#echo comfort

[zoeykallus]

Helllloooo ☺️☺️😇😇if you feel like it... maybe you could write Echo x male reader?? The lack of representation is 💔💔 Can be about anything you want as long as it's not smut :) have a good day

Aloha!

Of course I can 🤗

Echo x Male!Reader Fluff One-Shot - Culinary Affection

Fluff/Comfort/Food/SFW

______________________

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

As always, Echo has something with him when he visits you. A souvenir from his last mission. This time it's an exquisite mosaic vase. "Beautiful," you say, fascinated, looking at the reflective, colorful mosaic patterns on the ornate vase, "Elegant and wild at the same time." Echo laughs softly and says, "Just like you." You smirk, poke him gently in the side and say, "Are you going to start sucking up already?" Echo grins and says, "Why not? You know I like to ensnare my man." Yes, you do, and you enjoy it to the fullest every time. You watch Echo's eyes roam over the things in the kitchen you have prepared. The chopped different ingredients, the dough, the spices. His eyes jump back and forth as he tries to piece together what you have in mind for today.

"Pizza," you say with a soft laugh, "I wanted to make fresh pizza with you. Comfort food, so to speak. Hearty, made with fresh ingredients." Echo raises his brows and asks, "You don't like my cooking anymore?" You roll your eyes but smile. "Echo, no one cooks like you, no one. But pizza tastes great, especially when you make it yourself, if you do it right. Besides that, it's also something you can do great as a couple" "So, romantic cooking, then pizza and a good movie?" asks Echo. You nod with a smile. "You got it" Echo nods with satisfaction, he likes the idea. Together, you roll out the dough and start topping it with the prepared ingredients. Of course, Echo doesn't miss the chance to nibble here and there, from the ingredients, but also from you. Here and there is a little kiss, a little nudge or a tender nibble. It takes forever for the pizza to be ready for the oven, but you both have fun doing it. It's so nice, so uncomplicated with Echo. He feels comfortable with you, here Echo can be himself, a person, a man, not just a soldier.

In the beginning, it was difficult when you met. Echo was very tense, couldn't really let go, was somehow always in military mode. But through you, he's learned to open up, to enjoy being more than just a soldier. The pizza tastes delicious, the movie is good, and you two are sitting close to each other on your sofa. Again and again you smile at each other. You are good for each other, you can both feel it. The two of you have found something in each other that few people really find, clones usually even less so. As the evening progresses, Echo puts an arm around you, pulling you closer to him, and you snuggle up against his side, relaxed. "We should do this more often," you say dreamily. Echo sighs softly and says, "We would too, if I wasn't on the road so much with work." You sigh as well. "Maybe the war will be over someday," you say thoughtfully. "Possibly. But I don't know where I'll be assigned then or what exactly I'll be doing then" "Maybe you'll get a chance to leave the military, try something new" Echo blinks, he hasn't thought about that yet, not really anyway. "Something new? Like what?"

You laugh softly and say, "Anything you want, you can try anything you want, and you'll stay where you like it best." "What if I like it best here with you?" You sit up a little straighter and say, "We could also do something together? Maybe we'll open a restaurant? You're such a good cook." Echo grins, he really likes the idea. "A restaurant of our own. The two of us together" he says, already imagining it in his mind's eye" You kiss his cheek, snuggle up to him again and say, "I like that idea" Echo leans his cheek against your crown and says, "Me too." "A beautiful dream" Echo laughs softly and says, "It might come true someday, but until then, let's just dream it together"

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

@starwarsnerd111

@techs-assistant

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

The girls are back (from the grave)

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[bookalicent]

yeah so this was insane

[librababe99]

Echoes of Her

A/N: Nothing like a little angst to start everyones day! As always comments and feedback are appreciated--My asks are open as well! I hope everyone enjoys - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆ Summary: Caught in a painful love triangle with Logan and Jean Grey, the reader confronts Logan about their unspoken connection... Warnings: Angst, Hurt without comfort, love triangle  Word Count: 1146 

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The silence in the mansion's corridors was thick, the kind that presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe. Every step you took echoed off the cold, marble floors as you made your way to the training room. It was late—too late for anyone else to be awake—but you knew he'd be there. He always was when the weight of the world became too much to bear.

You paused outside the door, your hand hovering just above the handle. A part of you didn't want to go in. You already knew what you'd find—Logan, shirtless and sweating, his muscles rippling as he pushed himself far beyond what was necessary. He didn't need to train, not really. You both knew that. It was his way of escaping the thoughts that clawed at him, the memories that refused to stay buried.

And you knew why he was there tonight.

Jean.

The name alone sent a sharp pang through your heart. You weren't naive. You saw the way Logan looked at her, the way his eyes softened, his gruff demeanor shifting whenever she was around. He was a man of few words, but his actions spoke louder than any confession ever could. He loved her—he loved her in a way that was primal, consuming. But Jean… Jean was with Scott.

You weren't sure where you fit into all of this. You and Logan had a connection, something raw and unspoken. But it was hard to define what that was when his heart was so clearly caught between two worlds—between you and the woman he could never truly have.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open. The room was dimly lit, the only light coming from the small lamp in the corner. Logan was there, just as you knew he'd be. His back was to you, the muscles of his shoulders and arms flexing as he pounded his fists into the punching bag.

"Logan," you called softly, your voice barely above a whisper.

He didn't stop, didn't even acknowledge you. His focus was singular, every punch carrying the weight of his frustrations. You walked closer, each step feeling like a mile, until you were standing just a few feet behind him.

"Logan, please," you tried again, your voice trembling.

This time, he paused, his hands dropping to his sides. Slowly, he turned to face you, and your heart clenched at the sight of his face—those deep-set eyes, filled with pain and something else you couldn't quite place.

"Why are you here, kid?" he asked, his voice rough and tired.

You winced at the nickname, one he'd given you long ago when you'd first joined the X-Men. Back then, it had been endearing, a sign of the bond you were building. But now… now it felt like a reminder of the distance between you.

"I could ask you the same thing," you replied, trying to keep your voice steady.

Logan huffed, wiping the sweat from his brow with the back of his hand. "Needed to clear my head."

You nodded, though you both knew it was more than that. "I thought maybe… maybe you needed someone to talk to."

He looked at you then, really looked at you, and for a moment, you saw the walls he'd built up around himself start to crumble. But just as quickly, they were back in place, his expression hardening.

"There's nothing to talk about," he said gruffly.

You swallowed the lump in your throat. "Logan… you don't have to pretend with me. I know you're hurting."

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck tightening as he looked away. "And what do you want me to say, huh? That you're right? That I can't get her outta my head? That every time I see her with him, it feels like a goddamn knife in my chest?"

Your breath caught in your throat, the raw honesty in his words cutting through you like a blade. But it wasn't just his pain that hurt—it was the realization that you were a part of it. That maybe, just maybe, you were only a distraction, something to keep him from drowning in his feelings for Jean.

"I don't want to be your second choice," you whispered, the words escaping before you could stop them.

Logan's eyes snapped back to you, surprise flickering in their depths. "You're not—"

"Aren't I?" you interrupted, your voice trembling. "Because that's what it feels like. Every time you're with me, it's like you're trying to forget about her. But I can't—Logan, I can't be that person for you. I can't keep pretending that this doesn't hurt."

He took a step closer, his hand reaching out to touch your arm, but you pulled away, the distance between you growing. The look of hurt that flashed across his face was almost enough to make you reconsider, but you held your ground.

"I'm sorry," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

You shook your head, tears welling in your eyes. "I know you are. But sorry doesn't change anything, does it?"

Logan's shoulders slumped, the weight of your words crashing down on him. "I never meant to hurt you."

"But you did," you replied, your voice breaking. "And I don't know if I can keep doing this. I can't keep being in love with you when you're in love with her."

The silence that followed was deafening, the air between you thick with unspoken words. You could see the conflict in his eyes, the battle he was fighting within himself. But you knew—deep down, you knew—he wasn't going to choose you. Not really.

"I don't want to lose you," he finally said, his voice raw with emotion.

You took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to steady yourself. "You already have."

The words hung in the air, a finality to them that neither of you could ignore. And as you turned to leave, you felt a part of your heart break, knowing that this was the end of whatever it was you and Logan had.

You walked out of the room, each step heavier than the last, the distance between you and Logan growing with every second. You didn't look back—you couldn't. Because if you did, you knew you'd crumble. You knew you'd run back to him, and you couldn't allow yourself to do that.

As you reached the end of the hallway, you paused, your hand resting on the wall for support. The tears you'd been holding back finally spilled over, and you let them fall, each one a release of the pain you'd been carrying for so long.

But even through the tears, you knew one thing: you deserved more than being second best. And as much as it hurt to walk away from Logan, you knew it was the only way to heal.

The only way to find yourself again.

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Part two

[emporiannee]

ummmm au idea where like. some vestige of hashirama remains in the forest of death bc of mokuton nonsense and awakens to the summons of another mokuton user like some tree version of when avatars talk to their past lives

[creatureesque]

I just love doodling their faces in what little free time i have now. thats it..

[ruporas]

pet names

[ID: Black and white comic of Vash and Wolfwood from Trigun Maximum. Vash overhears a conversation from a nearby table at the restaurant they're seated at, the unnamed character saying, "Honey, can you pass me that?" Their partner says, "Sure thing, angel." The unnamed character begins again, "Say, did you hear the news from earlier?" In response, "Haven't got the chance. Tell me about it?" Vash smiles fondly, listening in as the conversation continues, "You'd never guess, babe! The runner--" Abruptly, the conversation is cut in by a "Needle nogging", Vash's expression changing instantly and no longer smiling. The panel cuts to Wolfwood who smiles lop-sidedly, pointing at Vash's plate and says, "If you're not going to eat that. I'll take it." Vash grabs the plate and holds it away and says, "Mine" while Wolfwood clicks his tongue. He pauses for a moment before asking slowly, "Hey, is there any reason you don't use cute names with me?" Wolfwood lifts a cup of water up to his lips, looking confused. He says, "I do though." Vash cuts in, "Spikey and needle nogging aren't cute!"

