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221bshrlocked · 1 year

Text

don't you know

Pairings: Echo x afab!Jedi Reader

Words: 11,920 (it was meant to be shorter but as always, my hands slipped)

Warnings: Mutual Pining. Echo being extremly nervous and flustered around you. The classic "we need to kiss to avoid being seen" trope. Heated Make-Out Session(s). Love confessions. Some low self-esteem thoughts from Echo's perspective. Reader worshiping Echo. Biting. Slight Dirty Talk. Fingering. Penetrative, Unprotected Sex (wrap the shlong before you king kong my dudes). Creampie. Echo is less nervous by the end.

Prompt: "It reminded me of you."

Summary: Echo is well aware that he should break the kiss to see if the guards are still around, but he can’t get enough of you, and the sweet taste of your lips as you meet his devotion with similar passion. He shifts you in his arms until his thigh is planted perfectly against your heated core, and without thinking much of what he’s doing, he moves his cybernetic arm down your back, pushing you against him until you feel the pressure of his hard thigh in between your legs. You break the kiss and throw your head back, whimpering his name repeatedly until he silences you with a hard bite to your jugular.

A/N: @imarvelatthestars, sweetheart...surprise!!! Here you go, I hope you enjoy this as much as I did writing it. This is also my first time writing for Echo so I pray I did him justice. Comments and reblogs are always welcomed and appreciated. P.S. this is my second submission for the @cloneficgiftexchange and I do apologize for posting it late. I was very reluctant since he is a character I never thought I'd write for. Only one more to go though :D

As much as he hated to admit it, Echo was glad he was the one who came on the mission with you. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust his brothers with your life, far from it. It was merely anxiety-inducing to think of you and one of the Batch members in the current predicament. Then again, if it weren’t for the pitstop he took, a rather unnecessary one now that he thought about it, neither of you would have been running for your lives from the guards stationed near the market. He meant well, he really did, but looking back now, Echo knew that he was the reason your life is now in danger.

And he didn’t like that one bit.

He glances behind him briefly before looking ahead, seething with anger when he notices you slowing down to his pace.

“Not to make light of our current problem, but I really do want to taste those weird looking fruits we saw back there when-”

“Not now!” Echo snaps harshly at you, ignoring the adorable pout you give him as he speeds ahead and turns into a much narrower alley. He knows he’s unjustly taking out his anger on you rather than owning up to his mistake, but he can’t even look at you for longer than a few seconds without his mind thinking of more intimate circumstances where you’re breathing heavily and groaning his name. He shakes his head to rid his mind of the consistent and rather irritating inappropriate thoughts of you, forcing his focus on the winding streets in front of him as he tries his best to lead you away from danger.

When you reach the end of the alley, you find yourselves looking out into an awfully busy street, with many of the locals congregating around the entrance of a brightly-lit building. Echo scans the area, trying to figure out what the best plan is before the guards grow closer. He knows you won’t be able to get into any of the nearby places with how the two of you look, and he also knows you can’t go back where you came from. He turns to you and sees you looking behind you in preparation for the guards following you, and before he can think twice of what he’s doing, he grabs your hand and runs towards the busy establishment, murmuring apologies to anyone he bumps into as he makes it to the end of the line and hides behind a larger group.

He slams you more aggressively than he intends against the wall, completely shielding your body with his own so you wouldn’t get hurt should you be spotted. Echo looks down once and finds you staring into his eyes with quivering lips, and for a split second, he thinks you peer at his chapped lips before returning your gaze to his eyes.

No, it can’t be.

He turns away instantly, afraid of what he might do if you continue to look at him with such dangerous inclinations in your eyes. His mind is running a million miles a minute, and he doesn’t realize how hard his grip is on your waist until you shift beneath him and bring your hood up. So busy trying to figure out how he can extract the two of you from this situation, he doesn’t register the sudden fall of rain until the patrons around you laugh and scream as they try to cover themselves from the harsh weather.

He blinks rapidly to get rid of the water collecting around his eyelashes, lightly banging his scomp on the wall beside you when he sees the guards filtering from the alley and surrounding the area.

“Hunter, we’re surrounded. Where are you?” Echo hisses through his commlink, turning away from the guards so he isn’t recognized. He thanks the maker that the group beside him didn’t bother moving away, the cover they were giving the two of you the only reason why you haven’t been shot at yet.

“Trying to come to you without drawing too much attention.” You hear Hunter give orders to Tech before he goes silent again, and when you try to look past Echo to see the guards, he moves with you and shields you from the open space.

“Echo,” you try to warn him, but he shakes his head and pushes you further into the wall. This close, you can almost feel the beat of his heart, but you find that you don’t really need to feel it to know how nervous he is. You aren’t sure if he’s nervous for your safety, or from being so close to you, but you find it endearing regardless. It surprised you a little to see him so protective of you, seeing as he rarely ever spoke more than a few words to you at a time, and constantly went out of his way to avoid being in your vicinity for longer than necessary.

“Quiet.” Again, Echo snaps at you, not wanting to be distracted by the sweet sound of your voice as you call his name or the heat radiating off of you as you slowly bring your arms around his waist.

“There’s no way out…is there?” The soft question fills the small space between the two of you, and Echo is no longer strong enough to ignore how perfect you fit in his arms. He shifts his gaze to your eyes, and furrows his brows at you, slowly grazing his scomp across your cheek until he feels you nuzzle into the cold, hard end of the link. His breath hitches all of a sudden, unbelieving of how easily you sought out the steel material for safety. He can’t help but study you closely, finding himself feeling jealous of the water droplets adorning your skin. Unlike him, they were touching you so intimately, rolling down your cheeks and neck until they disappeared beneath the edge of your shirt. Echo is shivering, but he knows it has nothing to do with how soaked he is from the cold rain, and everything to do with the familiarity you were offering him in such a pivotal moment.

“I’m not going to let anything happen to you, mesh’la.” Echo knows better than to offer you such a promise. You are an exceptional Jedi, one that he’s seen accomplish much in the past few months. It was quite pathetic to think that he could ever be better than you or that you needed him to keep you safe, but something about the way you smile at him, and how you wrap your arms around his waist to bring him closer, makes him say those words. He hopes you can see how genuine he is, and just as he’s about to apologize for putting you in this situation, he hears the guards move closer to the two of you.

Turning his attention to the several, heavily armed men walking towards the busy line, Echo looks around to try and find a solution, only for his eyes to land on a couple making out not too far from you in line. He narrows his eyes at them before looking down at you, finding your gaze as unwavering as ever, and staring at him as if your life depends on it.

“Kriff, I have an idea but-” He begins to say but you cut him off immediately, and Echo isn’t sure if he’s thankful or irritated that you didn’t give him a chance to finish his thought.

“I don’t care.”

“Do you trust me?” He doesn’t even know how he can put his plan into words before he carries it out, but as he grows closer to you, he understands that there’s no time to explain anything. So instead, he waits for your response and prays to the maker that you don’t leave him if his idea works and the two of you survive. He doesn’t want to lose you, ever, and the thought of how you could potentially react when he finally closes the space between the two of you makes his heart skip a beat.

“With my li-” As soon as you give him your consent, Echo wets his lips and crashes his chest into your own, pushing the hood back down your neck until he has complete access to your hair. He lets go of your waist and grabs the hair at the nape of your neck, squeezing it tightly to tilt your head to the side so he can deepen the kiss and block you from the guards’ line of sight.

He hears you gasp into the touch as soon as you feel his lips on your own, and even though he wants to open his eyes to see your reaction, he doesn’t think he’ll be able to withstand your facial expression if it conveys an ounce of disgust. Echo doesn’t have to think too much on it though, because he feels you relax in his embrace, nearly toppling over into him from how hard you clutch his side and try to pull him close into you. He groans into your mouth, and his muscles shudder with need when he feels you slip your tongue past his lips and seek him.

Echo is well aware that he should break the kiss to see if the guards are still around, but he can’t get enough of you, and the sweet taste of your lips as you meet his devotion with similar passion. He shifts you in his arms until his thigh is planted perfectly against your heated core, and without thinking much of what he’s doing, he moves his cybernetic arm down your back, pushing you against him until you feel the pressure of his hard thigh in between your legs. You break the kiss and throw your head back, whimpering his name repeatedly until he silences you with a hard bite to your jugular.

