#a life of guilt and fear moving around all the time but at least hes free from that now. im glad he got to apologize to 'yoonjae' for it

[pochipop]

＃HOMICIPHER !! ♡ — DWELLING, ROTTING, SURVIVING (MR CRAWLING X READER).

#. synopsis! — speaking isn't the only way to understand, and he's oh so gentle .

#. characters! — mr crawling .

#. warnings! — canon-typical dark content + setting .

#. word count! — 1.7k .

#. alt accounts! — @ddollipop (nsfw) @hhoneypop (moodboards) .

#. others! — navigation & masterlist .

#. a/n! — hi, i posted, please stop bullying me in my inbox :(( - all jokes aside, thank you guys for all the nice messages and compliments! & happy pride to my lgbt followers! funnily enough, don't think i've ever "come out" on this blog, but if it's not obvious, i'm bisexual lol so there's that!

You found yourself pressed against a cold, damp wall in what you could only assume was a room close to the belly of this labyrinth-like building. Breaths came in shallow, frightened gasps as the lights overhead flickered ominously, like they were trying to warn you of impending danger. . . Danger that you felt sting your chest like needles poking through your skin. The oppressive silence surrounding you was broken only by your intakes of air and the soft, almost imperceptible sound of something —or someone— (or maybe a mixture of the two, in this God-forsaken place) nearby.

Squinting into the gloom, a familiar shape emerged from the dark hallway, slipping into the room with you and pausing in the doorway. You felt relief take hold of you.

Mr Crawling. . .

That, of course, likely wasn’t his real name, but you didn’t speak in the language of clicks, noises, and chirp-like sounds that he did, and he didn’t speak with your tongue either. It was for that reason in particular that you’d bludgeoned his head with a crowbar not long ago, to which he sulked in a corner, bleeding and whining, and you were left to feel terrible for hurting the first entity that had tried to go out of his way to show you true empathy in a way you understood.

Apologizing didn’t even begin to feel like enough. Probably because you were at least ninety percent sure he didn’t understand what you were saying anyway. Helping him with the wound perhaps made it slightly better. . . But also not really, because even now as he skims across the ground to where you are, there’s a sense of guilt that weighs heavy on your heart.

Pale, grey-skinned and moving like any non-human mammal of sorts, his face is mostly obscured by the long, stringy black hair that falls in vine-like, clumped strands all the way to the floor from his hunched position. There’s an unsettling, animalistic grace to the way he approaches, but you don’t flinch this time when he puts the flat of his cold palm against the crown of your head, as if trying to soothe your breathing. All of that initial fear has been replaced by a strange comfort of sorts, and you look up at him, thankful for his presence now more than ever.

He tilts his head, as if listening for something, and you watch him warily with the same crowbar clutched in your fist. A part of you felt bad carrying it around like that with his blood still smeared on it, but here, you knew it was foolish to venture around without a weapon of some sort. Not protecting yourself for the sake of his feelings was, unfortunately, not an option as far as you were concerned, but thankfully he didn’t seem to have any opinion on the matter.

“Mr Crawling,” you whisper softly, reaching out to take his hand into your own.

He seemed to really respond to physical touch, and if language was always going to get in the way, you figured it was best to bridge the gap in another manner. This was the next best thing you could think of.

His head raises, and you suppose he’s trying to meet your gaze, though you can’t see his eyes through the mess of his hair.

“I need to understand you,” you say.

Ironically, that’s a bit of a hopeless endeavor in this sort of environment. It’s not like you have all the time in the world to pick up a new, completely unrelated language to yours while fighting for your life. Still. . . Gesturing had been helpful previously, especially for directions. The hooded figure you ran into first was quick to point around, that severed hand that had guided you for a bit was just as poignant in that area, and the silver-haired entity with a blindfold over his eyes had also tried to communicate with you in that sense as well. So why couldn’t you do it vice-versa?

“Me,” you point to yourself, “you,” you point to him.

He stared blankly for a moment, then seemed to come to an understanding. His had retracted from your head to point at himself, then to you, a clicking noise coming from the back of his throat. You smile. It was a small victory amongst a series of devastating losses, but you were keen on taking it and running with it as far as you could stretch it.

“Okay,” you breathe, talking more to yourself than to him. “Let’s try this then. . .”

Feeling a surge of determination, you touch your stomach and then mime eating.

“Hungry. Eat.”

At this point, you were still too anxious to have an appetite, but you knew you’d need food eventually. You were hoping he’d be able to help you with that somehow. Up until this point, you hadn’t seen any evidence of there being food around here, —no containers, boxes, or wrappings, but he seemed to understand your gestures and mimicked you; sitting back on his knees to rub his stomach through his filthy t-shirt, then nibbling on an imaginary item.

He looks back to you, as if seeking approval. You smile, hoping he understands that to be a sign of good will, then nod your head to drive home the association. Beneath his swath of hair, he smiles too, and you catch a glimpse of his eyes through the curtain of black strands; dark and thoughtful.

“Good,” you murmur, feeling slightly relieved. 

If nothing else, this was progress. You spend a while longer trying to communicate basic needs and warnings: things like yes, no, stop, come, drinking, sleeping, and a thank you in the way of patting his head. You’re not sure he understood the depth of it by any means, but he did seem to enjoy it. . . Like a puppy. The thought made you smile genuinely and absentmindedly, if only for a moment. The clicks and chirps he makes are mostly lost on you, but the noises are comforting nonetheless. This rudimentary bridge of understanding soothes you just a little, and you find yourself feeling very thankful that he’s here in the first place.

He has your face cupped in his hands now, as if he’s inspecting you. . . Or perhaps admiring? That is, until you feel his body tense and all his little sounds abruptly come to a halt. A small growl reverberates from the back of his throat and his wide smile droops into a frown. Suddenly, he’s roughly dragging you along, tugging urgently on your arms, to which you comply and follow along with him, scooting across the floor until you reach a shadowed alcove. You hadn’t even noticed it before, but he seems to know his way around this place like the back of his cold, grey hand.

He covers your mouth for a moment, then shakes his head. You cover your mouth, take your hand away, then shake your head no, just to ensure to him that you’ve understood. He pats your head then crouches in front of you, using his own body as a makeshift shield for yours. His long, spindly arms cage you against the wall. Fear rises inside you once again, though not because of him and his actions. Rather, the faint, rhythmic thuds of footsteps have begun reverberating through the hall just outside, and you recognize the harrowing pattern they click in.

Mr Scarletella.

You encountered him once before and felt every hair on your body stand on end. The way he moved through the halls with a menacing flow that sounded almost eerily melodic, and the strange, unsettling red glow that seemed to exude off him that nearly drew you in like a moth to a flame. The steps echoed off the walls of the building and your heart began to hammer against your ribs. Mr Crawling moved closer as he came into view through the doorway that lacked any actual door to close, his long, black hair tickling your nose ever so softly. Dressed in scarlet and carrying his ever-present umbrella, you decide quite readily that you’ve seen enough, closing your eyes and focusing on the cool feel of Mr Crawling’s skin, on his musky scent (like mildew and a bit of rot, which isn’t necessarily pleasant, but it’s not like he can really help it down here.)

Though you’re no longer watching, the entity dripping in scarlet moves with an unsettling, almost predatory grace, glancing about the corridors as if he’s searching for something. Or someone.

Once again, Mr Crawling presses closer to you. Now, you’re able to feel the way his body trembles with fear, and you realize that he’s just as terrified as you are, though you can’t tell if that fear is for himself, for you, or for both of you at once. And it’s not like you can ask. Still, you open your eyes just long enough to look up at him, Mr Scarletella in your peripheral as you force a smile and touch the crown of Mr Crawling’s head, offering what little comfort you can. He still quivers, but seems to appreciate the gesture, though he doesn’t risk a happy chirp.

The danger passes as the man in scarlet disappears down the hallway, then turns the corner. You let out a silent sigh of relief and Mr Crawling relaxes after several moments of continued tension, finally going limp and releasing you from against the wall. He slumps onto his knees, which seems to be his most comfortable position, and he looks at you clearly through the darkness. In that moment, it feels like you’ve understood one another perfectly. 

“Thank you,” you whisper sincerely, though you know he can’t really understand you.

You’re just hoping the gratitude comes across somehow, but at the risk that it won’t, you touch your chest over top of where your heart’s still beating like a drum, then touch his chest in the same place. It dawns on you that you don’t feel a heartbeat at all, and you almost pull your hand away. . . But something stops you. Something that says even if you’re right and he’s something less (or more) than human, —it doesn’t matter as much as the kindness he’s shown you. So your hand lingers until you softly pull away.

He grabs your cheeks again and holds them delicately.

[bobafetts-princess]

Nightmares and Daydreams

Summary: Logan has a nightmare and he needs you.

Pairings: Logan Howlett x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: Smut. Logan has nightmares and they’re violent. PiV (unprotected) (no condoms on this blog) fingering. Logan loves to bite. Logan has a pain kink.

A/N: This went opposite how I expected it to when I started writing it. It’s so much softer and sweeter and one of my current favorites. I hope you like it 🫶🏻

Logan has nightmares, almost every night. Sometimes they’re violent nightmares, ones where he’ll wake screaming and ready to attack. Ones where he’ll relive the horrors he’s committed and think about all the lives he’s taken. He’ll wake with his claws out, drenched in sweat as the guilt courses through him. Then the guilt will course through him again as you watch him from across the room, fear etched into your features. (He doesn’t realize it’s fear for him, not fear of him)

The guilt eats at him some more as the two of you make your way back to the local store and buy even more bed sheets because his claws tore them to shreds. But Logan is a selfish man and he loves you too much to release you from himself. And that makes him feel even guiltier.

Other nights, they’re paralyzing nightmares. He imagines what it would be like if they tried to take you from him. He can’t keep the thoughts of what Stryker would do to you out of his mind. If Stryker knew that you were the key to getting Logan to do almost anything, it would be his worst nightmare come to life. Thinks about the pain deep in his chest that your death, your torture, would cause him. He doesn’t want to, of course, but he can’t stop the racing thoughts as images of your mutilated body flash in his mind.

Those nightmares are the worst kind because he can’t move. He can’t break the spell himself and he can’t wake you and ask you to break it for him. He silently prays for you to wake and release him from the torment. It usually doesn’t take long but any amount of time to be trapped in those nightmares is too long.

Other nightmares aren’t paralyzing but he still gets flashes of your death. At least he’s not pinned in his agony, but they’re still horrific. He wakes with a gasp, reaching across the bed to make sure your body is still there, warm and soft. He breathes a sigh of relief as his fingers skim your skin, warm and soft. The need hits him almost immediately after he realizes it was just a nightmare. He imagined all those horrible things, they didn’t happen to you. You’re here with him, snoring softly, spent from your activities before bed.

It’s a common occurrence for Logan to wake and need you so desperately that he can’t do anything until he’s buried inside you. He’s long been given the authority to wake you in the middle of the night if he needs you.

He tries not to let the guilt eat at him that he’s waking you for his own needs. He tries so hard. He almost always fails.

So that’s what happens tonight. Logan wakes with a sharp gasp, trying to clear the image of you impaled on his claws from his head. He takes a few breaths as the image of Victor’s claws drawing across your throat flits into his brain. He hears a heavy breath from your side of the bed and relief floods his veins as he reaches for you.

Your skin is so soft under his rough fingers, the calluses that decorate his skin such a contrast to the smooth softness of you. The sheet has dropped while you sleep, exposing your back and Logan trails a finger down your spine. You jerk, only slightly, but it’s enough for him to know you’re waking. His lips brush the skin of your shoulder, a palm reaching around to cup your breast. A soft sigh leaves your lips when his thumb brushes your nipple and you reach back for him.

“A nightmare?” You ask.

“Yeah,” is all he gives you in return.

Rolling, you pull his face down to yours, running your fingers through his hair as he grabs at you. His knee spreads your legs, one hand slipping down to brush your clit. You arch up into him, gasping, and his mouth trails across your neck.

“Need you,” he says before his mouth finds a nipple. His fingers press into you, savoring the feeling of you gripping his fingers.

“Want to talk about it first?”

“No.”

That was always his response. When he woke you like this he never disclosed his nightmares, even after he’d worked out all his fears and desires. You thought it was because he didn’t want to scare you with the thoughts he had. You also thought that he didn’t want to relive them anymore than he had to.

You were right about both.

“Logan,” you sigh out as he presses two fingers inside you and curls them so you see stars. “Logan!” His teeth sink into your shoulder as you arch up against him. He’s so needy when he wakes like this and you’re happy to let him take, take, take, from you. You’re soaked, your pussy aching for more as he works another finger inside you.

When Logan wakes you up in the middle of the night like this, he usually never speaks. At least he doesn’t use words, he speaks with his body. Which is unlike Logan, who is usually a vocal lover. He loves to grunt and growl in your ear as he rails you. He’ll tell you every dirty thought that pops into his head. When he finally comes he usually gives you this deep growl that sounds almost beastly before he sinks his teeth into your skin.

But on nights he has nightmares he’s the exact opposite of that. He flips between needy and desperate, two sides of the same coin. Some moments it’s like he can’t get enough of you, his mouth covering your entire body in his kisses. Other times it’s like he doesn’t want to live another minute without being inside you and if he doesn’t take you right that second he’s going to burn up.

That’s the point he’s reaching currently, less lips and more teeth with his kisses. It won’t be long before the head of his cock is pressing into you and you gasp when you feel him.

“Logan,” you cry out, fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders. He grunts, he likes the feeling of pain even if it doesn’t last, and snaps his hips forwards to enter you fully. His lips twist into a snarl before a nightmare passes in front of his vision and he softens. He leans down to kiss you, full of need and desire. His thrusts are still strong but not as sharp when breaks the kiss to breathe heavily in your ear. That’s almost the only noise you’ll get from him until morning, the strained breathing in your ear as he savors the feel of you. The feel of you under his hands. The feel of you gripping his cock. The way you taste on his tongue.

“I love you, Logan,” you whisper, pressing kisses along the beard on his jawline. Just because he doesn’t talk during times like this doesn’t mean that you can’t fill the empty space. He gives you a soft grunt, his hand running down your leg to hike it up his back. This new position gives him an opportunity to go deeper and he does. His hips are snapping up against a spot that makes your eyes roll back into your head every time he thrusts forwards.

He’s calm, quiet, very unlike himself so you know this nightmare must’ve been bad. Or the flashbacks, or whatever images he’s seeing when he sleeps are still happening right now, even though he’s inside you.

“I love you,” you whisper again in his ear and he presses his face against your neck, breathing in your scent deeply. “I’m here,” you tell him, thrusting your hips down onto him, taking over from the bottom as best you can. “I’m safe,” you say, “I’m fine. I’m here with you.”

His hands haven’t left your body, gripping at you as if he’s trying to make sure you actually are underneath him. Taking him. He gives you a small nod as you speak, you feel it, you don’t see it because his face is still tucked into your neck. Your hands traverse his back and shoulders whispering sweet nothings as the two of you fuck. It’s not really like fucking, it’s closer to making love, but it’s not that either. There’s too much need to be considered making love, but there’s too much adoration and passion to be considered fucking. Either way, the two of you move like that for what feels like hours, Logan pressing up into you and you pressing down onto him. You talk the entire time, telling him how much you love him, how you’re safe and happy to be here in his arms.

Eventually, his thrusts pick up speed and you know he’s getting close. His lips find yours again, his hand curling around the back of your neck to keep you in place but also to anchor himself. His breathing gets heavy as he shoves his tongue in your mouth.

“I love you, Logan,” whisper to him when he breaks the kiss, arching up as his thrusts get sharper and more powerful. You’re close, you’ve been staving off an orgasm for a good while now so that you can come together. Logan growls deep in his chest, the barest hint of your name can be discerned from the sound and when he reaches between your bodies to stroke your clit, you both break.

“Oh my god, Logan!” You shout, body tense as he fucks you both through it, his teeth sunk into the skin of your shoulder. It hurts but it toes that beautiful line between pain and pleasure. You don’t even realize it until Logans eyes roll back into his head that your fingernails are gripping his broad shoulders so hard that you’ve broken his skin. It doesn’t take but seconds to heal of course, but it helps Logan draw out his orgasm just that little bit longer.

The two of you lay there together, panting and connected for quite a while, just enjoying the presence of one another. Eventually he rolls off you, moving to the bathroom to gather a washcloth and clean you both up before he curls back into bed with you. His body, long and strong, curls around yours and you tangle your fingers together.

