"of course i want to stay here with you, honey. i thought you'd never ask." his smile is bright, lighting up his entire face. it stuns you for a moment. it's difficult to get used to his beauty sometimes.

"o-okay, good," you breathe out, finally able to relax. minghao is staying the night at your house. you try to bite back your smile but it's no use. his thumb gently tugs at it, before he leans down to kiss you again.

he kisses you with purpose like he's pouring all his love and appreciation into the gesture. your heartbeat roars in your ears, feeling slightly dizzy from the feel of his lips. you feel like you're in a daze. the only thing keeping you tethered to reality is him.

he snakes his arm tighter around your waist, helping you straddle his thighs. you feel your cheeks heat up and a warm shiver runs down your spine. you've always loved it when he subtly shows his strength, maneuvering your body with ease.

the sensitive skin of your neck tingles from the gentle press of his lips. his warm hands massage slow circles into your hips. you let out a quiet moan, lost in the way he slowly explores your body.

he teases you, toying with the bottom of your shirt. he strokes the smooth skin below your belly button, leaving goosebumps in his path. minghao's lips haven't stopped their transgressions. he's only upped the intensity.

your head swims when his lips meet the spot below your ear. your heart races, reveling in the subtle ghost of his lips against your skin. you wrap your arms around his neck, a weak attempt at bringing him closer.

his low chuckle adds to your excitement, each warm puff of air against your skin feels heavenly. he finally succumbs to you, trailing the tip of his tongue along your jawline. when he finally stops, he nips your skin, quickly soothing it with an open-mouthed kiss.

"m-minghao," you breathe, unable to focus on anything else but him. he lets out a teasing hmm? continuing his journey down your body.

"want me to take you to bed, baby?" he breathes against your skin, pecking your delicate collarbone.

"y-yes, please," you whine. barely a second passes before he stands up, carefully cradling you in his arms. you cling to him like a koala, pressing a kiss to his shoulder.

"such a sweet girl," he hums, making his way toward your bedroom.

[hizuzeiri]

my touya relationship hcs cus why not ! (hes so cute i love him sm)

Warning: spoilers, nsfw, smut, badly written 🥲

SFW

Knowing his backstory, he has never felt loved till he met you.

The moment you said you loved him, he swore to himself that he would keep you forever

Extremely protective over you

He puts up this whole new personality (aka his Dabi side) around others but with you, he just couldn't help but let out his inner Touya

After missions with the league, he would sneak out of their hideout to go to your place

He has this huge spot for you, like hes mean and harsh towards others but towards you? Hes gentle

he shows his love through his actions cus he isn't rlly that good with words

I feel like he would be super clingy and touchy, like its either his hands are on yours, your waist, shoulder, or they’re wrapped around you

he would be the type to secretly love cuddles

His skin is also like super warm because of his quirk (warmer cuddles !!)

He would NOT hesitate to show the world that youre taken

a picky eater but would eat anything you make

Loves kisses soo much

Touya would definitely take you out for night strolls and dates he gets motion sickness so he cant drive

WOULD LITTERLLY DO ANYTHING FOR YOU.

NSFW

Starts of gentle and asks first if youre okay

He would always ask for your consent before doing something

But at some point he will lose control at and would eventually start going rougher

He finds it cute seeing you choke on his cock whenever you give him blowjobs

Would praise you a lot

“Fuck.. what did i do to deserve you”

“You’re so pretty like this..”

Loves eating you out

Can literally eat your pussy everyday and never get tired of it.

also loves if youre on top of him

He finds it cute watching you struggle to move on his cock

Every sound, whimper, and moan that comes out of your mouth are like music to his ears

This man is EXTREMELY PUSSY DRUNK

will definitely ask for more than 1 orgasm

“You can do one more for me, right baby?”

“Cmon… i didn’t come yet”

He always asks where he should come

Comes A LOT.

For aftercare, he would shower you with kisses and cuddles <3

“You did so good baby”

note : sorry if its inaccurate, this is just how i imagine him 😓

[gay-dorito-dust]

Heyyy

I’m not sure if you’re still taking requests (ignore if not!)

The bat boys finding the reader sitting on the roof after a nightmare….comfort??fluff???

I was half asleep when I write this lol so naturally it’s not going to be a good one.

Jason

‘I had a feeling you’d be up here.’ He said the moment he saw you by yourself on the rooftop, blanket draped over your shoulders, as you looked over the rest of Gotham city.

‘How?’ You asked as you watched him sit himself down next to you.

‘I usually come up here myself when the dreams…became a little too real for my liking.’ Jason tells you and you didn’t need to ask him to elaborate on what he meant by that as the answer was written clear across his face, he too needed a change of scenery and fresh air to clear his mind after waking from a nightmare.

‘Well I’m fine.’ You try telling him, only to hear him scoff.

‘You wouldn’t be out here if you were fine sweetheart, I know that you can barely close your eyes right now without being reminded of why you came up here in the first place.’ He says as he looks at you knowingly. ‘Am I right?’

You sighed defeatedly as you leaned your tired and exhausted self into his side as Jason responded by draping a comforting arm over you as to keep you pressed against him. ‘Yeah, your right, your always right jay birdie but I didn’t know what else to do.’ You admitted, scared to bring yourself to even close your eyes for a single second without being reminded of what you were trying to escape in the first place. It hurt to much to revisit and if you could you would give up sleeping forever, especially if it meant never having to be scared of where your mind might take you ever again.

‘Hey it’s okay,’ Jason shushes you, tightening his hold on you. ‘it’s okay sweetheart, there’s no need to apologies I’m right here okay, nothings going to get you when I’m here with you.’ He then whispered against you as he presses kisses into your head, wishing he could do more to comfort you, but had to settle for what he could do for you in this moment of time. ‘I’m not going anywhere you hear me? I’m staying by your side and we’re going to get through this together because you’ve been strong for too long.’

You melted further into his side as his words soothed your mind and brought about more favourable memories of yourself and Jason, sweet, tender memories of reading together as you cuddled up on the couch, watching rubbish films as you had take out and amongst many more that left you thinking of nothing but him.

Dick

‘Babe? You had me worried when I couldn’t find you in bed, what are you doing out here?’ Dick asks when he lets out a sigh of relief upon seeing you on the roof of your shared home, looking out into the city of bright lights.

‘Nightmare.’ Was all you said, too tired to bring yourself to speak more than you’d like as you brought your hands under your armpits as to keep yourself warm, blinking bleary.

‘Oh honey.’ Dick cooed as he brought himself to hug you from behind, resting his head on your shoulder. Is there anything I can do to help? Water, a snack from the kitchen? Anything you want I’ll get it for you baby, all you’ve got to do is ask.’ Just when you thought Dick was going to pull away from you, you immediately latched onto him and buried your head into his neck.

‘Stay, please.’ You pleaded with him as you tightened your grip on his waist. ‘I don’t want to be alone right now.’

Dick helps you closer to him as he began to rub your up and down back comfortingly. ‘I’m wouldn’t dream of leaving you alone, not now not ever.’ He said softly. ‘I love you too much and I hate seeing you in pain and not being able to do something about it, I’d do anything to stop you from having nightmares, so focus on my voice until you feel comfortable enough to fall back asleep okay?’ He instructs you as he kept your head cradled against his chest so that all you could hear was his heartbeat.

‘Okay.’ You hummed as you nuzzled closer to dick, allowing yourself to drink him and leech off of his warmth and distinct smell that only further helped you into getting into relaxed state to begin falling asleep against him, fully content in knowing that he wasn’t going to go anywhere anytime soon.

‘Now how about I tell you about the many times me and Jason got into trouble while we were younger, it all began with a fake moustache.’ Dick then began to tell you a story of how him and Jason would often dare each other to do the most stupidest thing they could think of. It was both stupid as it was hilarious as your nightmare was long forgotten as it was replaced with the stories that Dick filled your head with, leaving you with a content smile upon your face.

Damian

‘It’s not safe to be up here alone.’ You heard Damian’s voice scold you.

‘There’s not that many safe places to go for a breath of fresh air in Gotham, so I wasn’t exactly spoilt for choice.’ You replied as you looked to see him stood behind you almost imposingly.

‘True but you could’ve at least told me that you were experiencing a nightmare.’ Damian said as he stepped next to you, looking down at your unsteady hands before quickly grabbing ahold of it within his own and clumsily intertwining his fingers with your own, comforting someone wasn’t his strong suit but at least he was aware of what simple gestures gave you some peace of mind during times of uncertainty.

‘I hate how easily you can read me sometimes.’ You chuckled humourlessly but found yourself squeezing his hand, finding that your nerves had calmed down a little bit then before. Damian had that effect on you as he often acted as your stability during times of uncertainty and or anxiety, so much that you couldn’t thank him enough for being here with you as often as he had.

‘No you don’t,’ Damian stated self assured, overlooking the city before looking at you with a slightly softer expression, ‘you’re aware that comforting others is not something I’m use to but you still allow me to try and console you during times of uncertainty, and for that I now know that my place is to be forever by your side and easing your fears like a partner should.’ He adds, squeezing your hand softly.

You smiled as you leaned your head on his shoulder, looking at nothing in particular. ‘You don’t have to do much other than give me your company.’ You tell him truthfully, you could stand out for the entity of the night if Damian was going to keep you from feeling less alone with your thoughts.

Damian smiled softly to himself. ‘Is that all? Just my company is enough?’

‘Since you’re asking, do you think that you could just hold me? Just for a little while?’ You asked, looking over at him as he silently thought it over before answering, ‘if that is what will help you ease back into sleeping, then I shall hold you for as long as you require my reassure.’ Before then gently tugging you closer to him by your joined hands, his bodily warmth warming you almost instantly as you cuddled into his side, feeling your head clear of all the fear that clung to you regarding of falling asleep again as Damian held you protectively against his chest.

[sunshinescribes]

Sweat for Me

Pairing: Trafalgar Law x Fem!Reader

Rating: EXPLICIT (18+)

Summary: You think this might be your favorite thing in the entire world. Law beneath you, whining and whimpering through his third orgasm. (A/N: I was going to post this for kinktober but fuck it, needed to get this out of my system)

Warnings: SMUT, Overstimulation, Multiple Orgasms (mentioned), Praise Kink, Submissive Law, Law is kind of a brat (which is canon to meeee), Begging, Creampie

You think this might be your favorite thing in the entire world.

Law beneath you, whining and whimpering through his third orgasm.

You watch intently, rocking your hips slowly, continuing to ride him despite the way his whole body twitches as he comes down from his high. Law is so pretty—so hauntingly beautiful like this, tan skin flushed, lips parted, and dark lashes caressing his cheeks as he battles to keep his eyes open—this is beyond compare.

Usually he’s the one in control, caging you in with his lithe body as he fucks you into the mattress with that smug smile playing at his lips. His goatee brushes against your skin while he whispers pure filth into your ear. Fuuuck, sweet girl, you’re squeezing me so tight. Want me to go deeper? Hmm? You think you can take it all?

You love those moments, but this is so much sweeter. You work the tension of a particularly harrowing day out of him, allow him to lounge while you do the work, give him anything—everything he needs—maybe even more, but he deserves it. Your captain, who plots and worries—rarely ever thinking about himself.

"Too much—fuck, sweetheart, I—" Law chokes on a soft whine when your needy cunt squeezes him. He’s barely comprehendible, his mind stuck in a pleasant haze where the art of language eludes him. You feel your lips curl into a prideful smile, knowing that you’ve reduced this brilliant man into a babbling mess.

"I’m takin’ care of you, Captain," you whisper softly, dipping down to gently kiss the corner of his mouth. Law turns his head, tries to capture your plush lips, but you pull away before he can. He’s too spent—too fucking boneless—to chase you.

Law actually pouts. You don’t know whether to blame it on the sex-induced delirium or if he’s genuinely disappointed to be denied a kiss, and it takes everything in you not to laugh at how damn cute he is, though you’re certain doing so would only earn you a fiercer pout, maybe even censure.

"Just one more handsome," you sigh, tracing the curve of his sharp jaw, brushing your fingertips against his soft sideburns and stubble. "You can do that for me, can’t you?"

Law trembles under your touch—leans into it while his tired eyes gaze up at you. He swallows thickly before finally answering with a weak nod, dark, damp tresses nearly falling over his eyes.   

"Y-yea."

God, you want to burn the image of him like this in your mind forever. Recall it every moment of every waking day until you turn to dust.

You smile down at him and begin to move your hips once more. Law jolts as soon as you do and grits his teeth to stop from crying out. You feel his tortured dick pulse inside of you, so needy and spent and ready to pour everything he has to give into you again.

You grind down on him in slow, tantalizing circles—more taunting than pleasing—and you know you’ll be repaid in kind soon. Law will work you just as hard, make you come twice as much the next time he has you bent over his desk or trapped between his body and the cold metal walls of the Polar Tang.

You don’t mean to be cruel, but the low groans and soft curses that pass his lips are so delicious. A part of you never wants this to end—wants to have him trapped inside you forever while you coax another sweet release out of him. And another. And another.

Law places a trembling hand on your hip as you continue to rock shallowly. "Fuu—FUCK, baby, p-please—"

Neither of you are certain of what he’s asking for, but when he bucks his hips to push himself just a little deeper inside of your soaking heat, you decide to be merciful.

You lift slightly, just enough to see the base of his glazed dick, before slamming back down. A desperate cry rips from his throat as you ride him. It hurts—hurts so good he can’t bite back the strings of curses that pass his lips, or the shameless whimpers that spur you on, make your movements rushed and sloppy, even as your legs begin to burn again.

"T-that’s it…" You place your hands on either side of his thighs, taking Law deeper—making him hit that sweet, spongey spot inside of you. You feel the heat in your core building, and you know he’s close—ready to burst inside of you one last time.

"You ready?"

Law nods and mumbles something you can’t make out over the squelch of your hungry cunt, swallowing him over and over and over again. You think of the mess you two are making—the evidence of your desires staining the sheets. You wonder if Law will use his devil fruit powers to clean them, switching out Shachi or Penguin’s laundry with two simple words and the flourish of his hand, much to the disdain of your fellow crewmates.

You’re ripped from your ruminations as his slender fingers dig deeper into the flesh of your hips, nearly bruising. He weakly thrusts up into your heat, chasing his release.

"You—hngg—s-said this was your pussy, right?" Your voice is airy as you rub your delicate nub, nearly there. "Then come in it."

Law swears he sees fucking spots in the corners of his vision, but he isn’t in the state of mind to be even a little concerned. He chokes out your names, practically folds into himself while he comes, long and agonizingly hard. It’s a beautiful sight, watching him gasp and blink through his orgasm until your sopping pussy is filled to the brim.

You follow after him, your walls fucking seize him, and a wave of aftershock hits Law violently, making him clench his jaw so hard it hurts. Tender praise falls from your lips—shiiit Law, you came so much, did s-so good. You lean forward, crying into his tattooed chest as ecstasy rips through you, making your ears ring and your heart beat madly in your chest.

You sigh contentedly when it passes, shaking slightly against Law’s powerful body.  

He cracks open a tired eye as you lift your head slowly. You kiss his jaw and mutter more praise against his sweaty skin.

You know you’re pushing your luck with the favor you’re about to ask.

"What is it?"

You don’t know whether you’re incredibly easy to read or if Law is just that perceptive. Fatigue causes his voice to come out deeper. If you weren’t running on the final reserves of your energy, you might have attempted another round.

"Can you do…the thing?" you ask sweetly, lifting your hand and outstretching your fingers in explanation. "Gotta get cleaned up."

You look up at Law with pleading eyes, attempting to look as cute and innocent as Bepo, though you’re almost certain you’re too disheveled and fucked out to even come close.

He sighs, lifting his tattooed hand. "This is the last time…"

You smile, mumbling your thanks.

“Room. Shambles.”

[feyhunter78]

Aftercare

Artist cred: Lxstari_

Description: A soft moment with Nerd!Miguel. Nerd!Miguel masterlist

You look beautiful. He always thinks that, but especially now as you fit yourself into his side, watching as he flips through Netflix for something to watch.

It wasn’t like this before, with Ava she would leave when it was done, put her clothes back on without sparing him a second look. But not you, you stayed, slipped his t-shirt on, climbed back into bed with him, clinging to him like a teddy bear.

“Do you want any more water?” Miguel asks, turning his head to you.

You shake your head then rest it on his chest. “No, I just want to stay right here for a bit.”

He’s pretty sure you can hear his heart pounding against his chest, his face burns, and he wants to melt into the mattress, his affection for you overflowing. “Yeah, no problem, you know you can stay as long as you like.”

You hum in response and place your hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“How about this movie? I’ve heard it’s good.” He suggests, trying to calm his frantic heartbeat.

“Whatever you think is best, I trust you.” You say sleepily, curling further into him.

I trust you. Is he dead? Is this heaven?

He clicks the movie and settles in, pulling a blanket up from the end of the bed and draping it over the both of you.

You and Miguel chat back and forth for a while pointing out inaccuracies in the movies, laughing at the jokes, cringing at the cheesy acting then fall silent, absorbed in the movie playing on the screen mounted to the wall.

Miguel gently trails his fingers up and down your back, the TV casting a soft glow across the floor, rain tapping against the window, the fuzzy blanket arranged haphazardly, your head still resting on his chest, flooding his senses with the scent of your perfume.

“As if you could splice DNA that quickly.” He snorts, eyes still locked on the screen.

When you don’t respond, he glances down. Your eyes are closed, your face half-buried in his sweatshirt, your fingers gently curled around the fabric keeping hold of him, your breathing soft and even.

Miguel smiles, warmth flooding through him, his heart skipping a beat as he takes in the sight. He never thought he would be here, with you, the pretty popular girl from his lab, the one every guy wanted, every guy fantasied about. But here you are, in his room, wearing his t-shirt, curled up and sound asleep on his chest.

How did he get this lucky? You could have anyone you wanted, he’s seen the way guys on campus look at you, but you never seem to notice. You say it’s because you’re always looking at him, and maybe you’re right. It’s intoxicating, the way you look at him. All pretty and perfect, looking up at him through your lashes, a smile toying at your lips. Or when you’re concerned, the emotion brimming in your eyes, the way you latch onto him, cling to him.

He bites the inside of his cheek as images from earlier make their way center stage. The feeling of your nails digging into his skin, the warmth of your walls desperately trying to coax him deeper, the hunger in your eyes as they met his. Of course, you’re tired, he did everything he could to pull climax after climax from you until you begged him to stop.

He pushes the memories away, wanting to soak in this peaceful moment. The sound of your breathing, the way you sigh softly and bury more of your face in his chest.

You’re so beautiful, so perfect, he wants to freeze time, wants to never let you go, wants to live in this moment forever.

An explosion lights up the TV screen, the sound rousing you from your slumber, and you lift your head blinking at him blearily. “What’s going on?”

He brushes his lips across your forehead, already missing the comforting weight of your body resting on his. “It’s just the movie, I can turn it down.”

“Oh no, the movie, Miguel, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” You tell him, smoothing your hair down with your fingers, now wide awake.

Miguel shakes his head, his voice dipping low. “Don’t worry about it, you obviously needed the sleep.” A catlike smile spread across his face at your flustered expression.

You smack his shoulder playfully. “Perv.”

“You like it.” He teases, slipping his hands under your bare thighs and pulling you closer.

You yelp at the sudden movement, but soon relax into him, tracing his facial features with the tip of your finger. “I guess I do.”

He marvels at you, at the beauty of you. Even with smudged makeup, and your hair a bit tangled, you’re still breathtaking.

“What?” You ask, smiling down at him, radiant as the sun.

“You’re just so…beautiful.”

“Miguel.” You drag out his name, smiling embarrassedly, turning your face from his.

“Y/N.” He mimics, turning your face back towards his, and kissing you.

You melt into him, like you always do, as if he’s the only one who knows how to kiss you, the only one who should ever kiss you.

“You’re really handsome, you know? Insanely so.” You say between kisses, wanting to return his compliment, unable to just accept his praise.

“Oh really?” He asks. He can feel himself blushing, so he presses his lips to the corner of your lips.

You nod the best you can, eyes fluttering shut when Miguel’s lips drift lower, tilting your head instinctually, allowing him more access to your already marked skin. “Yeah, it’s not fair.”

“Dulzura, dulzura, dulzura, have you not heard the saying all is fair in love and war?” He presses the words into your skin, preening at the sight of his earlier marks. Later you’ll chide him for leaving such obvious hickeys, but right now he knows you don’t care.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, just kiss me.” You say, cupping his cheek and bringing his lips back to yours.

He does so happily, humming against you, endorphins and dopamine blooming, traveling across his synapses with unparalleled speed. “As you wish.”

TL: @bat-bae, @nyctophilic0vitnir, @smokeywhalee, @obi-mom-kenobi, @prowlingforfood, @penggion, @crystal-crax, @oharasfilipinawife, @generalkenobitrash, @melsimps, @chrishy973, @farrowroyale, @palesatan, @scaryplanetdestroyer, @denzmallows, @36namey, @scoobysnakz, @ihateuguys, @idkbros-world @smartyren, @deputy-videogamer, @blackrose8425, @amberpanda99, @marshhbs, @queerponcho, @chooalvina

[scarletssienna]

Beggin' for Footnotes

Summary - Some things aren’t meant to last forever. And despite you and Wanda loving each other you’re not sure if it’s going to work out anymore. 4.0k word count

Warnings - Hurt (not much comfort), heavy angst, swearing, mommy Wanda, oral, fingering, face slapping, sub!reader, degradation, praise, begging, dom/sub dynamics, aftercare, hair pulling, mean Wanda, edging, face-sitting, thigh riding

AN - This is my first post on here! I’ve done writings in the past but I thought I’d try a new format and space to post it! :)) I plan on continuing this if I can find the energy lol!

Part 2

18+, minors + men dni

Not every love was supposed to last. No matter how great, how wonderful, sometimes things still end. You knew Wanda like the back of your hand. And she knows you all the same. So when one of her vices came up after one of your worst fights, you could only watch. Wanda stood out on the back porch. Cigarette between her two fingers as she stared off into the darkness. There was this empty sickening in both of your stomachs that this may be the end. At this point, all options and solutions had been exhausted. You knew it was time. You watched out the kitchen window, unable to tear your eyes away as she slowly inhaled before a large cloud of smoke dissipated into the air, the cold temperatures enhancing it. Your fingers squeezed the sponge from the sink as soapy water flooded between your fingers. The dishes had been long forgotten lately as neither of you had had the energy to wash them. This was unusual for Wanda as she liked to keep the house showroom ready at all times. You forcefully ripped your eyes away from her as you began to wash the dishes, trying to make up for anything you could. To fix what you could in this messy situation. 

