#can you tell i had lots of fun drawing this one

[jetii]

A Little Fun

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

Words: 16,139

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, smut, pretty much pwp let's be honest, but there is some squad family bonding/good-natured ribbing, reader is a known flirt, reader has a nickname, insecure Echo to confident Echo, return of the king (pleasure dom Echo), he talks you through it, Echo's scomp is a paid actor, brat taming?, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, vibrator play, squirting, praise kink, overstimulation, aftercare

Summary: There's something between you and Echo, but despite your best efforts, he's yet to make a move. A night out at 79s changes everything.

A/N: the most self-indulgent thing i’ve ever written. 🙈 do not perceive me

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The music is a wall of sound, a thudding rhythm so loud it's practically a physical force. There's a strobing light show that seems to be designed to make people sick to their stomachs, and the dance floor is so crowded with writhing bodies you can't tell where one person ends and another begins. You're entranced by it, drawn into the pulsing beat. It's like a heartbeat, and you swear it's calling to you, drawing you in.

It's been ages since you were out at a club like this. You never realized how much you missed it. You've spent months fighting battles on countless planets, patching up the squad after every fight, and then going back out and doing it all over again. The only thing that really makes the exhaustion worth it is the promise of something like this—the thrill of a good time, of letting loose and just enjoying yourself.

The song ends and another one takes its place. The music changes, but the crowd doesn't. Everyone on the floor keeps dancing, and you keep right on with them.

You don't know how long you're out there, but after a while you're starting to get worn down. You slip away from a pair of hands around your waist, leaving a trail of apologies in your wake, and head off the floor. There's a booth in the corner of the first floor that the squad has commandeered, a rare commodity at 79s, and you stumble towards it.

You've had enough drinks that you're pleasantly buzzed, and you've lost count of the number of people you've danced with. It's made your body feel alive and hot, the music's thudding beat thrumming through your skin. You haven't had this much fun in months, and for the first time in a long time, you feel free.

"Having fun?" Hunter calls out as you approach. He's sitting on one side of the round booth, next to Crosshair, who has an arm slung casually over the back. You left Wrecker out on the dance floor with a group of Twi'lek women who seem to find his bulk a source of fascination, and Tech is seated on Hunter's other side next to Echo, nursing a drink and watching the room with a passive gaze.

"Of course," you say with a laugh. "You're not?"

"Eh." Crosshair scoffs, not bothering to look over at you. His eyes are trained on the dancers out on the floor. "Not really."

"What about you, Tech?" you ask, leaning against the table and taking a sip of your drink.

"I find the entire affair rather fascinating," he says as he gestures vaguely at the crowd. "All the various forms of sentient expression are...interesting, to say the least."

"And what do you think of my form of expression, Tech?" you ask playfully, putting your hand over your heart and giving him a flirty smile. You take a seat at the end of the booth and lean closer.

Tech, ever immune to your antics, doesn't miss a beat.

"You appear to be expending a lot of energy on a relatively simple activity. However, the results do seem to be pleasing to you."

"What he's trying to say is, you look like you're having a good time," Echo supplies. He has his chin propped on his hand, but he's smiling at you, clearly amused. You meet his gaze and grin back.

"I am having a good time," you confirm. "How about you?"

"It's not exactly my scene," he says, and he gives a shrug. "But I can see why you'd enjoy it."

"If you change your mind and want to dance, just let me know," you tell him. "You know, since I'm already expending all this energy."

"Maybe later," he says.

His smile softens, and you're a little surprised to see it. The last few months have been hard on Echo, and you can count on one hand the number of times you've seen him smile like that. He's been working through a lot of guilt and self-loathing, and seeing him smile, even if it's small, is a nice change. It's good to see him loosening up a bit.

"I'll hold you to that," you tell him, and Echo grins and leans back.

"Are you sure you don't want to come out on the dance floor, Tech?" you ask, glancing over at him.

Tech shakes his head. "I prefer not to dance."

"What about you two? Not planning on getting out there?"

"I would sooner stick my hand in a rocket booster than step foot on that dance floor," Crosshair says without looking away from the crowd.

Hunter nods, and he gestures with his bottle. "That goes for me, too."

"Bunch of party poopers," you mutter and take a drink. "You should be ashamed of yourselves."

“There‘s no shortage of people willing to dance with you," Crosshair says, still staring at the crowd, and you can hear the teasing lilt in his voice. "No need to bother with us."

"We wouldn't want to deprive the galaxy of your...talents," Tech says.

"Very funny." You take a long drink and let the conversation drop.

"So," Hunter starts after a long silence. His eyes flicker to Echo and back to you, and he raises a brow. "How many people did you have to beat off with a stick on the dance floor?"

"Not too many," you say. "Only a few."

"Only a few, huh?" Crosshair asks. He sounds skeptical.

"Cross, don't act like you weren't counting every guy I danced with," you retort, and when he doesn't immediately respond, you grin and lean forward, bracing your elbows on the table. "See? Knew it."

"Don't flatter yourself," he says. "I was bored. Had nothing better to do."

"Yeah, yeah," you say, rolling your eyes. "Whatever you say. Don’t worry, none of them are worth mentioning."

“What about that guy who was talking to you earlier?" Echo asks, and he nods over to a spot near the bar. "I saw him buy you a drink. Didn't look like nothing."

"Who, that Mirialan?" You wave a dismissive hand. "Nah, he was cute, but not really my type.”

Echo gives a low hum of acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving yours, and you feel a strange thrill at the attention. You've always loved the way he looks at you. There's something about his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat, something warm and knowing and inviting. You’ve caught him looking at you like this plenty of times before, but tonight feels different. It feels almost daring. You sit up straighter and turn toward him.

"And what is your type?" he asks. There's an edge of seriousness to his question, and you consider him for a moment, watching him watch you.

"I like someone who can keep up with me," you say finally, and then, with a playful smile, add, "You know, someone with stamina."

Echo laughs a quiet, low chuckle, and your chest tightens. His laugh is a rare and beautiful thing, and you feel a thrill when you hear it.

"Stamina," he repeats, his voice soft and warm. There's a dazed look in his eye, and he blinks it away and meets your gaze again. “Right.”

The conversation is interrupted when Wrecker comes back to the table, panting and laughing, clearly out of breath. There's a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his cheeks are flushed, but he looks thrilled. He drops into the booth next to you, and the motion shoves you closer to Echo. You feel his leg brush yours under the table, and the sudden touch sends a warm spark shooting up your spine.

"This is great!" he shouts over the music. "Why don't we go out more?"

"Because our lives are a shitshow," Crosshair deadpans, finally turning to look at the rest of the squad.

Wrecker lets out a hearty laugh, and reaches across the table to give Crosshair a good-natured smack on the shoulder. "Ah, don't be so gloomy!"

"I'm not being gloomy, I'm being realistic," Crosshair replies with a scowl, but he softens a bit when Wrecker pulls back and settles into the booth, his arm slung over the back behind you.

"Oh, don't listen to him," Wrecker says. He's turned towards you now, and his arm is pressing against the back of your shoulders. "We should go out more often. You're a great dancer, y'know that?"

"You're not so bad yourself,” you say with a grin. “You're pretty light on your feet for someone so big."

Wrecker lets out a loud, barking laugh, pulling his arm out from behind you to slap his knee. His laugh is infectious, and you can't help but laugh along.

"You hear that, Cross?" he says. "I'm light on my feet."

"You're a regular acrobat," Crosshair drawls, his tone flat, but the hint of a smile plays at his lips.

"See, you're in a good mood!" Wrecker says, his smile growing. He takes a long pull from his drink, and then sets the glass down on the table, turning back to you. “Let’s go back out there! You and me, we'll show these losers how it's done."

"I need a break," you say, holding up a hand to stop him. "Sorry, Wrecker. Maybe later."

"Aw, alright," he says. He's still grinning, and he claps you on the shoulder with a bit more force than necessary. Your body rocks to the side, and you let out a breathless laugh as Echo puts a steadying hand on your arm.

"Easy there," Echo warns. His fingers linger on your forearm, and you can't help the thrill that rushes through you. You meet his gaze, and the corners of his mouth twitch.

"Thanks,” you say, and offer him a small smile.

Echo doesn't say anything. He just smiles back and pulls away, lifting his drink to his lips.

The conversation moves on, but you're barely paying attention to anything other than the feeling of Echo's leg against yours, the heat of his body, the lingering feeling of his hand on your arm. The touch was casual, friendly, but there's a part of you that wants to reach out and take his hand. It's been a while since you've gone dancing, and it's been longer since you've had any kind of physical intimacy, and a small, desperate part of you wants that contact. Especially if it’s Echo.

You steal a glance at him and find him looking back at you. His gaze is focused, a bit calculating, like he's trying to puzzle you out, and there’s a faint flush high on his cheeks. You raise an eyebrow at him, and his lips curl into a small smile. The two of you share a long look, and you wonder if he's thinking the same thing as you are.

"I'm gonna head back out," Wrecker says, and the words snap you out of your trance. He's standing next to the booth now, his drink empty, his hands splayed out on the table. "You guys should come out there with me. Stitches, c’mon!”

"I told you, I need a break," you say, a teasing smile playing at your lips. "Why don't you take Hunter? He was just saying how much he wanted to dance.”

"No," Hunter says immediately, shooting you a warning look. "Absolutely not."

"Yes!" Wrecker exclaims. 

The small smirk on Crosshair’s face spreads into a full on grin as he stands from the booth, pulling a grumbling Hunter up with him. He pushes him into Wrecker’s awaiting arms, and Wrecker gives a loud cheer. “Let’s go, Sarge!”

"You're a traitor," Hunter hisses, shooting you a dirty look over his shoulder as Wrecker drags him away. You give him a cheeky little wave, and he narrows his eyes.

"Have fun!" you call after him. You can hear Hunter let out a loud groan over the sound of the music, and you laugh as the pair disappears into the crowd.

Crosshair snickers and slips back into the booth, stretching out across the seat and resting his arm across the back. "Well, this’ll be entertaining."

"He'll be fine," Tech says, taking a sip of his drink before returning to his datapad. The four of you laugh a moment, and then fall into a companionable silence.

With the other two distracted, you slide closer to Echo, letting your leg press against his. You don't know if he does it on purpose or not, but he shifts and his leg presses harder against yours, a solid weight against you.

You let your eyes wander to the dance floor, where Hunter and Wrecker are dancing amongst the crowd. Hunter seems to have loosened up a tad, and his movements are more fluid, less rigid. But when he turns to look over at you, you can see the murder in his eyes. You can't help but laugh and give him another wave.

"You're cruel," Echo says, leaning in so his voice will carry over the noise, his breath warm on your cheek.

"No, I’m a genius," you reply easily.  "And an opportunist."

You turn your head back towards him, and the two of you are close—much closer than you expected. His face is only inches from yours, and he's so close that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the stubble on his jaw, the tiny scar on his forehead.

He's looking at you the way he did earlier, and a wave of warmth runs through your body, pooling low in your belly.

"A dangerous combination,” he says. He looks down, and his lips curl into a smile.

You laugh, and his eyes dart up to meet yours. "Is that a good thing?"

Echo pauses, considering. "I guess we'll find out."

There's a tension building between the two of you, and for a moment, neither of you speak. He's studying you with that intense, focused gaze again, and your body is thrumming. You've felt this feeling before, whenever Echo looks at you like that.

He's attractive—that was an undeniable fact. And he's funny, and smart, and caring, and he's a really, really good friend. But it's the moments like this, the times when his focus is all on you, that make you wish for something more.

You don't know what exactly that something more is, but right now, you can't help but imagine his lips pressed against yours, the feeling of his fingers running through your hair, the heat of his body pressed up against yours. It's been so long since you've had any sort of contact like that, and right now, it's all you can think about.

"So," Echo says, finally breaking the silence. His voice is a low rumble. "Stamina, huh?"

You hum, nodding. "It's a requirement."

"And what other requirements are there?"

"Depends," you say with a little shrug. You find yourself leaning in a fraction, drawn to him, and he mimics the motion. You’re not sure if he even realizes he’s doing it, but the sight of him moving towards you sends a hot pulse of anticipation through you.

"On?" he asks. There's a teasing lilt in his voice, a gentle playfulness, and you can't help but smile. His eyes drop to your mouth and then flick back up to meet yours.

"Who's asking."

You watch a range of emotions flicker across his face, and then Echo leans back, the tension in the air dissipating. He takes a sip of his drink and gives you a smile. "Good to know."

He turns back to the group, and you feel the loss of his gaze like a physical thing. The conversation shifts, and Echo starts talking to Tech, and the two of them get caught up in whatever it is they're discussing.

You can't focus on the conversation. Your eyes are fixed on Echo's face, watching him. It's like something has shifted between the two of you, and you're not entirely sure what that means. It's hard to read him sometimes—he's not exactly forthcoming with his emotions, but you had thought there was a mutual attraction, an understanding.

But then, you can be wrong about these things. it wouldn’t be the first time, and now that the moment has passed, it feels like it never even happened. You move to a sip of your own drink to try to calm your racing heart before you realize it’s empty.

"I'm gonna grab a refill," you say, sliding out of the booth and turning back toward the table. You ignore Crosshair’s smirk, and ask, "Anybody want anything?"

Crosshair and Tech both shake their heads, and Echo looks up at you and smiles.

"I'll come with," he says and slides out of the booth to follow you.

You can feel the weight of Crosshair's eyes on the back of your neck as the two of you walk off. You have a feeling that the conversation will pick back up the moment you're out of earshot, and you have a strong suspicion that you know exactly what it's going to be about.

When the two of you get to the bar, Echo flags down the bartender. The two of you place your orders and wait for the droid to prepare them, and you lean against the bar, your shoulder pressed against Echo's. He glances over at you, and you give him a smile.

"You doing okay?" you ask, tilting your head towards him.

"Yeah, why?"

"I just wanted to check in," you say. You shift a bit, leaning in closer. "We've all been under a lot of stress lately. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."

Echo considers your words, his brow furrowed in concentration as he looks back at you. Eventually, he seems to come to a decision, and his expression clears.

"I am," he says. "And I appreciate you checking in, but I'm fine. Really."

You nod. That's been Echo's refrain ever since he joined the Bad Batch. The squad has helped him adjust, and the new prosthetics have helped too, but you can tell it's still not easy for him. You've tried your best to support him, and the others have done the same, but there's only so much any of you can do.

"I'm glad," you say. You pause, and then, after a moment's consideration, add, "If you ever need to talk, or anything, you know where to find me."

Echo smiles and nods. “I know.”

The droid sets down your drinks, and you each grab one. For a moment, you debate whether to take them back to the table, but you can hear the sounds of shouting and laughter, and a quick glance at the crowd reveals Hunter and Wrecker stumbling back to the booth.

"Wanna stay here?" you ask, lifting your glass.

Echo looks over at the group, and then back to you. He's got that smile on his face again, and it makes your heart skip a beat.

"Sure," he says, and he hops onto one of the stools. You follow suit, sitting on the one next to him.

You sit in companionable silence for a while. You can hear the sounds of the music, of the dancers and the laughter, but the sounds seem distant, and for a moment, you and Echo are alone.

"I'm happy to see you having fun," he says, breaking the silence.

"Why's that?"

"We've been through a lot the past few months,” he answers. His voice is quiet, but the look in his eyes is steady and focused. "You deserve to have a good time."

"So do you, Echo.”

He doesn't reply, but there's a thoughtful expression on his face as he looks back out at the dance floor. His eyes are distant, and you follow his gaze with a curious tilt of your head.

"You want to get out there and dance, don't you?" you guess, a teasing grin spreading across your face.

Echo gives you a sidelong glance, and his mouth twitches in a little smile. "I told you, it's not really my scene. Not anymore, at least."

"So we'll find another way for you to have fun,” you reply as you turn on the stool to face him. You take a sip of your drink and give him a pointed look. It’s a bit forward, even for you, but the alcohol has you feeling bold, and you get the sense that Echo isn’t as put off by your flirting as he pretends to be.

The two of you lock eyes, and the moment stretches on. His eyes flit over your face, searching, and you meet his gaze, refusing to blink.

Echo rolls his eyes before ducking his head, shaking it slightly. You can see a faint blush on his cheeks, and he lets out a quiet laugh.

"Yeah, okay,” he says sarcastically, and you frown.

"You think I'm not serious?"

"No," he replies, raising his eyebrows at you. "I know you're not."

You tilt your head, studying him. He looks a mixture of amused and annoyed, but beneath that, there's something else. There's a softness to his expression, an almost pleading edge to his voice. It's a strange combination, and you're not sure how to interpret it.

"What makes you say that?"

"Because it’s you," he says, as if that explains everything.

"So?"

"So, you're..." he trails off, gesturing vaguely in your direction. You raise your eyebrows at him, and he lets out a small huff. "Look, we both know you're not really interested."

You feel a surge of annoyance. "Well, maybe I am. Why don't you give me a chance to prove it?"

Echo stares at you, his mouth set in a thin line, and for a moment, the two of you are locked in a silent stand-off. Finally, he breaks the stalemate, letting out a quiet sigh.

"What?" you ask

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head. "You're drunk."

"I am not," you protest. Your eyebrows furrow in indignation. "I've had three drinks, max. And they were light. I'm just feeling good."

"Okay, then," he says, a skeptical look on his face. "Maybe you're not drunk. But you're not exactly thinking straight, either."

You scoff. "Is anyone ever thinking straight in a place like this?"

"Very funny."

"I'm just saying, I'm serious," you insist. "I'm more than happy to have fun with you, if that's what you want."

Echo opens his mouth, and then shuts it, his lips pressed in a thin line. You've never seen him so unbalanced, and the sight fills you with a perverse sense of satisfaction.

"You're not thinking this through," he says. "You have no idea what you're offering."

"So explain it to me," you say. You set your drink down and slide closer to him, your knees brushing against the side of his leg. His eyes dart to the movement, and then back up to meet yours. There's a spark of heat in his gaze, and you can't help but smile.

"You're really—" He breaks off, his gaze dropping to your mouth, and his tongue darts out, swiping over his lips. His gaze lingers for a long moment, and you can feel the tension in the air thicken, like static electricity building just before a lightning strike.

"I'm really what?"

He lets out a frustrated sound. "You’re not making this easy.”

"Oh, please," you say, rolling your eyes. "If it was easy, it wouldn't be any fun."

"You're something else," he says, and there's an edge of frustration to his voice. He runs a hand over his face, and then looks back at you. “I’m not talking about this here.”

"Fine," you say, a little miffed. "Then come back to the ship with me, and we'll finish this conversation."

Echo lets out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. He looks torn, and you can't quite figure out what's going on in his head.

"Echo, if you're not into it, that's fine," you tell him, your voice softer. "I'm not trying to pressure you. I just wanted you to know that I'm interested."

He nods slowly, his eyes still trained on yours. There's a wariness there, and for a moment, you’re certain he's going to reject you.

Instead, he slides off the stool and takes a step forward. You turn, your legs parting of their own accord, and he moves between them. He's so close that your knees are brushing his hips, and the contact sends a spark of anticipation through you.

"Let me make this clear," he says, leaning in, and his voice is a low, raspy whisper in your ear. "You don't know what you're getting into."

"Try me."

"You really wanna go down this road?"

"Absolutely.”

There's no hesitation. You've wanted this, wanted him, for longer than you're willing to admit, and now that it's within reach, there's no way in hell you're backing down.

Echo pulls back, but he doesn’t go far. His eyes are dark, the light gold overtaken by his pupils, and a hot wave of arousal shoots through you.

"Please," you add for good measure, the word a breathless whisper.

That seems to be the last straw. Echo lets out a heavy breath, and his hand comes up, cupping the back of your head. His fingers are digging into the strands of your hair, and you can't help but tip your head back a little, letting him feel the weight of your skull in his hand. His thumb traces a soft, slow line over the nape of your neck, and you shiver at the sensation.

"This is a bad idea," he says. His words are barely a murmur, and they send a warm thrill running through you.

"Yeah," you agree. You reach up and curl a hand around the back of his neck, stroking the sensitive skin with your thumb, and his eyes flutter closed. “Come back to the ship with me.”

“Kriff,” he mutters, his voice rough. He looks back at you, his eyes searching your face, and he lets out a frustrated huff.

Echo steps back, releasing his hold on your head, and you hold your breath as you watch him. You wait for him to leave, to walk away from you, but he just reaches for his drink and finishes it, his eyes never leaving yours. When he's done, he sets the empty glass on the counter and holds his hand out.