The world seems to fade away then, leaving the two of you completely lost in each other. You bite into your lip to quiet down, roaming your hand up and down Echo’s side while the other reaches for his neck to bring him closer to you. He obliges instantly, sucking and kissing along your neck until he can taste the natural scent of your skin on his tongue mixing with the droplets of rain glistening across your heated flesh. Although he wants to push you away so you don’t feel the dents and wires running from his skull down to his spine, he can’t find it in himself to stop, not when he finally had you so willing and submissive in his arms. Echo wants more, more of your sounds, more of your little hiccups, more of your voice as it whispered and moaned his name while he pleasured you.

But the moment ends abruptly when the group Echo hid behind begins to laugh and holler in an attempt to get the two of you to escalate your touches. When one of them tells Echo to save it for the club you’re both presumably in line for, he detaches from you and stares you down, watching you closely to see if you were uncomfortable by what just happened. He gets lost momentarily when he sees your eyes glazed over and shut, lips bruised from how harsh the kiss was and hands shivering violently as you fisted your fingers in his clothes. He gulps nervously and lets go of you, but he doesn’t dare move too far away, wanting to still cover you with his body should things take a turn for the worse.

Against every ounce of his being, Echo looks away from you and glances to the side, widening his eyes in shock when he finds no guards in the vicinity. He scans the entire street, and when he’s sure you’re no longer in any danger, he gulps nervously and turns back to you. If it weren’t for the rain coming down hard on the two of you and momentarily distracting him from your expression, Echo would have sworn you were gazing at him with lust-filled eyes.

“They’re gone.” He breaks the silence, and slowly lets go of you, not bothering to apologize for the way he touched you as he steps away and removes his thigh from between your legs. You lose your balance for a moment but right yourself quickly and reluctantly let go of him.

“Oh.” He hates the way you’re avoiding his eyes now, and he hopes it isn’t because you were offended by him. He studies you closely, looking at every twitch in your features and every small muscle movement to try and figure out why you were shrinking in front of him and stepping back into the wall.

Maker.

He fucked up.

“Let’s go before they circle back,” there’s nothing else he can say to break the awkward silence that has fallen over the two of you. Echo clenches his jaw tightly, fisting his hand several times before heading back to the narrow alleys.

“O-okay.” He hears you whisper not a moment later but ignores the disappointed tone of your voice, wanting to get to safety as quickly as possible before things escalate once more.

“Echo, come in.” Hunter comms soon after, and Echo waits until you’re right behind him before he responds to the rest of the group.

“Here. We’re at the rendezvous point. Where are you?” He asks while looking around for any potential danger, refusing to look towards you for the sake of not being distracted again.

“You’re not going to like this but, we can’t come to you. At least not now.”

“What do you mean not now?” He doesn’t mean to hiss at his brother, but he does anyway, ignoring the puzzled expression he knew you were most likely giving him. He’s never once spoken to Hunter in such a way, and he didn’t want to make a habit of it, but all Echo can think of is your safety, and the longer the two of you stayed out, the more likely it was for you to get hurt.

“He means, the statistical likelihood that we will not be spotted by the royal guards is awfully low. If we were to come now, we would be putting the two of you in more danger.” Tech cuts in, making Wrecker mumble something or other about statistical likelihoods never being in their favor.

“Karking hells,” Echo swears, shaking his head in irritation as understanding washes over him. Had it not been for the chat he held with that lady in the market, you would have already been on the Marauder heading out.

“I suggest you find a place to lay low. Once we figure something out, we’ll let you know.” Hunter responds a while later, and Echo takes a few deep breaths to calm himself and clear his mind of any unnecessary thoughts.

“Echo, can you hear me?” The clone leader speaks again, this time with a firmer tone, making Echo frown instantly and finally look at you. He finds you avoiding his gaze just as much, and he feels sick to his stomach for being the reason behind such a resigned look.

“Yes, yes. Loud and clear.”

Echo shakes his head and moves behind you, silently telling you to move ahead of him so he can keep an eye out and have your back. He thinks of the best plan of action to take now, but there isn’t a single option that doesn’t have plenty of risks for the both of you. He continues walking, hand on the blaster hanging from his side in case the guards return again.

So busy studying the street, Echo doesn’t notice you stop until he bumps into you, nearly tripping over your body and crashing onto the ground. You steady him immediately, clearing your throat when he lets out a whispered swear as soon as you touch his arm.

“Why did you stop?”

“There’s an inn I saw a couple of buildings back.” You avoid making eye contact with him, and Echo misses the playful glint he always saw in your eyes whenever he looked into them. He wants to raise your chin so he can take a better look at you, but he knows the last thing he should be doing right now is touching you so intimately again.

“The risk is too high.” All things considered, it’s a pretty good option, better than anything he thought of thus far, but he doesn’t want to think of staying somewhere where he isn’t keeping an eye on you, or worse, remaining in the same room as you for a whole night.

“Well, I’d rather be somewhere where we’re less noticeable. Don’t you?” You gaze into his eyes briefly, and Echo nearly loses his train of thoughts when he sees how dilated your pupils still remain. He stares at you for longer than deemed appropriate, clearing his throat awkwardly when he notices you shifting your weight from one foot to the other.

“Uhh, yeah…you’re right. L-lead the way.” He motions for you to go in front of him, and as your shoulder grazes his arm when you move past him, Echo notices your frown deepen. He doesn’t know what comes over him, but all of a sudden, you’re turning around and staring at him with what he can only explain as a hopeful look. He parts his lips to try and explain himself, but he quickly recognizes that you’ve only stopped because he had reached out to you and grabbed your wrist. Looking down at where he’s touching your bare skin, Echo shakes his head and snaps himself out of his thoughts, letting go immediately and shifting his gaze to your eyes once again.

“I- sorry…I’ll follow you.” He hates that he can barely string up a proper sentence in your presence now, but he thanks the maker when you merely nod at him and make your way down the street.

Neither of you says anything as you walk underneath the darker parts of town, completely avoiding the other’s gaze as well as those walking past you. Echo wants to break the awkward silence, but he knows he will either have nothing to say or may actually make the situation worse and say something idiotic. He stays close behind you though, and senses a strange feeling take over him every time he looks up and sees you move your line of sight away from him, as if he’s caught you staring at him.

Unbeknownst to him, you’re trying your best to keep your emotions in check, but every time you slow down and glance at him briefly, your mind worries all over again and you think over what happened not too long ago. It’s only when you notice Echo’s eyebrows furrow and twitch as he catches up with your pace that you realize you were unintentionally transferring your anxiety to him.

You halt in your steps as understanding washes over you, and Echo is at your side in the blink of an eye, hand on your back as he attempts to check on you.

“Is something wrong? Do you sense anything?” Gone is the shy, embarrassed clone trooper that has been avoiding your eyes for the past thirty minutes, and you look up at him with tear-filled eyes, nearly asking him why he was so uncomfortable with you now when he had his tongue down your throat, enthusiastically, a while ago. But you see the worry etched on his features, and you stop yourself before you say anything, afraid that the question might make matters worse and push him away further.

“Sorry no, it’s- it’s nothing. I’m just tired.” You can tell Echo knows you’re lying when he looks you over and doesn’t notice any signs of fatigue on you. He swallows the lump in his throat and removes his hand from your back, taking two steps back and looking out the street to see where the two of you are.

“We’re here anyway, let’s get inside before anyone spots us.” You point across the street, and don’t bother waiting for him to acknowledge your comment before you’re crossing the street. You hear Echo sigh tiredly behind you, and although you want to tell him that everything is going to be fine, you know that he’ll see right through the fake comforting words and say something snarky in return.

Best to leave it then…

“Hello,” putting on the best smile you can muster up, you call out to the theelin sitting behind a round desk at the center of the lobby.

“Rates are behind me. No negotiation. Full payment upfront. Take it or leave it.” He doesn’t bother looking up at you, continuing to scroll through the holopad in his hand as he taps his foot on the desk and lightly moves back and forth on his chair.

“Good evening to you too.” Echo murmurs beneath his breath, but the man catches his remark and finally looks up at the two of you. You clench your fists tightly when you see him narrow his eyes at Echo, and you hope to the maker that he doesn’t say anything offensive to him because you are in no mood to play nice with anyone.

“Don’t get snippy with me.” Echo must notice your hand moving to your lightsaber because he quickly slips his fingers around your wrist and tugs on it until it’s back on your side again. Taking a deep breath, you remember the purpose of your presence in the establishment and decide to hold out your patience for just a little longer.

“I’m sorry for my boyfriend here, it’s been a long day and I made him walk around for most of it. We’ll take a room for the night please?” You quickly slip your hands around Echo’s arm, nuzzling into his shoulder in a dramatic show of affection, hoping that the man in front of you was stupid enough to see past the discomfort the clone trooper beside you clearly still held for you, and actually believe your poorly-told lie.