Vash continues with a shy expression, "Since we're together now..." he trails off and Wolfwood picks up, taking a sip of water as he says thoughtfully, "Together, huh..." Vash pauses in his sentence with a look of confusion before reaffirming, "We are together, right?" Wolfwood nods, "Right." Vash says, "Right", before continuing, his shy expression returning, "Then you can use stuff like... honey or-" Wolfwood cuts in this time and says casually, "You're not a honey though." A panel cuts of Vash's expression changing again, shocked. He asks, "Huh? Then who is?" Wolfwood says immediately, "Milly." Vash exclaims, "Milly?!" Wolfwood continues, "She's sweet, just like honey." A bubble pops up of Milly smiling as Wolfwood speaks. Vash continues, "Okay, true... What about sweetpea?" Wolfwood responds, "Kids. Kids are sweetpea. And pumpkin too." Vash continues, "Okay... What about baby?" Wolfwood says without hesitation, "Meryl." Vash exclaims again, "Meryl?!" Wolfwood explains," Noisy, like a baby." Vash mutters, "Hey, that's a bit mean..."

Vash continues persistently, "Then what about babe?" Wolfwood shrugs with a grin, "You are not a babe." Vash looks at him, slightly frustrated before exclaiming with flushed cheeks, "Then what am I?!" Wolfwood points at his hair and smiles softly, "I told you. You're the one and only needle nogging." A panel closes in on Vash's widen eyes, cheeks still red, pausing before he ultimately resigns, planting his face into the palms of his hands and muttering, "I give up..." At the same time, Wolfwood sneaks and grabs the plate of food that Vash left unattended, saying in response, "You get up cuaght up about the dumbest things, y'know that?"

The comic then picks up again to a jump in time, after they've left the restaurant. Wolfwood muses to Vash, "You said all that about the names earlier, but I don't hear ya using them for me." Vash looks to him excitably and asks, "Did you want me to?" Wolfwood looks at him with an uncertain expression, "Not really, but I guess I am curious..." Vash beams, "Then let's try some, okay... dear?" He fingerguns Wolfwood with a grin, little hearts surrounding him. Wolfwood just looks at him neutrally and says, "Okay," while thinking to himself, "Cute..." Vash exclaims, "So unenthusiastic!"

The next comic picks up at a different time, but on the same theme of pet names. Vash hugs Wolfwood and says to him, "Thank you, my love." A panel close up of Vash steadily opening his eyes before he sees Wolfwood's reaction up close, his eyes glancing away, cheeks flushed, and the smoke out of his cig forming soft hearts as he mutters, "Sure..." In a smaller, cartoonish style, Vash has a comedically exaggerated expression of shock and widened eyes as he grips Wolfwood by the shoulders while Wolfwood still wears a shy expression. He then nudges his head to the side of Wolfwood's with a close eyed happy smile, hugging him close and says, "So, there WAS one you liked!" Wolfwood, still looking away, but now with an irritated and embarrassed expression, grumbles, "Shut up..."

The final image is a short sequence. Wolfwood is working on something, spacing out as he does, while Vash from off screen calls for him, starting with "Babeeee? Babe? Beautiful? Honey? My love?" All of which gets no reaction from Wolfwood. Vash pauses for a moment before piping up again, "wolfwood?" Wolfwood turns around, finally noticing that Vash was calling for him and asks, "What?" A box at the bottom of the page says, "Unresponsive to anything other than his names." END ID]

[singsofecho]

echo as a Mando from a self-indulgent au <3

[utterlyazriel]

whom the shadows sing for — (and the thief's echoing hymn)

a/n: here we go honeys. when me and aly (<3!) tossed this idea around months ago, this was the big question; how to do the reveal and what comes after. naturally it was as angsty as possible tehe <3 cw: canon typical violence

word count: 4.2k

synopsis: Azriel mourns a mistake that will haunt him for eternity as he races back to you. You play the leading role in one of your nightmares, but you can't seem to wake up.

CHAPTER SEVEN :: MATES

It's too loud and he can't think— that's the only coherent thing that Azriel can seem to grasp as he stumbles forward in the snow.

His shadows burst into a wild frenzy as he staggers towards the cabin door. It's not snowing here but the wind current is fast and wicked, tunnelling over the hilltop. His breath locks in his chest and even as he gasps, he can't seem to catch it.

It's too loud, too much— every single thought and feeling within him is just climbing over one another, overlapping, melding into each other so he can't tell where one ends and another begins.

Sadness, misery, torment, upset, anger. His emotions are thrown together with yours, a thousand afflictions all battling for his attention and he can't fucking think.

He shoves the cabin door open, falls through it, and it slams shut behind him.

Like a puppet getting its strings cut, all at once the noise... stops.

As though the very action of closing the door had managed to silence the bond between you and Azriel.

A different, very real fear suddenly burrows deep in his heart.

Still gasping for air, he shoves a hand against his chest and searches within himself desperately for that tether, his eyes crushing shut. For a moment, his heart hangs in the balance, teetering on the edge of agony.

And then— there.

Golden and rooted in his very soul, the bond that connects him to you. Only once he's found it does he release the breath captured in his lungs. He breathes an audible sigh of relief and shudders lightly, his knees giving out slightly.

He lets himself slump back against the cabin door as his scarred hand slips from his chest, his wings curling forward around himself. His head swims with the overload of new information, the first dregs of it only just sinking in.

You... were not the person you said you were.

...Was that such a bad thing?

Still breathing hard, Azriel's gaze turns to stare hard at his hands, their delicate scarring paining him nearly as much as the memory does. He thinks back to their origin.

Thinks back to a space too small for a growing boy, thinks of the darkness. He thinks of the never-ending misery that seemed to torment his life in a way he feared he would never escape.

It had taken a very long time for that fear to diminish in size; or perhaps, Azriel had just learned to grow around it.

But the cruelty of those mountains and the Fae that resided there was something he was intimately familiar with. The world up there, between the pines, was kill or be killed. Rise to the top of the food chain or spend every waking moment trying to figure out how to survive.

Isn't that what you had done? Learnt how to endure the conditions, to withstand the brute force of the winter and the merciless Illyrian way?

And wasn't that what he had done, all those years ago? Perhaps, the two of you weren't so different.

But his mind keeps snagging: liar, liar, liar.

Some vicious, prideful voice in his head makes a different point— he did it the right way. He didn't deceive anyone.

He fought for all he had, trained harder than any of his camp-mates to overcome every wretched obstacle in his way, earned his place at the top of the Blood Rite by being better, by working harder and winning.

Even with his... set back with learning to fly, he had still conquered it. He'd earned his place.

But… no, that wasn't right, was it?

He'd earned it, yes, but only because there was no other choice.

He had been kicked down at every possible chance, stalked for being born from a father who detested him and none of it was his fault. He'd earned his title as warrior but he had done nothing to reap every extra hurdle to get there.

Azriel had endured a great many terrible things in his life—and it took effort to recall that it wasn't fair. That it was an injustice he shouldn't have had to bear.

Sometimes, he hated how deeply ingrained the Illyrian way was within him. How it had changed him in the most unsavoury of ways, giving him an Illyrian pride that overtook his rationale at the worst of times.

It echoed out in the most unfamiliar of ways, like a hidden piece of himself he'd forgotten about— forgotten the person he'd needed to become to survive those camps.

So when Azriel thinks of the lie you've been hiding it, protecting yourself, the forgiveness is already there. It always was there. He could never had truly held it against you.

You had lied, yes, but as if there was any other way to survive. As if he could fault you for picking the option that let you fight, let you grow strong, let you keep your wings.

He remembers your words suddenly.

Please, I- I just wanted to keep my wings.

A sinister horror creeps up his throat and Azriel lurches forward, his forearms slamming against the cabin floor as his body forcibly retches. His stomach clenches tightly and bile floods his mouth but nothing comes out but his ragged breath.

How young had you been?

He knows to make your lie feasible it had to have been too young. Nine years old? Eight? He tries to recall the age that Lord Mylind said you started turning up trouble but it only succeeds in fueling the harrowing feeling that was running through his veins.

Azriel sags forward, his eyes drawing closed as he presses his forehead to the cool wood of the ground, trying to contain his growing dread. Still curled around himself, his wings quiver in the wake of his revelation. His shadows try soothe him, whirling down the planes of his neck.

You were pleading with him.

And... he had left you.

His stomach heaves once more, his breath a mixture of raspy pants.

It's impossible not to recount every single interaction you've had over the months, turning over every memory and seeing the other side of it with startling clarity.

The lone cabin, the outlier to the group. The tenseness in your shoulders when asked about the Blood Rite or your absences from training that Lord Mylind had spoken so crudely about.

Your drive to train and learn; the utter disappointment at the inadequacy of your tonics.

You had so much on the line, so much more than he ever could have imagined.

Azriel bites his cheek meanly as he recalls the conversation in which he asked why you hadn't completed in the Blood Rite. It makes perfect sense now; the exposure of the challenge was far too big of a risk and as a bastard, you would automatically be a target.

Even if you managed to succeed, which he had no doubt you could, the tattoos... removing your shirt...

All dead giveaways.

Your voice echoes in his mind.