"Let's go."

You can't help the way your face lights up at the words. You finish the last of your drink and take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. You weave through the crowd, the two of you practically joined at the hip, his hand still grasping yours tightly.

"Do you want to let the others know we're leaving?"

"Nah," Echo says. He doesn't turn to look at you, his eyes fixed ahead as he pulls you along. "They're too busy having a good time."

"But—"

"Stitches.”

He glances over his shoulder, giving you a sharp look. The intensity in his gaze, the hunger, is enough to send a rush of heat through your body, and you swallow.

"Oh," you say, the word almost a gasp. 

Echo gives you a little smile, and his hand slips away from yours. For a moment, the loss is nearly overwhelming, and then his fingers skim over your lower back. They trace a slow line down to your hip, and his hand settles there, guiding you through the crowd. The touch is light, gentle, but it's the possessiveness of it that sends a shiver up your spine.

When the two of you step through the doors and into the night air, he lets his hand slip lower, until it's resting just above the swell of your ass. You're not sure if the motion is intentional or not, but it sets a fire alight in you, and you have to resist the urge to press back against his palm or try to coax him to move lower.

You slow down. "So, uh, are we gonna—"

"Walk and talk," Echo says, cutting you off with a gentle push forward. His voice is low, and there's an authoritative edge to it that makes your knees feel weak. "The others will notice that we're gone eventually. We don't have a lot of time."

"Okay," you say, nodding. The two of you walk quickly through the city, and you're grateful for the fresh air. It clears your head a fraction, enough that the buzz of the alcohol has started to fade, and you're left with a sharp clarity.

The silence between the two of you is tense, but it's not uncomfortable. It feels charged, full of energy, and you're keenly aware of his hand on your lower back. His fingers are splayed out, his hand spanning the width of your waist, and his thumb is tracing a slow line over the fabric of your shirt.

It's driving you crazy, and you can't help the way you arch your back, pushing into the pressure. You feel his grip tighten, and you bite your lip, fighting back a moan.

Echo lets out a small chuckle. "Someone's eager."

"I thought we’ve established that already,” you reply. You let a bit of a whine slip into your voice, and when he looks over, his eyes are wide.

"Are you always like this?" he asks.

"Like what?"

"This..." he trails off, gesturing with his scomp, and his face flushes a light pink. "Teasing."

"Only when I want someone."

Echo doesn't say anything in response. He just nods and keeps walking, but you don't miss the way his grip tightens a little, or the way he starts moving faster.

The moment the two of you are through the hatch of the Marauder, Echo slams his palm on the control panel, shutting the door behind him. The ship goes dark as you stand a few feet apart, staring at each other. 

Echo leans against the wall, settling back with a considering look on his face, and he crosses his arms. He’s lit by the light coming through the window, and the pale glow makes him look otherworldly.

"Well?" you prompt, raising an eyebrow.

"Come here."

His voice is quiet, and you can barely hear him over the pounding of your heart. But the tone leaves no room for argument, and you can't help but comply. You step forward, moving slowly, and Echo's eyes track your movements. 

You stop when your shoes are a few inches from his, and you tilt your head, looking up at him. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and it's taking every ounce of self-control not to touch him.

"What do you want from me?" he asks.

"I—"

"No," he says. His hand and scomp come up, settling on your hips, and the motion pushes the two of you together. He's so close that you can feel his breath on your face, and the warmth of his body is burning through the layers of your clothing. "Don't think about it. Tell me."

Your eyes dart down to his lips, and he doesn't miss the movement. His lips quirk upward, and his thumb rubs gentle, slow circles on the fabric of your shirt.

"I want—" you break off, hesitating, and Echo gives your hip a squeeze. The pressure is light, but it's enough to get you to focus.

"I want this. I want you," you say, the words tumbling out in a rush. You take a breath and meet his eyes. "But I want you to know that I'm not just doing this because it's convenient, or because I'm bored. I'm doing this because I like you, Echo. I have for a long time."

Echo doesn't speak, and for a moment, the only sound is the gentle hum of the ship around you. His eyes search your face, as though trying to determine if you're being truthful, and you watch as the hard edge of his expression softens, replaced by something softer, something hopeful.

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"Yeah," you reply. You feel a wave of relief at his words, and you can't help the grin that spreads across your face.

"How long?"

"I don't know," you answer honestly. You take a step closer, until there's no more space between the two of you. He doesn't move, but you can see the way his breath catches, and you can feel the way his hand tightens on your hip.

"Why didn't you say anything?"

"Because you weren't ready," you say. You take a deep breath, and the motion makes his eyes drop to your mouth again. "I wanted to wait until you were ready. So I just want you to know, this isn’t—I mean, it's not just a fling, or anything. I want this to mean something."

"Good," he says quietly. "Me too."

You can't help the sigh of relief that escapes your lips. "Thank fuck."

Echo's lips twitch, and he ducks his head. The tips of his ears are a bit pink, and his shoulders are shaking a little.

"What's so funny?"

"Nothing," he says, looking back up. There's a soft smile on his face, and it makes your stomach flutter. "I just—you're really cute, you know that?"

"Am I?"

"Yeah," he replies, and his fingers start tracing patterns on your hip. The feeling is a light, tickling sensation, and you can't help the way your body shifts a bit, moving closer.

“Is that a good thing?” you ask.

"Depends," he says, and the way he parrots your words makes you laugh. He smiles and adds, "And I’m a little relieved. I don't do flings."

"Then why'd you agree to come back here with me?"

"Because I trust you," he says. "And because I want you. More than I've wanted anyone in a long time. Maybe ever."

"Yeah?"

Echo nods, his eyes never leaving yours. You're both close, and you can feel the tension building between the two of you. He's not holding back anymore, and his expression is open, his emotions plain on his face. The butterflies in your stomach kick up, fluttering wildly. Echo reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. He tucks it behind your ear, and the contact is gentle, tender. His fingers brush against the sensitive shell, and the feeling is so delicate, so soft, that it sends a shiver through you.

"Yeah."

You nod, a smile spreading across your face. "Okay, then."

"Okay."

He's smiling now too, and the sight is almost too much. You've seen him smile plenty of times before, but this one is different, and it takes your breath away. His fingers skim over the curve of your jaw, and when they reach your chin, he tilts it up, angling your face towards his. Your lips part, and you suck in a quick breath.

"So," he says, his voice quiet. His eyes drop to your mouth, and he pauses for a moment, just staring. His tongue darts out, swiping over his lips, and when his gaze flicks back up to meet yours, his pupils are blown. "What do you want me to do?"

You hesitate, the words sticking in your throat. You're not quite sure how to answer the question. It's a little hard to form words when his thumb is brushing over the soft, sensitive skin of your chin.

"Don't get shy on me now," Echo murmurs. "Come on, tell me."

"I want—" You break off, swallowing. Your throat feels dry, and you try again. "I want you to kiss me."

His mouth curls up into a smirk. "You can do better than that."

"Kriff, Echo, just—"

His grip on your chin tightens a fraction, and you force yourself to swallow and try again, more confidence in your voice. "I want you to fuck me. I want you to take what you want. I want you to make me feel good. Is that enough for you?"

Echo's smirk melts away, and his lips part, his breath coming out in a quick huff. His eyes are fixed on your mouth, and his pupils are dilated, his irises just a thin ring of gold around the edges.

"Fuck," he mutters, and his eyes flicker back up to meet yours. There's an intensity to his gaze that sends a shiver through you, and the feeling is only heightened when his thumb traces the edge of your bottom lip, his touch light.

"So what do you think?" you ask, unable to keep a hint of amusement from creeping into your voice.

Echo shakes his head, his brow furrowed, and you can't help the way your lips curve into a grin. His gaze darts back down to your mouth, and his own lips twitch. When he speaks, his voice is low and husky.

"I knew it."

"Knew what?"

"That you'd be like this," he says. There's a teasing note in his voice, but the look on his face is serious, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you.

"You've been thinking about it?" you ask softly.

"Yeah, I have," he mutters, and then he's moving. He grips your waist, lifting you, his scomp arm sliding underneath your ass, and he turns, pressing you against the wall. The sudden motion and the cool metal at your back sends a rush of adrenaline through you, tearing a sound from your lips.

"I've been thinking about it too," you admit, wrapping your legs around his waist. You're clinging to him, and you can't stop the way you're moving your hips, rubbing against him.

"You have, huh?"

"Yeah," you breathe. "You have no idea."

He makes a sound, a cross between a laugh and a groan. He closes his eyes, and his head falls forward, his forehead pressing against yours.

"I've been driving myself crazy," he mutters, his voice thick with desire. "Just wondering."

"Is that why you've been staring at me?"

He huffs a quiet laugh, and he lifts his head, a rueful smile on his face. "You noticed."

"It was hard not to." You grin, leaning back a fraction, and his grip on your hip tightens, his fingers digging into the fabric of your pants. "Especially when I was trying to catch you."

He lets out a frustrated sigh, and he presses you against the wall, his hips grinding into yours. The pressure is firm and steady, and you can't stifle the moan that slips out.

"You are cruel," he says, and there's a note of wonder in his voice.

"So are you," you shoot back, rocking your hips against him. "All that eye-fucking."

"Eye-fucking," he repeats, letting out a short laugh. "That's what you're calling it?"

"It's accurate."

He lets out another quiet chuckle, his body shaking a fraction, and the motion sends a shiver up your spine.

"I just had to figure it out," he explains. "I had to make sure."

In the dim light, it's hard to see the details of his face, but you can't miss the heat in his eyes, or the flush that colors his cheeks. You can't help the soft laugh that escapes your lips, and you reach up, letting the backs of your fingers trace over his jaw.

"I didn't mind," you say softly. "I've been watching you, too."

Echo hums, a soft, thoughtful sound, his eyes searching your face. "Watching me, huh?"

"Of course," you say. You lean forward, brushing your lips over the sensitive shell of his ear. You can feel him tense against you, and when you drag the tip of your tongue along the delicate flesh, he sucks in a sharp breath. "And I've liked what I've seen."

"Fuck," he breathes, and you can feel him shudder. "Do that again."

You oblige, pressing another kiss to his ear, and this time, you let your teeth scrape over the delicate skin. He lets out a low moan, and his hips roll forward, grinding against yours.

"Kriff, that feels good," he groans, and the sound goes straight to your core. "Keep going."

You nip at the soft skin, and when his hips roll again, you grind down, pushing back. The friction is delicious, and the motion makes him gasp, his eyes fluttering shut. Your mouth trails along his jaw, and his skin is soft under your lips. You kiss a slow path along the edge, and when you reach his chin, you nip the skin, making him jerk his hips again.

"Fuck, you're—" he breaks off with a groan, his head falling back as you trail a series of kisses down his neck.

"I'm what?" your murmur, tracing a line of kisses underneath his jaw.

"You're gonna be the death of me," he manages. His head falls forward, and his mouth crashes into yours.

It's not a gentle kiss. It's messy, a little desperate, and when his tongue licks into your mouth, you can't help the whimper that escapes your lips. He tastes like spice and smoke, and he's kissing you with an intensity that makes your head spin.

You let go of his neck, and your hands move to his chest, tracing over the hard planes. His lips move frantically against yours, his scomp underneath your ass encouraging the motion of your hips, and his hand roams over your body everywhere he can reach. He grabs your waist, squeezing the soft flesh of your hip, running up your ribs and skimming over your stomach before drifting back down. He cups your ass, grabbing a fistful of the flesh and tugging you closer, until there's not an inch of space between the two of you.

You can't help but moan, and the sound seems to spur him on. He lets out a low groan and pulls away, leaving a trail of biting kisses along the line of your jaw, down your throat. His mouth is hot and wet against your skin, and he nips the sensitive flesh, soothing the sting with his tongue.

"Echo," you gasp. "Bed, please. Now."

He nods before his mouth finds yours again. The kiss is sloppy and deep, his tongue sliding against yours, and you can't help the moan that escapes your lips as he pulls away. Echo steps back and sets you on your feet, steadying you with his scomp when your knees wobble.

"Come on," he murmurs. He takes a step forward, backing you toward the bunks, and his gaze doesn't leave yours as he navigates the small space.

His bunk is only a few steps away, and when you reach it, Echo stills. He turns you, guiding you until you're facing the bed, your back to him. You can feel the warmth of his body behind you, the press of his armor against your back.

"Take off your shirt," he says, his voice low in your ear. His scomp is a firm weight on your hip, keeping you still, and his other hand drifts over your side, ghosting over your ribs.

You reach for the hem of your shirt and tug it over your head, letting it fall to the ground. Echo deftly unhooks your bra, sliding the straps down your arms, and you toss it on top of your shirt. He presses a soft, gentle kiss to the back of your neck, and his hand slides up your waist.  You're not sure when he took the glove off his hand, but his fingers are tracing a slow, languid path, his calluses sending little tingles over your skin.

"Take off your pants," he says. The words are quiet, almost reverent, and his fingers brush over the soft swell of your breast.

You follow his command, taking off your boots and socks before you slide the pants down your legs. Your underwear is last, and the thin material is soaked through, the damp fabric clinging to the sensitive flesh.

When you turn back around, he's watching you with a look of open desire. His eyes are dark and heated, and the way they drag over your body, taking in the sight of your naked form, sends a flush spreading over your skin.

"You're overdressed," you say, and there's a teasing edge to your voice.

Echo doesn't answer, just gives you a heated look before turning his attention to his armor. He removes it piece by piece, until the only thing left is his blacks. The fabric clings to his body, outlining the hard planes of muscle and the sharp angles of his shoulders. You can't help but watch him, taking in the sight of him, and the longer you stare, the more he seems to relax.

"Enjoying the show?" he asks, his mouth quirking in a smile.

"Yes," you say honestly. "Very much."

"Good," he says, and he lifts his scomp, making a twirling motion. "Turn around."

You obey, turning back around, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him smile.

"Now bend over," he says, and the words send a bolt of heat straight to your core. "Hands on the bunk."

"Echo—"

"Trust me," he murmurs, and the words send a shiver down your spine. "It'll be worth it."

You nod, and slowly bend at the waist. You brace yourself, leaning forward and resting your weight on your forearms. The position leaves you vulnerable, and you can't help the way a hot, tingling blush creeps over your skin.

"Good," Echo murmurs. His hand slides over your hip, and he gives it a light squeeze before trailing his fingers over the curve of your ass.

"Are you—"

"Don't move," he says, and the words send a jolt of heat straight through you. He's standing so close, his body nearly pressed against yours, and the warmth of his body is seeping into you, heating your skin. "Just let me take care of you."

He steps back, and you can't help but squirm, trying to follow him. "But—"

"What did I just say?" he asks, and the tone of his voice makes your core clench.

"Echo," you whine, and your voice is a bit higher than usual. You can't help the way the heat creeps into your face, or the way your stomach flutters.

"What did I say?" he repeats. He reaches up and brushes his fingers over the curve of your ass, his touch feather-light.

"Don't move."

"Good girl," he says. You hear him drop to his knees behind you, and his hand slides over the curve of your ass. He grabs a handful of the flesh, squeezing it, and the pressure is enough to make your hips jerk.

"Stay still," he says, his voice low and firm. "You know the rules."

"Yeah," you breathe, a bit breathless. "I'll be good."

Echo doesn't say anything, but his thumb rubs a slow, soothing circle over the soft skin. His hand slips from your ass and comes up to the junction of your thighs. He traces the crease where your leg meets your ass, and his fingers brush over the sensitive skin.

"Open your legs," he murmurs, his breath hot on the skin of your inner thigh. "Wider."

You obey, widening your stance, and when you do, he lets out a low hum of approval.

"Just like that," he says. His scomp rests on your hip, steading you as his fingers dip between your thighs. They drag over the sensitive folds, spreading the slick arousal coating your core. The touch is light, teasing, and it's barely enough to satisfy the ache building inside you.

"Kriff, Echo," you groan, and your voice is a bit shaky. "Please, don't—"

"Don't what?" he asks. His hand stills, and he doesn't move, his fingers barely touching the heated flesh.

"Don't tease me," you beg, and the words come out a bit strangled.

"You like it, though," he says. He leans forward, his tongue darting out and dragging a slow, wet line up your core. The feeling makes your hips jerk, and the muscles of your abdomen clench. "Don't you?"

"Yes," you gasp, and the word comes out a bit ragged. You can feel your walls clenching around nothing, desperate for any kind of friction, and the tension is nearly unbearable.

"Then let me," he says, and his voice is a low, raspy murmur. "Let me make this good for you."

He ducks his head again, and his tongue is hot and slick as it drags through your folds, the tip just barely dipping inside your entrance. He repeats the motion, his tongue teasing the sensitive flesh, and the feeling makes your hips buck. His scomp is firm on your hip, preventing you from moving too far, and you can't quite decide if the lack of control is maddening or exhilarating.

"Echo," you whine, and the sound is a plaintive, pleading noise.

He doesn't answer. His thumb and scomp move, his thumb spreading the swollen lips of your pussy, and his scomp helps holds them apart, giving him better access. The motion leaves you exposed, the cool air of the ship caressing the heated flesh, and the feeling makes a shiver run down your spine.

"Look at you," he murmurs. He lets out a low, satisfied sound, and you can't help the way you push into his touch. "So eager."

He dips his head and his tongue slides over your core, tracing a slow, torturous line to your clit. When he reaches it, he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the throbbing bud. The feeling is almost too much, and your hips buck, trying to get away from the sensation.

"No, no, no," he says. "None of that."

His hand grips your hip, holding you still as he teases the bundle of nerves with his tongue. He traces circles around it, and when he sucks it into his mouth, the feeling makes your legs tremble.

"Oh, fuck," you moan, and your hands curl into fists, clutching at the blankets.

"Do you like that?"

"Yes," you gasp. "Feels good."

He hums, the vibration making your legs shake. "How about this?"

You suck in a breath as he presses his tongue flat against your clit, his lips wrapped around the throbbing bundle. His tongue strokes the sensitive flesh, and when he slides a finger inside you, your vision blurs.

"Oh, fuck, yes," you groan. "Yes, yes, please, just like that."

"Good," he says. His voice is a low rasp, and it makes heat pool in your belly. "You're doing so good for me."

Your walls clench around his finger, drawing him deeper, and he starts a slow, torturous pace, working his finger in and out of your dripping cunt.

"Please," you pant. "More. I need more."

"Like this?" he asks. He slides a second finger along with the first, stretching the delicate tissue. The burn is delicious, and it feels so good, the way his fingers fill you up. His mouth is hot and slick against you, and his tongue is dragging over the hard bud of your clit. His fingers thrust slowly, the motion gentle, and his scomp is holding you still, keeping you from pushing back against him. 

The way he's forcing you to stay still, to let him do as he pleases, is sending a hot, tingling flush spreading over your skin. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your breath is coming in short, shallow pants, your entire body wound tight.

"Do you like that?" Echo murmurs, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thigh.

"Yes," you manage. You can feel the heat rising inside you, the tension building in your belly, and your toes are starting to curl. "So much."

"Good girl," he says, and the words send a wave of warmth rushing through you. "You're being so good for me."

"Thank you," you pant. "Feels so good."

He hums in response as his scomp leaves your hip, and you feel the cold, metal appendage drag down the curve of your ass. It slides lower, until the tip of the metal is just barely pressing against the folds of your entrance. The feeling is foreign and strange, and the sensation makes you jerk.

"Is this okay?" he asks.

"Y-yes," you say. The sensation is unfamiliar, and the feeling of the cool metal against your core is making your muscles twitch. "Keep going."

He slides lower through your wet folds, and the motion is slow and deliberate. It's not like his fingers or his tongue, not quite the same. It's harder, cooler, less yielding, but the contrast is delicious, and it's making your legs tremble.

"That feels..."

"Weird?" he asks, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.

"Not bad," you manage, and the words come out a bit strangled. "Different. Good."

"You want more?"

"Yes," you groan. Your hands tighten in the blankets, and the heat is starting to creep up your spine. "Yes, please."

He doesn't reply, just slides his scomp back up through the folds again, this time a little harder. The metal is smooth, and the tip is cool against your clit. He drags it over the hard bud, and the feeling makes a jolt of electricity shoot through you.

"Echo," you gasp.

"Shh," he says. His mouth is hot against your thigh, and his lips press a wet, sucking kiss to the sensitive flesh. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."