“Was it a bad one tonight?” You ask, thinking about how needy and off he seemed. Logan only gives a nod, his eyes far away. “I’m safe sweetheart,” you tell him and he nods again. “Nothing is going to hurt me as long as you are around,” you tell him, bringing his hand to your mouth and kissing the tips of his fingers. “Not while these are here to protect me,” you smile, turning your hands over so you can press soft kisses to the knuckles where his claws come out. He gives you a soft smile, one that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and leans in for a kiss.

“I’m sorry I woke you,” he says but you shake him off. “Go back to sleep,” he kisses you again and then tucks your face into his shoulder. You can still sense the fear on him but you don’t press your luck and do your best to fall back into a fitful sleep, tucked against the love of your life.

Logan never falls back asleep.

[soullessdianthus]

𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐞𝐥𝐨𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞 | 𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐌𝐢𝐠𝐮𝐞𝐥 𝐎'𝐇𝐚𝐫𝐚

Warnings: yandere themes (manipulation, kidnapping, imprisonment), smut (overstimulation, dubcon/noncon, breeding kink if you want to interpret like so)

Word count: 1.6k

A sound of pouring rain tapping over the window kept you awake. You glanced over the glass and saw the same image as for the days before - dense, forest line cutting the grassy, wild meadow off. The temperature inside and out was warm and it almost felt like summer in the countryside of your homeland. But it was all an illusion.

A high-tech screens had been put inside the window frames to imitate your well known surroundings. He put an effort to make this place look like a decent place. Somewhere you would feel comfortable. But this wasn’t even a real home, it was your prison. 

After you interfered a little too much with the canon events in one of the spider-verses, Miguel O’Hara visited your world in person. He demanded an explanations from Peter Parker, a friend from college, about your doings. 

Because you two learned lately about the up-coming death of uncle Ben and tried to avoid it by all means. And you almost succeed. Almost.

Miguel, a tall man with a dark look on his face, threatened Peter about the consequences of avoiding such occurrences. Parker appeared to be frightened of the stranger as Miguel’s eyes seemed to glow brightly red from frustration. 

Those piercing eyes finally found your form, standing still behind your Spiderman and only then you processed what you just heard. 

━ Wh-What? It was OUR idea to save your uncle! ━ You interrupted those two men, gesturing with your hands. But Peter didn’t even bother to look at you, he didn’t have enough courage to do so. He tried to frame you and put all the guilt on you. Which in the end, somehow worked out. 

He agreed to that mysterious spidey-guy from another universe that someone had to bear the consequences of messing up with the timeline. And Parker pointed at you. An ultimate betrayal, ripped your heart apart. 

Soon after you found yourself in that damn prison with a bracelet over your wrist to “stop you from glitching”. Whatever that was supposed to mean. 

Miguel was some kind of boss around the place you found yourself in. At least that's what Lyla told you, a artificial intelligence present in the technology around you. It was him who was responsible for you from now on as he visited you every day. 

At first, each time you saw him, you tried throwing things at him purely out of rage - a book, a small picture frame or a chair, but each time he managed to catch or turn down anything you tossed. He kept trying to explain to you what was happening and why he couldn’t let you go back into your world. Miguel stated that it was dangerous enough when a non-variant person was messing up with the timeline. 

But was this all true? There was no one else you could ask for a second opinion, you had to believe, everything Miguel told you was the truth. Obviously, you questioned everything about him and this place. It felt like you were losing your sanity and a part of yourself. 

The well-built man with brown, combed hair was very patient and understable with your rage and sorrow. Until he was not. 

O’Hara had enough of your tantrums and one time he scared you truly. Eyes turning bloody red, his veins popping out and his teeth turning into long fangs. He charged at you, shoving your whole body to the wall behind. When your eyes were filled with fear and lungs emptied themself due to the force he pushed you, Miguel contained himself and moved away quickly. 

You rarely saw him in this form, but when you finally did - you kept behaving well, not wanting to anger him again. Because you knew nothing about him. What if he was able to hurt you? Or even murder you? 

Since then, you tried to suppress any anger and try to figure out how to return to your world, your life. And the brunette kept coming back, each day just to visit you. In the end he was your only company. 

Miguel brought you new books or art supplies if you asked Lyla or him directly. The man would spend some time with you - cooking, watching movies, anything you liked to do. But it was months ago. 

For the last couple of weeks, you were practically silent and apathetic. Curling inside the armchair near the “window”, napping or sobbing quietly. You’ve been in this prison for too long and it began to crush your spirit. 

He acknowledged the change in you and tried talking about it. He kept assuring that he has to keep you here for the world’s sake and balance. Because if someone messes up with the canon again, the universe will collapse. You reprimanded yourself for leaning into his chest when he offered you a comforting hug. Because how could you ever want solace from your captor? 

That evening was no different. Miguel visited you after work and found you sitting in silence on that damn armchair. When he crouched down, trying to catch your sight, you scooted backwards in the seat. 

━ What’s wrong, cariño?

━ I want to go home. ━ Your voice full with sorrow gained his attention. Where was your spirit he adored so much? The pain in your voice almost made him feel bad. Almost.

Miguel reached towards your exposed calf and started rubbing it with his pointing finger. 

━ This is your home, tú lo sabes. [sp.: you know it] ━ His voice sounded peaceful when he reached both of his arms in your direction. His embrace was welcoming, but you knew better. It was like a sweet flavored poison, spreading slowly under your skin, killing you slowly. ━ Come here.

You pushed firmly against his shoulders as you jumped out of the chair and took a few steps back. 

━ Miguel ━ you said his name loudly, gaining his full attention. You were being hysterical again. ━ I’ve been here FOR MONTHS. I had life before, I had A PURPOSE. You took it from me!

He tried, he really tried holding himself back this time you talked back. But your whining became annoying and Miguel just knew what would make you feel better. 

He stood up to his full height, easily towering over you. Brunette came closer, taking each step slowly, like he was giving you time to calm yourself or at least apologize. But you didn’t even back out. 

Miguel was leaning to look into your glimmering eyes and he saw how much you hated him at that moment. “We need to work on that temper”, he once told you, but you thought nothing of it. 

His little, feisty nymph. That’s what he liked to think of you. 

━ Fine ━ he growled right in your face, before grabbing your arm. ━ I’ll give you a purpose. 

The sound of your heavy panting echoed through the room. You tried straightening your hands again, but unsuccessfully as your muscles gave up a long time ago. Only his strong hands kept your ass higher than your head, by the tightening grip over your already bruised hips. 

Miguel kept thrusting into your tight cunt until you were a sobbing mess. He already pushed you over the edge at least three times, devouring the little noises you made and how your pussy clenched around his swollen shaft. 

Brunette kept one of his palms spread between your shoulder blades, keeping your upper half down, making your spine arch better. 

The sweat covered the back of your bent knees, him sliding in and out of you with ease, because of your wetness. Miguel certainly knew where to touch you to make you break into pieces between his fingers. 

━ See, doesn't that feel good to be by my side, cariño? ━ He leaned over your puffing frame, cheek dipped in the sheets while he kept fucking you stupid. 

━ Mig-Miguel… I can’t… n-no more…. ━ You whispered to him, feeling as each thrust of his hips pushed his cock deeper inside of you. The coiling sensation started to build up again between your trembling legs and in stomach. ━ Please!

━ Just one more, darling. ━ He heard you clearly, but yet he kept sliding in and out of you violently, chasing his own sweet release. 

Miguel took his hand away from your back and sneaked between your puffy lips. He spreaded them, opening you up and making it easier for him to find your clit. And when he finally did so, the brunette started rubbing it in a rhythm that quickly made you reach your another orgasm that night. 

Your body tensed suddenly and then collapsed into his pelvis, sinking his swollen cock deeper. When your cunt fluttered around him uncontrollably and your eyes rolled backwards, he came inside you, clenching his teeth. 

He tilted forward and placed both of his strong hands on each side of you, while coming down from his high. He noticed your grip tightening over bed sheets and smiled, before giving you a tender kiss on the temple. 

━ Mi pequeña ninfa. Do you understand now, that only I can protect you? [sp.: My little nymph]

Miguel loved his girl no matter if she had a bad day or not. He was going to make sure, no one will ever take you from him. You’re his precious troublemaker, aren’t you?

━ You belong with me. ━ He growled into your ear.

[garbinge]

Cowboy and Pony

Tyler Owens x F!Reader

Summary: Tyler comes home with the crew after a chase and after a unpleasant run in with your ex. Word Count 4.5k Warnings: Light angst, mentions of parental death, really bad science and tech explanations for the sake of plot lol, anxiety, talk of trauma/guilt/grief, fear of leaving home, kissing and i guess PG-13 sexual situations (not really but like blink and you miss it type stuff). A/N: I saw Twisters last night and cannot get Tyler Owens out of my brain. Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @kmc1989

You knew Tyler practically your whole life. He was the boy next door, but that quickly turned into your friend next door. Throughout all of his crazy life adventures, bull riding, studying meteorology, chasing storms, you were there. Except while he was trying out a million things, you were doing one. Tinkering with shit. Some people probably would have called you a mechanic, but you hated it. Because you didn’t just stop at cars, you were the person that would dig through the garbage to find trashed parts and build a computer out of it. That’s actually when Tyler talked to you for the first time, he stood back watching you pick through his trash just to get a circuit board from an old computer. You just liked to build stuff, you learned how to solder, how to rewire shit, the whole nine yards. 

Tyler wasn’t just your neighbor growing up, he was a friend. One of the best of ‘em. It’s why when he switched up to tornado chaser and asked you to join his crew there was no hesitation in your decision. You also managed to find a boyfriend, two of them actually, a jerk off one, that only lasted a few months and then the one you currently had, who was in front of your face this entire time. 

You were nose deep into some project as you heard the bark from Pony, the rescued Great Dane who you spent most of your days with. It was a miracle you didn’t hear the loud speakers of the truck you knew pulled into the driveway, but then you realized they had probably been broken off or mangled to the point of repair. 

“He-hey Pony, who's a good girl.” His voice was muffled, he had to have been a few feet out from the barn, which meant he was keeping the truck a good distance away from you on purpose. 

Sliding the barn doors open, your eyes first fell on him. Your number one concern always being him. But when you saw that damn handsome smug face on him, looking up at you with the most apologetic smile as Pony licked his face, your eyes jumped to the truck. They were jumping just as soon as they were closing shut. 

The exoskeleton of welded steel had been crushed on one side, which honestly was the least of your problems. The weather station atop had been missing complete pieces versus just a couple dings and scratches. The roof rack lights were broken and the trailer hitch was bent in an unusable position. But the firework launcher was in perfect condition still, of course. 

“I fixed what I could on site.” You heard the statement through gritted teeth as Tyler stared at you knowingly. 

“Oh. There was more.” You opened your eyes and saw him with an expression that could only be described as yikes as he nodded and stood up, Pony attaching to his side instantly. 

“Yeaaaaa.” He was still gritting his teeth as he walked towards you with open arms, knowing he was going to work his way back into your graces. His arms were around you in seconds, and his lips on yours moments later. Reaching to the top of your head, you removed the soldering headband that was resting on the top of your head like a simple pair of sunglasses although was 5x the size. Tyler instinctively grabbed it from you, and moved his hand right back to your lower back while you let your hands cup his face. “I’m sorry.” It was whispered as he pulled from the kiss to rest his forehead on yours. 

You looked up at him and noticed the smallest scratch on his face and wiped your thumb along it in hopes that it was just dirt but when the mark stayed and you felt the rigidness from the skin starting to heal already, you knew it wasn’t. “You know all that shit I build for you is so this doesn’t happen, right?” 

He let out a laugh, and you felt his body vibrate against yours as he did. “It’s barely the size of a papercut, and I, uh, recall you using your wiring tools to stitch up my head one from bull riding so I’d say it’s not too comparable.” His hands were now reaching up to your face to place a swift kiss on your forehead in an attempt to ease you. 

“I don’t compare, I just find a way to make things better. So now you need to tell me what happened to make this happen.” Your hands had moved against his chest. 

“One of Storm Par’s guys didn’t tie down their gear right and it nicked Tyler.” Lilly was walking right by you both into the barn to drop her drone for its own repairs. 

That made your entire mood change. “I’m sorry, what?” Your head jumping from Lilly to Tyler who was smiling with his mouth open readying an excuse.

“It was one of the new guys, didn’t know his ass from the tornado.” This was him trying to simmer the situation with humor.  

“Yea and when you told him that, that David guy got all up in our pretty boy’s face!” Boone was also entering the barn, following shortly behind Lilly with the drone eyes and controller. 

“I’m sorry, what?” That’s when your body got more tense and Tyler did everything to try and shake it off you. 

David. The jerk off ex-boyfriend. 

“Which ones David?” Dani was calling out from the RV, her hat crooked as she hung from the passenger door handle. It was obvious she was probably busy when the situation occurred. 

“The jerk-off one!” You and Tyler both called out at the same time. It earned him a smile, you could always count on being in sync with him. Surrendering from your tension you raised your arms up again to his neck, just below his jawline. 

“What’d he do?” 

“Ah, you know, storm up in my face.” The irony of his statement wasn’t lost on you, it’s why you rolled your eyes which made him explain further. “You know, just said some stupid shit, Boone’s probably got it on video, probably really drive up our views.” 

You didn’t give a fuck about views or watching the footage right now, you wanted to hear it from him what happened. And he read that off you immediately. “He just got mad. I mouthed off to someone in his crew, he said some shit to me and I just brushed him off.” 

Looking over to Lilly and Boone, you were looking at them for the real answer. “I didn’t realize we were calling, pushing the guy to the ground, brushing him off.” Lilly was smirking as she was looking around at the pieces of the drone that were needing repairs. 

“Let me see the video.” You were pushing off Tyler, who was leaning in trying to get you back in his embrace until he dropped his head in defeat. 

Boone was eager to show you the footage he caught, ditching the drone and coming to your workstation to set up his camera for you to watch. 

“Watch your mouth, Tornado Wrangler. One of my guys is worth all of yours combined.” A typical thing to come from David’s mouth. The MIT degree he held must’ve come with a minor in selfish pretentious douchebag. 

You saw how Tyler’s tongue swiped against his bottom lip inside his mouth as he looked out past David, considering he had a few inches of height on him. “See that’s the difference between me and you, Storm Par, we value things a little differently.” 

It was immediately apparent that Tyler was referring to you. Yes, he valued his team way more than David his, but Tyler knew what he was doing when he said it. David put a lot of things before you when you were dating, and the straw that broke the camel's back was when he didn’t show up to the hospital when you found out your mother was sick. This was before Storm Par and Tornado Wranglers though, this was when David was just working tracking storms in the area for his college internship and Tyler was just starting to get over taming bulls and more into taming twisters. 

When David joined Storm Par, you were already with Tyler for about a year, so it was much to his surprise when he saw you at one of the many motels on the storm trail in Oklahoma not only on top of the red dodge RAM truck fixing something, but also on top of Tyler at the little bonfire gathering in the field adjacent to the motel later that same night. 

But it wouldn’t have mattered if you were together with Tyler or not. The two never got along, when he first met David from when they both started chasing the same storms, there was always something in the air. 

“Yea, we do. Extremely difficult and exhausting emotional baggage weren’t high on my must-haves when I was looking for a girlfriend.” It was the exact words he used when you broke up with him. Correct, you broke up with him, and he hit you with the yea this isn’t working, you’re extremely difficult and the emotional baggage is beginning to exhaust me line. The extremely difficult line was probably in reference to not wanting to build machines for him to use to track the weather, modeling equipment, etc. And the exhausting emotional baggage was the whole your mother being sick thing. He clearly was still using the statement which meant he thought it was effective. And it was. At getting pushed to the ground. 

After the words left his mouth, Tyler’s hands were on David’s collar bones and shoving him with such little effort but enough to get him to stumble to the ground. Tyler smirked, a fully sarcastic look as he shrugged his shoulders and lifted his hands. Very that’s what you get of him. “Told you not to talk about her, Storm Par.” 

“You told me not to say her name.” David was annoyingly dusting off his shirt, knowing that physically he couldn’t take Tyler even on his best day. The secret was, you knew he couldn’t outsmart him even on his worst day either. 

“Hm.” Tyler was taking a couple steps closer now, really towering over him now, blocking any sun from David's vision as he stood tall looking down at him. “Well let’s just add it to the list, huh?” Just as Tyler was about to step away, the smirk on his face went from sarcastic to a full blown smile as he grabbed the ‘not my first tornadeo’ t-shirt that was on Boone’s shoulder and tossed it down to him. “Here, something to change into, you got a little dirt.” He pointed to his own torso when he said it.