Azriel, please, you have to understand—

You had begged him and he left you, he left you.

His body gives another awful retch, the horror of what he had done beginning to truly settle in. Gods, in a thousand ways you had been more trusting and vulnerable that he had ever known. Allowing him into your shelter, into your life...

Letting him get close to you, knowing that the closer he got, the more your secret threatened to reveal. And you let him anyway.

Azriel lurches to his feet, swaying for only a moment, his head reaching a clarity he so desperately lacked earlier.

He needs to go back. He should have fucking never left.

Somewhere between his ribs, there's an wallowing ache on the bond. A jolt of sharp pain.

Hand flying to his chest, Azriel stares at it and desperately prays to every god he can think of that he isn't too late to fix this. His eyes flick over to the Siphon on the back of hand, dim and lifeless. Drained.

Fuck. He snarls in his frustration. He can't even winnow back to you.

Turning and pressing back out the door, his boots smash through the snow outside for only a few steps— til he beats his mighty wings and takes to the skies.

Whether the bond had snapped for you or not, it didn't stop him from gripping that thread tightly and pouring every sincere intention down it. I'm sorry. I’m coming back. I’m sorry. I never should have left. I'm so fucking sorry.

He could only hope that you somewhere on the other side, connected to the same red string of fate, you could feel him coming back to you.

—

He's taking too long.

It's the thought that's stuck on loop, like a record that keeps skipping, repeating the same part over and over again. He's going as fast as he can and still, he knows he's taking too damn long.

As his wings strain from the long journey, the endless labyrinth of trees whirring past beneath him too fast to see, Azriel glimpses down at the siphons atop his hands.

They're still gleaming in that lacklustre way but there's more of a shine to them now. He can feel it too, the well refilling with a slow drip, the build up of his power.

His keen eyes scour the landscape, narrowed as he analyses the distance between here and Exordor. It's still far— it will stretch the reserve of magic that's barely begun to replenish but Azriel doesn't care. He'll do anything to reach you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, brow furrowing, and folds the fabric once more. The world spins as he pushes through the fabric of it, feeling the strain in his bones. The snowy entrance to your shelter comes into view.

He lands with a sickening crack, his knees bending to catch himself as he touches down, one heavy motion into the snow which spins up in a flurry. It's raining heavily, the drops coming down with a vehemence, creating a thunderous applause against the frozen ground.

Around him, the trees groan and shudder as they bow to the powerful energy. Birds take flight, cawing as they do. In the distance, there's a loud snap, carried with the wind.

Azriel stares right into the cabin.

His stomach threatens to lurch again at the sight. The door to your shelter is wide open.

His mate, where is his mate?

Stretching out the doorway, there are obvious signs of a struggle. The muddy snow has been kicked around, the boards nailed to the inside of the door are fresh with splinters, and... and...

The blood. Crimson, scarlet, fucking red blood coats the floorboards, a ghoulish splatter of it leading from your bed out the door, turning the slurry of melted snow a soft pink. He knows from the pull in his chest that you're not here.

This isn't just some attack. They haven't just ambushed you, they've... found out.

Where before he had felt terribly ill, bile rising, there is only icy and raging fury. In the distance, another snap sounds and his shadows beg him to pay attention to it, their whispers kissing at his cheeks. Water soaks his dark hair, stray raindrops rolling down his face.

Azriel ignores them and stumbles forward one, two steps and stops, his heart soaking in the reality of what had happened.

He had left you and they had taken you.

They found out and they hadn't killed you, they had— they had—

The snap in the distance. This time when it sounds, it yanks Azriel's attention, his head whipping towards where it's coming from. It's towards camp. Dread curdles up in his gut, latching onto each notch in his spine and burrowing deep.

Every instinct in his body roars into overdrive as he realises what it is he can hear in the distance — the crack of a whip against skin.

—

One of your nightmares has come to life, dragging from the murkiest parts of your mind and taking the treacherous form of Brudam.

You keep begging yourself to wake the fuck up.

It can’t be real— this can’t actually be happening, you think desperately, none of this was ever supposed to happen- you had- it was- you secret was something you guarded with your life.

"Wake up," You plead to yourself deliriously. Your wrists are already feeling chafed from where they're bound against the wooden pole, the steel that binds them cold as ice. The rain has soaked you to the bone.

"Wake up," You all but sob, trying futilely to pull against the restraints on your wrists.

It only succeeds in tugging on the stakes driven through your wings, a searing, fiery type of pain the ripples along every nerve in them. A sob scrapes up your throat, answering the pain's call. It hurts, it hurts, it fucking hurts in a way you haven't known before — everything, every cell in your body, is being tortured.

A shredding deep in your gut as though you've taken a fistful of claws to the stomach makes you seize, your vision flashing wildly. Even now, your cycle continues its bloody rampage. You can't stop crying, can't stop your body from convulsing in pure agony.

Somewhere behind you, your ear pick up the shifting in the mud, Brudam preparing to strike again.

Even sobbing, you tense up, unable to stop yourself—instinct drives you to hastily try tuck your wings, trying to pull them from their spread position. They catch on the stakes pinned through them meanly, the delicate flesh tearing with a sickening squelch and sending rivers of pain up into your body.

You cry out a strangled gasp, your head bowing further forward, trying to escape what's to come.

The blow rains down onto your unprotected wings all the same.

It's pure fire. Like they've doused the membranous skin of your wings with oil and set them ablaze, fiery hot pain licking at the tendons, tracing all the way up to your bare back. Your teeth grit to contain your scream. Tears streak down your face, lost in the thrum of the rain.

"Wake. Up." You demand to yourself again, panting heavily now.

You can't take much more pain or you'll be unconscious soon and some awful part of you knows, that's when they'll take your wings. You'll wake up midway to the worst nightmare of them all; the splintering sound of them cutting them off your body.

There's a boot pressed suddenly to your lower back, pressing meanly.

"Oh no, this isn't a dream," Brudam taunts as he leans down, all too happily. His tone shifts to something harder with his next words, nearly spitting the words. "I knew there was something off about you, you mutt."

His voice climbs to a shout, addressing the crowd gathered around you. "I always knew you were a FUCKING TRAITOR!"

There's a roar from the crowd, lead by the antsy group of warriors you've grown up and trained beside. All of them are eager to see justice delivered for your lies. None of them are pleased to have been duped, much less by a female.

They know, everyone knows. There's no coming back from this. Even if it weren't from the scent of blood from your cycle, your bound chest—revealed through your cut away armor— is proof enough.

Another convulsion rocks your body, the pain from your cycle making itself known. You're burning hot from every laceration on your skin and freezing cold from being bare in the icy rain. Your defence gets swallowed up in your pitiful whimper.

The mud behind you shifts again, Brudam no doubt winding up for his next hit.

You hold your breath, capturing the next sob in your throat. Your wings tug inwards, despite how you beg them not to, and your wrists ache as you try to wrench them free fruitlessly.

A sense of finality sinks in. You're going to die here.

A part of you feels like maybe you'd always known it would end like this, one way or the other. It's tired. So fucking tired of living in your intricate lie and spending each and every moment of your miserable existence on alert. On defence. Waiting for a break that never seems to come.

It's that part that can't, in any capacity, be truly upset at Azriel.

You can't resent him for leaving when you're the one who lied.

You can't regret him finding out, without regretting ever meeting him—and that means... regretting all the happiness you've truly felt.

But there's also an anger swirling within you, a rage that is as icy as it is hungry for vengeance.

Inexplicably, it feels unknown. Not your own. It starts somewhere in your chest and it only feels like it's getting bigger, growing in size, glowing hotter.

In the drone of the rain, blackness swims before your tired eyes as they begin to slip shut— only, no, they haven't closed.

The darkness is real and in front of you. It's surrounding you, curling up from under your captured arms. Despite the loud protests from your anguished body, you lift your head shakily. You're still quivering, quiet hiccups pushing out your lips.

"What are you doing, witch?" Brudam snarls from behind you, his boot on your back digging in harder. You wince, the motion dragging your wings against the splinters of the stakes. You shake your head, unable to form words.

It isn't me, you want to say.

But you're not entirely sure that's true either. The black plume is only around you, rising as though it is coming from you. Protecting you.

"Brudam!" A loud voice cuts across the rustling, nervous crowd, cutting through the din of the rain clear as night and sounding as deadly as venom. The courtyard falls into silence.

Your heart lurches up your throat. You know that voice.

Something within you cleaves in half, torn by opposite forces. On one side, there the mountainous evidence of your miserable life, of every thing that's worked against you time and time again. Of the fact that things don't work out for you, they never have. You're a fool to believe that would change now.

The other side... is a terrible, feeble hope.

Because he came back.

"Shadowsinger," Brudam greets with a sneer. The boot on your back shifts and then retreats, the warrior turning away from you. Agony tears through your body again and you hold your breath, shuddering through the silent pain with gritted teeth. A dangerous hope starts to cling to your heart.

"One chance," Azriel growls. The hair on the back of your neck rises at the promise of violence in his voice.

"Let her go."

Brudam snorts unattractively, forcing a bitter sounding laugh out. You focus on trying not to throw up as the pain fogs your brain, bile filling your mouth.

"Not fucking likely."

"Walk away." Azriel snarls his demand, sounding angrier than you've ever heard him.

"Over my dead body, bastard," Brudam spits back, the mud shifting as he digs his feet in, preparing to fight. His hand tightens around the whip in his hand.

There's a moment of silence, the wind carrying a whistle, the trees swaying as if leaning closer to listen in, two warriors sizing each other up in the pouring rain. Your ears strain for Azriel's response.

"Gladly."

