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juliette-chstgnr · 18 days ago

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Wedding Bell Blues

Pairing: Boss x F!Reader

Summary: Boss recruits his brothers as well as Laseema and Besany to help him pick out the perfect engagement ring for you!

Word Count: 3.6 k

Ratings/Warnings: T

A/N: Oof, I was yearning hard for my boy Boss a few days ago and this is the result. Boss can pretend to be all aloof and cool, but we all know he is secretly a big ol' pile of mush deep down.

I couldn't find a great reference for the ring I envisioned, but here is one that's kind of close. Just imagine it with two stones on each side instead of one, and without the twisty bits of metal.

Mando'a Translations:

cyare - beloved

vod'ika - little sibling (affectionate)

~~~

Walking into the jewelry store, Boss was certain he’d never been so sweaty in his life. He reached a damp palm into the back pocket of his civvies just to make sure the pieces of flimsi were still there. He’d faced down hordes of battle droids without fear, but buying an engagement ring had him shaking in his boots. Maybe it was the lack of armor, he felt exposed without a thick layer of katarn protecting him. At least he still had his brothers to watch his back.

As soon as the news of the war’s end reached him, he knew he wanted to propose to you. Well, he’d known he’d wanted to marry you long before that, but it wasn’t until an official ceasefire that that dream became an actual possibility instead of some far off dream to cling to when all else seemed lost. The only problem was that, well, he had no money. He knew you didn’t care about material things like an expensive ring or a fancy dress or a huge ceremony. If you cared about those things you would have left him long ago, tired of all the nights you two slept tucked next to each other under threadbare blankets or the fact the only gifts he could afford to get you were from the corner store or made by hand. But he cared. He wanted to give you the wedding of your dreams.

You deserved something nice after everything you’d done for him and his family. Not only had you put up with dates canceled at the last minute and weeks alone while he was off on some classified mission, but you’d also been his rock during this Maker-forsaken war. He’d been an absolute wreck after Kashyyyk, distraught about giving the order to leave Sev behind. You’d held him as he sobbed into your shoulder until no more tears were left, listened patiently as he expressed his fear that Scorch would hate him forever. By the next morning you were already looking into ways to get him back. And when Vau dragged Sev back from whatever hell hole he’d been in, you’d been there too - staying up with him when he couldn’t sleep, getting him out of bed when he was too depressed to move, looking into mental health resources when the Republic wouldn’t provide him with any.

So when Chancellor Organa had announced that the clones would be receiving back pay for all of their contributions to the war, there wasn’t a doubt in his mind what he wanted to spend that first paycheck on. The Republic, being the Republic, didn’t make it easy for him. Because the issue of clone back pay was such a contentious issue in a Senate saddled with an already enormous amount of war debt, Chancellor Organa had to go through some backdoors in order to get the first checks to them, dipping into one of the Senate’s discretionary funds to come up with the money, which meant the Senators would have to go without their lavish parties for a while. The Senators had tried to raise hell, calling the action an abuse of executive power, but Chancellor Organa had calmly explained to them that it was well within the executive powers granted to the office of Chancellor by those very same Senators only months previously. Boss wished he could have seen their reactions. The only downside to the Chancellor’s plan was that none of the clones had bank accounts set up yet, which meant their first paycheck was given as an actual physical check printed on flimsi, which was not exactly ideal but Boss couldn’t complain.

As soon as they’d all been given their first checks, the three other members of Delta Squad had pulled him aside and offered their money to him.

“We heard somewhere that you’re supposed to spend at least two month’s salary on an engagement ring,” Fixer explained as he placed the scrap of flimsi in his hand.

“And considering everything she’s done for us, we think she deserve something worth double that, don’tcha think?” Scorch added with a shrug, acting as if this was something casual instead of some grand gesture of love between brothers. Typical.

“Are you sure? The next paychecks probably won’t come for some time,” Boss asked.

“We can survive a few more months without money,” Sev stated matter-of-factly and the other two murmured their agreement.

“Though… we do have one condition,” Scorch added, “Take us ring shopping with you!”

“Deal.” Boss didn’t even need to think about it. He also made a promise in his head to pay them back with his next paychecks. There was no way he’d take their money all for himself.

So that is how the four commandos ended up in the jewelry store, accompanied by Besany and Laseema, who they’d recruited once they realized how over their heads they were. How was he supposed to know the difference between a princess cut and a diamond cut, or which one you would like better?

Luckily for him, the girls had him covered. Under the guise of going ring shopping for Laseema, they’d invited you out a few days earlier to stealthily learn your ring size and what sort of styles you liked in preparation for today.

“Welcome! Is there something I can help you with today?” the sales clerk greeted the group as they all filed in. He was a portly older Sullustan man wearing a nice black suit and a bowtie. Boss hadn’t expected everything to be so fancy and suddenly felt out of place in his casual civvies.

He cleared his throat before answering the man. “Yes, uh, I’m here to buy an engagement ring. For my girlfriend.”

“Smooth,” Scorch muttered under his breath, earning him an elbow to the ribs from Fixer.

Thankfully, the clerk didn’t bat an eyelash at Boss’s awkwardness or the way they were dressed, instead warmly ushering them over to the counter. “That’s wonderful! How long have you two been together?”

“Almost three years now,” Boss replied with a wistful smile. It felt so much longer than that, like you’d been by his side forever.

“Oh, since almost the beginning of the war, huh? You clone boys certainly work fast, though I’m sure a strapping young lad with your looks was fighting the ladies off from the start,” the clerk said with a chuckle and a wiggle of his brow ridges, making the two girls giggle amongst themselves and Boss flush.

“You could say that,” Besany quipped as she shared a sidelong glance with Laseema.

“I take it you two are with some clones as well?” the clerk asked.

“I’m dating one,” Laseema replied with a smile.

“I’m married to one,” Besany raised her hand to show him her ring finger. Ordo and Besany had opted to go the more traditional Mandalorian route with their marriage and in place of wedding bands, they’d gotten matching tattoos based on sigils Mandalorians would sometimes wear on their armor to show they were married.

The clerk pulled a monocle out of his pocket to take a closer look at Besany’s tattoo. “Beautiful. Looks to be about a year old, too. Your husband must be bit of an overachiever, no? First clone to be married, I bet.”

Besany snorted. “You could say that. It’s why I love him though,” and with a tilt of her head she added, “It’s funny, I’ve never thought about if he was the first clone ever to get married.”

“Well I certainly doubt you’ll be the last, what with how many couples I see snogging outside 79’s every night nowadays.”

“Woah, you know about 79’s?” Scorch piped up from the beck. So far, Fixer and Sev had been making good on their promise to keep him out of his usual shenanigans, a condition on their condition to bring them along. They were to keep him in the back, away from the cases of precious gems that cost millions of credits.

“Sure do. I live on the same block, as a matter of fact.”

“Oof, that’s rough buddy,” Scorch said. “ Let me just apologize for everything you’ve ever seen happen there, y’know, generally.” 79’s could always get a little rowdy when a bunch of clones were on shore leave at the same time, but in the past few weeks it had been absolutely crazy, with so many vode around and wanting to celebrate the end of the war.

The clerk laughed at that. “Ah, I don’t mind. It livens the place up. And I’ve made quite a few friends over the years.” He turned to Laseema, “You don’t happen to be dating a Commander from the 327th Star Corps, do you? Because I once helped a particularly drunk one who said he was in love with a blue twi’lek woman.”

“No, sorry. Mine is a commando, like them.” Laseema pointed her thumb back towards the Deltas.

As they continued to chat with the clerk - whose name they learned was Mohs - Boss wondered if his jovial, welcoming demeanor was all just an act from a particularly cunning salesman. Build a rapport with the customer’s posse, the ones there to give him advice, in order to get the best sale. It was a good strategy. Maybe he had no ulterior motive and just made a good salesman because of his personality and Boss was being too suspicious. Either way, it did feel nice to get a ring from someone who, at the very least, didn’t actively dislike clones.

“Well, that’s enough about me,” Mohs said, clapping his hands together before looking at Boss, “Today is about you and finding the perfect ring for your bride to be. First of all, what is your price range? And do you know her ring size?”

Boss gave the man his price range as Laseema fished her comm out of her pocket. “I wrote down her ring size somewhere.... Ha! Here it is.”

After Laseema provided the relevant information, Mohs led them over to a display case. “These ones here are in your budget. Are there any that catch your eye?”

Boss leaned down to get a better look at all the rings nestled within the velvet lined case. Even this small subsection of rings had a huge amount of variety between them. Some had thick, ornate bands, while others had smaller, simpler ones. There were rings with many stones on them and others with just one brilliant diamond. He even saw ones with gemstones other than diamonds on them. He didn’t even know that was a possibility!

He could feel his palms getting sweaty again and he tried to discreetly wipe them on the back of his pants so he didn’t make any marks on the pristine glass. Floundering, he turned to his brothers. “Are there any you guys like?”

“I like that one,” Scorch said immediately, pointing to the ring with the largest diamond on it. Of course he’d like that one. Boss wasn’t so sure you would like a ring with a big diamond though. You worked with your hands so much and it seemed like it would only get in the way.

“I like the round diamonds better. They seem, I don’t know, sparklier somehow,” Fixer added. At his comment, Mohs started explaining the differences between the different cuts of diamonds, at one point even getting so detailed as to bring in light refraction, a conversation Fixer ate up readily.

Boss glanced over to Sev, half expecting him not to even answer. “What about you? Any you like?”

Sev cleared his throat before responding. “I like the pink one,” he said, pointing to a ring with a band made out of rose gold, “It’s… pretty.”

Boss smiled and nudged his bashful brother in the shoulder. He wasn’t sure if pink was exactly your style, but he liked the idea of adding a pop of color somewhere and expressed as much to the group.

“Ah, well in that case,” Mohs piped up, apparently finished with him and Fixer’s conversation. “If you want to add other stones to the band, it’ll need to be a bit wider so we can get them in there. These rings here would work best for that.” He pulled a few out of the display case and set them in a small velvet lined box that he pushed toward Boss. Scorch tried reaching for one but Fixer quickly swatted his hand away.

Boss grabbed the first one and turned it around in his fingers a few times. It felt too top heavy to him so he set it down and grabbed the next one, doing the same to this one before sliding it onto his pinky finger - the only finger it would fit on. It had a round center stone with a halo of smaller ones surrounding it. On either side was a circular blue stone that was similarly surrounded by tiny diamonds.

“I kinda like this one, actually,” he told the group, holding it up for them to see. “Though I’m not sure about the blue. Are there other colors?”

“Certainly, we can do pretty much any color you like. There’s a gemstone for every color of the rainbow and then some,” Mohs answered animatedly.

All of a sudden, Laseema gasped. “I just came up with the best idea!” She hurriedly explained it to the group and every member quickly agreed that it seemed perfect for you.

“Could you do something like that?” Boss asked Mohs, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Hmm, we’d need to alter the setting a bit, but it is possible. Though it will cost a bit more.” The Sullustan pulled out a calculator and started adding up the prices for everything. “And if I add the military discount it comes out to be…”

He turned the calculator towards Boss to show him the total, which turned out to be... one hundred and fifty credits more than he had. Kriff. He was so close!

Besany must have read the look on his face because she asked quietly, “Do you have enough?”

He shook his head sadly, “No, I’m under by one fifty.” He could feel his heart start to sink. This really seemed to be the perfect ring and-

“Oh if it’s only that much, here,” Besany said, pulling out her credit card. “Consider it an engagement present from me and Ordo.”

Boss wasn’t sure if he could handle a grand gesture from anyone else today, his eyes getting misty as he handed Mohs the four paychecks. The old Sullustan smiled at him and Besany before going to process the payment. When he returned, he informed the group, “The ring should be ready in about three days. You can come by then to pick it up.”

The group thanked the man profusely for all his help, Scorch even inviting him out for a round of drinks at 79’s before they made their exit, leaving the quiet shop to step foot back into the busy streets of Coruscant.

~~~

You sat on a storage container towards the corner of the hanger, swinging your legs as you watched the transports flying in and out. Hopefully Boss would be here soon. He and the rest of Delta Squad were off on some mission, as usual. Even though the war was officially over, it would take some time for the Republic to tie up all the loose ends.