The house that had once been so loud with laughter and joy now lingered in empty silence. Your playlist of every song you two had loved played softly over the speakers around the house. If it had been several months ago you would have pulled her closely in your arms, dancing around the kitchen despite her laughs and teases about how cheesy it was. Her nose would crinkle as you sang along in Sokovian to one of her favorite songs. You butchered the pronunciation, but you would try, she could tell. She would have given in eventually and threaded her hands in your hair as she rested her forehead against yours. You would have kissed her, kissed her as if she was going to leave the second you let go. In this reality, she very well might.

You watched out the window again for a moment before getting distracted by the dish you were washing. The knife in your hands harshly tore against your flesh and you quickly dropped the knife into the sink, a soft yelp leaving your lips. You backed away quickly as blood began to drip down your hand. It was a quick scramble for the kitchen towel as you tried to stop the bleeding. Wanda had always been there to comfort you when you were injured in the past. You bit the inside of your cheek trying to stop it as tears quickly began to fall on your face. You let off a soft sob as you abandoned the dishes, heading upstairs to your shared bedroom. Hurrying into the bathroom you discarded the bloodied towel onto the sink countertops and washed the wound before messily bandaging it up. You had never been very good at doing it yourself so Wanda had always insisted on caring for you but you didn't think that was very well an option at this point. 

Tears flooded down your face as the events from the night tore your heart into shreds. You were no longer crying due to the injury. It was a different kind of pain. You stumbled over to the bed and threw your pants onto the floor before climbing into your side of the bed. The sheets were quickly pulled up to your chin as your hand covered your mouth in an attempt to muffle the sobs. Quickly, you drifted off into a tired and pained sleep. 

When Wanda returned inside she hadn't expected to see dishes washed especially as she investigated further and saw the drops of blood on the floor and a bloody knife in the sink. Despite the fight, she still cared and loved you. She quickly rushed upstairs in an attempt to find you. When she noticed the door slightly ajar and silence in the room she quietly peaked her head in. She sighed relieved when she saw you asleep in bed, seemingly uninjured from her view. The smell of cigarettes covered her and she wandered quietly off to the bathroom to take a shower, shutting the bathroom door behind her. For everyone but you her walls were high. She hardly let anyone in. and when she did, it felt as if it always ended this way. The feeling of being cursed towards relationships had set in. She washed her hair, going over the fight in her head as she wondered what could have gone differently, how she could save it. If it was even worth it at this point. 

Tensions had been rising over the past couple of weeks. You both had been working too much recently and had hardly had time for one another. It seemed as if every day was the same. Wake up, go to work, sleep, repeat. It had been killing you both. The littlest things set you both off. It would end up in screaming matches and sleeping alone every time. What set you both over the edge this time was not so little. Natasha, your mutual friend, had begun flirting with you. While she respected your relationship, she had always believed you two were not good for each other. So when you fought last week and you ended up at her house she had done nothing but comfort you. You thought nothing of Natashas' intentions but Wanda knew otherwise. This had sent her into a fit of rage when Natasha dropped you off this morning and kissed your cheek goodbye. 

You both fought for hours, arguing about anything that came to mind, but mainly Natasha. Had you understood and been able to read her mind as well, you would have understood her intentions and sided with Wanda, not seeing Natasha anymore. But you couldn't and this frustrated Wanda. When she attempted to control your mind you quickly noticed and this sent you two further down the line of fighting. You hated it when she used her powers on you. When you thought to yourself that you wished you could just forget everything that had happened Wanda broke. She had misunderstood. Thinking you had meant forgetting her. Silence fell over the fight and she went outside to have a cigarette. Her thoughts consumed her as her heart hurt. 

With how often the fights had been recently as well as how busy you've been, you'd not been intimate in weeks. The tension begins to tear you both apart. When she finished her shower she pulled on an old t-shirt and shorts before popping her head out the bathroom door to check if you were still sleeping. When she saw you, she had to determine what to do. Did she sleep with you? Or did she go to the guest room? She decided that you wouldn't want her in bed and quietly tip-toed to the guest room based on what she had misunderstood. That night she cried herself to sleep as well. 

-ˋˏ ༻��༺ ˎˊ-

When you woke up the next morning you sat up groggily and sighed to yourself as you didn't see Wanda in bed, the memories of the night prior sinking in. Despite your anger you went to see where she had slept for the night, mostly just wanting to make sure she hadn't ended up locked out on the porch freezing to death. You saw her asleep in the guest room, her makeup smudged and muddled from tears, and her shower. You sighed and went back to your room to get ready for the day. It was unusual for you to be up first and you made use of it, quietly leaving for work before she awoke. 

You returned home late that night, having gone to the bar after work with a few co-workers to unwind and relax. All you could think about was Wanda and the ache between your legs grew. You were mad, but maybe you needed that. You quietly entered the house, making a note to lock the door behind you before heading to find Wanda. You weren't extremely intoxicated, but the anger, lack of quality sleep, stress, and tequila were having a bit of an impact. You could tell she had been home for a couple of hours, the discarded takeout garbage by the trash. Suddenly she caught your eye outside on the back porch. Of course, she was smoking again. You thought to yourself before acting on impulse. You went to the door and harshly pulled the sliding door open. She let out a startled gasp that didn't happen often as she always seemed aware of your presence. 

“Get inside.” You said firmly in a tone that had been unusual for you to take on with her. You had always been the more submissive in the relationship. The words shocked you both a little. She obliged anyway, out of more surprise than anything. She put the cigarette out before coming inside. You shut the door behind her, looking into her eyes before quickly pressing her against the door in a bruising kiss. She yelped out of surprise before kissing back, her hands tangling into your hair. She ignored the taste of tequila on your lips as she knew she tasted like cigarettes and couldn't defend herself for that. 

You made quick work of snaking your hand underneath her shirt, groping her chest as your tongues began to fight. She had never seen this level of dominance out of you. While it surprised and intrigued her, she couldn't have it. You both knew you were just trying to get a reaction out of her as it had been entirely too long since you two had done anything together. Her hand tightened with a grip of your hair as she roughly pulled your head back, quickly beginning to kiss and nip at your neck. You let out a moan as she tugged at your hair, stumbling backward slightly as she pushed you off of her. 

“Upstairs. “ She muttered firmly. You could see the darkness in her eyes and did not question it, quickly moving upstairs to your room. The past few weeks your dynamic had been shallow and lacking. You both needed rules in life. You need a guideline to follow, and she needs an outlet of control. When you got upstairs you looked around the room, taking several deep breaths before going to crack a window to get some airflow. Your jaw clenched as you took a few deep breaths trying to focus on relaxing. You closed the curtains forcefully, a little too forcefully perhaps as they, along with the curtain rod came tumbling down. Your heart sank as tears filled your eyes, threatening to fall as you knew Wanda would be mad. As you heard her footsteps approach you quickly tugged off your shirt, tossing it in a pile alongside your discarded pants. You had already dug your grave and it was getting deeper. Thoughts raced through your head about what punishment would come. The more you thought the more your legs pressed together for any kind of release you could gain. Just as you sat down on the bed the door swung open. “What the hell was that?” She asked. Her voice was angry and her accent began to peak through her words as she spoke. Her head quickly turned and noticed the window. “Did you do this?” she asked in almost a patronizing tone. She knew you did it, the guilt on your face was obvious. 

You pulled your bottom lip into your mouth as she spoke, gnawing on it nervously as you considered your options. Slowly, you shook your head, the hesitation clear as tears brimmed your eyes. She walked over to you, one eyebrow raised in a way that she knew made you weak in the knees. She raised her hand before a loud echoing slap hit your cheek. You let out a moan and pressed your legs together harder as tears finally fell.  “Lying gets you nowhere. I'll ask you again, Detka.” she paused, faining tenderness as she wiped a tear away from your face. “Did you do this?” every word she spoke was drawn out and stern as she raised her eyebrow and held your chin in place, forcing you to look into her eyes. Slowly you began to nod, bracing yourself for the slap you knew was about to come. When she raised her hand a slap did not come. Instead, she giggled at your flinch and reached down, snapping your bra snap on your shoulder. “This is what happens when little girls try to do things that are too big for them,” she spoke slowly, making sure each word sunk in. “You didn't even have time to fully undress for Mommy.” she shook her head and snapped your bra strap once again before pushing you to lay back on the bed. She climbed on top of you, straddling one of your thighs as she ground her hips, working herself up. 

“Please Mommy,” you whined out softly as your hips raised into her, begging for any amount of pleasure you could get. Another slap fell hard across your cheek and you felt your thoughts slowly drift further into a fuzzy headspace. You moaned at the feeling. Her hand was wet from the tears that had fallen down your face and she made it a point to wipe her hand on your bare stomach. 

“I didn’t permit you to speak. Did I?” She asked firmly as she leaned down, kissing and nipping at your neck. You shook your head frantically as you struggled to keep your hands by your sides.  She slid her hands back up your stomach and muttered under her breath. “Good girl.” Before pulling your bra down to reveal your breasts. She wasted no time as she quickly kissed down towards your chest, taking the small bud into her mouth. Her tongue swirled around your nipple as her hand snaked down into your panties, finally touching you where you needed it most. She gasped dramatically and pulled her head up, locking eyes with you when she felt your wetness. Your face turned a deep shade of red as she proceeded to tease and taunt you for how wet you had been at her from only just slapping and teasing you. All of your thoughts were consumed by her in a fuzzy bliss. 

Without warning she slipped two fingers inside of you easily. Her fingers made quick work of pumping in and out, stretching and curling them just where you needed it most. You moaned loudly and wrapped your arms around her back, pulling her body closer to you as you hid your face in her shoulder, biting down softly on the tender flesh. This depicted a soft moan from Wanda as her hips jerked slowly against your thigh. She pulled her body back with a grin as she began to bite softly across your jaw. 

“Let me see your pretty face baby. I want to see you while I fuck you.” She said her fingers worked faster, her thumb reaching up to touch your throbbing clit. You blushed red as you looked into her eyes. The moon was shining through the window casting a moonlit glow across her face, a smirk forming across it. Just as quickly as she worked you up to an orgasm, she stopped. She pulled her hand away quickly and you found yourself frantically reaching for her wrist as your hips jerked underneath her.

“No! Mommy!” You yelled out exasperated as tears fell quickly from your eyes at the loss of sensation. She smirked down at you, her tongue slowly licking her lips. 

“You didn't think I'd let you cum that quickly after what a brat you've been the past few weeks little girl?” She asked in a patronizing manner as she pulled her hand out of your panties and brought her fingers to her lips. You moaned at the sight, her tongue licking her fingers clean, making a show of the process. Her fingers then slid into your mouth and you groaned at the taste of your arousal mixed with her. Your tongue swirled around her fingers as you proceeded to suck her fingers. 

“Please Mommy.” was all you could seem to muster out after she pulled her fingers out of your mouth. Your mind was clouded and fogged and just where Wanda wanted it. 

“Silly me,” she smiled as she looked down. “Mommy has been giving you all the pleasure, she completely forgot to undress.” she motioned towards her clothes before standing up. You groaned and reached for her when she stood, no longer touching you. You let out a soft murmur as your hands grabbed at her shirt, pressing your legs together. She stripped before walking back towards you. She tugged your panties down your legs and tossed them towards the pile of clothes before doing the same with your bra. You couldn't help but notice the wetness that had soaked Wanda's panties and now glistened her thighs. Your mouth watered at the sight as all you wanted to do was taste her. 

You knew how often you had fought lately and how the arguments left you due for punishment. You just weren't exactly sure what form it would take. Anticipation flooded through your body as you looked up into her eyes, your eyes wide and innocent. 

“You're going to eat me out until I cum, maybe then I'll give you what you want,” she stated firmly as she squeezed at your hips. Her touches were not gentle. Her fingers dug into your tender flesh, all of her anger, stress, and tension coming out onto you. You moaned at the touch, more sensitive and aware with each touch and mark she left across your body. She let go with a slap to your thigh and you groaned at the loss of her. You sat up and watched as she moved around the room, sitting on the bed in the middle, spreading her legs for you as she watched with dark eyes. “Come make Mommy feel good.” Her voice dripped with arousal as her words of encouragement enticed you further, not that it took much at this point though.

Quickly you moved and settled yourself between her legs. You slowly began kissing up her thighs, licking the path of arousal she had left for you. She grumbled impatiently above you, clearly already ready for attention where she needed it. Her hand snaked through your hair, gently at first as it stroked your scalp. She then grabbed a fistful, tugging your hair harshly as she forced you up higher, pushing your head between her legs. At the tug, you let out a loud moan as you cursed under your breath. You got the hint and stuck out your tongue quickly getting work between her legs. Your tongue licked up her slit before it brought fast attention to her clit. You brought your fingers up and slipped two fingers inside of her. You were kinder than Wanda had been to you, moving your fingers less harshly and aggressively. It worked nonetheless as she quickly rose to an orgasm with the combination of both your fingers and tongue. Her grip on your hair did not loosen as her hips began to jerk against your face. As she reached her peak she let out a loud moan, her hips moving frantically as she tugged harshly at your hair. The taste that hit your tongue made you moan as you quickly lapped up as much as she would allow before pulling your head away. 

Her chest rose and fell heavily as she caught her breath, a gentler hand moving to your neck. You leaned up her body as you kissed her passionately. When her tongue slid across your bottom lip and your mouth you eagerly allowed it entrance. A smile grew across her face as she pulled away. You whined at the loss but it was quickly relieved when she pressed a singular finger to your lips. 

“Mommy.” You moaned out as your hips began to grind against her stomach. Her hand snaked down her stomach to touch you, her fingers ghosting over your clit. 

“Come sit on my face Detka.” She said firmly as she adjusted her positioning, letting your thighs rest next to her head. You were hesitant yet eager as you slowly lowered yourself down, moaning loudly as her tongue finally made contact. Your hips jerked against her face as you ground against her tongue. You were worked up quickly, faster than ever as she seemed to know exactly where you needed it. She mumbled out from underneath you as she worked you up towards an orgasm. “Beg for it, Malyshka.”

Quickly words began to tumble out of your mouth as desperation to cum was needed. “Please, Mommy. Please!” You practically yelled as your hips jerked more, her nails digging into your thighs. “Please let me cum.” You begged. She complied with a grin.

“Cum for Mommy, Detka.” She said as her tongue moved rapidly beneath you. Instantly you reached your peak, reaching for the bead frame in front of you to steady yourself as you moaned loudly. When Wanda felt you had settled enough she gently pulled you down next to her and into her arms. You shook a little in Wanda's arms as she held you for the first time in weeks. Her fingers tangled in your hair as she slowly combed through the mess she had made, taking time to massage your scalp. All the thoughts of your fights had completely melted away and you were consumed by her and her embrace. 

“Mommy.” You murmured as tears began to fall on your cheeks again, your face nuzzling closely in the crook of her neck.

“You did so good baby, so good.” She praised quietly as she kissed behind your ear. Her fingertips found a gentle pattern of scratching up and down your back with one hand while the other massaged where she pulled your hair. Praise was whispered into your ear as she held you closely, not wanting to let go. Never wanting to let go. Slowly your sobs calmed and you settled into her embrace, slowly lifting your head to leave soft kisses across her jaw and neck. 

“I love you, Wanda.” The words left your mouth for the first time in weeks and a soft smile crept across your lips. Wandas' face glimmered with love as she pulled you into a kiss. 

“I love you too, Detka.” She whispered through kisses as she could only hold you closer. After a while of the silent embraces Wanda's thoughts of the fights crept back into memory. “We’re going to be okay.” She hesitated and looked towards you. “Right?” She spoke softly, her voice filled with fear at the thought of losing you. You nodded and kissed her softly, your mind foggy and cloudy as all you wanted was to be close to her. That night you slept close, tangled up in each other's love, neither wanting to pull away.

-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

The next morning when you woke up snuggled up in Wanda's arms felt different. The bliss that usually followed had dissipated and all you could think about was the pain of being with her. You gained a sinking pit in your stomach as guilt and fear coursed through your body. The flight response kicked in. You couldn't be with her, not now. Tears began to fall as you quickly but carefully left the bed and Wanda's embrace. Hurriedly you moved for some clothes as you threw on the closest things you could find without waking her. You reached for the door handle but paused. One glance back to Wanda confirmed it. You couldn't be here. So where did you go? Who greeted you with open arms? Natasha.

[redr0sewrites]

omg lowkey having a shitass day and i’m too tired to write for my comfort character and your my fav so 😭😭 literally just any fluffy vox headcanons. literally any! could be only one paragraph IDC i just think it’s so cute how you write him 🙏🙏

OFCCCC!!!!! heres some hcs ab vox comforting u after a long day ♥️

🥀 Cw: none, just fluff!

vox is no stranger to long, tiring days. he's had his fair share of shitty work days and when he comes home to see you exhausted, he immediately notices what's wrong.

vox is very goofy, he's good at reading people and can immediately know if someone's upset, but it's how he reacts that throws him off. like he'll notice something is wrong but won't know how to respond.

he's so used to manipulating people (such as valentino) or just shoving down his own emotions to put on a persona that he isn't great at verbally comforting someone, but his actions make up for it.

he pulls you onto his lap and will run his hand up and down your back to soothe you. while his claws are sharp, he would never hurt you with them, and its much more of a ticklish sensation then anything

speaking of, vox loves it when you laugh. if you're pissed at someone in particular, he will definitely make fun of them to help cheer you up. don't be surprised if they "disappear".... he is an overlord after all. he'd only do this if you want him too tho

vox claims he isn't insecure, but in reality he knows exactly how it feels to feel shitty about everything around you. he's surprisingly empathetic, if you're in a relationship with him he definitely cares about you a lot and i genuinely see him being upset in the situation that you're upset

if you cry, vox may be a little awkward but will go to get you a glass of water. he'll also dim the light of his screen to make sure he doesn't give you a headache and, if you're really upset or tired, he may even take the day off of work to comfort you

vox is the type to turn on soft music when you're sad and pull you into a slow dance right in the middle of your apartment. he doesn't care that you're bleary eyed and that you keep stepping on his feet, he doesn't care that its sappy or that it makes him seem vulnerable to care about you so much. as long as he gets to see you smile and giggle as you both clumsily swirl around eachother, he's content in staying in this moment forever.

if you're ever angry/frustrated and take it out on him, he may be a little pissy but he can take it, especially if you feel really bad afterwards. he doesn't take it to heart if you have a bad day and snap at him, hell, he does it all the time. he may be a little pouty if you don't apologize but don't worry he'll get over it in a few minutes once he sees how tired you are

while vox is a little chaotic, he's a genuinely good person to vent too because he will literally always agree with you no matter what. you murder someone? its their fault for walking into your knife. he absolutely supports your rights (and wrongs) no matter what

he's also a pretty good listener in general because he just. listens. he doesn't give unnecessary input, he doesn't try to play devils advocate, he just listens and shows interest in what you have to say and comforts you when necessary. he doesn't see why thats such a big deal, but he genuinely is a pretty decent listener.

vox is also a yapper though, if you need to get your mind off of your day just tell him and he'll start explaining the most random things to you. oh, you had something really embarrassing happen today and you want to forget about it? well now you're going to listen to 500 shark facts while also hearing the entire princess bride lore. sorry not sorry.

vox would find the shittiest movie with the worst cgi imaginable for you both to watch after a long day, he loves curling up with you on the couch and making fun of horribly animated graphics together

i also think he's (secretly) a fan of corny romance films and/or romcoms, and would want to recreate cute scenes with you (but would literally never tell you that) so you both may end up watching cutesy romance movies too

(this is the song i had in mind bc its soo vox, so u can listen to this for the "full experience")

"aw c'mon bub, don't tell me your too mopey to dance?" vox extended his hand to you, yet his smile was a little more forced than usual. his eyes were wide on his screen, almost concerned about the teats staining your cheeks.

"m' fine voxy.." you mutter, turning away. "it was just a bad day." vox pouts, grabbing your chin and forcing you to look at him.

"trust me, this will make you feel better," he assured, pulling you to your feet. vox snapped his fingers and a bright, upbeat tune began to play in the background. pulling you in close, vox twirled you around before stepping back, switching to a simple slow dance.

you can't help a soft smile from creeping onto your face as vox continues to exaggeratedly spin and pull you around. hell, if anyone could see you both now, they'd be shocked.

"who knew that the overlord of technology was such a sap?" you giggle, pulling vox down by his tie to give him a kiss, and he chuckles in response. vox pouts, yet his eyes crinkle a bit as a genuine smile graces his features. "only for you!!".

i saw this and immediately opened my drafts 🫡 it is a CRIME that i haven't written any vox fluff when he's literally one of my fav pookies. i have literally only written smut for him 😭 anyways, i hope this made ur day at least a bit better!!!! sending lots of love ur way ♥️♥️♥️♥️

also i am SO honored to be called ur favorite bc hello??? ur my favorite too?????

[tweedlydumbtweedlydoo]

Admit it | Damon Salvatore x reader

Summary: Damon doesn’t like that you’re talking to another guy. 

A/N: This has been in my drafts for a while. Hope you guys enjoy it! x 

Go follow my fic rec blog! ---> @imaginationgonewild0912

**MASTERLIST**

Requests: {OPEN} closed

** Rules for Requesting **

** Who I Write For **

********************************************************************************************NOT MY GIF, CREDIT TO OWNERS

“Who is that clown?” Damon asked Alaric from his seat at the bar, nodding toward you and some guy sitting at booth, a little too close for his liking. 

Alaric twists the stool, shrugging, “Don’t know,” he twists it back to the bar, sipping on his bourbon, “new guy?” 

He narrows eyes at the two of you, “Never seen him around here. Maybe I should go introduce myself.”

Alaric grabs his shoulder, as he steps off the stool, “You’re already on thin ice with her. I wouldn’t.” 

Damon gives him his signature smile, “When am I never on thin ice with her?” He shakes off Alaric’s hand and struts on over to your booth. 

You roll your eyes as you see him approach, sliding away from your date, “Damon.” 

“y/n.” He gives you a quick smile and then turns to your date, “And you are?” He places an intimating hand on his shoulder, giving it a tight squeeze.

“u-uh Luke-” 

“Damon, don’t you have somewhere else to be? I don’t know, drowning in a bottle full of bourbon? Instead of bothering me and my date.” 

You place a hand on your dates arm, “sorry about him-he’s just that annoying itch you can’t get rid of.” You smile, “What were you saying?” 