And then the courtyard is doused in pure shadow.

—

Azriel moves without hesitation.

Illyrian warriors are fiercely trained to fight through every type of conditions, battling in the harshest of all seasons. Snow, sleet, rain, shine. They're disciplined to go days without sleep, to fight and win, even with one arm pinned behind their back.

But what defence is there against losing your sight?

Azriel hadn't even known his shadows were capable of such a thing. Their usual whirling expands in a blink of an eye, spreading out into a storm-cloud of blackness that drapes itself across the landscape. People murmur and bleat in fright as it creeps out deathly fast, snuffing senses and blinding everyone in the courtyard except him.

Like Rhys' own cloak of darkness, of midnight — but no, it's not night, it's shadow.

Azriel doesn't dwell on it, doesn't hesitate. Not when there's still territory, still enemies, in the space between him and you.

There's a ripple of unease from the warriors but Azriel's already advancing, the shadows beneath his boots silencing the shift of his feet. Through the darkness, Brudam gives himself away with an animalistic snarl and leads Azriel exactly to his his target.

He swings powerfully and Heartstriker does what it does best—aims true.

The bones in Brudam's shoulder makes a horrible sinking crack as the blade pierces it through, the brute giving a fiendish cry of pain.

Azriel drives it all the way through, his anger aiding his strength as he swipes out Brudam's feet. Heartstriker buries itself deep into the mud, driven by the weight of Brudam's body as it hits the ground.

All Azriel can think is that he should fucking gut him, should skin him alive. He should pull that blade and drag it forward, force it through all the muscle and shatter every bone on the way, until it pierces his awful heart.

The mating bond within him roars at him to do so, every inch of his body, of his soul, enraged at the state he'd found you in, the agonising hurt bestowed on you by this male—but it's not his kill. Azriel knows that.

So instead, he draws the Truth Teller with deft, deadly accuracy and then sinks it in deep into Brudam's groin, til the tip reaches mud on the other side.

Brudam howls, his whole body twitching as it tries to curl up against either blade unsuccessfully. Between the rain and the shadows, he's too incapacitated to do anything except wail.

Azriel doesn't waste a second, already moving. There's a warrior approaching on every side but between the gift of sight and silence in the shadow, he's devastatingly lethal.

One goes down with a slice across his throat, crimson soaking his front. The next crumbles after too many jabs of Azriel's dagger land in his torso, too slow to block them when he can't see them coming. The next, his head cut from his shoulders in one mighty swing.

Their cries join the thunder of the storm but somehow, through it all, all he can hear is the softness of your weak breath. Wounded. Fading.

Azriel's vision goes red. He moves expertly, his kills efficient until the burning rage in him gets too much and then he's slashing with pure malice, teeth gritted in hate, as he cuts down any warrior who stood by and watched. All he can feel is the thread between you and him, nearly torn from how much they've hurt you.

When the clashing of steel stops, the last foe dead, only the din of the rain remains.

Like a vacuum has opened somewhere in the sky, the inky cover of his shadow is sucked away, leaving only his sluggish moving shadows and exposing the bleak day. Carnage lies all around him. Bodies upon bodies of warriors.

Azriel can only see you.

You're still strapped to that torturous pole, your beautiful wings forcibly spread out and pinned, like you're being laid out for dissection. Across the flesh of your wings is a sickening number of thin, scarlet lines, gently bleeding.

Beneath you, in the mud, is the remains of your armor and Azriel can trace the scar that'll be left on your back from where it was cut off. The binding on your chest remains, now stained with blood.

You aren't moving.

He sprints without thought, without reason, following the bond. He finds the thread within his chest, grasps it tight, and tugs desperately. You don't even flinch.

A fear mounts inside him, more heart-wrenching than he's ever felt before. A glance down at his siphons reveals their still dull appearance—fucking useless to him.

Azriel staggers to his knees as he reaches you, his scarred hands reaching up to pry off the steel that binds your wrist to the wooden pole—ripping out chunks of the wood at the same time with his rapid, panicked motion. Your hands fall limply to your sides. He feels sick again.

"Y/n?"

He's scared to touch you, scared to do more damage that he's already caused, so so frightened that he just found you and you might already be gone.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you die. He can't—the thought is suffocating in itself, like a black hole that opens and starts pulling in his entire world— you can't die or he'll— he'll- nothing will matter anymore.

RHYS. He throws the plea out desperately, nearly delirious at the sight of your unmoving body. The words sound like a sob, even in his own mind. You have to help me.

Where are you? Rhys' voice fills his mind in an instant.

Then... a haggard breath sounds, like drawing through a mouthful of blood. You cough lightly, barely audible, and murmur, "...Azriel...?"

Something explodes inside Azriel, a burst of pure energy that fills him with relief so overwhelmingly he could cry.

Exordor. He barely manages to think properly, to even respond, beyond the staggering emotion. Come immediately. Please. I need you to- she needs—you have to help her. Please.

I'm on my way.

[NEXT PART: STRANGERS (AGAIN)]

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[here-comes-the-moose]

Crosshair: I’m mean and cold-hearted. I don’t need anyone or any comforts.

Echo: Shut the fuck up Crosshair, you get hurt if one of us doesn’t tuck you in and cry every time you watch Lilo & Stitch.

[kybercrystals94]

Eyes Wide Open

Read on Ao3 here!

Summer of Bad Batch 2024 | Week 2 | Prompt: Comfort Zone

Rated: G | Words: 2109

Summary:

“Did you know,” Crosshair says, conversationally, “that Hunter sleeps with his eyes open?”

A prank does not go as planned.

“Did you know,” Crosshair says, conversationally, “that Hunter sleeps with his eyes open?”

Echo huffs, “That’s impossible.”

“It’s part of his enhancement,” Crosshair says.

The sniper is lounging against the wall with the port Echo is scomped into, idly gnawing on a toothpick with his helmet tucked under his arm, rifle hanging uselessly in his other hand. Echo casts him a vexed glance. “Shouldn’t you be covering my six?

“I am.”

“With your helmet on? And your weapon ready?” 

“It’s an abandoned outpost,” Crosshair scoffs. “There’s nothing here.” 

“Well, then, can you at least stop distracting me? I’m trying to concentrate.” 

Crosshair snorts. “I’m giving you vital information about our squad’s dynamics.” 

“Sure you are,” Echo grumbles. 

“If you don’t believe me, ask Tech. He’ll tell you.” 

“Or maybe I’ll ask Wrecker.” 

“Sure.” 

Echo twists to look up at Crosshair. “You’re being serious? Hunter sleeps with his eyes open?” 

“It’s unsettling, but it’s true,” Crosshair says, shrugging. “But whatever you do, don’t tell Hunter you know. He’s very self conscious about it.” 

Echo narrows his eyes, watching for any twitch of a tell in Crosshair’s features. Crosshair stares back, unflinching, which means nothing. Of the Batch, he seems to be the most apt at lying. Turning back to his task, Echo says, “I’ll believe it when I see it.” 

“Fine by me,” Crosshair says with a shrug. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“Echo told me something interesting,” Crosshair says, trailing after Hunter as they leave their meeting with command. 

Hunter isn’t paying attention, reading over their new mission parameters before Tech gets ahold of them. “Yeah?” he asks, absently. 

“He said he sleeps with his eyes open.” 

“Uh, huh.” 

“That’s it? Did you even hear what I said?” 

The ire in Crosshair’s tone makes Hunter look back at him. “What?”

Crosshair sighs. “I said, Echo told me something interesting.”

Hunter quirks an eyebrow. “Okay?”

“He said that he sleeps with his eyes open.” 

Hunter laughs. “What does that mean?” 

“It means he literally sleeps with his eyes open. Something to do with his cybernetics.” 

“He’s pulling your leg, Cross.” 

“I’ve seen it.” 

Now Hunter stops, turning to look at Crosshair dubiously. “You’ve seen Echo sleep with his eyes open.” 

“Several times.”  

Hunter considers this a moment, then regards Crosshair with a disconcerted expression. “You know, it’s kinda creepy that you watch Echo while he sleeps.” 

“I don’t watch him sleep,” Crosshair sputters. 

“That’s kind of what you just said.” 

Crosshair rolls his eyes and walks away, missing Hunter’s grin of triumph. It isn’t hard to annoy the sniper…but embarrassing him was a special kind of achievement. 

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

Echo almost asks Tech about Hunter, then he almost asks Wrecker. The issue is that if he caves to the surmounting curiosity, and it turns out this is some sort of prank…everyone will know he fell for it and he’ll look like a gullible dolt. Then again, Crosshair had seemed genuine. It would be a weird thing to lie about. What would he gain from it? (Besides the obvious prize of making Echo appear idiotic.) In the end, Echo decides that he’ll just have to verify the intel for himself, do some recon. How hard can it be to catch Hunter asleep and just…investigate.

Apparently, absolutely kriffing impossible. 

For whatever reason (further piquing Echo’s interest), Hunter always sleeps with his back to the room. To investigate would mean to lean precariously over the hyper sensitive clone. Like that’s gonna happen with Echo’s prosthetics and cybernetics whirring and screaming his location at all times. 

A standard week later, Echo still doesn’t know if Hunter sleeps with his eyes open, but he is almost positive the man has eyes in the back of his head. 

A rare stint on Kamino finds Echo sitting at the table, facing Hunter’s bunk, waiting and hoping that the clone tucked inside turns over in his sleep and finally puts this rumor to rest…so to speak. 

Abruptly, Hunter rolls over and pins Echo with a bleary glare. “What are you doing?” he growls, voice rough with sleep. 

Echo stammers, holding up a dark data pad as frail evidence. “Reading?” An internal smack to the forehead as he wonders why he posed his answer as a question.  