You nod, and your eyes slip shut. Your hands clench in the sheets, and the feeling of his mouth, of his fingers, of his scomp, is enough to drive all thoughts from your mind. Your head falls forward, resting against the bunk, and you can't help the soft, desperate sounds that fall from your lips.

Echo keeps up a steady rhythm, his fingers thrusting as his scomp presses patterns over the throbbing bundle of nerves. You can feel the pressure inside you growing, building, and the tension is so intense that it makes your legs shake.

"Please," you beg. "I need—"

"Shh," he soothes. "I know what you need. I'll take care of you."

You whimper, your body shaking, and the tension inside you is nearly unbearable. He keeps up a slow, steady pace, and you can feel your orgasm coiling, tightening inside you.

"I need—"

"Let go," he murmurs. He curls his fingers, pressing the tips against the bundle of nerves hidden inside you, and the feeling is enough to send you hurtling over the edge.

Your body goes rigid, your back arching, and your eyes slam shut as your orgasm crashes through you. The sensation is intense, almost painful, and the tension in your muscles is so strong that it's hard to breathe.

Echo doesn't stop, doesn't even slow. He keeps up the slow, steady pace, and it feels like hours pass before the aftershocks subside, leaving you limp and sated. Your head is spinning, and your lungs are burning as you try to catch your breath. Your release is slick and sticky on your thighs, and Echo's tongue slides over your skin, lapping it up.

"You're perfect," he murmurs. He trails a series of kisses over the swell of your ass, the tip of his nose tracing the line of your spine. "So beautiful."

Finally, Echo pulls away. He removes his fingers, and the sudden emptiness makes you gasp. You collapse forward, unable to hold yourself up any longer, and the sheets are cool and soft against your face. You're dimly aware of Echo shifting, his arm slipping under you, lifting you off the bed. He sits on the edge, holding you against him, chest to chest, and your legs fall to either side of his thighs.

"You okay?" he asks, his voice a low, husky whisper.

"I think so," you mumble. Your head is still spinning, and your limbs feel heavy, a pleasant lassitude spreading through your body. "Just need a minute."

Echo doesn't answer, just nods. He reaches up, brushing your hair away from your face. His fingertips trail over the shell of your ear, and the contact sends a shiver down your spine.

"You were so good," he murmurs. "Such a good girl."

The praise makes a hot flush spread over your cheeks, and you turn your face, hiding it in the crook of his neck.

"Don't," you mumble, the word muffled by his blacks.

"Don't what?" he asks. There's a note of amusement in his voice, and you know without looking that he's smiling.

"Don't tease me."

"But you liked it," he says. His arm tightens around your waist, and his other hand slides into your hair, gently cradling the back of your head. "And I meant every word."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," he says, and his hand moves, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes over the soft skin, and he tilts your head up, leaning down to brush his lips against yours.

The kiss is soft and sweet, a gentle brush of lips, and it's almost enough to make your heart stop. Your hands move, reaching up and fisting in his blacks, and you pull him closer. You can taste yourself on his lips, the tangy-sweet flavor a sharp contrast to the lingering sweetness of the liquor.

When you pull away, the look on his face makes your heart skip a beat.

"You're staring," you murmur.

"Yeah," he says. He runs a thumb over the swell of your bottom lip, and the touch is soft, reverent. "You're beautiful."

"Flattery will get you everywhere."

"Good to know," he says, grinning.

You smile and reach up, tracing the line of his jaw. His skin is warm and soft under your fingers, and the stubble is a rough contrast to the smoothness of his cheek.

"I could stare at you forever," he says.

"I'm sure there's something else you'd rather be doing," you say, grinning.

"Maybe," he says. His eyes flick over your face, searching. "What about you? What would you rather be doing?"

"You," you say, and his lips twitch in a smile.

"Now who's the flatterer?"

"It's not flattery," you say, and his eyes are bright, the gold flecks in them glowing in the dim lighting. "I want you, Echo. More than I've wanted anyone in a long time."

"So what are we waiting for?" he asks.

"What, you don't want me to return the favor?" you tease, running a hand over his shoulder.

"I'd love that," he says, and his voice is a low rasp, his breath hot against your skin. "But later. Right now, I just want you."

"Well," you say, trailing your hand down his chest. "I'm not stopping you."

Echo smiles and leans down, his mouth finding yours. The kiss is soft, almost tentative, and it sends a bolt of heat straight through you. His lips are gentle against yours, and when his tongue traces the seam, you part for him.

The kiss deepens, and his tongue slides against yours, the slick, velvety muscle stroking yours. You can't help the soft, breathy sound that escapes your lips, and when his teeth nip at your bottom lip, your hands tighten in his blacks.

He lets out a soft grunt, his arm tightening around your waist, and he shifts, the movement rocking his hips forward. The friction makes a soft gasp escape your lips, and you can't help the way you press closer.

"Come on," you murmur, kissing a path along his jaw. You nip the skin, and his hips roll again, pushing up.

"Fuck, wait," he breathes. "Let me—"

You bite down, and his head falls back, exposing the column of his throat. You lean forward, nipping the skin, and the sound he makes is like a prayer.

"Come on," you say again, your teeth dragging over the skin.

"Kriff, wait," he groans, and his scomp is cool against the small of your back. "Just a second."

You pause, pulling away and looking at him.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says, his breathing a bit ragged. "I just—it's been a while, okay?"

"A while?"

"Yeah," he says, and he's blushing, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. "A long while."

"So?"

"So," he says. He glances down at his lap, then back at you. "It's gonna be over embarrassingly fast if you keep doing that."

"Doing what?" you ask, unable to keep the grin from spreading across your face. "This?"

You lean forward, pressing a kiss to the soft skin just below his ear, and the action makes him suck in a breath. His hand comes up, sliding into your hair, and he guides you to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his fingers tightening. You can't help the satisfied smile that crosses your face, and when you nip the tender skin, his hips buck, grinding against you.

"Come on," you whisper. You let your tongue slide over the skin, and his hand flexes in your hair. "You don't have to worry about me."

"That's not the point," he mutters, and his hand slides from your hair to grip your hip. "I want you to have fun."

"And I am," you murmur. You drag the tip of your tongue along the line of his throat, and the motion makes him groan. "Trust me, I'm having plenty of fun."

"You're not worried about—about..."

"About what?" you ask. "About finishing early? About getting off and leaving me hanging?"

"Yeah," he admits, his voice low. "Something like that."

"Why would I be? You already made me come," you say with a smile. "That was fun, remember?"

"Yeah," he says. His scomp slides over the curve of your ass, pulling you closer.

"Then why don't you let me have some more fun?" you murmur. You rock your hips forward, and the motion makes him groan. "Come on. Let me take care of you."

"Are you—"

"If I say it's fine, it's fine," you say. You press a line of kisses down his neck, pausing to nip the soft skin. "Stop worrying and just enjoy yourself."

"That's—"

"Easy for you to say," you finish, and he huffs out a breath.

"Come on," you murmur, nipping the skin. "Let go."

He doesn't say anything, just tugs your hips forward, grinding you against him. You can't help the soft gasp that slips past your lips, and the feel of him, even through the fabric, is delicious.

"Just like that," you whisper, your lips brushing over his jaw.

Echo rolls his hips again, and the friction is delicious. The pressure is almost too much, but his grip on you is tight, preventing you from pulling away. His mouth finds yours, his tongue sliding past your lips, and he licks into your mouth with a slow, wet slide. The kiss is messy and frantic, his tongue tracing the edges of your lips, the tip flicking over the roof of your mouth.

You moan at the feeling of his mouth on yours, the way he's taking what he wants, and the sound seems to spur him on. He surges forward, your back hitting the bed, and his body follows, covering yours. He braces himself, his weight on his elbows, his mouth never leaving yours. His tongue delves deeper, and the kiss is hard and messy, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.

"You feel so good," he groans, his lips brushing over the soft skin. "Can I—"

"Yes," you interrupt, and he lets out a soft laugh.

"At least let me ask," he says. "It's polite."

"You’ve been very polite," you say. Your fingers trace over his ribs, and his abs clench beneath the soft touch. "But please, don't hold back anymore."

Echo pulls away, and the look on his face is enough to send a hot, tingling blush spreading over your cheeks. He's watching you with a mix of awe and desire, as his hand reaches down, fumbling with the clasp of his blacks.

"Do you need some help?" you tease, grinning.

"No," he says. His tone is firm, almost commanding, and the sound makes your stomach flip.

Echo finally manages to unclasp the garment, and his hand falls away, letting the blacks hang loose around his hips. He tugs them down, revealing the hard planes of his stomach, the sharp cut of his hips, and he slides off the bed and stands, kicking them away.

When he turns back to face you, his thumb hooks into the waistband of his briefs, and his eyes meet yours.

"You okay?" he asks.

"Are you seriously asking that question?"

"Just checking," he says. He hesitates, and the expression on his face is almost shy. "I'm not... I mean, I don't look like—"

"Echo, if you don't get your ass back over here and fuck me, I'm going to scream," you say, and he snorts.

"Alright, alright," he says. He tugs the briefs down his legs, and when his cock is free, it bobs, slapping against his abdomen. You try not to stare, but the sight of him is enough to make your core clench.

Your eyes widen, and the words die on your lips.

"Oh."

"Oh?"

"Uh-huh."

Echo steps closer, and the movement makes his cock bob again. The shaft is long and thick, the head a deep, dusky red, and the sight makes your mouth go dry. He's leaking, and when he gives himself a quick stroke, a bead of precum dribbles down the head, making the soft skin glisten.

"Fuck, you're pretty," you say, and his cheeks turn a faint shade of pink.

"You're one to talk," he murmurs, his gaze flicking over you. "I could stare at you all night."

You blush and shift, pulling your legs together. "I bet you say that to all the girls."

"No," he says, his voice soft. "Just you."

Your breath catches, and for a moment, neither of you speak.

"I should, uh, get a—"

"I have an implant,” you say, and he nods, swallowing.

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," you murmur. "If you're good with it, I'm good with it."

"Yeah," he breathes, and his gaze is dark, heated. "Yeah, okay."

He hesitates for a moment before grabbing the neck of his blacks, and with a quick motion, he pulls the shirt off, dropping it onto the pile. You can't help the way your eyes roam over his body, taking in the sight of him.

His muscles are defined and well-defined, his arms and shoulders corded with lean muscle. The planes of his chest and abdomen are sharp, the lines of his muscles standing out in sharp relief under the scars that spread across his skin, and you can't stop yourself from reaching out and tracing a line over his ribs. You’re pleased to see he’s put on weight, the bones not so prominent, and there are some soft edges where there were none before.

He's beautiful, and for a moment, you're struck dumb by the sight of him. 

Echo watches you, and the longer you stare, the more his muscles twitch, his nerves clearly getting the best of him.

"Sorry, you're just—you're really hot," you say. "It's a bit intimidating."

He lets out a soft huff of laughter, and his cheeks flush.

"Yeah, right," he says. He climbs onto the bunk and crawls toward you, his eyes locked on yours. When he reaches you, he settles himself between your legs, his forearms resting on either side of your head.

"If anyone's intimidated, it's me."

"Why's that?"

"Have you seen yourself?" he murmurs. He leans down, brushing his lips against yours. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."

The words make your heart stutter, and you reach up, cupping his cheek. "You're just saying that because you want to get laid."

"I'm just saying it because it's true," he says, and the words are a quiet whisper against your lips.

He dips his head, and his mouth finds yours again. You can't help the soft moan that escapes, and the sound makes Echo's hips rock against yours. His cock brushes against your thigh, a warm, velvety weight, and the feel of him sends a wave of heat crashing through you.

Echo breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. His hips move again, and this time, his cock drags against the folds of your core.

"What do you want?" he asks, his nose brushing over the swell of your cheek. "Tell me."

"You," you say, and your hands slide over his shoulders, clutching at his back. "Inside me. Now."

Echo doesn't answer, just shifts, sliding the thick head of his cock through the slick arousal coating your folds. When the tip brushes against the bundle of nerves nestled between the swollen flesh, your hips jerk, and a soft whine slips past your lips.

"Come on," you whisper, and your voice is a breathless, needy whimper. "Just—"

"Shh," he murmurs, his mouth finding yours. "I've got you."

He reaches down, gripping the base of his cock and guiding the head to your entrance. He doesn't move, doesn't thrust, just lets the tip rest there, a heavy weight against your core. The anticipation is almost too much, and you can feel the slick, heated flesh throb, clenching around nothing.

"Gods, Echo," you breathe. "Don't tease."

"You like it," he says, and his hand slides over your thigh, his fingers wrapping around your knee. He pulls it up, spreading you open, and his hips shift, his cock bumping your clit.

"Kriff, come on," you gasp, your back arching. "Don't—"

He doesn't wait for you to finish, just pushes forward. His cock is thick, the stretch almost too much, and the sudden feeling makes a soft, keening cry slip past your lips. He stills, and you can feel him trembling, the muscles in his shoulders quivering.

"Fuck, you're tight," he chokes out. "Just—hold still for a second."

You nod, and Echo lets out a shuddering breath, his head falling forward. His forehead presses against your shoulder, and his eyes slip shut. His hips twitch, and the motion makes his cock sink another inch inside you, the stretch making a soft whine slip past your lips.

"Shit," he breathes. "You're—I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't," you gasp.

He nods and shifts his hips, sliding a few inches deeper. His cock is thick and heavy, and the feeling of him stretching you is almost too much. The fullness is almost painful, but there's something delicious about the burn, and you can't help the way you twitch, trying to get closer.

"Fuck," he groans, and the word comes out strangled. "How are you so kriffing tight?"

"Sorry," you gasp. "Been a while."

"You're going to kill me," he murmurs, and his hips push forward again, the movement a slow, steady slide. "Just—fuck, you feel so good."

His words make a bolt of heat shoot through you, and the tension inside you is nearly unbearable. You can't help the way a soft whimper slips past your lips, and the sound makes his hips jerk, his cock sinking deeper.

"Shh," he whispers, his breath hot against your shoulder. His hand tightens on your knee, and the motion spreads you wider, allowing him to sink deeper. "I'll take care of you."

"Come on," you plead. Your hands slide over his back, the skin damp with sweat, and you can feel the muscles tense and relax under your touch. "I can take it."

"I know you can," he says, and his scomp strokes the curve of your hip. "You're being so good for me. Taking me so well."

The praise makes a shiver run down your spine, and his hips thrust again, pushing forward until he's buried to the hilt. The feeling is intense, the stretch a delicious ache, and your legs fall to either side, spreading to accommodate him.

"That's it," he murmurs. "Good girl."

You can't help the way the words make your core clench, and the feeling makes his breath catch.

"You like that, huh?" he asks, his mouth moving against the hollow of your throat. "Being told what a good girl you are?"

"Echo," you whine.

"Yeah," he breathes. "You do."

He lifts his head and kisses you, his tongue sliding against yours. The kiss is slow, languid, and his hand is gentle as he cups your cheek. His thumb strokes over your skin, the touch almost reverent, and the sweetness is such a stark contrast to the way he's buried deep inside you that it makes your head spin.

"Fuck, Echo," you gasp, the words muffled against his lips.

"So good for me," he says. His hand leaves your face and moves to your leg, pulling your knee up and pressing it toward your chest. Your ankle rests on his shoulder, and the position allows him to push deeper, his hips grinding against yours.

The new angle makes him slide against a spot hidden deep inside you, and the sudden rush of sensation makes your toes curl.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp. "Right there."

"Here?" he murmurs. He repeats the motion, his hips rolling against yours, and the feeling is so intense that your vision blurs.

"Yeah," you manage through a choked sob.

"That's it," he soothes, and his hand strokes the side of your thigh. "You're doing so good for me."

His hand moves from your leg to the bunk, and his weight presses down on you, his body covering yours. His movements are slow and deliberate, his hips grinding against yours. Each thrust is a steady, rolling grind, and the pressure is so intense that it takes everything in you not to break apart.

"Good girl," he murmurs, and his mouth finds yours. The kiss is messy, a contrast of hard and soft, and when his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the sharp pinch is a delicious counterpoint to the sweetness.

His hand leaves the bunk and slides into your hair, fisting the soft strands and holding you still. The grip is firm, but not rough, and the sensation is strangely erotic, sending a rush of heat coursing through you.

"Harder," you gasp, and he obeys, snapping his hips forward hard enough to punch the breath from your lungs. The new pace is harder, faster, and the slap of flesh against flesh is loud in the quiet of the ship.

"Fuck," he groans. "You feel so fucking good."

You don't reply, just moan, and his hand tightens in your hair. His teeth graze the line of your jaw, and the sudden bite of pain is so sharp and delicious that it makes your vision blur.

"God, yes," you groan. "Harder."

He lets out a soft grunt and thrusts forward, the force of the movement making the bunk creak. You can't help the strangled cry that slips past your lips, and the noise seems to spur him on, his hips driving against yours with a force that has the bed shaking.

"Echo," you gasp, and the word comes out in a desperate, keening whine. "Please, I need—"

"I know what you need," he whispers, and his hand falls away from your hair to brace himself above you. His scomp leaves your hip and trails between your bodies, the smooth, cool metal sliding over the sensitive bud of your clit. "And I'll give it to you. You just have to trust me."

"I do," you gasp.

"Yeah?" he murmurs, and his mouth moves to your throat. His lips trail a path down the delicate skin, his tongue darting out to taste you. "You trust me?"

"Yes," you manage.

"Good," he says, his breath hot against your skin, and the tip of his scomp presses against the hard bud, circling slowly. "I'm going to make you come. Hard. And when you do, I'm going to fuck you until you're sobbing. Can you take that?"

The words send a thrill of electricity through you, and the tension inside you is so strong that it makes your legs shake.

"Can you?"

"Yes," you manage.

"Good girl," he says, and his teeth nip at the skin below your ear. His scomp moves faster, the motion a steady circle over the throbbing bundle of nerves, and you gasp when you feel it start to vibrate.

"Oh, fuck," you groan. Your back arches, pushing your breasts against his chest. "What—have you always—"

"No," he says, his voice strained. "Never used it for this. Just for you."

"That's—fuck, Echo, please," you beg. Your eyes are squeezed shut, the pleasure so intense that you can't think straight.

"You like that?" he murmurs, and the vibration gets a fraction stronger. The feeling makes a wave of heat wash over you, your muscles clenching and twitching, and your head falls back, resting on the mattress.

"Yes," you gasp.

"You're so close, aren't you?"

"Fuck, Echo," you choke out, and your nails dig into his back, scratching at the skin. He moans at the feeling, his hips driving faster, and the combination of sensations is enough to send you hurtling over the edge.

Your orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning, and the intensity of it makes your legs spasm, the muscles twitching uncontrollably. You can't control the sounds that are coming from your mouth, desperate gasps and soft, choked sobs, and it's only the feeling of Echo's mouth on yours, kissing the noises away, that keeps you from screaming.

"Oh, fuck," he groans against your mouth. "Just like that. So good for me. Let me hear you."

The words are a whispered prayer against your lips, and the praise makes another wave of heat crash through you. Your core clenches around his cock, and the sensation is so exquisite that it makes tears sting the corners of your eyes. True to his word, he doesn't let up, and his scomp never stops, the vibrations against the sensitive nub sending sparks of electricity shooting through you.

"Please," you sob, and the words are barely audible. "Please, too much."

"One more," he pants. His breathing is ragged, and his thrusts are growing harder, his hips snapping against yours. "Give me one more. Can you do that for me?"

"I don't—I can't—"

"You can," he says. "I know you can. You're being such a good girl for me. Come on. Give me one more."

You nod, unable to speak, and Echo rewards you with a kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. His hips are moving faster, losing any pretense of control, his pelvis grinding against yours with each forward snap of his hips. His scomp circles your clit, and the feeling is so intense that your limbs go numb, a tingling sensation creeping up your spine. You can feel the pressure inside you building again, coiling, and the tension is so strong that it feels like you're going to fly apart.

"Oh, fuck," you gasp, and the words are muffled against his mouth.

"Yeah," he groans. His thrusts are rough, almost desperate, and the movement rocks the bunk. "That's it. You're doing so well. I'm going to make you come all over my cock."

"Please, Echo." Your hands grip his back so hard that you're afraid you're going to leave bruises, and you can feel his muscles tense and release, shifting under the thin layer of sweat-slick skin. "Please."

"I know," he says. His voice is low, husky, and his lips brush over the shell of your ear. "Come on, sweetheart. Be a good girl and come for me."