That’s when the camera flipped to Boone raising his eyebrows, “you mess with the bull you get the horns!” His fingers raised to his forehead where his pointer and pinky finger were extended in the rocker sign and his teeth gritted to imitate a bull. 

“Classy.” You looked up to see Tyler still in the same spot, at the entrance of the barn leaning against the door frame, arms crossed. “Maybe next time we can get you both knight costumes and we can make it a true fight for my honor.” 

Despite your satire, he knew you weren’t mad. “Next time, huh? That mean you comin’ on the next chase with us?” 

That was the question. It was so much the question, that everyone was looking at you now. Lilly, Boone, Dani, and Dexter. After your mother got really sick, it was hard for you to leave the house, when you needed time for yourself, you’d come to the garage barn and work, that way when she needed you you weren’t too far. When she passed, you were away, on a chase which held enough guilt to basically move you into your barn. The house was merely a place for you to eat, sleep, and shower. And have sex with Tyler, although the barn had seen its fair share of that as well. Now, you had explained it as a habit–preference even, you preferred staying home, it was habitual. But everyone really knew… it was that emotional baggage. 

Even though he was mentioning it now, you knew there was never any pressure to go. You used to go. But ever since you got that call from the nurse’s aid that your mother had passed in her sleep while you were 75 miles away, it was hard to pull yourself from here. 

“Let me bring the truck in here.” Avoidance.

The keys were being dangled from Tyler’s fingers before you could say another word. As you jumped into the driver’s seat of the truck, you looked down to see a note on the odometer with your name on it. 

She got a little more mangled than expected. But can’t wait to tell you about the chase. Give you a little sneak preview, twins, changing wind shear and a surprise. Did what I could on site to fix the ol girl but no one’s as brilliant as you, especially with the vehicle sonar. You probably didn’t notice the vehicle sonar was broken. I’m sorry, did I say that? I don’t think I said that. I love you, I’ll say that too, in hopes that it’s enough for you to forgive the state of the truck, and if not, I brought back barbecue to win your love back. 

T 

These were your favorite; they made you feel included, like you were there. And Tyler knew that. Tucking the note into your jacket pocket, you pulled into the garage barn and got to work. About an hour in was when you were interrupted by the smell of barbecue and Tyler attached to the plate. 

“Winning back my love?” You called out with a smile, your legs extended out on the roof of the truck as you installed the new-old weather station to it. 

He placed the plate next to you, barely needing to reach up to get it that high and jumped into the bed of the truck. “And if not yours then Pony’s.” He was picking a piece of chicken off the plate and tossing it to the Great Dane who was nestled in the corner of the truck bed. “You get my note?” He was standing in the bed now, leaning against the back of the truck cap, his arms crossed on the roof as he watched you work. 

“Of course I did. You gonna tell me about,” You pulled the wrench away and looked in his direction while trying to remember the keywords he gave you from the chase. “Twins, and the shifting shear.” 

“Don’t forget the surprise.” He was picking up the fork from the plate and waving it as he spoke. “Yea, so we caught twins, although they didn’t look like twins, one was thin, small radius, the other was growing, kickin’ up a lot of dirt.” 

“Which one did you follow?” Despite not being much into meteorology, Tyler talked enough about it for you to learn a lot, and even though you hadn’t been on a chase in while, you knew the ins and outs pretty well still. 

“The wrong one.” Now he was pushing the fork in your direction, knowing you wouldn’t stop what you were doing long enough to relax and eat. 

“The shifting shear.” You mhmed in acknowledgement to the word in his letter about the wind change and also as the taste of your favorite Oklahoma barbeque spot filled your taste buds. 

“Yep.” He nodded, “We lost it and Storm Par didn’t.” 

“Before or after your run in with David.” 

“Before.” 

“Then, Tyler Owens, I think you still came out on top.” You said it while still looking at the plate, about to grab more food but the interruption of Tyler’s arms pushing him up on the truck roof, his boot stepping up on the fixed exoskeleton to boost him up so he was on top of you. 

“You’re damn right.” He was leaning his face dangerously close, as if his body atop of yours wasn’t dangerous enough. The slightest touch of his lips met yours and any thought of barbecue and fixing weather stations was out of your brain, in fact any thoughts at all were gone from your head aside from the many thoughts of Tyler caressing you.  “I missed you.” That was until he said that. 

He meant well, and you missed him too, but it just reminded you of not being there. Tyler picked up on your change in mood immediately, his left arm pressed against the metal of the car so he wasn’t as on top of you anymore, his face twisted in concern as his eyebrows raised in a way to ask you what happened but as you thought about how you wanted to explain he got it without you needing to share a word. “Fuck.” Dropping his head and the confused concern, his head fell on your shoulder. “I didn’t mean it that way. Even earlier today, I just–” 

“Miss me. I get it.” Your hand fell on his head, your fingers getting tangled in his blonde locks, your mouth moving to pepper kisses on his head as well. “I missed you too, for the record.” You mumbled it against his head. 

He moved off you and fell next to you, his hand cupping your head as he placed a kiss to your forehead as he moved. “There’s never any pressure. At your own pace.” 

“Says the guy who faces his fears by riding them. If I was anyone else, you’d laugh and scream cowboy obscenities as you walked away from me.” 

That caused Tyler to laugh out loud, his body vibrating against yours as his laughs fell in the crook of your neck. “You’re not scared.” 

“I’m scarred.” Making jokes was the only way you felt comfortable really talking about it. 

“And for the record, you’re you, not anyone else, so yes I treat you differently.” He left a kiss in the crook of your neck as he left it. “And what are cowboy obscenities?” 

You cleared your throat and began hollering typical midwestern slang and finished it off with the Tyler Owens tagline. “Woooohooo, if you feel it chase it!” 

There was his laugh again, buzzing against your body, making you miss him even when he was right damn next to you. 

Things quieted down for a bit and the two of you sat up and finished off the plate of barbeque on the picnic table you turned the roof of the red dodge into. “So, I was thinkin’ you know how you have the buttons in the truck to release the rockets and drill in and all that.” You spoke like you weren’t the one that helped him install all of those gadgets. 

“Mhm.” He smiled thinking the same thing, his arm propped up on his folded leg. 

“Well, Storm Par they have those data trackers, the things they gotta get out of the car and place down around the vortex.” You explained. 

“Think it’s the PAR in Storm Par.” Tyler teased.

“Exactly, Phased Array Radar. And I know we have the drone, which is great but what if we could have both? Footage and data.” Before Tyler could answer you were jumping back down to your work station and moving some things around to pull out a mechanism you had been working on before the group arrived back. 

Tyler was following behind you, not as quickly paced but still intrigued. “Okay so this we could install in your truck and attach it to this.” You were now showing a large panel that had hydraulics on it. “And basically, you press this and the truck bed flap will open and this will move out, dropping whatever you want out, you guys won't have to leave the car.” 

Tyler nodded as he took it all in, impressed, as always. “Pretty sure the handsome fellas at Storm Par use 3 of those bad boy radars though. Don’t think we could get the RV that close to a twister.” 

“I’d build you a data catcher where you’d only need one.” Already having the answer to his question you folded your arms and smirked. You had the mechanism to release it pretty much done, now you just had to build the radar, no biggie. 

“How?” He copied your pose, arms crossed, leaning more on one leg than the other, although his eyebrows were frowned while yours were raised. 

“Because you just have to drop it in the vortex.” Now his eyebrows raised and before he could ask his one more follow up question, you were answering it for him. “And I’m planning on building one that shifts its panel, so even when the twister passes, you can still track it for up to 5 miles. Dorothy reimagined.” You were referring to the hundreds of sensors people would generally have zipped up into a tornado to radio back data. 

“We’d have information on the twister way quicker.” Tyler’s brain was starting to wrap around this idea. 

“It’s not perfect, it’s not going to change much but–”

“It’s a way to get more information faster, that’s pretty big.” He stopped you from doubting the idea. “And keeps us from needing to race against the twister outside the truck. 

“I’m nothing if not concerned for your safety.” You pointed at him with the large switch in your hand while he walked over to start helping you piece some more things together. The two of you fell into a silent groove, working on the idea you had just shared with him, rewiring things and going over different equations to best prepare the data capture radar. As time passed, Tyler looked over at you from across the workstation and spoke up. 

“You know, I get why you can’t come out. I know prolly better than anyone how much your mom meant to you, what seeing her get sick did to you.” 

Shifting your focus from the lamp lit table covered in wires in front of you, you looked up at him. His eyes were staring at you, softly, it was something he seemed to want to share for a while and was just waiting for the right moment. And he was right, Tyler did know. It was the perk of growing up with him as your neighbor, he just knew things because he was there. Not only did he know, but he experienced them with you. He’d come by for dinner, bring you any piece of tech or electronics him or his aunt didn’t use anymore. When you popped your bicycle tire riding home from school, he picked you up in his aunt’s truck even though he didn’t have a license. On those weekend trips you’d so often take with your mom, he’d come by and check in on the barn, on your family pets. When she was sick and 90% of your time was spent making sure she was okay, he was making sure you were okay. And when your mom passed, he was the one who drove you the 75 miles back home in the same red pickup truck when one of the most historical twisters touched down. 

It was memories and thoughts like those that always made you wonder what took you so long to realize you were in love with Tyler Owens. He’d love to tell everyone now that he knew from the moment he saw you picking through trash that he loved you. That when you were rushing down the high school hallway with some contraption you made explaining to him that you made it to help him with the focusing issue he had casually brought up to you was when he realized he could never lose you. This person who knew neither of them had the money for noise cancellation headphones and just decided to make them herself with a playlist of his favorite songs in one night to help him focus? You cared about him. And he could never lose that. Which is why he could never tell you that he was in love with you. He watched you date losers, even went on his own dates too sometimes to see if he could get over the feeling. The only thing comparable was bull riding. Or storm chasing. And with that came you, because as much as you didn’t realize you loved Tyler, you knew you loved being around him. 

“We can start slow if you want to get out, maybe we can go away for the weekend, go to that town you and your mom used to drive out to in Texas, Sun Valley, right?” 

It was honestly the perfect idea. Getting out and doing something that reminded you of your mom. “Yea that’s a good idea.” 

He sensed the hesitancy in your voice though and changed the topic quickly. “Never asked me what the surprise was.” 

“What’s the surprise?” It was spoken in a mockery tone, you knew he’d get around to telling you. 

“Be right back.” He was eagerly standing up from the table and lightly jogging down the driveway into the RV where Dani and Dexter were probably working on making sense of the data they had already captured. 

As Tyler came back into the barn, Pony whined and tilted his head as the scent of what Tyler was carrying entered the barn. He had a young dog in his hands, although the dog was big enough to likely not be a puppy but you could tell from his face, he still had a few more young months ahead. It was a real dog and pony show, literally. 

“Found him in the aftermath rubble, pretty sure his owners didn’t make it because no one claimed him.” The heaviness of his statement hit you as you stepped out and made your way towards both Tyler and the dog.  “Didn’t have a nametag on ‘em.”  

“Cowboy.” You grabbed the dog from Tyler’s hands, giving him his name, and scratched him behind his ears before putting him down on the ground to meet Pony. 

As you looked at both dogs, now curiously sniffing and playing together in your workshop barn, Tyler tossed his arm around your shoulders and kissed your head. “Pony and Cowboy.” He nodded. 

“You bring him home because you don’t think Pony has it in her to protect me all by herself?” 

“Somethin’ like that.” He smirked. “Plus now, you got an excuse to stay home more. You got a puppy to raise.”

[vaguely-concerned]

on the one hand I think inner demons could stand to have a bit more romanced rook specific content, but on the other hand the underlying in-built implication that 'yours is the one true voice of comfort and safety in my inner world' is a sentiment and intimacy so way beyond the romantic or the platonic or any secret third thing you could care to name that it makes me lose my entire poor little mind a bit. it's so big and fundamental — near-existential — that in that exact moment at least the distinctions kind of seem irrelevant.

all the people lucanis' mind conjures up along the way are relationships he has that are unavoidably mixed and fraught in some ways even when they're also full of love (they are fraught BECAUSE they're full of love) — the good in them inseparable from things that hurt him at the same time. (it's about: the basic disorganized attachment patterns this poor guy is dragging around with him. careful with those, they're dellamorte heirlooms. what you love also inevitably hurts you and you won't be allowed to have one without the other, you have to surrender parts of your soul to hold on to what little you have left: this is the story up until now.) and the idea that rook isn't that to him — that beneath the fear of wanting them when romanced (which is more its own separate thing because within this psychology, actively wanting something and not just clinging on for dear life to even a meager status quo lest you lose it is in itself dangerous bordering on catastrophic), this is a relationship where there isn't resentment, or guilt, or shame, or dread, or rage, or self-hate, or any of the other emotions that keep him paralyzed, unable to move this way or that. no debts, nothing owed of yourself and your soul's substance except what you can freely and safely and happily give. love and freedom don't coexist — but, I mean, you're almost starting to make me think........... unless...👀👀👀. the unconditional and undramatic 'you are here and I am here with you, you can be exactly how you are right now with me and it's safe for us both even though you're afraid it won't be, I'm not going anywhere' acceptance rook shows him here that he returns to them in the big romance scene, when it's rook who needs it. the way he's just. standing there in the center of it all, like a child desperately helplessly waiting to be found, hiding in the place he hopes you'll know to look first. (rook does know. it's one of the first things they say in there.)

in short the most important room in his little mind palace for the romance is the very first room — the one where rook isn't. where, in fact, rook cannot be, because they disprove the entire structure of the place with their existence and presence in his life. with everyone else he's putting words in their mouths about what they think of him, and rook is the one who actually gets to come in to speak their own words to him — and have him listen. ('he'll listen to you, he always listens to you', 'your voice is a comfort'.) of course rook isn't present anywhere else in there — at the risk of stating the obvious to a tedious degree, they aren't one of the locks, they're bringing the key. in the very finest 'the messenger and the message' sort of way.

[7-wonders]

"Watching horror movies together"

From a Halloween prompt list. Thanks for reading, guys :)

In your humble opinion, October is one of the best months of the year. How can it not be, when there are so many fun activities that come along with the fall season? Pumpkin patches and apple picking, haunted houses and costume parties, colorful trees and fall-scented everything. One of your favorite parts of October? An excuse to watch as many scary movies as you could possibly desire.

You don’t just watch scary movies in October, of course. Halloweentown and Hocus Pocus were made for this month, and it’d be a shame to not watch them both at least once. But horror movies, in all their spooky, creepy glory, have a special place in your heart, and they’re something that you go out of your way to watch this month. There are only so many days that you can pack in all the Halloween you can handle, after all.

You’re spending the night as you do so many others in October—with the lights off, a snack on your coffee table, and the horror movie of your choice on the screen (tonight’s pick being The Conjuring). The movie is maybe 15 minutes in when you get your first jump scare, but it doesn’t come from the screen. Instead, it comes when a man materializes out of the shadows of your living room, making you yell in fright before your eyes recognize the messy head of black hair and alabaster skin.

“You scared me!” you exclaim, quickly getting over your fear and being unable to stop smiling when it sinks in that Morpheus is actually here.

“My apologies.” He takes in the scene before him, you sitting in a darkened room with a blanket on your lap watching a movie, with interest. “What are you doing?”

“Watching a movie. Shouldn’t I be asking you that? You’re almost never in the Waking.”

It takes him a moment to figure out how to say what he wants to say. “My duties have kept me away from you as of late. I wish to rectify that.”

After translating from Morpheus to English, you have to exert a lot of willpower to keep from breaking. He came all the way to a realm he’s not comfortable in simply because he missed you? Because he feels guilty for being busy and wants to try and make it up to you?

(There’s no need for him to make anything up, because you’re not mad at him in the slightest. He’s the ruler of a freaking realm; of course, that’s going to take precedence over almost everything in his life. But if his misplaced guilt causes him to spend more time with you, then you certainly won’t complain.)

“Okay. Do you…want to watch the movie with me, then?”

He considers the question, likely the first time he’s ever been asked such a thing. Regally, he answers, “I suppose.”

Now he’s here, sitting next to you on your secondhand couch in your cozy apartment, trying to wrap his all-knowing mind around what a horror movie is. You’re simply pleased beyond measure that your boyfriend is doing something so human and mundane with you, and therefore willing to answer any of his questions that take your attention away from the screen.

“These are watched with the express purpose to leave the viewer frightened?”

“Exactly. You know, like how people read Dracula and Frankenstein?” Relating the movie to classic literature he’s familiar with (you doubt he’s had time to catch up on Stephen King novels) finally makes it click for Morpheus, who nods. “It’s fun to be scared, sometimes.”