“You’ve been watching me sleep. Why?” 

“I’m not,” Echo protests. 

“You are,” Hunter insists. 

Echo squirms under the scrutiny, face aflame with embarrassment. “Just something Crosshair said…I was trying to figure out if it was true.” 

Hunter rolls his eyes. “Did he tell you I sleep with my eyes open?” 

Echo gapes. This can go one of two very different ways. Either Hunter admits that it’s true, or he tells Echo that he’s an idiot for believing a syllable out of the sniper’s mouth. Echo is not mentally prepared for either scenario. 

“Well, it’s not true,” Hunter deadpans. “Although, Cross told me that you told him that you sleep with your eyes open because of something to do with your cybernetics.”

Echo frowns. “Did you believe him?”

Hunter grins, flopping over onto his back and covering his eyes with the crook of one arm. “No, because I’m not an idiot.” 

“He said it had to do with your enhancement,” Echo defends himself, but that just makes Hunter laugh.  

“And you just believed him?” Hunter asks, still chuckling. 

Echo doesn’t want to dignify the obviously rhetorical question with a response, so he awakens his data pad with an irritable tap, and begins to sort through meaningless tabs hoping that Hunter will just drop it, and that he won’t tell Crosshair about any of it. 

“Ah, don’t feel bad, Echo,” Hunter says, still hiding half his face under his arm. “Cross messing with you means he likes you. You’re officially part of the squad. Getting harrassed by Crosshair is practically a right of passage.”

“Does it ever stop?” Echo mutters. 

Of course Hunter hears him. “No, but you get used to it.” 

Echo swears under his breath. “Goody.” 

A few minutes pass and Echo thinks that Hunter has fallen back asleep; however, the sergeant lifts his arm. “I have an idea to get him back…if you’re interested.”

Oh, Echo is very interested.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

“You were right about Echo,” Hunter says, walking alongside Crosshair. 

Crosshair is pushing a cart of supplies from the armory. This is usually a task completed by Wrecker and Crosshair; however, Hunter had volunteered to go when Wrecker was occupied helping Tech with inventory counts…a task Hunter usually did with Tech. 

“What are you talking about?” Crosshair asks. 

Hunter glances around and lowers his voice. “About him sleeping with his eyes open.” 

Crosshair carefully keeps his expression from twitching into a look of surprise. “Of course I was right. Why would I lie about something like that?” 

“To make me a kriffing creeper like you,” Hunter says, bumping his shoulder into Crosshair. 

Crosshair rolls his eyes, remembering how this conversation went a few weeks ago. “I don’t watch him sleep!” 

“Fine, you don’t…but you were right! I couldn’t believe it. I asked Tech about it, and he said it is one of the side effects of his internal cybernetics. Sometimes Echo forgets to close his eyes if he falls asleep too fast.” 

That actually kind of made sense. Crosshair smirks. “You’re telling me this like I didn’t already know.” 

“I’m just saying, I’m sorry for doubting you,” Hunter says humbly. “It’s actually a good thing you told me. When I talked to Tech, he said that it is important that we close Echo’s eyes for him if he falls asleep with them open. They dry out and are painful once he wakes up.” 

Crosshair hums. He isn’t sure what he thinks of that. Maybe Echo should learn to fall asleep slower if drying his eyes out is that huge of a problem. 

Hunter claps Crosshair’s shoulder soundly. “Thank you for looking out for our squadmate. I know it’s been an adjustment incorporating Echo into the squad, but when we all put in the effort, it will be an even more seamless transition.” 

“Sure,” Crosshair mutters, feeling uncomfortable under the glowing praise. Hunter isn’t usually so flowery, and Echo’s adapting to the dynamics of Clone Force 99 hasn’t been that difficult. A few missteps here and there, but overall, the reg seemed able to keep up. 

Crosshair shrugs off the awkwardness of the situation and hopes he is never the one who sees that Echo has fallen asleep with his eyes open.

<<>><<>><<>><<>><<>><<>>

He isn’t so lucky. 

A standard week later, a mission forces them to travel twelve hours in hyperspace. Once the mission parameters have been established, the Batch disperse to do their own tasks. Echo announces that he is exhausted and is going to take a nap. He tells his new brothers that he does not want to be disturbed unless it is a matter of life or death. Then, he stretches out on the lower bunk, turns his back to the room, and is softly snoring a few minutes later. 

Crosshair is doing what he usually does on a long space journey: taking apart his entire rifle and putting it back together after polishing each individual piece. He is nearly done putting the rifle back together when Echo rolls over with a loud sigh. Crosshair glances up and freezes mid attaching one rifle piece to another. 

Echo is staring at him, unblinking. Well. Not at him, more like, through him. It’s terrifying. 

Crosshair glances at the cockpit where Tech, Hunter and Wrecker are. If he could get one of them to come back here, maybe they’d see Echo’s predicament and handle it themselves, Crosshair could claim not to have noticed. 

Another option is to wake Echo up. Crosshair isn’t scared of Echo, not even intimidated; however, putting an ARC on the warpath for disturbing his sleep seems like an unwise decision if Crosshair doesn’t want to face retaliation. 

The third option, the option Crosshair is loath to even consider, is to get up and close Echo’s eyes himself. Knowing there is no one around to hear him, Crosshair breathes out a whine, dropping his head back against the wall and sagging his shoulders. He really, really does not want to do this. 

Echo continues to stare. 

Unseeing. Unblinking. 

Just staring, staring right through Crosshair. 

With another hissed sound of disdain, Crosshair puts aside his rifle pieces and stands up. How does one even close someone’s eyes? You just prise their eyelids down? Won’t that wake them up? These questions plague Crosshair’s mind as he creeps forward, trying not to make eye contact with the sleeping ARC. It’s just so weird…

He stands in front of the bunk, sighs again, and kneels down, crouched on his heels. He reaches up slowly, hating every painful second of this. 

A hand catches his wrist and a voice says, low and cryptic, “Gotcha.” 

Crosshair does not scream. He will die on that hill. But the way his heart leaps into his throat and lodges there makes him fall backwards, landing hard on his tailbone. 

Echo is laughing hysterically, dropping Crosshair’s wrist as he sits up. A combination of the laughter and whatever thing made the unholy, panicked squawk draw the attention of the three persons in the cockpit. 

Hunter is grinning wide enough that Crosshair knows for an absolute fact that the idiot was in on the whole thing. 

“What were you doing, Cross?” Echo asks between gasps of laughter. 

Crosshair pushes himself to his feet and stands stiffly, arms crossed, wishing he had a toothpick to break between his teeth. “You know exactly what I was doing. It was a set up.” 

“What happened?” Wrecker asks, looking wounded at being left out of whatever Echo and Hunter found hilarious. 

“Echo fell asleep with his eyes open,” Hunter says, chuckling. 

Tech adjusts his goggles. “That is a condition known as nocturnal lagophthalmos. I was not aware Echo had it. Fascinating.” 

“He doesn’t have it,” Crosshair grouses. “Hunter lied to me.” 

Hunter looks shocked. “You’re the one who told me Echo had that.” 

“And you’re the one who told me that Hunter did,” Echo puts in, wiping tears from his eyes. 

Wrecker frowns. “Wait? So Hunter sleeps with his eyes open too?” 

“Neither of them do,” Crosshair growls. 

“Crosshair tried to trick Echo and I, so we got him back,” Hunter says, looking far too proud of himself. 

“So it was you that screamed like a prepubescent cadet?” Tech asks Crosshair with a grin. 

“I did not scream,” Crosshair says firmly. 

“Well, it wasn’t me,” Echo says. 

Wrecker is laughing now. “Wait, wait, tell me the whole story.”

Echo happily starts from the beginning. 

END

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[zoeykallus]

Look, sweetheart, I need Crosshair back with the batch. I need him to just find out about Tech. And I need him to come not only back to the batch, but too his lover (fem reader), and while they are having a rather hot reunion, he suddenly has a breakdown, trying to cope the news that Tech is gone. Reader comforts him, of course, catching him. Crosshair NEEDS a moment like that. Pretty please...

Aloha!

Yet another ancient request that slipped through the cracks. I'm so so so so sorry you had to wait so long for this. But I gotta tell you, I really like the scene that's just now unfolding in my head. Here we go, finally!

Crosshair x Fem!Reader One-shot - Don't Let Go Of Me

Warnings: 18+ (?) Angst/Hurt/Comfort/Strongly Suggestive/Sexual Themes/Fluff

_________

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

_________

"But, where is Tech? Why isn't he chewing my ear off with his latest findings yet?" It quietens down completely in the cockpit of the Marauder. Only the soft hum of the shuttle can be heard. Every single one of you has known from the start, that this question would come sooner or later, but it still hits you like a sledgehammer. Hunter is the only one who manages to meet Crosshair's gaze. "Things went wrong during our first attempt to free you" You see Crosshair slowly frowning critically. As if to brace yourself, you slowly take a deep breath and exhale again, as if it's you hearing this news for the first time, not him. Shrugging his shoulders, the Sniper asks, "So, what does that mean?" "Tech didn't make it back. We'd all be dead without him. Plan 99," Echo says quietly. You see Crosshair swallow. A tremor runs through his hands for a moment, then he is completely motionless again. The Sniper avoids your gaze, not looking at you once. He knows how well you know him, that you can see his every emotion, no matter how hard he tries to hide it, and right now it's unsettling him far too much.