The words are your undoing. You can't hold back any longer, and with a loud cry, you tumble over the edge, falling headfirst into the blinding, white-hot pleasure that's coursing through you.

This time, your orgasm is too much to contain, and a scream rips from your throat, the sound echoing off the walls. Your back arches, and your legs twitch, a violent tremor wracking your frame as a hot flood of liquid spills from your core. The force of your release is enough to push Echo's cock from your body, and a wet gush follows, coating his stomach and dripping down your thighs.

"Oh, fuck," Echo chokes out. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and his scomp falls away, slamming down beside your head, bracing himself. "Fuck, I'm—"

He doesn't finish the thought, just fumbles for his cock, gripping the base. It only takes a few quick strokes before he's coming, a loud groan escaping his lips. The first pulse hits your stomach, followed by a second, and a third, and the sensation makes a choked moan slip past your lips. He lets out a low groan, his hips twitching, and his cock dribbles the last few drops of his cum, painting a thick line over your skin.

Through your blurry vision, you see Echo's mouth is open, his eyes wide as he stares down at you, and the sight is so sweet, so genuine, that you can't help the breathless huff of laughter that slips past your lips.

"Kriff," he pants. His hand drops to the bunk, and he props himself up on trembling arms. The two of you stay frozen for a moment, chests heaving, your expressions a mirror of each other's shock.

"Fuck," Echo finally chokes out. "Are you okay?"

You nod, unable to form a coherent thought. You let your head fall back against the mattress, and the movement makes a drop of his cum run down your breast, dripping off the underside and falling to the sheets.

"Did I—"

"So good," you manage, and the words are a slurred mumble. He nods, swallowing, and then he turns, collapsing onto the bunk next to you. He lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, and when you glance over, he has his forearm draped over his eyes, his chest still heaving.

"Fuck," he breathes. "Oh, fuck."

"What?" you ask. You try to shift, but the feeling of his cum cooling on your stomach and chest is a distracting, sticky sensation, and you're not entirely sure if your limbs are still attached.

"I, uh," he starts. Echo huffs out another small laugh as his arm falls away, and his head lolls to the side, his eyes finding yours. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen. I don't even—you're—that was incredible."

"I can't feel my toes," you admit, and the confession makes him laugh.

"Yeah?"

"I'm serious," you say. "Like, are they still there? Is anything still there?"

He rolls onto his side, making a show of looking you over, and when his gaze lands on the mess covering your abdomen, he sucks in a sharp breath.

"Yeah," he murmurs, his eyes darkening. "They're still there. Everything's still there."

"You look smug," you say.

"Can't imagine why," he says, grinning. He reaches out, tracing a finger through the cooling mess on your skin, and the gentle caress makes a shiver run down your spine. "Fuck, look at you."

"Yeah?"

"You're a mess," he says, and he grins, leaning forward. He kisses you, his lips soft against yours, and when he pulls away, he looks a fraction more composed. "Let me clean you up."

Echo sits up, swinging his legs off the bed, and the movement makes his back muscles ripple, the motion a fluid, graceful flex of sinew and tendon. You can't help the way the sight makes your heart skip a beat, and you have the sudden urge to wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his back, to cling to him and never let him go.

"Are you okay?" he asks, looking over his shoulder at you. "Does anything hurt?"

"No," you say, shaking your head. "Everything feels... really good."

His answering grin is more self-satisfied than you're used to seeing, and the expression is so charming that you can't stop the affectionate roll of your eyes.

"Don't look so pleased with yourself," you tease.

"Hey," Echo says, getting to his feet. "I think I earned it."

"I guess so," you murmur, and he chuckles, shaking his head.

"Come here," he says, turning. He tugs you upright and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest. The sudden motion makes a laugh bubble up in your throat, and he flashes you a grin, his arms tightening around you. He leans down, his mouth finding yours, and the kiss is sweet and tender, his lips moving over yours with a languid, easy affection.

"What's gotten into you?" you ask when he pulls away.

"You," he smirks, tilting his head. "Or I got into you. Something like that."

"Oh, shut up," you laugh, and you shove his shoulder. He smiles, a wide, crooked grin that makes your heart stutter.

"Come on," he says. He pulls away, grabbing your hip and turning you around, guiding you toward the fresher. "Let's get you cleaned up."

"I can do it," you protest, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you close.

"I know.” 

He doesn't elaborate, just steers you toward the fresher. You lean your hip against the sink while he turns on the shower, and you let him tug you inside, his scomp hooking the handle and closing the door behind the two of you. The water is cool, but it's not unpleasant, and the droplets feel nice against your heated skin.

Echo washes you with a gentleness that takes your breath away, and the tenderness is so at odds with the man you thought you knew. His touch is careful, almost reverent, and there's a quiet intensity in the way he traces the lines and angles of your body with his hand and his scomp, the movements slow and deliberate. He pays special attention to the space between your thighs, the touch firm but still gentle, and the sensation makes you bite back a whimper.

"Shh," he soothes, and his mouth finds the hollow of your throat. He kisses the delicate skin, and the gesture is so sweet that it makes your chest ache.

"Why are you doing this?" you whisper.

"Because I want to," he says, and his thumb swipes over the swell of your breast. "And because you deserve it."

"Deserve it?" you ask as his mouth trails up your neck.

"Yeah," he murmurs. His hand slides up your ribs, and his fingers cup your breast, the palm covering the soft, supple flesh. It's a gentle touch, almost absentminded, and the intimacy of the gesture is so startling that it makes your breath catch.

"Why would you say that?" you whisper.

"Because it's true," he says, and his mouth slides along your jaw, the kiss tender. "Because you deserve to be taken care of. Because I like taking care of you."

"You do?"

"I do," he says, and the words are spoken against the delicate skin just below your ear. "More than anything."

"But—"

"It's okay," he murmurs. "Stop overthinking."

You swallow and nod, and his touch is gentle as he finishes washing you. When you're both clean, Echo leaves you under the water to change the sheets, and you try to ignore the fact that your limbs are a bit unsteady without him. 

The water starts to turn cold, and you quickly shut it off, squeezing some of the excess water from your hair. You step out of the shower and grab a towel, and you smile to yourself when you see your sleep clothes folded on the edge of the sink, Echo's handiwork evident in the perfect creases. You dry off quickly, and you're just pulling on your shorts when you hear the sound of the hatch opening and a pair of heavy footsteps rushing up the ramp.

“Echo!” Wrecker shouts, his voice frantic. The floor shakes slightly under your feet as he comes to a stop, and the hatch slides shut with a metallic clang.

You freeze, the fabric halfway up your thighs, and a bolt of panic shoots through you.

You can hear Echo outside of the fresher, and the rustle of fabric as he tosses the soiled linens to the side, followed by a few muttered curses.

"What?" he finally calls, his tone annoyed.

"There you are," Wrecker says.

"Where else would I be?" Echo snaps, and you can hear him tugging his blacks over his head.

"Crosshair said he lost track of you," Wrecker says, and you hear him walk across the ship. "Thought maybe you were in trouble. And we can't find Stitches. Have you seen her? She disappeared, and she's not answering her comm."

Your eyes go wide, and your stomach drops. Oh, fuck.

"Uh," Echo says, and you hear him shuffling around, the sounds a lot closer than they were before. "Yeah, she's here. She's just, um, taking a shower."

"Oh," Wrecker says. There's a long pause, and you can picture the look on his face, the puzzled frown as he tries to process the information. You can almost hear the gears turning in his brain, and you wait, holding your breath.

"We, uh, decided to head back," Echo explains after the silence has dragged on for a bit too long.

"Together," Wrecker adds. It isn't a question, but the note of suspicion is obvious, and Echo doesn't miss it.

"Yeah," Echo says, his voice strained. He clears his throat. "We were, uh, really tired. We were having a good time, but the club was really loud, and we just..."

He trails off, and you let out a quiet groan and press a hand to your face. You're tempted to leave the fresher, to make your presence known and get the conversation over with, but you can't quite bring yourself to open the door.

"Oh," Wrecker says again, and the way the word is drawn out makes you wince. You can practically hear the grin in his voice, and you know he's figured it out. "You guys had a good time, huh?"

"I mean, not like that," Echo says quickly, and you grimace.

"Uh huh.”

"We were just talking, and we decided to head back, and she was, um, she was drunk, and I was tired, and we were just gonna hang out and watch a holo or something."

"Right," Wrecker says, his tone knowing. "What holo were you gonna watch?"

"It’s uh…” Echo trails off, and a moment later, he lets out a sigh of defeat. You can’t help but laugh at that, the sound loud enough to echo off of the tile.

"Hey Stitches,” Wrecker calls out in greeting, and you roll your eyes and open the door.

"Hi Wrecker," you say, leaning against the door frame.

"Did you have a good time?" he asks with a wide grin.

"Yeah," you say, and you can't help the way your eyes flick to Echo. "We had a really good time."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah," Echo echoes. His eyes meet yours, and the expression on his face is soft, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. You smile back, unable to keep the happiness from welling up inside you.

"Yeah," you say. You can't help the way you feel yourself blush, the heat rising in your cheeks. "It was, uh, really good."

Wrecker's grin widens, and he glances at Echo, giving him a thumbs-up. Echo blushes, his cheeks turning pink, and his shoulders lift in a small shrug.

"That's good," Wrecker says, beaming. "I'm happy for you guys."

"Thanks, Wrecker," you laugh. "Sorry for making you worry."

"It's okay." He waves a hand. "I'm glad you two had a good time. It's about time."

"Wrecker," Echo groans, and Wrecker lets out a loud guffaw.

"What? I'm not wrong." He looks between the two of you, his smile growing wider. "We've all been rooting for you two. We were starting to get a little worried, honestly. I thought I was gonna have to lock you guys in a closet or somethin'."

Echo lets out a groan and buries his face in his hand, and the sight is so comical that you snort a laugh.

"Sorry to keep you waiting," you say dryly.

"Nah, don’t apologize.” Wrecker pauses, his expression thoughtful. "Well, actually, maybe apologize to Crosshair. He's not too happy about this, since it means he lost the bet."

"The bet?"

"Oh yeah," Wrecker says. "We had a running bet on when you guys would finally hook up. Crosshair thought it would take you until at least next month, so he's pretty pissed."

"You guys were betting on us?" you ask, aghast. Echo's hand slides down his face to cover his mouth, and in his eyes is a mixture of mortification and disbelief.

"Hey, don't look at me," Wrecker says, holding his hands up in defense. "I was for you two from the start. I had last month."

"For fuck's sake," Echo mutters, and he leans against the bulkhead and stares at the ceiling, shaking his head. "Just kill me now."

"Who won?" you ask.

"Hunter," Wrecker grumbles, and he lets out a huff. "He has an unfair advantage, if you ask me."

You and Echo exchange a glance, and Echo shakes his head, looking resigned.

"Don't worry, though," Wrecker continues. "We're all glad you two are finally together."

"Yeah, well, thanks, Wrecker," Echo mutters, and Wrecker beams.

"No problem. Anyways, I’m gonna head back to the club," he says, winking. “You guys enjoy the rest of your night.”

"Sure," Echo groans, his head thumping against the bulkhead.

"Oh, we will," you say, and you shoot Echo a wicked grin. He meets your gaze, his eyes widening and his cheeks going pink before a slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.

"That's my girl," Wrecker crows. He grins and waves before turning on his heel and heading down the ramp. The hatch opens with a hiss, and you listen as the sound of his boots fades into the distance.

The silence is a welcome relief, and the tension seems to leave Echo's shoulders, the muscles relaxing. He takes a step toward you, his scomp reaching out to pull you close, and the motion is so sweet and natural that it makes a wave of emotion rise up inside you.

"Hey," you whisper.

"Hey."

"So," you start slowly. "That was fun."

"I'm sorry," he sighs. "If you wanted to keep it quiet, I'll talk to them."

"No, it's okay," you say, smiling. "I think it's nice."

"You do?"

"Yeah," you say. You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him down for a quick kiss. "And I'm kind of proud that you're finally mine."

"Finally?" he asks, a smile tugging at his mouth.

"Well, yeah," you say. You press a kiss to his throat, right above his pulse, and his chest rumbles with a contented hum. "I've been interested in you since day one."

"Really?"

"You're kind of hard to resist," you admit, and he huffs out a soft laugh.

"Trust me, the feeling is mutual."

"Well, I'm glad you're not fighting it anymore."

"Me too," he murmurs. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and he leans down and brushes his lips over yours. The kiss is tender, affectionate, and his hand trails over your lower back in a gentle caress.

You pull back, and his forehead dips to rest against yours, his breathing steady.

"Do you wanna watch that holo?" you ask, and he huffs a laugh.

“Sure.”

You grab your datapad and settle onto the bunk, and Echo curls up beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. His touch is warm and comforting, and the feeling is enough to make your chest ache.

You put on a mindless holodrama, some action flick that's probably more entertaining if you've actually seen the other movies in the series. You don't mind, though. The plot isn't that interesting, and the acting is pretty bad. What really draws your attention is the feel of Echo pressed against your side, the weight of his arm draped over your waist, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It's comfortable, and intimate, and just what you both need.

And if, during the holo, Echo's hand starts creeping up your shirt, and his mouth starts tracing the curve of your jaw, well, that's nobody's business but yours.

Taglist: @baddest-batchers @covert1ntrovert @stellarbit @bruh-myguy-what @qvnthesia

@spicy-clones @kindalonleystars @cw80831 @totallyunidentified @heidnspeak

@lovelytech9902 @frozenreptile @chocolatewastelandtriumph @etod @puppetscenario

@umekohiganbana @resistantecho @dindjarins1ut @tech-aficionado @aynavaano

@burningnerdchild @ihatesaaand @lolwey @hobbititties @mere-bear

@thegreatpipster @lordofthenerds97 @tentakelspektakel @notslaybabes @mali-777

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@ghostymarni @gottalovehistory @burningnerdchild @yoitsjay @callsign-denmark

@julli-bee @sonicrainbooms @captn-trex @feral-ferrule @webslinger-holland

@marchingviolist @deerspringdreams

[ff-killjam]

How The Tables Turned [Ford x reader oneshot]

Summary: This time, its Ford making you stop what you're going to make sure you get sleep.

Rating: SFW and very fluffy

Warnings: Aside from a slightly suggestive part, none!

AO3 version

A/N: Actually based on a period of time where I tried to learn how to use unity (before the whole drama of it happened). I refused to do ANYTHING but to work on my little project no matter how much I was starving for a few weeks straight. lol.

It’s basically routine at this point for you to drag Ford out of his lab to head for bed. Even if you remind him of the benefits on sleeping and how the lack of it will impact his work, you still needed to get him into bed, sometimes having some food ready for him to make sure he didn’t sleep on an empty stomach.

That’s how its USUALLY IS.

Lately, you’ve started your own personal project involving learning a game engine to play around with. It was mostly just a random idea one day, wanting to try your hand at making your own little “video game”. Nothing too fancy, just something fun to put together and to learn some new skills along the way. There was A LOT you needed to look into and learn to make this happen, however.

From learning a coding language, the game engine itself, a mix between finding free to use assets and even making your own when nothing suited your taste- you had a lot on your plate. It wasn’t all that bad really, considering how this whole thing turned into a full blown hyper fixation fairly soon after starting it. It was easy to let the hours fly by as you were split between watching tutorial videos, drawing and fixing any errors/bugs in any of the codes you wrote down. You were aware of when you needed to sleep, eat and do other things for your health, but something about working on this project made you refuse to move from your chair. And you weren’t the only one to noticed this.

After a decent amount of time being with you, Ford has grown used to the routine of you coming to his lab to check up on him. It got to the point where he purposely stayed late in the lab to get you to come in and “pester” him to take care of himself better. The feeling of knowing you cared and loved him so much to go out of your way to make sure he knew that was something he relished in. Of course, he did felt a little “silly” and “immature” doing this instead of straight up telling you, but there was no harm being done anyways, so it was fine.

So when you stopped checking on him after a few nights, he couldn’t help but to worry a bit. At first, he figured you were just a bit busy, possibly even out for the night, so he didn’t think too much of it. However, when walking into your computer room and seeing you up staring at your screen with an open notebook with various random things written on it, he couldn’t help to smile a bit as you reminded him of his university days. You were just working on something, nothing too bad.

But as time passed by, he soon realizes he only ever sees you in your computer room. You barely went out for anything, even for food. Ford didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but he was worried. Things escalated for him when he barely sees you in bed anymore.

It’s not like he didn’t talk to you as you were deep in your work. He would sometimes check in on you when things felt a little too quite after he started to noticed your absent in his lab. Ford was happy you were able to pursue something new and to take the time and effort to do it. He was aware of the little game you wanted to make for the sake of saying “I made this!”. When he had the free time, he’ll listen to you talk about the things you learned, some of the issues you faced and how you fixed them, etc etc. But he can only take so much before he had to really step in for your own sake.

The sky was dark out, and it was around 1am. You weren’t in bed yet. Again. Ford was really concerned for you now. Walking through the dim hallway, he opens up the door of your computer room. He can see you fully concentrated on your screen, looking over some codes you put together, as if you were trying to find any errors in the lines of text that was presented in front of you. It was obvious how dry your eyes were, how your body longed for rest, but the urge to keep going and to fix this one mistake kept you from wanting to sleep despite how much you felt the need to do so.

It was almost funny to him. A taste of his own medicine some would say. It reminds him of the many nights on how he too would refuse to stop for the night, always needing to do one more thing before he could let himself rest. How you would do your best to persuade him to let himself walk away from his work, to take care of himself to avoid any health complications, and to spend time with you in the comfort of your bed.

It made him feel guilty as well. The things you did for him and how much you loved him to always go out of your way to show it. Ford knew he was taking full advantage of that, and he wanted to repay it back.

You jumped a little in your seat when you felt his familiar six finger hand land on your shoulder, being so focused on the lines of text on your screen that you forgot where you were for a good bit. You look over at Ford as he stood beside your seat, giving him a weak smile.

“Oh hey! Do you need anything?” You asked before quickly looking back at the screen again.

“Love, when was the last time you ate?” Ford asked you in a gentle voice.

“Uh… I had breakfast?” You answered, only remembering you had some toast with a sunny side egg on top when you last ate. It didn’t seem like it mattered too much though.

“Its almost one am” Ford replied, a little stern this time. You quickly check the clock on your taskbar, feeling surprised from how much time had passed.

“Oh… oops” you spoke mostly to yourself, feeling a little silly for not checking the time more often. “I’ll probably head to bed soon”

“Not soon,” Ford points out, “you’re going to bed now.” His words made you look at him again, confusion viable on your face.

“Just let me do this one fix-” Ford says your name, stern voice again, causing you to stop your sentence.

“You are fully aware of the effects of not taking care of yourself” Ford spoke to you with a smirk on his face. You knew that he was referencing the many of times where you brought out the facts of how the lack of sleep and self care can affect your health and day to day life. It was the best way to convince him to come to bed and let you cuddle with him until you were both asleep. “You’re no different form me, sweetheart. Got to practice what they preach, as they say”

“Uh…. I’m built different?” You gave a half shrug and a low chuckle at your own joke. Obviously, this did nothing to change his mind. You knew he was right, and had nothing to say to argue back. Ford knew this too. “Fine… let me quickly save and shut off my computer…”

Ford watches you quickly save any progress before shutting off your computer, the light of the screen turning off and making the room dark as it was the only thing on. As you start to stand, your body fully conveyed how tired you really were. You were about to walk to the hallway door before Ford lets out a ‘let me’, and you were now being picked up bridle style in his arms. You let out a small gasp, often forgetting how much muscle the older man has as he often hides it away in his iconic turtleneck. The comfort of him holding you made the realization at your own exhaustion hit hard. You can feel yourself somewhat go limp as Ford carried you to your shared room.

Ford felt you quickly relax in his arms, feeling prideful as he carried you to your bed. Sitting you on the side and pulling the blanket back. He lays you on your pillow before fallowing suit into his usual spot on the bed beside you. Your eyes were shut as you let yourself sink into the soft mattress, the weight of the blanket being pulled over you giving a sense of security, along with how his arms wrapped around you to pull you close to his chest. You let out a sigh of relief as you feel him nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, getting a few shivers down your spine.

“Sorry…” You mumbled to him, feeling guilty now for making him go out of his way to get you to bed. You feel him chuckle into your skin, the smile forming on his face being easily felt on your skin.