“That’s 100 credits, sweetheart.”

“100 credits? This place isn’t even-” Echo steps forward and nearly goes on a rant, but the theelin throws the holopad aside and stands up.

“Want to make it 200, metalhead?”

If it were possible for you to see red so easily, you think you would have been blinded by it now and took the man’s head off before he can take in another breath. But something about the way Echo winces next to you brings you back to yourself, and you let go of him, not bothering for hiding yourself as you step towards the man and gesture with your hand at him.

“You will give us the room for free.”

“I- I will give you the room for free.” He repeats not a moment later, and you can vaguely feel Echo’s shock through the Force, but you say nothing of it now, not wanting to draw any more attention to yourself.

“You will allow us to keep the room until we no longer need it.”

“I will allow you to keep the room until you no longer need it.” He repeats once more, and you smile to yourself when he doesn’t blink once as he follows your orders and checks his data pad for the available rooms.

“Give us the most secluded room you have here.” You order one last time, looking at Echo to gauge his reaction. You thought you would find him somewhat angry with you at using the Force for something so trivial, but instead, you find him smiling and shaking his head while scouting the room to ensure that you’re alone.

“Seventh floor to the right. The code is 99731.”

“Thank you, and if it’s all the same, we don’t wish to be disturbed.” You fake another smile at him and move towards the elevator, but not before breaking the cameras hanging all around the lobby and the top of the elevator.

“You will not be disturbed.” He whispers back as he sits down again and returns to his holopad, making Echo chuckle to himself before motioning for you to enter the elevator first.

“Asshole…” You hiss at him and watch as Echo moves to the entrance to see if anyone is following you.

“Come on, before anyone shows up.” You call to Echo, not wanting to remain out in the open for longer than necessary. The silence is back at full-force when he enters the elevator, but you sense that Echo isn’t as uncomfortable in your presence as before, and you sigh in relief at moving past whatever awkwardness that took over ever since he kissed you. The elevator signals your arrival, and your hand moves to your weapon immediately. Echo sees your reaction and holds his hand out, silently telling you to remove your hand from your lightsaber. You meet his eyes and blink at him shyly before resting your hand at your side, forcing yourself to look as relaxed as possible so no one around will suspect you of anything.

Echo is first to get out, turning to the right and heading towards the only door on the floor. He waits until you’re beside him before pushing in the code, and as the steel door slides open, he steps to the side to allow you to enter first before he walks in behind you. As soon as the two of you are in the safety of the room, Echo locks the door and pushes his scomp through the keypad beside the holopad on the wall to ensure that it can only be opened from inside.

“Hmm, it’s genuinely better than I thought it would be.” He hears you comment from behind him and turns around to study the room, his heart instantly dropping at the site of the bed at the edge of the space. His eyes shift to the large windows nearby and although he wants to marvel at the view from the room, his mind immediately returns to the small issue staring back at him.

Of course there would only be one bed.

“Yeah, except for-” Echo points at the bed, looking up at you and waiting until you follow his line of sight before he says anything else.

“Except for what?” You ask as you take off your cloaks and fold them neatly before placing them on one of the chairs.

“That.”

“Ah, not keen on sharing a bed with me Echo?” You raise a curious eyebrow at him, unbuckling the belt around your waist, along with the lightsaber, and placing them on top of your robes. Echo watches you like a loth-wolf, eyeing your body for any signs of discomfort and finding it rather confusing that you were actually comfortable around him now. You were going to be alone with him for the next rotation, perhaps even more, and there was only one bed in the room, making this a much more intimate situation than he thought ever possible.

“No, I mean yes…it’s n-not that I don’t want to, it’s just…I can’t.”

“Can’t or won’t?” You cross your arms, and Echo’s eyes shift to your heaving chest for a brief second before they return above your neckline immediately. He clears his throat once and clenches his fist tightly, pushing the socket of his other arm behind his back in an attempt to show you how much he really didn’t want to answer your question.

“Right.” You notice his shy demeanor almost instantly, not from the clear shift in his body language, but from the way his Force signature changes to a much deeper shade of green than it usually is as soon as you ask your question. You say nothing else as you dismiss the whole conversation and shake your hand at him, walking around the room until Echo can see that you’re clearly disregarding whatever just happened for his sake. He’s quiet for a long time, and it’s only when he comes out of the refresher that you realize he’s left you all alone for a while, hence the lack of any noise from where you thought he was standing.

“Tech has our coordinates.” He breaks the silence and you see from your periphery that he was waiting for you to acknowledge that bit of information so he can go about whatever he was planning on doing for the near future.

“Okay.” Echo doesn’t know what he expected you to say, but it certainly wasn’t something as short and straightforward as this response. He can’t take his eyes off of you, and he wonders why you weren’t trying to get out of your drenched clothes.

Kriff, of course you weren’t going to strip down to nothing when you didn’t have a change of clothes. If there was another room, you would have been much more comfortable and warmer already. His mere presence was an inconvenience to you and Echo mentally slapped himself for, yet again, being such a nuisance.

If he were being honest with himself, however, he didn’t mind your state of attire at the moment. In fact, he enjoyed it immensely, especially since he could see your muscles through the thin material of your Jedi robes. His train of thoughts snaps him out of his haze and he chides himself for being such a creeper when you were most likely cursing the day you signed up to go on this mission with him.

He thinks you’re going to meditate, but when you stand at the windows and look across the city, Echo decides then and there that he’ll use this moment to apologize for the events of the day, and maybe explain to you why he was the reason behind your current predicament.

“Listen, I uhh…I wanted to apologize about earlier.” He approaches you slowly, hoping that he gains his voice quickly so his apology doesn’t come off disingenuous. You don’t acknowledge him until he stands next to you, and even then, you continue to stare out the window, not bothering to spare him so much as a glance.

“What about it?” The tone of your voice calms him a little, but he feels his nerves rise when he begins to explain himself and watches as you slowly turn towards him, eyes aimed to your fingers as they fiddle together anxiously. Hmm, perhaps he wasn’t the only nervous one here.

“I shouldn’t have stopped at the market. I should’ve been more aware of the guards watching us. If it hadn’t been for the time I wasted, we would be with the rest of the group by now.” Echo knows he may not be making a lot of sense, but when he finally looks at you, he finds a rather puzzling expression on your features. He thought you’d be irritated with him, perhaps even angry for him being the reason behind the chase around the city.

“What? Why are you staring at me like that?” He asks softly, not wanting to make it seem as if you didn’t have a right to look at him in such a manner.

“Nothing, it’s just…well, I thought you were apologizing for the kiss. I’m surprised that…ugh, nevermind.” His breath hitches when he registers your response, and just when he thinks you’re going to part with valuable words, you stop and turn away from him, facing the rain as it comes down harshly on the windows and prevents you from seeing the lights more clearly.

“I- I want to apologize for the kiss too. I should have given you a heads up before I…before we, you know.” Echo takes one step towards you and nearly reaches out to grab your arm, but he senses that you may not want him to come anywhere near you now and holds himself back. He wants you to say something, anything, to what he just said. But when you remain silent, he knows that nothing he’ll say will push you to speak with him. As twisted as it may be, Echo thinks that he’d rather have you yell at him for jeopardizing your life and the mission than the quietness befalling the two of you again.

Shaking his head, Echo reaches around and takes out the soft silk he’s kept tucked safely in his bag for the better half of the night.

“Here, I got t-this for you.” He turns the fabric over several times, letting it slide easily off of his cybernetic arm before holding it out to you. Echo thinks you will probably ignore him again, but to his shock, you face him almost instantly and look down at the soft silk intertwining in between his fingers. Looking into his eyes for a brief moment, you slowly reach for the scarf and take it from his hand, wrapping it several times around your fingers before letting it slide easily away from them and hang from where you’re pinching the material.

“It’s why I stopped when we were scouting the market place. I saw it and…it reminded me of you. I thought it would look pretty on you, especially since it’s the color of your lightsaber and all.” Echo scratches the back of his neck nervously, the smile he throws your way filled with the kind of hope that makes his actions from earlier much clearer to your mind. You finger the material for a while, wondering how you could have been so oblivious to his demeanor towards you. There’s nothing you can do except raise the scarf to your face and rub it against your cheek, feeling the softness of the fabric and wondering if Echo’s touch would feel just as soothing to your heated skin.

You look at him through heavy-lidded eyes and return the smile, waiting until his shoulders visibly relax before you throw the scarf aside and take a step towards him.