Crosshair blinks, his expression stony, he doesn't move a muscle. A long, awkward moment of silence ensues, no one says a word. But then, just as you expected, Crosshair immediately switches from sadness to anger. His gaze could have cut dura steel as he sets his sights on Hunter. His voice isn't loud, but it's cutting as he speaks, "Why? Why the hell did you even try this! I sent you this message to keep you away, to hide, to keep Omega safe!" Hunter grinds his teeth, clearly preoccupied with staying calm. He has enough guilt without Crosshair putting his finger on it. "Tech could still be alive if you'd just done the right thing once," the Sniper snarls, digging his finger into Hunter's chest, "Just one fucking time" You see Hunter grit his teeth, the tension beneath his surface. Echo pushes Crosshair's outstretched arm aside and says, "Hunter was against getting you. Tech and Omega insisted we try" Crossshair gruffly pushes Echo aside and snaps, "Doesn't matter," turning to Hunter he says, "You're the squad leader, you have the final say and you should have decided differently" Hunter growls softly, "I'm painfully aware of that"

Omega, who has been watching quietly until now, says quietly but clearly, "Tech and I insisted, we would never have given in" Crosshair snorts, pushing past Wrecker towards the ramp. "Where are you going?" asks Hunter. " Out of here, I can't breathe in here," the Sniper grumbles and disappears from your sight. Wrecker sighs, "Well, that went as well as expected" You pat Hunter gently on the shoulder and say, "You did the right thing, if it wasn't for Saw none of this would have happened. It wasn't your fault, and it wasn't Tech's or Omega's either" Hunter sighs wistfully and says, "Maybe" "Give Crosshair some time, he's just hearing this for the first time, he needs to digest the whole thing before he can deal with it properly," you tell him encouragingly.

Hunter growls, "He should pull himself together sooner or later, we all mourn Tech, he wasn't just his brother" After a sigh he adds, "Keep an eye on him please" You nod and say, "I'll give him some time alone, then I'll follow him"

You wait almost two hours before following Crosshair to the beach. Omega had already wanted to follow him, but you asked her to stay away from him for now and leave you to it. The girl reluctantly agreed, only when Hunter told her to stay in the ship did she let you go alone. As if the weather were adjusting to the general mood, dark clouds gather over Pabuu. In the distance, you hear a low rumble of thunder. Shortly afterward, it starts to rain, and not just a little. You sigh and continue walking towards the beach. As expected, you find Crosshair there, on a rockier part of the beach, with his rifle, firing at makeshift targets consisting of glass bottles and various stones. You don't have to watch him for long to realize that he is anything but at the top of his game. He repeatedly misses shots that he would normally hit at any time, regardless of the weather conditions.

The wind carries his growls, his half-suppressed curses to your ear and you sigh softly. He is completely agitated, no wonder he can't concentrate. As you get closer, you see the trembling in his hands, which he repeatedly clenches into fists, shakes and tries to relax before he takes his next shot. But suddenly he stops. You know he has sensed your presence. His head slowly turns in your direction. As you stand next to him, he growls, "I was wondering what was keeping you" "I thought I'd give you a little space before I ambush you" "Hmm," he grumbles quietly, puts the Firepuncher back in the holster on his back, and sits down on one of the wet rocks nearby. As you try to sit down next to him, he stops you, shaking his head, "The rocks are wet and freezing, you're sure to catch a cold if you sit on them for any length of time" "You sit on them too" He raises his eyebrows and says, "I'm a clone, Kitten, besides, I have my armor on, I don't get sick easily"

With a sigh, you put your hands in your jacket pockets. Your clothes are already soaked, you don't think it really matters whether you sit down on the cold stone or not, but you stand still. Somehow you had imagined the reunion between you two to be different. You know that he is not the type for exuberant emotional exchanges, but still. The euphoria you felt when you realized he was back, which you actually still feel, you wish you could see some of it in him. At the moment, you're not quite sure where you both stand. You don't quite know if he wants to hear it, but you say it anyway, "I missed you" He looks up at you from his seated position, his gaze strangely scrutinizing, then his eyes wander back to the horizon over the sea in the distance. "Not as much as I missed you," he mumbles softly, so softly that his words are almost drowned out by the sound of the rain. You're so surprised you don't know what to reply, but maybe no response is necessary for now. Crosshair licks his lips, wipes rainwater from his face, and looks up at you again.

"Is there a place here where we can be alone and undisturbed?" "We are alone" Crosshair rolls his eyes and says, "No we're not, Omega is sneaking around back there, behind the rocks" You sigh, turn around and shout, "Omega, go back to the ship!" "How did you see me?" the girl shouts back in disbelief. "I didn't. Please go back to Hunter, I have everything under control here" After Omega leaves, Crosshair looks at you, a barely noticeable smirk at the corner of his mouth. "So you have everything under control here?" You shrug your shoulders. "More or less." He chuckles. "Now is there somewhere we can be undisturbed and maybe get out of the rain?" the Sniper asks.

Crosshair takes off the Firepuncher, removes his gloves and takes off his chest plate as he looks around. "So this is where you live now?" "When we're not traveling, yes" The little cottage is nothing particularly meaningful, you don't actually spend much time here, there's hardly any decoration or features worth mentioning. But he does notice one thing. You follow his gaze as you notice that it lingers in one place for a long time. There's a target hanging at the head of your bed. "You really still have that thing?" He steps closer to the bed, his fingers gliding over the burn holes from blaster shots in the target hanging above it, over the initials you both carved into it after your first training session together. He laughs softly and says, "You were as happy as a baby when you got to use the Firepuncher" "I remember," you reply quietly.

You swallow and finally explain, still quietly, "When I realized you weren't coming back, that you were staying with the Empire, I dug out the target from my old stuff and hung it up. Most of our things were destroyed on Kamino, so I didn't have any pictures or anything of you. It was just my way of remembering you and dealing with the fact that you were gone" He sighs softly, gazing at the strange decoration above your bed for quite a while before turning to you. "I never left you" "Yes, you very much did. You knew I couldn't follow you on your path with the Empire, if only because of my political past. When you decided to stay there, you left me." He shakes his head and sighs again. "It's not that simple" You shrug your shoulders impatiently, you don't want to argue right now, not at all. "Does it matter? I don't expect an apology or an explanation. You did what you thought was right at the time, and at some point you realized it was wrong. These things happen," you say, peeling yourself out of your completely soaked jacket and throwing it on the floor.

"You just let me off the hook like that? I'd be pissed if I were you" You laugh humorlessly, "Yeah, I know you hold grudges" Crosshair comes over with a sigh and picks up your jacket from the floor. "Don't you have a hamper?" You laugh again. "Still such a neat freak? No, I don't, I don't spend too much time here" With another sigh, Crosshair lets the jacket fall to the floor again. "You're completely soaked," he notes. "It's raining," you say dryly. You're only wearing a tank top, which is also soaked, and a pair of shorts under your jacket. His fingers graze your shoulders, which immediately makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and sends a pleasant shiver down your spine. "Your skin is all chilled out, take off the rest of your wet clothes"

You laugh softly and say, "You just want to see me naked" He nods and admits, "That too, yes. But you're really chilled out." Crosshair watches you unabashedly as you take off the rest of your clothes, including your underwear, and finally stand naked in front of him. He takes a deep breath and finally says, "It's been a long time since I've seen anything so beautiful" The next moment your lips meet, they are as soft and warm as you remember them. The moment as you get closer, as his face approaches yours, is somehow a blur, as if it never happened, as if his lips had simply always been on yours. You help Crosshair out of his armor and blacks, the pieces flying carelessly to the floor on your way to bed. You roll through the sheets, hands and lips everywhere. If you're not mistaken, you can feel one of his hands shaking occasionally, but you're not really in a position to pay much attention to it at the moment. His fingers trail down your body, as do his lips, reaching for your body, pressing against you, naked and ravenous. Crosshair seems so greedy, almost desperate, as he caresses you, moaning under your every touch as if it's the first time anyone has touched him like this.

He's honest with you, direct. "It's been a long time since I've been able to relieve myself, I don't know how long I can last today" Your lips graze along his lower jaw and elicit an excited sigh. "You know that doesn't matter to me, being this intimate with you is enough for me" Crosshair rolls his eyes, but then says, "I know, but you also know that it matters to me that you get what you need. But right now... I just don't know how long this will last, and I need you now, your body, your closeness" You feel his hard cock twitch as it rests on your pubic area and open your thighs a little wider. "You're safe here, Crosshair, I love you. Come here, melt into me" The look he gives you is enough, he doesn't need to say the words back, the relief, the gratitude, the depth of affection in those otherwise serious eyes is worth a thousand words.

As he enters your body, his hard length stretching and filling your wet heat, you let out a deep, relieved sigh from your lungs. You've missed this feeling so much. It's strange, you feel much less arousal at the moment, more deep relief, a strange euphoria and affection. You smile rapturously as Crosshair climaxes, as expected, after a relatively short time and a few intense thrusts into your pussy. The sound that leaves his throat is both a moan and a whimper, it sounds relieved, surprised and in a strange way... desperate. Concerned, you gently stroke his bare back with your fingertips. He remains lying on top of you, most of his weight resting on his forearms, his head buried in the hollow between your head and shoulder. Then you feel it. A slight tremor goes through his upper body, especially through his shoulders, his breathing is heavy, irregular. A quiet sob, half smothered by your neck and the pillow. Holy shit, is all you can think right now. Crosshair has shown himself vulnerable to you before, in his, odd, often reluctant way, but this is new.