Luke glances up at Damon, “Is he like your brother or something?” 

“No-” 

“No, I’m just her handsome and very sexy ex she can’t get rid of.” 

You roll your eyes, “We dated for maybe a week. If that.” 

“best week of your life if I remember correctly,” Damon says. 

“you know I think it would be best if I go-” Luke starts to slide out of the booth. 

You put a hand on his arm stopping him, “No it’s fine, you don’t have to go.” 

“I think that would be a GREAT idea.” Damon grins, stepping away so he can exit the booth, an arm toward the door. 

Luke is intimated, hurrying out of the restaurant. He doesn’t even stop to look back. 

“Damn it Damon!” You huff, gathering your stuff. “What the hell is wrong with you?” You start to slide out the booth and when you stand, Damon steps in front of you so you’re chest to chest. 

His smell is intoxicating. It takes you back to the week you two did date. There wasn’t a moment the two of you weren’t touching on each other. It ended in a fight because he wouldn’t admit his true feelings for you. Throughout the week together, he’d made you feel special but once you began talking more serious, it was like he got spooked. He turned everything around, making you believe the week was a temporary thing, never would be serious and you two would only go as far as messing around. It broke your heart because you saw a different Damon that week. You’d fallen in love with him and fallen hard. Your opened up to Damon, let him in and then to find out he didn’t feel the same? It destroyed you. 

“Oh come on, he was a loser. He wasn’t your type. A blonde accountant working a 9-5? He was pathetic. He probably couldn’t even figure out how to get your bra off-” 

“He was a nice guy!” You defend, “He was kind. Thoughtful. He was willing to be in a serious relationship. The absolute opposite of you.” You push past him, heading toward the exit of the bar. 

Damon watches as you leave, a content smile on his face. He’d won this time. Again. 

“Why can’t you you admit you love her?” Alaric asks, “instead of ruining every relationship she’s in.” 

Damon glares at Alaric, narrowing his eyes, “I’ll kill you. Again.” 

Alaric rolls his eyes, “Grow up Damon. She’s not going to be around for forever. She’s eventually going to grow tired of Mystic Falls, grow tired of you being around and move away. Especially if you keep ruining every relationship she’s in.”  He gives his shoulder a rough squeeze, before heading back to the bar, leaving Damon with his thoughts. 

~ 

(listened to All I Need by Within Temptation while I wrote this. feeling all the emotions) 

You angrily wipe at the tears rolling down your cheeks. Why did he have to be this way? He was the one who didn’t feel the same way as you. He was the one who ruined the relationship with you and now it seems like he’s made it his personal mission to ruin your life and any chance of happiness. 

Damon stalks you from the shadows, watching you walk to your car. Maybe Alaric was right. He couldn’t keep doing this. He could see it was hurting you. And for what reason? Because he was too chicken to admit he loved you?

You slammed your car door and placed your forehead against the steering wheel, letting the emotions take over; your body shook with the sobs.

He clinched his eyes as in pain as he heard your sobs. He couldn’t let this go on any longer. You needed to know the truth.

You jumped and clutched a hand to your chest when someone knocked on the window, “Jesus Christ Damon! You scared the shit out of me!”

“Open the door.” He tugs on the handle.

“Just leave me alone,” you plead wiping at your eyes, “I can’t do this anymore.”

“Y/n, please,” he begs, “open the door.”

You do as he asks and open the door. He holds out his hand for you, “what?”

“Take my damn hand.”

You reluctantly take it, stepping out of the car. “Damon seriously, I really don’t have the energy to deal with whatever you’ve got-

His large hands cup your cheeks forcing your eyes to meet his, “I love you. Ok?” He pauses for a moment, his thumb subconsciously caressing your cheek, “I was scared to admit it. It scared me to feel such.. love for you. The last time this happened I was left with my heart broken. I didn’t want it to happen again. My heart burns for you-” his eyes are full of desperation as they stare down at you, “I can’t imagine living this life without you.” He uses one hand to clutch at his chest, “it physically pains me to not be near you. To know all I’ve done is hurt you and for my own selfish reasons. Because I was too scared to admit the truth.”

There’s a heavy silence between you. He can hear your heart racing.

Your small hand reaches up to cup his face and he leans into your touch, desperate for it.

Another tense moment passes and in the heat of passion, your fingers are laced in his dark brown locks, crashing your lips against his.

~

Comments, likes and reblogs are always greatly appreciated! I finished this on my phone, forgive me for any mistakes

[t0yac1d]

Could u a Carl x reader smut ( Where Carl proposes, then they do smut) please

Marry You (C.Grimes x Fem!Reader)

Warnings: Smut, biting, hair pulling, p in v, praise

Word Count: 787

During the years of dating Carl, he seemed to have fallen for you, harder than ever. He always thought about marrying you, especially since you guys are living in an apocalyptic world, he wouldn't know how long you two would have. He wanted to propose but he didn't know when, never knew what the 'right time' would be. That was until he saw how good you were with Judith and how much his dad and Michonne loved you.

He watched as you tidied up the kitchen, wiping the counters down and acting wifely. He walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and swayed side to side with you.

"I want you to marry me."

You stood still, not sure if you were hearing things.

"You heard me, I want you to marry me. Please, will you marry me?"

You turned to face him, face still in shock but softening when you saw that he was dead serious.

"Oh, Carl, yes! Of course I will!"

He smiled as your arms wrapped around his neck. His snaked around your waist, holding you close to him. He pulled back and kissed you, deeply and passionately.

The kiss started off slow, happy and sensual. But, it grew into more, Carl's hands moved down from your waist to your ass. He pulled you closer to him; if that was even possible and his lips moved from your lips to your cheek, then your jaw, then neck.

He bit and nipped at the skin, your soft whimpers filled his ears, like a melody that he can never get tired of.

You hands tangled in his hair and you tugged whenever his teeth sunk into your neck. He pushed you up against the counter and his hands found their way up your shirt.

He caressed your skin like you were fragile, like the world's most prized possession; which you were.

His teeth grazed the shell of your ear as he muttered, "So pretty, gonna be my pretty little wife,"

Carl pushed your pants to the floor and picked you up, and placed you on the counter. "You're so wet already, baby," he smiled, his fingers playing with your clothed pussy and grazing over your clit.

You whined in his ear and he chuckled, telling you to be patient, that he'll take care of you.

He pulled his pants and boxers down in one movement and pumped his cock before rubbing the tip on your pussy. He, very slowly, pushed himself in. You gripped and pulled at his hair at the feeling of his cock sliding inside of you.

You loudly whined and your eyes rolled back, "Shh, it's okay, baby.." he whispered, hands gently squeezing your hips as he slowly pushed himself in and out.

His head rested in the crook of your neck as you held him close to you. He pulled your hips close to his. Your legs were wrapped around his waist, keeping him close to you; never wanting to let him go.

His nails dug into your skin as he felt you clench around him. He moaned in your ear, his breath fanning over. He kept his pace the same; it wasn't too fast, nor was too slow. He didn't want to rush, he wanted to change it for a moment. From the way your body was reacting, you seemed to enjoy it just as much as he hoped.

In all honesty, he was so close to cumming, the way you were clenching around him and keeping him close made his brain go foggy.

Carl rubbed circles on your clit, you threw your head back pulled his to your neck. You gripped his hair and tugged at it as you came around his cock. His hips stuttered and his pace grew sloppy. He kissed your neck and whined in your ear as he came inside of you. His cum filling you up and dripping out of your pussy.

He panted, catching his breath before pulling out of you. You whimpered at the feeling, still a bit sensitive. Carl picked you up and took you to his room, gently putting you down on his bed when he walked back out of the room.

You lied back and caught your breath. You smiled to yourself, you're gonna be his wife, the love of his life, his forever.

Carl came back with a glass of water, a rag, and the clothes that were thrown on the floor. He handed you the glass and cleaned you up.

"Sorry I took long, I had to clean the counters." he smirked, "What made you wanna marry me?" you asked.

Carl sat on the bed next to you and kissed you, "Why wouldn't I?"

[jetii]

Goodbye, and Other Impossible Words

Pairing: Echo x fem!Reader / Echo x Medic!Reader

Words: 16,500

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! angst, hurt/comfort, depression, slight insecure reader, mutual pining, a lil jealousy, smut, dirty talk, praise kink, unprotected sex, fingering, face-sitting, cockwarming, creampie, handjobs, and lots of feelings!

Summary: Echo knows he made the right choice, he knows he needs to see this through with Rex, even if it meant leaving you behind. But that doesn’t mean it didn't hurt to say goodbye, nor does it mean it’s easy to see you struggling when he returns to Pabu.

A/N: Thank you to everyone who liked, commented, and reblogged my Rex fic! I was expecting like 5 notes so to say I’m pleasantly surprised is an understatement.

I rewrote this about five times before I was at least somewhat satisfied enough to share, and each time it got longer so I had to cut it off somewhere or risk splitting into parts. I have a backlog of finished works to post, and I can't decide which to publish next, so I’m open to suggestions for who you'd like to see next week!

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

“You’re really leaving, aren’t you?”

Echo stills, his head hanging slightly before he turns to you. Your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper, and there's no accusation in your words, only a deep, weary sadness.

For a moment, you look so tired.

“I have to, cyare. You know that.” His voice is low, his own eyes mirroring your emotions.

You look down, your hands wringing together as you take a slow, deep breath.

Echo’s chest aches.

He takes a step closer, and then another, and another, until he’s standing in front of you, the two of you toe-to-toe. You’ve always known that Echo wouldn’t be around forever, just as he’s always known that this isn’t the life you deserve. It is something you never speak of, but something both know all too well.

Your shoulders tremble, just a little.

“I know, I just…” You suck in a breath. “I’m going to miss you.”

Your voice breaks on the last syllable, and Echo feels something in his own chest shatter with it.

He wraps you in his arms. “Me too.”

You melt into his touch, your head coming to rest against his shoulder. You stay like that for a few minutes, neither saying a word, just breathing each other in, holding onto each other like you never have before.

Eventually, you pull away, wiping at your eyes with the heel of your hand. He can see you trying to pull yourself together, putting your mask back into place and hiding away the pain you feel.

You give him a small, watery smile.

His stomach twists.

“When you come back, tell me what it means,” you say, your voice barely more than a whisper.

“What?”

“Cyare.”

Echo feels a pang in his chest. He swallows the lump forming in his throat. “I will.”

There’s a beat of silence, the two of you staring at each other with the same longing in your eyes, until Echo turns away, looking down at the floor.

“I should get going. Rex and I…”

“No, it’s fine.” You give him that smile again, the same one you always do, but he sees a little of the light in your eyes dim. “Go. I’ll see you later, okay?”

Echo swallows, and nods.

With that, you turn and leave, disappearing around the corner, the sound of your footsteps fading as you get further and further away.

He watches you go.

The room is cold, suddenly, the silence deafening.

Echo clenches his jaw, and lets out a breath through his nose. He stands there, alone, for a few more minutes, staring at the empty doorway where you once were, where you were going to stay.

And then, he walks out.

Echo’s promise to keep in touch with you fell apart some time between leaving you behind on Coruscant and his first real mission with Rex. The thought of you, and his guilt at leaving, and the fear that you would move on without him, was too much for him to handle. It was better this way. Safer. For you, and for him.

He kept telling himself that.

It worked, too, for a while.

But then he’d come back from a mission and see a flash of your hair and feel a stab in his chest, and he’d remember the way you smiled when he called you cyare, or the way your eyes would light up whenever he managed to say something you thought was funny, or the feeling of your fingers as you bandaged his wounds, and then…

It hurt.

So he pushed you out of his mind, and tried not to think about you. He’d tell himself it was fine, that this was for the best.

It was fine.

Really.

Still, he couldn’t help but look forward to it when he was tasked with asking for Tech’s help deciphering the drive. The entire trip to Pabu, he’d felt restless, jittery, eager. It was strange. He hadn’t felt this way since his first assignment on Rishi Station, back when he’d been young and idealistic and desperate to make a difference.

It wasn’t a bad feeling.

But now that he’s here, descending the ramp of the Remora, his nervousness has returned, along with a tight knot of dread in his stomach.

Hunter greets him first, clasping his hand in his own. Echo can’t help but return the smile on Hunter’s face, though he can feel his own falter slightly as his gaze flickers past the other man’s shoulder, his eyes darting around the landing zone.

Omega and Tech are next, the former throwing herself into his arms as soon as she is close enough to reach. “We’ve missed you!” She exclaims.

“It hasn’t been that long,” he replies, chuckling lightly, though his attention is elsewhere.

“Is everything alright?” Tech’s question pulls his focus back. He catches Echo’s gaze drifting over his shoulder, no doubt looking for their missing teammate.

“Yeah, it’s just…” Echo pats Omega’s shoulder and withdraws, pushing himself to stand up straight, though the tension remains in his spine. He cranes his head around the group in the hopes of catching sight of you. “Where is she?”

Hunter and Tech share a look, the latter clearing his throat.

“Echo, I think —“

“Where is she?” he repeats, his impatience winning out.

The three clones freeze, their smiles disappearing. Hunter’s mouth twitches, his lips pressing into a thin line. “She wanted to be here, but —“

“But what?” Echo asks, his brow furrowing.

Tech and Hunter look at each other again. Echo can feel his pulse starting to quicken, the dread in his stomach growing. Something isn’t right.

Tech takes a step closer. He reaches out, putting a hand on Echo’s arm.

“Echo!”

His head snaps up.

He catches a glimpse of gold as the figure approaches, your feet moving at a near run, and his heart stutters in his chest.

You come to a stop a few feet away, and Echo drinks you in, taking in every detail, every change since he last saw you.

You are still just as beautiful as ever.

You are almost unrecognizable without your plastoid armor. Your hair is longer, and you’ve forgone the standard-issued fatigues for a flowing skirt and sandals. A loose tank top bares your arms and chest to the tops of your breasts. He feels his mouth go dry at the sight of so much bare skin on display, far more than he’s ever seen of you. Pabu’s sun is good to you. Your tanned skin glistens with slight perspiration, and a faint pink flush graces your cheeks that have more freckles than he remembers.

Echo shakes himself in an effort to stop staring. The last thing he wants is to scare you off when you’re finally together again, however brief that time will be.

You thankfully don’t seem to notice. A grin threatens to split your face from ear to ear, and Echo is convinced you’re about to launch yourself into his arms as Omega does until you stop short.

“Hi,” you say shyly, holding your elbows behind your back.

Echo has the overwhelming urge to close the distance and wrap his arms around you.

He shoves the desire down, forcing a casual grin.

“Hi.” His voice comes out rough, and he coughs in an attempt to clear his throat. “You look great — I mean, good. Healthy. That’s…it’s good. Good to see you.”

Dikkut, he curses to himself. He reaches up to rub the warmth blooming on the back of his neck. He has never been a smooth talker, but it’s even worse when it comes to you. He’s lucky that you never seem to take offense to his blunders.

“You too, Echo.” You smile, a bit of color rising on your cheeks. Is your face flushed from running, or are you blushing? “Looks like Rex hasn’t run you too ragged yet.”

“That’s why I’m here, actually.” He looks toward Tech, eager for the subject change. “I need your help.”

“Let’s go somewhere private,” Hunter suggests. As Echo falls into step with Tech, Hunter leads you down toward your homes. You pick up the rear with Omega, the two whispering to each other about something he can’t hear.

Echo glances back over his shoulder. Your eyes meet, and your face lights up with a smile that makes his breath catch. He looks away quickly, turning his attention back to Tech.

He can’t get distracted, not when he has a mission.

Once settled around the table in the house the boys share with Omega, he explains what they’re hoping to find on the drive. Tech looks eager to get started.

“This will take some time,” he says over his datapad. “I suggest we find a place for you to spend the night.”

“The Remora has—”

“I have a spare bedroom,” you offer, popping your head into the doorway from the kitchen. You have a dish towel draped over your shoulder, a large bowl filled with something green and steaming in your hands, and something about the way you look makes his heart stutter.

You smile warmly at him. A familiar heat pools low in Echo’s gut at the thought of spending the night with you, but he pushes it down hard. Hunter and Tech watch him, their eyes narrowed. Echo feels their stares boring into him and squirms a little under their scrutiny.

“Thanks, cyare,” Echo breathes out. He can feel his ears heating up as he looks up at you. “That would be great.”

“Great,” you smile back. “Omega, can you help me set the table?”

“Coming!” Omega chirps, hopping off her chair. When you disappear into the kitchen, Hunter turns back to Echo, propping his elbows up on the table.

“You gonna do anything about that?” He asks, his voice low.

Echo stiffens.

The others have known for a long time how he feels about you, and while he’s never outright admitted it, they’ve never had to ask. Still, the way they’re looking at him now makes his skin crawl, and he finds himself unable to meet their gazes.

“About what?”

“He is referring to your romantic interest in her,” Tech interjects, still focused on his datapad. At the stunned silence that follows, he glances up and looks between the two of them. “I thought it was obvious. Even Omega has noticed.”

Echo sighs, rubbing a hand over his eyes as he sinks into his chair. He’s been trying so hard not to think about it or acknowledge the fact that despite his efforts, his feelings for you are stronger than ever.

Hunter leans back, giving him an appraising look. “How long has it been?”

Echo hesitates.

“Five months, ten days,” Tech answers.

Echo’s mouth drops open and his jaw hangs slack.

Hunter smirks.

Tech looks back down at his datapad, a slight hint of a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

They all know how long it had been, because they’d all been there for it, and the memories of those first few months after you had joined the team were some of Echo’s fondest.

It had started off small, a quick brush of your hand against his, the two of you sitting close enough together that your legs touched. At first, he didn’t realize what was happening. You’d been nice to him before, of course, but then it was different. It was…flirting.

He didn’t know what to do.

So he kept his distance, and he avoided you, and he pretended he didn’t notice the way your smile fell every time he turned away.

And then you got hurt.

Echo could still remember the feeling of your blood on his hand.

You’d been so quiet the entire trip home, and even when you’d finally made it to the med bay, you barely spoke. It was so unlike you, and he hated it. You were always patching them up, always smiling and joking and trying to keep their spirits up. To see you like that, to see you hurt and vulnerable, it terrified him.

When the others had left you to rest, Echo had stayed behind, unable to bring himself to leave.

Your head had lolled toward him, your eyes barely open.

“Stay with me?” You whispered.

“Always.”

It had been a simple promise, a quiet one, and he’d kept it, through everything, through all the missions, all the fights, and the long nights spent patching each other up. Until he left you behind.

Echo crosses his arms over his chest. His pulse starts to speed up again, his heart hammering in his chest. He takes a deep breath, and then another, willing himself to calm down.

Hunter and Tech share a look, one that speaks of an entire conversation in a single glance.

Tech nods, and Hunter looks back at him. His expression is softer now, almost sad.

He and Echo always got along, were fast friends after their first few missions together. But Hunter is protective of the people he cares about, and that includes the other members of their little family.

Includes you.

“Vod, listen,” Hunter says. He leans forward, resting his arms on the table. His fingers tap a slow, steady rhythm. It reminds Echo of a heartbeat.

He braces himself.

“When we made the choice to stay here, we knew it would be an adjustment, but she…isn’t adjusting. She’s not happy, Echo. She just doesn’t want you to see it.”

Echo stiffens, his spine going rigid. He can feel his muscles lock into place.

No.

You’re fine. You have to be. You have everything you could ever want here, a house, a life, friends. Everything.

It’s everything he has ever wanted for you.

You are fine.

You have to be.

His heart beats faster now, and he can’t calm it down.

Hunter lets out a sigh.

“We didn’t want to tell you this, but…she’s getting worse.“

"Worse how?” Echo asks, his brow furrowing. He feels his stomach start to twist.

“She’s not sleeping,” Hunter says.

“She’s not eating either,” Tech adds, looking up from his datapad. “Though she is making an effort to appear otherwise. Her attempts have become rather sloppy of late.”

“She’s not the same,” Hunter continues. “She doesn’t smile or laugh. She doesn’t talk to us like she used to. We try to reach out, but she pushes us away. Omega’s worried about her. We all are.”

Echo’s mind reels. He could feel it even in the brief moments he’s been there. You’ve been withdrawn, quiet, like you were in the med bay. He chalked it up to his own nerves, to your shock at seeing him, but maybe…

“How long has she been like this?”

“Almost as long as you’ve been gone.”

Echo’s stomach plummets.

“And you think I can do something about it?” Echo asks.

Tech gives him a flat look.

Echo looks away.

The truth is, he isn’t sure if he can. He doesn’t know if there is anything he can do, or if he can make you happy, if you’d even want him to. He isn’t stupid. He knows that the others think you have a connection, that you would miss him, but there is a difference between missing him and needing him, and he isn’t sure which is true.

It’s easier to tell himself you was fine, that you’re moving on without him, and that’s better, isn’t it?

He has no idea.

“Anything is better than leaving her alone again,” Hunter says.

Echo glances up. Hunter’s gaze is steady, firm, and Echo can’t look away. It isn’t often that Hunter puts his foot down about something, but Echo can tell this is one of those rare moments. He shouldn’t be surprised that in his absence, the others have taken a more active role in taking care of you. It’s what he wanted, after all. He specifically asked Hunter to keep an eye on you. But Echo hadn’t expected it to turn out like this.

His stomach churns.

Leaving you alone again?

He hadn’t considered it, but he supposes that’s what he’s doing. If he leaves again and you’re still like this, that’s what he’ll be doing. Leaving you behind.

Abandoning you.

He remembers what it was like, waking up in the medbay after his rescue, the pain and guilt overwhelming him. It felt like someone reached inside his chest and ripped out his heart.

Is he about to do that to you?

Echo doesn’t know if he can live with himself if he does.

“I’ll talk to her,” Echo replies just as Omega reappears with a stack of plates and silverware balanced in her hands. Hunter gives him a final look before jumping up to help her.

It isn’t long before you and Wrecker announce dinner is ready, and they all pitch in to bring food to the center of the table. Echo can’t remember the last time he’s seen so much fresh food: roasted vegetables, tubers, bread, and fish piled high on serving platters.

Gregor and Fireball are good cooks, but their supplies at the compound are limited, with dried spices doing the work to make the food more palatable. This is something else. When he takes his first bite, he nearly moans at the taste.

“This is amazing,” he announces as he meets your eyes from where you’re seated between Wrecker and Omega. You give him a bashful smile before tucking into your own meal.

Dinner is filled with conversation, stories, and laughter. Echo sits back and listens as everyone takes turns sharing your progress on Pabu. He can see why the others enjoy being here. They’re at ease, more relaxed than they’ve been since they left Ord Mantell behind. The atmosphere is light, and he can’t remember a time when he’s felt so normal, so safe.