“I have nothing to give you in return…” You whisper to Echo, eyeing him closely to gauge his reaction to the proximity between your bodies.

“That’s okay, mesh’la. I didn’t do this for-” He begins to say but stops when he sees you growing even closer before resting both of your hands around his shoulders. He stops breathing and stares at you without blinking, praying to the maker that this wasn’t one of his dreams, and he was, in fact, feeling the touch of your skin on his yearning body.

“Except perhaps…this.” It’s the only warning Echo receives before you stand on your tiptoes and nudge your nose against his own. He parts his lips to say something but you don’t give him a chance to so much as breathe, molding your lips with his own in a chaste kiss, one that reminds him of the first intimate touch he shared with you not a whole hour prior. He shuts his eyes, wanting to commit every little caress and moan to memory before you decide to pull away and leave him.

But then you tilt your head to the side and deepen the kiss, and Echo knows then that he isn’t dreaming. No, this sensation felt too real. You were fisting your hands in his clothes, urging him to tower over you and return the kiss with as much fervor.

Then he remembers what was just transpiring between the two of you and he breaks the gesture abruptly, pushing you away to try and ground himself before he looks into your eyes again.

“Sweetheart, you don’t have to.” His voice is hoarse and he curses how easily affected he is by you. Expecting you to walk away from him, Echo looks down and pretends to focus on the ground so he doesn’t witness you leaving him.

But he should have known that you’d never do what he expects you to.

Without missing a beat, you throw your arms around his neck and bring your chest as flush to his own as possible, leaning into his space until your lips graze over his jaw and leave a trail of hot kisses down his neck to the little bit of his chest peeking through the damp clothes.

“But Echo, I want to. I really really want to.” You break the silence and bite into your lips mischievously when you pull away and notice the way Echo is gazing upon you. He stares at your features for what feels like hours before he responds.

“Yeah?” The question is completely unnecessary, at least that’s what you think, but you nod frantically to push aside any doubts the man in front of you is clearly having in response to your behavior. He slowly brings his arm around your waist and pushes on your lower back until there isn’t an inch in between the two of you.

“Force only knows how much I’ve wanted you ever since I joined the group. I can’t stop thinking about you, and…when we kissed earlier, I thought the feelings were mutual.” It’s your turn to question his feelings, but Echo is quick to brush aside whatever spiraling thoughts your mind was giving itself away to, bringing his cybernetic arm to your chin and raising your head until he looks straight into your dilated orbs.

“They are, oh sweetheart they are.” His exclamation hits you light a blaster shot, and you don’t blink once, wanting to look him in the eyes when you ask him the following question.

“Then w-why did you apologize?”

“Because I thought I made you uncomfortable. I thought I forced myself on you…and I thought you’d never look at me again because of what I did. Cyare, I would do anything to keep you safe, to keep you near me.” The desperation overflowing from his aura seeps into his words, and you feel your heart skip a beat at the prospect of being someone so important to him. It was against your upbringing, your values, your beliefs. To rely on another so heavily and hold a similar effect on them. It was unthinkable.

But here he was, laying down his soul for you to take without caring whether you could offer him anything in return. Little did he know, though, that you’d given yourself to him a long time ago.

Letting go of him, you take a step back and slowly remove the remaining robes from around your shoulders, until you’re left in nothing but a thin shirt and pair of cargo pants. Echo watches you intently, unsure of what it is you’re doing until his eyes take in the way you unbutton your pants and let them drop to the ground.

“What- what are you doing?” He’s nervous for a different reason now, and you smile at him to put his mind at ease, not wanting to overdo in case he isn’t ready to take such a monumental step with you.

“You said you’d do anything to keep me near you.” You respond as if it was the most sensical action to take, and as you step out of your pants and play with the hem of your shirt, Echo can’t help but trail his eyes across your body, marveling to himself at the rippling muscles and scars adorning your skin. He’s dreamt of this moment so often that he lost count of how many times he woke up sweating and touching himself. But now that he is here, Echo understands that nothing, absolutely nothing, compares to you in front of him now.

Breathtaking.

“Yeah but you- you don’t have to…we don’t have to do anything.” It’s the opposite of what he wants to say, what he feels, but he doesn’t want you to think that he’s the type of man to take advantage of the circumstances and use you. Granted, he desperately wanted to give into the moment, but not at the cost of you thinking so negatively of him.

“Echo, I want you to be with me.” You practically moan for him, moving into his space and grazing your fingers up and down his chest until his knees nearly give out. Echo throws his head back and purrs at the soft, teasing touches you were gracing him with, and when you call for him again, he knows he’s made up his mind.

“Be with me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely.” You answer instantly, leaning up and kissing his jaw until he takes you into his embrace once more. He nuzzles his cheeks against your temple, taking in a long whiff of your scent until the only thing he can sense is you.

“A-are you sure?” You ask with a hesitation Echo never thought you capable of, and he chuckles at the mind-boggling question before he leans back and meets your gaze.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything else in my life, cyar’ika.” You attack his mouth soon after, swallowing his groans when he parts his lips and welcomes you in enthusiastically. You thought his shy demeanor would continue, but the deeper the kiss becomes, the more bold the clone trooper is with his touches. Whereas his hand was at a respectful spot earlier, you have to stop yourself from giggling against his lips as soon as you feel his fingers dig in the flesh of your ass and squeeze tightly. The wet clothes still covering you barely leave anything to the imagination, but you gasp all the same when Echo slips his palm inside your panties and slides his fingers a little further down until he can feel how wet you are for him.

You tilt your head to the side and sigh his name as he continues to familiarize himself with your skin, and before you can register what’s happening, Echo is leaning down and biting harshly on your shoulder, snapping you out of whatever haze that’s fallen over you and forcing you to look at him.

“Let me see all of you,” his pleading words are music to your ears, and you don’t waste another second, quickly discarding your shirt while he kneels down and lowers your panties. When he stands to his height, he takes a step back until he hits the cold glass windows, roaming his eyes down your body until he satisfies his mind’s eye with the image of your perfection. You bask in the attention he gives you, keeping your hands to yourself for as long as possible until you can no longer stand there without touching him.

As soon as you grab the hem of his shirt, however, Echo snaps out of his haze and grabs your wrist to stop you from viewing him to your hungry eyes.

“Wait, I-”

“Yes?” You frown at him but don’t follow through with your intentions, waiting patiently until he feels he can answer your question with ease.

“I don’t think you want to see me. It- it doesn’t look good underneath all these clothes.” His response comes to you as a shock, considering how he seldom cared for his looks. The way he’s avoiding your eyes now makes you wonder if he always cared for his appearance but you just never noticed it, or if he was only so self-conscious due to the situation you found yourself in. You realize that you don’t really care why he thinks of himself in such a way, or why he thought you’d even care for something so trivial. Not wanting to push him past his comfort zone, you let go of his shirt and wrap your arms around his waist to bring him as close to you as possible.

“Echo, I don’t care. I don’t care how you look. I want you for you…for your sweet words, and your kind heart, and your generous spirit. I want you baby, I don’t care for anything else.” You hope he can believe the genuineness of your words, or at the very least, see that you weren’t the type of person to care for such an insignificant characteristic. You don’t like how closed off his body language is, and you kiss across his chest and arms to soothe his anxiety so he doesn’t leave altogether.

“But if you’re not comfortable with me just yet, then I will respect that. I won’t pressure you to do anything you don’t want to do.” The reassuring words wash over him like lukewarm water and he relaxes beneath your touch with each little peck you leave on his touch-starved skin, until he is sure you managed to mark every visible inch of him. Echo thinks he might lose his mind from how sweet you’re being with him, his breathing becoming erratic when whisper sweet words against his skin with every little kiss and touch you caress him with,

“If you’ll allow me though, I will worship every inch of you…as you deserve.” You promise him as you circle your arms around his body and dig your fingers into his back, wanting him to be as close to you as possible so he can feel your honesty through the Force.

“You- you truly want me this much, sweetheart?” He’s shaking in your embrace, and you chuckle in return at the oddity of the question. If only he knew how much you craved him.

“Oh you have no idea,” you respond right away, not wanting him to think you’re laughing at his question, or worse, at his reaction. You pull back enough to take a good look at him, and you focus all of your energy on the space between the two of you, wanting him to know that you weren’t telling a single lie. He must be in tune with your intentions because his expression relaxes greatly when he meets your eyes and sees nothing but adoration aimed at him.

“Then…I’m all yours.”