Even though this is likely one of the first movies that Morpheus has ever watched, he has enough of an idea of the concept to realize that it’s an activity that’s mostly conducted in silence. It’s a concept he respects…for the most part.

(“Why do they not simply move to another home?” Morpheus asks when one of the daughters sees someone standing in the dark behind her door. Smirking, you simply say, “Now you’re asking the right questions.”)

When the pictures fall off the wall and remind you that one of the best scenes is seconds away from happening, you smile as an idea comes to mind. 

“There is another plus to watching scary movies together,” you begin, making Morpheus look at you curiously.

“And that would be?”

“Well, when scary things happen on screen…” Carolyn Perron falls down the stairs as the spirit locks the door. “And if I were to, say, jump in fright because of it…” The basketball is thrown from within the cellar, and you jump exaggeratedly. “Then it would only make sense for you, as my romantic interest, to…” Taking Morpheus’s hand in yours, you maneuver his arm until it’s draped around your shoulders. “Comfort me.” 

It takes him a moment to settle into the new position, for his arm to relax around you until he naturally pulls you closer to him. When he does, your smile widens until you’re flashing a very smug grin at him.

“I believe you are right,” he says. “This does make the experience better.”

Laughing lightly, you kiss his shoulder before turning your attention back to the movie. October continues to be full of new reasons as to why it’s one of the best months of the year.

[serejae]

I LOVE YOU, IM SORRY. | C.SC

pairing : seungcheol x reader

WHAT !! : in which youre unsatisfied with the way you treated seungcheol throughout your relationship, but destiny will always bring you back….right? (or in which you messed up your relationship with him and the 4 times you tried to fix it and the 1 time it worked out)

warnings: so self indulgent, if ur my ex bby i know we’re still contacted but come back 💔💔💔💔 readers a ass in the beginning, open ending

w.c : 2872

a/n : i never really see angst where the reader messes up and i decided to display it with my experience el oh el . hope you all enjoy

-

you laid in bed beating yourself up for the nth time. youve been in a rotation of screaming into your pillow, walking around the house, and journaling (or at least attempting to) but you still cant get the guilt and regret off your shoulders

its been almost 2 years since, since the argument, since the day you ended things, since the day you ran away afraid of hurting yourself and let alone him even more than you already did.

everyone you know has told you to move on because theyre sure he already has too but its harder said than done, how could you go on with life knowing you hurt someone who was so willing to give you everything you wanted because of your own selfishness

and as bad as it sounded, you hoped he’d reach out first as desperate as you wanting to catch up so you can show him the new version of you. the version who was ready to commit, a better person, willing to love him correctly. not crazy or stupid like the one before, the one he had the unfortunate case of dating

so now youre stuck in this 3 activity cycle because no one wants to hear you mope about your asshole tendencies to seungcheol, youve sent him a couple messages apologizing and hoping to be civil to which he replied accepting every single one a couple hours later

why wasnt it enough though?

its because you wanted more, and you knew it. you wanted him to reply immediately and accept your apology as well as begging you to come back because you knew not even deep

down, straight foward youd accept it

you longed for his ‘good mornings’, ‘i miss you’, ‘i love you’’s that you took for granted

all because of that one day (s)

you decided that this cycle of wanting ends now, all these cowardly attempts will stop. so you grabbed your coat and put on your shoes and drove to his place

to make up for that night and those days

-

“i just dont understand why you wont talk to me whenever you feel a certain way instead of running away” seungcheol sighed as he ran his hands through his hair as he sat on the couch watching you pace around the living room

“what part of ‘i dont want to’ do you not get” you raised your voice slightly as you paused to stand infront of seungcheol

“i dont get it because i love you.” he replied calmly as he reached to grab your hand and caressing it. and as he looked up at you you saw it in his eyes, the longing for those 3 words you never said back to him. he was always patient with you, the first time he said ‘i love you’ to you he saw the hesitation and understood, he allowed you go at your own pace until you felt ready. but it got to a point, a point where he started to doubt himself and to a point where you could read it.

“i…i cant.”

its not like you didnt love him, you loved him more than anything, more than yourself

and thats what scared you

you know the saying “you cant love someone until you love yourself”?

bullshit.

he was the reason you forgot you hated yourself because you were so inlove with him

and your pride was the one thing holding you back from facing the fear

“what?” seungcheol said pulling you out of your thoughts

you looked back at him to see his eyebrows furrowed

“you cant say you love me or you cant love me?” his tone became a bit more furrious

you didnt say anything, just stood there which was the first mistake you realized you made throughout this relationship out of the many

“im willing to wait for you yn, because i love you. i love you so much, i never want to rush you to tell me you love me back but its been almost months now. im starting to doubt myself”

you didnt know how to process his words, not knowing how to comfort him you did what you did best

leave.

“this is too much for me” thats all you managed to get out before you left the house without looking back

you heard his protest as you left but they went ignored, like how seungcheol felt in your relationship

-

seungcheol stood there watching the door close. he never understood how people could be so shocked they freeze but now that he was experiencing it first hand he didnt know what to do

should he run after you?

leave you alone?

was this the end between you two?

this couldnt be, you wouldnt let a small argument get between you two

right?

-

the first time reaching out.

seungcheol had reached out to you, it was about a week since you left the house without deciding if you two were actually over

he spent each day opening the message app and clicking on your contact name hoping he’ll see the 3 bubbles letting him know you were still thinking of him

so when he was finally fed up with it he sent you a message hoping itll give you a change of heart, he wanted you to know he didnt mean any of the bad things he said and that he still cares for you

“hi, i hope this finds you well but uhm i just wanted to know where we stand. im sorry if i overwhelmed you the last time we saw each other but i really want us to work out, you mean a lot to me and i love you, so much. but i cant keep hanging onto this silence from you. text me back when you can? i love you, and im sorry”

read

you had woken up from your pity nap to his message and spent the entire following week fighting the thoughts in your head

if you replied and told him you wanted to come back, youd still be in doubt about yourself and cause more trouble for the both lf you guys, but if you replied and told him you didnt want to get back together, itll cause a very strange and awkward tension between you two so just ignored the message and left him wondering

now that you think about it, it was a horrible idea but you didn’t know how to solve this. you didnt want to bring more pain to him but you couldnt bring pain to yourself either

so you stared at the message he sent a month later

“i waited for a month and im assuming we’re over? it sucks but i respect your decision. i hope you find someone for you, thank you for the memories we’ve had you’ve been good to me. i love you and im sorry for not being enough”

read

laying on your bed wrapped in a blanket resting on your side the tears fell on your phone. you didnt want him to think he wasnt enough when it was the opposite way around, but its too late now. all you could do was hope he found peace

-

seungcheol sat on the couch and sighed resting against it as he opened up the message only to see read for the nth time. was it really over between you two? is he never gonna be able to wake up to your face again?

maybe thats the way life goes

he just pushed his luck a little too much

-

the second time reaching out

its been a couple months, you kept his last messages in your ‘recent messages’ on your texting app. so each time you opened to text someone you still saw his contacy name with the words “i waited over a month….” underneath. youd be lying if you said it didnt hurt but it did, it stung that you let go of one of the best people in your life

so out of impulse, instead of texting your bestfriend a reply to her latest message you clicked on his name

“cheol 🩶”

“this is really sudden but i cant help but still feel guilty. i shouldve been better and replied to you but i was really scared. i was scared of hurting you and myself but im sorry, im sorry for not reaching out sooner, im

sorry for being a dick, im sorry for not being a good partner. i hope youre doing good and i wish you the best”

you held your breath as you sent it. it took you about a hour constantly rephrasing the words. you didnt want it to sound too lengthy or too short. you wanted to sound sincere but not that you longed for him even though you did.

took him exactly 3 hours and 19 minutes from when you sent the message to reply. you waited 22 minutes to open it, you kept refreshing the screen because his reply only had 12 words.

12

words

“no problem, i wish you the best, you were a good partner :)”

the smiley face really topped it off you could see how he was trying to downplay the situation to have you feel not as guilty , but you were ready for anything

to be blocked, to get yelled at over text, for him to be disappointed but this really twisted the knife

he was so civil about it, he wasnt angry, he wasnt stressed about it

so why were you?

maybe it was the fact you were the asshole while he was the victim. the victim who stood by you and tried to understand you only to be hurt. deciding not to push it you left his message on read and turned off your phone and sighed

-

when seungcheol got home from hanging out with jeonghan, he turned on his phone after not checking it to see your contact name as one of the first notifications. he said rubbed his eyes frantically and turned off and on his phone again to make sure he wasnt seeing things

clicking on the notification his heart clenched

he hoped you meant everything you said, but its kinda hard to believe when all he could see were words. he’d much rather hear it from you but he doubted his luck at this point.

sending a small reply of what hes able to get out now he hoped youll rack up the courage for you to see him, or maybe he will

-

the third time reaching out

the third time you reached out wasnt your proudest moment. your friend convinced you to finally go out after mopping about seungcheol for the last months. the main point she gave was

“you already apologized, he forgave, what are you waiting for now?”

she was right, he clearly showed no sign of wanting to get back together so you have to live your life without him whether you liked it or not

and it didnt turn out too well. all you could remember was drinking your face off and then opening your eyes in your bed, still in your outfit. assuming your friend brought you home you picked up your phone and unlocked it to immediately see your text log with seungcheol making your heart drop

there were 3 messages in total since your last apology

“chwol i msiss hou so mwuch came beck i love you se mych”

you saw he read it immediately but took 19 minutes to reply

“yn your drunk, get some rest. stay safe”

“im nat i love you, im sorry”

seungcheol left you on seen.

somehow to your and his suprise the only word you could spell right was ‘i love you’

especially seungcheol. the whole day he subconsciously kept going back to look at the message to see if youd come back and apologize or even try and clear things up but the most important thing to him was the “i love you”

did you mean it?

when he first saw the message on his phone at 2:22 from you saying “i love you” his heart stopped, well until he read the rest of the message, it was clear you were drunk but he hated how it still had an effect on him

drunk words were sober thoughts but still, he wished to hear those 3 words from you when you were intoxicated.

seungcheol still longed for you to tell him you love him even after these months but his expectations for you were low. as much as he’d hate to say it, he began to give up on the chance you’d love him again

but he still loved you.

-

the fourth time reaching out (sorta)

its been a year and a half since you both had ended things. admittedly you realized your issues and worked on yourself, you weren’t ashamed to admit that you were a horrible person before cause you were. but now you can at least be proud with the person youve became

you took time away from those associated with seungcheol to avoid seeing him and breaking down your healing process but now you were finally ready to face everyone and most importantly

apologize to seungcheol in person

walking inside hoshi’s party the music was blasting, everyone was talking to one another and you walked around looking for some familiar faces.

jeonghan was the first to greet you, he hugged you while mumbling questions asking of how youve been and what youve been up to. but as he hugged you he turned your body to face seungcheol.

you looked up and saw his eyes. he stared at you as if he never saw you before and froze once again

the same way he did when you left

jeonghan whispered a “go talk to him” before leaving.

as cliche as it sounded, in a room full of people you both stared at eachother blanky

he wss the first to smile slight at you and you took that as a go sign to walk to him

as you made you way to him time moved slow, it seemed like everyone wasnt there anymore, just you and him

and like time went back to normal youre now standing infront of him

“seung-“

“cheol!”

you heard another voice call him by his nickname

looking for the voice you found it belonged to another woman.

it was hard to not assume the worst especially when you looked up and saw his embarrassed face.

“i love you….im sorry”

those two words were all you said before you left

again.

but this time you walked away with not the regret of being afraid but instead regretting the fact you let him

go to be with someone else

with tied in with how much you hated yourself for being so selfish you couldnt or rather didnt want to imagine him with anyone other than you

but there was no one to blame but you

walking back to your car you sat in the driver seat and laid on the horn while screaming letting out every single feeling youve felt and held in despite thinking youve let go

i guess somethings never leave

your love for him.

“excuse me?” you looked up at the old lady

you rolled down the window and tilted your head

“your horn” she awkwardly laughed

“oh right. sorry.” you chuckled awkwardly as she left, you reclined your seat back wanting to disappear

-

the fifth time reaching out

seungcheol spent the entire night and day after the party consoling himself. he tried to convince himself that you already moved on so what happened last night didnt mean much.

you werent worried were you?

she was just his cousin but you wouldnt be jealous or bothered because you had moved on

moved on

moved on

moved

oh fuck it. he hoped you didnt.

but he had spent the entire year and a half, almost 2 years afraid to go for what he wants. but life was too short

life was too short to hold him to get you back

whether it ends with him getting slapped or completely heart broken

its okay with him

so as he opens his door with his shoss on he-

you.

you looked as almost shocked as him as he opened the door

you both jumbled your words

“i-“

“well-“

“but-“

“hi.”

you both said

there was a moment of silence of you two deciding what to do, or who should speak first

you shook your head and decided to go first

“i love you

im sorry.”

he froze, the words he longed to hear from you finally hit his ears. there was no ‘and’ between the ‘i love you’ and ‘im sorry’. its as if you were apologizing for loving him like you were scared

and he knew you were. so hearing it made it 10 times better

the silence from him caused you to be able to hear your heartbeat, you looked up and seen him smiling warmly as he opened his arms

your lips curved up slightly as you entered his embrace

“i love you

i havent stopped”

[mr-ys-phantasma]

🌙 Moon Phases 🌙

Agatha Harkness X Fem!Reader

Word Count: 1554

Finale I - part 2/3 (Agatha X Reader ending):

You did not fear death. At least not anymore.

Agatha was clearly hesitating, You were the one person she could not lose. But she could not give herself up either.

It annoyed her how you were not letting Billy take the fall for all of you. It was that simple, and yes, it was cruel, but this was life.

You would learn to live with it.

Billy looked at you, and he knew you were serious. Yet he could not let you do this. You were the last person to deserve such fate.

And so, he directed his attention on Agatha as he tried hard; a part of him hoping the Road and even this final battle was enough to truly help him connect with her.

He looked at her and eventually managed to connect with her telepathically. He finally managed to bypass any barriers and mental walls she had raised, a result of her magic and training across the centuries.

'Agatha', he called in her mind. The purple witch did an excellent job at hising her surprise, not expecting to hear anyone in her mind; let alone him. 'Is this what happened to Nicky?' He dared to ask.

His question hit Agatha harder than any of Rio's attacks. She knew this was not what happened to their son, and yet, she could not help but feel this... guilt and pain.

Nicky wouldn't want her to sacrifice one more soul to Rio, and he sure wouldn't want you to stay behind or take the fall for everyone.

He always had a soft spot for you.

As Agatha looked at the serious you with the glass shard still in your hands, she made a decision... one, she most likely won't live to regret it.

With silent steps, Agatha started to walk towards her former lover and spread her arms, inviting her into her embrace.

Rio took notice, and yet she did not fight this subconscious need to be in Agatha's arms. She did not expect her lover to hold her face gently and then initiate a kiss; even though she was almost always the one to do so.

Billy stared in surprise, not expecting such a move. All he could do was stare, his mind taking a little longer to realize Agatha's true plan.

You didn't, though, and once you spotted the faint, green veins on Agatha's cheeks; you knew what she was doing.

Your eyes opened wide in surprise, disbelief following after along with fear; as your body and heart processed the intense emotions caused by that kiss...

Or better say, Agatha's reckless and selfless plan.

"No," you exclaimed weakly and stopped putting your magic into healing your wound.

You stared as faint green veins spread across Agatha's cheek, Rio's magic entering her body. Black magic flared in response and started to wrap around the two lovers as Agatha's skin started to turn paler and paler.

Rio understood it too, but she could not stop, her magic already affecting Agatha. She kept the kiss, a single tear trailing down her cheek as she realized what Agatha was doing and how she had chosen to end this all... her noble sacrifice.

Rio couldn't stop, but you could, or so your subconscious thought.

For the second the two lovers parted lips, your scream echoed across the backyard as your white magic went out of control. Forming a bright white wave, it expanded circulalry all around you; tossing Billy back but also Rio.

Agatha had already started to levitate, black magic tendrils sucking her life away but quickly disappeared as the force of your white magic obliterated them.

You sprinted on your feet, running on Agatha's body that was now laying on the grass; skin turning paler as time was almost up.

You knelt and placed her head on your lap, both hands holding her cheeks as your white magic glowed and tried to help save your lover.

"It's no use." Rio said as she recovered from your outburst, looking with a saddened look at the sight in front of her. "She took my power. She will die."