“Nothing to be sorry about sweetheart,” his replied, voice audibly sounding more tired, “I should be the one to apologize, making you go through this almost every night. I see how doing this almost all the time can be a bit frustrating for you.”

“Not if its you,” You were quickly to reply, “I’m always happy to make sure you’re okay”. Ford felt his heart flutter at your words. You always did surprised him with how much you loved him despite how many times you pointed it out.

“The feeling is mutual,” Ford placed a kiss on your skin as he caressed one of his thumbs that rested on you, “lets get to sleep now, I’ll be sure to do something for you in the morning” Ford gave another kiss on your skin, and you can’t help but to feel excited for what he had planned.

Silence followed as you two let yourselves slowly fall asleep in each others comfort. Feeling his steady heartbeat on your back lulled you to your sleep.

Ford smiled when he realized you fell asleep before he did. It was no surprise, you needed it really bad. Without fail every night when he has you in his arms like this, he feels like the luckiest man in the multiverse. He didn’t deserve you, but it was almost as if this is the repayment he deserved after many years of suffering, a way of life saying sorry to him.

And he wouldn’t ask for anything else.

[py-dreamer]

Yea!!! Can you tell I have favorites lol

so since it's the 20th in my time, it is officially my birthday today!

But I wanted to get this out regardless so kinda count it as the previous day's ig

I will be posting something later today probably but it will most likely just be a compilation of all the cakes I've done thus far.

Ok but um on with the cake!

It's like a cheesecake and I basically copied Tengen's cake with like a jelly filling with fruit suspended in it, peaches (obviously), strawberries and blueberries cause I like them and sod it I'll put them on this goddamn cake!

The thing Wukong's sitting on is one of those peach ice creams that's gotten so popular lately with the sprinkle of pink dust thingy on top.

On either side of the cake is the fillet from the journey and the hat from the brotherhood era, one from his reckless past and one from his redemption and I just think that's neat.

The blue puffy stuff is meant to be his nimbus clouds represented as cotton candy.

I have the baiju jar in there as reference to Wukong becoming immortal again due to the all the wine made from the peaches of immortality at the festival.

The staff as a little candle was so fun! And I like pocky so I chucked them on there to fill space and it looks good so sue me

The grey thing behind the staff and balloon is meant to be the Buddha's hand that trapped him under the mountain and a reference to his imprisonment under 5 phases mountain.

Peach popsicle! Of course I had too! A lil something from the present for our (shadow) peachy friend

Mk's stone as well, had to add his son in there too. The baby ever.

(probably just a cookie but it's the thought that counts)

The two sugar cookies are meant to be his logo (aka the lmk logo) and fireworks, again taken from Tengen's cake.

The sun is a candied/tanghulu esque orange thing. Like an orange slice coated in yellow melted sugar shaped like a sun and the phoenix feather cap since I consider it iconic enough to put in here. I didn't want to put it on him, blocking a lot of the decorations so I just hung it to the side and I think I'm happy with that.

A lot more monkeys here! It was very fun popping them in! I know I only gave Mac 1 but I mean Wukong's the monkey king for a reason. Let him be a loving grandpa and invite his subjects on the cake with him. He granted them immortality by ripping their names out the book of dead, let them have a place on the cake too

Also, yes that is the origami pilgims in the bottom left, I couldn't leave them alone could I?

Now the elephant in the room (or at least in my head), yes I did use @maplesleep's matcha pancake design for flower fruit mountain.

Cake on cake. Bit much but hey, I like cake and pastries better than candy normally so win for me.

And I couldn't just make cake about Sun Wukong without mentioning his home/origins of ffm. I do genuinely love the inginuity and adorableness factor of the pancake design and hope they don't mind me slapping it on my...cheesecake? Jelly cake? Jelly-cheesecake?

(also I have to ask @maplesleep, did you watch the 3rd emirichu anime cafe video, specifically the urusei yatsura cafe as inspiration for the 'sun wukong's strawberry sponge cake punishment' parfait thingy, gorgeously drawn btw I used those drawings as inspiration quite a bit for these cakes, or saw the urusei yatsura collab anime cafe

cause I couldn't help but notice the similarities between that and the 'shinobu's maiden strength parfait' cause if you didn't that be a pretty funny coincidence lol)

So what do you think? You think I could make it as another lmk food chef for lego? Can I join the club lmao?

I do realize in retrospect the disrespect I did Mk by making his cake so plain by comparison to his mentor's. But I think that's a testament to my improvement and attention to detail when making these cakes as the days have progressed!

I consider Mk's in particular to be the most lacking and I lowkey feel so bad for my boi for not giving him the main character status he deserves.

I might draw him again, idk. Not anytime soon though, like I said, I'm quite busy now more than before and I need a break, still glad I could serve y'all another slice of cake though!

[academic-clown]

I Was A Teenage Dirtbag

written by @hellfireloserclub |||  art by @academic-clown (formerly @acaademicqueer)

-> @steddiebang2024 ||| @steddiebb2024

DO NOT RE-POST MY ART ANYWHERE WITHOUT MY EXPLICIT WRITTEN PERMISSION.

under the cut is the full image (since it's a bit spoilery) as well as some commentary and detail shots, since apparently tumblr eats quality ಠ_ಠ

long time steddie fan (and bless this community because hoooooboy are we lucky with so much lovely content!), first time participant in any sort of ST fandom event! boy-oh-boy was it a trip! This was the biggest bang I've ever participated in with over 100 fics during claims time which made it incredibly hard to make any sort of pared down list... however, I really loved the concept behind this particular fic, and luckily I was able to claim it! It was awesome to work with Pez on this, and I really hope you enjoy reading the fic as much as I enjoyed illustrating it.

Below the divider I'll be explaining a bit of my process / reasons for doing what I've done if you've any interest!

⚠️ !! WARNING !! ⚠️ FIC SPOILERS BEYOND THIS POINT! ⚠️

the scene I chose to illustrate takes place during Dustin's bachelor party, where the boys are at a bar performing karaoke. I wanted to emphasize the dramatic build up that Pez managed to create in the scene itself within my own illustration, and so I used panels to move the eye around the whole image.

By first showing the lower half of Eddie's face, the way he's clutching the microphone and then the eager, open grin on Steve as he holds out the tickets before panning down to the full body shot of Eddie on stage, clearly excited and happy as he stares at the rear-facing view of Steve, it can tell the story of what's happening even without the context of Pez's fic.

I really wanted it to serve as both a promo and a scene straight from the text itself, and hopefully I've done it justice.

The shirt choices were purposeful, as in the fic Pez has the bachelor party wear Dustin's old nerd t-shirts (and there was no doubt that Steve would have absolutely loved the prequel movies (and been so in love with Ewan McGregor as Obi Wan) so he'd deffo have jumped on the Weird Al Saga Begins t-shirt. the Camp Know-Where one just looks cute on Eddie tbh) and the glow bracelets were fun to pick too. If you squint, Eddie's are the bisexual flag colors and Steve's are an approximate pansexual flag. Was this purposeful? Technically no, but it's a cool little easter egg.

I had a lot of fun playing with the lighting of the karaoke bar, because I really wanted to lean into the kitsch of those late-90s, early-2000s dives that had those hideous colored stage lights and the sticky, shitty stages. Like the karaoke was an afterthought rather than the real draw.

Here are some detail shots of the finished piece!

From Left -> Right: close up on Eddie's hands, his lower face

From Left -> Right: close up on Steve's lower face, his hands with concert tickets

From Left -> Right: close up on Steve from behind, close up on Eddie's face, full body shot of Eddie

Total Tracked Time: 19hrs 30min

reblog divider || music note dividers

[thiniceofeternalyouth]

MISLEADIN' ME SERIES: CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

BETELGEUSE

⊳ Gojo Satoru x f!reader

series masterlist

Genre: angst, fluff, sci-fi, cosmology.

Words count: ~15.7k

⊲ previous

[May 11, 2022, 06:54pm, Tokyo, Tokyo Prefecture, Restaurant X]

Rei couldn't feel the cold granite beneath his hands, only your heated skin. You were malleable for your age, and he could mold you into anything he wanted. Besides, you absorbed everything he told you like a sponge. As he washed his face with cool water, he tried to regain his senses so as not to lose face before his guest, but every time he closed his eyes, he saw the drawings he had made on your body.

"Eyes can fail you," he told every time he blindfolded you, and afterward all you felt was a blade cutting into your flesh. "You must learn to perceive the world through your other senses."

Before you could squeak, he liked to inject you with new doses of black orchid - he enjoyed watching you squirm and squeal in pain, and then go limp and docile, listening to his every word. At the very least, Rei expected you to thank him for the opportunity to be his favorite canvas, but you were so immobile and paralyzed that you wouldn't even look at him.

"You should rely on your surroundings," he instructed softly, cutting the skin on your back. "It will tell you exactly where the enemy is at all times."

The demon didn't care if you trusted him, if you followed his teachings - what mattered was that you were getting stronger every day, and more importantly, you were already struggling to keep your essence under control. He scrubbed his hands in the sink with irritation like he was washing away the sins your terrified gaze had left on him. There were no vices in the demon that required confession - he just wanted to show you who you really were even if you resisted it.

"Oh, does it hurt?" asked Rei affectionately, deliberately overdoing the dose of orchid. You shook, nearly throbbing from the flames that flowed through your veins instead of blood - like tiny shards of glass, the flower's extract cut you from the inside out. "If you want, I can take your pain away," he whispered, taking you by the chin. The closer his face got, the more your aching body tensed, and before he could kiss you, you sank your teeth into his lip with force, nearly tearing it off.

Rei was almost resigned to the way he looked now, his frail body a constant reminder of his lack of strength. He couldn't drag you down or strangle you with those hands, but seeing you in agony was the most beautiful picture. He had to do something.

"Oh, really?" the demon hissed, spitting saliva and blood. "Not into fucking with me anymore?" he laughed hysterically, grabbing you by the hair and dragging you across the dirty floor. The realization that you couldn't resist him, but only whimpered pitifully, spilled over him with a warm, sticky honey that he didn't want to wash off. When he opened the doors and saw his hungry parts, he tossed you to them. "Do what you want with her. Just bring her back at least half alive," he paused in the doorway, almost walking out - the demons didn't dare move until he was completely out of sight. "Oh, yeah, and don't touch her face. It's a pretty one," he grinned, watching you shake with panic, unable to do anything. "Have fun," Rei knew what would happen as soon as he left the room - where there were no windows and the doors were forever closed, tears would start to drown the paper airplane. And he stepped out.  

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so cruel to you, and you would have stayed by his side forever. Or at least on his side. There would have been no need to play catch-up, plotting and scheming to get your head off his shoulders - Rei really didn't want that, but you were poisoning his life and his parts a lot. "You're surprisingly calm," the voice in his head said.

"Is there any reason to be angry?" wondered Rei sincerely, looking at himself in the mirror - he was annoyed by the human tendency to blush due to emotion, physical exertion or stuffiness.

"Four, at least."

"Oh, you mean the cores?" he chuckled nonchalantly, tearing off the paper towels and rubbing his hands together maniacally. "Come on, what's to worry about?" the demon shrugged, dumping the papers into the bucket one by one. "You think I don't realize this little fool is just provoking me? Anyway, she doesn't have long left, how many more can she destroy? Three more?"

"Anyway, it's our land. Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

"Oh," he clicked his tongue in satisfaction and smoothed his black, disheveled hair. "That's what I'm doing right now. I thought it might be a good idea to return the favor," he smiled, frantically adjusting his tie - Rei couldn't leave his already faultless appearance alone. "God, she should be here by now!" the demon exclaimed worriedly, glancing at his watch.

As he stepped out of the men's room and into the restaurant's lounge, Rei saw the silver-haired girl at his reserved table. Straightening his back, he smoothed his suit with his hands one last time, and walked over and sat down across from the woman. "I hope you didn't get me out from overseas for nothing," Mei-Mei purred, giving him a hand.

Leaning down, he took her palm and kissed it. "Certainly not, my lady. I hope we work well together."

Grinning languidly, she pulled back her hand. "Don't misunderstand. I'm only here because Gojo told me about you. And also about the fee you promised him."

"Believe me, I'll offer you many times more," the girl's interested look excited him, interested him - the demon liked a compliant person with passion who was capable of going to over the heads for the sake of their desires. "You won't even have to move your dainty fingers, much less get them dirty," Rei assured her, and the more he told her, the more the girl counted the money in her head. "All I'll need is your powers of observation."

Mei-Mei gently tapped her fingernails on the table and decided to test the man sitting across from her. Rei had lived here for a very long time and he had no trouble reading her emotions - he uncorked a bottle of wine without hesitation. Smirking, she muffled her laughter embarrassedly against the palm of her hand. "To meeting," she cooed seductively, raising the glass filled to the brim.    

[May 11, 2022, 09:09pm, Hopetown]

The smell of late spring mingled with the scents of peach and nectarine - the immersion blender whirred quietly in the kitchen, the refrigerator door opened every now and then, and the glasses clinked quietly, unhappily, when they were touched. You watched Ieiri with curiosity, and as you saw how she handled the fruits, berries and alcohol, you thought for some reason that many doctors were probably alchemists in past lives. If those existed, of course. Shoko looked like she was in the operating room, the honed and deft movements of her hands making it impossible for you to see how she was getting the strawberries into the bowl.

You shivered as the wind blew into the room and disturbed you, shamelessly grabbing your wet body and tugging at your wet strands. You couldn't even get up to close the window, and from under your half-closed eyelids you could only watch the insolent raven that perched on your eaves and pecked at something. 

A quiet exultation crept into your head as you felt the soft couch beneath your body instead of the hard, cold ground covered with black sand. Having completed another raid and destroyed the core, you tried to enjoy the delights of this world - the warm spring air, the cool but endless water, the allure of all the various colors of this world that reminded you of itself by knocking on the window with the hands of the sunset, and Shoko, eternally impenetrable and cold. She hadn't looked in your direction before, and you felt an unfamiliar alienation every time you passed her, but now Ieiri had not only come to Hopetown with you, she had silently volunteered to spend time with you and Rachel.

Your happiness was only hindered by the fact that Rei didn't show up even when you destroyed the fourth core.

"I'm so tired," your sister sighed wearily, coming down from the second floor and rubbing her wet hair with a towel. There were dark circles under her green eyes, so heavy was the blow of the disembodied hand of exhaustion. "Next time, I'm going to the bathroom first," she huffed, sticking her tongue out at you and flopping down on the couch next to you. You, before you could wrap yourself more tightly in your terrycloth robe, were taken captive as Rachel unceremoniously sprawled on the couch, resting her head on your lap. "And how did doc let ya go?" wondered Rach, glancing at Ieiri. "We've got a lot of people out, and the infirmary's a busy place right now."

"I didn't bother asking," Shoko said nonchalantly, pouring the potion into two glasses. "It's simple."

You and your sister tightened your lips and looked at each other warily. Shoko seemed so unperturbed that she wasn't afraid of any consequences. Approaching you, the girl handed you a glass filled to the brim with ice and red-orange liquid and garnished with an orange slice - in her hands was the exact same one and another dark bottle. Rachel, snorting resentfully, crossed her arms over her chest. You took the glass and looked at your sister sympathetically - it looked like you all had to stick to a non-alcoholic diet, so as not to stir her soul. "And this is for you," Ieiri said to your sister, setting the non-alcoholic beer on the table.

The offended snort was immediately replaced by a pitiful whimper. "Thank ya," you chirped, comfortingly stroking your sister's head and sipping from the glass - what a relief it was to know that Rachel would never try it or else this temptation would have turned into another binge. The sweet pulp of the peach that coated your tongue, the warmth of the tequila that warmed your heart, and the aftertaste of the orange zest that completely obscured the flavor of the alcohol, making it unapparent - Shoko really was either a sorcerer or a witch.

Kicking the chair closer to you, Shoko sat down, relaxed, sipping her cocktail slowly under your sister's desperate gaze - she seemed to enjoy torturing people. No matter how much the girl had not praised Gojo, she seemed to have unconsciously adopted some of his habits. "What are your plans next?" she asked, throwing her legs straight over Rachel. 

"No raids yet!" exclaimed Rach exhaustedly but quickly, trying not to let you get a word in edgewise. "We'll wait until Mike's birthday at least, and then we'll see."

"It's still a month away," you objected, frowning unhappily.

"And?" Rachel didn't even have the energy to argue with the enthusiasm, she spoke sluggishly and quietly. "How much can we accomplish in a month? Start without me if ya want, and I've run away from my parenting duties for too long as it is."

Earlier in her soul, conscience had played the role of a small, almost invisible mentor - Rachel easily brushed it off and quickly extinguished the outbursts that it caused, but now, with a sober memory, shame took the dominant position and did as it pleased. She was angry at her father for not being around most of the time, and if the reflection in the mirror told Rachel that she looked nothing like him, her conscience told her otherwise. Mike's room was littered with expensive gifts and toys, but there was no hint of Rach's presence - no scent of perfume, no red hair on the floor, no her son's smile.

Rachel wondered - how could children love their parents despite all their faults? The girl thought that she was unworthy of such gratuitous love of a little person, and instead of wallowing in self-defeat and alcohol, she decided to do something else - brave, courageous, maybe even a little boorish because that was what she had always done. To leave behind the regrets, the thoughts that it might be too late. It wasn't as bad to be late as it was to not show up at all.

With a sigh, she pulled out her phone. Seeing her face softly contorted with longing, you rubbed the top of her head. "What's up?"

"Oh, man," she whined, staring at the screen. "Mike kept wanting that expensive model of the Boeing, and it's not on sale. See?" she turned the phone toward you, and you just caught a glimpse of 'sold out.' "I've been following this stuff for a month."

"Is this model only fish in the sea?" Ieiri wondered, skeptical. She didn't understand Rachel's whining or the despair on her face. Couldn't she just replace what was missing with what was there?

"Anyone can tell ya're childless," Rachel muttered, taking the phone from you and continuing her search. "Better get me a beer."

"Take it yourself," Ieiri grinned.

Rachel gave her a threatening look, but then smiled wryly. Her fingers deftly began dialing a number, and she gave one last warning glance at Shoko, who was sitting there, nonchalantly sipping her cocktail. "Hey, Doc?" Shoko's eyes immediately flew open, "Do ya know where your coworker is right now-" Ieiri, unable to remember herself, grabbed the nearest pillow and pressed it into your sister's face - her loud voice was replaced by a muffled scolding, and the phone fell out of her hands. Ieiri immediately picked it up and frantically punched the disconnect icon several times.

The pressure point was found unhindered - no matter how unperturbed Shoko seemed, she was still afraid of something. Or rather, someone. The big man in the white coat who was in the infirmary and demanded the same of Ieiri, but as much as she loved money, she wasn't a robot. Fear was literally read on her face and in the way she pressed the icy glass to her flushed cheek. With a relieved exhale, Shoko tossed the phone to Rachel and tiredly plopped into a chair. "Ya forgot something," Rach extended slyly.

Rolling her eyes, Shoko stood up and handed her the bottle. Perhaps if you weren't here, Ieiri would have just smashed it over your sister's head. "That's better," Rachel sent the girl an air kiss and uncorked the cap, but as soon as your sister took a sip, she wrinkled her nose squeamishly. "God, what a shit."

"Get used to it," Shoko hissed, pleased with Rachel's ordeal.

"That's it, get off me," you whimpered, lifting your sister's head. "My leg fall asleep," you stood up from the couch and picked up Shoko's empty glass from the table and went to get a refill.

Rachel, pressing her lips together, stood up and lay down on the other side of the couch, her whole face showing her resentment at your neglect. Only now the girl remembered how much love she really had in her, which couldn't be showered on Mike alone - an immature boy could just be blown away by this wave, and you, as it happened, remained an impregnable fortress. You shied away from long hugs and kisses and avoided tactility as much as possible, but Rachel couldn't be angry with you; she was angry with the situation as a whole.

At such moments the girl remembered her husband. Rob may have been a slovenly lazy man who couldn't even put cotton swabs on place, but he'd always gladly accepted her obsessiveness and loveliness - for lack of an opportunity to give them to him again, she'd begun to choke them down with wine, and her son served only as a reliable reminder that she'd never fall into her husband's arms again. "Ya know," she chuckled wistfully, putting the phone aside. "Ya can't imagine how many times in the void I've thought about running across my husband's corpse right now," shy tears glistened in her eyes, and all she could see was Rob's face. "And even more I thought about how he could have come out of the void and just left me and Mike," his features began to drown in with dark sand - she couldn't see the wrinkles or the color of his eyes anymore. "I didn't know whether to cry or be angry, and now... When we finished this roundup, I suddenly felt relieved. I don't know if he's still walking this land or if he's been buried under strange one for a long time, but I accept it. May God be with him," she sobbed, taking a sip of non-alcoholic beer, hoping to soften the lump lodged in her throat.