“You’ll tell me if you don’t like something.” You want nothing more than to push him down and have your way with him, but you want him to know that you’ll gladly stop if you do something he doesn’t particularly enjoy. He was very much in control of the situation, and you desperately wished he believed that as well.

“Y-yeah.” His voice is not as reluctant as before, but you get the sense that he was still shy, perhaps even afraid of the prospect of revealing his body to you. Not wanting to waste anothering moment, you take his hand in your own and lead him to the bed, softly pushing on his chest until he sits down and makes space for you in between his thighs. Echo gulps nervously as you trail your fingers across his flushed skin, only to cease breathing when you lean down and cup his cheeks, keeping him still beneath you so you can kiss his forehead and whisper more assurances to him.

His hand gravitates to your thigh and he holds onto your leg to try and force himself to focus on your touches and nothing else. You continue to kiss his face as you bend over and grab the edge of his shirt, slowly pulling it up until he raises his arms for you to take it off of him completely. When you throw it aside and kneel in front of him, Echo rests his hand on your shoulder and wishes for the impossible.

He mourns the times he could have shared with you if you had just met him before Skako Minor.

“Maker,” the sentiment brings him out of his reverie before he can dwell too long on the ‘what ifs,’ and he pouts at you when he sees the expression on your pretty features shift several times until a sense of somber anger lingers through and remains unchanging.

“I- I told you it didn’t look great.”

“Baby, if I could take away your pain, I would do it…in a heartbeat.” You don’t want him to misunderstand your reaction, and you apologize for everything that’s been done to him, moving into his space until you can rest your cheek over his heart. It beats wildly against your ear and you hope it isn’t due to fear or nervousness. Against your better judgment, you tap into his Force signature and sigh in relief as understanding dawns over you.

Echo isn’t embarrassed to be seen by you but guilty, of what you are unsure. But you push on and rest your lips against his chest until his heart beats even harder beneath you.

“Kriff,” he curses and slides his hand across your back to your neck, grasping it tightly to tilt your head so he can look into your eyes and thank you for being so patient with him.

“You mean so much to me,” you smile at him, leaning into the possessive touch before giving equal attention to the rest of his broad chest. You keep your hands over his hips, knowing that things would surrey escalate quickly if you didn’t pace yourself and think of his comfort first

“Ah…s-sweetheart,” Echo moans beneath you, his breaths coming in erratic when he feels your tongue slide over his muscles and leave a trail of your mark across him.

“And I will never let anything happen to you…ever again.” Although the tone of your voice comes off a little aggressive, Echo knows that it is your sense of protection making you this possessive of him, and not something he should fear. You were among the most well-respected Jedi, and although he knew that the events of the night would not benefit you in any way, he chose to think over the fact that the Jedi Order no longer existed and how honest you would be with him if you truly didn’t want this. No longer able to keep himself sitting upright, Echo throws his head back and falls onto the bed when he feels your teeth graze over his collarbone.

“Oh fuck, your mouth feels so good…please,” he hears you giggle sweetly at him as you stand up and straddle his waist. You don’t give him any respite however, attacking him with your tongue, and teeth and hands until he’s a shaking mess underneath you. He grabs your ass with his hand and rests the scomp of his other one over your thighs, unintentionally bucking his hips into your wet core as soon as he feels you rub yourself on him. He’s hard and wanting, incapable of thinking of anything else but the immense pleasure you were bestowing upon him.

It occurs to him that he rather enjoys you taking what you want from him, and he wonders if you’d be willing to remain in charge until the two of you reach release. There’s something so inherently sexy about a powerful Jedi such as yourself descending to their basest of instincts just to reach that unimaginable pleasure, and he feels honored that he is the one to throw you over the edge so quickly. He never thought you’d react in such an unhinged, nearly violent way to him, but he can’t find it in himself to care, especially now when he could see you let go completely just to make him see the galaxies in your arms.

“Tell me what you want Echo, I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

“I- I want you, love. Just you.” Echo manages to flutter his eyes open in time to see you move lower across his body, parting his lips in anticipation when you unbutton his cargo pants and reach inside to take him in your hand. He sucks in a harsh breath as soon as he feels the palm of your hand cup his cock and squeeze it tightly. When he looks into your eyes, he sees them glistening wickedly with such strong emotions that he nearly comes then and there. For some reason, he genuinely thought you’d be the type to shy away from such lewd displays of affections, but you prove him wrong again and spit in your other hand before sitting up to lower down the rest of his pants and free him from the confines of his clothes.

“You already have me.” You whisper to him as you begin to bend over his body to take his cock in your mouth, but Echo shakes his head at you and grabs your hand, not bothering to give you any explanation as he pulls you up until you fall against his chest.

“Come here,” he swallows your surprised shrieks with an intense kiss, refusing to let go of you even as you begin to jerk him off and tease the base of his cock with your soft fingers. Only when you reach lower and massage his balls does Echo finally break the kiss, groaning your name wantonly as you squeeze the tip of his cock while biting his neck and shoulder. You try to slither down his body again but Echo whispers a quick ‘no’ before grabbing your neck and keeping you against his chest.

“But I-” you want to tell him that there’s nothing more you need in this world than to feel him hot and heavy in your mouth, but Echo doesn’t give you the chance to continue, once again calling your name sweetly so he can hold your undivided attention.

“We have all the time in the galaxy, you can do whatever you want with me later.” He smiles at you when he sees you whine in disapproval, the expression throwing you off completely because of how rare it is to see it so genuine and pure.

“But right now, I really want to feel your cunt wrapped around my cock.” His words shoot straight to your core, halting your actions in an instant and sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin.

“Oh,” you look in between his eyes and briefly question whether they were always this light hazel color. All clones had similar physical features, even those in your crew. The differences were more pronounced amongst the Bad Batch for obvious reasons, but the color of their eyes never changed.

But now that you were laying so close to Echo, you swear his eyes are different from the others. They rarely displayed strong emotions, and you think it’s because Echo often tried to hide his true feelings from the others around him so they wouldn’t worry too much about him. But looking at him now, you come to accept that his pretty gaze would always be a source of serenity and safety for you.

You want to tell him how much you love his eyes, how you’ll never be able to look into another’s so intimately, how honored you feel for being at the receiving end of such a loving gaze. But Echo surprises you suddenly as he lets go of your neck and expertly moves his hand in between your bodies until he graces your wet folds with two of his fingers. He moans against your cheek when he feels your slit gush for him, and as slowly as possible, he rubs your clit a few times to wet his fingers so he can slide them into your cunt with ease. You shut your eyes and call for him as you feel his digits fill you up, and Echo mirrors your actions from before, leaning up just enough to lick your neck before sinking his teeth into the space just above your clavicle.

“Fuck sweetheart, you’re already so wet. Is this all for me?” He fucks you slowly with his fingers, the sound of your slick filling the night air becoming music to his ears. For a moment, he realizes that he should have probably asked you if this is okay, but he remembers who you are and how easily you could climb off of him if you didn’t enjoy his ministrations. You pray his name over and over again, and Echo swears this must be what heaven feels like because never in his life did he think he’d live to have you so desperate and submissive in his arms.

“I- yes, it’s all for you Echo. You kissed me and…I- I’m always like this whenever you’re around.” Your confession fills him with pride, and he thrusts his hips against you to get some friction against his achingly hard cock.

“Is that right?” Echo wants to ask more, but he knows his mind is running out of coherent thoughts the more you drench his fingers and mark him with your essence. To think that you were always so ready to take him by just being in his vicinity flips a switch in Echo’s mind and he picks up his pace, wanting to feel you come on his fingers before he can finally shove his cock in your cunt.

“Yes…oh gods yes. Please Echo, show me how much you want me.”

“I’m going to take my time with you…map every inch of your skin with my lips. I’ll never stop showing you how much I…how much I care for you cyar’ika.” Hearing him finally tell you how deeply he feels for you is enough to throw you over the edge, and you grab onto his shoulders while resting your forehead against his own as soon as your body gives into the pleasure and shudders from how hard the orgasm hits you. You want to tell him that you care for him as well, more than that if you’re being honest, but he doesn’t slow down and continues to twist and push his fingers against your tight walls until you can’t breathe any more.

“Echo,” you call for him once, and a part of you wishes you didn’t say anything because he stops and removes his fingers from your slit. You can feel your juices coating his hand as he roams his palm over your back and drags your essence across your skin. Raising your head, you bite into your lips when you see the way he’s looking at you, and as you’re about to tell him those three fateful words you’ve been holding back for some time now, Echo pushes his hand between your sweaty bodies again and takes hold of his dick, teasing your clit with soft passes until you begin to roll your hips above him and coat his length with your cum.