After a little bit, you saw them walk down the ramp of a ship to greet their advisor and fill him in on the mission. You saw Scorch nudge Boss in the side and point in your direction. He turned to you and gave you a little wave, which you returned enthusiastically. You stayed where you were, not wanting to crowd him as soon as he got off the transport. Besides, you knew he’d come over to you when he was ready.

Boss said something to Sev and he jogged off somewhere, returning a minute later with something in his hands, which he subtly passed off to Boss. You didn’t think anything of it as you continued to watch them, thinking absentmindedly that his armor would need a new paint job soon, the orange paint scored with blaster marks and scratches. Or maybe he wouldn’t, maybe he’d finally be able to set down the armor and live a normal life. You quickly shook the idea out of your head, Boss may be done with this war but he’d never stop being a soldier. At the very least you wanted to take him on a much needed vacation sometime soon. If anyone deserved one it was him.

You paused your musings when you noticed him break off from the group and start heading in your direction. You hopped down from the crate to greet him, wrapping your arms around his middle and pulling him in close for a hug.

“Miss me, cyare?” he asked with a chuckle as he pressed a kiss to your forehead.

“Of course. I don’t know how I survived some of your longer missions. This was only a few days and I was about to lose it,” you informed him, returning his kiss with a peck on the cheek, having to go up to your tiptoes just to reach that high.

“Me too,” he said with a sigh, pressing his forehead to yours. You felt him take a deep inhale before speaking again. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” you responded easily, oblivious to the way his hands trembled slightly as he reached into one of the pockets on his utility belt, or the way that the rest of Delta Squad were watching with bated breath a little ways away.

“You’ve made me the happiest man in the galaxy, and I wouldn’t have been able to make it through this war without you. You’ve done so much for me and my brothers and I can’t imagine my life without you. So I wanted to ask, will you marry me?” He held a little box out in front of you, flipping it open to reveal a beautiful ring, with two circular orange stones on each side of a brilliant diamond.

“Wha- ” Your brain was spinning as you tried to process his words, tried to process the ring he was holding out in front of you. You looked from the ring back up to him, eyes welling up as you searched his face, to see if this was actually happening. “I- Boss-” you stuttered out, fat tears already starting to fall down your cheeks.

“Y-yes!” you gasped out finally, feeling his shoulders relax at your answer. As if there was any chance you’d ever say no. You pulled him back in, tighter than before, hoping if you squeezed tight enough you’d be able to convey all the love you had for him. He retired your hug with equal enthusiasm, bending down to press a chaste kiss to your lips.

When he pulled away, he brought a hand up to brush a tear away with his thumb. “Do you want to try it on?”

Oh! You’d nearly forgotten about the ring in your attempts to squeeze him to death. You stepped back enough to where you could inspect the ring he held out to you. “It’s beautiful, Boss. I love it,” you told him as he took the ring out of the box and gingerly slid it onto your finger. “The orange stones remind me of the circles on your armor.” You raised your right hand to his chest to trace the symbol there as you had done so many times before.

Boss rubbed the back of his neck. “It was Laseema’s idea, actually. I thought it was… sweet.” You giggled as his cheeks flushed slightly. Here was your big, tough commando acting all sentimental and cute. You were pretty sure your heart was about to explode right out of your chest.

“It’s so sweet! I’ll have to thank her later.” Suddenly, the events from the past few weeks made a lot more sense. You’d been so sure that Atin was planning to propose soon that you hadn’t questioned anything.

“You’ll have to thank the boys too,” Boss told you, pointing a thumb over his shoulder, “They offered me their first paychecks so I could afford this.”

“Really?” you asked incredulously, peering past Boss to look at where Delta Squad were trying and failing to hide behind a bunch of storage crates, all of them clutching each other as they watched. You gave them a little wave and pointed to the ring on your finger and they all immediately started cheering. You laughed and brushed away the last of your tears as they raced over to the two of you.

Scorch got there first and wrapped you up in the biggest bear hug ever, lifting you straight off the ground. Fixer got there next, giving Boss a side hug as he congratulated you both. Sev got there last, and even though you knew he wasn’t a huge fan of physical affection, he surprised you by pulling you into a quick hug.

“Now you’ll officially be our vod’ika,” he told you when he broke away, flashing you one of his rare half-smiles.

You were on cloud nine right now. You were surrounded by your favorite people in the galaxy and you were going to marry your best friend. Just thinking about it gave you butterflies in your stomach. Boss was going to be your husband!

Amidst the fray, you slid your hand into Boss’s, giving it a little squeeze. He rubbed a thumb across the back of your hand before bringing it up to his face to plant a soft kiss there as well. A shy smile formed on his lips when he lowered your hand, and you were pretty sure in that moment you fell for him even harder.

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juliette-chstgnr · 20 days ago

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Hugging the clones for comfort headcanons: The 501st

(With a hint of gray and orange ;) )

Captain Rex

The first time you hug him, he doesn’t know what’s happening, so it’s like hugging a plank 💀

However once you explain to him what you’re doing he relaxes into it and starts hugging you back, albeitly hesitantly.

It’ll take a couple tries for him to get comfortable with it, but he’s holding you gently and providing you with the comfort you need before you know it!

Once he’s used to it, whenever you come and hug him without a word he’ll stop everything he’s doing to hold you until you feel better.

He’s a big fan of forehead kisses, it makes him feel tall :’)

Afficher davantage

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juliette-chstgnr · 20 days ago

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stole the commanders armor + we got caught @lonewolflupe

but @eobe got away with it

close up of eobe getting away with double theft

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juliette-chstgnr · 24 days ago

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My Heart is Yours, and so are my Brothers

Pairing: Tbb Echo/fem reader

Word count: 6.5 K

Gift for: @eclec-tech for the @cloneficgiftexchange 2024 life day exchange

Prompt: clone asks reader to be part of his family

Tags/warnings: Light angst, emotional hurt/comfort, mentioned past familial issues/toxicity, (I tried to keep it vague), insecurities, domestic/romantic fluff, found family, soft and cosy life day feels

Summary: You have always felt like you don’t fit within your own family. Echo is determined to show you that in his, your place is not something you have to earn, and the love they show you is nothing short of unconditional. And if that takes you overworking yourself, a life day baking mishap, and your beloved scooping you up and offering out a helping hand as soon as you show signs of beginning to fall, well... sometimes, that’s just how it goes.

Authors note: This was written as a gift for Amber, who has become such a good friend to me and ironically, is also my usual beta. We had, actually, briefly joked and giggled over the idea of one of us being paired with the others prompts... until it actually happened. So, I would also like to thank Carol: @clonethirstingisreal for betaing this work. It was a huge relief knowing that you could step in for this one, as I didn’t want to ruin Amber’s surprise by making her also be the one who has to edit it, because how mean would that be? This story can also be read on my ao3(check pinned for link) and I truly had so much fun writing it. Dare I say, one of the writing highlights of my year 😉 if you enjoy, please consider dropping a reblog. Sharing is always so so appreciated, as well as comments. Happy holidays, and happy life day🎄❄️

Waking up to the piercing shriek of your smoke detector, you think, your brain still groggy and slow from your impromptu nap, is definitely not a good sign.

Your heart is pounding, rattling furiously within the confines of your chest, your mind and body still trying to comprehend going from out cold on the couch to frantically running around the kitchen like a maniac, swiftly opening the oven door to discover what is no doubt the source of the alarm’s high pitched wails

It’s only after using a hastily dampened towel to smother the flames, vigorously flapping it

around to beat out the lingering smoke, that you’re still hammering heart rate finally begins to slow, and you allow yourself to take a drawn-out, steady breath, forcing yourself to calm as you anxiously peer into the oven.

You can tell, just from the acrid stench, that it’s bad.

Still, you’re not prepared to find the batch of freshly made cookies, each patiently dusted with a generous helping of sugar so that each chocolate surface appears as if snowflakes had found their landing place there, are nothing but crumbling, blackened crisps against the stark white of the baking sheet in the tray.

You shouldn’t have sat down, you think, strangely detached as with shaky, oven mitt-covered hands, you remove the tray from the oven, setting it down on the counter and gazing at what was supposed to be your life day offering to Echo’s family, to express your gratitude at their generosity for inviting you to their festivities.

It meant more to you than they would ever know.

They didn’t know that your own family looked down on you with disappointment. They didn’t know that you had fled to Pabu precisely with the intent to walk away from them in an effort to save yourself from more hurt. They didn’t know that you, stupidly and still with the embarrassing desperation of a child who might do anything to earn even just a smile of approval from those around her, want, need them to approve of you, and not just in the way that family members do because she’s their brother’s partner, but in a way that feels like they genuinely like you, and actually want to have you around.

But regardless, they still showed up at your door. Hunter, who you’ve only shared passing greetings with and who has, up until this point, been virtually a mutual acquaintance, and Omega, who despite having only caught glimpses of her around the island when she takes her hound out for a walk, had beamed at you, bright eyed and familiar, as if you had known each other for years.

It had touched you, and Hunter’s evident warm and sincere invite to their Life Day celebrations had made you just as excited as it did become a source of anxiety over the following weeks.

Nights where you should have been sleeping, instead were spent tossing and turning, trying to plan out every aspect. What you would say, what you would do, what you would bring to express your thanks to them.

Well, here it was, you think, suddenly grim. All your planning had amounted to what was now laid out before you in a charred, stinking heap, served on a tray.

Perhaps, if you were thinking logically, you would have shaken your head, let out a sigh of discontent before dumping the burnt cookies into the compost, giving yourself five minutes to take a break, then rolled up your sleeves, set your shoulders, and jumped right back into making a second batch, being extra careful to pay attention, never straying from focussing on your task.

Unfortunately, though, you weren’t, at present, thinking logically in the slightest. Thanks to the lack of sleep you had so desperately tried to ignore until it creeped up on you when you had collapsed onto the couch once the cookies were in the oven, and the stubbornly persistent overwhelm that you had convinced yourself you weren’t actually feeling, which had worked, at least until now.

Until you look down once more to survey the mess that had come out of a whole afternoon’s work, that you had so diligently, with both nervous and eager anticipation, been fretting over to make the perfect gift, the façade of composure, of pretending that the anxiety that had been stirring in your stomach for weeks was, actually, just excitement, cracks. And once it does, it’s easy for the whole thing to come down, crumbling around you as if it’s as fragile as the chipped and breaking edges of the cookies on the tray in front of you.

So, instead of reacting reasonably, your actions fuelled by logic, your response is to turn, press your face into your baking apron, and burst into tears.

It’s silly, you know, from the very first sob that claws its way up your throat despite your valiant attempt to stop it, that your reaction is so, so unjustified given the situation. They’re just cookies. They just got burnt. A new batch can be made and somewhere, deep down, you know all of this.

But well, your mother always had a habit of calling you overly sensitive as a child, punctuating that remark with a signature roll of her eyes. Your father would pipe up, in a tone that probably meant to sound more encouraging but just ended up coming across as condescending, “you need to grow some thicker skin, kid.”

This is solid, concrete proof that this particular piece of advice had never truly been heeded, or, if you’re honest, had never really been understood to begin with.

Your breath hitches in your throat, because the desire to push back the tide is still present, if not to stop, then at least to muffle, to not hear the discomforting, ugly sounds you make when you cry. Still, the tears fall, and quiet, broken whimpers and sniffles fall from your lips anyway.

And then, because apparently this day just seeks to prove how absolutely bad your luck is, Echo takes this moment to walk through the door of your shared small house.

You hear the sound of an umbrella being folded, boots being rhythmically stamped against the doormat as Echo steps inside, evidently trying to rid his boots of the dried mud that gets clumped together in the creases, so common this time of year on Pabu, and the quiet hiss of the door as it slides back into place behind him.

Then, in a murmur that carries from the small alcove into your kitchen, he calls your name and instantly, you freeze. For some reason, you believe that if you can just stand as still as possible, if you can bite down on your lip hard enough and not make a single sound, not even a breath, he won’t see you, won’t know that you still get upset and cry over little, seemingly inconsequential things like this, which is completely ridiculous, you know. But still, you’ve already established that right now, your actions are dictated by nothing more than pure instinct, and, at least today, your instinct is incredibly off target.