It’s the most like home he’s ever been.

And then there’s you.

He can’t keep his eyes off of you. He doesn’t stop stealing glances your way, taking in the way your face lights up when you smile, the sound of your laugh. His heart stutters in his chest every time, and the ache he feels for you threatens to overwhelm him.

You catch him watching once, your cheeks going pink as your eyes meet, and he has to duck his head to hide the smile that threatens to split his face.

He doesn’t miss the way Wrecker is hanging onto your every word, his eyes never leaving your face. He feels his shoulders stiffen in response, his hand balling into a fist at his side.

Wrecker is his brother, his vod, and Echo doesn’t want to begrudge him his happiness, especially after what Hunter has told him, but…

He can’t help it.

The jealousy twists in his gut, and he has to force himself to relax. He’s not usually a jealous person. But when it comes to you, he’s always had a harder time keeping his emotions in check, and he knows that his desire for you goes beyond the physical.

You’re beautiful, but it’s more than that. He can see the way you care for each of them, how you listen when they talk, how you make sure to include everyone. You’re kind, and sweet, and smart, and he can’t fault Wrecker for falling for you.

Still, the jealousy that rises in his throat is bitter, and Echo feels a twinge of guilt at his feelings. It isn’t fair to resent Wrecker when he hasn’t done anything wrong. It isn’t fair to resent you either.

You’d asked him to take you with him, and he refused. What did he expect would happen?

That you would just wait for him?

Of course not.

Echo forces himself to look away, his jaw clenching as he shoves his fork around his plate. He tries to ignore the knot of emotions twisting in his chest. He’s being selfish and unreasonable.

The worst part is, he’s going to leave you again, and soon.

As the sun sets, the sky awash with color, the boys disperse to help clean up and wash dishes. It’s only when Echo tries to offer his assistance that he realizes he has no idea where you are. He looks around the kitchen, trying not to panic.

Hunter appears beside him, drying his hand on a towel.

“She went for a walk,” he says, as if reading Echo’s mind.

“Where?”

“The cliffs. Omega says she does it a lot.”

Echo frowns and glances toward the window. “But it’s almost dark. Isn’t it dangerous?”

Hunter shrugs. “She’s fine. She always comes back.”

His nonchalance does little to ease the concern building in Echo’s gut. He looks back toward the kitchen. Wrecker and Tech are arguing over whether a particular pan should be soaked or rinsed. Omega is seated on the counter, drying dishes and giggling at the two of them.

He should stay and help, but…

“I’m going after her.”

He doesn’t give Hunter a chance to respond, marching straight out the front door.

As Echo walks toward the cliffs, he can see a figure sitting atop the rocks, silhouetted against the sunset. A breeze picks up, the sound of wind in the grasses filling the air as your skirt and hair are thrown about by the current. You’re perched on the edge, legs swinging as you stare out at the ocean.

“Cyare?” Echo calls out as he approaches.

“Echo?” You jump, your head whipping around to face him. You’re far enough away that your expression is obscured, but you seem surprised and maybe a little embarrassed.

He picks up his pace. “What are you doing up there? That’s dangerous!”

“It’s fine, I do this all the time.” Your voice is a bit defensive, and Echo has to bite back his irritation.

“You’re gonna fall.”

Echo stops a few feet from the cliff. The drop is steep, and the rocks jut out from the edge at odd angles. The view is stunning, though, and the sun reflects off the water like glittering diamonds.

“I won’t,” you retort, your voice still slightly sharp, and you turn your head back to face the ocean. You pat the space next to you. “You can join me if you want.”

Echo huffs but obliges, carefully navigating his way up to your spot. When he settles beside you, his thigh brushes against yours. The closeness sends a jolt up his spine, and his skin burns where you touch.

He missed this.

You sit in silence for a moment, watching the sun begin to disappear below the horizon. The sky is ablaze with color, bright oranges and reds melting into purple and indigo. The waves crash against the cliffs, their roar echoing off the rocks. It’s a breathtaking view, and he begrudgingly understands why you would come all the way out here to see it.

He sneaks a glance at you from the corner of his eye. You look beautiful, the fading light bringing out the pink undertones of your cheeks. He swallows hard, forcing himself to turn away.

“So, what did I miss while I was gone?” Echo asks, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Not much.” You shrug. “Same old, same old. I’ve been working at the clinic a few days a week, and we’ve been helping out around the settlement.”

“What do you do there?”

“Basic medical stuff, mostly preventative care.” Your hands are tearing at a blade of grass, shredding it into tiny pieces. “I helped deliver a baby last week.”

“You did?” He can’t keep the surprise out of his voice. “How’d that go?”

You smile, your expression softening. “It was amazing. It’s such a special thing, you know?”

Echo’s breath catches. There’s something so open and honest about the way you talk about the experience, the way your whole face lights up, and it makes his heart squeeze in his chest.

“I can’t imagine,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head and give him a look. “What? You’ve never wanted kids?”

“I’ve never really thought about it,” he admits.

It’s true. It’s not like he’s had the chance. Between the war and his injuries, children are the furthest thing from his mind. And even if he did, who would want to be with him? With his prosthetics, and his scars, and his nightmares, he doesn’t think anyone would find him appealing, let alone worth a lifetime commitment.

“What about you?” he asks.

“I’ve always wanted them,” you say, a wistful smile playing on your lips. “Not now, obviously. But someday. A couple, I think. It would be nice to have a big family.”

Echo’s chest constricts.

He can picture it, a house filled with the sound of children’s laughter, the smell of fresh-baked goods. You, surrounded by a group of miniature clones, all smiles and love and warmth.

A future he will never have.

Echo turns his gaze back to the ocean, watching the waves crest and crash against the rocks below. He tries to ignore the pang of sadness in his heart, the tightness in his throat.

You deserve that.

He wants that for you, so badly.

But it’s not his to give.

“Anyway, what about you?” you ask.

Echo startles, turning to look at you. You’re watching him, curiosity in your eyes.

“What about me?”

“How have you been? How’s Rex?”

He’s grateful for the change in topic. Talking about your future, about his lack thereof, is too much.

“He’s doing well,” he says. “He’s getting more involved in the political scene after we helped Senator Chuchi, so I have my hands full.”

“He’s lucky to have you,” you say quietly.

Echo hums.

You both fall into a comfortable silence, watching as the waves crash along the shore. He can hear the distant call of birds, the rustling of the wind in the leaves. It is quiet here. Quiet, and calm, and peaceful.

“Hunter says you’re sad,” Echo blurts out, breaking the silence.

The moment the words leave his mouth, he wants to kick himself. He sees your shoulders tense, your grip tightening around your ankles, and he regrets it.

“I’m not,” you reply, but your voice is tight, and you don’t look at him.

“He says you haven’t been sleeping. That you’re not eating.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” Echo says, his tone firm.

“How would you know?”

“Because I know you,” he says, his voice rising. “Because I can see it.”

“You haven’t even been here!”

“So?”

“So you can’t just show up and tell me how I feel,” you snap.

“I’m worried about you.”

“Don’t be,” you reply, your tone cold.

Echo huffs and looks away. “Look, I just want to make sure you’re okay. That’s all.”

“I’m fine.”

“If you’re fine, then why won’t you look at me?”

You sigh, pulling your knees up to your chest.

“It’s complicated,” you reply, resting your chin on your arms.

Echo reaches over, brushing his fingertips against your forearm. Your skin is warm and soft, and he finds himself craving more contact.

“Can you talk to me?”

You finally turn your head to face him. His stomach swoops as your eyes meet his. There’s pain there, a deep hurt that makes his chest ache. He hates seeing you like this, and he wishes there was something he could do to take it away.

“I’ve been trying, Echo. I really have,” you say, your voice barely a whisper. “But it’s hard…everyone seems like they’re moving on except for me.”

“That’s not true.” Echo frowns, his hand finding yours. Your fingers curl around his, and you squeeze.

“No, it is. We’ve been here for months, and they’re starting to make a life here. They’re building a home. It’s a good thing, and I’m happy for them.” You shrug, turning away from him.

Echo doesn’t say anything, and when you don’t continue, he turns to you.

“And what about you?” He prods.

“What about me?”

“Don’t you want to do the same?”

You don’t answer right away, but he can see the way your face falls, the way your lips press together in a thin line.

“Maybe. I don’t know. Do I have a choice?”

“Of course, you do,” he replies, confused.

“Do I?” You ask, your voice wavering. “I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore. I feel like I’m just going through the motions, but it doesn’t mean anything.”

Echo hesitates, unsure how to respond. He wants to ask you to elaborate, but he knows it won’t help. You’re already looking back out at the sea, your shoulders hunched. The sun has nearly disappeared below the horizon now, casting everything in an orange glow.

He wants to press you, to make you tell him what you’re thinking, but he holds back, not wanting to upset you further. He knew this wouldn’t be easy for you at first, not when you’ve spent your entire life running from place to place. He had hoped, though, that being here would be different.

That you could find some peace.

But maybe that was naive.

“You know…” He begins slowly. “After Skako, I felt like I came home to a different world. So much had changed. I didn’t think that I would ever feel safe, or happy again.”

He hears you shift, but doesn’t turn. He is too afraid to meet your gaze, knowing it would break him. Instead, he focuses on the ocean, the way the light plays off the water.

“For a long time, I was angry, and I felt lost. I didn’t know who I was anymore, or if there was any purpose for me. And I’m still working through it, you know? But I found some things that made it a little easier, and that made me feel like myself again.”

“Like what?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

He looks over at you, at the way your eyes reflect the last rays of light, the way your lips part slightly, and his breath catches in his throat.

He could tell you.

He could tell you everything.

How you make him feel safe, how you make him feel alive, how you make him feel like he belongs. He could tell you that the mere thought of you keeps him going, that he’s been replaying the moments you shared over and over in his mind, and how every single one fills him with joy. He could tell you that you’ve shown him what happiness is, that he’d been so lonely and broken before, and now…

He could tell you how he feels, how desperately he’s missed you, how much he needs you, how much he loves you.

But he can’t. So he settles for a different truth.

“The boys. They gave me purpose, and a reason to keep going. They were always there for me, even when I didn’t want them to be. They made me feel welcome, and they reminded me that I was a part of something bigger than myself.”

He takes a deep breath.

“And then I met you. And you reminded me what it was like to be human. To be happy, and to laugh, and to have fun. You’ve given me a reason to hope, and to keep fighting, and that’s more than I could ever ask for. I just…I hope you find something that makes you feel that way, too.”

You stare at him, a range of emotions flickering across your face. He can’t tell what you’re thinking, can’t tell if he’s said the wrong thing.

“You’re sweet, Echo,” you say finally, smiling softly. “I’m glad you’re here.”

He smiles back, but the warmth he’d felt moments before fades, and a cold knot of anxiety forms in his stomach.

It wasn’t enough.

He doesn’t know how to be, or what to say. He can’t give you what you need, can’t make you feel the way you deserve to be made to feel. He can’t protect you, or care for you, or build a life with you.

All he can do is leave, and keep leaving.

He feels tears prick his eyes, and he looks away, not wanting you to see. He clears his throat, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. It’s better this way, he reminds himself, trying to shake the feeling. You deserve more.

He shifts, the movement causing his knee to bump into yours.

“Sorry,” he mutters, pulling his leg away.

“Don’t worry about it.” You laugh, and he can feel the warmth radiating off of you. “I don’t mind.”

The knot in his stomach grows tighter, and he fights the urge to lean into you.

“I miss you, you know. I’m glad you’re back, even if it’s just for a visit.”

“Me too.” His stomach churns, and he wonders if you would have been happier if he hadn’t come at all.

The truth is, he thinks about you every day, misses your smile and the way you always make him feel calm. He aches for you, and his heart aches for you, and he doesn’t know what to do.

“I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “I wish I could’ve been here like you were for me.”

You give him a small smile, and his heart sinks. “It’s okay. You have a new mission. You’re helping your brothers. That’s important, Echo.”

“So are you.”

You smile sadly.

“No, it’s not the same.” You lean forward and rest your cheek against your knee. The fading sunlight plays off the lines of your face, highlighting your cheekbones, the slope of your nose, the curve of your lips. “It’s not your fault, Echo. You’re doing your duty. I’m just being selfish. It’s my own problem.”

“You’re not selfish,” Echo argues, frowning.

“Yes, I am,” you insist and your eyes flash, an edge of anger creeping into your tone.

You sit up straight, looking at him intently. Your brow is furrowed, and you have a stubborn set to your jaw. He’s seen this look before, and it both infuriates him and fills him with an aching fondness.

“I am, and I hate it, and I hate this stupid planet, and I hate how much I want you here.” Your voice breaks, and he sees the tears in your eyes.

Echo opens his mouth, then closes it. His heart races, and his palms are suddenly sweaty.

“I–”

“Do you have any idea what it’s like for me? Every day, wondering if you’re okay. Hoping that I’ll hear something. Anything.” You let out a sharp, pained sound, a mix between a laugh and a sob. “I know it’s not right, but I can’t help but wish you would’ve just stayed here with me.”

Echo’s mind goes blank, the blood rushing in his ears. He can’t breathe, can’t think. The only thing he can focus on is the pain in your eyes, the pain he put there.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out. “I didn’t mean to–”

“I know,” you interrupt, your voice strained. “I know, and I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

“Don’t apologize.” He reaches for you, hesitating before resting his hand on your back. His fingers trace the lines of your spine, and his throat tightens. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”

“No, I’m sorry,” you reply, sniffling. You pull away from him, rubbing your eyes. You push yourself up onto your feet with enough force that he worries you might tumble over the side of the cliff. His hand reaches for you on instinct, but he lets it fall, curling into a fist on his thigh.

“Wait–”

“We should head back. It’s getting dark.” Your voice is muffled, and you won’t look at him.

Echo frowns, watching as you take a step away from him. He wants to make you stay, but he can’t bring himself to press you. He’s already hurt you enough.

“Are you sure you’re okay with me staying with you?” he asks, standing slowly. He can see the way you tense, and he knows the answer.

“Of course.” You force a smile, and he knows it’s not genuine.

“I can stay somewhere else, if that’s easier for you,” he offers.

“I’m not going to sacrifice what little time we have together just because I want to wallow in self-pity. It’s not like you can change anything, anyway.” You turn away, your shoulders drooping.

Echo stares at you, his heart sinking.

You’re right.

He can’t.

“Just, please stop apologizing. You’ve done nothing wrong, Echo.”

“If you’re sure.” Echo isn’t convinced, but he knows better than to push you, especially after you’ve been so upset.

He waits for you to move, his gaze flicking from your face to the ground and back again.

“If you need me to go–”

“Don’t.” You shake your head. “Please. I’ll be fine. Let’s just go home.”

Home.

He tries to ignore the ache in his chest.

He offers you a hand, helping you down from the rocks. Your skin is warm, your hand small and soft, and he wishes he didn’t have to let go. But he does, and you pull away, the warmth of your touch lingering.

You give him a small smile as he guides you back toward your house, and Echo tries to ignore the way his heart aches.

He’s hurt you. He’s hurt you and himself, and he has no idea how to fix it.

Echo has a hard time falling asleep.

You’d given him some blankets and a pillow, and he’d awkwardly settled in to the too-soft mattress in your small spare bedroom. You’d insisted he sleep there, despite his protests, and he hadn’t wanted to upset you further. Then you’d disappeared into your room and shut the door behind you, and he was left alone.

His body ached from a long day of travel, but his mind was still racing from his talk with you. Your words kept repeating in his mind, the pain in your voice, the desperation in your eyes. He couldn’t stop replaying them, couldn’t stop wishing he’d been able to make you feel better.

When he’s finally able to close his eyes, it isn’t long before he’s jolted awake. He shoots upright, his heart pounding, his body coated in a cold sweat.

Echo can’t remember what the nightmare was about, but the lingering fear that grips his chest makes it hard to breathe. He rubs his palms roughly against his face, taking a deep breath in through his nose.

He can’t stay in the bed. He has to move, to get up and pace and shake off the terror.

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed, Echo pushes himself up, shuffling into the small kitchen to get a glass of water. He can already feel a headache coming on.

“Echo?”

His hand stops midair, the glass halfway to his lips as you step into the room. Your hair is tousled, and the thin straps of your camisole hang precariously off your shoulders. The shorts you are wearing don’t leave much to the imagination, and Echo can’t help the way his eyes drag over the length of your legs.

“Sorry,” he says quietly. He drains the glass of water in one gulp and sets it back down on the counter, hoping that you can’t tell how flustered he is. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”

“No, I wasn’t asleep,” you say, shaking your head. Your feet pad across the floor and you come to stand beside him. “You okay?”

“Yeah, just had a nightmare.”

“Wanna talk about it?” You reach up, placing your palm on his chest.

Echo hesitates. “Not really.”

Your hand trails down his chest and around to his back, the touch warm and soothing.

“You should try to go back to sleep. It’s late,” he says, and though his body hums under your touch, the ache in his heart remains.

“You first,” you retort, a small smile playing on your lips.

Echo snorts, leaning against the counter. You’re close, so close, and he aches to pull you against him, to feel your warmth and hold you and never let go.

"You're impossible."

"And you're stubborn," you fire back, tilting your head. "I'm sorry you're still having them. The nightmares."

"It's not your fault. I should be the one apologizing, really."

You sigh, shaking your head. "Please stop apologizing, Echo."

"Then, I'm sorry."

You let out a huff, one that could almost be a laugh, and he takes it as a victory. "You're not funny."

"I'm not trying to be," he says with a shrug, but it's obvious he's fighting a grin.

"Then why are you laughing?"

Echo opens his mouth, but doesn't have an answer. Instead, he finds himself smiling wider, warmth spreading through him. He's missed this, the easy banter, the way he can make you laugh and feel at ease.

"You're ridiculous," you murmur, but you're smiling.

He watches you, and his heart aches. You're beautiful, the light from the window illuminating your face. The room grows quiet, and Echo struggles to keep his hands to himself. He wants to reach out, to touch you, but he can't bring himself to move, terrified he'll ruin the moment. He's suddenly very aware that he is standing in your kitchen, in nothing but his undershirt and underwear, while you're dressed in next to nothing.

He shifts, the air thick with tension, and he can feel the heat radiating off of you, your hand still lingering on his arm.

“So, um…”

“Uh, do you want me to make you some tea or something?” you ask at the same time, glancing over at the kettle on the stove.

Echo blinks, his brain short-circuiting as it struggles to catch up with the abrupt change in conversation. It isn’t an unusual question, you’ve done the same for him and his brothers many times before on the Marauder, but it feels strangely intimate in the darkened kitchen.

“Sure,” he says, a little too loudly. He clears his throat. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all,” you reply, looking relieved to have something to occupy yourself with. You pull away from him, and Echo watches as you bustle around the kitchen, opening cabinets and filling the kettle.

“I can do that,” he offers, coming up behind you to place a hand on your shoulder. He doesn’t miss the way you stiffen under his touch, and he can’t help the pang of hurt that shoots through his chest before he quickly withdraws his hand.

“No, it’s fine,” you protest, grabbing a couple of mugs from the cabinet above the sink. You move past him, and he catches a hint of your scent, warm and floral. “Why don’t you have a seat? I’ll be right over.”

Echo relents, sitting down at the table and watching you. There’s a quiet elegance in the way you moved, and it reminds him of the first time you’d cooked dinner for them on Saleucami. The boys had been skeptical at first, but after one bite, they’d devoured the entire pot. They’d joked that you were a better cook than you were a medic, and you’d playfully swatted at them, threatening to poison their food if they didn’t behave, and Echo had watched and laughed along.

But it hadn’t been funny. You were so good to them, and they had taken advantage of it, had treated you like a burden, and you hadn’t said a word. He had felt guilty then, and he felt even guiltier now.

After that, he’d made a point of helping you more, of offering to do little things for you, even when you’d insisted that he didn’t have to. But he had wanted to, wanted to show his appreciation for all you did.

He was so grateful for you. For everything you’d done for them. He was so grateful, and so hopelessly in love with you, and so completely terrified of losing you.

And now here you are, making him tea, and he still loves you, and he still wants to hold you, and kiss you, and tell you how much he cares for you, and he’s terrified of losing you again.

So much has changed, yet somehow, it feels like no time had passed at all.

“Do you miss it?” he asks suddenly.

You look up from the tea bags you’re carefully placing in the mugs, the corners of your lips turning down slightly. “Miss what?”

“Being out in the field, fighting, the action, all of it.” Echo isn’t sure why he asked, and he regrets it the second the words are out of his mouth.

You stare at him for a long moment, the silence stretching between you. You let out a soft sigh, closing your eyes.

“Sometimes,” you say quietly. You set a cup of tea in front of him, your hand lingering on the back of his chair as you move.

He watches you carefully as you take the seat across from him, your hands wrapping protectively around your mug. You stare down at your cup, your expression guarded.

“Do you ever think about going back?” Echo asks, trying to keep his voice casual.

“Of course I do.” You look up abruptly, staring at him with a fierce intensity that takes him by surprise. There’s an edge of desperation in your voice, and it sends a stab of pain through his chest. “You didn’t want me to go back, remember?”

He flinches, swallowing hard.

“No, I mean —” Echo hesitates, not sure what to say. You’re right, he’d tried to keep you out of danger. He’d told you that he didn’t want you to follow them, but it had been a selfish request, and he’d known it. “I don’t know.”

“I see.” You’re quiet, your fingers playing idly with the handle of your mug. 

He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t know how to explain the way his stomach lurches when he watches you fight. The way his throat tightens, knowing that one wrong move could take your life. How he’s paralyzed at the thought of losing you again. 

It’s too much. He doesn’t want to talk about it, doesn’t want to think about it.

But he has to, or he’ll never get past it.

“It’s just —” Echo pauses, clearing his throat.

“It’s alright, Echo. I know you had to go.” You interrupt, your voice soft and understanding. “I know I didn’t fit into your plan, and I don’t blame you.”

Echo stares at you, a cold feeling settling over him. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“No, no, I understand.” You give him a halfhearted smile, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

“You don’t. I–”

“I know I can’t help like you can. I know I’m not like you, or the rest of the squad.” Your voice trembles, and your fingers tighten around the mug.

“That’s not what I’m trying to say,” Echo pleads, desperate to make you understand. He’s struggling to find the right words, his mind racing.

“So, what are you trying to say?” Your voice rises, and there’s a hint of anger in your tone.