“You going to let me make love to you baby? You going to let me fuck you so deep till you can’t think of anything else but my cock?”

“Please Echo,” you’re not above begging, and you hope that Echo doesn’t wait any longer before giving in to his desires.

“Kriffing hells, if I’d known it takes so little to get you moaning my name like that, I would have gotten on my knees and begged you to let me touch you from the very first time I laid my eyes on you.” He thrusts up into you, smirking at your reactions when he spreads your thighs wider and nudges your clit with the head of his cock.

“Echo, I need you…now. You- you said we’d take our time later.” Again, Echo kisses across your neck as he pushes his dick against you, bringing his cybernetic arm around your back as soon as you fall over him and nuzzle into his neck. You bring your arms above his head and keep him in your embrace, rolling your hips along with him to entice him enough so he can finally put you out of your misery and take you.

“You want my cock, little love?” The pet name does something to you, but you will yourself to not be distracted by his sweet words, wanting to hold all of your attention on feeling him beneath you.

“Desperately.”

“Then you can have it,” the only warning you have is a deep, guttural groan emitting from Echo’s chest as he slowly pushes his cock inside your cunt, bringing his hand over your ass and applying enough pressure to keep you planted flush against him.

“O-ohhhh…”

Neither of you move for what feels like hours, and Echo swears against your ears when you clench tightly around him and somehow pull him in deeper.

“F-fuck,” he digs his fingers into the flesh of your back, refusing to have any space between your bodies out of fear of this being nothing more than a dream.

“Move…please move.” You grind on top of him to test the waters, but Echo growls for you to stop, wanting to commit this moment to memory so he can revisit it whenever he feels particularly needy for you.

“Hold on, just let me…let me feel you. L-let me feel all of you.” The way his voice breaks does something to you, and you obey him without a second thought, leaning up just a little so you can take a better look at him. You find his eyes tightly shut, and you caress his eyelids with your lips until they relax and slowly flutter open to see you.

“Echo, you’re so good…so good to me.” You bite into your lower lip when your comment makes him push up into you, sending his cock into that special spot inside of you that makes you shake in weakness.

“If you keep talking like that, I won’t last much longer sweetheart.” He warns you with a shallow thrust, and you hover your mouth over his lips when he sets a slow pace, shoving his cock in and out of you so gently and steadily until that familiar tight knot in your lower stomach begins to unravel again.

“Kriff baby, you’re fucking hot…so tight ‘round me. So fucking good.”

“And you feel so hard inside me…filling me up like no one else has before.” You lick his lower lip, giving the corner of his mouth a quick kiss before you rest your forehead against his cheek and start pushing yourself down on his dick, meeting his sweet touches with hard thrusts of your own.

“Yeah? Tell me sweetheart, has anyone fucked you the way I do?”

“No…gods no.” You barely manage to breathe in between those words, making Echo chuckle at your desperation while struggling with his own.

“Has- has anyone kissed you like I do?” He asks with hope and expectation, praying to the maker that you give him the answer he craves.

“Never,” you nearly choke on your saliva when Echo begins to fuck up into you harder, the tip of his cock passing over your walls so deliciously that you swear you can feel ever ridge and ever vein on his dick the deeper he comes inside of you.

“Fuck…fuck, ahhh- has anyone touched you how I do?” Echo is bordering on the edge of ecstasy, and you moan his name like a benediction when he stops for a second to enjoy the feeling of your cunt wrapped around him before he continues his rough thrusts once more.

“No one Echo, oh fuck, please…right there.”

“Ner cyare, I- I…” He wants to say so much, reveal his heart’s secrets so he can finally know if you feel the same way he does. But the need to make you come on his cock outweighs everything else, and he pushes his nose against your jugular while wrapping both of his arms around your back to keep you as flush to him as possible.

“I know baby, I know.” You’re shaking in his arms, hugging him tightly as you surrender to his ministrations. Something snaps inside Echo because he begins to fuck you with abandon until you can feel him and only him.

“So close,” you whisper against his cheek, not knowing how to help him reach his own peak in return. He barely gives you the chance to push off of him so you do the only thing within your power, you lean down and kiss his temple while he fills you up over and over again.

“Me too sweetheart, me too.”

“Kiss me Echo,” his breathing is erratic but he obeys you instantly, molding his lips with your own in a hungry kiss until your senses are flooded with his touch and his taste and his presence.

I love you Echo, so much.

Your voice echoes in his mind for seconds on end, and Echo cums inside of you as soon as he registers what you just did. You swallow his moans as he shoots his seed into your cunt, filling you up with every hard thrust until he feels your walls flutter around him. You break the kiss as you climax, letting your head fall into his neck as you sob violently from the intensity of your orgasm. He’s managed to coax pleasure from your body in such a short period of time, but you get the sense that it was only possible because it is him. The fact that he’s head you wrapped around his finger for such a long time probably had some effect on you as well, but you pay those thoughts no mind as you slowly come down from your high and feel Echo make more of a mess of you when he pulls out and nudges his cock in between your damp bodies.

You stay in each other’s arms for a long time, only deciding to move when your sweat cools down and makes you shiver. Ever the gentleman, Echo sits up while keeping you in his arms, somehow managing to maneuver the two of you around across the bed until you’re both laying down against the pillows. He pulls up the covers over your bodies, pulling you into his side and wrapping his arm around your back to keep you close to his heart.

“About what I said, I- don’t think too much on it.” You break the silence all of a sudden, and Echo has to sift through everything you said to figure out what you’re referring to.

“Hmm?”

“I don’t want you to think that you have to…you know, say it back.” It’s only when you say that last sentiment that Echo finally knows what you’re talking about, and he holds back the sarcastic comment on the tip of his tongue when he looks down and sees something akin to anxiety swimming in your eyes.

“Don’t you know?” It’s a simple question, and Echo doesn’t leave the silence to linger for too long, wanting you to know that he cares for you as much as you care for him, perhaps even more.

“I love you too mesh’la, with all my heart.” The revelation nearly sends your heart leaping out of your chest, and you can only smile and lean up to kiss him in response, unsure of whether you had the wherewithal to say any coherent sentence now. Echo in turn kisses the crown of your head, tracing random patterns across your shoulders when he feels you relax into him as the moments roll by.

“Thank you for the scarf, and for thinking of me.”

“I’m always thinking of you, little love. You- you never leave my mind really.”

“Neither do you.”

The depths of your words reminds Echo of your identity, and he smiles down at you when he realizes that such a sentiment probably meant a great deal to you considering your upbringing and the rules you were tasked to follow since your childhood. He wants to ask you about your attachment to him, but he knows it’s not the time to do so, and he has no wish to ruin the moment by bringing up something so “sensitive.”

“So that thing you did, before I…you know.” Even though he just said the filthiest things to you, he shies away from saying anything crude now, mostly because he’s afraid it would come out more awkward than it sounds in his head.

“Came?” You finish the thought for him and Echo winces briefly before nodding in agreement.

“Y-yeah.”

Something happens between his response and your understanding of it because all of a sudden, you’re sitting up and resting your hand on Echo’s chest as you apologize profusely to him.

“Oh maker, did I- I made you uncomfortable, didn’t I? I should have asked before I presumed you’d…Echo, I’m so sorry. It didn’t ever occur to me that you wouldn’t be comfortable with that considering what happened on-”

“Cyare, sweetheart…look at me.” Echo sits up and tugs you into him, not caring for how the wires on his chest might hurt you as he keeps you against his chest rather forcefully and refuses to let up.

“I didn’t mind it, one bit. On the contrary, I was going to ask if you can do it again.” He says quickly to avoid whatever misunderstanding that was about to unfold, only letting go of you when he sees you register his words in your mind.

“Really?” Your expression turns from one of worry to shock, and Echo smiles at how easily surprised you can be.

“It…felt nice, hearing your voice inside my mind I mean. I really liked it, made me feel so connected to you.” Echo roams his fingers down your neck to your sternum, moving them across your breasts slowly until he notices your nipples pebble beneath his touch. He’s distracted for a second when he flicks one peak with his thumb and makes you fall over him.

“Because your cock fucking me so deep wasn’t connecting us enough?” You ask teasingly, giggling like a little girl when he sighs in irritation and falls back into the bed, taking you along with him.

“And here I thought I could have a nice moment with you.”

“You know you’re enjoying this just as much.” You tilt his head so he can look at you again, tapping his nose twice and laughing even harder when he smiles and raises a curious eyebrow at you.