Your hand nearly trembled as you filled your glass. As your tongue became more and more tied in a knot, in your sister's imagination, the sand increasingly covered her husband. Would you ever find the courage to admit it? "But I have a tiny bit of him left," Rachel wept, smiling bitterly. Walking over to the girls, you handed Shoko her glass - she nodded gratefully, blurring the estrangement between you all the more. Sitting down on the couch, you threw your sister's legs over your lap and began stroking her ankles, though you realized it wouldn't atone for your sin. "And now I'll do anything for Mike. Buy him every model airplane in the world, take him wherever he pokes on the globe, kill for him or die myself. "As long as he's happy."

There was silence in the living room, with only a modest, brief sniffle of the nose. Shoko wondered, and she was frightened at the thought that there might be someone in her life who would make her think that way. Self-sacrifice and bravery were not qualities that Ieiri praised; she was content to be practical and sensible, but as she heard Rachel's ragged breathing, she shamefully brushed away a tear.

Rachel, hastily wiping her wet cheeks with her terrycloth sleeve, sipped some more from the bottle - she could only justify her dizziness as a placebo effect. "Geez, did I ask for much?" she laughed, trying to lighten the dreary atmosphere. "I just wanted a bunch of men praying on me."

You glanced meaningfully at Shoko and decided to play along. "We could buy you a lifetime prayer for health in a friary," Ieiri offered seriously, but she betrayed her playfulness by waggling her foot coquettishly, either on purpose or involuntarily.

"That'll do too," Rachel sighed dreamily. "Also, we should talk about a place to celebrate... What do ya think about an amusement park?"

"Is it safe?" you asked hesitantly.

"Mike has to live in this town for the rest of his life or what?" snorted Rachel. "He's almost an adult and he hasn't seen the light of day yet!"

"Whatever ya say," you said, rolling your eyes.

Shoko had never understood how people felt when they looked at pictures of babies, kittens, puppies or the tiniest of snakes - she felt a little less than nothing when she looked at it. But looking at your sister's instantaneous mood swings and the way you supported her unconditionally, Shoko felt emotion for the first time. Now it was her turn to dream. Could she really have someone close to her who wouldn't pester her, trying to get on her nerves by saying she was too cold and unemotional? Wouldn't look down on her, letting her know that she is far from their level? Wouldn't they leave just because their view of the world had changed? She glanced furtively out the window, confused, trying to find answers, but all she could see was a raven still perched on the ledge, pecking at something.

[May 12, 2022, 01:29am, Hopetown]

The open window had been a constant for you ever since you'd started sleeping together. If nightmares and Rei had taken away your sleep before, now it was the heat from the sorcerer's snow-white skin that did it. In your half-sleep, you kept trying to pull away from Gojo, but at those moments his grip grew from just tight to unusually insolent - even in his dreamless slumber he couldn't leave you alone. You couldn't complain, though, because instead of the bloody images before your eyes and the sharp pain of long-healed scars, you felt only a single drop of sweat trickling down your neck. 

Gojo's deep, measured breathing was a metronome for you - each time you breathed in unison with him, you calmed down more, and when you exhaled together, you fell further into a half-sleep. The feeling of a protected back made you cling to him more despite the abnormal temperature of his body. It was like the sorcerer wasn't asleep at those moments, just holding you tighter and burrowing into your neck, letting you know he wasn't going anywhere.

On the other side of your closed eyes, absurd scenarios were beginning to emerge. There was Doc putting someone's severed arm back in place with duct tape, there was Frank trying to grow hair in the beds, and just as you stepped aboard the pink icebreaker, you felt someone bite your arm. The bite was faint, almost insensible, and you, wanting to check who it was, turned around. There was no one in front of you. "Y/N-ie," came a quiet, thin voice from somewhere below. Lowering your head, you rounded your eyes. Standing in front of you was Tris, who was cradling a stuffed cat. "Y/N!"

"Huh?" you jumped up, not quite realizing where you were now or what year it was. There was a muffled grunt behind you, and the grip around your waist was so strong that it was hard to breathe.

When you blinked, you distinguished reality from your dream - Tris was standing in front of you along with the toy - the girl was pocking at the floor with her toe, her lips pursed guiltily. "Bun," you sighed sleepily, wiping your eyes with your hand. "What is it?"

"I need a craft for class tomorrow," she muttered modestly, not looking up. You were speechless at that statement, only able to reach for your phone to look at the time. It was past one in the morning.

You plopped your face into the pillow tiredly. "Whose problem is that?" you muttered muffled, for which you received a hard pinch on your side. "Ouch!"

"Come on, get up," Gojo said sleepily, rising up. "Can't you see the kid needs help?" he asked reproachfully, trying to make you feel guilty. "And you, little one, come here," his cocky threat made Tris backpedal, but he quickly crawled over you and grabbed the little girl. "So what kinda craft do we need?" 

"A fox in the woods," Tris giggled playfully, swinging her legs.

"How original," he clucked his tongue. "What were the orders to make it out of?"

"Said to impro… improvise," Tris mewed, beginning to chew on a nail on her thumb.

A sudden desire played in him to cut off her bad habit immediately. "Aren't you scared?" he asked slyly, lifting the girl even higher.

"No!" she snorted haughtily. "Frank carries me in his arms every day. And he's actually taller than you."

Gojo raised his eyebrows in exasperation and threw Tris over his shoulder - she shrieked. "Your upbringing," he shook his head censoriously, looking at you - you only shrugged guiltily. "Alright, I'm gonna go put her to sleep, and you, young lady, get dressed. Let's go improvise in the woods," the sorcerer mentored before dragging a giggling Tris out the door. 

"Maniac," you plopped back on the bed exhaustedly, spreading your arms. When had Tris been assigned this craft? Why hadn't she mentioned it the day before, or at least a few hours ago? And her whole innocent and guilty look - was it sincere or had she just learned how to manipulate people from someone? If so, she was pretty good at it - your injured side was still tingling from the way Gojo had pinched it, jumping up and ready to help Tris.

You pulled yourself off the bed, dragging tiredly with legs, and walked over to the closet, swinging the door open angrily. With your arms at your sides, you sighed and grabbed the first thing you saw without looking. You took off your pajamas and realized that even the clothes made a mockery of you - it took a lot of effort to zipper up your jeans, and your head was stuck halfway up the collar of your sweatshirt.  

You sat down on the bed and sighed indignantly into your collar. When the door swung open, you met Gojo's confused stare. It took him a second to realize what was happening. At first, he tried not to move, then he bit his lip, but when you whimpered, the sorcerer broke. "Wait a minute," he wheezed, grabbing his phone. Gojo knew he should have helped you, but he couldn't even help himself.  "It's for the record," you were blinded for a moment by several flashes, and you squirmed and tried to hide - just then his heart stirred. "God, honey, I'm sorry," he cooed through a smile, stepping closer and helping you out of bed. You'd already resigned to your fate, obediently letting him help you.

The sorcerer gently pulled the collar down and released you from the soft captivity of the fabric. "I don't wanna go anywhere!" you whimpered, throwing your head back. "I'm tired!"

"Honey, I know, I know," he tried to reassure you, stroking your cheeks and kissing your forehead. "But Tris is a much bigger baby than you are today," Gojo could have sworn he saw the way you were pouting your lips. "At least we'll walk around for a while, freshen up," he encouraged you. "You couldn't sleep well tonight anyway," you squinted at him, and the sorcerer faltered. It was hard for him not to hear you panting and sighing, but it was harder not to feel your body squirming against his. "You sleep longer tomorrow morning, and I'll make breakfast, 'kay?"  

"Mark my word," you sighed exhaustedly. "She'll sit on your neck like that."

"I have broad shoulders," he grinned, grasping at the lifeline of your words to swim out of the maelstrom of embarrassment. "I can handle you, too, by the way."

"Oh, man," you brushed off his joke. "Better get changed, Apollo. I'll wait for ya downstairs."

"I have nothing to be shy about!" shouted Gojo after you.  

As you carefully made your way to the first floor, you were surprised not to see Tris there. You'd expected to see her right at the door, already dressed upside down, complaining and yelling that she'd come with you despite the dull night outside the window - It was her dubious temper. But she was not here. You scratched your forehead thoughtfully and began to pull on your shoes. How had Gojo bribed her? Reading a fairy tale was out of the question - too little time had passed. Sleeping pills? You made a puzzled grimace - your thoughts were too unobvious and strange when you woke up. You had to get the sorcerer's secret of calm because you couldn't keep that girl still for more than a minute.  

As Gojo quietly snuck up on you and just as silently dressed, you walked out the door, leaving the house in peace and quiet. Wrapped in the night spring air, you moved towards the path of life that ironically came to life only once a year. Sleep dispelled to the chirping of crickets and rare cicadas that sang in defiance in the middle of the night oblivious to the sunny day. As you stepped off the road and into the dark sleeping forest, you searched with your eyes for the best leaves that would be suitable for crafts, occasionally sighing for the fall - this beauty would provide you with a variety that was beautiful in its colors. The forest whispered and trembled, its shy movements reflected in the moonlight on the grass in shadow. The branches, seeing familiar faces, hid their threats and saw you off with a smooth sway. "What are we gonna make the fox out of?" you asked, stepping over the roots.

"Hmmm," Gojo drawled thoughtfully, looking around. The forest, as it was, was monotonous and green. "How about we cut a few strands off Rachel's hair?" you glanced at him skeptically, dumbfounded by such a suggestion. You simultaneously pursed your lips and shook your heads together, imagining the horrors that would happen to you. "Nah, bad idea."

"I'll have to look for plasticine," you yawned, stretching.

You picked up randomly fallen leaves, sometimes the sorcerer would pick you up so you could reach the one you liked. Your pockets were filling up more and more with resources for crafting - pinecones, small twigs, pine needles that sometimes pricked your fingers. You walked forward, deep into the forest, completely oblivious to the fact that you would have to return someday. "Mochi?"

"Yeah?"

"How did you find her?" asked Gojo, remembering his first encounter with Megumi.

"Just like everyone else here," you shrugged. "A little over seven years ago, we decided to check all the barracks again for some reason before we roundup. I remember going into one, starting to look around, and... I noticed a woman lying right under wood boards. She was already dead, but I remember her stiffened hands were clutching some lump of rags. I don't even know why I looked," the sorcerer's soul whispered admiringly and sympathetically for him to embrace you, and it was right - feeling a hand on your shoulder, you took your eyes off the ground. "I thought the baby was dead, too, but no. She moved as soon as I looked at her. We took her away and wanted to do what we do with all children - put her in the hands of the church for foster care. But for some reason I couldn't. That's how she stayed with us."

Gojo laughed quietly, encouragingly. "She was born a fighter. And she remains that way," he added more quietly.  

You, remembering Tris' temper, chuckled as well. "Kinda." 

Nearby you could hear the sound of water crashing restlessly against the rocks. You knew these places practically by heart, and you realized that you were getting closer and closer, but your consciousness did not shudder in fear at the thought that Gojo might see it. On the contrary, your soul sang with dauntless bravado, and you realized with embarrassment that you just wanted to show off. Just a little bit. You deliberately stepped forward, regardless of the fact that all the materials had long since been gathered. 

On the horizon, something dark - much darker than the forest beneath the moon - peered out from behind the trees. All the water was silent, and the whispering leaves were quiet before the permanent guest you were restlessly approaching. The closer you came, the more majestic the huge, deaf, black box towered above your heads. It had no transparent windows or welcoming doors - it just stood there, hidden among the trees, making no sound and not allowing the rest to disturb the peace. Not the animals, nor nature itself. "Whoa," Gojo marveled quietly, barely stopping a few feet away from the box. He had never felt like a little boy before, nor could he be called short, but next to this dark gap he felt like an ant. "And this...?"

"The heart of the town," you sighed mesmerized, nodding your head. "It can't be seen from above, and even if someone were lucky enough to sneak into the town, they wouldn't find their way to it. It's only accessible to its keepers," no matter how much you looked at the repository, no matter how many times you stomped around it, you never went inside - that burden fell on Frank's shoulders. "There now lies the artifact that supplies us with electricity and empowers the hunters' relics to protect the town. So... Without the artifact, they'd just be useless trinkets," contrary to your enthusiastic narrative, you're wary. How long will the amulet you got in Cambodia last? Wouldn't you soon have to start bouncing around the land again in search of curiosities? If it had thrilled and delighted you before, you couldn't find the same enthusiasm now. After all, it only meant that you would be apart again. 

"How many keepers are there?" Gojo asked softly, taking your hand and squeezing it gently. He already knew the answer to his question - at least part of it - but he couldn't stop his insolence and greed under the guise of interest. It wasn't enough for him that you'd first bared your neck, then your shoulders, and then told him the secrets you'd never told yourself. He wanted to drown in your trust, which was embarrassingly lapping at his shore in brief waves - Gojo wanted to catch every single one, to save a single salty drop of it. The sorcerer had become too obsessed with your vulnerability, which was revealed only to him alone. 

"Three now," you said weakly. "Frank, Rach, and me."

Gojo could almost hear your thoughts and the way they screamed, interrupting each other. Surprise clashed with indignation, worry caught up with confidence, uncertainty clawed at the throat of exhilaration. Every step you took towards him was difficult, but now the sorcerer stood here with you, right in front of the heart of the town, not on the other side of your workroom door. You couldn't even look Gojo in the eye - was the doubt so great and dangerous that you did whatever it told you to do? The sorcerer winced in pain - your thoughts screamed loudly, but he couldn't make out the words. "Hey, guide," he grinned, bringing you to your senses and wanting to get you away from this place - it was affecting you too badly. And, it seemed to Gojo, on your relationship with him, too. "Let's go home. We have a fox to make." 

In Hopetown, unlike at headquarters, the evenings were slow and lazy - there was no desire to get out of bed at all. Danielle, nestled comfortably on Megumi's chest and covered with a blanket, watched a movie - they'd chosen it for about an hour only to struggle to keep their eyes open. Every touch, every hug was imbued with a serenity that was sorely lacking in the girl - she almost stopped shaking as she closed her eyes and mentally found herself back in that horrible day.

Dany was grateful that you hadn't said anything to Megumi - which was probably why the boy was lying next to her now, ordinarily calm, watching the movie. But still, in the back of the girl's mind or maybe on the very surface of it, lay the desire to tell her boyfriend about what she had done for him. Danielle stopped every time, asking herself why she needed it and where it would lead, and all the scripted and fictionalized scenarios boiled down to the fact that she needed to see his concern. Attacks of such selfishness came more and more often, but contrary to breaking Danielle, they made her stronger - the girl looking at her favorite face full of peace already brushed them off with ease. He didn't need to know about it. She didn't want to think about the consequences of her silence, but what could happen if she opened her mouth frightened her even more. Megumi's anxiety could spiral into paranoia, and what if he started blaming himself for what had happened to her? What if his regrets became so enormous that he could no longer look her in the eye? The pesky, unpleasant questions swirled in her head until she finally decided to stay in that boat, to stop rocking it.

Still, every touch of Megumi's fingers reminded Dany that she was no longer worthy of it - false, fake, nasty beliefs trampled their way into the girl's head, making her cringe every time Megumi smoothed her hair. "Dany?" he turned to her softly, stroking her shoulder. She flinched and looked at him questioningly. "Remember when we made the butterfly?"

"Ah...," she drawled carefully. "Yeah, I remember."

"Why don't we try again?"

She frowned. It was an odd request because they hadn't tried it again since that time, which was why it took her by surprise. Danielle lifted up, and the heated blanket rustled and fell from her shoulders onto the bed. "Why?" she asked suspiciously.

"What do you mean why?" laughed Megumi, causing the girl to blush embarrassedly. "Don't you wanna... Well, perfect it?" the boy's every word intended to ratchet up his excitement, his voice nearly breaking from the overabundance of feelings and adrenaline. His knees didn't shake like this before curses, but one glance at the watch on his hand and he would definitely fall down if he wasn't sitting on the bed right now.

"Okay," she said hesitantly, still squinting suspiciously.

The way they sat across from each other hit Dany with nostalgia right on the back of the head, a blow so strong it made her head spin. She had only yesterday ceased to be a teenager, and it would seem that she should have experienced all the unknown emotions long ago and stopped being afraid of them and trembling in front of them, but the excitement that swept over her was much stronger than her childhood feelings.

Megumi knew that cheating would be necessary here and he hoped Dany would never figure him out. He wanted the butterfly to come out perfect this time, and since both cursed and dark energy were now flowing through him, why wouldn't he help his girl? After all, he was going to forever be her shoulder and the bastion of all her hopes and dreams, so why not start with something small?

He covered her small hands with his and nodded, glancing up at her with glittering eyes, but Dany squeezed her eyes shut, either out of fear or excitement. He had to bite his lip to keep from laughing at the sight - she looked exactly like a child waiting for a miracle. As he began to infuse energy, all he could feel was the warmth of Dany's hands. Something tickled her palms, and she opened one eye with a giggle - a faint blue glow was seeping through their fingers. "Well," he began embarrassedly, smiling. "Do you wanna see it?"

"Yes," she giggled.

They opened their hands at the same time, slowly - a small butterfly sat inside. There was no flaw in it, the patterns on its fluttering, cursed wings ran and shimmered in the same way. Its predecessor was less than perfect, and most people would probably call it ugly upon barely seeing its different wings and crooked antennae, but the pair of lovers knew that it was only their imperfect beginning. One could vilify and berate even the one that now sat in their hands - the blue color wasn't blue enough, the wings were too small, but that didn't make the butterfly any less beautiful. The butterfly had been created by and for the love that had been born between two people.

Dany gasped in surprise when a butterfly fluttered up and flew toward the window. "We have to open it," she worried, jumping up from her seat. The butterfly was beating its wings fiercely against the glass like it had spent its whole life dreaming of freedom. Dany, carefully opening the shutters so as not to disturb their shared creation, could only watch as the tiny blue light flew away from her, merging with the horizon - at that moment Megumi realized he was ready. To hold her on cold nights, to swipe the custard of brownies off her lips, to watch the most boring movies with her, to return to her from the void again and again. Alive. "Danielle," the girl tensed when Megumi called her by her full name. Taking the frozen girl by the waist, he turned her around to face her. "I really don't know how to do this right," he admitted honestly in a breaking voice. Her knees grew weak when she heard the clattering and clinking, and Dany tried to keep her head straight, afraid to look at her boyfriend's hand, suspecting that right now he was taking the watch off of them. "I'm not familiar with your traditions, and I don't know about whether I should get down on one knee," Dany, realizing she was about to pass out, began breathing hard and often, practically gulping for air with her mouth. "But please, answer me," a sob full of pain and happiness escaped the girl's scarlet lips, and the cold metal that coiled around her wrist burned her skin with yet untold promises. "Will you marry me?"

"How can ya do this...," the crying made her voice shake harder, the tears that rolled down her cheeks choking her, and the barely buried memories breaking through all the fresh ground slapped her in the face, reminding her of what she was like. Dany had feared that their happiness wouldn't last forever, that sooner or later it would come to Megumi that he deserved better, but there was no way she had expected such a sharp turn in the exact opposite direction - completely knocked off her feet and confused, she could only mumble unintelligibly through her tears. "How can ya say that, how can ya look at me like ya used to, when I'm so... dirty?

The girl's pain became his - he couldn't stand the agonizing tension that was crushing both of them, and he pressed his lips to hers, muffling her sobs. Dany didn't give in, but she didn't resist either, only placed her palms on his chest, not so much to push him away as to feel his warmth. Megumi was too insistent and firm in his decision - pulling Dany by the waist and pressing her against him, he deepened the kiss with a gentle movement of his tongue, making the girl dissolve into him, and she had nowhere to retreat - the love of her life was ahead of the girl, and behind her was the windowsill and the pain left by bitter memories.

With difficulty he pulled away from her, panting straight to her lips, he cupped her flushed wet cheeks. "Don't ever say that again," he commanded quietly. "The truest filth is the one who did this to you, and you... You're everything to me. And I want you to be even more, just say 'yes', please," he begged, pulling her frail body against him and burrowing into her neck.