“That I was scared.” He blurts out. “I was afraid I would lose you, and I wasn’t ready to admit it.”

You fall silent, the only sound is the ticking of the clock on the wall and the faint hum of the refrigerator. Echo holds his breath, waiting for you to say something, anything.

“Oh,” you finally murmur, your gaze dropping to the table.

“You’re not a soldier. I know you want to help, but —” Echo’s voice cracks. “I thought maybe if you weren’t around me, you’d be safer. You’d have a happy life here, away from danger. Away from me.”

You raise your head, meeting his gaze. There’s a flicker of something in your eyes, something like understanding.

“So you didn’t want me to go with you because you were afraid something would happen to me?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I couldn’t lose you,” he replies softly. “And I’m sorry. I never meant to make you feel like you were a burden.”

You let out a quiet, sad laugh, shaking your head.

“I’m not good with this, uh, feelings, thing,” Echo continues, his voice strained.

“It’s alright. You don’t have to explain yourself.” You take a sip of your tea, your fingers curling around the mug. “You don’t owe me anything, Echo.”

“Yes, I do. You’ve been so good to us. To me. And I haven’t been.”

“Echo,” you start, but he cuts you off.

“No. Let me say this. Please.”

You nod slowly, and Echo takes a deep breath.

“I was a coward,” he says, his voice trembling. “And I was afraid that if you stayed with me, I would lose you. When you got hurt, I damn near lost my mind. I wasn’t sure I would ever get you back. And when I did, it just… it made me realize that I’m not strong enough to live without you.”

“Echo,” you whisper, reaching across the table for his hand. “It’s okay. You don’t have to say anything else.”

“Yes, I do.” Echo takes a deep breath. “I didn’t want to leave you, but I couldn’t take you with us. It’s not safe, and I know you can handle yourself, but I can’t… I can’t lose you. Not like that.”

You squeeze his hand, your thumb gently rubbing over his knuckles.

“I understand.”

“You don’t.” Echo shakes his head, pulling his hand away from yours. He pushes back from the table, the chair scraping across the floor. “You don’t. Because it wasn’t just that. It was also…”

You sit back in your chair, watching him, waiting for him to finish.

“I couldn’t take the way you made me feel. I was a mess, and I didn’t know what to do with it. With you. I didn’t know how to deal with it, so I shut it out. I pushed it away, and I pushed you away. I’m sorry.”

“You had every reason to feel the way you did. What happened to you was terrible.”

“That’s not the point.” Echo’s voice grows louder, and he forces himself to take a deep breath.

“So, what is the point, then?” You ask, your tone careful and measured.

“I…” He hesitates, struggling to find the words. He isn’t sure how much longer he can hold himself back.

“What?” You ask.

“I don’t know. I’m trying, but it’s hard. I can’t —”

“You can’t what?”

“I can’t do this anymore. I can’t keep pretending.”

“Pretending what?”

“That I’m not in love with you,” he says, his voice raw and full of emotion, the confession bursting from him like a flood. He doesn’t even know where the words come from. They’re just there, bubbling up inside of him, begging to be heard. “That I haven’t been in love with you this whole time.”

You blink, a flush creeping up your neck and face. You stare at him, stunned into silence, and he waits, his heart pounding in his ears.

“I don’t know what to say.” You finally murmur, shaking your head.

“Please don’t say anything.” He begs, his voice breaking. “Don’t say anything.”

Echo’s heart is hammering in his chest. The seconds seem to stretch on forever, and he wants nothing more than for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.

“Okay.” You whisper.

The word hangs between you, heavy and unspoken, and Echo wonders if this is how it will always be. If the two of you will always be orbiting around each other, never quite able to meet in the middle.

“Thank you,” he manages, and the words taste bitter in his mouth.

You push yourself away from the table, the legs of the chair scraping against the tile. The sudden noise is deafening, and Echo can’t bring himself to look at you, not trusting his resolve not to crumble if he sees the look on your face.

He hears you move toward him, but he still can’t look at you.

“I’m sorry.” He repeats, his voice breaking.

“For what?”

“I know I have no right to feel this way. But I can’t help it. I can’t help the way I feel about you. And I can’t pretend anymore. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said anything. I’ll go, and you won’t have to deal with —”

He cuts himself off as you place your hands on either side of his face, your fingers gently stroking his cheeks. His breath catches in his throat as he looks up, finding you standing directly in front of him, so close that your legs are nearly touching.

“Stop apologizing,” you say, your voice soft and gentle. Your thumbs trace the sharp line of his jaw, your eyes searching his. “I don’t want you to leave.”

“Okay,” he breathes, his voice hoarse and his hand shaking.

“Do you really love me?”

Echo nods, unable to form words. His heart is hammering in his chest, and his throat feels thick.

“Why didn’t you tell me before?” You ask.

“Because,” Echo whispers, swallowing the lump in his throat. “I didn’t think I deserved you.”

“You’re an idiot,” you say, laughing softly. “You have no idea, do you?”

“Idea about what?” He asks, confused.

“How much I love you,” you say.

“You, uh —” His brain struggles to process your words.

“Love you. So much.”

“Really?” He breathes, his mouth suddenly dry.

“Yeah, really,” you say, smiling.

“I’ve been such an idiot,” he mutters, and you laugh.

“You have,” you agree, leaning forward.

He closes his eyes as you press your lips to his, soft and tentative. His hand and scomp come up to rest on your hips, pulling you closer, and your hands slide down to his shoulders, gripping the fabric of his shirt.

His skin tingles where your fingertips touch, and a shiver runs down his spine. His heart is beating so hard he can feel it in his throat, and he can barely breathe.

“You really want this? You really want me?” He asks, his voice trembling.

“Of course I do,” you reply, kissing him again, this time more deeply, and Echo’s entire world narrows to the feeling of your lips on his. It’s a desperate, hungry kiss, full of all the emotion that has been building up between the two of you.

Echo groans, his arms tightening around you, pulling you into his lap. His hand tangles in your hair, tugging you closer, and you melt into his touch, your mouth hot against his.

You’re intoxicating, your lips soft and sweet and demanding, and Echo can’t stop himself. He wants to kiss you forever, to taste you and touch you and drown in the scent of your skin.

He’s lightheaded and breathless, and he can feel his heart racing. Your hands roam his body, and Echo feels himself slipping, losing himself in you, the feeling overwhelming.

You break away, gasping for air. His lips chase after yours, and you giggle, pulling back.

“Wait,” you breathe, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw, the curve of his cheekbone, leaving a trail of fire in their wake. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” He mumbles, his hand running along the sides of your thigh, your waist, your hip.

“You promised to tell me what that word meant before you left,” you whisper. “Cyare.”

"Oh.” Echo’s heart stops, the memory hitting him like a blow.

“You never did.” You smile, your nose bumping against his, and he laughs softly.

“You still remember that?”

“Of course I do.” You kiss him again, your tongue brushing over his lips, and he shivers.

“It means, uh…” Echo clears his throat. “It means someone precious, beloved.”

You raise your eyebrows, looking pleased with yourself. “You’ve been calling me that for months. Why didn’t you just tell me what it meant?“

Echo laughs, a short, nervous sound. "Because I’m an idiot, apparently.”

“So you keep saying,” you tease, your fingers dancing along the edge of his jaw, trailing down the line of his neck. “You did have me worried for a bit. I didn’t think you were ever going to tell me. Hunter kept giving me these weird looks every time you said it.”

Echo groans, hiding his face in the crook of your neck. “Kriff, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. “I think it’s cute.”

“I was such an idiot.” He whispers, his lips moving against your skin.

“I thought it was kind of endearing.”

“Endearing,” he snorts, pulling back to look at you. “Really.”

“Yes. And I’ve missed hearing you say it,” you admit, your cheeks turning pink. “Even if I didn’t understand, I loved hearing you say it.”

Echo leans his forehead against yours, his hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. “I’m going to make up for lost time. You’ll be sick of it soon enough.”

You laugh, and Echo presses his lips to yours, swallowing the sound. His kisses are slow and deliberate, and his hand and scomp press into your hips, holding you close. You sigh against his lips, your fingers twisting into the front of his shirt.

He can’t stop kissing you, can’t stop touching you. His body is humming with energy, and his skin feels too tight, and he’s overwhelmed by the intensity of his emotions.

“Cyare,” he murmurs, his mouth trailing along the line of your jaw, his teeth grazing the skin.

“Mm,” you sigh happily, tilting your head to give him better access.

His lips trail along your jaw, and he nips at your earlobe.

“Cyare,” he whispers, his lips brushing against your ear. You shiver, a low moan escaping from the back of your throat, and Echo smiles.

“I like that,” you murmur, turning your head and capturing his lips in another kiss.

“Yeah?” He grins, his teeth catching on your bottom lip. “I’ve got plenty more.”

He slides his hand under your shirt, his palm splayed out on your stomach. You suck in a breath, your muscles twitching under his touch. You lips part against his, your tongue sliding into his mouth, and Echo moans, his fingers flexing against your skin.

His fingers dance up your side, tracing the curve of your ribs, and your back arches into him, your hips rocking against his. When his tongue dips between your lips and you suck on it, his brain short-circuits, and he thrusts his hips up into yours, his erection straining against his briefs.

“Cyare,” Echo whispers, his voice hoarse. He forces himself to remain still, his grip tightening on your hips, trying to control himself.

You don’t seem to notice, content with dipping your head to brush your lips along the line of his jaw, his neck, his shoulder. “Echo,” you say, and his name sounds like a prayer on your lips.

“Cyare.”

You hum, your teeth grazing his earlobe, and his hips jerk up involuntarily.

“Cyare,” he rasps, his hand trembling, his head falling back as your lips move to his collarbone. His fingers tighten, squishing the soft flesh of your hip, and you let out a low moan, your thighs clenching around him.

He has a brief moment of clarity, wondering if this is too fast, if he’s going to scare you off. But then you are grinding down against him, and he can feel the heat of you through your shorts, and he forgets how to breathe.

“Please, Echo.” You gasp, rocking against him, and his hips roll into yours. Your lips are hot against his neck, your hands roam over his shoulders, his chest.

“Are you sure?” He asks, his voice shaking. “I don’t want to —”

“Yes,” you whisper. You take his face in your hands, tilting his chin up to meet your eyes. You kiss the corner of his mouth, and then his lips, his tongue. “Yes, I’m sure. Please, Echo.”

“I love you,” he tells you, his voice thick.

“I love you too,” you breathe, and Echo loses himself in you.

“Cyare.” He says again, his voice a low growl.

He pulls you into him, and you let out a surprised yelp. He surges forward, capturing your lips in a bruising kiss. His hand slips beneath your shirt, sliding up your back, and you arch into him, your skin burning beneath his touch.

His lips trail down your neck, his tongue darting out to taste your skin, and you gasp, your nails digging into his shoulders.

“Tell me to stop,” he rasps, his breath hot against your skin. Your hips buck against him, and he groans, his hand sliding lower.

“No.”

His hand continues its path, cupping your ass, pulling you flush against him, and you let out a whine, rolling your hips into his. His fingers inch under the waistband of your shorts, tracing the edge of your underwear.

Echo groans, his teeth scraping your collarbone, and your hips jerk against him, your breath catching. His entire body is aching for you, desperate to feel your skin against his.

“Tell me to stop,” he says again, his voice strained.

“Never,” you reply, your breath hitching as he nips at your shoulder.

“Kriff, you’re killing me, cyare.”

You whimper, your nails scratching his scalp.

“Tell me you want me,” Echo whispers, his hand slipping underneath your underwear to grab a handful of your ass. He grips you, tugging you closer, and you hiss as his erection presses directly against your clit.

“I want you,” you breathe, your legs wrapping around his waist. He stands, lifting you up easily, and your arms wrap around his neck, your lips meeting his in a heated kiss.

He carries you down the hallway to your bedroom, pausing in the doorway. He breaks the kiss, his eyes searching yours. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure,” you nod, your lips brushing his. “Are you?”

He closes his eyes, sucking in a breath. “I just should warn you I’m not…Tech wasn’t kidding when he said I’m more machine than man. I have scars and wires, and I —"

“Hey,” you cut him off, your hands coming up to frame his face. You press a soft kiss to his lips. “If you want to stop, tell me, and we’ll stop. I love you, Echo. All of you. And I’m not going anywhere.”

Echo lets out a shuddering breath, nodding. “Alright.”

You smile, your thumb tracing the line of his jaw. “Good. Now take me to bed.”

He smirks, his grip on you tightening. He leans down, his lips ghosting over yours.

“Whatever you want, cyare.”

You gasp, your head falling back as his lips latch onto your throat, and Echo kicks the door closed behind him. 

Your nails digging into his back, you tighten your legs around his waist, and you grind your hips against his, a low moan escaping you. It throws him off balance, and he bumps against the bedpost before turning and sitting down on the edge of the mattress.

He settles you on his lap, your knees bracketing his hips, and his hand tangles in your hair, pulling your lips to his. He kisses you, hard and desperate, and your fingers clutch at the fabric of his shirt, your teeth sinking into his lower lip.

“You should probably take this off,” you murmur as you pull away, pushing the material up. He reluctantly leans back to pull it over his head, then reaches out to help you with yours.

The sight of your breasts, bare and heaving in front of him makes his mouth go dry. You are perfect, your skin flushed and glowing, and his hand slides up your side, his thumb brushing the underside of your breast.

“Kriff, you’re gorgeous.” He your breast in his hand, his thumb brushing across the stiff peak of your nipple, and you moan, arching into his touch.

He dips his head, closing his mouth around the other, and you cry out, your hands clutching his shoulders.

Echo swirls his tongue around your nipple, his other hand kneading your breast. He feels you shiver, your hips rocking against him, and he groans, his cock straining against the confines of his briefs, desperate to be buried inside you.

You are so soft and warm, and you taste so good, and he can’t stop touching you, can’t get enough. His tongue dances over the sensitive skin, his teeth grazing, and you arch into him, letting out a strangled moan. Hhis scomp arm wraps around your waist, holding you in place, and he sucks hard, his tongue flicking across your nipple.

“Echo,” you pant, your hips grinding down against him, seeking friction. He lets out a low growl, his lips trailing over your breast to the other, his teeth sinking into the flesh.

“So perfect,” he murmurs, his tongue swirling around the peak, his lips closing over it. “I could spend all night doing this, cyare.”

Your breath hitches, and you writhe against him, your nails scratching his scalp. He releases your breast with a wet pop, his lips trailing along your ribs, his tongue darting out to taste the salt of your skin. You shudder, your breath coming in short pants, and he can’t help but grin, enjoying the way you are coming undone for him.

His fingers find the waistband of your shorts, tugging them down your hips. You lift yourself off him long enough for him to slide them down your legs, your underwear going with them, sticking slightly to the wetness pooling between your thighs.

You sit naked on his lap, your thighs parted, and he nearly loses it.

“Fuck,” Echo breathes, his hand moving to your waist, squeezing gently. You are soaked, your folds glistening, and he has to bite his lip to keep from coming right then and there.

“What?” You ask, a hint of nervousness creeping into your voice.

“Just trying not to embarrass myself,” he mutters, and your eyebrows shoot up.

“You mean…?” Your eyes flicker down to the tented fabric of his briefs, the growing wet spot.

“Yeah,” he groans, burying his face in the crook of your neck, his cheeks burning.

“That’s kinda hot,” you tease, your lips ghosting over the shell of his ear.

"Don’t get smug,” he growls. His hand slides up your inner thigh, and you gasp as his fingers slip between your folds, his thumb circling your clit.

“Oh!” You moan, your hips jerking forward, and Echo smiles.

“There we go,” he whispers, his fingers stroking you, rubbing small circles around your clit.

Your head falls back, your hips rocking against him, and he bites down on your shoulder, his cock throbbing.

“Echo, please,” you beg, your breath hot against his ear.

He lets out a shuddering breath, his fingers dipping lower, teasing at your entrance. “Is this what you want, cyare?”

You whine, chasing after his hand as it pulls away, and he laughs softly, nipping at the juncture of your neck and shoulder.

“Echo,” you whimper, and his breath catches in his throat.

“Tell me,” he commands, his fingers dipping just barely inside you, making you moan.

“Yes! Please, Echo, please,” you plead, your voice high and desperate.

“Come here." 

Echo maneuvers you both so he has room to lay back on the bed, pulling your hand to get you to follow him. You do so eagerly, straddling his hips, your thighs bracketing his.

You grind your hips against his, and he groans, his fingers digging into your hip. His cock is trapped between your bodies, your slick heat teasing him through his briefs, and he has to fight the urge to roll you onto your back and thrust into you.

Instead, he moves his hand and scomp down to cup your ass, lifting you up slightly. He moves his mouth to your nipple, his teeth grazing the stiff peak.

You arch into him, your nails raking down his chest, and he groans, his tongue swirling around you nipple. He moves his lips to your other breast, his teeth scraping against you, and you cry out, your hips jerking.

"Please,” you whimper, your thighs trembling.

Echo releases your breast, his mouth moving to your neck, his teeth nipping at the sensitive skin, and he nudges you higher until you are straddling his chest.

He lifts his head, his lips moving to your stomach. He plants a trail of kisses down your belly, his tongue darting out to tease the crease of your hip. You gasp, your hands clutching at his shoulders.

Echo pauses, glancing up at you. Your eyes are dark, your pupils blown wide, and he smirks, his fingers digging into your thigh. He can smell your arousal, the sweet scent of you making his cock twitch, and his heart pounds in his chest.

“Sit on my face,” he growls, and your eyes widen.

“W-what?” You stammer.

“Sit on my face.” He repeats, his voice firm.

“But—”

“I want to taste you, cyare,” he murmurs, his hand sliding down your thigh.

You hesitate, chewing on your lower lip. Then you slowly shift your weight, moving until you are hovering over his face, your legs trembling. Your hands rest on the headboard in front of you, hovering uncertainly above his head.

“Good girl,” he praises, and your thighs clench. He grins, his hand cupping your ass, and he tilts his head up, pressing a soft kiss to your mound.

He takes a deep breath, savoring the moment. You are so wet, your folds glistening, and he wants nothing more than to bury his face between your thighs and lose himself in you.

Slowly, he guides you down, his hand moving to the back of your thigh, coaxing you to settle against him.

The first tentative swipe of his tongue is almost enough to make him lose it, the taste of you flooding his senses. He can’t see your expression, but the loud, surprised moan when his mouth makes contact is more than enough. You gasp, your hands clutching the headboard, and he does it again, dragging his tongue through your folds.

He moans, his eyes falling closed. You are perfect, You are already so wet, your essence coating his tongue and dripping down his chin. His hand moves from your thigh to grab a handful of your ass, pulling you closer.

His lips find your clit, and you let out a high pitched cry, your hips bucking.

“Echo,” you whimper as he sucks, his tongue flicking across the sensitive bud, and his cock twitches at the sound of his name on your lips.

Echo moans, his tongue circling your clit, and you rock against him, your breath hitching.

“Echo,” you repeat, your knuckles whitening as you clench them around the headboard. “Fuck.”

You’re shaking, your thighs clenching around his head, and he groans, his tongue circling your clit before moving down to slip inside of your entrance.

You let out a ragged gasp, your hips bucking against him. He pulls you down, his tongue fucking you deeper, and you moan, your head falling back. Your walls are slick, warm and tight, and he can’t get enough.

Echo feels your fingers gripping his head tightly as you rock your hips against his mouth. He keeps a steady pace, licking and sucking, and you gasp, your thighs trembling.

Echo glances up, catching a glimpse of your face, and his cock twitches. Your cheeks are flushed, your lips parted, your eyes squeezed shut. He can feel you getting closer, your walls clenching around him. He pulls away, his tongue darting out to swipe a broad stroke up your slit, and you groan, your hips jerking forward. His tongue moves to your clit, lapping at you, and a loud moan escapes you.

“Don’t stop,” you gasp, your hips rolling, seeking more friction. “Please, Echo.”

He chuckles, his hand moving to squeeze your ass. “Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

He slides a finger inside you, then two, his mouth closing over your clit, his tongue circling, teasing.

“So close,” you whine, your walls tightening around him. “Please, I’m —”

He curls his fingers, sucking hard, and you let out a muffled scream, your hips jerking against his mouth.

Your thighs tighten around his head, your hands gripping the headboard so tightly, and he groans as you come apart, your release coating his tongue and fingers.

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t slow, his tongue and fingers continuing their assault, and your orgasm stretches, drawing out, the waves crashing through you, leaving you breathless.

Finally, you collapse against the headboard, your thighs shaking, your breathing heavy. Echo slowly slips his fingers out of you, and you whimper, your eyes fluttering open.

“Echo,” you murmur, your head falling forward. He gives you a few more lazy strokes with his tongue before letting you move away. You’re panting, your face flushed and covered with a sheen of sweat, and he can’t help but grin at the sight.

He moves you down so that you’re straddling his chest and he can see you properly. You look good like this, your hair mussed, your eyes glassy, your body still trembling with aftershocks.

He wipes his chin with the back of his hand and grins. “Good girl.”

“Kriff,” you moan, bending over to bury your face in his neck. You are still trembling, and he feels a surge of pride, knowing he did that.

“Are you okay?” He asks, his voice teasing.

You let out a low groan. “Shut up.”

Echo chuckles as he feels your lips moving against his skin - planting a series of light kisses along his jaw and darting out to taste the skin just beneath his ear.

His breath hitches, and you take advantage of his reaction, your lips trailing down his throat, biting at the base.

“Kriff, cyare,” Echo moans, his cock throbbing.

You lift yourself up to shuffle backwards, giving him another glimpse at your beautiful, glistening and soaked pussy. His cock twitches, and he can’t stop himself from reaching out to stroke your clit. You shudder and spread your legs slightly.

“Fuck,” Echo moans as his eyes travel down your body, taking in every inch of bare, smooth skin. Your breasts are heaving, your nipples tight, and he can see the goosebumps forming on your skin.

You smirk, arching your back slightly.

“See something you like?” You tease.

“Yes,” Echo groans, his fingers slipping between your folds. “Everything.”

Mindful of overstimulating you, he keeps his touch light, his fingertips just brushing the edges of your entrance, not daring to dip any deeper. You let out a soft whimper, arching your back.

“You’re so wet,” he murmurs, his fingers sliding up and down. “So fucking perfect.”

You whimper, your hips bucking as his fingers find your clit, tracing small circles.

“Again?” You ask, a hint of desperation creeping into your voice.

“Again,” Echo agrees, his fingers moving faster, his thumb rubbing the swollen bud. “I could spend all day doing this, cyare.”