This was not how she wanted Agatha to go, and if Rio could do something about it, she would. But the damage had already been done, and it could not be reversed.

Not by her.

You did not even look at Rio, your eyesight blurry from all the tears you failed to hold back as you kept trying to save Agatha; but your magic only seemed slowing down her death... not stopping it.

"I was created to stop her," your bottom lip trembled as you fought back a sob. "Yet I chose to join her... If this means I can save her and if I fail and die... then Agatha and I can be together."

With one last try, with one last spark of hope within; you bent down and kissed Agatha. Your eyes closed as you focused on the kiss, the familiar sensation of her lips against yours fueling the pain in your heart, but you kept going.

Your magic entered her body through the kiss, its powerful energy quickly meeting Rio's darker one; the two forces fighting but ultimately... yours was slowly purifying the toxic for Agatha magic that your lover had willingly absorbed.

Your hands and your body glowed with magic, it's shine so bright that could be seen from the curious humans neighbours that stood in their yards; having noticed the changing sky but having no clue what was taking place.

Usually, your pure magic would harm Agatha; whose dark magic had formed and stained her body even though Wanda drained her. But now, your magic was busy fighting something else, and while winning; it was weakening.

At last, the white glow started to die as an ethereal wave of white magic was flowing gently around you; a semi transparent dom that kept you and your lover within.

And as that magic was fading away, Billy and Rio could see the result of your actions.

You gently pulled back, feeling drained and exhausted; as if you had been fighting for your life for days, little to no energy left to sustain you.

Yet it was all worth it as you looked at Agatha, her hair now a pure white; a side effect of your power. But the colour had returned to her cheeks, her blue eyes glowing with life.

You could not help but smile weakly as you watched her and she watched you. Her hand moved, fingers caressing your cheek in a sweet way, and you leaned on them.

You tried to stand up slowly to give Agatha space and also join you. Your knees felt weak, and as you tried to take a step back, your body gave up on you.

You stared to fall to the side; too weak to remain standing.

Rio was quick to catch you, gently supiering your body with hers; arms protectively holding you, preventing you from slipping off her embrace.

Agatha weakly managed to slowly push her body up; still trying to recover from almost dying and also the remnants of your magic residing within her.

"Leave her alone, Rio," she said weakly, worrying for your well-being after pulling such a stant.

Rio glanced at Agatha but was more focused on you, your breathing silent and your eyes fighting to stay open.

"You stupid girl, giving your gift away like that," she told you.

You smiled weakly, feeling proud that you did and having no regrets.

"And I will keep doing it until you let us all go," you replied weakly, stubborn as ever.

Rio glanced at the new moon above and then at you before leaving out a heavy sigh.

"You are lucky your soul is not mine to reap, babygirl." she pecked your forehead and helped you remain steady on your legs.

Billy, at the same time, helped Agatha to stand; looking with confusion at Rio.

The green witch kept her arm around your waist, unsure if you could stand on your own yet. She looked at Agatha. "One life, no more cheating death," she then looked at Billy. "No more body jumping. When the time comes, no fighting"

Perhaps this was not what the rules said... but not everything was set in stone. Exceptions could be made, at least partially; little loopholes in the grand plan

Rio did it before, and from the looks of it, she had to do it again. She would never admit it, but deep down, she did not truly mind.

You and Agatha muttered too much to lose you so early, especially when, from the looks of it; relationships might have been mended, at least partially.

Billy and Agatha nodded, not wanting to chase their luck further or risk one of you dying for good this time.

Of course, Billy, being the curious boy he was; had to ask one more thing.

"Rio," he called her, trying not to feel intimidated by her sharp look. "I... " he cleared his throat. "What did you mean with what you said? About not being able to take Y/N's soul?"

Lady Death smirked faintly, her fingers gently caressing your cheek. "She is a blessed child. I can't reap her until it is said," she replied vaguely, leaving Billy more confused than before.

Finale I - part 3/3

[A/N] - Finale 2 part 1 will be published the day after, focusing on a better and smuttier ending for Rio, Reader, and Agatha as a triple pair.

[tokeposts]

⁀➷ FALLEN | BAKUGOU

pairing. Bakugou Katsuki x GN!Reader

warnings. character death, violence, blood, greif, survivor's guilt, truama, hurt/no comfort

genre. angst, soulmates au, canon compliant

notes. ouchie this one kinda hurt 👎🏽

1K | Amid the chaos of war, your unspoken bond with Dynamight has always been enough— until the moment you see him fall.

next | masterlist | back

The battlefield stretches all around you while smoke twists in the air, thick and suffocating, coiling itself around your throat like a noose. The stench of burning flesh and debris settles into your skin, an imprint of death you’ll never trully be able wash away. Your body is screaming, muscles torn and bones grinding against each other with every move, but it’s nothing compared to the pain that’s carving its way into your chest.

The heroes, your friends (what’s left of them at least) are scattered across the ground battered and bruised too. If you listened closely you could hear the ragged breaths of those still clinging to life, their bodies curled up like paper crumpled under a careless hand. You are not any different— torn open, limbs heavy, every breath a jagged knife in your lungs, but none of that matters.

Not when you can’t tear your eyes away from him.

Bakugou stands amidst the chaos, a force of nature even now, even as the world collapses around him. His explosions light up the gray sky, a desperate blaze of light against the dreary rain. You've always admired that about him— the way he moves, as if he’s made of steel and pure determination, every blast a declaration of his existence.

But something’s wrong. Something horrible, gnawing at the edges of your mind.

He's still fighting, still charging forward like he can tear the war apart with his bare hands. But his moves—they're frantic, faster, too fast. He's pushing himself too hard, beyond his limits, like he's racing against the clock, against the inevitable. His explosions are growing stronger, more desperate— sparklingly devastating— but it comes with a cost, one you can feel in the hollows of your bones.

You scream his name, but your voice is swallowed by the storm of battle. It rips from your throat, raw and shredded, but he does not turn around.

He does not stop.

Despite the gaping wound in your side, the blood seeping through your clothes, painting the ground in your wake. Despite the universe screaming at you to rest, to lie down, to simply pause.

You can't. You won’t. You’re running— legs moving dragging in the dirt faster than your mind can keep up with. It’s like being caught in a dream where time moves too slowly. You can’t reach him, and every step makes you feel that much further away.

You’ve been tethered to him for as long as you can remember— an invisible red string stretching between you both, tangled in childish arguments when you were five, in unsaid words when you were 13, in the fire that intertwines your souls.

Soulmates.

You both knew it long before the words could be spoken, though you never dared to voice it. Maybe from fear? Pride? Who knows. But you’ve felt it deep in your core since the day you met, a pull so strong it made the world tilt around him.

And now, with each step you take, that string feels like it’s fraying.

Shigaraki's monstrous form surges from the smoke like a nightmare come to life, his limbs distorted and twisted, swinging toward Bakugou like a scythe cementing his fate. Time stretches thin, your breath freezing in your throat.

Your scream rips through the silence in your head, but it’s too late. You watch it happen— frame by frame, the universe mocking you with its cruelty. Shigaraki’s blow lands— dead center— and Bakugou’s body flies, the sound of impact thunders, tearing the sky apart.

Everything stops. He lands in the dirt, his eyes wide, the fierce determination flickering out like a candle’s flame.

The world crumbles around you, but it doesn't matter anymore. The war, the heroes, the villains— they all disappear, fading into white noise as you collapse beside him. You are too late, a mantra that replays in your head over and over and over. You hit your knees, pain shooting through your bones, but you don’t care. You’re shaking, hands trembling as they reach for his face, his chest— anything solid, anything real to anchor yourself to this moment, to make this stop.

"Katsuki," you whisper, your voice thorns against your throat.

He doesn’t move. His body lies still, too still, and there’s blood— so much fucking blood— pouring from his wounds, painting the ground in crimson. Your hands press against his chest, trying to hold it back like you can turn back time with your will alone, but he's slipping through your fingers like sand, like the life draining out of him.

“Katsuki, please,” you sob, weary and desperate.

His eyelids flutter, just for a moment, his crimson gaze locking with yours. And in that fleeting second, he’s still there. Your Bakugou, the one who burned too brightly, the one who never stopped fighting, never stopped living like he was invincible. His lips part, like he wants to say something, but no sound comes out. His hand twitches, just barely, and you grab it, holding on like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to this world.

There was supposed to be more time. More moments. More chances to say the things you were both too scared to admit. To yell, to scream, to love him, to tell him you were soulmates in every damn sense of the word.

His eyes shake, and his grip weakens.

"Fuck, Katsuki, no," you plead with him, leaning down until your forehead presses against his, your breath ragged and hot against his cooling skin. "Don’t you fucking dare."

The words fall into the void, swallowed by the silence of the dying. There’s no answer, no spark left in him.

The weight of it crashes down, crushing your chest, your heart shattering into barbed pieces you’ll never be able to put back together.

He’s gone.

Your everything— ripped from you, stolen by this war.

And the world, the entire universe, your red string feels like it’s collapsing around you. The battle still rages on, distant explosions and screams filling the air, but it all feels so far away. All you can do is hold him, cradling his broken body in your arms, feeling the warmth slip away with every passing second. Everything has stopped, everything is ending, and all you’re left with is the hollow, unbearable ache in your chest where he used to be.

Just like that, the war takes more than it ever should have.

It takes him.

taglist: @beckixwsm @jkovlr

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[amora1tarada]

Notes: This is the first fanfiction that I had the courage to post! I’m super excited but also a little nervous. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I loved writing it. English isn’t my first language, so I apologize in advance for any mistakes, and I’d be grateful for any tips you have! I’m considering a part two with some smut, but I’m still building up my confidence in English to try it. Have a nice reading, and please don’t forget to repost, leave kudos and comments—your thoughts mean the world to me!

World count: 2k

nightwing/dick grayson

The sound of footsteps dragging across the hardwood floor was what broke the silence of your apartment, jarring you awake from a fitful sleep. The clock on your nightstand blinked red: 2:47 a.m. You didn’t have to look to know who it was. You’d recognize his tread anywhere, the slightly uneven steps that meant he’d probably taken another beating tonight. A familiar knot of fear tightened in your chest, but a wave of relief washed over you as well. He was here. He was alive, at least for now.

With a sigh, you threw on the robe hanging by the bed, clutching it tightly around your body as you moved through the darkened hallway. You were so tired—exhausted in a way that no amount of sleep could ever fix. It was a weariness that lived in your bones, a heaviness that came from watching someone you loved throw themselves into the jaws of danger night after night. You tried, every time, to tell yourself it wouldn’t happen again, that you’d close the window and let him figure it out on his own. But the truth was, you could never turn him away. Every time he stumbled through that window, beaten, bruised, and bleeding, you were there to catch him.

When you reached the kitchen, he was standing by the sink, his back to you, gulping down water like he’d been running for miles. His shoulders slumped in fatigue, his usually immaculate hair disheveled, and from the faint reflection in the window above the sink, you could see a small cut on his lip, a bruise darkening along his jaw. He looked… worn. He always looked a little worn, but tonight there was something different. The way he leaned against the counter, his hand gripping the edge so hard his knuckles had gone white, it was like he was trying to keep himself anchored to the ground.

“Hey, sweets,” he said, not even turning around. His voice was rough, more from exhaustion than pain, but you could hear the tension in it. “Sorry for waking you.”

You took a shaky breath, closing the distance between you and him. “It’s fine. I’m used to it.” You tried to sound lighthearted, but the words felt hollow. How many times had you said this? How many nights had he apologized, and how many times had you brushed it off like it didn’t matter?

In truth, it did matter. Every time he came to you like this, a little more of your heart chipped away. Every bruise, every scar—it was like you were carrying them too, bearing his pain in silence. There were so many times you wanted to scream at him to stop, to beg him to leave this life behind. But you knew he never would.

The silence stretched between you, heavy and loaded. He finished his water, setting the glass down on the counter with a dull thud. You could feel the question hanging in the air, the one you always asked even though you knew the answer would be the same.

“What happened?” you asked softly, stepping closer, your hand brushing lightly against his back. His muscles tensed under your touch, but he didn’t pull away.

“It’s nothing. Just… a long night,” he replied, his voice barely a whisper. But you knew him well enough to know it wasn’t just that. He leaned into your touch for a moment, letting out a long, shuddering breath, and then you felt his body sag, as if all the weight he’d been carrying suddenly became too much.

He turned to face you, and that’s when you saw the rawness in his eyes. There was guilt there, a deep, gnawing pain that he was trying so hard to hide, but it was spilling over, cracking the mask he always wore. He reached up, his hand trembling slightly as he touched your cheek, his thumb brushing gently against your skin. “A woman got shot tonight,” he said finally, the words falling heavily into the quiet. “She… she was just an innocent bystander. If I had been faster, more careful… maybe…”

“Dick,” you murmured, placing your hand over his, trying to still his shaking fingers. “It’s not your fault.” You spoke the words gently, firmly, hoping he would believe you, though you knew he wouldn’t.

But he just shook his head, a haunted look in his eyes. “It feels like it is. Every time someone gets hurt, I… I can’t shake the feeling that I should have been better. Done more.”

You took a deep breath, fighting the tears that threatened to spill over. You wanted to tell him that he didn’t have to be perfect, that he didn’t have to carry the world on his shoulders. But you knew he wouldn’t listen. His mission, his need to protect Gotham, was woven so deeply into his soul that nothing you said would change it.

Instead, you wrapped your arms around him, pulling him into a tight embrace. He stiffened at first, but then he melted against you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. You could feel his breath, warm and uneven against your skin, and his grip tightened, like he was afraid that if he let go, he would fall apart.

“I’m so tired,” he whispered, the words barely audible. You could feel the exhaustion in him, the weight of every battle he’d fought, every person he hadn’t been able to save. And for a moment, you wondered if he would finally break, if he would finally let you in, let you carry some of that burden with him.

But then he pulled back, his expression shuttered once again, and you knew that he wouldn’t. Not tonight. Maybe not ever.

Still, you took his hand, leading him toward the bathroom. He followed silently, and you could feel the tension radiating off him, the heaviness of everything he couldn’t say. You wanted to tell him how much it hurt you to see him like this, how every bruise and scar he bore felt like one etched into your own skin. But instead, you just filled the bathtub with warm water, your fingers brushing against his as you gently helped him undress.

As he sank into the tub, you knelt beside him, reaching for the shampoo. Your hands moved carefully, massaging the lather into his hair, washing away the dirt and blood from his night. His eyes drifted shut, his body slowly relaxing under your touch, and you could see some of the tension melting away. Here, in this quiet, dimly lit bathroom, it was almost like everything was normal. Like he was just a man, and you were just the woman who loved him.

You could feel your own tears slipping down your cheeks, though you tried to hold them back. Watching him like this, so vulnerable, broke something in you. You wanted so desperately for him to stop, to give up this life and just… live. With you. But that was a dream, one that would never come true.

When you were done, you helped him out of the tub, drying him off with slow, careful strokes, your hands lingering just a moment longer than necessary. You dressed him in fresh clothes, guiding him to the bed, and he didn’t resist as you brushed through his hair, letting your fingers trail gently against his scalp.

“It’s enough, sweets,” he murmured, his voice soft and thick with sleep. “Can we just… go to bed now?"

You hesitated, looking down at him. You wanted to tell him everything you felt, all the fear and pain that you kept bottled up inside. But he looked so tired, so worn down, and you couldn’t bring yourself to add to his burden. So you just nodded, slipping under the covers beside him.

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close, his face buried in your hair. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice barely audible. “For everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and you pressed your face against his chest, hiding it from him. “It’s fine, Dick,” you whispered. “I’d do it all again.”

The silence filled the room and it was almost sacred, a rare moment of peace in a life filled with chaos. He was holding you close, his arm wrapped securely around your waist as if he was afraid you’d slip away, vanish into the dark. You could feel his heartbeat, steady and grounding beneath your hand on his chest, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this was your life—that he wasn’t Nightwing, that he was just Dick, and that he was yours.

A sliver of moonlight streamed through the curtains, casting a pale glow across his face. His eyes were closed, his lashes casting faint shadows over his cheeks, and you let yourself study him, unguarded and still. Every line of his face was familiar to you, etched into your memory from a thousand stolen glances. But there was something fragile about him tonight, something that made you want to reach out, to hold him a little tighter, as if you could shield him from the life he’d chosen.

He must have sensed your gaze, because his eyes fluttered open, soft and filled with an exhaustion that went beyond the physical. For a long moment, he just looked at you, as if he was searching for something, some answer hidden in your face. And you held his gaze, your own heart pounding as the weight of all your unsaid words settled between you, heavy and unbreakable.