The laughter that filled the room was full of weeping, longing, and relief. Danielle nodded frantically and wrapped her arms around his neck, the watch on her arm rattling - a reminder of the delayed happiness that was rushing toward her.

They stood huddled together, reminding each other of their bleeding wounds. The path was far and winding, each branch leading either to the abyss or straight into the arms of death. There was only one way that led to freedom, and they had learned by experience that they could never reach that faraway light alone. Megumi, having gained another power, was sure that now he could protect his bride from all the troubles, and the short name of that power was not in the dark lines, not in the energy that sometimes spilled over the edge - putting all the meaning of life into it and asking for its protection, people called it love. "Want to finish the movie?" smiled Megumi softly, rocking Dany from side to side.

"Actually," she began, mumbling shyly into his shoulder. "I'd like to tell Y/N," the excitement and awe still hadn't receded, but anxiety came along with it - Dany didn't know at all what she was supposed to do tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, a month from now. She needed help, and having learned from the past, she was ready to open the door to her worries and secrets. "If ya don't mind, of course."

"Okay," Megumi agreed, not saying a word about the fact that you were already aware of his intentions - the boy didn't want to ruin her sense of hidden celebration and take away the opportunity to tell her everything herself. "I need to let someone know too," he snorted irritably, making Dany giggle.

They, happy and clutching each other and their hands, went into your room first, but it was empty. Megumi, frowning his eyebrows, wondered. You all just finished the raid yesterday, where could you have gone? You should have been resting, where else could you relax if not in your room? Did you slip away on another scouting mission? If you did, why didn't you bring him with you?

Worried and almost insulted, he tried not to show it in front of Danielle. The girl was glowing for the first time in a long time, and a beaming, embarrassed smile never left her face. Megumi hummed, shaking his head. He shouldn't have gotten himself worked up ahead of time. Deciding to go downstairs, all of his doubts were dispelled, and he almost felt ashamed that he had time to get mad at you for making up his own problems because he and Dany were greeted by two half-asleep faces on the couch in the living room.

You and Gojo did Tris's craft until morning, and when it was time to go back to bed, you were blinded by the rising sun and the sound of a child's voice asking for food. You decided not to go to bed to get back into a routine that you'd regretted a thousand times before - the battle with sleep was unequal and unfair, especially in each other's warm embrace. You offered him more than once to unwind or at least to get off the couch, but the sorcerer, sighing lazily, stopped all your tries at rebellion, pressing you to him with a heavy hand, cutting off all attempts to retreat. 

"What is it?" you drawled tiredly, blinking hard, trying to fix the floating silhouettes in front of your eyes.

"We, um...," the boy's tone was like he was apologizing for the thousands of crimes he'd committed, and you tensed up from the couch, and Gojo lost sleep as well - he squinted his eyes, staring at the pair expectantly. He knew Megumi too well, and that tone boded either good things or nothing good at all. "I proposed to Dany," he stated firmly, shifting a determined gaze from you to Gojo, and Danielle was the direct opposite of him - the girl picking at the floor with her toe, shyly lowering her. 

Caught off guard, you're numb. You only just noticed the watch on Dany's hand. Megumi told you that he intended to do it, but he didn't say when he would do it. Did he tell Dany that you knew everything? If not, you didn't want to take away her opportunity to be first in everything, but you didn't have time to think about your actions. "Oh my gosh," you marveled deliberately loudly, gasping and clutching at your heart.

Gojo was immediately alarmed, jumping up from the couch and wrapping his arms around your shoulders. "Why are you driving your mother crazy?" he spat out angrily, and all Megumi wanted to do was fall to the ground in shame. "Honey, where's the sedative?" 

"There, in the medicine cabinet ...," you waved at the top kitchen drawer without getting out of character. "It's a transparent bottle..."

It took the sorcerer exactly seven seconds to find the sedative, open it, take out a glass, pour water into it, and be at your side. Gojo seemed to be the only one who believed in your performance - so naive and gullible Megumi had never seen him before. "What's the act?" the boy grimaced, watching as he held out water and pills to you. "You're the first to know about everything." 

You stared at Megumi with wide-open eyes, stung by the betrayal, and then glanced furtively at Gojo - he too was staring at the boy with glassy eyes, still not giving you the pill and the glass. "Satoru, I can explain," you grumbled guiltily, but it was too late - he popped the sedative into his mouth and drank water all in one. 

"You sleeping on the couch tonight. Alone," the sorcerer said blankly, handing you the pills - you took the bottle with the empty glass, confused. It would take him about five minutes alone to recover from the betrayal you'd made with your silence.

"Where are ya going?" you shouted back at him, but Gojo waved you off and walked outside, slamming the door behind him.

"You do realize he's just kidding, right?" feeling guilty for the rift in your relationship, Megumi tried to smooth things over, but you, already pursing your lips, stared at him grimly.

"Couldn't ya play along?" you snorted, but contrary to what you said, you found yourself standing beside the kids, clasping them in your arms - they barely fit in your arms, and the boy was almost a head taller than you. "Congratulations!" you whispered into their ears, kissing Dany on the cheek, who winced a little at the prickling sensation of your mask biting her.

Danielle was still confused - too much had happened in the last few minutes - from the touching to the punning - and her heart could barely keep up. Thinking she could use a sedative too, she sat down on the couch, trying to calm down a bit. The fact that you knew Megumi's intentions didn't upset her because it only meant that his move wasn't just a simple impulse - it was a warmed-over, time-honored desire that he'd discussed with you. 

"So... what your plans?" you asked, plopping down next to Danielle. Megumi sat straight down on the floor, across from you, and tucked his legs up.

"I don't know," he admitted honestly. "I proposed literally just now, so we haven't had time to think it over," he sarcastically quipped.

You didn't realize that such an advantage would fall right into your hands, your main goal became to grab onto it as tightly as you could. "Megumi, ya're a hunter now," you remarked. "And Dany was born into those circles. And it's customary for us to hold all our weddings in Hopetown," you didn't care about tradition, and to your shame, you hardly gave safety a second thought, but the wedding was the perfect opportunity to check out the town. "I hope ya don't mind."

"Not at all!" exclaimed Danielle enthusiastically, and a lump rose in your throat - how long had it been since you'd seen her like this? Her eyes were still drowned in the blue circles beneath them, she was thin as a reed, you were sometimes afraid to let her outside - one strong gust of wind and she'd just break. But happiness filled her from the inside and spread like a virus, infecting everyone around her. Megumi, mesmerized by her jubilant glow, hummed quietly. Truth be told, remembering how the town looked on the fifth of December, he didn't mind having the wedding here.

You had a lot more to discuss, but without the man's ears. The date, what dress to choose, hairstyle, flowers. What part of town to hold the event, what decorations to choose, what time of day. Arrange with the holy father, decorate the place where the two hearts will be joined and inform the residents. You'll have to calculate food supplies, and, most importantly, wine.

You and Dany seemed to be thinking the same thing, for when you looked at each other, you giggled softly, not noticing that the raven sitting on the window sill had its head tilted to the side and was peering at you with beady black eyes.

"Mike!" shouted Rachel, trying to catch up with her angry son. The boy literally flew forward, driven by injustice and frustration, not noticing the crowd of people chattering and cheering around him. The sweet smell of popcorn and ice cream no longer brought him excitement and delight, on the contrary - the boy felt nauseous at any reminder of food. Being still a child, he couldn't quiet his tears, and sobs of resentment escaped his lips now and then. "Baby, wait!" Mike abruptly threw his mother's arm off his shoulder, not listening to her at all, and tried to run forward, but his running was equal to his mother's quick footstep. "Ya realize I'm bigger and faster, don't ya?" she slyly sneered, scooping him up in her arms. Mike, because of his age, was confident in his supposed independence - he began to kick and struggle, looking around in embarrassment at passersby who he thought were looking at him reproachfully. "And stronger still," she reminded him. "Mike, calm down. If ya think ya're an adult, then act like one. Ya know what they usually do?" she asked playfully, looking at her angry son. "They talk."

Somewhere close by, a coaster with people squealing with fear and merriment raced down tracks. Rachel tried to keep her composure in front of her son, but her motherly heart bled at the thought that her son's birthday had been ruined. And it was all the fault of some little thing that had been a complete disaster for the boy. "What's got ya so upset?"

Mike ripped the toy medal off his chest and threw it to the ground. "That's for losers!" he howled, unwilling to bear the stigma of mediocrity he'd made up for himself.

Sighing, Rachel walked over to the nearest bench and sat her still mad son down - the resentment was so strong that the boy quickly weakened, losing all will to resist. He looked down at his wobbling legs which didn't reach the ground - another reminder that he was still a child.

The impressions from dozens of attractions were completely overridden by one loss in some godforsaken shooting gallery. When Mike saw a radio-controlled car as a prize for the first place, he thought that he would easily take it, but his expectations and dreams were shattered by the very first shot - the bullet flew a few inches away from the target. So it happened with the second and the third, and no matter how much the boy tried, he never got the required number of points. At the end he was given only a consolation medal. "Baby," Rachel turned to him gently, stroking his head. "What makes ya think it's for losers?"

"Stop calling me that!" snapped Mike, yanking her hand away.

Her son was sitting in front of her - she should have put out her temper immediately. "If I want to, I'll call ya that for the rest of my life," she laughed, looking at his pouting face - he looked like a red balloon about to burst. "And there's nothing ya can do about that," rubbing the top of his red head and meeting no resistance, Rachel got serious. "Ya know, Mike. Believe me, I know what it's like to lose. Ya can fuss all you want right now, but it's not gonna make ya better," the boy, feeling more tears of bitterness coming on, bit his lip and turned away from his mother. "Nothing comes easy to anyone. And ya really will be a classic underdog, but only if ya let it go that easily," the girl sat down on her knees in front of her son right on the pavement, forcing the boy to look into her eyes - he gasped in amazement when Rachel pulled out of her pocket the medal he had recently thrown away. Sometimes Mike completely forgot that his mother was a magician. "This one," she shook the consolation prize quietly. "It doesn't say ya screwed up. It only says ya tried. Even though the attempt was a failure, even though the second one will be exactly the same, but ya mustn't give up. Ya know, baby, ya're very brave," she cupped his cheeks, making the boy cry harder, and nearly burst into tears herself. "Your ambition is quite something, but ya have to work very hard to achieve it. Look at me!" she laughed in a shaky voice and with tears in her eyes. "Do ya think I would have hit that target even once? Not a chance in hell!"

"Liar," he whimpered, burrowing into her shoulder. She stroked his shuddering back, happy that Mike had stopped pushing her away.

'I know I wasn't the best mother to ya, but,' she thought, squeezing her eyes shut and cradling the little body, red hair just like hers tickled her nostrils, and she didn't know if she was crying from the tickling or the thrill. "I never lied to ya."

"Mom!" he howled, clinging to her more tightly - seeing her as a protector and ally, he tried to hide in her, to block out his own complexes with her maturity and confidence, hoping that he would someday be like her. The boy didn't care about the people hanging around and having fun, he didn't care what they thought of him because his mother's embrace reminded him that he wasn't alone in the world.

"I know, baby," Rachel soothed the boy in a quiet voice. "Ya're gonna make it," she pulled away from him only to place the medal back on his chest. "Now this medal will be a sign that ya will never, ever give up. So wear it with pride."

Mike sniffled and nodded fervently, snot and tears almost flying to the sides. Sensing her son's embarrassment as her own, Rachel took him to the men's room, nearly breaking the nose of the man who whistled at her at the entrance. She waited obediently while her son washed his face with cold water and cleaned himself up, and took any indignant or perplexed look from anyone else as a challenge. Even though his mother could fend for herself, Mike's protective instincts kicked in, so he glared at anyone who got too close to Rachel.

Mike took his mother's hand and led her away from the place, straightening up and lifting his chin - he thought he looked bigger and more imposing that way. Rachel giggled stupidly all the way to the sidewalk cafeteria. When she met your gaze, she nodded cheerfully, letting you know everything was fine. "Hey, kids!" she yelled to Itadori and Yuta, who were standing at the caramelized fruit counter. "Are ya going on the coaster now?"

"Yes!"

"Take these little ones with you!" she, picking up a bouncing Tris from Frank's lap that refused to sit on her butt because of the hard chairs, nudged her and Mike toward the boys.

Yuji immediately grabbed the girl's hand, afraid of losing her in the crowd, while Yuta kept his eyes on the redhead. After buying juicy, glistening glazed strawberries, they happily chatted about something and headed to the line for the ride. "Jesus," Rachel sighed tiredly, plopping down on the chair next to you. Her strength had left her body, all the energy she had left for calming her own son.

"Look at those happy buns," you said dreamily, watching Tris get cranky and try to take the strawberry from Yuta. "When I was their age, I learned how to smoke and steal blings," you were immediately got a smack from Frank for your words.

"Oh, like ya are a righteous man," you muttered resentfully, rubbing the back of your head and glaring at the man who had opened another bottle of beer.

"I can afford it couple times a year," he replied nonchalantly, sipping the cool drink.

"Ya wouldn't have potbelly like that because of couple times a year," you said cheerfully, slapping him on the stomach. You dodged another smack and laughed wryly.

It didn't take long for the man to get angry as a worried Itadori appeared on the horizon with Tris in his arms. Frank jumped up - the chair had fallen to the ground with a loud thud, nearly breaking in half - and ran quickly to them. "What's the matter, sunshine?" he said anxiously, taking the little girl from the bewildered Yuji 

"As soon as we were at the entrance, Tris immediately cried," the boy rambled apologetically, afraid that suspicion of her sadness might fall on him.

"Scared, honey?" cooed Frank, rocking Tris - her cries turned to quiet sobs, and she squeezed her eyes shut and nodded. You and Rachel glanced over and sighed jealously in unison - now that you were grown, almost all the tender creature comforts went to the younger ones. "I'm taking her home," Frank stated in a stern tone, giving you a serious look. "And ya," he pointed a finger at you and Rachel then tapped it on the table. "Keep an eye on everyone."

"Okay," you agreed, heeding his words while your sister rolled her eyes.

Itadori, feeling guilty for being at the center of all the trouble, looked penitently at Frank as he left, and as soon as he was gone, Rachel sprang from her seat, running up to the boy. "I'll go with ya!" she said cheerfully, putting her arm around Yuji's shoulder, and the boy stared at her in surprise.

"Where are ya going?" you shouted. "Frank said to keep an eye on everyone!"

"What do ya think I'm gonna do?" barked Rachel back. "Where am I supposed to keep an eye on them if not in close proximity?"

Either her insolence has shackled your vocal cords, or common sense. With a snort, you grabbed your milkshake angrily, and sipped sullenly as you watched Rachel lead Itadori farther and farther away, shoving the queue - they were in no time at all near Yuta and Mike, who were standing at the beginning of it, waiting for the coaster to arrive.

People looked hot, excited, and instead of their endless chatter, you could hear only their blood boiling in them - you were tempted even by a drop of sweat running down the back of a girl you didn't know. Your usually dormant and slumbering hunger liked to wake up in a crowd - your body became cotton-like, barely obedient, and you struggled to keep yourself on the chair. You sipped the milkshake hard, trying to satiate yourself, but the creature inside couldn't stand the deception.  

Breathing hard, you wished you were in a vat of ice-cold water - it wouldn't satisfy your hunger, but it might bring you back to your senses. The air, warmed by other people's laughter and breath, tantalized you, made you dizzy, and you had to grab the table to keep your balance. Before your eyes blurred, you saw the coaster pull up, the thrill-seekers stepping off the wagon on shaky legs, some laughing merrily, some feeling only a surge of energy.

Gojo laughed and wrapped his arms around the necks of a pale Megumi and a dazed Danielle, and as soon as you met his gaze, your heart calmed a little, though your human heart was still racing. The sorcerer smiled smugly at you, leading the barely alive kids to your table. "Here we are!" he chirped, plopping down next to you. 

You watched in horror as a forcibly recovered Danielle sat Fushiguro down - the boy pressed his lips tightly together like holding back a gagging. "Is this really how it's supposed to be?" you asked uncertainly.

"Oh, come on," he waved it off. "He just feels a little queasy, that happens."

Either Megumi had no energy left or he didn't hear Gojo at all, for there was no frown on his part. Danielle anxiously stroked his shoulders, squeezing them a little - Gojo put his hands behind his head and watched contentedly as Dany tried to put some color on Megumi's pale face. The sorcerer's extremely happy smile made you suspicious - you got the impression that the celebration on his face wasn't caused by the amusement ride at all. "Ya're so petty," you grinned, realizing that Gojo was just enjoying some peddling revenge for the boy's failure to make him aware of his serious intentions first.  

"So?" he fluttered his eyelids innocently and snatched the milkshake away from you.

Megumi, who had regained consciousness, took a sip of water from the glass, but immediately put his hand to his mouth, making a gurgling sound - a sight you were glad to see was an appetite suppressant. You were no longer burning up inside, your hunger had briefly receded, your stomach was no longer eating itself, and though you were still breathing heavily, you were no longer sweating.

Your lack of reaction made Gojo uneasy, and the fact that you didn't fight for your unceremoniously snatched food made him panic. It was only now that he noticed your foggy eyes and the way your head barely was holding steady, and without realizing it, the sorcerer was breathing heavily along with you. It reminded him just now why you'd been denying yourself the pleasure of even short bursts of adrenaline. There were too many people here - it was like leaving a person who'd been starving for months in the midst of a feast under an all-seeing eye that commanded them not to touch anything. "Let's go get some strawberries," without giving you time to answer, Gojo grabbed your arm and dragged you towards the counter, leaving Dany and Megumi alone.  

There was almost no queue, only two people before you. You gazed with interest and appetite at the fruit in the display case, which glistened in the warm light of the lantern - the glaze seemed like liquid gold. "Mochi," Gojo said quietly, and you looked at him questioningly, hardly able to tear yourself away from the delicious splendor. The gleeful slyness on his face didn't last long - the more he worked up the courage to say those words, the more embarrassed he became. "You want to get out of here?" 

"What?" you blurted out confusedly, but it was the sparkle in your eyes that gave you away - the thought of escaping made them twinkle like a million stars. "But I... Frank said to keep an eye on everyone, so I don't think I can," you rambled shyly, not knowing where to put yourself. Temptation was on one side of the scale, responsibility on the other, and the scales swayed immeasurably, tipping sideways.

Frightened that he had only exacerbated your precarious state with his suggestion, he put on a serene smile and tried to reassure you. "Dany has Megumi, and everyone else has Rachel. Your sister is crazy," you snorted sarcastically at that remark. "And having her son here makes her triple the danger."

You glanced toward the entrance to the coaster - it was nothing but an excited, waiting crowd. People were hooting and hollering, jostling and trying to get ahead of the line, but there were no Rachel or Gojo's students among them - they were probably yelling at the top of their lungs right now. You'd never doubted your sister, and now you grinned stupidly and thought about the fact that Rachel was probably calming or coaxing the excited and frightened boys. Whether she was rocking their safety bindings or reassuring them that everything would be okay while laughing at their contorted faces, you knew she would protect them no matter what happened. Right now, they'd be safer without you than with you.    

Strawberries you took from Gojo spilled bitterness into your mouth as soon as you took a bite. You shouldn't have been so protective of your words and kept the warm embrace to yourself. Deciding that tonight and for the rest of your life, you would let Rachel lie on top of you, hugging and nibbling you as much as she wanted, you ventured.

Turning to Gojo, you took his hand and nodded. As soon as he took you to a place out of sight, the sound of people's merriment was cut off by a wafting breeze. As you found yourself lying on the grass, the smell of water hit your nose - rising up on your elbows, you saw the familiar horizon where the ocean kissed the star every night. "Well," you began slyly. "Will the star give its answer tonight?" 

"I'm afraid not," the sorcerer sighed lamentably, plopping down on the grass beside you - the waves were almost reaching your feet, splashing desperately. "It's too dark already."

You tried to put the puzzle together in your head, but you couldn't find any reason why the star could only speak in its own light. You didn't even try to ask Gojo about it, just glanced at him frustrated that he still hadn't told you where the place was. 

The sorcerer heard you mutter something sullenly to yourself - he enjoyed the fact that he could influence your mood. And your condition. Here, in the forested wilderness by the dark waters, you were noticeably lighter, and instead of your ragged, hungry breathing, he could only hear the sound of small waves. "My offer still stands," he reminded you embarrassedly, turning on his side and propping his head on his palm.