Your head falls forward, your mouth open, and you gasp as he rubs harder, his fingers stroking your clit, his thumb tracing small circles.

“Please, Echo,” you beg, your hips rocking, seeking more friction.

“You’re close,” he whispers, his finger dipping inside you, his thumb continuing its ministrations. “You like that, huh?”

You whimper and shift your hips. “Yes.”

“Yeah, I bet you do.” He slides another finger into you, curling them, and you moan as your walls tighten around him. He can feel the warmth of you, the slickness coating his fingers, and he groans.

“So good,” he murmurs as his fingers pump in and out of you, your hips rocking against him. “So wet for me, aren’t you?”

You gasp, your hips bucking. “Echo.”

He can feel you clenching around him, and he can’t resist adding a third finger. You let out a loud moan, your back arching, and he grins. “That’s it, cyare. You gonna cum for me again?”

You nod, your eyes squeezed shut, and he can feel your walls fluttering around him.

“I wanna see it,” he growls, his fingers picking up the pace. “I wanna see your pretty cunt cum on my fingers.”

You gasp, your thighs trembling, and he can feel the tight coil in his stomach winding tighter.

“Yes,” you breathe, jerking your hips even more. “I’m close. I’m gonna—”

“That’s right,” he groans. “Cum for me. Let me hear you.”

With a low moan, your back arches and your walls clench around his fingers. Echo’s hips buck, his cock throbbing as your release covers his hand, dripping down his wrist and forearm.

“Fuck,” you moan, your eyes squeezed shut, your mouth open, a soft whine escaping you.

“Yeah, there we go,” he whispers, his fingers continuing their movement, drawing out your orgasm.

When you finally relax, your head falls forward, and you let out a low moan. Echo’s fingers slow, his movements becoming lazy, and he leans forward to press a gentle kiss to your temple.

“Good girl,” Echo whispers, his scomp arm wrapping around your waist.

“Fuck, Echo, what the fuck.” Your eyes flutter open, and you look down at him, your face flushed. “That was…what the fuck.”

“Are you alright?” he asks, his tone teasing.

“Yes,” you say, nodding. “Shit.”

He chuckles and removes his fingers from you. You whimper and grip his biceps, digging your nails into his flesh. You both moan at the sight of your juices coating his hand, his fingers shiny and wet.

You reach down and grasp his hand, bringing it up to your mouth. Your tongue darts out to lap at your slickness, and his cock throbs.

“Fuck,” Echo groans as he watches you clean his fingers with your tongue, your eyes never leaving his. His eye contact breaks as you take his index finger into your mouth, sucking and swirling your tongue around the digit.

“Fuck, cyare,” Echo gasps, his cock twitching.

Your tongue wraps around his middle finger, and his hips buck involuntarily, his cock brushing against your thigh. You let out a muffled moan, your eyes fluttering shut, and he lets out a ragged breath.

“Kriff,” he breathes, his eyes glued to your mouth. “You’re killing me, sweetheart.”

You smirk, your tongue trailing down his index finger, then moving to his ring finger. He can’t help but rock his hips, the friction sending a jolt of pleasure through him.

Your eyes flutter open and lock on his, and he bites back a groan. The sight of you is almost too much to bear. Your mouth is so hot, your lips soft and plump, and the way your tongue dances over his fingers has him panting and his cock throbbing.

“Such a good girl.” His voice is low and thick with lust, and you let out a muffled whimper.

His scomp comes up to rest on the back of your neck, and you tilt your head back, letting his finger slide deeper into your mouth. Your cheeks hollow, and he moans, his hips grinding against yours.

You hum in response, and his cock twitches, a bead of pre-cum leaking out.

“Come here.” He pulls you down to kiss you, his tongue swiping across your lips. You gasp, opening your mouth to allow his tongue entrance. His cock is straining against his briefs, his tip pressed against your core.

He swallows your moans as he rocks his hips, rubbing his length against your sensitive flesh.

“I think you’re wearing too many clothes,” you mumble against his lips, your fingers curling into his briefs.

“Oh?” He quirks an eyebrow at you.

“Yeah,” you breathe, tugging at the waistband. “Can I?”

Echo sucks in a breath, his heart pounding. “Only if you want to, cyare.”

“I do,” you murmur as you scoot back. Your fingers dipping below the fabric, and Echo hisses as they ghost along the tip of his cock.

You smile, your fingers curling around the base of his shaft, and Echo moans, his hips rocking, seeking more friction. “Can I, Echo?”

“Let me help you,” he offers, shifting your position so that you are both sitting up.

Echo moves you off him and sits on the edge of the bed. Getting fully undressed is always a challenge with his cybernetics, and things tend to get caught if he isn’t careful. But the way you look at him makes it all worthwhile.

You settle behind him, your hands moving to his back. You trace the scars there, your fingertips featherlight, and he shivers, his eyes closing.

You place a soft kiss between his shoulder blades, your hands moving down to rest on his hips. You press another kiss to the nape of his neck, then another, and another.

Echo’s heart swells, and he can’t help but moan as you move down, your lips trailing along his spine. Your hands slip around his waist, your fingers tracing the scarred tissue of his legs.

“So handsome,” you whisper, and he feels his cheeks heat. “Beautiful.”

Echo shudders, his breath hitching. He’s always been insecure about his body, and you know this. You always know how to make him feel good about himself, how to make him forget.

“Cyare,” he murmurs, turning his head to look over his shoulder at you. You are sitting behind him, and when you meet his gaze, he sees the desire burning in your eyes.

You move around to the front of him, your hands gliding up his thighs. Your eyes lock onto his, your fingers trailing along the waistband of his boxers. He lifts his hips, allowing you to pull them off, and you toss them aside, a wicked smirk spreading across your lips.

You settle between his legs, and Echo feels his heart race, his cock throbbing. 

“You’re gorgeous,” you whisper, your hand wrapping around his shaft.

He hisses, his eyes falling closed, his hips bucking involuntarily. Your thumb rubs circles over the tip, spreading the moisture that has gathered there.

Your lips meet his, your tongue sweeping into his mouth, and he groans, his hand sliding up to tangle in your hair. He can feel your grin against his lips, your grip tightening on his cock.

He breaks the kiss, his head falling back, and you kiss him again, your lips moving to his jaw. You trail kisses along his throat, your teeth grazing his skin.

Your hand pumps up and down, your fingers teasing the underside of his cock, and he shudders, his hips jerking.

“Cyare,” he growls, and you smile, your tongue darting out to lick a stripe up his throat.

Your grip tightens, your thumb brushing the tip, and his hips jerk again, a groan escaping him. Your free hand moves to cup his balls, and he hisses, his hips bucking.

“Kriff,” he breathes, his cock throbbing.

“So good,” you purr, your hand stroking him.

He grunts, his eyes fluttering shut, his hips rocking. Your tongue traces his collarbone, and he moans, his head falling back.

“You’re so big,” you murmur, your lips brushing the base of his neck. “I can’t wait to feel you inside me.”

“Cyare,” Echo growls, his hips thrusting up, his cock aching. “Don’t tease.”

You laugh, your teeth nipping at his throat. “Patience, handsome.”

He growls again, his hand tugging at your hair. “I want to cum in that pretty little cunt of yours.”

“Then why don’t you?” You ask, your hand slowing.

“You’re in charge,” Echo groans, his eyes snapping open. “I’ll do whatever you want.”

“I want to feel you,” you murmur, your lips ghosting along his throat.

“Anything you want,” Echo moans, his head falling back, his hips thrusting up, seeking more friction. “Just say the word.”

“Echo,” you whine, your hand moving up and down, your thumb rubbing the tip. “Fuck me, Echo.”

Echo’s eyes fly open, his hips jerking, and he moans, his hand wrapping around your wrist. “Cyare.”

Your lips brush against his ear, and you whisper, “I want to feel you inside me, Echo. I want you to fill me up.”

“I want to fuck you into this mattress, believe me,” he growls, his voice low. “But I don’t want to crush you.”

The thought is almost too much, the idea of you underneath him, your body pressed against his, his cock buried deep inside you, and his resolve wavers for a moment. But his prosthetics are heavy, and the last thing he wants is for you to get hurt. You can figure out the logistics another time.

“Okay.” You assure him, your hand moving up to cup his cheek. “Okay.” 

You stand up, and he watches as you move onto the bed, your movements slow and deliberate. He’s just starting to convince himself you’re going to listen to his warning until you turn, maneuvering yourself onto your hands and knees, presenting yourself to him.

Your back is arched, your hips pushed out, your ass and cunt on display for him, and his jaw drops.

“Kriff,” he whispers.

“Please, Echo,” you breathe. “I need you.”

“Fuck.” Echo curses, his heart racing.

You’re so beautiful like this, your ass up, your pussy glistening with your arousal.

“Is that a yes?” You tease, your voice low, wiggling your hips enticingly.

“Yes,” he growls, and you let out a satisfied little purr, watching him as he climbs back onto the bed.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, running a hand along your back. He shifts forward and positions himself behind you, his hand squeezing your ass. “Fuck.”

“Stop teasing,” you say, wiggling your hips. Echo’s cock twitches at the sight, and he guides it between your legs, rubbing it against your wetness.

“Please, Echo.”

You look back at him, and he locks eyes with you as he sinks into you. You’re so wet, your heat enveloping him. Your eyes close, your lips part, a moan escaping you.

His hips snap forward, his cock thrusting into you, and you both groan at the feeling of him filling you completely. Echo pulls your hips closer, his scomp arm wrapping around your stomach. He starts to thrust, slowly at first but quickly picking up speed. Your hands scramble for purchase against the sheets, your head falling forward as he moves. His hand grips your hips, your back, your thigh, anything he can reach.

You feel so good, so warm and soft and wet. He buries his face in your hair, his mouth pressing hot kisses against your neck, his teeth nipping your ear.

He feels your walls clench around him, and he growls, his hand sliding between your legs. His fingers find your clit, stroking it in time with his thrusts, and you cry out, your body shaking.

“Fuck,” you breathe, and Echo grins.

“Yes,” he groans, his fingers working faster, his cock pounding into you.

You’re so tight, so perfect, and he knows he won’t last long.

Echo’s rhythm grows faster, his hips slamming against you, his cock driving deeper inside you. His scomp arm tightens around you, and he can feel you trembling. The feeling of your cunt squeezing him is almost too much, your slick walls tightening around him.

“Please, cyar'ika,” he chokes out, his voice hoarse.

“I’m close,” you moan. “Harder.”

He picks up the pace, his hips snapping forward, driving his cock deeper into you on each thrust. You let out a gasp, your head falling forward as your body rocks, your ass grinding against him.

Echo leans forward, his chest pressing against your back, his cock pushing even deeper into you.

“You’re taking my cock so well, sweetheart,” he growls in your ear, his fingers circling your clit. “You’re gonna make me cum so hard.”

You whimper, and Echo feels your walls flutter around him. Your thighs clench, your toes curling, and he groans, his scomp arm holding you close, his hand still working between your legs.

“Fuck,” you moan, your nails scratching against the sheets, and he can feel you start to shake.

“Yes,” he growls, his cock slamming into you.

“Echo,” you whimper. “Echo, I —”

Your words are cut off with a cry, and your muscles spasm around him as you come. Your cunt pulses around him, and he lets out a choked gasp, his cock pulsing. He fucks you through your orgasm, his thrusts growing erratic. He isn’t going to last much longer.

“That’s it,” he groans, his hips grinding against you, his hand moving down to caress your ass. “Fuck, I’m so close.”

“Come inside me,” you plead.

“Fuck, I’m —” he chokes out.

His scomp arm loosens around you, his hand gripping your hip. “Don’t stop,” you beg, your hand coming down to grip his scomp and guide it back to your stomach. “Please. I want to feel you." 

His thrusts become more erratic, his breathing ragged. His hips jerk forward, and he comes with a hoarse shout, his cock throbbing. His cum coats your walls, filling you, and you moan, your head falling back.

For a moment, he’s suspended in the aftershocks, his hips grinding against you, his cock still twitching inside you. It almost feels too good to be real, and he doesn’t want it to end, but slowly, he regains control of himself.

He slides his hand from your hip, letting his forehead rest against your back. He breathes you in, your scent making his cock twitch again. He can feel you trembling, your muscles relaxing, and you let out a contented sigh. He places a kiss between your shoulder blades, his arms coming around you to hold you against him. 

His hips shift slightly, and you clamp down around him, a gasp escaping you. He can’t resist the temptation, and his hips rock against you, his cock sliding deeper. 

"Oh, stars,” you whimper, your muscles clenching around him. “Kriff.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, his scomp arm pulling you closer. He kisses your shoulder, his lips trailing along your spine.

“So full,” you gasp.

“Do you want me to pull out?” He asks, his hand cupping your breast, his thumb stroking your nipple.

“No,” you moan, your head falling forward. “Just stay there for a moment.”

He does, his hand moving to caress your hips. He can feel you trembling, your walls clenching around him, and you let out a ragged gasp as his cock pulsates inside you.

You stay like that for a while longer before he finally shifts his hips, his legs aching, and pulls his cock out of you. You let out a disappointed groan as your body clamps down around nothing. He watches, transfixed, as the thick white liquid oozes from you, coating your folds.

“Beautiful,” he whispers, his hand moving down to gather some on his fingertips. He brings his hand up to your lips, his finger pushing past them, and you suck on it eagerly.

“Mmhmm,” you hum, your tongue swirling around his finger.

He pulls his finger from your mouth, wiping it on the sheets, and kneels next to you off the bed.

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.” Your voice is hoarse, your eyes half-lidded.

“Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“Okay,” you mumble, and he lifts you off the bed. You lean into him, your arms wrapping around his neck as he carries you to the fresher.

You shower together and Echo carefully washes every inch of your body with a gentle touch. You begin to rouse, your eyes becoming more alert, and he can see the blush creep over your cheeks.

“Thank you,” you murmur, your lips pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. You trail your lips over the sharp line of his jaw, and he lets out a contented sigh, his hand stroking your back.

“Anytime, cyare,” he replies, his scomp arm pulling you close, his nose nuzzling against yours.

The exhaustion seeps into both of your bodies, and you towel off before Echo scoops you up in his arms and carries you back to bed, ignoring your protests that you can walk.

You crawl into bed, and Echo wraps his arms around you, pulling you against him. You nestle into his side, your head resting on his chest, your arm draped over his torso. He places a kiss on the top of your head, his hand tracing patterns along your spine. It feels so right having you here, and he wishes it could always be this way.

“Echo?” You murmur softly.

“Yes?”

“I love you,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his chest.

“I love you too,” he says, his heart swelling. “So much.”

“I’m gonna have a really hard time letting you go again,” you admit with your eyes closed.

Echo swallows hard, feeling a tightness in his chest. He doesn’t know what to say. He’s going to have a hard time leaving you again too.

But he doesn’t want to think about that right now. Not when he has you in his arms. He holds you tighter, his hand caressing your back, his lips pressing a soft kiss against the top of your head.

“Me too, cyare.”

“You’ll come back, right?” you ask, your voice small.

“Always.”

You sigh, your hand curling into a fist on his chest. He reaches down, smoothing it out. “Get some sleep,” he whispers, pressing a kiss to your temple.

“Stay with me,” you plead, your eyes opening to look up at him. He isn’t sure if you mean just for the night, or forever, and he isn’t going to ask.

“As long as I can,” he promises, and he feels you relax against him.

It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep, your breathing evening out, your chest rising and falling. He watches you for a while, his thumb brushing across your cheek, his heart aching. He knows he should get some sleep too, but his mind won’t stop racing.

He is going to have to leave you again. You’ll be alone. Again. It is the right thing to do, and he knows that, but it doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t make him want to take you with him any less.

He wants to. Kriff, he wants to. It would be dangerous, but you could do it. It’s selfish, and he knows it, but he wants to have you in his arms every night, have your voice in his ear, your body pressed against his.

Echo closes his eyes, pulling you closer, and takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly. He tries to quiet his mind, to clear his thoughts. He doesn’t know how long he lies there, staring at the ceiling, his mind racing. Finally, he feels you stir against him, your fingers flexing against his chest.

“I can feel your heartbeat,” you murmur, your hand moving down to rest over his heart. Your fingers tap gently. “Are you alright?”

“Yeah,” he lies, his hand reaching up to brush the hair from your face. “Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Everything,” he replies, his fingers ghosting along your cheek. “Nothing.”

You prop yourself up, and his arm slides from your shoulders to wrap around your waist. Your fingers brush his cheek, and he leans into your touch. “Talk to me, Echo.”

“What’s there to say, cyare?” He whispers, his gaze shifting back to the ceiling. “I’m here, but only for a little while. Then I have to leave again. I have to go, and you have to stay. And we don’t know when we’ll see each other again.”

“I don’t have to stay here, Echo. You know that, right?“ you ask quietly, and his gaze snaps back to you, his eyes locking with yours. "If you want me to come with you, all you have to do is say the word.”

“I can’t do that to you, cyare.” His voice is low, his jaw clenching.

“You can’t do what?”

“Put you in danger. Make you live in fear again. Make you run from one hiding place to another.”

“Echo, you’re not making me do anything. I want to help.” You pause, searching his face. “I want to be with you.”

“But it’s dangerous,” he protests. He can hear how his voice wavers, and he clears his throat. “You could get hurt. I can’t lose you. I can’t.”

“You won’t,” you insist.

“How can you be so sure?”

“I’m not,” you say. “But I’d rather die knowing I was fighting for something important than live my life pretending it doesn’t exist. I’d rather fight beside you than spend my life wondering if you’re okay.”

“But…” Echo trails off, his mind spinning. He knows he can’t deny that you’re right. That’s part of the reason he was drawn to you, isn’t it? You have a strength, a resolve that few people possess.

“Let me help,” you plead. “I’m not saying you have to drag me everywhere you go, but let me do something. Let me help you. We can figure something out.”

Echo’s mind races, trying to find some excuse to put you off. But the more he thinks about it, the more it makes sense. You are a damn good medic, and if they can find a way to keep you safe, you could be a valuable asset. And, kriff, the thought of having you close again, of seeing you every day, of having someone else on his side…it’s tempting.

“Please,” you murmur, your hand cupping his face. Your thumb rubs soothing circles into his cheekbone, and he can feel his resolve slipping with every touch. 

“We can talk to the others,” he finally says. “See what they think.”

“Okay.” You press a soft kiss to his forehead, his nose, his lips, and he sighs, his hand moving to the small of your back.

“Thank you,” you murmur, settling back down on his chest.

“For what?”

“Giving me a chance.”

“Of course.” He wraps his arm around your waist, his hand rubbing your back. He wants to tell you that he will always give you a chance. That he will never let anyone else come between you. That he will always protect you, no matter what. But he doesn’t. It’s too much, too soon.

Instead, he pulls you close, his lips brushing the top of your head. “I love you,” he whispers.

“I love you, too.”

The two of you lay like that for a while, the silence enveloping the room, only the sound of the distant ocean and the chirping of the night bugs filling the air.

Finally, he feels your breathing slow, and he knows you’ve fallen asleep again.

Echo closes his eyes, his fingers brushing lightly over your skin, his heart heavy in his chest. He’s not sure if he can let you do this. If he can put you in danger like that. But, kriff, he doesn’t want to say goodbye to you again either.

He takes a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you. You murmur something unintelligible, your nose burying into his chest. He presses a kiss to the top of your head, and he hopes, against all odds, that he’ll never have to let go.

[undreaming-fanfiction]

Just Wanna Bewitch You In The Moonlight

Written for @steddieangstyaugust - Day 7: Moonlight. Another cursed statue Steve because I have been sitting on this idea for ages. Title from Ghost lyrics.

The garden of the Harrington manor was quiet when Eddie snuck in. He already knew all the patrols, cameras, everything important. It wasn't like he wanted to steal something anyway, the worst he could get charged with was trespassing. Or at least he hoped so - Harringtons weren't exactly the most forgiving bunch.

He soon found what he was looking for. A statue of a handsome young man, reaching for the sky. There was something sad about him, the curve of his lips, forever frozen in a wistful smile. Just as beautiful as he was a month ago. 

"Hi, sweetheart," muttered Eddie and squeezed his stone hand. He sat down at its feet, leaned against the statue's legs and waited. The sky was clear today, he could even see stars through the light pollution, so it would not take long. If only the moon hurried up.

"Fancy meeting you here."

Eddie leaned back and smiled at the upside vision of the handsome boy, now with color in his cheeks. "Hi, sweetheart," he repeated, pulling him down for a kiss.

The statue obliged. "Hi yourself. I don't mean to rush you, but can I have my legs back? I'd like to stretch for a bit."

"Sure thing, Stevie." Eddie quickly moved away and offered the statue - Steve - a hand so he could leave his pedestal. He seemed uncertain on his feet for a moment, but soon he was on the ground and doing stretches that Eddie would never even consider. "I'm always amazed that this is what you want to do with your precious time," he laughed and watched Steve stretch his calves.

"And I always tell you that if you have to stay still for a month, your body will scream for a good stretch," Steve smiled at him and changed legs. "I'm more amazed that you still haven't given up. It has to be annoying, always having to come here. How long has it been?"

Eddie pretended to count on his fingers. "Hmmm, let me see…two decades, give or take. I was nine when I met you, I'll soon be thirty. Why, are you counting?"

"I lose track. Still, I feel guilty about it. You should be living your own life too, you know." Steve finally stood up and nudged Eddie's side. "I'd understand if you wanted to quit. I can't ask you to keep doing this for the rest of your life."

Eddie caught Steve's hand, swinging it back and forth. "You don't have to."

..

They always did this, ever since Eddie was a child roaming the Harrington grounds where his uncle worked. He couldn't sleep one day and got lost in the fancy maze that was the estate's garden. The moonlight made everything so pale, it was difficult to find his way back to Wayne's shed. Eddie was getting tired and cold, but he wasn't about to panic. He just needed to catch his breath. He half collapsed against another piece of art that Harringtons had collected over the years.

And then, just as the full moon showed up in all her glory, the statue that Eddie was leaning against moved.

Eddie was so terrified he couldn't even scream, he just fell backwards into a thorny bush. Before he knew it, the statue rushed to him, pulled him back up and started fussing over him. "Are you okay?" it asked. "I overheard you talking to yourself, you're going the wrong way. The shed is further to the right, come with me."

It took Eddie's hand and swung it back and forth, establishing a brisk pace with Eddie skipping next to it. They didn't really talk, but when Eddie was back safe with Wayne, he saw a moonlit figure give a small wave.

After that, Eddie would go to visit the statue every night, but it never moved. It just stared towards the stars, as if it was reaching out to grab the moon itself.