Slowly, almost hesitantly, he raised a hand to your cheek, his fingers brushing against your skin with a tenderness that stole the breath from your lungs. “I don’t… deserve this,” he whispered, his voice barely more than a breath. “I don’t deserve you.”

You shook your head, covering his hand with yours, feeling the roughness of his calloused fingers beneath your touch. “Don’t say that,” you murmured, your voice trembling. “It’s not you who decides.”

For a moment, he looked like he was going to argue, to turn away from you ignoring your feelings. But you saw the vulnerability so clearly in his eyes in a way you’d only seen glimpses of before. His hand moved from your cheek to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and your breath caught as his forehead rested against yours, the warmth of his skin grounding you.

“Why?” he whispered, his voice breaking. “Why do you keep doing this, night after night? Why do you keep letting me in?”

You swallowed hard, should you tell him you love him? That you had always loved him and always will? That you just couldn’t leave? No matter how hard you tried? The words were almost spilling from your lips, But you couldn’t bring yourself to say them out loud. “I don’t know, I just care so much about you, that it hurts. I can't seem to let you go.”

A shuddering breath escaped him, and he closed his eyes, his face a mix of pain and guilt. “I’m just so sorry for everything I put you through. I…I thought you hated me at this point.” he murmured, his thumb tracing slow, soothing circles at the base of your neck. “For dragging you into this shit. I’m sorry, I really am.”

You shook your head, your fingers reaching up to tangle in his hair, holding him close. “I could never hate you. I just… I wish you didn’t have to carry this alone. I wish… you could let me in.”

His eyes opened, locking onto yours, and in the soft glow of the moonlight, you could see everything he’d kept hidden—the fear, the longing, and now there was a new feeling that you couldn’t quite decypher what it was.

He didn’t say anything. Instead, he leaned forward, his lips brushing against yours in the lightest, most delicate kiss, as if he was afraid that if he pressed too hard, you’d disappear. It was a kiss filled with hesitation, with years of longing and fear, with all the words he’d never found the courage to say. And as his lips moved against yours, slow and tender, you felt your heart shatter and mend all at once, as if this was the moment you’d been waiting for, the moment you’d always known would come but never truly believed.

You kissed him back, your hand moving to cup his face, feeling the warmth of his skin beneath your fingertips, the faint scrape of stubble against your palm. It was soft, unhurried, a gentle exploration that spoke of all the times you’d imagined this, the way his lips would feel against yours, the way his breath would mingle with yours. And in that kiss, you poured everything—all the nights you’d spent worrying, the tears you’d shed for him, the love that had grown quietly in the depths of your heart, waiting for this very moment.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless, he rested his forehead against yours, his eyes closed, a faint, almost disbelieving smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. His thumb traced slow, lazy circles on your back, grounding you, and for the first time, you saw a glimmer of peace in his expression.

“Stay with me,” he murmured, his voice so soft you almost didn’t hear it. “Just… stay with me, like this. Please.”

You nodded, your hand moving to brush a stray lock of hair from his face. “Always,” you whispered, and you knew, deep down, that it was a promise you would keep, no matter how many nights he stumbled through your door, broken and battered. Because this was where you belonged—right here, by his side, in the quiet hours of the night, holding him together even as he held you.

As he pulled you back into his arms, his lips found yours again, a little more certain this time, a little less hesitant. And under the soft glow of the moonlight, in the silence of your shared space, you kissed him like you’d always dreamed, like he was the air you needed to breathe, like he was the very heartbeat of your soul. Because, in a way, he was. He always had been.

The kiss deepened, slow and unhurried, a gentle exploration of everything you’d both kept hidden. His hands moved up to cradle your face, his thumbs brushing along your cheekbones as if he was committing every detail to memory. And in that kiss, you felt years of pain and fear melting away, replaced by something softer, something that felt like hope.

When you finally broke apart, he held you close, his head resting against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet. Neither of you spoke, because words felt unnecessary. Everything you needed to say had been shared in that kiss, in the way his hands held you, in the way his eyes met yours with a vulnerability he’d never let anyone else see.

And as you lay together in the quiet, the weight of the world momentarily forgotten, you knew that this was what you’d been waiting for, what you’d been fighting for. In that moment, you knew that you would always stay with him, no matter how much it hurt, no matter how much you wished he would stop, you knew you would always be there for him. Because even though he was breaking you, piece by piece, you loved him. You loved him more than you loved your own heart, and you knew you would stay by his side, no matter how many nights he stumbled through your door, broken and bleeding.

Because that was what love was, wasn’t it? Holding on, even when everything in you wanted to let go.

[arabellasleopardcoat]

No masters or kings (Aemond Targaryen x Reader)

Summary: Aemond has issues around sex. The thought of being married to you, an angel, it's not helping.

Warnings: Angst (w/happy ending) Religious guilt, repression around sex. Kissing. Thoughts of sex, but no actual smut. Just angst and fluff.

Requested: Yup! Modern reader falls into Sept x Aemond

For as long as he could remember, Aemond had been alone. He had been an outsider to his siblings and nephews, all with a dragon. He had been an outsider to other noble children, marked apart by his distinctive features. He had been an outsider to his father's family, Rhaenyra and her children.

The loss of his eye had only exacerbated that. The girls at court were frightened by the sight of him, and he often worried about how he could secure a match. No longer activities he had found solace in, like studying and swordplay, came easily. Everything, from reading to being able to walk down the stairs without tripping, had to be relearned.

His faith in the Seven had permeated all of his childhood. His mother was the only person to pay attention to him, even if it was sometimes in a way Aemond could not appreciate. When he thought of her, his mind's eye always conjured her with a seven pointed star hanging from her neck.

Aemond had tried his best to keep her happy. She was all he had. So instead of running from his lessons and incurring on indecent behavior, Aemond had closely listened to the Septons that educated them. He had prayed daily. He had read the Seven Pointed Star and annotated its passages, committing them to memory.

Paradoxically, the time when he felt closer to the Gods was after the loss of his eye. It had been then he had truly understood what it felt like to be favored by the Seven. His faith demanded sacrifices, but always rewarded them. An eye for a dragon. The biggest dragon in Westeros.

Sacrifice will bring good things. It was a very simple lesson, but one he committed to memory regardless.

As a child, Aemond had not prayed for a dragon. Nor had he prayed to the Warrior to make him strong and able to defeat his enemies. When Aemond was a child, he had often prayed for a friend. Asking for the Maiden to send him someone kind. An angel. He had never spoken it out loud, afraid of appearing weak. Children were such cruel creatures, after all. But Aemond never forgot to ask the Maiden for it.

Aemond prayed. And suffered. And prayed, and suffered, and thought that at least this life he was leading, of loneliness and desperation and so much fear, would finally account for something. For the Gods favored those who suffered and sacrificed, and if his reward didn't come in this life, it would come in the next one.

His prayers were always the same. Each morning, before anyone else could rise except for the lowliest of servants, Aemond went to the Sept. He spent equal time in front of each of the Seven's effigy and lit a candle for them. He prayed in silence, asking of them simple things. Aemond knew he already led a privileged life, so he did not dare ask for more.

His prayers were so ingrained, he recited them with little thought. Yet, when he came to the Maiden, Aemond always fumbled. With the other Gods, he knew exactly what to ask for. But with Her, he only felt unease. So he rapidly mumbled his childhood prayer, and moved on. It had become a tradition, even if he was no longer the appropriate age to pray for friends.

Aemond knew it was the wrong thing to do. When you were praying, you were supposed to be present. To think of all the aspects of the Seven with the devotion they deserved. But when you are taught as a child to pray, it turns into instinct.

Just as someone who has trained enough with the sword barely thinks about his next move, someone who prays enough doesn't need to think about what they will ask next. It's too ingrained.

At this hour, the Sept is quiet. Aemond enjoys praying here instead of in the one inside the Red Keep. There are no court ladies around to bother him, nor an Aegon making mocking noises while he tries to pray. Despite wanting to join his mother in prayer sometimes, he just couldn't take the royal sept. It lacked the peace septs were supposed to make you feel.

He leaned down, lighting a candle before each effigy, and muttering his usual prayer.

“Warrior, give me strength.” Aemond whispered. He lit the candle and moved on. “Mother, protect my sister and my mother. Father, bring your justice upon my enemies. Maiden, bring me someone kind. An angel.” And as he kneeled to light her candle, something hit him from above.

The weight of the thing was too great for him to remain upright. Aemond was sent sprawling to the floor. His head slammed on the stone floor of the Sept, making him grunt. A woman screamed. Probably, one of the commoners visiting the Sept. They were few at this hour, most having already begun their labors. Her scream was echoed by one of another woman, and soon, hurried footsteps were nearing him.

Aemond tried to sit up, reaching a hand out to move the weight aside. What he gripped, made him fall back down.

Cloth. Cloth covering something soft, something that yielded under his hands. An arm. You. The Gods had answered his call. There was a woman right on top of him, eyes closed and expression smooth, as if in peaceful sleep. The Maiden had sent him an angel, after years of solitude and sacrifice. You were his reward.

Aemond lifted you and set you aside, on one of the benches of the Sept. A couple of the commoners hurried forward, to gape at you, but Ser Criston stopped them.

“A miracle! A miracle!” Someone was screaming, and you twitched. More and more commoners started to pour through the entrance of the Sept, all gawking and murmuring about the woman who had appeared out of thin air.

The people were bright-eyed, frenzied by the demonstration of the Seven's power. They started pushing at Ser Criston, and trying to touch Aemond and you.

Cole and Aemond exchanged looks. If no one controlled the crowd, they might very well end up being torn to shreds by them, in their frantic attempts of touching the holy being they were guarding.

Aemond unsheathed his dagger.

“I think… We need a Septon.”

You were being carried somewhere. You could tell because your head swayed with the movement, unsupported. It was giving you terrible neck pain.

“If she has fallen out of the sky, and there is no hole….”

“A miracle! A miracle! The Seven have…” Fuck, your head hurt, and the woman screaming was not helping things. You flinched, trying to curl into yourself. This felt like the worst hangover ever, and you had no leverage to avoid the noises, since you were hanging in midair.

“The Prince must be held in high regard, for clearly the Gods favor him. Thousands of people pray here daily, yet the Maiden herself answered his plea.” The man from before continued speaking.

Someone else scoffed.

“Surely, this is a bit much. The Prince is hardly…”

“Shut up, Cole.” The person who was carrying you barked. The movement his chest made when he was talking made you fearful of falling down. Despite the strength in his grip, you weighted more than a few sacks of flour or a gallon of milk. People were not supposed to carry other people for long, unless they were frat boys attempting to impress girls or some sort of soldier.

You tried to sit up, the movement making all your body ache. Where were you? Why were you being carried? The last thing you remembered was going into an occult museum with a friend.

Everyone has that one friend. The slightly witchy one who believes in ghosts and crystals and whose favorite month of the year is October. The one who likes terror movies, and scary podcasts and dragging you to haunted houses and escape rooms.

It will be fun, they said. It's an occult museum, what could possibly go wrong?

Where the fuck were they? You were so going to strangle them for getting you… Wherever you were.

“My Lady.” The man holding you said. You looked up and met a pale blue eye and an eye patch. You startled. He looked straight out of a low-budget pirate movie, all in leather. “Are you alright?”

“What happened?” You lifted your head, noticing everyone was cosplaying as medieval priests and knights. There was a sinking feeling in your stomach. The man holding you looked an awful lot like Aemond Targaryen. You would recognize that ensemble anywhere. You had read enough fanfics for it. “Is this a renaissance fair? A comic con?”

It was worth the shot. Perhaps something happened to you and you had stumbled into a comic con? But was it so easy to stumble into one? You thought the tickets for those were expensive, they surely wouldn't just let you in.

Something had happened to you and these kind cosplayers who were… Doing something decided to help you? That seemed more likely.

“No, my lady. This is Westeros. The earthly one.” The man dressed in the more expensive costume of a priest was speaking. He had an elaborate head accessory, billowing robes and some strange pentagram with way more points than usual. His voice was the one which had been muttering about a Prince, and being favored.

“What is a renaissance fair?” The man had the oddest combination of a white cloak and armor. You looked at the man and froze. He was… Oh, what was his name again? Oranges guy!

“Something they must have in the Seven Heavens.” The expensive priest answered, in a matter of fact tone. “Clearly. The Prince asked for an angel. Angels reside there.”

Your mouth was hanging open. They thought you were an angel. Holy shit. You looked down, at your scuffed sneakers and clothes. You didn't feel very angelic, but like hell if you were going to miss the opportunity of receiving royal treatment in Westeros. If you truly were here, you would rather not learn how the lower class lived.

Another priest turned to you. He was dressed as expensively as the first one, but he lacked the head accessory.

“Tell us, young lady. Were you an attendant for the Maiden? What are the Seven Heavens like?”

You panicked. Perhaps pretending to be an angel from a religion you had no clue about was not a good idea. These questions would continue, you knew it.

“Don't be ridiculous, Eustace. Everyone knows that angels can't divulge that sort of thing. It's basic theology. They come to fulfill their purpose, not to entertain fools.” The man with the head accessory spoke, as if talking to a child.

You did your best to sit up. Aemond held you more firmly, and raised his arm on your back, encouraging your head to loll towards his shoulder. You were moving inside a prehistoric looking building, corridors made from stone and decorated with tapestries. The Red Keep, perhaps.

“And what do you believe the being’s purpose to be?” Eustace asked. You did not like being referred to in such a manner, and you fought Aemond's grip a bit harsher. He merely settled you against him and kept walking, this time going up a stairwell. You squirmed.

“The Prince's wife. He prayed for a companion. That must be it.” The expensive priest, Septons they were called, now that you remembered, seemed to have become an expert on all things you. Wisely, you kept your mouth shut.

“Is that why her attire is so immodest?” The oranges guy spoke, reaching for you. He clearly noticed his Prince was struggling and hoped to relieve him of the burden. You clung to Aemond more tightly. You were honest enough with yourself to know you had many impure thoughts about him, and were not going to lose your chance.

Aemond grunted. Encouraging him to keep carrying you beyond his capabilities might not have been your best move.

“You can put me down. I can walk.” You spoke softly, trying to sound your most angelic.

“We are nearly there.” His voice sounded agitated from the physical exertion, but his tone screamed danger. It would wound his pride putting you down now, you realized. He wanted to look strong. “There is no need.”

“The Gods see all, and angels are pure beings. They do not know of such earthly concerns, for they have not been exposed to the sins of the flesh.”

“What the fuck.” You whispered to yourself, sure that you were dreaming. This was turning crazier by the second.

“That is a crass word here, my lady.” Aemond whispered to you. “You shall not repeat it.”

Safe to say, you were learning your lesson. When an occult museum artifact has a sign that says, “Do not touch” you DO NOT TOUCH.

Marrying an angel was not a part of Aemond's plans. Begrudgingly, he admitted he may have to reconsider his more violent revenge plots. Aemond had to prove himself worthy of you, and for once, worthiness did not mean prowess with a sword or riding a dragon. It meant piety.

Piety. Kindness. All the virtues that the Faith enforced and that you were made of. All the virtues Aemond felt he lacked, sometimes.

Taking his nephew's eye would not be kind. You had explained so, as if you could read his mind. You also said that Aemond should not attempt to force him to pay his debt. It had been an alarming show of clairvoyance.

That you were privy to his most secret inner thoughts should not have surprised him so. It was only further proof of your angelic nature.

Your arrival had the Kingdoms in an uproar. The Citadel had wanted to record the circumstances around your appearance, the Faith had made you pose for a portrait. Some even dared utter that perhaps Aemond was better suited to be King, since the Gods clearly favored him.

The King was displeased, but your miraculous arrival had been witnessed by too many to deny it. Aemond had been authorized to marry you, only out of sheer pressure from the High Septon. You were a hero to the man. Families who had been worshiping the Old Gods for generations now rushed to convert. Only House Targaryen remained stagnant.

Even after your marriage, Aemond struggled to catch a minute alone with you. Anywhere you went, people were currying for your attention. If it wasn't his other asking you to join her in prayer, it was some Septon asking you questions, or near mobs awaiting outside the Red Keep for you to appear on a balcony. People thought your touch was magical, that you could heal the sick and bless the innocents. Aemond had to fight to keep their hands off you.

As the wife to a Prince favored by the Seven, all thoughts of going back were stomped on. You had mentioned it once or twice, before he had married you. Going back home, you had said. Aemond understood that the earthly world was much different than where you had been from, and the homesickness that came with it, but he hoped you forgot such silly ideas. There was no way for you to go home, and if there was, he would not allow it.