There’s a brief pause, the sound of Echo bending down, hastening to remove his boots, then a quick, light pitter patter of footsteps against the floor as he moves through the space to find you.

There’s a soft breath, an oh of realization as he steps through the threshold of the kitchen, standing completely still as he observes, pausing to take in, what must be, quite the sight before him. You, on the other hand, don’t look, don’t want to see the mixture of both pity and confusion that surely is displayed in his eyes. So you don’t, keeping your face covered with your hands, trying to make yourself as small as possible.

“Oh, cyar,” he breathes, and his voice isn’t mocking or disappointed or underlined with the sharp bite of disapproval, but instead it’s soft. It’s warm and smooth which only serves to remind you of the honeyed hue within his golden eyes whenever he looks at you and it’s soft, so warm, and so soft that your resolve melts in the sincere, empathetic face of it, and you’re moving towards him before he’s even finished speaking.

“Come here, ner kar’ta,” he says, his voice a low, gentle murmur as he opens his arms, just in time for you to come scrambling, throwing yourself into them with a muffled sob against the material of his sweater, pressing your face against his chest and clinging onto any part of him you can reach. There’s a soft puff of breath that you feel lightly ruffle your hair before his lips gently press against your forehead, lingering there as he whispers “That’s my girl. See? I have you. We’re okay”

His scomp arm is a heavy, familiar weight as it runs along the small of your back, settling at your waist as he guides you closer. He doesn’t needlessly comment. He doesn’t pepper you with questions or demand an explanation of what’s wrong.

Instead, he simply tucks your head beneath his chin, his hand gentle as it lingers to brush through and stroke your hair. He holds you in his arms, slightly swaying on the spot, the slow, repetitive back-and-forth as he rocks you, settling your uneasy heart as you sniffle, quietly allowing yourself to give into the tears.

The only sounds that fall from Echo’s lips aren’t so much words as they are just familiar, soothing noises. The soft “shh,” as his hand gently cups the back of your head or the gentle, barely there kisses, lightly scattered across the top of your head and the quiet, steady exhalation of breath that you become more and more aware of as your tears begin to slow.

“Hey, beautiful,” he says, his voice a low, gentle rumble as he pulls back slightly, noticing you peeking up at him through watery eyes and stroking his hand along your cheek, brushing away your tears with his thumb. “Rough day?”

A sound that could either be classified as a laugh or a small, broken sob is pulled from your lips as you look up at him, nodding your head.

“Sorry,” you mumble, your cheeks flooding with heat. “I didn’t mean to react like that, I just.”

“Shh,” he lightly cuts you off by leaning forward, lips a soft brush against yours as he lingers there, warm, golden eyes intent as they search yours, taking in your expression, the drying tear tracks on your cheeks, the dark circles beneath your eyes.

“When’s the last time you got a full night's sleep?” he asks, and the question feels so off-topic that for a few seconds, you blink up at him, looking bewildered before you shake your head, shrugging.

“I, I don’t I um?”

Apparently, your hesitation and seeming inability to come up with a suitable answer is confirmation enough, and Echo, making a small, exasperated gesture with his scomp, clicks his tongue with disapproval.

“That’s what I thought,” he sighs, a hand running over the back of his head as he looks down at you. “Right, well, let me worry about cleaning up here. I want you to at least sit down and get some rest.”

“I can’t,” you sputter, your eyes widening. “Echo, me taking a nap is the exact reason why all of this,” you gesture towards the burnt cookies on the counter, “happened. I need to get to work on a new batch so that I have something to bring over to your family’s house for dinner tomorrow.”

“And we will,” Echo’s voice is patient, but there’s an underlying, stern edge that’s crept into it that breeches no room for argument as he ushers you into the living room, hand on the small of your back as he guides you over to an armchair. “But, cyar, you’ve just told me that you’ve already taken a nap?” he asks, folding his arms.

“Yeah,” you say, your lips tilted downward in a confused frown as you turn to look up at him.

“And isn’t a nap supposed to make you feel more well rested afterward?” he asks, the question clearly rhetorical as he takes your chin in his hand, thumb pointedly brushing along the bag beneath one of your eyes.

The silence he gets in response to that remains uncontested, and he smirks, satisfied in the knowledge that he has you beaten.

“No arguing with me on this one, princess,” he says gruffly, which makes you glare at him even as he lightly pushes your unresisting body down into the armchair, moving to pull out the Ottoman from beneath. “I’m not asking you to sleep. Just rest while I clean up the kitchen. We’ll figure everything else out once I’m finished, okay?”

“Fine,” you huff, looking up at him with a stubborn set to your jaw before you add “but only if you kiss me first.”

Echo’s chuckle is warm and deep, his eyes soft as he leans down to oblige you, first brushing his lips against your forehead, your cheek, the corner of your mouth, lingering at each spot.

“Now that, I can gladly do,” he murmurs, his voice a soft breath that brushes against your lips before he’s closing the distance, his lips pressing against yours in a warm, tender kiss.

When he pulls back, your eyes flutter open. Echo’s smile is small, but sweet and conveys the infinite amount of affection that he holds for you as he moves, retrieving a neatly folded throw blanket, from where it’s been draped over the back of the couch. He unfolds it, letting you see the depiction of a group of tookas snuggled together in front of a fireplace that’s been illustrated on the soft fabric, before moving back towards you, wrapping it around you, taking his time to make sure that you’re bundled up just right, movements soft and careful as he does.

“Just rest, Cyar’ika,” he reaffirms, pressing one last kiss to the top of your head before straightening, moving back towards the kitchen in long strides. “We’ll sort everything out, I promise.”

And because it’s Echo, and Echo always keeps his promises, you actually believe him.

Surprisingly, once you’re sat down and comfortable, you find it easy to, if not fall asleep, simply drift and allow yourself to zone out.

You can faintly hear the sounds of Echo moving around your kitchen. There’s light footsteps, water running as he does the dishes in the sink, the soft, warm rumble of his baritone as he quietly hums an unfamiliar tune. Your eyes drift close, and the next time you let yourself float back into awareness, he’s there, smiling down at you, a beloved pair of your slippers tucked beneath his arm, a steaming mug held out as an offering in his hand.

“Careful,” he cautions you as you eagerly reach for it, making sure it is securely held within your grasp before letting go. “It’s still hot.”

You look down to survey the contents, a smile pulling at the corners of your lips as soon as you register the warm, sweet scent of hot chocolate. He’s piled it high with marshmallows and whip cream, which he’s always rolled his eyes at you for adding.

“I don’t get it,” he would often say with fond exasperation, arms folded across his chest. “Why do you need to add extras? It’s already sweet to begin with.”

Seeing that he has evidently so lovingly prepared it in the way that you enjoy pulls your lips upward into a smile and you beam at him, your eyes lighting up for the first time in what feels like days.

You grin up at him, indulging yourself in a tiny sip, your eyes closing with delight before you utter a quiet, but sincere thank you.

“I still think it’s too sweet with all that,” he grumbles, a small, perplexed crinkle between his eyebrows as he sinks to his knees at your feet. “But anything for you, Cyar’ika.”

He gently takes one of your feet in his hands, seeming to contemplate it as he sets the pair of slippers at his side.

“Have you considered,” he asks idly, scomp carefully resting on your ankle, as with the other hand he curls one of his fingers, lightly pressing his knuckle against the overworked arch of your foot. “That you’ve been doing too much?”

As if to accentuate his words, he slowly begins to rotate his wrist, the drag of his knuckle a gentle, but steady, pressure that instantly causes your eyes to flutter closed. It feels good. It feels wonderful, actually. He’s working with obvious deliberation and care, but he’s also, quite effectively, digging into sore spots and tendons that you didn’t realize you were carrying, and the relief is instantaneous.

“I wanted it to be a surprise,” you admit, unable to bring yourself to open your eyes and look down at him. “For them and for you.”

He hums, a quiet understanding as he lightly grasps your Achilles tendon between his thumb and index finger, slow and gentle as he strokes towards your heel. He’s quiet for a moment, remaining completely focused on you, thoughtful as he keeps up with his task.

“Well,” he murmurs, lips twitching upward as he gently pulls at each of your toes, slight tugs to coax tension to release in each. “As nice as that would have been, I think I’ll be much happier helping you bake the second attempt.”

He gives you a rueful grin, easing one of your slippers onto your foot with a small assist from you before moving to repeat his prior treatment with the other.

“You’ll have to teach me, though,” he says, voice apologetic. “I’m afraid I’ve never been much of a baker. But, I’m willing to learn, and hey, we can finally put some of those scomp attachments that Tech has fitted me with to use.”

You laugh softly, your lips pulling upward into a matching smile. Tech, when he had miraculously found his way back to his family, returned needing extensive recovery and physiotherapy, with so many of his bones having been broken or shattered, including in his fingers and hands. To regain the dexterity that he once coveted, he was often found working on some project or another, requiring a constant flow of them to keep his agile and ever working mind occupied until the medics would allow him to walk again.

Crosshair, being Crosshair, had very limited patience, only sitting long enough to allow his brother to fit him with an appropriate cybernetic, fiddling with and rewiring servos to make it more effectively attuned to him. But, once he had started suggesting certain modifications, Crosshair had stomped off, rolling his eyes and tossing over his shoulder “I’m not a droid, Tech. It’s fine, just leave it,” in his seemingly trademark annoyed tone.

Tech had pressed his lips together, and you had wondered, still on the outside and learning Echo’s family as you were, if he was hurt by Crosshair’s vehement rebuttal. Echo, standing beside you, seemed to come to a similar kind of conclusion, but had only stepped forward, laying a hand on Tech’s shoulder, sitting down beside him at his workstation.

“He might be opposed to adding some cool attachments, but I’m not,” Echo declared, giving his brother a light nudge. “What do you say, Tech. Think you can make me something I can use to give Crosshair a good smack?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of practicality,” Tech explained, hands folded in his lap. “Perhaps a flipper or spatula to ease the burden of cooking somewhat.”

His eyes, when he had looked up, were sparkling with amusement, and his lips tilted upward into a small, but evident smile when he had continued by saying, his voice nonchalant, “But I believe your idea also holds certain merit. If you have the patience to let me experiment, I believe we can do both.”

Luckily for Tech, Echo seemed to possess an infinite amount of patience to let him fiddle, his scomp sometimes attached, sometimes laying on the table between them, their heads bent low as they quietly conversed with each other.

Echo was more than content to just sit and talk, of different attachment ideas, their uses both on the field and in simple, daily life, or of everything and nothing. You watched, quiet but observant, as Echo in his casual, straightforward way, brought Tech up to speed on the goings-on of him and his brothers whilst he was gone and inexplicably, you watched as Tech, still hunched over his work with his hands tangled amidst wire and components, allowed his shoulders to begin to soften, slowly pulling away from his ears as he listened to his brother talk.

You suspected that this was Echo’s way of making up for lost time with Tech, and for your part, you were more than happy to just be a silent, but present observer and support, there to reach for and squeeze Echo’s hand, or, if necessary, talk with him late into the night when you noticed his small tells of guilty, self blame ridden thought patterns starting to creep in.

Regardless of how it had initially started as simply mobility and skill recovery, Tech had, with the input of Echo, designed quite the variety of inventions for Echo’s scomp, one of which, you now found yourself in your kitchen, getting to test out its effectiveness for the first time.

“I have to say,” you murmur, arms wrapped around his waist as you observe him from behind, your chin lightly resting against his shoulder. “You’re doing a much better job than the stand mixer ever could.”

Echo stands, the attachment to his scomp lowered into the glass bowl, whirring as it stirs the ingredients. The mix looks smooth, slowly coming together in a blend. Echo lets out a low chuckle, and you can feel its slight rumble as he turns, retracting from the bowl and raising his scomp to give you a small salute.

“Happy to be of service,” he says with a smirk, startling slightly as a flake of the dough takes the opportunity to fall from the attachment, landing on the tip of his nose.

It’s your turn to giggle, and your hand stops him from instinctively moving to wipe it away as you rise onto your tiptoes, hurriedly exclaiming “I got it. I got it,” before you lean forward and, not giving him the time to protest, cheekily licking it off.