It finally happened a month later, at another full moon. Eddie thought that maybe he'd hallucinated the whole thing at that point, maybe he just hit his head when he fell into the bushes, but as the moonlight hit the statue, it yawned and stretched its arms. "Oh," it said when it noticed Eddie, "you're back? I hope you don't end up like a pin cushion this time."

After that, they talked. A lot. The statue was called Steve, and he didn't always use to be a statue. He never really knew the scorned witch who cursed him, or what he did to her. "I used to be a real jerk back in the day," he smiled at young Eddie. "Maybe I trampled over her herbs when I was rushing back home after another party. Maybe I knocked into her. Or maybe it wasn't even me, maybe my dad did something nasty to her. He isn't really the nicest person."

"The old Mr. Harrington?" Eddie asked. "But he's like, ninety? How long have you been here?"

Steve shrugged, stretching his arms. "Hard to say. I only get to fully wake up every full moon. The rest of the time, things are hazy. But I think I got cursed in nineteen thirty two. I was twenty then."

Eddie's jaw dropped. "Wow. That has to suck. Does your dad ever come and visit you? Maybe try and break the curse?"

"Not really." Maybe it was just the moonlight playing tricks on him, but Steve's smile seemed sad. "He doesn't believe in the whole magical mumbo jumbo, you see. Or that's what he used to call it. He's ashamed that I made a spectacle out of our family."

"But it might not have even been you!" blurted out Eddie. That's not fair!"

Steve reached out and ruffled his hair. "I know. He tried bribing the witch, but that didn't work. Then he tried to destroy me or move me, but that's impossible. So he just ignores that I'm around. He used to send someone to leave a snack for me, before I woke up, maybe to ease his conscience, but now that he's old, I don't think he remembers me anymore. Maybe it's better for him this way. And since another part of the curse is that I can't leave the garden...he doesn't really have to worry about anyone finding out about me."

He fell silent, but Eddie's mind did anything but that. He stood up and grasped Steve's shoulders. "Well, fuck your dad."

Steve blinked at him. "Hey, aren't you too young to swear like that?"

"Fuck that too. And shush, I have something important to say. I, Edward Munson, herefore...ther....I mean, I promise on my soul that I'll find a way to free you." Eddie was grinning at him, but there was something in his eyes that made Steve take that promise seriously.

"Eddie. I appreciate it, really do. But you don't have to do that. I'm fine."

Steve smiled at him as he said it, he tried to sound persuasive, self-assured. But that scrawny kid in front of him just rolled his eyes and, much to Steve's surprise, patted his head. "Now now. Wayne says that pretending to be okay isn't cool, so we're not doing that. I'm keeping my promise, Steve. You'll see."

..

The evening was colder than usual. Eddie threw a blanket over himself and Steve, cuddling close. "The research is going well, you know. Dustin believes he found the origin of the curse, or at least some of the components. He believes we have a real shot at freeing you."

"I still can't believe you roped other people into this," laughed Steve. "How did you even get them to humor you and come here? Did you just tell them that you met a cursed statue when you were a kid, and they just went with you?"

"Oh, you'd be surprised how curious these little assholes are. Not so little now, they're starting college, but they're all committed. Especially Max, she considers it an insult we haven't solved it yet."

Steve sighed, staring into distance. "College already? I met them when they were barely teenagers. Time flies so fast."

"Not for you, baby," whispered Eddie and kissed Steve's cheek. "Not for you."

It was soon time to part. Steve's hands grew colder and more stiff by the minute, pulled back into their original position. As life gradually left Steve's body, Eddie repeated his promise again, just like he had for twenty years. He didn't know if Steve could hear him at this point, but it didn't matter. It was equally for both of them.

Maybe they would finally set him free in a year, five, or twenty. Maybe Eddie would be older, full of wrinkles and with grey streaks in his hair, while Steve would still be young and handsome. It wouldn't matter, as long as Eddie could see him walk past that garden's gate, feel the sun on his skin again.

Steve might have been worried about the day that Eddie would inevitably stop coming. Maybe he'd give up, or something would happen to him. Maybe, as he told Eddie many times, he'd finally find a life purpose that would bring him happiness.

But Eddie made a promise, and as long as he was alive and breathing, as long as he had anything to say about the matter, one thing was certain: Steve Harrington would never be alone on full moon again.

[theblueflower05]

Heavy In Your Arms

A/N: We didn't get enough time at High Camp. I swear, it was the perfect setting for hurt/comfort. Forever upset about it.

Word Count: 5.5K

Warnings: Explicit smut. Aged Up characters. Talks of PTSD and war. Injuries. Blood. Angst. Cursing. Oral Sex(male receiving). Riding. Service Top Neteyam. Reader with a praise kink.

Summary: You and Neteyam find moments of peace during the war. Neteyam x Fem! Omaticaya Reader

I was a heavy heart to carry,

My beloved was weighted down.

My arms around his neck,

My fingers laced a crown- Florence & The Machine

Life can change in an instant.

One moment, things are as they have always been. Your existence a well loved pattern, easy and comfortable in the Forests of Pandora.

You had been born after the Long War, after the evil Tawtute had been sent back to their dying planet. You had only ever known peace and kind humans like the scientist that lived in the rickety out post. You’d only ever known the rich and abundant rule of Toruk Makto, Jake led your people to victory and prosperity. The Omatikayan Village had been a beautiful one to grow up in, colorful and cheerful and thriving despite all that it had endured.

Your days had been filled with community and childlike wonder.

That had all changed when the Sky People returned. When they set fire to the Forests just to watch the Great Mother bleed.

Your naivety had been stolen, snatched away by uncontrollable circumstances.

By war.

High Camp is nestled deep within the Ayram Alusing hidden in a twisting impenetrable cave system.

It is bustling and busy and just bit cramped.

The Omatikaya are a resilient people and even through forceful uprooting had managed to make due of the space given. The Stronghold is littered with Canvas tents and woven mats. Small burning fires, and a larger one for the communal meals that are so desperately needed after long days battle.

You spend most of your time in the main healers keklu, working tirelessly with Mo’at and the other medicine leaders. You’d never been much of a healer, always more of a story teller. You’d get lost in the tales of old, in the songs of the ancient ones, but since the invasion, most had honed their medical craft.

It was all hands on deck, wherever you could be helpful you would be.

It’s good. Keeping your hands full is a good thing. It helps to distract your restless mind.

The War Party had left early in the morning- the sun still hiding behind the shadow of the eclipse, and had still not returned yet. You fear that it might be one of those missions, the kind that lasts days and leaves the village in shambles as they wait for the return of the warriors.

You’re grinding Ti’ku’klu seeds into a fine paste, your arm tired as you stare wordlessly into nothing.

The healers tent is quiet, filled with only low chatter and the crackling of the fire, the boiling of the pot that contains a potent medicine. One that needs to be kept hot and steaming. You cant seem to be present, to keep up with conversation when your mind is so far away- soaring over the forest. Focused on the unseen battle

This would be a dangerous one, you’d heard the whispers of the people. The humans were growing sick of the raids. They had heavy precautions laid out- would kill any Na’vi on sight. You trusted your Olo’eyktan whole heartedly, truly, you did.

But the thought of having to lay any more of your brothers and sisters to rest made bile raise in your throat like acid. There had been so much death, so much loss.

You sneak a peek at the woman next to you as she works in sorting bandages.

Zephya is only a few years older than you- and yet the light seems to be gone from her eyes. Dimmed down to something small and wilting. You’d never forget the piercing sound of her cries, echoing off the rock cave walls as her munxatan’s (husbands) body was brought back from the last raid.

Another round of nauseating anxiousness churns in your stomach.

You dont know if you could survive it…

Would you be forced to? Would this war force you to watch the ones you loved die?

The thought of losing your own lover is enough to send you free falling. Spiraling into your own mind.

“That is quite enough” Mo’at tuts her tongue in your direction and you stare at her with a wide, almost guilty expression. Had the Tsahik heard your thoughts? Sometimes you didnt doubt the elderly woman could, with all of her boundless knowledge and those all knowing amber eyes “You will destroy the paste, it is not meant to be so thin”

“Oh” you feel like dunce as you look down at the mortar and pestle in your hand “I apologize, I just wanted to make sure it was well mixed”

“Hmm” she doesn't call your bluff “Why dont you take a break. Go find more herbs, the fresh air wll clear your head. You’re no used to me here with thoughts so loud”

Her words are casual but her gaze is knowing and warm and you nod eagerly “Of course, Tsahik”

You’re happy for the break and the opportunity to stretch your legs, you stand quickly and exit the incense heavy area.

Everyone has gotten good at pretending.

At pretending they’re not terrified, at trying to go on with any semblance of normalcy. The scientists still gather near their trailers, facemasks on and typing away at holo tablets. The karyus’ still teach the younglings, their little giggles can be heard in the distance. You smile, a very practiced mask, at any you pass. Are pleasant. Friendly. Not betraying the inner turmoil you feel-

You’re jostled out of the heavy thoughts.

Nearly rushed straight on your ass, more like it.

“Oof-” the wind is knocked out of you as a small but solid weight collides with your side. You look down and find big golden eyes string up at you- golden eyes so familiar.

“Y/N! Hi!” Tuktirey is the youngest Sully, and probably the one you’ve always been the cloestst to. Back home, years ago, she’d become a bit enamored with you. More specifically, you’re weaving and jewelry crafting skills. Many teased that she was your shadow. “Look, look’it what I made”

You cant help but grin. Her joyful energy is contagious and you’re glad for the distraction. You take the necklace she shoves into your face delicately. Run your fingers over the rows of mis matched beads. She really is quite good.

“Very pretty, Tuk. You’re getting so good! Soon you;ll take my place- the whole clan will be trampling over themselves to wear one of your pieces” You’re words make her blush, make the smile on her face go a bit shy and bashful.

She looks so much like her brother it hurts.

“I did that thing you showed me! You’re right- sometimes the bigger beads need the little ones to anchor them”

Tuk is rarely quiet, always a babbling brook but even she isnt immune to the tense atmosphere that looms, to the toretoure that is waiting for the warriors to return. She talks about the necklace, but her tail flicks nervously behind her. At her side, a carved wooden Toruk toy hangs in her loose grip.

You figure, maybe you can distract her too.

You reach for the toy and she holds tight to it before sighing. You’re probably going to take it, she thinks. Tell her to stop being annoying. Chastise her the way that others had when she’d tried to get them to play with her. All day long, everyone had turned their heads or sighed in annoyance when she’d approached-

You raise the wooden Toruk above her head- and let out an undignified squawk. Your best impression of the mighty beast. It’s dismal, but it seems to satisfy the little girl who instantly breaks out into giggles.

“You better run, Tuk Tuk” you grown payfully, sending the toy into a nosedive “Before I eat you whole”

She shrieks and sets out running in the opposite direction and take after her, ignoring the stares. Should you be back in the medicine tent helping? Maybe. You’d rather play with the seven year old instead.

The two of you play for a while, until your thighs burn and your lungs hurt from laughing. You dont have the endurance of a child, she runs absolute circles around you. She’s fast and agle and quite obviously takes Neytiri’s lessons to heart, even at her young age. You can only use your size to you’re advantage, picking her writing squirming body up and spinning her round-

The horn is loud and echos through the rock walls of the cavernous case.

Both yours and Tuk’s ears swivel, perk up and stand to attention.

There it is. The calls of your people. The sounds of ikran wings flapping.

Tuk writhes in your hold, the back of her head connecting with your lip painfully as she hollers joyfully “They’re back!”

Shes off then, only sparing you a quick glance as you seem to stand there in daze, rubbing your slightly split lip lightly as your stomach does somersaults.

“Come on!” The little one hollers back at you and your feet carry you forward, seemingly of their own volition.

The crowds are building as the people make their way for the edge, where ikrans land by the dozen. Carrying the warriors on their back. Along the way, Kiri and Spider join you. Eagerly bouncing along, following an over animated Tuk.

Excitement and dread bubbles in your stomach, a horribly potent and toxic mix. It’s always like this when they return. When he returns. You’re so anxious to see him, physically there. Alive. So anxious that he might not be-

Your eyes are peeled for the familiar swirling green and blue patterns of Atanzaw, his ikran.

“Mom!” Tuk screeches, of course she spots them first.

Your eyes follow her,

Straight to him.

Neteyam.

He dismonts his ikran, alot less gracefully then his mother did. His actions sluggish and unlike him- it only takes you a moment to notice how injured he is. The bleeding wounds and bruises that litter his body arent pretty and hes limping, not putting his full weight on his right thigh. His face in smeared war paint- blacks and yellows and greens. They make him look intense, as he stangs tall and muscular and still fully dressed in his tsamsiyu(warrior)garb.

When his gaze meets yours your breath gets stuck in your throat.

Usually when he returns they’re bright. The adrenalin of the fight still cursing through his veins like wildfire- this time thats drained. His eyes are filled with barley concealed dread. Sharp with pain.

Your fingers itch and your chest aches, the invisible string that ties you to him taught. You want nothing more then to go to him-

“Sully’s, fall in” Jake’s voice is booming and stern. All Olo’eyktan. Marine. War leader. You can barley recognize him like this. So far away from the carefree doting father he’d always been.

-Its a small thing. A barely there shake of Netryam’s head but it sends a clear message. He doesn't want you to approach. When he turns away from you, giving you the necessary but cold shoulder your unsettled stomach lurches.

It’s like it plays out in slow motion, you watch the family from the edge. An outsider. Not welcome in their obviously private conversation. Even Spider, a human, get’s to be closer than you do.

You’re unwelcome.

The heated words. The way that Jake scolds his sons, you’re not supposed to be privy to it.

“Jesus, I let you two geniuses lead a fleet and you disobeyed direct orders!”

Those words hurt you, for him. You know that they must peirce right through Neteyam. He still hasnt looked back in your direction and you are sure he doesnt want you to bare witness to any of it.

You slink away, slowly falling back. Fading into the background of loved ones reuniting. Warriors returning, alive and dead. The clan welcoming them back with open arms. You wish, as you so often do, that you could welcome Neteyam the same. That you could run into his arms. Hold him the way you ache to after these difficult and dangerous missions-

You convince yourself that you are content with just knowing that he is alive, and make your way back to the healers tent where your presence is wanted.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

It gets so cold in the mountains. Frigidly so.

The wind whips through the caves, leaving a bone deep chill in their wake. You keep the fire at the center of your tent going all night long, and can normally be found crouching at it’s hearth. It’s been raining on and off all day, torrential down pour to drizzles- from the sound it seems as though it has finally stopped. Quieted down.

You wonder if the sky is clear and the stars are bright. You miss climbing high into the trees after the evening eclipse. Miss gazing at the constellations, miss basking in the Pandoran night and listening to the sound of the forests.

Mo’at had sent you home, demanding you get some sleep.

It had been three days since the soldiers had returned and they had been very busy. Full of tending to the wounded, and organizing for the dead. You’d thrown yourself headfirst into anytask that was given to you. Kept yourself busy. Useful.

You didnt have the time to mope and obsess over a man that was not yours.

That is what you told yourself at least.

This…thing that you and Neteyam shared didn't have a name or a definition. It had started out of loneliness, out of the desperation for comfort. Before the humans had come back and brought their war upon the clan, you dont think the future Olo’eyktan had ever really looked at you twice. Violence and hurt had pushed you into eachothers arms, both of you seeking companionship. Someone to weather the storm with.

It wasnt love. Not to him, you know that. He would marry a woman with high standing one day- one that could be his match. Become Tsahik.

That wouldnt be you.

For Eywa’s sake, you could barely do stitches. You messed up simple tasks like making salves. You would not delude yourself into thinking it was anything more. Many Na’vi couple without mating, pleasure isn't stigmatized in your community. That was all it was. A need for pleasure. Your body satiates him and that is all.

You cant go looking for him. Begging for his time or his touch.

So you sit by your fire, thread your necklaces, and long for the stars.

You’re humming a tune to yourself, something soft and gentle and melodic when theres a sudden shift. The canvas wall of your tent shakes and your stiffen, reaching for your knife that lies on the makeshift table next to your bed-

Neteyam slips through the flap- easy as anything. Smoothly, his motions fluid from all of those years of training.

Your eyes and mouth are wide open, ears lying low to your head.

“Hi” the man grins, boyish and handsome as ever.

As though he hadnt just broken into your home. It’s not like the two of you hadnt done this before, he’d spend many nights sneakily tucked inside your tent but he usually came through the front entrance.

“Vonva!(asshole)”you hiss at him, exasperated “You- ugh! I couldve stabbed you!”

He’s so handsome it makes you sick. He’s so tall and broad, a few of his braids falling into his face as his eyes sparkle with mirth “That would not be very nice of you, what have I done to deserve such a fate?”

“Breaking and entering is grounds for stabbing” you huff “you scared me!”

Neteyam steps forward a bit, hands out stretching to you, tone gentle “Hey, I didnt mean to scare you. I just wanted to see you is all, Im sorry”

You hate the way that you’re so easy for him. He ignores you for days, and then shows up unannounced and you’re jumping at any and all attention he may give you.

The way that as his large hands engulf the tops of your arms, you lean into his touch greedily.

“It’s fine. It's just- very late. I wasn't expecting anyone” you try to keep your tone even “I was actually about to go to bed”

“Oh?” Neteyam wonders, his tail flicking behind him “Can I join you?”

Your heart speeds up, if thats even possible. Both at his words and his tone. The insinuation right there. He had spent too much time in your bed that really, it shouldn't be a question. You'd always welcomed him into your nest of blankets, your warm arms. In between your soft thighs-

“I'm not sure that would be a good idea” you respond, stepping out of his hold.

Neteyam sags a bit, surprised. His ears swivel and his smile weans, tugging downwards at the corners of his full lips “Not a good idea? Why not?”

You shrug, not able to look directly at him. Instead focusing on his shoulders. His abdomen. He’s still all banged up, the bandaging covering his bruises are expertisley wrapped. Done by the Tsahik herself, obviously.

It’s the perfect excuse.

“You’re still hurt,” you insist ”You need to be careful, you don't want to reopen anything”

A smooth chuckle escapes him and makes a tingle run down your spine. He reaches out again, this time he grabs at your hand, leading it from its place awkwardly at your side to his chest. Pressing your palm gently against his warm skin.

“I'd like to stay with you tonight, if you’ll let me” Neteyam starts, you can feel the vibrations of his strong voice in your palm, pressed against the muscle “I may need you to be a little bit gentle with me though, paskalin”

You're quiet, lips quirked, stuck in your head for a moment as your fingers lightly trace over one of his stripes.

“Y/N, hey-” He seems to be more serious than before as he urges you to look at him “I'm not sure what’s wrong, but If you want me to go I will”

Everything in your body, your soul, protests at his words. There is no part of you that wants him to leave.

You’re being so stupid.

Neteyam could have anyone. Anyone. And he’s here, with you. So what if he doesnt love you. You have to take whatever you can get. You dont want him to find solace with anyone else, dont want him to leave and never return-

You lean in, where your hand is, on his strong chest and place a kiss to the edge of the bandaging. Its a small little thing, a barley there brush of your lips but still. When you look up at him through your lashes you know you must make quite the sight.

“Stay” you urge. “I want you to stay with me tonight,” everynight. ”Please?”

He looks unsure for just a moment, clearly thrown off by your conflicting mood, before he nods. He cups the side of your face then, forcing you to make eye contact with him. No matter how uncomfortably intense- you cant turn away.

“Can I kiss you?” His words make you quake. He hadnt asked, so explicitly, for months. Since the two of you were still fumbly and newly exploring eachothers bodies.

It makes butterflies erupt in your stomach, makes you giddiously nervous. You nod, way too hard “Mhmm”

And then he’s bending down, having to crouch because of how much taller he is, to capture your lips with his own.

Its always so good.

His mouth and the way it tastes and the way it makes you feel. Neteyam seems so sweet, everyone in the clan knows him as the Golden Boy. The perfect soldier- in privacay, in these stolen moments of intimacy, he’s anything but.

His kisses are dirty, all demanding tongue and nipping fangs. He kisses like a man whos trying to get his dick wet. Like he wants to pick you up, crush you to him. Rut into you-

And normally he would. Normally he tosses you around like nothing but a child’s ragdoll(and you let him), but he’s still hurt. Still tender and healing. When you wrap your arms around his shoulders and tug, trying to climb him like a tree, he hisses in pain,.

“Shit” you pull away from his mouth, your lips wet with his saliva “Sorry, I didnt mean to”

He just shakes his head, nuzzling at your cheek “It’s fine, I’m okay”

“Im hurting you” you argue.

“You’re not. Just- be gentle, okay?” Neteyam urges, trying to lean back into the kiss “Grandmother thinks they’ll heal quickly, but my ribs-” he breaks himself off, laughing a little strained. “I fucked them up pretty good”

You frown.

He always does this. Always downplays his pain. You will have none of it, you grab his hand and tug “Come, I will make you tea”

Neteyams hairless brows raise “You dont have to, I’m really fine”

“Bah” you lead him to your bed and push gently on his shoulders until he sits. “Enough, it is no trouble”

You keep an ornate clay kettle next to the fire, boiling water always ready. He watches you as you fiddle with the many little jars in your arsenal, collecting herbs here and there. Steeping them in the hot water before pouring him a steaming cup.

“Here- it is bitter, but it will dull the pain”

Neteyam accepts the tea with a small smile “Irayo(thank you)”

It’s nice having him in your space. In your bed amongst all of your softest things as the fire crackles and illuminates the tent in a warm glow.

The shadows it casts over his angular face make him look haunting. So beautiful.

You like to take care of things. Instruments. Broken pottery. Children. It comes naturally to you.

You dote on him even though he protests, check his bandages and make him drink the whole cup of strong leaf tea, before he lies down. You're perched beside him, still on the edge of the bed mat.

“I didn't come here to be nursed, Y/N” he sighs as you rub salve on one of his nastier bruises.

“Humor me” you reply wryly, your dainty fingers all over him.

It takes him a while to relax, as it always does.

But oh, its your favorite thing.

Watching his walls come down and the facade of Olo’eyktan in training slip. Neteyam is funny and witty and a downright gossip. You enjoy talking to him as much as you enjoy getting fucked by him.

You like that when given the opportunity and the ear to do so; he loves to talk. About any and everything. His deep voice is like a blanket, warming you up from the inside out.

“I feel bad. I sneak in here; scare you and then make you take care of me” He snorts, “You must be so sick of me”

“No” you reassure with gentle touches “Never that”

You dont really know what Neteyam sees in you.