In hopes of distracting you, his mother had suggested expediting the wedding. Aemond had agreed, but he had soon realized that it was not enough. While sweet and kind to him, and clearly loving, your mind still drifted to thoughts of your life before. Something stronger was needed. And there was only one stronger bond than marriage. He had to put a babe in you.

Such thing, unfortunately, was much harder than expected. To produce a child, a couple needed to lay together in ways Aemond and you had not. You were loving, pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks every chance you had, but it was a pure kind of affection. You had been told that you were his wife, and what that entailed, innocent being that you were. It didn't mean anything. You were only trying to do what you thought was needed.

Aemond didn't dare touch you. It was his right to do so, but he was unsure if it was the moral thing to do. You probably weren’t too sure of the connotations of the act and all that it entailed. Besides, was it really his right? You were no ordinary woman. You were an otherworldly being, an angel, a perfect woman carved out by the Maiden herself and sent to him to love and cherish. You were not meant to be hurt or tainted in any way.

Intercourse was dirty. It hurt maidens, and it was a sin when practiced outside the marriage bed. Despite always pleasurable to him, and sometimes to his companions, Aemond was not too sure he should submit you to it.

You were heavenly. Asking you to have intercourse with him would be asking you to roll around in the mud while wearing a white dress. It would make you earthly, change you. And you were perfect just the way you were.

Yet Aemond could not contain these… Urges. When you kissed the corner of his lips, all he could think about was grabbing you and deepening the kiss until he got to know every inch of your mouth. When you hugged him close, letting him curl around you at night and hide his face on your neck, Aemond thought of kissing and bitting and sucking the supple skin until you were writhing in pleasure. When your hand innocently grazed against his thigh, he thought of his hands squeezing your own thighs, pulling them apart to reveal your core.

It was a sinful way of thinking. He knew it was wrong of him, but he could not stop. He could not control it. If only his waking thoughts were sinful, things would be different. Waking thoughts could be controlled. Dreams could not.

Every night, without fail, Aemond woke up drenched in sweat, breeches uncomfortably tight. He saw you in his dreams, in all sorts of lurid positions. Your pretty lips parted, your thighs fluttering open and closed like the wings of a butterfly. You on your knees, back, your bosom spilling from your bodice, your pretty breasts, nipples puffy. His mouth, his hands, his cock, on you, in you.

The dreams were pleasurable while they lasted, but as soon as Aemond woke up and saw you sleeping peacefully next to him, the guilt returned. You let out the tiniest puffs of air when you breathed, and always chased his warmth on cold nights. Adorable being that you were, you curled into him, unaware of the turmoil you caused.

Aemond could no longer take it. At first, he tried looking for answers to his dilemma inside of books. He soon found out his studies of philosophy and history had not prepared him for the monster that was theology.

So he asked for advice. To the only person who had to be an expert on the topic. The High Septon.

By the end of the day, a panel with four Maesters and ten Septons had been formed to discuss the issue.

“She is a pure being. The Queen and a Septa have confirmed that she has female anatomy, but having it does not mean she should be defiled.” One of the Maesters spoke, frowning. Aemond nodded along. It had been like he thought.

“It's hardly defiling if the Maiden gifted her to the Prince. She blessed the union.” The High Septon argued, sitting straighter in his chair. He clearly was uncomfortable at the thought of Maesters, of all people, interfering in these matters. What Aemond could not figure out was why the man had invited them if they clearly ruffled his feathers.

“The Maiden is a maiden. That's the whole point.” Another Maester rolled his eyes. It was a sound logic. Aemond felt even guiltier after hearing that. Thinking about you in such a manner was impure. You were a representative of the Maiden herself, here on Westeros. Even thinking of such dirty things near you was disrespectful. It was as if he were thinking them about the Maiden herself.

“Well, yes, but if you ask for a wife, is it not implied?” Septon Eustace chimed in. Aemond had never particularly enjoyed the royal Septon, but he was proving to be very useful. “I do not presume to know how the Prince words his prayers, nor do I think I can know his intentions, but…”

A companion. Someone kind. The prayer had started innocent enough, a child asking for a friend. Aemond had kept it worded exactly as it had been back then, when he was eight years old and dragonless. But he had grown, and so had his intentions. When he spoke of a companion, did he still think of a friend? Or rather, a wife?

The word companion indicated someone that assisted, that served to cater to a necessity. Not quite a friend, but someone to ward off loneliness. A somewhat inferior being, even. It was a term used to refer to pets, after all.

Women were precious beings. Images of the mother, to be treasured and protected, but never equals. Wives were, after all, lower than husbands. It was why they must be obedient to them, why they should mind the children and the home. They were not made to stand on their own. Women were made to stand next to a man.

Besides, wasn't it interesting? The Gods could have sent him a man. A boy. A dog. But instead, they had sent him a woman near his age, with pretty eyes and a tempting mouth.

“Hardly.” A Septon interfered. “There has been precedent of marriages that…”

“Marriages declared null.” The High Septon snapped. His mood was a reflection of the room. The conversation was starting to turn more and more heated, murmurs breaking out among the gathered. It brought uncomfortable memories of the day Aemond had met you and had to fight a frenzied mob. He had the feeling this was going to turn into that quickly.

Perhaps sensing the same, another Maester spoke.

“Why don't we ask her? She must know the Seven's will in the matter.”

Neither of the fourteen other men in the room had thought of that.

When Aemond asked you, timidly, if you wished to consummate the marriage, you could have danced from joy.

You had decided early on that if going back was not an option, you were going to make the most of your stay here. You missed your family and friends, but your life here was so pampered that you didn't feel so bad. Any quirks of behavior that you had were excused as part of your angelic nature, and you had the biggest crush on the man who had married you.

If only Aemond didn't refuse to even touch you. So far, you have tried everything. You have kissed him. Stroked him. Cuddled far too close to him, so you are nearly on top of him. Groped his thigh, almost his cock. Your behavior has bordered on indecent even by modern standards, yet Aemond dismisses it all as innocent. He is either the most oblivious man on the planet or he doesn't want you.

That suspicion had given you pause. If Aemond did not want you, you weren't about to force him to do so. You had stopped with your insistent touching, and went back to light kisses on the cheek. Instead, you had made the mistake of looking around.

You are so horny it's driving you mad. Being married in Westeros is not what you thought it would be. You expected much more sex. Besides, everyone here was insanely good-looking, especially the man sleeping next to you and waking up every morning with a raging erection. Anyone with a sliver of a libido would be frothing at the mouth and clawing at walls from horniness.

In your other life, you had watched HOTD and understood the message clearly. Despite being a common occurrence, cheating was not a good idea. There were no reliable contraception methods and no way of preventing STDS.

Even if you were not aware of all the possibles consequences of cheating from your knowledge about the show, you now knew Aemond. He was terrifying, devout, and hated his bastard nephews. You did not want to see what he would do if he caught you cheating.

So here you were. Into forced chastity and perpetually horny, with your husband asking you if you thought it was a good idea to consummate the marriage.

You could have jumped from the bed in your haste to show him exactly what you thought. But you had to maintain your air of an otherworldly being. Which you technically were, since this was not your world.

“Whichever you think best, my Prince.” You answered, voice soft and patient. Just as you had always spoken in his presence. It had done wonders to make Aemond seek your company. He found you soothing, or so he said.

Aemond reached forward. His hand cupped your cheek, very gently. You looked up at him with your most innocent eyes.

He lowered his hand, shoulders slumping in defeat. You tried not to let it show how much it hurt you to have all you wanted dangled in front of you and then taken away.

“I cannot touch you. Nor should I lust after you. You are…” Aemond’s eyebrows pinched together. His face showed an inner conflict that made your own heart soften. Perhaps he had grown to care for you, in the ways you wished he did. He just didn't think it appropriate.

You stepped closer. This time, it was your hands that cupped his face. Aemond's eye closed, briefly. He seemed to be enjoying the touch, committing it to memory.

“Kiss me.” You whispered, pulling him close. Aemond went into the hug, nuzzling your hair. Despite the sweetness with which he responded, his frame was tense. “Please. I beg it of you.”

“I can't. I can't defile you.” He sounded truly strained. You rubbed his back, gently. “ A perfect being, such as yourself, does not deserve this.”

“It won't hurt. I know how to do it.” You explained, softly. Perhaps he worried about hurting you, you thought. You were no blushing virgin, but Aemond did not know that.

“Of course. You are an enlightened being. But it does not mean you have to put that into practice. You must know of the mysteries of death, yet you have not hurt anybody.”

“Because killing is wrong.” And truly, it was a ridiculous comparison. Sex had not killed anyone, at least that you knew of. It was not meant to hurt.

“Sex is, too. It's only for making heirs, and I am a second son. I don't need heirs.”

And by the look of his face, Aemond really believed what he was saying. The thought of him suffering, of being so deeply repressed, hurt you. You understood well how damaging thinking about sex in that way could be.

It hurts you more to think it might have been exacerbated by you. The thought of you being this perfect soul, someone so pure and easily hurt, and then the thought of tainting you. It said a lot about his mental health.

You vowed then you would aid you in any way you could.

“It's not wrong.” You whispered, and moved slightly back from his embrace. “Let me show you.” And you were kissing him, and Aemond was kissing back. His lips were soft, and he held you as if you were the most delicate glass vase he had ever held. You understood him now. And one day, Aemond would understand this too.

[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.

[meta-squash]

I think two of the most important things about Jack Harkness, two things that inform almost everything he does and the choices he makes, are this: that he is a soldier NOT a leader, and that his entire life since childhood has been awash in survivor's guilt (and his whole existence after becoming immortal is an even more extreme version of survivor's guilt).

Jack is not a natural leader. He can think on the fly and he's good at getting people to listen to him, but he's not good at control, or at being objective. He's a natural second in command, he's a soldier. He was brought up to do what other people told him to, and to improvise if he had to (Time Agency, etc). But I really don't think he wants to be the leader of Torchwood. Unfortunately, everything about him means that he has to be. He knows from experience that others having control over him is dangerous, others knowing about his immortality while he's a subordinate to them is dangerous, and he also knows that his own immortality gives him an advantage as a leader. But I don't think he's good at leading. He tries to be. But he's fumbling along, in a time period he's not native to and a planet he's not native to and an unfathomable lifespan, and as charming as he is I think he's often not good with people. He's detached where he should be personal and emotional where he should be detached (or at least more level-headed). He's often too extreme or not harsh enough when it comes to things like discipline or dealing with the problems/traumas/mistakes of his employees or even civilians. He can't handle his employees seeing him uncertain/vulnerable and it makes for huge problems over and over again.

But all of this does make sense because I think in the back of Jack's mind there's always this wheel spinning, these gears turning and turning and calculating the impact and trauma each of his actions or decisions or the events around him are going to have on his own emotions for far longer than normal humans tend to consider. Because the catalyst for any part of the life we see him leading is survivor's guilt. He lost his father and his brother on the same day, joined the military and lost his best friend, joined the Time Agency and lost his memories (and maybe thinks he did something terrible). Then he died, and when Rose brought him back, he was all alone on the satellite with nothing but the corpses of the people who had fought beside him and zero explanation as to why he survived, and he had lost Rose and the Doctor besides. And then all his life on earth since, he has lost coworkers and lovers and civilians he tried and failed to save and probably also aliens he tried and failed to save. And I think by the time he becomes reluctant leader of Torchwood, every action is, whether conscious or subconscious, taken with the intent of minimizing that kind of trauma and the impact of loss.

Except that I think that the survivor's guilt has another layer to it, which is that feeling of needing to sacrifice or absolve himself in some way. No one else is willing to make the difficult decisions, no one else will move forward with the painful and unpleasant actions, even if there's no other way, even though they will someday perish and no longer see the ripples of their actions. But Jack - who cannot die, who must live with the guilt or the pain or the trauma of those actions and decisions for the rest of his very very very long life - is the one who realizes that he must take on those painful responsibilities and must do certain things even though they're terrible, because it ends up being the sacrifice of one over the whole world. And every single time, he's guilty about it, and that makes him want even more to sacrifice his own hurt for the grief and loss of others.

So it's this strange cycle of wanting to protect himself from hurt and from loss and from the survivor's guilt, but being driven by guilt towards painful and/or self-sacrificing actions. Which then makes him fear being seen as vulnerable or uncertain, and he struggles to do things on a smaller scale or in a more level-headed way, because he's not supposed to be leading like this, it's not something that comes naturally, and if he makes emotional connections by being a leader, he'll end up trapped in survivor's guilt yet again each time one of his employees or friends or lovers dies.

It's just a terrible cycle and he's trapped in it for the rest of his existence. Although if he really is the Face Of Boe, then I imagine at some point he eventually finds peace with it all or something, but I think so long as he has a human-form he's stuck with this cycle of leadership and loss and sacrifice and mistakes.

I think it's really important that Jack is not good at his job as a leader. He makes a ton of mistakes, he fucks up so much and his employees or even civilians end up collateral damage, whether physically or just emotionally. He wants to be a good leader, I think, and he's trying, but he's fallible, and he's a stranger in literally every sense, and I think a really big part of his character is that he constantly is forced to live in this bizarre dichotomy where he has to be both very distant and cold and detached, and also very emotional and intense and personal. And any other person would collapse under the stress of repeating that over and over and over again for decades, but he has to figure out how to navigate this weight as an infinite existence that can't ever collapse or let it burn him up and kill him.

[petpippin]

FAST AS YOU CAN + BONTEN.

# implications of abuse / manipulation / general yandere themes. ▂▂⌇

manjiro ‘mikey’ sano: overprotective + possessive. (w. clingy traits.)

most likely to have you abducted.

- what comes to define manjiro in his later years is guilt. experiencing so much loss at such an impressionable age has scarred him to such a degree, where mikey's afraid to have anyone closer than at an arms length.

- you're unlucky in this way. where mikey will be sure to have you locked up and kept under a watchful eye, he'll also refuse to strenghten any lasting bond.

- but this relationship won't come to last. at some point mikey will open all of his heart to you, although it's a painstaking process to have him trust that you won't dissappear at any given moment.

- you'll be damned to think that mikey will loosen your restraints, at this point. when he's let his heart go glip, you can kiss any dream of freedom goodbye.

haruchiyo ‘sanzu’ akashi: possessive + obsessive (w. clingy traits.)

- sanzu wants to eat you alive.

- he's loyal as a dog, which is quick to turn suffocating. incredibly eager to serve, sanzu will stop at nothing to have you satisfied.

- unfortunately, this does not mean he puts your actual wants into consideration.

- instead, haruchiyo uses this so-called 'intuition' to bring out vicious massacres in your honor, vowing to have you shielded from this cruel, cruel world.

kakucho: overprotective.

- kakucho adores you.

- out of any bonten excecutive, you are the most likely to actually build a bond with kakucho, one that won't stem from fear. in spite of this, your free will is scarce.

- kakucho has lost the only person whom he would've actually considered his friend, and this means that you will forever stand as a the only worthy placeholder for izana, someone who kakucho was to protect at all times.

- you differ from izana, however, where kakucho knows that you are weak in comparison to him. you are unfit for the life kakucho has sucked you into, exerting no strength that his late king carried.

takeomi akashi: possessive + self-indulgent.

least likely to have you abducted.

- because of takeomi’s hedonistic tendencies, he cares very little for how you go around your daily life, as long as you return to him when he wishes.

- of course that doesn’t mean takeomi’s entirely uncaring, as he’ll have his most trusted subordinates keeping track of your every move.

- takeomi expects your outmost loyalty, and you’d be stupid to think that this means you’re allowed to run around with anyone other than him.

kanji ‘mocchi’ mochizuki: overprotective.

- mocchi likes to believe he is honorable.

- similar to kakucho, he does actually desire an actual bond with you, one where you'll be happy to stay by his side, without the unnecessary force.

- he'll come to find this difficult, however. where kakucho is able to be effortlessly kind and giving with you, you'll most likely be intimated by mocchi's imposing physique, and rough personality.

- although mocchi might find himself dissappointed when you're hiding from him, he'll do his damndest to have you comfortable; all while fighting off the urge to have you forcibly submit to him.

ran haitani: possessive + self-indulgent. (w. clingy traits.)

- where ran stands different from takeomi, is that he’s possessive to a much more personal level.

- takeomi perceives you as something akin to a pet, but ran can somewhat appreciate you as a human being.

- this does not mean that he’ll take your feelings in consideration, however. what this belief extends to are your opinions of him, and ran will make sure that he will occupy your mind, as much as you do his.