“You’re quite the opportunist,” he muses, moving towards the sink to remove the attachment and place it in a pile to be cleaned.

“Can I have what’s left on that?” you ask and he turns, a hand on his hip and his lips pressed together.

“Are you kidding? No,” he says, both exasperated and mortified. “That is so unsanitary. Meshla, do you realize how many diseases you could catch from eating raw cookie dough?” he asks, turning back to the sink.

“It was worth a shot,” you sigh in defeat, looking at the bowl of now mixed cookie dough with longing. You’re not usually this impatient and peckish for scraps. But really, after your first tried and failed attempt, you’re hungry, and eager to taste test the fruits of your labour

“What next, boss?” Echo asks a moment later, returning to your side and drying his hand on a tea towel.

“Now,” you say, beaming as you hold out an ice cream scooper to him. “Comes the fun part.”

“Perfect,” Echo murmurs in satisfaction, watching as the round ball of dough falls from the scoop into your waiting, cupped hands.

The two of you had decided it would be easiest, and move faster, if it was done this way. Echo, working with a lot more precision than you had when you had been doing this on your own, using the ice cream scoop to separate the dough into little balls. And you, after retrieving them, dunking them into a bowl of white sugar, rolling each around until each surface had a generous amount dusted on, and setting each on the lined baking tray.

“This probably wasn’t how you envisioned spending the night of Life Day Eve,” you say quietly, your words tinged with a note of regret.

“None of that,” Echo gently chides, his shoulder lightly bumping against yours. “I’ve already told you, Cyar’ika, I really don’t mind that this is the way that it turned out.”

You’re quiet for a moment, and sensing your lingering hesitance, he continues.

“You’re worried about spending time with them, aren’t you?” he asks, and his words aren’t accusatory, just a soft, knowing observation and you swallow, your eyes intent on your work as you nod your head slightly.

“Yeah,” you admit, your voice barely a breath. “I know I’ve met all of them and have even spent time with a few of them when you come to visit, but this is different.”

“I understand that,” Echo murmurs, and from the sincerity in his voice, you can tell that he really does. “This feels more official than all of those other times?”

“Yeah,” you agree, setting the next ball on the cookie sheet and turning to receive the next one. “Life Day is all about family and mine... let’s just say they wouldn’t be overly thrilled to see me standing out on their doorstep if I showed up tomorrow for their celebration.”

Echo hums, and the silence that follows is comfortable, thoughtful as he turns, contemplating you from the corner of his eye.

“But my family will,” he says quietly. “You know that, right? They’re really happy that you’ve agreed to come. Especially Omega. She’s been chattering my ear off about how excited she is to see you every time I’ve gone over to visit them.”

His mention of the girl pulls your lips up into a slight smile, but the sound you make is noncommittal and he frowns, taking a step forward, catching your chin in his hand.

“I need them to like me,” you say, trembling at the vulnerability in your own voice. “I need to do something, give them something so that I don’t...”

“Shh, sweetheart,” Echo softly interjects, thumb lightly brushing over your lips. “You don’t need to do anything. I promise, cyar, they already love you.”

“I doubt that,” you say, unable to hide the edge of residual bitterness that even now, still lingers in your voice.

Echo is patient, letting out a breath, the backs of his knuckles gentle, unhurried, as they run along the curve of your cheek, as he takes a breath to carefully collect his next words.

“I know that your family has made you feel unwanted,” Echo says, after a moment's pause to collect himself. “And I know that a couple of words from me aren’t going to change how much that hurt you.”

His hand is, yet again, lightly nudging at your chin, bringing your eyes back up to focus on his warm, concerned golden depths.

“My heart is yours,” he says, his voice just a whisper, but still managing to carry the stone heavy weight of a promise beneath it. “And, if you want them to be, if you let them, my family will be your family, too.”

“Do they want that?” You ask, unable to hide the waiver in your voice.

Echo’s eyes soften, and you can’t help the way you nuzzle into his touch as he cups your cheek in his hand.

“They do,” he affirms, voice certain and steady. “And if that’s something you want, all you have to do is say so. I promise, cyar, whenever you’re ready, they’re waiting for you with open arms.”

“Y- you’re sure?” You ask in a shaking voice, and at the first glimmer of tears in your eyes, he’s reaching out, pulling you to his chest and holding you in his arms.

“I’m sure,” he says, without a glimpse of hesitance in his voice. “You don’t have to make any grand gestures for them to accept you, ner kar’ta. You just have to be my girl.”

He drops a kiss to the top of your head and, despite the blush that’s crawling up your cheeks, you squirm, tilting your head, going up onto your tiptoes to capture his lips with yours, to which he surrenders happily.

When you pull away, your cheeks are flushed, your lips slightly parted, and your voice breathless.

“I, I think I can do that,” you murmur, looking up at him with a shy, barely concealed mix of nervousness and hope playing on your expression.

“I’m glad,” Echo beams, and the smile he gives you is a dazzling thing to behold. “Trust me, cyar, it’ll all turn out. You’ll see.”

You’re not really sure what he means by that, but, as you turn back to finish arranging the rest of the cookies, you decide that he has never led you wrong before, so you might as well take him at his word.

“Beauties,” Echo comments, bending to retrieve the cookie tray from the oven. “Now these aren’t such a bad batch, are they, meshla?”

Maybe it was the weight that you suddenly found had vanished from your shoulders after your and Echo’s chat, maybe it was just the late hour and the oven timer going off sending you a prolonged burst of energy. But you couldn’t help but bounce on the balls of your feet, peeking over Echo’s shoulder to catch a glimpse at the now perfectly baked, lightly sugar frosted chocolate crinkles.

“I know we should wait until tomorrow so that we can share them with everyone but...” you trail off, the indignant grumble of your stomach interrupting whatever excuse you were about to make.

Echo laughs, throwing his head back as his eyes sparkle with merriment. An arm wraps around your shoulders, and he tucks you against his side, looking down at you with a small grin.

“We made them. We deserve to taste test them,” he declares, and before you can protest, he swipes the nearest one from off the tray. “Want to share?”

You smile, nodding your head and helping him to break the cookie in equal halves.

“Cheers,” you grin, lightly bumping your half against his. Raising it to your lips, you indulge yourself in a large bite, closing your eyes and letting a soft “Mmm,” fall from your lips. It’s still warm, soft and gooey chocolate that melts in your mouth that reminds you, so quintessentially, of the holiday, and for once, only the good parts come to mind, as you watch Echo follow suit, though his first bite is much more delicate than yours. His eyes flutter close, and before you know it, both of you are looking at each other, your halves of the cookie gone within seconds.

You both smile, soft laughter falling from your lips as you both trade glances towards the tray, tempted to reach for another, but making a valiant effort to resist.

“Look at me, beautiful,” Echo hums. “You’ve got a little something right...”

He dips his head, leaning in, fingers delicately tilting your chin upward, lips warm as they brush against yours. You gasp, unable to hide a slight shiver as his tongue gently sweeps over your lips and he lets out a soft hum, fingers lightly teasing along your side, his hand eventually coming to rest at your hip.

The kiss is sweet, filled with tenderness and topped with the lingering traces of sugar that Echo chases away with his lips.

Faintly, as he pulls back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, feeling the soft puffs of air as you both try to regain your breath, you register the distant chimes of a grandfather clock, 12 rings of its bells to signify midnight, ringing in the new day with its song.

“Happiest of Life Days, Cyar’ika,” Echo whispers, a soft breath against your skin.

“Happy Life Day, my love,” you say, your voice equally as soft.

Then, as the distant, echoing chimes of the clock ring and fade into the night, you cradle his face in your hands, tilting your head to kiss him again. You feel, for the first time in your recent memory of Life Days past, a sense of rightness, of knowing that here, with his warm body lightly pressing you against the counter and his soft lips settled against yours, content, it seems, to linger there until all coherent thoughts have been chased away from your mind with each teasing touch, that this is where you’re meant to be.

That somehow, despite having convinced yourself that you were never going to find it, you think that finally, truly, his arms might just be the safe, comforting place that you choose to call home.

“We made you a gift.”

Omega is beaming with excitement, almost on her tiptoes as she bounces on the balls of her feet with a wide smile, and looking down at her, it’s impossible not to be captivated and taken in by her infectious joy as she produces something from behind her back.

Despite Echo’s stream of reassurances that all would be well as you left the house this afternoon, picking your way through rainy pathways and hopping around puddles, you still look to him now, reaching for his hand to feel the reassuring press of his fingers against yours.

“You did?” You ask, unable to hide the note of startled surprise in your voice. “I’m sorry, I didn’t bring something for each of you. I didn’t know what you would like and...”

“It’s a gift,” Crosshair cuts you off, folding his arms as he leans against the wall.

“We do not expect nor require you to provide anything in return,” Tech states, much more kindly as he gives you one of his small smiles. “We merely hope that you enjoy it.”

“Hunter did the carvings,” Omega says, very carefully lowering something into your hands. “But we all contributed in one way or another.”

You look down to find a snow globe, rested atop a circular, wooden stand beneath, cupped within your hands. Inspecting it closely, you find that indeed, there is something to signify each brother within the carvings of wood that decorate the base. From the small carving of Tech’s goggles, to Hunter’s skull emblem and Crosshair’s tattoo.

“I made the snow,” Omega declares proudly. “And Wrecker took the photo.”

“What photo?” You ask and Wrecker grins, leaning across you and touching a small, unnoticed button at the top of the glass.

A holoimage slowly fades into focus within the glass orb, snow lightly swirling around it. It’s of you and Echo, sitting out on a porch swing and snuggled beneath a blanket. You remember how the rest of them had teased you both, saying that it wasn’t even that cold outside and was the blanket really necessary?

Wrecker, in particular, had let out a booming laugh, claiming that since the two of you seemed to run so cold, maybe it was a sign that the two of you were perfect for each other.

“Aw, look at the two a ya. You can keep each other warm,” he had grinned, and you can remember him snapping the photo shortly after that.

“We all have one,” Omega continues, pointing to the mantle above the fireplace where indeed, you see a line up of six other snow globes. “You can take yours home, or you can set it with ours, if you want to.”

“You, you would be fine with that?” You ask the room at large, scanning their faces. For some reason, it feels wrong, and you don’t want to insert yourself into their already established Life Day family traditions.

“Why not,” Hunter grins, gesturing to the mantle. “You’re one of us now.”

“Y- you’re sure?” You ask, unable to hide the waver that’s crept into your voice.

“Of course we are. You make him so happy,” Wrecker beams, and before you know it he’s enveloped you into a fierce, tight hug that simultaneously knocks all the air from your lungs while also, at the same time, making you feel like you’ve just let out the biggest sigh of relief. He lifts you off the floor, which makes you let out a sound, somewhere between a startled gasp and a laugh. “That seems like as good of a reason as any to me,” he continues, suddenly gentle and steadying as he sets you back down.

“It’s true,” Crosshair snarks, watching as he idly twirls a toothpick between his fingers. “I’ve never seen him look like such a lovesick puppy before,” he says, pulling a disgusted face as he slides the toothpick between his teeth.

“Oh, shut up,” Echo grumbles, but when you turn to him, he’s ducking his head, his cheeks having gone slightly pink.

“I think it’s sweet,” Omega declares, lightly elbowing Crosshair in the ribs. He pretends to give her a glare, then, as payback, lunges forward, easily grappling her and beginning to attack her with tickles. The small house is momentarily filled with her shrieks and giggles which ends with Batcher, torn between which of her owners needs to be protected from the other, shoves between the two of them, nudging her snout at both sets of scrabbling hands to entreat them to pet her and give her head scratches, which both happily oblige her demand.

“You are by no means obligated to,” Tech cuts in, smoothly redirecting the conversation back to you. “It is our gift, and you may do with it as you wish. But, if you would like to place your snow globe alongside ours, we have made a space for you, right beside Echo’s.”

“I would,” you admit, voice soft, wistful.

Echo rises to his feet, his hand held out in a silent offering. After a moment's pause, you take it, letting him guide you towards the blazing heat of the fire that warms your toes, caressing up your legs as you get closer.