Silently, you draw gentle, soothing circles on his back while his tears wet your neck. There are no correct words now, you realize, this is something that needs to come out of him, uncommented. You don't know how much time has passed, maybe an hour or two. Crosshair is getting heavier on you. You don't want to bother him, don't want to push him away, but slowly you can barely breathe. "Cross," you say softly, a little breathlessly, "I can barely catch my breath" He straightens up with such a sudden jolt that you startle a little. "Sorry," he mumbles, hastily wipes his still tear-streaked face and starts to get dressed. His eyes are all red and swollen, you've never seen him like this before. Quietly, secretly, your heart breaks at the sight. You wish you could do something, but you know you can't force your care on him, that's not how Crosshair works. You have to offer him opportunities that he can take on his own terms and as he feels. "There's no need to apologize," you say gently. Crosshair sighs softly, "I know it's not particularly romantic to just leave after what we just did, but I need some fresh air, alone"

So he withdraws, again. Actually, you're not surprised. A relationship with Crosshair is sometimes a bit like a game of tug-of-war or patience. You stifle a sigh and continue to smile at him. "That's okay. You know where to find me whenever you need me." Crosshair sighs in relief, he didn't really expect you to make a scene. But the circumstances are a little different compared to normal, and basically he couldn't have blamed you if you'd been angry that he wanted to leave, he's aware of that. "Thank you," he says quietly, almost in a whisper, before opening the door and walking out into the rain. With a sigh, you go into the bathroom, clean yourself up and finally lie back in bed when there is a sudden knock at the door. "Who is it?" The door opens very slowly and Crosshair sticks his head in. "Cross?" you ask in surprise. "Yeah... I've changed my mind," he says a little uncertainly, entering the room and closing the door behind him again, "I don't think I want to be alone after all, I've been alone long enough, and I feel better with you."

Your eyes widen in surprise, but then you give him a warm smile. Crosshair clears his throat a little awkwardly and asks, "Would you mind if I stayed the night?" Your smile widens, and you say, "You know very well that you can stay here every night for all I care" A smirk twitches at the corner of his mouth. You reach out to him and Crosshair hurriedly takes off his gear, crawls under the covers and into your arms, wrapping his own arms around your body. With a deep sigh of relief, he leans his head against your chest and whispers so softly it's almost not even a whisper anymore, "I love you, don't let go of me" At the same volume, you whisper back, "Never" and feel him wrap his arms a little tighter around you.

@rintheemolion

@andyoufollowyourheart @clone-whore-99

@brynhildrmimi @kaliel2310

@misogirl828 @tech-deck

@meshla-madalene

@chxpsi

@thebahdbitch

@nahoney22 @ladykatakuri

@darkangel4121

@ttzamara

@arctrooper69

@padawancat97

@agenteliix

@allsystemsblue

@palliateclaw

@either-madness-or-brilliance

@ortizshinkaroff

@andy-solo1

@hunterssecretrecipe

@heyitsaloy

@greaser-wolf

@extrahotpixels

@hated-by-me

@hunterxcrosshair

@malicemercy

@bebopsworld

@echos-girlfriend

@cpnt616

@dangraccoon

@jediknightjana

@pb-jellybeans

@antishadow2021

@sleepycreativewriter

@projectdreamwalker

@1vlouds

@clonelovr

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

Pink Floyd - Comfortably Numb

[librababe99]

Echoes of Her: Part Three

A/N: Hey y'all ! I'm back with the final part of "Echoes of Her" ♡ I seriously want to thank everyone for your comments, reblogs and interactions with this mini series. I loved being able to write this and bring these ideas to life! Again, y'all mean so much to me...so THANK YOU! Stay tuned for more soon ♡ - Libra * .♡ *:･ﾟ✧ ⋆ ࣪.* ࣪.⋆ Word Count: 1738 CW: Angst, love triangle, hurt with comfort (Part one) (Part Two)

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The days following your conversation with Logan were a torment you hadn’t anticipated. Each hour seemed to stretch endlessly, the pain of your unresolved feelings gnawing at you from the inside out. The mansion, once a place of comfort and familiarity, had become a labyrinth of haunting memories, each corridor a reminder of what you had lost—or perhaps never truly had.

You moved through it like a ghost, your presence almost ethereal, as if the very walls knew you were clinging to a love that had slipped through your fingers. Every corner you turned, every room you entered, was steeped in the past—a collection of fleeting glances, whispered secrets, and moments stolen from time, all of which now seemed like distant echoes of a life that no longer felt like your own. The spaces that had once been filled with the warmth of his presence now felt cold and empty, as if the mansion itself mourned the uncertainty that had settled between you and Logan. And as you wandered through this once-familiar place, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were trapped in the shadow of something you could never fully possess, lost in the remnants of a love that might have never truly been yours to begin with.

Logan kept his promise. He gave you space, but his presence was everywhere: the scent of his cigar lingering in the air, the faint echoes of his voice in the halls, the emptiness that seemed to follow you, reminding you of the distance between you. It was unbearable, the constant ache in your chest, the gnawing fear that you’d never find your way back to each other.

The nights were the worst. The quiet darkness left you alone with your thoughts, with the haunting image of Jean in Logan’s arms, with the memories of the life you’d imagined with him. Sleep eluded you, your mind racing with questions that had no answers.

And every night, without fail, you found yourself standing outside his door, your hand hovering over the wood, your heart pounding in your chest. But you never knocked. You never found the courage to face him, to ask the questions you were too afraid to know the answers to.

But tonight was different. Tonight, the silence felt suffocating, the emptiness too much to bear. Your heart ached with the need to see him, to hear his voice, to find some semblance of closure, whether it meant saying goodbye or finding a way forward together.

Taking a deep breath, you steeled yourself and knocked on the door. The sound was soft, hesitant, but in the quiet of the night, it echoed like a gunshot.

The door creaked open, and there he was, his eyes widening in surprise as they locked onto yours. He looked as worn and tired as you felt, and the sight of him made your heart twist painfully in your chest.

“Can we talk?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

Logan nodded silently, stepping aside to let you in. The room was dimly lit, the shadows dancing across the walls as you entered. It was the same room you’d left him in all those nights ago, but now it felt different. The air was charged with something unspoken, something that made your skin prickle with anticipation.

He closed the door behind you, the sound of it clicking shut sending a shiver down your spine. You turned to face him, your heart hammering in your chest, your hands trembling at your sides.

“I’ve been thinking,” you began, your voice shaky. “About us. About everything.”

Logan didn’t respond, his eyes locked on yours, his expression unreadable. The tension between you was palpable, a thick, heavy thing that hung in the air, pressing down on you both.

“I’m scared, Logan,” you admitted, your voice breaking. “I’m scared that no matter how much we try, we’re always going to end up back here. Hurting each other, tearing each other apart.”

He took a step closer, his gaze softening as he reached out to gently touch your arm. “I’m scared too,” he said, his voice low and rough. “But I’m more scared of losing you.”

Your breath hitched, the raw emotion in his voice cutting through you like a blade. “I don’t know how to do this, Logan. I don’t know how to be with you when I know… when I know she’s still a part of you.”

He winced, the pain in his eyes almost unbearable to see. “She is a part of me. Always will be. But that doesn’t mean I don’t love you. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to be with you. I’m tired of running from this—from us. I’m tired of living in the past.”

The sincerity in his words made your heart ache, the tears you’d been holding back finally spilling over. “I don’t want to be second best,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I don’t want to spend my life wondering if I’m just a consolation prize.”

Logan’s hand moved to your cheek, his touch gentle as he wiped away your tears. “You’re not. You never were. I’ve been a fool, and I’ve hurt you in ways I can never make up for. But I’m here now, and I’m telling you that you’re the one I want. You’re the one I need.”

His words hit you with a force that nearly knocked the wind out of you, your breath catching in your throat as you stared up at him, searching his eyes for any sign of doubt. But there was none. Only raw, unfiltered truth.

“I don’t know if I can do this,” you admitted, your voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know if I can keep loving you when it hurts this much.”

Logan’s grip on your face tightened slightly, his thumb brushing over your cheek in a soothing gesture. “Then let me help you. Let me prove to you that I’m not going anywhere. That I’m choosing you.”

You hesitated, the fear still gnawing at the edges of your heart, but beneath it, there was something else—a flicker of hope, of longing, that refused to be extinguished.

“I want to believe you,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “I want to trust you.”

“Then do,” Logan urged, his voice rough with emotion. “Trust me. Trust us. We’ve been through hell, but we’re still standing. That’s gotta mean something.”

His words hung in the air, the truth of them settling deep in your bones. You knew he was right. Despite everything, despite the pain and the heartache, you were still here. You were still fighting.

And maybe that was enough.

Slowly, tentatively, you nodded. “Okay.”

Logan’s breath escaped him in a rush, relief flooding his features as he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. You melted into his embrace, the warmth of his body chasing away the cold that had settled in your heart.

He leaned down, his forehead resting against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “For everything. I’m going to spend the rest of my life making it up to you if you’ll let me.”

You closed your eyes, your heart swelling with a mix of emotions—fear, hope, love—all tangled together in a messy, beautiful knot. “I don’t want you to spend the rest of your life apologizing,” you whispered back, your voice soft but firm. “I just want you to be here. With me. For real.”

“I’m here,” he promised, his voice rough with sincerity. “I’m not going anywhere.”

And as his lips met yours in a tender, lingering kiss, you allowed yourself to believe it—to believe in the possibility of a future where the echoes of the past no longer haunted you, where the love you shared was enough to overcome the pain.

The kiss deepened, the taste of him filling your senses, grounding you in the present, in the reality that he was here, with you, and that you were choosing each other, despite everything.

When you finally pulled away, your breath ragged, your heart pounding in your chest, you looked up at him, your eyes searching for any sign of hesitation. But there was none. Only love, raw and unfiltered, staring back at you.

“Stay with me tonight,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “Just stay.”