- ran is smothering. wherever he goes, you go. unfortunately for you, ran doesn’t go anywhere, most of the time.

rindou haitani: possessive + controlling.

- rindou believes he owns you.

- being so used to having to share the spotlight with his older brother, rindou quickly comes to find that the world splits in two; what is his and what is ran’s.

- and you best believe that when it comes to you, you’re his.

- because of this skewed belief, rindou views you as an extension of himself, believing he would only be right to exert total control of your every action.

- rindou is quick to turn controlling, meticulous in making you understand that you are his.

hajime kokonoi: over-protective + manipulative.

- similar to mikey, kokonoi's biggest fear comes from loss.

- he'll spend years chasing after someone who's long gone, looking for the gust in the wind that is akane, or in the very least a convincing enough lookalike.

- it's likely he'll find you in this search, but where you will differ, is as much more than a simple solace.

- unlike with mikey, you are given the illusion of choice with kokonoi. koko is manipulative as he is overprotective, willing to have you believe you are able to leave at any point, when you have already been spun into his web.

[nhlclover]

𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐆𝐀𝐈𝐍 | 𝐑𝐘𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐃

summary: ryan reaches a breaking point and finally confronts your hesitation towards him

warnings: angst, mentions of cheating, good guy ryan alert, open ended/cliffhanger

word count: 1.12k

The dimly lit bar hummed with life, bodies crowding every area, with the low murmur of conversations filling the air. People crowded every inch of the space, but somehow, you and Ryan had managed to carve out your own little corner next to the oak bar. Shoulders brushing, the world beyond the two of you seemed to fade away as you shared a quiet moment amid the chaos.

Ryan's dark eyes sparkled under the soft glow of the overhead lights, a playful smile tugging at his lips as he looked at you. His presence was magnetic—effortless in a way that made the noise of the bar slip into the background. He had that kind of effect on you, the ability to make everything else feel less important.

“Having fun?” Ryan asked, his voice warm and teasing, laced with the hint of a smile that sent warmth rushing through your veins.

You smiled back feeling a familiar flutter in your chest. “Yeah… yeah I am.”

“Me too.” Ryan’s gaze lingered on you, his hand resting casually on the bar just inches from yours. The space between you two seemed smaller than ever, the lines between friendship and something more growing impossibly blurred.

The excitement of it all was undeniable. Yet, beneath that, something dark and heavy weighed you down—fear, the unshakable fear of history repeating itself. His fingers brushed yours again, sending a spark of warmth through your skin. A touch that should’ve felt thrilling but instead ignited a storm of anxiety deep within you.

You wanted to let go, to let yourself dive into the possibility of what was happening with Ryan, but memories of your past tugged you back like chains around your heart. Three years. You’d given three years to someone you thought you knew, someone you trusted, only to discover his betrayal. That moment had shattered something inside you, something that refused to be rebuilt easily.

Even though you had left him—cut ties, picked up the pieces, and moved on—it still lingered. You had healed, or at least you thought you had, but now, with Ryan looking at you like that, with the possibility of something real staring you in the face, all those old fears came rushing back.

Ryan’s hand drifted even closer, his fingers just barely touching yours, as if asking permission to go further. The warmth of his skin should’ve felt comforting, but instead, it pulled you back to that place—where the trust you once had was ripped away.

You pulled your hand back instinctively, slipping it into your pocket, needing space—needing to breathe. You felt Ryan stiffen beside you, his playful expression falling away like a mask.

“Why do you keep doing that?” His voice was low, barely above a murmur, but it was enough to cut through the noise around you.

You blinked, surprised by the sudden change in his tone. “Doing what?”

Ryan’s eye’s flashed with hurt. “You know what I’m talking about. You keep pulling away—every time we get close, you shut down.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut because he was right. Every time he inched closer—physically, emotionally—you retreated. You couldn’t help it. The fear was like a reflex, one that you couldn’t seem to control. Every time he tried to get closer, you felt yourself retreating into the safety of your walls. You’d open yourself up to him, and just when you’re on the precipice of finally being happy with someone again, you step back from the ledge.

“I’m sorry,” you said, eyes dropping to the floor, guilt pooling in your chest. “It’s not you… it’s me. I just—I’m scared, Ryan.”

Ryan’s brows furrowed in confusion, though his frustration simmered just beneath the surface. He took a step closer, his presence towering though never overwhelming. His voice was softer this time, but still filled with quiet determination. “Scared of what? Of me?”

“No, not you,” you shook your head quickly, heat rising in your cheeks. “I’m scared of what could happen. Of getting hurt again.”

The vulnerability in your voice hit him, and for a moment, his features softened. But he didn’t let it go entirely. “I’m not him,” Ryan said, his tone firm but gentle, trying to break through your barriers. “I know what he did to you was horrible, and I’m sorry you had to go through that. But I’m not him. I’m not going to cheat on you, or lie, or do any of the crap he did. But you have to stop treating me like I will.”

The words hung in the air between you, heavy and raw. Your throat tightened, and you swallowed hard, willing yourself to hold it together. “I don’t mean to,” you whispered, feeling a lump form in your throat. “It’s just… I trusted him, and it destroyed me. I don’t know if I can go through that again.”

Ryan let out a slow breath, his eyes never leaving yours as he gently took your hand, his thumb brushing over your knuckles in slow, soothing circles. “I get that,” he said quietly, “but if you don’t take a chance—if you keep running away—how will you ever know?”

You stared down at your intertwined hands, the warmth of his touch calming the storm in your chest, but the fear still loomed. He could break your heart, just like your ex. But what if he didn’t?

Ryan squeezed your hand, drawing your attention back to him. “Look,” he said, his voice steady, “I’m all in. I like you—a lot. More than that, I care about you. I’ve been waiting, giving you space to figure things out, but I can’t keep doing this forever. If you don’t want this—if you don’t want me—then I need to know. I need to know now because I’m done waiting for you to decide.”

There was a finality in his words that sent a cold rush of panic through you. His eyes searched yours, desperate to find some sort of resolution in them, however he just watched them dart around his face laced with uncertainty.

Ryan sighed, pulling his hand away from yours. The loss of his warmth was immediate and sharp, a reminder of what you were risking. He fished out his wallet from his back pocket and tossed some cash onto the bar, enough to cover both your drinks.

“I’m not going to wait forever,” he said softly, his voice filled with an aching sincerity. “But I want this. I want you. You just need to figure out if you want the same.”

And with that, he turned and walked away, disappearing into the crowd. You stood there, alone by the bar, the weight of his words pressing down on you, your heart caught in a battle between fear and longing.

[skellseerwriting]

Pirates and Prejudice (and Dragons)

James Hook x GN! Dragon Rider!Reader Part 3

Pt.1 pt.2

Here’s the not-apology apology chapter!

Reader is disabled (prosthetic foot) and I am not disabled, so if anyone who’s reading this is please let me know if anything is written weirdly or wrongly

Word Count: 2,162

Warnings: Descriptions of phantom pains, some slight hurt/mostly comfort, romantic tension, mentions of injury, reader feels conflicted

Content: Hook starts avoiding reader, reader starts experiencing really bad phantom pains, someone arrives to help them, who could it be?

It was daunting, how little changed yet how big that change meant. Most of life went on the same, but the little differences meant everything.

Hook and his friends stopped bothering you. In fact, you hardly ever saw them. Maybe it was just because they would go out of their way to pick on you before, but it made it almost seem as if they were avoiding you. Which, yes, was nice, but that also included Hook.

Now, whenever you saw each other in hallways or on school grounds, he would practically move as far away from you as possible. Even in class he would try and take the seat farthest from yours. And every time, his face would look a stressful combination of fear, guilt, and some secret, third thing.

You hated it.

You hated seeing him avoid you when all you had wanted when you first met was to be friends; or acquaintances on good terms, at the very least. You despised that look that happened to share too much resemblance to pity, which was something you grew to hate since your injury. The way he almost tiptoed around you created an irritable, unscratch-able itch. His treatment of you was as if you were fragile; that if he got too close you would break. Well, if it continued, you weren’t sure how long you would last until you actually snapped.

An annoying side effect from all the stress were the phantom pains. Whenever they happened in the past you would go for a fly. School still being in session prevented that.

It’s not that the nurse didn’t understand your condition; She had in fact told you to go to her to sort out exceptions of attending class when needed, bless her heart. No, the reason you were determined to grit it out was because you were worried of rumors. If word got out of you skipping class, regardless of how valid the reason, you knew the social consequences of it.

You would not let people think you were weak.

You were not weak.

Grinding your teeth together out of pain, you told yourself that excusing yourself to the restroom near the end of class right before free period didn’t count. Nobody would be able to tell anything.

Still, it was hard.

You had went to your usual spot at the courtyard fountain, limping badly and starting to sweat over the feelings of pins at your ankle. It had never been this bad before. The only time it had been worse than this was during the recovery process a few years ago. As time had gone on, you forgot what that felt like. Pain surged through the area again, reminding you.

Massaging it was an option, but you did not want to do it out in the open. You felt vulnerable, open to the world. Your dorm was also so far away from here, just thinking about the walk made your foot feel worse.

Clenching your hands on your legs while trying to breath steadily, you continued to keep your eyes closed. Shut everything out.

 There is nothing around you but open air, you told yourself. That breeze you feel in front of you? That’s the wind hitting your face while flying on Beastie. The splashing of water behind you? A coursing waterfall you were flying close to. The person sitting to your left? They-

You opened your eyes.

No. Not him.

Anyone but him.

An extreme surge of pain occurred again. You couldn’t keep a still face and made a near-silent cry.

You knew he saw that and you hated it.

“Go away, please.” You whispered, doing everything in your power to not look at him. He only made it worse, being the source of your current stress and anxiety.

You sensed no movement.

“Hook, please.” you pleaded. “Please leave me alone.” You needed him to leave. One of your worst moments was on display and he was just watching. He could hear your tears even if he couldn’t see them, and he could definitely see you left shoe shaking uncontrollably. Why hasn’t he left?

A hand placed itself on your shoulder.

“Are you having phantom pains right now?” He asked softly. Surprised at the care and quietness in his voice, you looked at him. His face and his eyes held none of what they had before. There was no fear. There was no pitiful guilt. There was just endearing worry, along with that secret, third thing.

You nodded your head, fingers gripping the tough sides of the leather gear strapped onto your pants.

“Can I help you?” He whispered, head tilted closer to yours.

Part of you jumped at the question, desperate to say yes. The other part, unfortunately, was terrified. This man... This- pirate of a man, walked a tightrope in your mind between someone to avoid at all costs… and someone you were far too eager to get close to.

What would happen if you said yes? As sincere as he sounded, what if he was lying? Up until recently, all his cares towards you were to make your life miserable. What if he intended to get close to you just to hurt you at some farther point ahead? Your heart would surely break more than anything else.

But what if he meant it? What if he could help you in all the ways you needed, not only just now, but in the future? Would you finally find that solidarity you had been seeking? Ease of not feeling different here? Would he do that for you? Become that important to you?

Would you become that important to him?

You dwelled on that for a moment longer. Hook started to look nervous, perhaps wondering if you didn’t want him there after all. He wouldn’t have been surprised after everything he had done to you. Then, you said something to him.

“What?” He asked, thinking his ears had betrayed him. You gave him a tiny smile.

“Yes.” you breathed. “I said yes.”

His eyes crinkled into little crow’s feet, and that alone made it worth it to say.

Before even asking or telling him anything, he brought his right hand off your shoulder and turned away slightly, only to turn back a few seconds later with something shiny in his palm.

“This is my hook.” Ah, he was trying to distract you. Of course he knew that technique, since he would deal with phantom pains himself with his own hand. Although if you were being honest, him sitting inches away from you and sharing your air probably distracted you more than anything else. He was so close.

Smiling, you began to trace the little garnishes and engravings at the cylindrical part.

“It’s very pretty.” You told him plainly, focusing on the design instead of your foot. “Did someone make it for you?”

“Not exactly.” He said with an air of mischievousness. “I stole it from a famed prosthetics-maker during a long trip to the east.” Something about the way he said it made you think he was fibbing, but you let out a giggle nonetheless when he grinned at you- like he knew that you knew. “Want me to get a pretty foot for you?” He asked with a wink.

“Only if it matches your hook.” You joked lightly, not letting him have one over you with that last remark. Surprisingly, Hook started to stammer a little bit while turning pink.

Laughing, you shove his shoulder a little with your own. “Relax, I’m just kidding. My current one is fine the way it is; I can’t value appearance over durability and stability with my occupation.” He seemed to accept the answer, still flustered.

“Mine’s made of steel. So it has both strength and lightness.” He told you.

“Really?” You asked. “It looks rather heavy.”

“Here.” He said, setting it in your open hand. Wow, it was really light. “Can’t have my enemies be besting the greatest pirate captain of the seas.”

You snorted, running your finger over the metal curve. You swore you saw him shiver at that. “I find that hard to believe.”

Leaning closer, he said “You ride dragons. I thought you of all people know that we aren’t limited by our youth.”

Hearing the word “dragons” sent a jolt through your leg and you grimaced. Like hearing the cause of its loss was enough to make your foot feel it again. You’d almost forgotten about the pains now, and now they felt like they were starting to come back.

“Don’t say that.” You told him quietly, looking at his too-close-face so he could look in your eyes and understand that you were being serious.

“Say what?” He asked. His eyebrows scrunched upwards and his eyes filled with worry. You take a breath.

“The creature you just mentioned.” You told him with honesty, then looked dow again. “It’s making it worse right now.”

Realization must’ve clicked immediately in his brain because he moved his left arm into you field of view, showing his wrist without the hook that he took off earlier.

“I got mine eaten clean off by a crocodile.” He said, then gave a silly smirk. “It was my fault, really. I was being an idiot boy when I was fourteen- no, thirteen. A couple weeks after was my birthday and my mum gave me the hook for when I fully healed.”

You grinned; he had fibbed when he said how he obtained the hook. Glancing at your still shoe, you told him “I lost mine when I was thirteen too. My class was learning by watching our instructors handle a vicious one. Things got out of hand -quite literally- and next thing you know, due to some wicked sharp claws, I was out of foot.” You laugh a little at your joke. In the rare occasion you told someone what happened, you loved making the pun. Some laughed with you, some didn’t, and most looked at you like you were crazy. You didn’t let that bother you though, it was your trauma so you got to joke about it however you liked.

“I shouldn’t say I’m surprised.” Hook said. “I thought it might have something to do with dr- with those creatures. At least you get to tell people you lost it to one of them; how cool is that?” He ended excitedly.

You shrugged. “Most amputees from my home lost them the same way as me, so it’s pretty common to me.” Side-eying him and nudging his side you told him “I’ve never heard of stories of people losing limbs to crocodiles though, so I think yours is much cooler!”

He beamed a little. “Really?”

“Yes.” You told him. “Why would I lie to you, Hook?” He bristled a little.

“What’s the matter?”

“Oh,” he waved you off with his hand. “Nothing really, I guess I didn’t expect you to call me that.”

“What? Hook?”

“Mhmm.”

“But… that’s your name?”

He looked into your eyes; his own moving back and forth between yours due to being so close. At some point you two had shifted closer and your legs were now touching.

“Hook,” He began slowly, moving his tongue around in his mouth to get the words right. “Is the name associated with the pirate. The Villain Kid. The bad person. All of which I’m completely fine with! Despite what others say or think, I’m happy with who I am. But-“ he softened his voice and leaned closer again. Much, much closer. “Hearing you call me by that name makes me feel like you only see those things. I know that’s not completely true,” he added, whispering “I just feel this ache in my heart when you say it. I don’t want you to call me that.”

Despite feeling your heart lodged in your throat, you managed to get out a “What would you like me to call you?”

A “hnn” came out of his lips and you couldn’t help by look at them. “Call me James.”

“James.” You said, testing his name on your tongue. His eyes went wild when you did so.

“Yes, darling?” He whispered. You leaned closer.

“I- “

The tower bell rung. Students started streaming out of doors and into the courtyard. You both jumped back. Then, H- James gets up.

“Meet me at the entrance after school.” He told you.

“Why?” You quiz, now blushing, holding up his hook for him.

He put it on then grabbed your hand before you could lower it.

“Because,” his eyes twinkled, now bowing at the waist. “I’m going to take you on an adventure!” And with that, he pressed a chaste kiss to your knuckle and walked away before you could even process what this charming boy had just done to you.

Extra:

Hook: Um, guys? Remember how Scarface said they wanted a peg leg?

Hook: Well… turns out they have a prosthetic foot…

Everyone:…

Maleficent: You’re such an idiot

Part 4