With hands that are shaking despite the warmth, you lift your snow globe, careful and gentle as you lower it down into the spot that they’ve made for you, smiling as it fits perfectly beside Echo’s.

“There,” Echo murmurs, and the smile he gives you is soft, speaking volumes of his affection.

An arm curls around your waist, and you melt into him as he pulls you against his chest, letting out a happy sigh as warm lips brush against your forehead. When he speaks his voice is low, soft, and meant for your ears alone.

“Welcome to the family, Cyar’ika. You have no idea how happy I am that you’re here.”

When he leans in to kiss you this time, standing by the fire and in front of all of his family, you start to get that same feeling you got late last night, when you had shared your first Life Day kiss with him. Only this time, it’s not a glimpse, or an echo or a maybe. When you tilt your head, rising up onto your tiptoes to meet him, warm contentment settling over you like a soft blanket, you know, without any second guessing or lingering reason to doubt, that he is your anchor, your lodestar, and, most of all, that Echo is your home.

•Thank you to @strangergraphics for these adorable Christmas themed dividers

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juliette-chstgnr · 1 month ago

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Yeaaaaah Kiiiiiix 😍

Hey, how are you ? I love your art sooooo much. Its so realistic ! You draw hands so perfect. I'm jealous 😂 Do you draw more 501st like Kix ? Have a good day !

hi vod, I’m great! ✨💙 thank you so much 😭 I’m obsessed with drawing hands, so I try to practice it anytime I can (also hand kink who said that)

have a tired medic 😘

@lonewolflupe @eobe @cyaretra @crosshairs-dumb-pimp-gf @vimse @returnofthepineapple @v4r-jpg

#clone medic kix #tbb kix #clone trooper #GAR medic #the clone wars #tcw kix #the bad batch

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juliette-chstgnr · 1 month ago

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He deserves nothing short of the universe 💕

[ Crosshair ] • [ Gregor ] • [ Cody ]

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juliette-chstgnr · 1 month ago

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Warm

Pairing: Echo x fem!Reader

Words: 10,262

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! friends with benefits to lovers, fluff, slight hurt/comfort, first date cuteness, accidental love confessions, smut, unprotected sex, shower sex, pinv, oral (m recieving), fingering, dirty talk, creampie, inappropriate use of scomp, very loving soft smut actually

Summary: For the first time since the Republic fell, you and Echo find yourself on Pabu with nothing to do but relax, and you're determined to make the most of it. You just have to convince Echo.

A/N: I said this was pwp but I lied, the plot got me girl. This is some of the sweetest smut I have ever written. Echo deserves nothing less.

Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist

"What are you doing?"

You barely pause to look up as you shove another bottle of sunscreen in your bag, casting Echo a wry smile.

"We're going to the beach, so I'm making sure we're stocked up on sunscreen." You give the bottle in your hand a little shake, as if to illustrate your point. Echo's eyes flick down to it, then back to you, and he crosses his arms over his chest, shifting his weight and making the muscles there ripple distractingly. But you're not going to let him derail you.

"And... why are we going to the beach?" he asks, his tone bemused. You frown at him.

"We're supposed to be taking a break, right?" you ask. "And it's a beautiful day. I figured that we could enjoy it."

The two of you had arrived on Pabu last night, after what had seemed like the longest journey of your life. The moment you'd finally docked, you'd immediately felt the tension in your body start to bleed away, and it only took a few more minutes for Echo to follow suit, his shoulders relaxing and his expression going soft as the two of you walked down the streets toward where the rest of the Batch had made their home.

Now, the two of you are in the kitchen, with its cramped counters and low ceiling and ancient appliances, and for the first time in weeks, neither of you have anything to do. It's a strange feeling. You've been here for less than a day, but already you can feel the weight of all the work and stress and anxiety slowly lifting off your shoulders, leaving you feeling lighter than you have in weeks.

Echo, however, does not look particularly pleased at the prospect of having some time to himself. You know he'd rather be working, or training, or just about anything else, really. It's the exact opposite of what you're hoping for.

"Come on," you coax him, "don't you want to have a little fun? You deserve it."

He shifts uncomfortably, and you see him glance out the window toward the beach.

"I don't... think that's a good idea," he says, his voice hesitant. "It's— we're here because—"

"I know why we're here," you cut in. You set down the sunscreen, crossing your arms and leveling him with a look. "And I'm not asking you to swim, or even go near the water. Just sit in the sand, maybe enjoy the sun for a few minutes. I'm sure there's a place to get a decent cup of caf nearby, or maybe one of those little pastry things you like."

He's still looking skeptical, and you know you need to change tactics, so you step closer to him and slide your arms around his neck, tilting your head back and smiling at him coyly. His gaze drops down to your mouth, then flickers back up, and the corner of his lips tugs upward.

"I mean, if you're too scared to come outside with me..."

Echo scoffs, the sound almost offended. He pulls you close, his arms wrapping around your waist, and his voice is a low rumble in your ear.

"You really think that'll work on me?"

"No, not at all," you say with a smirk. You press a kiss to the spot just below his jaw, and he shivers, his fingers flexing against your back. "But I did just get a new swimsuit, and I thought maybe you'd want to see me in it."

The reaction is immediate. You feel Echo's whole body go rigid, his grip tightening around you, and you bite back a smile, trying not to laugh. You look up to see his ears are tinged red, and his eyes are fixed firmly on a point over your shoulder.

"Really?" he says, his voice strained, and you nod.

"Mhm."

You can see him considering it, and when you tilt your head a little more, leaning closer and making sure his attention stays fixed on you, you spot the exact moment his resistance breaks.

"I think you'll like it,” you continue. You're grinning now, knowing that you've already won. "But I guess if you're not interested, I can go to the beach by myself. I'm sure plenty of people will appreciate it."

You step away from him, already starting toward the bedroom the two of you had shared the night before. Before you can get more than a couple steps, though, Echo's arm shoots out, wrapping around your waist and hauling you back against him. You turn to find him smiling down at you, his eyes dancing with amusement, and he leans in, brushing his nose against yours.

"That's not going to happen," he murmurs. He leans in and kisses you, and for a moment, all the stress and tension seems to melt out of his body. He pulls away, pressing his forehead to yours and letting out a little sigh. "I guess it wouldn't hurt to get a little fresh air. But if I get sand in my joints, I'm not going to be happy."

You smile triumphantly and lean forward to peck him on the cheek.

"I'll make it up to you, I promise," you murmur, and his ears turn bright red. You grin and duck out of his grasp before he can reply, and Echo lets out a little huff as you head for the stairs, tossing a "don't forget your swimsuit!" over your shoulder.

When you return a few minutes later, your new swimsuit snugly in place under your clothes, Echo is standing in the doorway, and you stop, staring at him. He's wearing a pair of board shorts, a navy-blue color with a white stripe along each side. They fall a couple inches above his knees, and his broad chest is bare, his skin glowing in the sunlight. You've seen him shirtless plenty of times, but there's something about him wearing these casual clothes, something about the way he looks, relaxed and at ease and not quite as tense, that makes your heart do a funny little flip in your chest.

"Is this okay?" he asks, and you realize you've been staring at him. He has a button down shirt in his hand in an obnoxious floral pattern, one you know he got from one of the boys as a joke. You hadn't expected him to actually wear it, but it makes you smile to think that he's actually embracing the beach-vacation vibe.

"You look good," you say, and your voice comes out a little bit breathy. You clear your throat and try again. "I mean, it's fine. You look fine. Great. I'm—we should go."

You can't read the expression on his face, but his lips are twitching as he tugs the shirt on over his shoulders, and you grab the bag of supplies before turning toward the door.

"Come on," you say, jerking your head for him to follow. "Let's get out of here."

He follows you out, and you can feel his eyes on you the entire time, his gaze lingering on the skin that's visible between the bottom of your cropped shirt and the top of your shorts. When you catch his eye, he grins, not even trying to hide the fact that he's ogling you.

"Shut up," you mutter, but he only grins wider.

The two of you have never done anything like this before. There'd been a couple nights, during the brief respites the two of you had gotten on different missions, where you'd both gone out and had a little fun, but that had always ended the same way, with you heading back to one of your rooms or to a secluded corner and spending the rest of the night wrapped up in each other.

But this, the two of you wandering down the streets together, stopping at a café to get something to eat, laughing and joking together like a real couple... it's nice. Really nice.

You can feel Echo relaxing the longer the two of you walk, and he doesn't hesitate before ordering a caff for the two of you, getting yours the way you like it without having to ask. He holds the door open for you and pays for both of your meals, and by the time the two of you are walking down the beach toward the spot you'd had in mind, his arm slung over your shoulders, you're practically beaming.

The spot is far enough away from the main strip of shops and restaurants to avoid most of the foot traffic, but not so far away that the two of you will have to walk for miles to get back. It's quiet, with most people including the rest of the Batch at work or school or who knows where, and the sound of the waves is soothing.

Still, Echo stays close, his arm hovering near you as if he expects you to suddenly collapse, and he tenses a little whenever someone passes. When the two of you finally reach your spot, he pulls away, turning his back to you while you lay out the blanket.

"Checking for traps?" you ask dryly, and he shrugs, not looking at you.

"Or enemies," he says, and you roll your eyes.

"Yeah, right."

"Just because we haven't seen any doesn't mean they're not out there," he argues, and you can tell he's about to launch into a full-blown speech, so you reach out and wrap your hand around his wrist, tugging him down to the blanket.

"We're fine," you say. "Really. It's the middle of the day, and I don't think any undercover Imperials are going to try and jump us in the middle of a public beach."

"You never know," he says, and the look on his face tells you he's completely serious. "It wouldn't be the first time."

You roll your eyes and settle down on the blanket, propping yourself up on your elbows.

"Well, I'm sure I'll be safe with a big, strong ARC trooper protecting me," you tease, and his expression turns sour. You wink, and his scowl deepens.

"Ha ha," he says, not looking amused.

"I'm kidding," you say, nudging him with your shoulder. You tilt your head, and Echo's eyes are drawn to the long line of your neck. "Let's just... try and forget about that, okay? Let's pretend, for just a little while, that we're normal. We're just a normal couple, and we're having a normal date. Okay?"

He's still frowning, his brow furrowed, but after a moment, he sighs, his shoulders slumping a little.

"Okay," he mutters. "I can do that."

You smile, leaning in to press a kiss to his cheek, and Echo turns, his mouth finding yours. His hand comes up, his thumb brushing across your cheek, and he pulls you closer, kissing you softly.

You let yourself sink into it, the sound of the ocean and the feeling of the sun on your skin making everything feel a little bit like a dream.

When you break apart, he's smiling, and some of the tension has finally melted from his body.

"So," you say, grinning, "what do you think? About this normal-couple-on-a-date thing?"

"I think... I could get used to it."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." He smiles at you, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners, and the sight of him, relaxed and smiling and looking happier than you've seen him in weeks, sends a flood of warmth through your chest. "It's kind of nice, actually."

"Good," you say. "Now take off your shirt. You're going to need a little sunscreen."

Echo's eyebrows lift. “What?”

"Come on," you wheedle, shaking the bottle at him. "Don't worry, I'll help."

"That's not—" he begins, but he doesn't seem to be able to find the words to finish. Finally, he sighs and shrugs out of his shirt, folding it and placing it on the blanket. Before he can say anything else, you move behind him, squeezing a generous amount of the lotion into your hands and rubbing them together.

"I'm going to start with your back," you tell him. You smooth your hands over his shoulders, feeling the soft skin beneath your palms, and his muscles flex beneath your touch. You move your hands over his broad back, covering every inch of exposed skin, and Echo groans as you hit a knot just below his shoulder blade.

"Right there?"

"Yeah," he says. He's practically melting under your touch, and you keep working, kneading your thumbs into the spot. "Force, that feels good."

You don't answer, focusing instead on getting the last bit of sunscreen in his skin. After a moment, he seems to gather himself, and you see him glance at the bottle, his brow furrowing.

"Why do I need sunscreen?" he asks.

"To keep you from burning."

He looks confused.

"You have sensitive skin, remember? And we've been traveling a lot lately, which means you haven't gotten much time in the sun. You don't want to burn."

Echo opens his mouth to respond, but you’re already climbing into his lap, your hands skimming over his shoulders.