“You got me there.”

“I’m glad you kissed me tonight.” You break the silence after a while again, looking into Echo’s eyes when he turns to his side and throws his arm over your waist.

“I’m glad you kissed me back.” He’s about to tell you his brothers will be happy that he finally told you how he feels when your hand rolls down his chest and begins to reach for his slowly hardening cock.

“Kriff sweetheart, as much as I want to go for round two, we should get some rest.” He stops you before things escalate, grabbing your hands and turning you around in his arms until your back is against his chest.

“But-” You want to argue with him, but Echo is insistent, shaking his head and tugging you into him to try and distract you from whatever plan you had in mind.

“Knowing Hunter and Tech, the plan won’t go as smoothly as they’ll plan it.”

“Fine, but I’m holding you to your word.” You warn him with a quick glance, only to pull away when you feel him kiss your neck and bite you playfully.

“Believe me when I tell you, I’ll be counting the seconds until you touch me again.” His voice is hoarse, sending a new wave of arousal down your spine and making you wish you weren’t in need of rest. But he was right, and you knew better than to think that the plan would go smoothly. If the events of the night proved anything, it was that the unexpected and the impossible did not often go hand-in-hand.

“Good night sweetheart,” Echo whispers against your skin before he nuzzles against your neck, smiling to himself when you reach for his hand and intertwine your fingers together.

“Good night Echo.”

#CFGE23 #cloneficgiftexchange23 #echo x reader #echo/reader #echo tbb x reader #echo tbb/reader #echo #echo tbb #echo the bad batch #the bad batch #clone wars #star wars #echo tbb fanfiction #echo tbb fluff #echo tbb smut #echo tbb angst

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wastelandmoony · 2 months

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Déjà Vécu

Chapter Thirty : Teenage Kicks

Characters: Remus Lupin/Reader, Sirius Black/Reader (no use of y/n), James Potter, Petter Pettigrew, Regulus Black, Marlene McKinnon, Mary MacDonald, Lily Evans, Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch Jr.

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI

A/N: I had a few people message about a taglist, and since I'm the stupidest person alive I totally forgot who asked and now can't find your names to tag. So if you want to be added to a taglist, please message me again so I can add y'all <3

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May 24th, 1977

Emmeline had broken up with Sirius after his refusal to apologize for not celebrating Valentine’s Day, not that he minded in the slightest. The rest of the group was so elated by her absence, that they even briefly discussed throwing a party in honor of it (Lily shut down the idea for being “a tad too cruel” for her liking). They all quickly fell back into the old routine of eating meals together in the Great Hall (sans vigorous public displays of affection), only with a new seating change. Sirius sat beside her for every meal now, hand on her knee underneath the table, a silent reassurance between them both that he was there, and that she was safe. She was done fighting the feelings between them, letting Sirius be as close as he wanted, and he seemed to never want to be more than an arms-length away.

In a sick parallel of events, she began to have nightmares, recognizing them as the similar trauma-induced ones Sirius had endured. Not one to broadcast her own issues, she kept the problem under wraps and suffered in silence. Each night became the same routine of silencing charms and attempts to lull herself to sleep wrapped in the soft gold sheets of her bed. When she did finally slip into a dream, they were never good. Flashes of dark forest, vicious hands with bloodied nails coming to tear at her flesh, sinister laughter at her cries. When she’d jolt awake mid-scream, face wet with tears, she could still feel their bruising grip. After a few weeks of sleepless nights she became a zombie, trudging through the motions of the day with deep circles under both eyes. Sirius noticed quickly, having spent years in the same predicament. He cornered her one morning after breakfast, pulling her into an alcove just beyond the main staircase.

“How bad is it?” His intense stare made her squirm against the wall. She began to fidget, not daring to look him directly in the eye.

“I’m not sure what you’re talking about.”

He leaned closer, arms caging her in as he rested both hands beside her head, “You’re a shit liar, have you seen yourself? You look like a ghost. I know you’re not sleeping, so tell me.”

Slowly, she dragged her tired eyes up to his. Though his words were direct, his face was soft and kind, gaze full of careful concern. Sirius brushed a hand down her hair as she finally cracked.

“I keep seeing it. Over and over again, every night. I don’t know how to stop it…” She wanted to cry, but no tears would come; she was too exhausted.

“Oh love,” Sirius kissed her forehead, pulling her in close, “We’ll fix it. Come to the tower tonight, we’ll figure something out.”

She didn’t want to tell the others, not about the terrors, not about the incident, not about…whatever it was her and Sirius were doing, so she crept up to Gryffindor Tower under the cover of darkness with the help of the map Sirius had slipped to her that afternoon. James and Peter slept like the dead, so the creak of the dormitory door wouldn’t wake them. Remus however, was a wildcard, and she prayed that he hadn’t heard the relatively loud groan that occurred as she pushed open the heavy wooden door. Pausing to listen to anyone stirring, she continued to tip-toe towards Sirius’ bed, slipping through the curtains to find him lounging against his headboard waiting for her. Upon seeing her face, Sirius opened his arms in silent invitation, and she quietly climbed across to fall into his comforting embrace. When she woke up the next morning, it had taken a few moments to realize she had slept soundly for the first time in weeks.

Most (if not all) nights were now spent sneaking into Sirius’ bed after the other three boys had gone to sleep, slipping out at dawn after having slept peacefully against his familiar body. If any of them had caught on, they didn’t say a word. Nor did she care at that point.

At the end of May, she crept through the bed curtains as usual, only to find him uncannily quiet and upset.

“Hey, you alright?” She whispered, climbing over his legs to settle into her usual spot.

He shook his head, sinking down further and closing his eyes in a futile attempt at avoiding the conversation. She pulled the blankets back from his face, “Don’t you try and pretend to fall asleep Sirius Black, I know you better than that.”

The ghost of a smile graced his lips, “Smart ass.”

She pushed his hair back from his eyes, “Tell me what’s going on.”

Sirius sighed, hand trailing up her arm in a self-soothing gesture, “It’s Reggie.”

Her heart skipped a beat. She’d seen Regulus with Evan and the others a handful of times since the incident in February, and every time she had felt like throwing up. He had been present during it, she saw him, but after her eyes were shut she had no way of determining who was who. Frankly, she didn’t want to know which one of them had been Regulus. She understood that he was Sirius’ brother, and there would always be an underlying bond between them, but she hated him nonetheless. Part of her was still angry that Sirius didn’t seem to share the same hatred for what his brother had done to her.

Her throat was dry as she fought the urge to scream, “What about him?”

Sirius turned on his back and stared at the canopy, “…he took the mark.”

His voice was laden with devastation and disbelief, the presence of which instantly dissolved all of her ill feelings surfacing about Regulus. She remembered that Christmas at the Potters, the fear in Sirius’ eyes as he explained the dark mark to them. They both knew what this meant for his brother, and that everything had changed.

“You’re sure? How do you know?”

Sirius shrugged in a feeble attempt to seem unfazed, “Prongs heard some rumors and told me, but then at practice earlier I saw something peeking out of his kit and confronted Reg about it.”

“I’m sorry,” she laid down, head leaning on his arm, “They didn’t…they didn’t force him, did they?” The image of Sirius laying in a pool of blood on the Potter’s sitting room floor flashed through her mind, and she swallowed the bile in her throat. He shook his head slowly.

“I’m not sure which is worse to be honest,” he whispered sadly, “my parents holding him down, or the fact that he took it willingly.”

They laid in silence for a few minutes, the weight of everything pressing down on them. Sirius rolled onto his side, pulling her closer.

“Reggie is the one that told me,” he whispered into her hair, “back in February. He found me and brought me to the forest…”

The admission stole the breath from her lungs. Her entire body froze as she scrambled for something, anything, to say in response. Ultimately, she couldn’t. The silence stretched between them again, Sirius’ breathing eventually evening out as he fell asleep. She laid there for a while pressed against the warmth of his body, trying to come to terms with the fact that Regulus had been the one to save her that night.

———

June 27th, 1977

“Bunch of bloody traitors,” Sirius muttered, pushing his way past James and Peter on the way to the train. She laughed as he strode up beside her at the front of the group, slinging an arm around her shoulders.

“Now, now,” she rolled her eyes as Sirius stuck his tongue out at the rest of their friends trailing behind, “there’s no reason for name calling. We’re going to have a great time this summer! I can’t wait to show you around London!”