You nodded slowly, feeling the last remnants of fear and doubt dissolve like mist under the warmth of his gaze. The walls you had built around your heart began to crumble, replaced by a quiet, unwavering certainty. With a gentle but deliberate motion, you reached up, your fingers trembling slightly as they found their way to his face. The rough texture of his stubbled cheek was a comforting reminder of his strength, of the man who had weathered so many storms yet still stood before you, willing to face the tempest that had raged between you both. Your thumb traced a slow, tender path along his jawline, as if trying to memorize every detail, to anchor yourself in this moment of fragile peace. “I’m not going anywhere,” you whispered, your voice steady, filled with a conviction that surprised even you.

As his arms wrapped around you, drawing you close, you let yourself melt into the embrace, feeling the solid warmth of him against you. The tension, the pain, the wounds that had festered between you for so long seemed to dissipate, leaving behind only the raw, undeniable truth of your connection. His arms were both a refuge and a promise, holding you in a way that spoke of comfort and commitment, of a bond that had been tested but refused to break. Despite the scars that marred your past, despite the echoes of hurt that would always linger in the shadows, you realized that you had finally found your way back to one another.

This time, there was no hesitation, no lingering doubt. You knew, with every fiber of your being, that this was where you were meant to be—in his arms, with him. The journey had been long and painful, marked by loss and longing, but it had led you to this moment, to a love that had survived the worst and emerged stronger. As you held each other close, you silently vowed that this time, no matter what challenges lay ahead, you would face them together.

You weren’t letting go—not now, not ever.

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Taglist: @littledebbieinabigworld @sasuke-kun0 @mrs-schoenheit @daily-evanstan @aliisa-jones @danicl25 @shortbk @hynjjine @nonamevenus @yawnetu @enashift

[joyfuladorable]

Ch. 5 & 6 of Dragon of the Sun by @forestwhisper3

(<Ch.1-4)

He felt like this past day had helped him learn a lot about Usagi. Things had relaxed between them, and their interactions, while they had never not been friendly, felt more comfortable- as if the unspoken barrier that kept that last bit of formality between them had finally been crossed, and he was...excited. Raph had Casey. Donnie had April and sort of shared Leatherhead with Mikey, who also had the Justice Force. They all were his friends too, yeah, but...it was nice to have a friend who was his first. Who preferred his company over the others. A best friend.

Forest said "time for Leosagi" and DELIVERED!!! This fic continues to diverge beautifully from canon, with Mikey's powers creating a butterfly effect and dropping Leo into his angst arc Early. Thank goodness his Best Friend helps guide him through it! UwU

[stardusthuntress]

Shark Week

TBB x afab!reader (no clone-cest) 

Word count: ~1.1k (short but sweet this time)

Summary: periods suck, but the bad batch is here to help! No smut this time, just comfort from the bestest of bad boys!

A/N: So, I'm on my period (ow), and I wish the batch was here to help... so let's pretend they are! Periods are a roller coaster, so for those who have to deal with one and need a hug from the best bad boys when it gets bad, this is for you! I wrote this as though all the men sorta have a crush on the reader, but it’s not too suggestive, so interpret it however you want! 

also, I know I'm the worst at keeping to a predictable writing schedule which makes it hard for people to keep up with my fics when they are posted. And I do remember that I promised more fun with the Right Attire series before anything else - turns out those ones are harder to write than I expected! I promise those are in the works! For now, have a sweet little period comfort fic instead!

Mando’a: 

Mesh’la = Beautiful 

dividers by @/djarrex

“What’s wrong with you?” Wrecker asks as they return from a market trip and find you curled into a ball around a heating pad, head tucked into your knees, groaning on the couch with a container of pain meds, an empty ice cream container, and an assortment of tissues and tissue boxes scattered across the nearest counter. 

All the gents pause for a moment. 

“Sabotaged by my baby box…” your voice mumbles from around the pillow you’re currently squashing between your lap and heating pad, unwilling to uncurl to do so. 

“Ah, I see.” Says Tech, redirecting his steps from the workbench in the main room to the outdoor one, knowing you like quiet when the pain grips your internal organs like this. 

Echo heads straight to the kitchen and starts filling a water bottle. 

Hunter sits down next to you and leans you against his side, rubbing your back. 

“What?” Asks Wrecker, genuinely confused. 

Crosshair chuckles from where he’s leaned against the doorway to the kitchen, and shifts his toothpick to answer. “She’s on her period, Wrecker.” He states it blatantly, much to your dismay. Not that you didn’t just say the same thing in different words, but somehow it’s the delivery that just grates on your nerves. But before you can spiral down that rabbit hole, Wrecker’s voice drags you from your emotional reverie. 

“Ooooooohhhhh…. Uh…. Want me to make you a nest?” Wrecker tries. 

Echo emerges from the bedrooms, slightly cool water bottle in hand, bowl of fruit under his arm, and a blanket draped over his shoulder, and Tech hot on his heels. “She’s not a bird, Wrecker.” 

“Mmmmm, yes please Wreck,” you mumble again, this time from Hunter’s shoulder. 

Echo chuckles fondly, “Maybe you are our little bird today.” 

“Actually,” Tech’s finger is in the air as he spouts facts, “many mammals also have nesting tendencies. Sometimes it is a child rearing tactic. In many cases it is lumped in with a group of behaviors or time of year, for example hibernation. There is also—“ 

Chuckling fondly at Tech’s incessant fountain of knowledge, you stretch a hand towards your water bottle on the counter, only to have Tech snatch it away as he stops chatting at you. 

“Hey!” You protest, hand going limp on the edge of the table in frustration with a moan of disdain. 

“That one’s empty, here,” Echo gently offers, sliding the one he’d just filled into your hand and sitting on your other side. 

He and Hunter help you sit up without uncurling to drink the water. 

Tech reappears, having deposited the empty water bottle into the kitchen. He stands in front of you with your favorite fuzzy socks, headband, and salty snacks, and a napkin so you can eat where you are. 

You give a tired smile, relaxing a bit as they all take the time to help you through the pain. “Thanks guys.” 

“We’re not done just yet,” Hunter says, placing a kiss on your temple as he stands up. 

You groan at the loss of one of your favorite heaters. 

“He will be right back,” Echo whispers into your other ear, pulling you closer. 

You hum in answer again as you relax into him. 

“Back already,” Hunter plops down beside you again. 

You grumble in protest as your comfy seat bounces in response. 

“Sorry,” he whispers against your shoulder, his hand sliding into yours. But instead of simply intertwining his fingers with yours you find yours getting wrapped around a crinkly package. 

You look down at it, confused, until you notice what it is… your favorite chocolate. 

“Hmmmm, you guys spoil me,” you mumble back. 

“Hmm, not enough,” he and Echo tell you, wrapping you in the blanket Echo brought and rubbing any part of you that they can reach. 

Tech reappears again, having used his brother’s attention on you to disappear yet again without anyone noticing… that is, except Crosshair, who walks beside him carrying an arm full of books. 

“We were unsure which one you are reading at the present time, or if there are several, but these were the books I kept a record of you mentioning most recently. Crosshair’s idea.” Tech finishes with a finger pointing to the sky, rather proudly. 

Behind them Wrecker appears, almost entirely hidden behind the piles of blankets and pillows he’s collected from your room and his. He pauses, and reshuffles so his mismatched eyes can reappear over the top of the multitude of comforts he carries. 

“Where do you wanna be?” He booms excitedly. He always enjoys building nests. 

“Where she is, Wrecker. Don’t make her move.” Crosshair tells him, with his usual grumpiness. 

Wrecker ignores him, still looking at you with a smile in his eye. 

“Na, we need more space than that. We’re all burrowing in with you, Mesh’la,” Hunter instructs. “Move that and we’ll use the floor.” 

Wrecker uses one foot to move things out of the way until Echo, and Crosshair get up and help. 

Hunter stays put, keeping you upright and warm. 

“My Dear,” Tech purrs, “I need you to simply answer yes or no to these questions so that I may make sure we have all necessary items on hand before we settle in.” 

You nod, laughing feebly, “I think you already have everything, but ok.” 

He lets a small proud smirk grace his lips and launches into a list of symptoms and you diligently answer, knowing he just wants to make you feel better. 

20 minutes later and you’re fed and curled up in the middle of 5 caring men, talking softly as you doze off. Your head is in Hunter’s lap as he massages your scalp and shoulders. Echo has your middle where he’s keeping a constant pressure on the heating pad on your abdomen, his hand massaging where your kidneys are to relieve the tension of your body in overdrive. Tech is massaging your feet through the fuzzy socks. Wrecker and Crosshair are spread out in front of you, keeping you in the center of their circle as Crosshair pretends to focus on what’s going on outside the window. Secretly he’s been unwrapping chocolate to feed you whenever you start to seem uncomfortable again. Tucked beneath your arm as you doze, is the book Crosshair pulled from the pile for you at your request. It’s quickly joined by Lula as Wrecker winks at you as he animatedly tells a story from when he walked Omega to Shep’s house for a sleepover this morning. 

“Sleep,” Crosshair whispers to you around his toothpick, “We’re not going anywhere.” 

Tucked between your favorite men in the galaxy, you drift off to a peaceful, relatively pain free, nap. By the time you fall asleep, one hand is tangled in Crosshair’s loose grip, and one in Wrecker’s. 

Please don’t steal my work! I pour my heart into these so if you like it please reblog to share instead of reposting it! And NO dropping it into an AI to finish it for me! That’s stealing my work and feeding it to an AI without my consent. It is not okay to give an AI something you didn’t write yourself! 

taglist: @cw80831 @kenobidevil @bambambunny