"I should get your front, too," you murmur, and his eyes darken. His hand finds your hip, his scomp skimming up your back, and he's looking up at you, his expression open and vulnerable. You can feel the warmth of him through your clothes, and a familiar heat starts to coil in your stomach.

"You're distracting me," he mutters, his gaze flickering down to your lips.

"Is it working?"

"Yes."

You smirk and lean in, brushing a kiss against his mouth before smearing a line of sunscreen down the bridge of his nose. He yelps, and you pull back, laughing as his face scrunches up in distaste.

"What—"

"That's what you get," you say, grinning. "Come on, let's get the rest of you covered."

Echo grumbles a little but settles back against the blanket. You're thorough, taking care to spread the lotion across his arms and legs, over his broad chest, and down the smooth planes of his stomach. He's warm and pliant under your touch, letting out little noises of contentment whenever you find a particularly tight spot. By the time you've covered the last inch of skin, he looks thoroughly relaxed.

"There," you say, smiling at him. You run your hand down his side, and Echo shudders. "All done."

"Thanks," he says. He opens his eyes, squinting against the sunlight, and frowns. You’re already standing up, dusting sand off your legs, and you see him tense.

"Wait, what are you doing?"

You pause, your hands on the hem of your shirt.

"What does it look like I’m doing?”

He pushes himself up onto his elbows.

"It looks like you're taking off your clothes."

"I am."

You strip off your shirt, and you toss it over his head, smiling as he pulls it away. He freezes, staring at the scrap of fabric in his hand, and his eyes drop to your chest.

"This is..."

"I told you I had a new swimsuit," you remind him as you drop your shorts and step out of them, "and now you get to see it."

He looks like his brain is short circuiting, and his gaze rakes across your body, taking in every inch of exposed skin and the tiny bits of fabric covering the parts that aren't. You grin and turn around, slowly bending over to pick up the discarded shorts. You look back over your shoulder and his eyes are wide, and he swallows hard, his mouth suddenly dry.

"See something you like?"

"Uh huh," he says faintly. He licks his lips and tries to drag his eyes up, but they're fixed firmly on the swell of your ass, the way the fabric hugs the curve of it and leaves the skin exposed. His mouth opens, and you know he's trying to find the words, but instead, all that comes out is a faint croak.

"Good," you say. "I'm glad."

You grab the bottle of sunscreen and settle down on the blanket.

"I'm going to need a little help, though," you say. "I can't get my back."

You tilt your head back and Echo nods, the motion slow and almost hypnotized. He stands, crossing the blanket and kneeling down behind you. He waits for you to dispense some into his hand, and his fingers trail across the nape of your neck as he smooths the lotion over your skin. His touch is warm, and gentle, and the feeling sends a pleasant shiver down your spine.

It’s rare for the two of you to have this much time alone together, and you can't help but let yourself enjoy it, leaning into his touch. You're not even trying to tease him, but his breath still catches every time his hands sweep lower, his fingers tracing along the waistband of your swimsuit. He takes his time, making sure that not a single inch of skin is left uncovered, and by the time he's done, the tension between the two of you is practically crackling.

He sits back, his hand still lingering on the small of your back, and the two of you are quiet. He's staring at you, and there's something different about the way he's looking at you, something almost... reverent.

You've always known he wants you, have been able to read it on his face and in his touch, but this, the way he's staring at you now, is more than that. It's desire, yes, but there's something deeper, something softer and sweeter, and it makes your heart flutter in your chest.

The two of you haven't done anything like this before. Even your previous trysts had been frantic and rushed, a matter of stolen moments in darkened rooms and shadowy corners. But here, the two of you are exposed, out in the open where anyone could see, and yet the thought doesn't fill you with dread or worry. It's thrilling, in a way, and the fact that Echo doesn't seem to care either way just adds to it.

But despite that, neither of you make a move. You sit there, both of you watching each other, and you know that if you gave the slightest indication, he'd pounce, and the two of you would be wrapped up in each other, just like all those times before. But for the first time, you don't want that. You want him to stay just like this, watching you, and for you to watch him in turn.

So, instead, you reach out and brush your thumb over his bottom lip, and he sighs, his eyelids fluttering closed. He's warm under your touch, his lips slightly chapped from the wind, and he leans into you, pressing a kiss to your palm. His scomp skims up your back, the metal warm from the sun, and he pulls you close.

You press yourself against his chest, tucking your head into the space between his neck and shoulder, and his arm comes around to wrap around your waist, holding you there.

It's peaceful, the two of you sitting together like that. It feels normal, and right, and the feeling that settles over you is warm and comfortable, like being wrapped up in a blanket. It's perfect, and you never want it to end.

But, like all good things, it eventually has to, and Echo's comm chirps. The noise seems to echo across the sand, shattering the fragile bubble of peace the two of you have found. He pulls away, digging through the pockets of his shorts, and he swears under his breath.

“Rex,” he says as he holds up the comm. You nod, and he activates it, and the captain's voice crackles through.

"Echo, I just sent over some new intel. Can you check it out? It might be a lead on the ship."

"Yeah, of course," Echo replies, though his tone is a little hesitant. He glances over at you, his brows drawing together, and you force a smile, ignoring the way your heart has plummeted into the pit of your stomach.

"Duty calls," you say, trying for levity.

Echo hesitates, glancing at the comm and back at you, and he lets out a sigh.

“Everything okay?” Rex asks.

Echo doesn't answer, not looking away from you. You give him a reassuring smile, and his expression clears, his mouth twitching a little as if he's thinking.

"Everything's fine," he says finally. “I'm a little busy right now, but I'll look over the intel and get back to you later."

There’s a moment of silence, and you hold your breath, wondering if Rex will call him out. But instead, he laughs.

"Busy, huh?"

Echo rolls his eyes.

"Yeah," he says. He shifts, pulling you closer, and he presses a kiss to the top of your head. "Something like that."

"All right, fine," Rex says, and he sounds amused. "Glad you’re enjoying your vacation."

"I'm— yeah. Thanks, Rex."

"Bye, Rex," you add, leaning closer and raising your voice a little. Echo smirks, and he cuts the transmission.

"So," you say, "you're just going to ignore the fact that we got called in for work, huh?"

"No," Echo replies, looking defensive. He sets the comm aside, reaching out to take your hand. "We're on a break. They can handle things without us for a day or two."

You smile at him, and he brushes his thumb over your knuckles, his eyes soft.

"Who are you and what have you done with Echo?" you tease. You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head, but when Echo's grip on your hand tightens, you freeze, a jolt running down your spine.

He scowls, his mouth twisting, and his eyes flicker away from you, looking out across the water. His hand falls away from yours, and his shoulders slump, the easy happiness that had surrounded him moments ago bleeding away.

"Don't say that," he mutters.

"What? Why not?"

"I just..."

He looks frustrated, and a little lost, and you wait, giving him time to find the words. His mouth is open, but he closes it, letting out a harsh sigh through his nose. His brow furrows, and he stares down at his lap, his jaw clenched tight.

"I'm sorry," you murmur, your hand finding his. "I didn't mean it like that."

"No, I—" he stops, closing his eyes. "I know."

He takes a deep breath, his hand turning to lace his fingers through yours.

"I'm tired," he says finally, his voice small. "I'm tired of... not getting to be with you, because we're always running, or on a mission, or just never in the same place. We never get a chance to be alone, and it's..."

His brow furrows, and his lips press together, as if he's frustrated.

"It's not enough," he says, and there's a note of finality to it, like the decision has been made. "And I'm done with it. So unless the galaxy is literally ending, I'm not leaving until we've had a chance to enjoy ourselves a little."

"And what if the galaxy is ending?"

"Then I'm sure Rex and the rest of the boys will take care of it," Echo says. He grins at you, looking proud of himself, and you laugh, shaking your head. "Until then, I'm staying here with you. And," he adds, leaning forward and pressing a kiss to the side of your jaw, "you can distract me from thinking about work, if you want."

You lean into him, letting him press another kiss to your neck.

"Hmm," you murmur, pretending to think. "I guess I could do that. After all, we are supposed to be on a date."

"Exactly," he says. He smiles against your skin, and the feeling makes you shiver. "Come on, we can't let the day go to waste."

"I mean, there is one thing we can do," you say, grinning mischievously.

Echo's eyes darken, and his voice is a low rumble.

"What's that?"

You smile and stand, reaching down and tugging him up.

"Swim!"

He groans, and you laugh, ducking out of his grasp and darting for the waves. He's faster, though, and he catches you easily, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lifts you off the ground.

"Echo!" you yelp. You can hear the waves lapping against the shore, and you struggle in his grip. "Don't you dare! Don't you—"

"Sorry," he says, not sounding the least bit apologetic, and you shriek as he tosses you into the surf. You land with a splash, the cool water enveloping you, and you break the surface, pushing the wet strands of hair out of your face.

Echo is watching you, looking smug, and you glare at him.

"What's the matter?" he asks, feigning innocence. "Not having fun?"

You splutter a little, wiping the water from your eyes, and you launch yourself at him. You can't actually pick him up, and he doesn't fall, but the move does throw him off balance, and he stumbles backward, almost falling into the water. You laugh and try to shove him again, but his arm comes around your waist, holding you steady.

"Is that how it's going to be?"

You grin, and the two of you wrestle, the sounds of your laughter carrying over the waves.

"Oh, no, please!" Echo yelps. He tries to fend you off, and you laugh, ducking around his arms and splashing water up at him. "Mercy!"

"Never," you declare. You grab his shoulders, and he lets you push him under the waves. He comes up sputtering, and his arm comes around your waist, dragging you down with him.

You both surface, and Echo is laughing, the sound loud and free and happier than you've ever heard him. It sends a surge of warmth through your chest, and before you can stop yourself, you're leaning in and kissing him.

Echo kisses you back, his hands finding your waist. He's warm against you, even with the cool water lapping around your bodies, and his lips are soft and gentle. It's the opposite of the way you usually kiss him, all tongue and teeth and bruising hands, and it makes your chest ache, makes the longing that's always present whenever he's around swell a little bigger.

He must feel it too, because his grip on you tightens, and he hauls you closer, the two of you clinging to each other like your life depends on it.

When you break apart, he doesn't let go, and neither do you. The two of you stand there for a long time, breathing in sync, and for a moment, everything seems to slow. There's no war, no missions, no responsibilities or tasks. There's just you and him and the feeling of the ocean around you, the two of you pressed so close together it's hard to tell where one of you ends and the other begins.

“So,” he starts, his forehead pressing against yours. “What else do normal couples do on dates, anyway?"

You grin and step back, taking his hand.

"Come on, I'll show you."

And you do. The two of you spend the afternoon walking along the beach, collecting shells and talking, and occasionally, the two of you find yourselves making out like a couple of teenagers, hands roaming over each other and mouths moving frantically together. It's not until the sun is beginning to set that the two of you finally wander back up the hill to the house, and by the time you're back in the kitchen, Echo has you pinned against the counter, his mouth hot and demanding against yours.

"We're supposed to be getting ready for dinner," you mumble, even as you tilt your head, giving him better access to your neck.

"Fuck dinner," Echo growls. He nips at the skin just below your ear, and you moan, your nails digging into his shoulders. "I need you."

You're both still wet from the water, and you can feel him, hot and hard and pressing insistently against your hip. Your own desire surges, and suddenly the thought of a crowded restaurant or a stuffy dining room is the last thing you want.

"I've got a better idea," you murmur, and he groans against your neck.

"Tell me," he breathes, and the feeling of his breath against your skin makes you shiver.

"Shower," you manage. The word has barely left your lips before he's pulling away, tugging you after him as he heads for the stairs.

The two of you don't make it far, and neither of you seems to care. As soon as the door to the bedroom is closed behind him, he's crowding you up against it, his hands sliding under your shirt and his mouth hot on yours. You can feel him, hard and insistent against you, and he groans, grinding his hips against you.

"Gods, I missed this," he pants. He nips at your ear, his teeth scraping across the skin. "Missed you. Missed touching you and kissing you and—"

"Shower," you repeat, gasping as he bites down on your shoulder. "Now.”

"Whatever you want," he mumbles.