"Eh?..." you wondered, wrinkling your nose in confusion.

"I mean blood," Gojo said, peering into your eyes - they no longer screamed of unquenchable thirst. "Reverse technique will make up for the lack of blood, so you can drink as much as you want. When else are you gonna be offered an unlimited and free feeding tube?" 

"Do ya even know about a word like diet?" you laughed, taken aback by his suggestion. "If I don't stick to it, I might become greedy."

He'd truly forgotten that sweets didn't go along with blood - any addiction had consequences. No matter how many sweets the sorcerer ate, he still couldn't get enough, and if his whole dilemma was just going to the store, what about you?

Perhaps it was because Gojo had never seen you in a distraught state - the danger hadn't shown itself yet, and he was relaxed, thinking of you as a human despite some of the strange things that happened to you in crowds. The other side that existed was either too humble or repressed by you, but looking at you, he couldn't wonder if it was it that made you look up at the night sky like that. Your eyes, full of longing and tenderness - he didn't need to turn around to realize what you were looking at so lovingly. It was more likely that the tiny shimmering dots peeking out from behind the leaves were staring back at you just the same.   

Gojo suddenly felt empty - the unattainable, clutching his heart in a vise, asked him a leading question. Will he ever be enough for your adventurous soul? Or would you travel to unknown but native lands at the first opportunity? He was lying right in front of you, very close, but even now you were looking up high, searching for something. No matter how powerful the sorcerer was, he could not put himself on a par with the face of the universe. The feeling of being deprived was left on his conscience - he wanted to feel the same way you felt at the sight of those tiny, shiny dots. "If you had the chance," he blurted out, embarrassed, lowering his gaze to the ground, but there was nowhere to retreat. "Would you go there?" 

The sorcerer almost drowned in bitterness when you sighed dreamily. "No," you said plaintively, giving him your hand. He stared at you in surprise, but couldn't even open his mouth - joy intermingled with confusion stole all the words. "If I'd wanted to, I would have taken off my mask long ago and surrendered to the judges," you shuddered, even though you were the one who remembered them.

Gojo rolled over onto his stomach and felt the annoyance recede. "You look over there more often than you look at me anyway," he muttered resentfully, pinching the grass. Seeking reassurance from you, he started acting like a child again.  

"Now I'm just thinking about how many of those stars are already dead," you chuckled. The sorcerer squinted at you suspiciously, and you felt yourself under mute interrogation. "I'm telling the truth," you sighed, waving away the grass flying at you. "I'm just wondering which ones are real, and which ones disappeared, leaving behind a light that only reached us now," you rounded your eyes at the idea that had come to you, and clapped him enthusiastically on the shoulder. "Look, how about a bet?" 

"Bet?" he blustered, perking up. He was clearly interested in the scheme or rather in his reward for your imminent loss.

You were looking for something in the night sky. "Well, there's our sister, Betelgeuse," you turned your head from side to side, and not finding the constellation Orion, you waved it away, but decided to stick to your suggestion and not back down. "Right now it's in its last stage of life for us, but what if I bet it exploded... I dunno," you laughed at the absurdity of your suggestion. "Let's say about five years ago?"

"Too shallow," Gojo declared proudly. "I'll bet ten."

"That's the deal." 

"Uh.,, What did we bet?" he mused, trying to recall the terms of the deal.

"It's up to the winner to decide," the magnitude of the controversy allowed you to say this phrase. "If I'm right, we won't see the explosion until 495 years from now, and if you're right, we won't see it until 490 years. Oh yeah, there is some margin of error because the exact distance to Betelgeuse is unknown. Give or take 100 years."

"I think I just miscalculated," the sorcerer drawled uncertainly. "But where?"

Maybe it was a good thing the explosion wouldn't come soon enough - Gojo wouldn't have had ten years to make up his mind about his desire, every branch of which was invariably connected to you. You were naive to think you could get rid of him by time, for Gojo would be ready to get you in a thousand years. 

As you looked up into the silent sky, you heard again the last words the sorcerer had said to you once. You'd lived in his world, but he'd never known or felt a part of yours - an unfair and unjust selfishness that had strayed from your thoughts. Of course, you could never show Gojo the places by the stars themselves - those beautiful killers would leave you no chance of survival. But you could take him to places where the light from events would close in on you, making you see things you would never see here, lying on the grass. "I wanna show ya something," your voice cracked with excitement, and you jumped to your feet, thereby startling him as well. Panicked, Gojo rose to his feet with you, looking you cautiously.

"Show me what?" he hesitantly asked, keeping his distance - there were only two steps separating you.

"Look, I really don't know how to put this into words," you said out of breath like a long jog. "You'd better give me your hand," you held out your palm and held yourself back - his uncertainty was urging you to run to him, to grab his hand and do as you wished, but something inside demanded that you wait for his willing consent. "We'll only have about ten seconds, but I promise there's nothing to worry about," you kept rambling, trying to reassure the sorcerer, but you only made him more anxious. 

Gojo didn't know why he hesitated - he didn't remember you as excited and aroused as you were. Besides, he thought he was the only one who'd ever seen you like this, and that was what made him stiffen - the weight of your trust made him stop feeling his own body. You were about to show him something you hadn't shown the others, and despite his happiness, Gojo felt responsible.

As soon as Gojo dared to raise his hand, you grabbed him - he couldn't even understand how you could pull him, tall and big, towards you and change your places. It took his breath away, his legs and arms were numb, he felt like a feather that floated without falling - realizing that he couldn't take a breath, Gojo noticed your glittering eyes that blended with the rest of the wild and distant stars. 

One.

Gojo didn't immediately realize where he was - what he saw seemed so implausible and ridiculous that it drove him mad. Delirium retreated penitently as he looked behind your shoulder, barely breaking away from your gaze. There were no planets or other celestial bodies around you - you were, like two swimmers, dissecting with your bodies the universe in its original form. Finding himself at the beginning of all humans, he thought of yours as well - here his throat clenched just as it had clenched from the dagger once held to his neck. 

Two.

Enraged by his own consternation, Gojo placed the blame for his initial feelings on your shoulders. Foes may have mocked him, others may have underestimated him, looking down on the sorcerer, but they all met the same end, but he had never witnessed such cold eyes that he had seen on your first day - you could have killed him without hesitation, and it was left on Gojo's conscience to think of you as someone superior to him.

Three.

An upstart, a psychopath, a murderer, a thief, a subhuman - Gojo kept repeating those words like a mantra, and as he agreed to the deal with your superiors, he thought of the balance - the world wouldn't be worse off if his best friend showed up here instead of you. All his life destroying the vermin, Gojo mistook you for one of them, and pathetic excuses could not cover the regrets that followed - in fact, you turned out to be an amazing creature embodied by invisible hands that supported you right here and now, preventing you from drowning in the dark slurry, in which flickering, distant lights had long ago boiled. 

Four.

Not the desire to kill, but to protect yourself - that's what made you tick. Gojo had read it in your tired, red eyes back then, on the cliff outside the house. 'How strange,' he thought, squeezing your hand harder - if all around you were your home lands, the sorcerer still couldn't feel it under his feet, and he was afraid not to get lost in space, but to let you go. 'Even here it's not as cold as it was then,' there was no warmth in your hand or in your voice, just a mess of vacuum and thoughts, but he saw you brightly and clearly, and he couldn't find the words to thank the light that reflected off you.

Five.

Tears blurred all the stars making them flash – they became bright, almost red, which reminded Gojo of torches. You were the one who had unceremoniously interfered in his life and pointed out the consequences of his deeds. Every clueless person saved could continue to burn fires, illuminating the hearts of those they loved and their own. The sprawling expanses were not known for their friendliness, they loved only lifeless symmetry - having overlooked one tiny corner, they failed to notice the ugliness that stood out against the background of an endless similar pattern, thus giving this filth a chance to exist. And Gojo, never thinking about it, continued to draw this abomination called humanity on the beautiful and empty picture of the world with his own hands. 

Six.

Was the void like this place? Was saving people just one of the reasons why you returned to that cold land again and again? Or was it the purple-lit sand that reminded you of a home that had no bottom, no walls, no roof? It was in such a place that all the secrets of origin and birth, which were usually hidden under the dark cloak of matter of the known world, were exposed. They squirmed and pushed each other out, thus inadvertently showing their particles to the person who painted the formulas.

Seven.

You were probably being guided by goodness when you lied to the sorcerer - now he didn't believe a bit of what you said about not wanting to go there. In all his life Gojo had never seen so much confused delight in someone's gaze, he had never met someone whose eyes so easily merged with the stars, reflecting them. It was so strange, holding your hand, realizing that at any moment you could let it go and merge with the darkness, no longer allowing the light to reflect off of you - at this moment his grip seemed so fragile and unreliable that he was afraid.

Eight.

You looked at Gojo with a thrill at your heart. The awe on his face, unwilling to tell you its origins, made you anxious. Certainly, you had not walked the rings of Jupiter or viewed Venus from the distance of two moons, and all you could show him was the crushing insensitivity and colorlessness of nothingness. His thoughts eluded you, and you couldn't demand reassurance - finding yourself at the very pier where invisible ships were sailing to your lands, you hoped it resonated genuinely in his soul as it did in yours.

Nine.

How much foolishness and naivety can awaken in later years - Gojo would have laughed if he could. Going with heavy thinking, he missed the very point - being so close to home, you weren't looking around, searching the stars for a native being, you were looking straight at him. It wasn't the cosmos that fascinated the sorcerer, but Gojo was completely lost when he met the creature it spawned. To follow you through life, to go with you after death, resuming your endless circle of a beginning and never letting go of your hand even in the coldest of places.

Ten.

You were entwined where there was no life and no end to it. No earth, no water, no fire, no air - no threads that connected Gojo to a familiar world. He knew that sooner or later the universe would kill him, if not by lack of oxygen, then by cold - the world had a thousand and one weapons to get rid of unwanted guests. The universe was well aware that it was the worst place for the origin of life, but no matter how hard it tried to crush human existence, it could not prevent your meeting. From the very beginning of life on Earth, there were too many accidents for mere coincidence - it was necessarily either a gift of destiny or an evil fate, and one never excluded the other. Seeing through the prism of human's eyes, savoring all your colors, Gojo dropped for the last second all the responsibilities that awaited him upon his return - for one more moment the sorcerer relished the newfound home he never had.  

Two astronauts, unburdened by reinforced spacesuits, floated in weightlessness, content with the good spirits of their surroundings, which unobtrusively tried to kill them. Once smaller than a dot, the creation, having emitted light in all directions, had grown to the size that its underling could reach in 14 billion years, and it continued to grow relentlessly, illuminating its once invisible boundaries. Billions of stars, which became millions of eyes, forced the Universe to witness a miracle over which it had no control - in the vastness of its endless dead zone two loving hearts were beating. 

Gojo had been gulping for air as soon as he was on Earth, the abrupt change in his surroundings making his mind melt. The sound of water, the overflow of waves and even a green leaf falling from a branch seemed to him no more than decoration. His back didn't feel the ground, his hands didn't feel the wind - he was brought back to reality by you, real and alive, who hovered over him and gazed at him restlessly. "I won't pay for such an excursion," said the sorcerer, out of breath. Laughing quietly, you slid off Gojo and plopped down next to him. Trying to shake off the anxiety and the sticky thoughts that Gojo was disgusted by this walk, you listened, seeking reassurance in his every agitated breath. 

Gojo was afraid to admit that it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Or rather, this moment was right after your first meeting on his personal list. A lifetime of striving for more, of cutting and dissecting the boundaries of human possibility, he was still here on Earth. The greater the power, the more majesty the sorcerer felt, but where light years walked, the omnipotence appeared to be nothing more than ordinary dust that the stellar winds had scattered. "You know, it's...," he mewled shyly, trying to find a word that at least slightly described his heartstrings. As Gojo frantically went over the unspoken emotion on his tongue, he was interrupted by a rumbling sound. Clutching at your stomach like trying to shut it up, you rounded your eyes in shock, and your heart felt heavy. To ruin a moment like this, even unwillingly, seemed like the end of the world until you heard a gushing laugh. "I'm a lousy friend if I keep forgetting to feed you," you wanted to object, reminding the sorcerer about the strawberries, but he stood up and picked you up in his arms, each time you sighed in amazement as you looked down at the world from his height. "Well, what does our soul desire?"  

"Bacon-wrapped shrimp," you replied without hesitation like you'd been practicing that line for years. "Exactly the kind ya make."

"You could have chained me to the stove for all evening, wanting, let's say, ramen or curry rice, but do you really want just shrimps?" he wondered, and you nodded emphatically. "I don't deserve you," Gojo grinned, remembering not the recipe he needed at all, but the world you'd shown him. 

The moment you were on the doorstep of the house on the hill, you felt a little dizzy, either from the fact that the sorcerer had never warned you before moving abruptly or from worrying about the consequences of your escape. Your gut didn't let you down - as soon as you opened the door and crossed the threshold, you were greeted by a disheveled and flushed Frank, who was looking for something in the medicine cabinet. A surprised Mike was sitting on the couch, and your sister was kneeling in front of him, gently blotting his temple. Several bloody cotton balls were already lying on the floor beside her, and you crouched down next to Rachel, concerned, while Gojo tried to quiet your old man. "What happened?" 

"He fell out of a tree," Rach mumbled, soaking another cotton ball in alcohol. There was no attack from her about your disappearance, and surprisingly, you felt out of sorts. "Does it hurt, baby?" she asked her son affectionately, and he shook his head cheerfully. "I guess I was even more scared than he was," she sighed in relief. "Will ya come back for the others?" she turned to you. "I couldn't even warn the kids when I saw the blood on his face that we had to leave."

"Yeah, sure," you assured her absently, stroking your sister's shoulder. It looked like it would take you a long time to get used to the changes in her personality. Her yelling, shouting and accusations were much better tolerated than her uncharacteristic emotions, and you were unaware of the confusion and fright on her face. "We'll be back soon, don't worry, 'kay?" you said, standing up and patting Mike lightly on the top of his head - he didn't even squeak.

"Okay," she replied, and you, not noticing the cold stare she was giving you, tugged Gojo's sleeve, nodding your way out.

[August 23, 2022, 01:50pm., Hopetown]

The greenhouse offered no protection from the sudden late August heat, and you ran your wet palms through the vegetation, searching for stems. The wicker basket on the floor was slowly filling with soft pink flowers, and you looked at each sunlighted petal before you put one in. The monotonous work and humidity made you drowsy, and you struggled to keep your eyes open, yawning all the while. "Hey," Gojo called out angrily as he entered the greenhouse. He appeared before you covered in earth and dirt with a shovel in hand. "Am I to understand t correctly hat I was forced to dig potatoes and you're out here picking flowers?" snorted the sorcerer. "Where is justice?" he asked indignantly, stepping closer and nearly hitting the basket with his foot. Standing up beside you and resting his chin on the shovel's handle, he examined the flowers in the basket. "What's this ugly thing?" Gojo wrinkled his nose squeamishly, looking at the incongruity - the peony was on top of a lily, the lily on top of a rose, the rose on top of a chrysanthemum, and there was not a single repeating flower, which was repulsive in its chaos.  

Sometimes, Gojo rarely let you get a word in edgewise - either torrents of information or piles of questions usually rained down on you. "It's for Shaya. It's her anniversary tomorrow, and Frank asked me to help," you took advantage of the silence and answered patiently, still nonchalantly picking and clipping the stems of the flowers that weren't already in the basket.

"Then it's even weirder," Gojo grumbled. "If I were him, I'd bring a prettier bouquet to your grave," your outrage was beyond words, but the sorcerer realized what he'd said when you looked at him dumbfounded. "Why can't you shut me up in time?" he got angry, unintentionally putting the blame on you.

"That's because ya have a big mouth. Watch your tongue," the way the shears clanged together suggested to the sorcerer that you'd imagined the plant to be something else. "Shaya didn't care about flowers at all. She loved them all," you muttered quietly, changing the subject. "As long as they were white," you gently swiped at the petals and placed the jonquil in the basket. Your words confused Gojo - either you were overheating or you were playing him for a fool. 

"They're pink," the sorcerer said hesitantly, blinking hard a few times - perhaps he'd gotten sunstroke? But you didn't raise an eyebrow at his remark, just kept looking for the prettiest flowers, but your quiet chuckle didn't escape his hearing. "I can't believe it!" he gasp insulted, knocking the shovel to the floor. "You were testing me!"

"Call it professional hazard," you laughed, trying to soften his anger.

The prepared tirade remained unspoken - someone's large hand tugged Gojo by the collar, almost throwing him out of the greenhouse. "What, son, are ya done already?" asked Frank coldly, squinting suspiciously. The sorcerer, shaking his head fearfully and clutching the shovel to his chest, backed away - the gray-haired man stepped exactly until he had swept him out of the room. "That's better!" he yelled. "I don't need a lazy son-in-law!" he muttered, waving his fist threateningly in his wake. 

"Frank," you hissed embarrassedly, drawing attention.

"What?" he bellowed, proudly adjusting his shirt and walking over to you - inspecting the basket of flowers, he hummed in satisfaction. "Am I not telling the truth?"

"Better tell me how the orchid thing is going," you waved it away.

"Already started making the extract, that's gonna take quite a while too," he nodded meaningfully. "And what do we do with it next?"

"We're gonna do experiments on me," he frowned sternly, realizing what you were getting at. "We need to find out what ratios of wine and extract cause pain in demons."

"I don't like this scheme," the man muttered, crossing his arms over his chest. "What are ya up to?"

At this rate, you really weren't going to make it in time for town day, which is exactly what insurance was for. "There's a reason I asked Megumi and Dany to have the wedding here in Hopetown," you exhaled convulsively. "Call me paranoid, but I think there's someone here. Someone reporting on... us," you replied evasively, not naming specific names. "It's unlikely they used Danielle alone, they could easily have slipped us one of them in the void, passing them off as just another poor soul," Frank glanced warily through the transparent wall of the greenhouse at the town - it was as quiet and peaceful as it had been a day ago, or a month, or even a year. "I may end up being wrong, but wouldn't it be calmer that way?" you gibbered, panting, trying to convince the man. "We'll organize a feast, everyone will drink from wine barrels, and if no one reacts - that's great, but if one critter does choke, then...," you laughed nervously, wiping your wet face with your hands. "Oh my God… Looks like I'm gonna ruin the wedding."

next ⊳

[hex82141a]

shoutout to seisei doudou ouenka! for being the only song ever in the world

[Click for better quality. Reblogs are appreciated. I also do art commissions]

[ejga-ostja]

Just Dance night at the Van Eck mansion

[booplesnotts-art]

Art trade with @marascomics !!

(that I might’ve got a little carried away on👁️👁️)

I had a lot of fun with this one and I always enjoy drawing our favourite mean deputy headmistress😌 thank you again!!🖤

Go to Mara’s account to see their beautiful half and then follow immediately cause her art gives me LIFE🖤🖤

[seagull-scribbles]

This is more an allegory for what's wrong with my soul

[lemongogo]

pinterest sketches (x, x, x)

[wonderr-skyy]

Loving You - Page 30

Previous / Beginning / Next

[averlym]

whshdfhfjf.,,,

[marblerose-rue]

click for better quality!!

wctober day four - break/broken

yo there's a stray cat outside!

[loppiopio]

the chances of the people seeing this aren't super likely so this is highly inefficient but i'm too afraid to approach people personally…. yet i've been burning with the need to express my gratitude for the tags i've received individually somehow and figured, i could do it the way i do best. in the tags 😅

(sorted by most recent) (i capped the limit hard here) (some ✂️✂️ had to be done 😔) (i still like this format a lot though) (might do this again in the future idk would people like that??) (i hope it's not mortifying for anyone……..)

it's sorta the way i like it, indirect and unimposing, even if it's kinda. wieldy. but it's just on my blog so anything goes right? although in saying that, i am open to being imposed on. like if someone wants to talk about aci or something, like other fic?? i'm a big fic fiend. or anything else lol not sure what else you'd wanna chat about since so much of the stuff i've put out is just. about fic. but hey, if you're a person i don't mind being approached :>

(lol the way i've made this like a *throws out a bunch of paper slips* find your's 🎉) (might be obnoxious hm) (sorry...) (find your's if you want though 🫡)

[arolesbianism]

I am rotating Light so hard in my head rn girlies who just straight up fucking torture ppl cause she can

[laugtherhyena]

Fuck it, warrior cat-fies your street fighters