You’re pretty enough- but far from the gorgeous warriors and dancers that throw themselves at him. But when he looks at you, like he is now, you know there must be something. Something that turns those eyes of his to molten amber. They’re hungry, you’ve never seen him look at anything the way he looks at you. Except maybe the prey that ends up victim to his arrows.

He makes you want to be good to him. Be good for him.

“I enjoy taking care of you” you whisper as you trace the leather cords of his tweng, your fingertips dipping dangerously below them. “Can I take care of you tonight, Neteyam? You want me to?”

Neteyam nods slowly, making room for you as you climb carefully over him. Spread his legs enough for you to settle between them.

You cant help it, cant help how much you touch. You cant get enough of the feeling of his strong body under your hands. All of that corded muscle, all of his pretty deep tahini speckled skin. His strong calves, his well built thighs.

When you reach where he’s hard, straining against his cloth, his eyes flutter closed. You rub him until he chubs up, all plump and hard. Until a patch of wetness starts to darken the cloth-

“Help me a little, sayrip(handsome)”you urge as you tug on the strings of his tweng. Neteyam lifts his slim hips, helps you shimmy it down his thighs-

You’ve seen him naked more times then you can count, now. But still. You’re always struck by it.

His cock springs free- thuds against his well toned lower stomach. Drooling and pulsing, the tanhi there exceptionally bright. He’s so pretty, so vulnerable that it goes to your head. Your leaning in, tongue first-

“Wait,” Neteyam gruffs, “I want to see you too”

Ah.

Neteyam was very partial to your body. He’d told you many times- would try to wrangle you out of your skirt whenever he got the chance.

You smile, raising up on your knees before tugging the gossamer top off, over your head, Your nipples are hard and peaked, reacting to the cold. You run your fingertips over them, knowing that he likes a show. He likes to watch. He props himself, arm behind his head as he does so, it feels so lewd to play with your breasts for him. To trail your hands slowly down your tummy, to your full hips- tugging on the strings of your own tweng.

When the mound of your pussy is revealed he groans, he can see the way your slick shines in the low fire light.

“Good Mother” Neteyam’s rough and demanding as he yanks on you, pulls you into a kiss “You’re so fucking sexy”

His kiss is fervent and you could so easily lose yourself to them- you know what he wants. He’s already inching closer to your hot wet slit, his big fingers kneading at your plush asscheeks.

“Lemme take care of you” your mumble is insistent, and he sighs. Letting you pull away. Letting you re situate yourself between his legs.

He just lays back flat once more, a lazy grin on his face. “Okay, baby. Take care of me”

You’d always loved giving pleasure with your mouth, and lovers you’d had before had told you how good you were at it. You liked the taste and feel of a heavy cock on your tongue.

With Neteyam, as everything seems to be, it’s different. You dont just like giving him head, you love it.

You love the way that he jerks when you give his rosy tip that first little lick. You love the salty tang of his precum, so much that you spread it all over. Your lips, your cheeks. You rub his cock along your face, nuzzling it. Your cheeks, chin and nose wet with him. You love the way it stretches your lips as you take him into your mouth- he’s the biggest you’ve ever had and it pushes you to your limit. The hinge of your jaw aching as you force him down your throat.

“You’re such a good girl for me” Neteyam praises you, all choppy. His long fingers tangled in your waist length hair.

That is what you adore the most.

The Omaticayan prince is so vocal. He’s all whimpery moans and deep gritty groans. He lets you know exactly what he likes and doesn't like. And he rains down praise on you like its his job.

You’re his good girl. His sweet berry. His little whore..

You take it so well. So- ah- determined for him. You ram him down your tight convulsing throat ,until you’re sobbing around his dick. Never trying to pull away. Eager to get him off.

It is the most shameful position you’ve ever been put in. You’re addicted to the way that me makes you feel- you could never allow yourself to be this with anyone else.

“I-Im close” He warns as though that's not exactly what you want.

“Good” you hum, before diving back in. Suckling on the head and the sensitive sides of his shaft over and over. Just like you know he likes it.

It doesn't take long at all, you can feel him twitching n your mouth. His balls, so full and swollen, start to pull up, taught and ready to blow.

“Oh fuck, Y/N. Fuck”

He gasps as he knots his fingers at your scalp, as he holds on for dear life, his hips swiveling madly. His belly concaving with his heaving, rapid breaths as as his orgasm rips through him.

It’s a good one. You can tell. He’s biting his lips bloody and grinding his head back into your pillows, eyes tightly closed as he rides the waves of pleasure. The whole time, he fists your hair, holding your face to his crotch.

You take his cum, all of it. Popping the tip on your mouth and catching the thick spurts with your tongue. He tastes so good, it feels so intimate to get to have him like this. You close your eyes and savor it, dont pull off until he's twitching and whining with over sensitivity.

You sit back on your haunches, wiping your messy mouth clean with the back of your hand and assessing the damage.

Neteyam is all shivery, his arm thrown over his face as he comes down from the high. He’s still struggling to catch his breath and you cant help the pride that

“You feeling any better, baby?” the human term of affection rolls off your lips, smug and sultry and he laughs behind his arm.

It takes a few moments, but he finally collects himself “You are way too good at that” he’s told you before, but repeats it as he pulls you close. You’re perched in his lap, his strong arms around your waist as he holds you close.

“I like watching you” you admit between the pecking kisses “I like the way you come”

He smiles into your mouth, you can feel his sharp canines on your lips “That’s my good girl”

You full body shiver at the praise, gritting your forehead against his and breathing through your nose in an attempt not to lose it. You're gushing between your legs, your thighs a sticky mess and your cunt swollen and blood hot.

“Your turn, huh? Come on, I know that pussy has to be needy. You want me to eat it?” Neteyam whispers hotly in your ear and you just groan.

And while his skills with his tongue are legendary, you’re feeling particularly empty, needing to be full of him after weeks of distance “Mmm, no. Want you inside of me”

“Can do” he affirms, his hands going to your hips, nudging you “Lay down, I’ll fuck you, paskalin. I’ll fuck you so good. Wanna’ stretch you out”

“Wait” you press a hand to his chest when you notice the grimace on his face. The one he’s trying to hide as he attempts to lift you “You’re still hurting, Nete”

“I’ll be fine, I’ve got you” He assures, stubbornly “I want you to feel good, too”

He’s not the only one who's stubborn. You wiggle out of his grip, pressing down firmly on his chest.

“We can try something else” you suggest, really not wanting him to hurt himself even worse. Neteyam can get…intense when hes fucking you. It’s all very physical, he pours buckets of sweet down onto you as he works your body.

“You want to get fucked” He reminds you, his hips jerking up pointedly so that you can feel his erection between your legs.

Eywa, yes you do. You want him, you want him to carve his way into your body. To bully your tight walls until they accommodate his wide girth.

You bite your lip and reach for his length, pumping his cock thats still wet with your spit before leaning in close so that you can whisper in his ear “We’re just going to have to compromise”

Neteyam is huffy until you sink down onto him and ride him until neither of you can formulate thoughts.

Until you’re boneless, tangled limbs and buried under your quilts.

The afterglow is your favorite.

Neteyam is always so gentle and tender after sex. He holds you, lets you lie your head on his chest and listen to the steady thrumming beat of his heart as he plays with your hair. The only thing that could make this better is if he reached for your kuru. Is if you got to experience Tsaheylu with him-

It’s not fair,

How could he expect you not to fall in love with him?

The quiet stretches on. The fire is dim and dying and the tent is mostly black, night creeping in and covering you both in darkness.

“I’m sorry” his voice almost startles you, his words confusing and unexpected “I’m sorry I ignored you- the day we came back. I was trying to figure out how to calm my dad down. He was so pissed and Lo’ak’s attitude only makes it worse-”

You don't say anything. You just keep listening to his strong heart.

“I didn't mean to hurt your feelings”

You don't respond for a while. You don't want to shatter the atmosphere that is shimmy fly wing delicate “I was just happy to see you alive. It terrifies me, that you’ll leave on one of these raids and never come back. I dont- I wouldn't know what to do if that happened”

“I'm not going to leave, Y/N” his arms tighten around you and you close your eyes, relishing the way he holds on to you. It makes you feel like maybe you're not the only one desperate for this to never end.

“Do you promise?” You sound young, look so small in his big arms.

“I promise”

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Weeks later, The Sully’s leave the tribe.

They’re running, fleeing for the good of the Omaticaya people- that is what Jake says. He claims it is for the best. You have never doubted his prowess as Olo’eyktan until that moment.

The tribe mourns, falls into great sorrow as the family says their goodbyes.

You can not bear to look. You drown in your tears and hide in the crowd. Will not meet Neteyams gaze no matter how much he tries to get you to.

When he mounts his ikran and takes to the skies you feel something inside of you shatter. He disappears into the vast horizon.

Neteyam leaves.

You were a fool to believe he’d keep his promise.

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

Welp. Um hi guys lol. I was like let me post something short and sweet to come back with before I start hitting you guys with all of my Kinktober prompts next month. Somehow I ended up with a 5k angst filled what could be first chapter of a series. LOL I HATE MYSELF AND THE FACT THAT I CANT WRITE ONE SHOTS.

I literally don't have the time to work on another story, but if this one was a little too much angst, I'd be glad to give us a fix it Part Two.

This will be the last kind of stand alone update until after October. If you havent alread, check out Luna’s( @pandoraslxna )Kinktober prompt list. She is such a gem for cultivating it and helping keep this fandom alive and thriving.

As usual, please leave me some feedback. Good, bad(not mean though lol my psyche’s very fragile rn) I want to hear your thoughts!

Love ya, pretty babies!

[jreads]

Not sure if this is where we submit requests, but i’d kill for a fic where reader’s having debilitating anxiety attack in Jackson (like where your vision blacks at the edges and you can’t breathe) and suddenly a strong force is keeping you up and you look up and it’s Joel; and he’s concerned bc he relates (but you don’t know each other) and you take a fistful of his shirt and suddenly they feel the symptoms retreating - and that’s how you meet, and you’ve found comfort in each other since. :’)

Sorry if that made no sense it’s word vomit LOL

Also sidebar: unexpected constellations will stay w me forever thank you:’)

Of Memories and Mealtimes (Joel Miller x F!Reader)

Word count: 2.5K

Warnings: Mentions of blood, Mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, Mentions of death, Foul language

A/N: this prompt was so cute, I hope I did it justice!

It’s been getting colder recently. No snow, not yet, but the breeze has a certain nip to it, blowing burnt orange leaves to rest on the ground like a natural carpet. The days are grey, and the nights are long, and that creeping feeling has been looming ever closer recently. You’ve found solace in the comfort of the kitchen. The air here is warm and humid and smells of frying garlic and onion. You perform repetitive, menial tasks and it staves off—to some extent—the ever-present penetrating feeling of loneliness. 

Since arriving in Jackson, you’ve struggled to find a place, a sense of belonging. You’re coming to the conclusion that maybe you never will. You thought you had one… but that was a while ago. 

It’s selfish to think you’re the only one in this town with a painful past; it’s clear that everyone is trying just as hard to find reasons to get through each day. You’re not alone. But you do feel like it. Often.

Maria has taken pity on you, stationing you in the kitchens because she knows you like it there. Knows you like to watch the people sitting at tables and soak up sounds of laughter in an attempt to steal a moment of second-hand happiness.

It’s late now, pitch black outside, and your shift is almost over. You’re cutting fruits and veggies for omelettes in the morning: spinach, olives, tomatoes. There are maybe five people still sitting, a table of three, one woman at a booth, and a man sitting alone at the bar. Sometimes, you like to eavesdrop.

The trio are talking about their old lives. They seem to have found something in common, street racing. Moding their cars, evading the cops… back when you could just drive into a gas station for petrol.  One used to have an old Charger, stolen in the looting. He reminisces over how the purr of the engine felt, how the lights of the highway would turn to a blur as he accelerated. From the corner of your eye, you see the man from the bar get up to leave, dropping some coin on the counter. You used to like to drive fast too. When it was for leisure and not for survival.

“I’m scared.”

The familiar voice sears through you like a branding iron, bringing with it flashing images of memory. Fuck. No, no, no. Not now. 

The freeway is peppered with stationary cars, and you’re swerving, as fast as humanly possible, trying desperately to navigate the mess. The Jeep behind you is gaining, and the little boy in your passenger seat is rigid in fear. If you can just make it through the overpass, it clears out after that. Their car is good offroad, but yours is faster. You upshift.

There’s gunfire, and your rear window shatters. He screams. You use your right hand to push his head down. He needs to stay low. You’re almost there.

Another gunshot. You try to ignore the popping of the rear tire; try not to think about what it means. The vehicle swerves and you fight against it by correcting the wheel. It’s no use. You clip the side of an abandoned car, and your own flips. You’re thrown through the windscreen. It’s the last thing you remember before your vision goes dark.

There’s pain. But not from the onslaught of old memories. You’ve slipped with the knife in your distraction, cutting a deep line into the side of your thumb. It’s dripping down, coating your fingers in a slick red. Your heart is pounding out of your chest, lungs constricting so hard you can barely get a breath in.

“Could I take five?” you manage to gasp to the other lady. But you don’t even wait for her reply before dropping the knife with a clatter and banging gracelessly through the back service doors. Your vision is blurring, darkening at the edges and your head is spinning. It feels as if you might die. You’re going to die.

Your hand is now coated in blood and—with little thought—you try to brush it off with your right, only succeeding in spreading the scarlet until it’s all you can see.

You wake in a ravine. How long have you been out? There’s pain in your cheek and you reach up to pluck a piece of glass from it. The crash. The kid. Oh, no. Oh, god. You call his name, voice hoarse. No reply. Your legs are too weak to support the weight of your own body, so you scramble up from the ditch, back onto the freeway. The car lies a few meters away on its side. Scraped and destoyed. And beyond it, a small body. No.

You crawl to him, sobbing at the bones bent in unnatural angles. And the bullet wound through his chest. You scream. You wail. His lifeless form is so small in your arms, leaking blood over your palms. You were supposed to protect him. You were supposed to—

His body is going cold. Limp and lifeless. But you can’t let go. Maybe, if you just hold on tight enough, the force of your love can breathe life back into his lungs.

You’re covered in his bood, figuratively, literally, it’s everywhere. Stumbling as if you’re drunk, you cry so hard that the tears only blur your vision further. It’s been a while since you’ve had one this bad. If you could just get back to your house. God, why did it have to happen in public? You can’t see where you’re going, so it’s no surprise when you run into something.

No, someone. There are hands on your shoulders and a comforting voice, gravelly Texan accent. What is he saying? You can’t tell. You’re going to be sick.

Something blocks out the lights of the streetlamp. There’s a body beside you.

A fragile body, broken and empty. Leaking life onto cracked pavement.

No, but this body is warm. Strong and gentle. A calloused palm cradling your head into a broad chest, a steady heartbeat. Alive. This body is alive. You clutch onto the fabric of his shirt with desperate hands, forgetting for a moment that your own blood will stain the fabric. He’s speaking words, low whispers, but the sound of them vibrates through him and into you. He’s telling you to calm down.

But you can’t. How do you tell him you can’t? You’re choking on air, hiccupping in a way that hurts.

“Come on now, breathe with me.” He smells nice, like cedar and whiskey. You can feel him smoothing circles onto your back, the rise and fall of his chest as he inhales and exhales. You try to copy him, lungs spasming with the effort. “That’s it. Keep going.” You’re heaving loud, ugly, uneven breaths, but it’s all you can manage. Past and present are flashing before you, your own blood, someone else’s, unseeing eyes and dead silence, a thumping pulse and soothing voice. It’s getting easier; you’re synchronizing your breaths to his own. But as you lean into the comedown, that exhaustion starts to creep up behind you. You melt into him in relief, but he doesn’t shy away. “There you go. I got you.”

Pieces of your surroundings start to fade back into view. You’re under the awning by the barn, shrouded in shadow. He’s practically holding you up by himself, and you feel a sudden deep stab of embarrassment. You can’t look this stranger in the eyes.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble into his shirt.

He doesn’t loosen his hold. “You got nothing to apologize for.”

“Probably got… blood on your shirt.” It’s taking effort to even form the words.

He laughs lightly and the sound is like warm caramel. “I’ve dealt with worse.”

The nausea is ebbing, but you find you don’t want to leave. Caught in his arms, you feel the safest you’ve felt in a long while.

“You should probably get that finger bandaged.” He steps away, pulling your arm into the light to examine the cut and you almost sob once more at the loss of contact. “I got supplies back at my place, if that’s alright by you?”

“Okay,” you say because you feel too weak to walk back to your own house alone right now. And also because in the glow of the streetlamp, you can see the rugged handsomeness of his face, etched with sweet worry, dark curls interspersed with shots of grey. You’ve seen him before. The man at the bar, so often alone. 

You’re shaking now, visceral, wracking shudders. He sheds his coat and swings it over your shoulders before leading you down the laneway.

His house is not far, a five-minute walk at most. He ushers you up the front porch, opening the door to a dim-lit living area.

“Joel?” A shrill voice calls down from above. 

Joel Miller? This is Joel Miller?

“Yeah Ellie, it’s me.”

A little girl comes bounding down the stairs, dark hair pulled back into a messy ponytail. She stops dead when she sees you, noting the jacket around your shoulders, the blood on your hand.

“What happened?” she says, with a kind of fascinated wonder that comes naturally to kids. Oh god, she reminds you of—

“Kitchen accident.” Joel replies smoothly. “You mind getting the med kit, kiddo?”

Her big eyes blink once, twice. “Oh, yeah.” Then she’s running right back up the staircase.

Joel sits you on the couch, grasping your wrist with a tender motion so at odds with all the things you’ve heard about him. Then again, you never knew he had a kid.

“Is she yours?”

He doesn’t look up from your palm. “In the ways that count.”

The girl, Ellie, is back down in record time with a worn first aid kit that she extends to Joel. When he takes it, she looks again at you with blatant curiosity. You feel guilty for barging into the warmth of their home like this.

“Ellie, why don’t you go boil some water for coffee.”

“Can I have hot chocolate?” she asks, and the hopeful joy in her voice is enough to finally make you smile.

Joel does too. “Sure.” And she’s off once more, rounding the corner to where you assume the kitchen lies. “But don’t go putting extra sugar in it,” he calls after her. The soft domesticity makes you ache with loss.

“Well, good news is you won’t be needing stiches.” He pulls an array of supplies from the box: disinfectant, gauze, a bandage. “But you should tell Maria to take you off kitchen schedule for a couple days.”

“How’d you know I was on kitchen schedule?” 

“Lucky guess,” he replies easily, but you swear there’s pink travelling across his cheeks. 

The disinfectant stings and you hiss. He falls into silent work, and you find yourself watching him, trying to understand how the man in front of you is the very same that garnered such a ruthless and cold reputation. 

He breaks the silence first. “I don’t mean to pry but…” Joel fastens the bandage securely around your finger. “…if you want to talk about what happened…”

You don’t. Not now, maybe not ever.

When you don’t reply, he nods his head. “I get it.” You watch him cast a glance toward the sound of a boiling kettle, to where Ellie is. “Trust me, I do.” 

You sit with him and Ellie—quiet with a warm cup of coffee—until late into the night. Ellie makes a face at the smell of it and quips back and forth with Joel about how he can ‘drink that piss.’ The girl has a mouth on her. She’s clever, sharp-witted, and the banter between her and him seems to dig a needle and thread into your gaping heart and sew one single stitch into it.

Past midnight, despite your repeated refusal, Joel insists he walk you home. Seeing your own house, cold and devoid of light makes your shoulders slump and heart race anew. Joel seems to note the behaviour.

“You’re always welcome at ours.” You know you’ll never take him up on the invitation. From the sadness in his eyes, you think he knows it too.

There are miles between you. “Thank you.” He only nods. You leave him standing on the lawn.

From behind the safety of the porch window, you can see that he waits for the light to turn on in your living room before walking back down the street.

Maria has insisted you take a few days off. Damn it. Joel must have said something. You try to busy yourself in the garden instead, but the gloves fit awkwardly over your bandage. You don’t last long anyway. The sound of school children heading home hits your ears around 3:00PM, and within minutes, a small shadow blocks where the sun hits your face.

“What’re you doing?”

Just seeing her face is enough to put a small smile on your own. “I’m planting basil.”

“What’s basil?”

You laugh. Actually laugh. “You want to try some?” You offer her a leaf and she chews it thoughtfully. Gives it an approving face. A thumbs up.

“You should bring some for Joel.” The forwardness of her suggestion is almost shocking, but she seems like the type of kid who says whatever comes to mind. You like that about her. “His cooking is pretty bland.”

Two laughs in one day. This kid is like medicine. “You think so?”

“Mhm. You could come over now. I think he’s on patrol, but he’ll be back soon.”

You think about turning her down, just on reflex. But you like how it feels to laugh, just the way you liked how you had felt in Joel’s arms the other night. So you agree. Her smile is brilliant. 

Minutes later, when she loops her arm through your own, she says, “Hey but don’t tell Joel what I said about his cooking, okay?”

You promise.

Around 7:00PM, he comes through the door, a weary sigh giving him away. “Ellie,” he calls.

“In here!” She’s excited. You’ve prepared a meal: pasta, sundried tomatoes, and the basil plucked from the garden. She’s been picking at the penne with her fingers, unable to wait until he arrives.

Seeing the surprised look on his face when he rounds the corner makes you feel suddenly shy. “I wanted to do something to thank you for last night and, well… Ellie found me in the—”

“Joel, it’s so fucking good.” At this point the muscles in your face are starting to hurt from smiling. 

Over dinner, you actually start to engage in the conversation, and somehow you seem to get along like you’ve known each other for years. In tandem, they work to bring you out of your shell. Your voice is hoarse and face warm by the time you go to leave, but Joel stops you at the door.

“Let me walk you back again.” Your selfish streak is only getting worse. You say yes. You think you see Ellie’s face in the top window as the two of you leave, a devious grin on her face.

Conversation flows on the way, about food, wine, Ellie. It’s comfortable, familiar, but there’s something… 

A yearning, buried under layers of friendly formality. He walks you up your porch and you think, for just a moment, about inviting him inside.

But you’re not quite ready for that just yet. So, you rise up to kiss him on the cheek instead, relishing the stunned look on his face.

Shy again, you back away across the threshold. “Good night, Joel.”

He says it back, and the way your name rolls of his tongue ignites something long dormant within you. You think he might be looking at your lips.

When the door closes, you let out a shuddering breath. And for what seems like the thousandth time that night, you smile.