He pulls back, and the two of you race down the hall, stripping out of your clothes as you go. He's in the fresher before you, the water already on, and by the time you step in behind him, he's got his back pressed to the tile, his cock hard and heavy between his legs.

You step inside, the water cascading down around the two of you, and Echo's gaze drops, raking over your body. You can see him, taking in the way the water streams over your skin, and the way his eyes darken sends a thrill through you.

You don't bother teasing him. Instead, you push him up against the wall, dropping to your knees and pressing a line of kisses down his stomach. His hand drops to your hair, tangling in the wet strands, and he lets out a choked moan.

"This is a date, right?" you ask, smiling innocently up at him. He nods, his gaze fixed firmly on you, and his grip on your hair tightens. "Good. I've always wanted to give someone a blowjob on a first date."

"Oh, fuck," he moans, and his head thumps back against the wall.

You take him into your mouth, and his fingers tighten in your hair. You look up at him, watching as his expression twists, his brow furrowing and his jaw clenching, and the sight sends a thrill through you.

Echo isn't big on talking during sex. Most of the time, it's just groans and whines, with the occasional curse or muttered endearment. But now, his words seem to be spilling from his lips, the filthiest things you've ever heard pouring out as you suck and lick and take him deeper into your mouth.

"Yes, just like that," he groans, his hips jerking a little. His scomp slides up the wall, searching for purchase, and the sound of the metal scraping against the tile sends a rush of heat through you. "Your mouth is so good, sweetheart. So perfect. Fuck, I can't wait to get inside you."

His fingers are tangled in your hair, not pulling or tugging, just holding you in place. You're practically dripping, and you can feel your cunt clench, the ache in your core growing with every filthy thing that falls from his lips.

"Look at you," he mutters, his voice ragged. His eyes are fixed on the spot where his cock disappears into your mouth, and you hum, the vibrations making him shiver. "Gorgeous. Look so good on your knees for me."

You keep going, working him over until his voice is cracking, his words dissolving into incoherent moans and gasps.

"Fuck," he hisses, his hips stuttering a little. He's close, you can tell, his muscles trembling and his breathing ragged. "Stop. Need— want to—"

He tugs at your hair, trying to pull you off, and you ignore him, keeping up the pace. His words dissolve into a string of curses, and you look up at him, blinking innocently and hollowing your cheeks.

That's all it takes.

"Shit," he manages. "I'm— I'm gonna—"

His cock twitches, and his eyes squeeze shut, his face twisting as he comes, his mouth falling open. He shudders, and you swallow, keeping your eyes on him as his chest heaves, his muscles quivering.

You keep going until he's trembling, his hand pushing weakly at your head, and you let him slide from your lips, sitting back on your heels and grinning up at him. He's slumped against the wall, looking absolutely wrecked, and you smirk, reaching for the bottle of shampoo and standing up.

"Feel good?" you ask, and he nods, his eyes glazed and his lips parted.

"So good," he mumbles. "Need a minute."

"Take your time," you say, stepping around him and putting a generous amount of shampoo in your hands. You work it into your hair, feeling him watching you, and you smile to yourself, humming as you wash the salt from your skin.

"You're evil," he murmurs. He presses up behind you, his mouth dropping to the side of your neck.

"I think the term you're looking for is generous," you tease.

"That, too."

He kisses the spot just below your ear, his teeth grazing against the skin. His hand finds your waist, and his scomp slides up your arm, tugging your hand away from your hair.

"Let me," he murmurs, and you nod. He gently works the suds out, his hand running through your hair and sending pleasant shivers down your spine. His scomp slides down, brushing over the side of your breast, and his other hand joins, the water raining down on the two of you.

"You're beautiful," he says, and you turn your head, looking back at him. He's watching you, his expression open and unguarded, and there's a look in his eyes that makes your breath catch in your throat. "I'm so lucky."

"Echo," you start, but the words die on your lips as his scomp skims lower, brushing against your hip and slipping between your legs. The tip finds your clit, and you gasp, arching back against him.

"So beautiful," he repeats. He rubs tight circles over your clit, his scomp moving slowly, almost lazily, and you lean back, resting your head on his shoulder. His arm comes around your waist, and his hand slides up to cup your breast, his thumb rubbing against the nipple. "You're amazing, sweetheart. I love watching you."

You moan and turn your head to press your mouth against his. He kisses you, his hand cupping your jaw, and you gasp as his scomp moves a little faster.

"I love the noises you make," he murmurs. He nips at the corner of your jaw, his tongue darting out to soothe the sting. "Love the way you taste, the way you feel."

He's everywhere, his lips pressing against the side of your neck, his hand sliding down your stomach and between your legs, his fingers brushing against where you're aching for him. He presses them into you, and his thumb replaces his scomp, the tip tracing patterns over your thigh as his fingers curl, finding that spot inside of you that makes you shudder.

"Echo," you gasp, the sound practically a sob. You reach back, grabbing onto his neck, and he hums, his arm tightening around you.

"I love being inside you," he says, and his voice is ragged, the sound sending a pulse of heat through you. His cock is hard again, pressing insistently against your ass, and his hips grind forward, the feeling of his body against yours sending a rush of warmth through you.

"Want that," you gasp. "Want you."

"You have me," he murmurs. He adds a third finger, and you whine, your nails digging into his neck.

"Not enough."

He grins against your skin, and the motion makes something inside you snap. You're suddenly desperate for him, for the feeling of him filling you up and driving away the ache that's been building for weeks. You try and turn, but his arm keeps you in place, and he chuckles, his thumb moving a little faster.

"Wait," he says.

"Echo, please," you beg, and he groans, his teeth grazing over your skin.

"Patience," he murmurs. "You can wait a little longer."

He presses his lips to the side of your neck, and his fingers work, curling and thrusting and making your whole body go tight. His arm is solid around you, holding you in place, and the thought of him, surrounding you, pinning you to the spot and taking what he wants, sends a rush of heat through you.

"Please," you whisper, and his fingers twist, his thumb moving faster. "I'm gonna—"

"Yeah," he breathes. "That's it. Come for me, sweetheart. Let me see you."

The sound of his voice, the feeling of his fingers moving inside you and his cock pressed against you is too much. You break, coming with a loud cry, and he keeps going, working you through it. Your body goes limp, and Echo holds you, keeping his fingers buried inside you and his scomp drawing tight circles over your clit. You whimper and try to push him away, the sensations too much, but he doesn't stop, not until a second wave hits and you're writhing, clinging to him for dear life.

By the time he finally pulls away, your legs are trembling, and you're panting, slumped against him and unable to do anything but whimper as he turns the water off and steps out of the shower.

You don't register him drying you off or lifting you and carrying you down the hall, and it's not until the door to the bedroom closes behind him that your brain finally clears enough to form coherent thoughts.

"Echo," you say.

He looks down at you, smiling softly, and he kisses you, the press of his lips warm and gentle. He doesn't say anything, but he doesn't need to. He lays you down on the bed, his eyes drinking in every inch of you, and it's so tender, so sweet that the emotion wells up, filling your chest until you're sure it will burst.

It's only been a few weeks, but it feels like a lifetime. The longing, the worry, the fear... it's been eating away at you, and being here with him, like this, makes the stress and anxiety from the past month melt away, leaving you feeling more at peace than you have in weeks.

He's always been the calm in the storm. You've lost track of the number of times you've lain awake at night, wondering if this was the last time, if this would be the one where something went wrong and neither of you came home. He's always been there, a solid presence, an unwavering support, and the thought of losing him is almost too much to bear.

But here, in this moment, there's nothing but the two of you. There's no war, or missions, or fighting or running. It's just the two of you, wrapped up in each other, safe and warm and together.

And in that moment, you're so happy, you think your heart might explode.

He lays down next to you, his hand finding your waist, and you kiss him, your hands cupping his jaw and stubble scraping across your palms. It's gentle and unhurried, the two of you taking the time to relearn each other. The feeling of his mouth against yours, his skin under your hands, his body pressed against you is almost overwhelming, and you find yourself clinging to him, holding him as close as you can and trying to commit the feeling to memory.

It's not until he rolls on top of you that the slow, lazy pace breaks.

You gasp, his mouth hot and demanding against yours, and his cock presses insistently against your thigh. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer, and he groans, grinding his hips down.

"Want you," you manage. Your hands run over his back, sliding down and gripping his ass.

"You have me," he says, his voice rough. He kisses down your neck, nipping and biting at the soft skin.

"Inside," you gasp, and he moans, his mouth dropping lower, his lips moving over the swell of your breasts.

"Yeah," he breathes. "Yeah, I want that."

"Come on," you say, pushing at his shoulders. He sits up and kneels between your legs, and he reaches down, stroking his cock and giving it a firm squeeze. He looks massive from this angle, his broad chest and shoulders towering over you, and the sight makes something clench deep in your core.

"I don't want to rush," he murmurs, his gaze dropping to the apex of your thighs. "Want to take my time."

You sit up, and his hand finds your waist, pulling you forward and into his lap. Your arms wind around his neck, and his scomp slides up the length of your back, pressing you closer.

"We have time," you tell him, and his eyes are dark and soft and full of a tenderness that makes your heart flutter.

"Yeah," he says. "We do."

You press a kiss to his cheek, and his hand drops between the two of you, gripping his cock and lining it up with your entrance. His mouth finds yours as the thick head slides into you, and it's slow, so agonizingly slow, you're sure he's trying to drive you insane.

You don't remember him being this big.

You know that's ridiculous, that of course he's still the same size, but the thought has a whimper falling from your lips. You try and grind down, needing more, but his arm comes around, pinning you to his chest, and he shakes his head.

"You're killing me," you mutter, and his teeth flash in the fading sunlight, his eyes dancing.

"I can stop," he teases.

"Don't you dare," you say, and he chuckles, pressing another kiss to your lips.

He keeps going, the steady, agonizing pressure of his cock pushing inside making your whole body go tense. You can feel the way he's stretching you open, the way your body has to make room for him, and the thought makes your mind blank, the ache in your core growing.

By the time he's finally, finally all the way inside, the two of you are breathing heavily. He’s so deep, deeper than anyone else has ever been, and the stretch is just shy of painful. It makes your hips jerk a little, and Echo lets out a moan, his hand finding your hip and his fingers digging into the soft skin.

"You're perfect," he mumbles, and you laugh, the sound turning into a moan as he grinds his hips up, pushing a little deeper.

You cling to him, his arms coming around you and pulling you closer. His forehead drops to your shoulder, and you wrap your legs around his waist, letting him pull you closer, as close as possible. The two of you stay like that, holding each other and letting the sensation wash over you.

Eventually, the pressure becomes too much, and you start to squirm, shifting and rocking your hips. Echo takes the hint and starts to move, and the first slow, lazy thrust makes the both of you moan.

He starts a rhythm, and it's like the entire galaxy has narrowed down to just the two of you. Nothing else matters, just the feeling of his cock sliding into you, the warmth of his breath on your neck, the feeling of his heartbeat against your skin.

You know how much he loves being inside you. He's always told you, whispered it against the skin of your neck, moaned it in the dead of night, panted it while you rode him, the words falling from his lips like a prayer. He never seems to tire of it, always desperate to get as deep as possible, and sometimes, you've wondered if there's a part of him that's afraid this will be the last time.

But he's never done it like this.

He's never held you in his arms and pressed kisses to your skin, his hand and scomp running reverently over every inch of your body. He's never taken his time, his hips rocking forward in a steady, measured rhythm, his mouth finding yours again and again. He's never let himself drown in the feeling of it, his eyes half-closed and his face twisted in an expression of pure bliss.

He's never made love to you before.

You've never put a name to it, the way the two of you are together. You've always been careful not to call it anything, knowing that doing so would cross a line neither of you wanted to. It's dangerous, the sort of thing that can break hearts and destroy lives, and you'd both known it. So you'd never said it, never acknowledged it, and had kept it to yourselves, locked away where no one else could ever see.

But now, with his arms wrapped around you, his touch tender and his mouth soft against yours, there's no other word for it. It's the only explanation for the feeling, the one that's welling up inside of you and threatening to swallow you whole, and the realization sends a thrill through you, settling in the pit of your stomach and burning like a sun.

He's making love to you.

You hold him closer, your hand gripping the back of his neck, and his lips find yours, warm and soft. He doesn't say anything, his gaze fixed firmly on your face, and his brow is furrowed, his jaw clenched and his eyes burning.

"So beautiful," he mumbles. His hand runs over your waist, squeezing lightly, and he lets out a shaky breath. "I love this. Love you."

Your breath catches, and for a second, it feels like the world stops. The only sound is his breathing, the only feeling is his hand on your skin, and the only thing that exists is him.

"Echo," you whisper, and his name is a question, the only thing you can manage.

He doesn't seem to hear you, or maybe he doesn't understand.

"Love seeing you like this," he mumbles, his gaze flitting over your face. "Love touching you, love being with you. I don't—"

He breaks off, and his head drops, his nose brushing against your jaw. His breathing is ragged, and his grip on you tightens, and something tells you he didn't mean to say that, didn't mean for those words to fall from his lips.

His hips slow, and he holds you closer, burying his face in the crook of your neck and taking a deep, shuddering breath. You can feel him, his entire body trembling, and you pull him closer, your fingers cradling the back of his head and holding him against you.

"It's okay," you say softly, pressing a kiss to his temple.

His scomp skims down your back, the metal still warm from the sun and the warm water. It's a tender gesture, and the fact that he's using it to hold you, instead of his hand, is a testament to how far the two of you have come.

"I love this," he murmurs, and you know what he means.

He doesn't want to leave, doesn't want to go back to the war and the fighting and the constant struggle. He wants to stay, with you, just like this, forever. And as much as you want that, the two of you both know it's not an option.

"Me too," you murmur.

"I wish..."

"Yeah," you breathe. "Me too."

"I love you," he says again.

You swallow, and there's a lump in your throat, a feeling that seems to settle over you, making your skin feel warm and your pulse thrum. You're not sure what it is, but you know that this, whatever it is, is important, that it means something, and the sudden urge to run from it, to shove it down and push it away, is strong. But Echo’s always been there for you, a steady, unwavering presence, and even though you're terrified, the knowledge that he's here, that he won't leave, settles something in you, and the feeling starts to shift.

Instead of the warmth, it's like a fire, burning away the anxiety and the fear, and the knowledge that comes with it makes you feel lighter than you have in months. You're not sure what it means, or what you'll do with it, but there's a sense of comfort in it, and the smile that stretches across your face is genuine.

"I love you, too," you say.

He makes a strangled noise, and his grip on you tightens, his fingers digging into the skin.

"I love you," he repeats, the words falling from his lips. "Force, I love you. So much. I love you."

He says it over and over, the words spilling out of him. He's still hard inside you, and the feeling sends a bolt of heat through you, your cunt clenching around him. He gasps, his hips grinding forward, and he moans, the sound muffled against your skin.

"Please," you whimper, your nails scraping against the back of his neck.

"Anything," he gasps, and his hips start to move, slow and steady.

It's not frenzied, or frantic, and it doesn't need to be. You have time, all the time in the world, and for once, neither of you are trying to race the clock. He's gentle, his movements languid and unhurried, every thrust like a wave, pulling you deeper and deeper.

He's murmuring the whole time, his voice low and rough, the words tumbling from his lips. He's talking about everything, about the way he feels about you, about the things he wants, the places he wants to take you. It's filthy, and sweet, and so perfect, and you let the words wash over you, reveling in the feeling of him inside you and the way his voice makes your stomach clench.

"Echo," you whine, your thighs tightening around his waist. "Close."

"I've got you," he murmurs. His hand slips between the two of you, his thumb finding the swollen, slippery bud of your clit, rubbing slow circles over it. "That's it, sweetheart. Come for me."

The pleasure builds, slowly and steadily, until you can't think, can't breathe, can't do anything but feel. It's intense and intimate, Echo's eyes fixed firmly on your face, his lips parted in awe. You feel open, exposed, vulnerable, and the only thing that makes it bearable is the fact that he's right there with you, his expression twisted and his muscles trembling, his control slipping more and more with each passing second.

"Please," you beg, and his hips speed up, his rhythm faltering as he starts to lose his grip.

"Come for me," he gasps. "Let go. I'll take care of you."

And you do, his words sending a flood of warmth through you, spreading out until you can feel it everywhere, in every part of your body. Your cunt pulses, clenching around him, and Echo groans, his eyes squeezing shut and his mouth dropping open.

"Fuck," he chokes out. He doesn't slow, doesn't stop, just keeps fucking you through it, and you're shaking, clinging to him and shuddering as the pleasure keeps building. "Shit, sweetheart. You feel so good."

"Love the way you feel," you manage, your voice hoarse and strained. "So full. Love your cock, love you."

He curses, his hips jerking, and his scomp digs into the skin of your back, holding you tighter. His hand leaves your clit, and he grabs your thigh, wrapping his arm around your leg and hiking it higher. The angle changes, and he hits something inside of you that makes you sob, his hips snapping forward.

"Again," he grunts.

You nod, the feeling so intense that you can't manage words. You're practically sobbing, the sounds falling from your lips without thought, and Echo's gaze is fixed on you, his expression hungry and awestruck.

"Fuck," he growls, his thrusts getting more and more erratic. "Come on, sweetheart. Want to feel you. Wanna watch you come. Gonna fill you up. Make you mine."

It's filthy, the things he's saying, and you're lost in him, his hand gripping your waist and his scomp pressed into the small of your back. His gaze is burning, and it feels like the room is spinning, like the world is coming apart at the seams and there's nothing left but the two of you, moving together.

"I can't—"

"That's it," he encourages, his voice rough. He's shaking, and you know he's close. "One more. Come on."

You can feel the tears sliding down your cheeks, and his eyes are wide, his expression stunned.

"Please," you gasp. "Echo, please."

"Fuck," he breathes.

It's like a switch has been flipped, and the slow, steady pace falls apart, his thrusts hard and fast. He surges forward, your back hitting the bed, and his scomp slides under your back, lifting you off the mattress.

It's too much, the new angle and the way he's staring at you, and a sob breaks from your throat, your fingers twisting in the sheets.

"Gorgeous," he breathes. "You're perfect. I love you."

There's a moment, a heartbeat where it seems like everything is suspended. His eyes are wide, and he looks almost... shocked, as if he can't believe what's happening, and something tells you that it's not just about this, about the two of you. It's bigger, somehow, deeper and more profound and the feeling that washes over you is pure, unadulterated joy.

And you can see it on his face, in the way his eyes widen and his mouth drops open. He looks like he's about to burst, and it's so raw, so perfect, and the realization hits you like a blaster bolt.

He's happy.

He's the happiest you've ever seen him, and the fact that it's because of you is overwhelming.

"Love you," he murmurs, and it's the last thing either of you say before the feeling crashes over the two of you.

You cry out, and the dam breaks. The pleasure rushes through you, hot and cold, and the waves break, sweeping over the both of you and carrying you away.

You come with a choked gasp, his name on your lips and his fingers digging into the skin of your thigh. His hips snap forward, and he grinds into you, his face twisting and a loud moan falling from his mouth at the way your body pulls him in, squeezing and pulsing around him.

"Oh, fuck," he breathes.

You cling to him, your eyes fixed on his face. He's beautiful like this, his lips parted and his cheeks flushed, his expression twisted into an expression of pure ecstasy. He holds himself there, buried to the hilt inside you as he starts to come, the first pulse of heat making you whimper.

You can feel his cock twitch, and his brow furrows, a broken sob falling from his lips. His grip on your thigh tightens, and his hips start to stutter, grinding into you and filling you up, his come dripping from you. He lets out another choked noise, and he falls forward, his weight settling on top of you and his mouth finding yours.

"So perfect," he pants, his hips rocking forward a few more times, his movements lazy and slow.

You can't respond, still gasping for air, and you can feel the way he's twitching, the way his body is shaking. It feels like forever before the feeling finally fades and Echo pulls back slightly, mindful of his weight. You can feel him dripping from where the two of you are connected, and you bite your lip, looking up at him through your lashes.

"Hi," you whisper, and he laughs, the sound breathless and a little giddy.

"Hi," he replies, grinning.

Echo's chest is heaving, his muscles quivering, and he looks absolutely wrecked. He's staring at you, his lips parted and his eyes wide, and he's looking at you the way people look at the sun after they've spent too long in the dark, like he's seeing something for the first time and never wants to look away.

"I love watching you," he says, his voice raw and hoarse. "Wish you could see yourself."

"Yeah?"

He nods and reaches up, brushing a strand of damp hair out of your face.

"So gorgeous," he murmurs. "Perfect. Wish I could stay inside you forever."

You hum, and his gaze drops, watching as he finally slides out, a trickle of his release following. He swallows, and he reaches down, his thumb slipping between your folds.

"Echo," you whine, your hips jerking a little.

"Gonna miss that," he mumbles, his tone almost dreamy.

"We've got a few days," you remind him. "And I'm not done with you yet."

He grins, and it's so boyish, so genuine and unguarded, that you find yourself reaching for him. Your hands slide up his chest, over the broad expanse of his shoulders and his neck, and your fingers brush over the spot just below his ear, tracing the edge of his jaw.

Echo leans into your touch, his eyes closing, and his head turns, his lips pressing against the inside of your wrist. You shiver and lean forward, pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose. He wrinkles it, his eyes still closed, and you can't help the laugh that falls from your lips.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," you say, and he cracks one eye open, looking suspicious.

"You're laughing," he accuses.

"Because you're adorable."

His lips part, and his eyebrows rise. He doesn't say anything, but his face flushes, his cheeks going pink, and you grin.

"That's the last word I'd use to describe myself," he mutters. “Especially when I’m still inside you.”

"I think I'm the best judge of that," you point out, and he smirks, his eyes glinting.

"Well, if that's the case, I'd have to say the same about you," he teases, and he leans forward, nipping at the soft skin just below your ear. You yelp, and he chuckles, pressing another kiss to your shoulder before he pulls away, searching for his pants.

"Where are you going?" you whine.

"To order food," he says. He tugs his pants on, and the sight of him, completely naked except for the loose fitting black cargo pants, is enough to make your mouth water. "I'm starving, and if I'm going to keep this up, I'm gonna need my strength."

"You mean it?" you ask.

He raises an eyebrow.

"Did you really think I'd pass up the opportunity to have sex with the woman I love all day? In an actual bed? With an actual door that locks?"

Your heart flutters, and you grin.

"No, but I'm still glad to hear it."

"Good," he says. He walks back over, leaning down and kissing you, his lips warm and his stubble scraping against your skin.

"Order some food," you murmur, and he nods. "And maybe a bottle of wine."

"Whatever you want," he says. He steps away, and his gaze flits over you, taking in the way you're sprawled across the bed, still naked and covered in sweat and your combined release. He swallows and shakes his head, backing toward the door.

"I'll be back soon," he promises. He points a finger at you. "Don't move."

You give him a salute, and he grins, his eyes dancing.

"I love you," he says, and it's so easy, the words falling from his lips like they've always been there.

"I love you," you tell him, and the smile he gives you is enough to light up the entire room.

The door closes behind him, and you collapse back onto the pillows, closing your eyes and letting yourself revel in the feeling of the bed beneath you, the cool air drifting over your heated skin, and the lingering ache between your thighs.

This isn't how you imagined this week would go. You'd thought that it would be a brief respite, a chance to relax before heading back to the fight. You'd expected a week of stress and anxiety, of wondering if it would be the last one, and whether or not you'd get to spend any of it with the man we’re falling for despite your better judgement.

Instead, you're here, lying in a bed, in a place where there's no war and no missions and no responsibilities. For the first time in months, there's no one depending on you, no one waiting for you to save them, and no one demanding things from you that you're not sure you can give.

It's peaceful, and it's perfect, and the thought that Echo, the man who's seen and experienced more than anyone should ever have to, feels the same makes you smile.

For the first time since the war started, everything is good.

You let your eyes fall closed, and the sound of the waves is soothing, the faint noise carrying up the hill.

In the end, it's not the ocean or the house or the fact that for once, you have nothing to do.

It's him.

Echo.

He's the reason this feels like home.

And in the end, you know that's the only thing that really matters.

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