A month prior, James had excitedly announced that the Potters’ (including Sirius) were going on vacation to Spain this summer, Lily would be tagging along as well. Sirius had groaned loudly, immediately followed by a dramatic exclamation that he’d “rather die than be a perpetual third wheel all holiday”. He turned to Pete and asked if he could stay at his instead, only to be met with a sheepish grin.

“Sorry mate,” Peter shrugged, “my family’s going away as well.”

“Are you fucking joking?” Sirius stared between his friends, mouth slack, “Moony?”

Remus shook his head, “You know better than to ask to stay at mine.”

Sirius shut his mouth into a thin line, eyes falling on her.

“Yellowjacket…” he purred from beside her on the bench.

“Yes, Sirius?” she made her voice as monotoned as possible to piss him off. When he didn’t answer, she turned, his blue eyes mock-pleading and bottom lip jutting out. She scoffed. “Jesus Christ, knock off the theatrics,” she swatted at him, “I’ll ask my parents if you can stay with us, but no promises!”

Her parents had of course, both said yes. They had met the boys on multiple occasions throughout the years and loved them all dearly, and had been hearing her talk about Sirius specifically for a while now.

As they got off the train at Kings Cross, Sirius brought her into a crushing bear hug.

“See you in a few weeks, I hope you won’t miss me too much,” he squeezed as she struggled to break free.

“Keep choking me like this and I’ll rescind the invitation entirely,” she laughed, pinching his sides in retribution. He let go with a dramatic gasp, hand over his heart in faux-offense.

She leaned up to kiss his cheek, “I’ll see you in a few weeks, Siri.”

The slight pink tint to his face didn’t go unnoticed as she said goodbye to the rest of her friends, eagerly joining her parents at the back of the crowd to begin what she hoped would be one of the best summers of her life.

———

July 30th, 1977

She had assumed that letting Sirius stay in her parent’s muggle house, on a muggle street, in a muggle town would be a fiasco, but what she hadn’t expected was how quickly and enthusiastically he absorbed the culture. From the moment he arrived via Floo in their sitting room, the widest smile plastered to his face, he was eager to take in as much of the muggle world as he could. Driving in a car for the first time had him practically foaming at the mouth, making a point to press every button and crank every handle he possibly could, just to see what it would do.

He helped her mother out in the kitchen, learning how to not only use muggle utensils and tools, but how to cook in general, which was a skill his family apparently deemed “beneath a member of the Noble House of Black” he had explained with an eye roll. His favorite thing to cook was pasta, specifically spaghetti, and her mum had taught him how to make sauce from scratch. He beamed as they all ate it, watching with sparkling eyes as they praised his new found culinary talent. Sirius washed the dishes afterwards as well, always jumping up before anyone else to try his hand at scrubbing pots and plates with the little yellow and green sponge in the sink. She caught him using his wand once or twice, but only when she knew he was growing impatient with a particular spot.

Her father showed him around the garage, and Sirius drooled over the sight of her dad’s old beat-up Volkswagen that he’d been working on since she was a kid. They spent hours out there, blasting rock ’n roll and fine tuning beneath the hood. It almost became a struggle to get them inside the house, if it wasn’t for the promise her mother offered to let Sirius use the electric mixer to make dessert.

Though he technically grew up in London, Sirius had never stepped foot outside of Islington. He’d never been able to explore the city, or even spend any time walking beyond the front steps of Grimmauld Place. The thought of such isolation baffled her, giving her intense feelings of claustrophobia. They spent a few days shuttling about the city to the typical tourist spots, just so he could say he’d been there. Though he loved the muggle world, most of the famous sites seemed to bore him; except for the London Eye, he loved being up so high and waving at passing tourists (you can take the boy out of the quidditch pitch and whatnot…) She knew the perfect place that would set his blood on fire: Camden.

Watching Sirius explore muggle London was a trip, but watching his face illuminate while stepping out of the tube station in Camden Town made her heart swell exponentially. The sounds of live music from local clubs filled the streets, paired with the market vendors selling everything from jewelry, to clothes, to random paraphernalia; Sirius was a certifiable kid in a candy store. But all of that joy seemed like nothing compared to when he saw a motorcycle up close and personal. The only thing she could assume it felt like, was when she saw Hogwarts for the first time. Sirius had frozen in place on the sidewalk, watching as the rider strapped on his helmet and swung a leg over the red and chrome frame. As he revved the bike to life, Sirius’ breath caught, watching with awe and longing as the rider pulled away, the rumbling exhaust rattling their bones.

“When we leave school,” he muttered to her, still in a daze, “I’m going to get one of those.”

She laughed, pulling him along towards the market stalls, “Well if that’s the case, you’ll need to look the part.” Holding up a black leather jacket from a vendor selling different wildly flashy garments, she motioned for him to try it on. As he inspected the sleeve length and ran fingers over the zippers and buttons, he smiled.

“Your old one was getting gross,” she laughed again, handing the vendor some cash as Sirius beamed.

“Pub?” She raised her eyebrows, already knowing the answer. He threw a leather-clad arm around her shoulders, “You know me too well, little bee.”

———

“It’s definitely not as good at Ogden’s, but I’ll take it,” Sirius shot back Jack Daniels and grimaced. Though he didn’t care much for muggle whisky, he did seem to love the beer (she promised to smuggle some in their trunks for the ride back to school in September).

When the sun had set, and they had a little bit of a buzz, they meandered out into the street, walking down towards the river. The muffled sound of music carried from a few blocks away, the area fully alive even late into the night. They found themselves stopping beneath an old stone bridge, Sirius pulling out his cigarettes and offering her one. After a confirming nod, he lit them, handing one over with an annoying little bow.

“Fuck off,” she mumbled in jest, smirking as she watched him take a drag, the ember illuminating his face as he inhaled.

“So what now?” Smoke curled around his head, making him look practically ethereal in the low light.

“Uhm, well, we could see if there’s anything going on at the Roundhouse? Maybe even Dingwalls?” She flicked at her cigarette, watched as Sirius’ gaze turned to the walls of the bridge, covered in a multitude of graffiti and etchings.

“We should write something,” he covertly took out his wand and placed it against the stone.

“Sirius, no,” she let out a nervous laugh, “we’ll get in trouble—“

“Who’s going to know?” He motioned around under the empty bridge.

“The Department of Improper Use of Magic Office!” She hissed.

Sirius gave her a look, “Don’t be such a swot. They can’t trace who did magic, just where. Even if they find out, the most we’ll get is a warning.”

He was right, there was no one around, and the muggle cops rarely cared about what happened down here unless you were selling drugs or something. She sighed, leaning back against the wall as Sirius smirked and began muttering something while moving his wand around the stone. He nudged her with an elbow a few seconds later when he’d finished, “Your turn, Yellowjacket.”

Etched into the wall was Sirius Orion Black, he even added little crudely drawn stars above it for extra flair. She rolled her eyes and pulled out her wand, adding her own name beneath his, sans any additional doodles.

“Happy?” She said as she put her wand away.

He stared at their names, mulling something over.

“Hmmm…almost,” he mumbled, putting his wand back to the stone. A moment later, he took a final step back to admire his work. “There!” He exclaimed cheerfully.

A poorly drawn heart encompassed their names, one side of it being a little too wonky.

“Is that supposed to be a leaf?” She joked.

Sirius scowled, “No you fucker, it’s a heart!” He jabbed a finger into her ribs, tickling her as punishment. She gave a playful yell and grabbed his arm, “Knock it off!”

His hands flattened against her ribs, holding her in place as they stood pressed against each other. One of Sirius’ hands began to travel, trailing upwards to curve around the side of her neck. Her breath caught, the thumping heartbeat in her ears was so loud that she could barely hear when he asked, “Can I kiss you?”

She exhaled, almost as if she had been holding her breath since they had met all those years ago on the train.

“What took you so long?” She whispered.

And then his mouth found hers.

———

She needed him like oxygen, couldn’t get enough. He kissed her like he felt the same, one hand cradling her jaw as he explored every inch of her mouth.

God, he was intoxicating. Her head swam like she’d downed a bottle of whisky, hands roaming to graze beneath the hem of his shirt. Sirius pulled back slowly, eyes filled with what could only be described as reluctant restraint.

“Tell me to stop, and I will,” he whispered, licking his bottom lip. Her hands stilled against him, taking in the almost tortured look on his face.

“Please, Sirius,” she gripped his belt, “don’t ever stop.”

Then his mouth was on her again with a ferocity she had never experience before. He was consuming her; his taste, the feel of his body pressed against hers, the smell of smoke and leather and spice was overwhelming every sense. Her hands couldn’t move fast enough, couldn’t explore his body enough.

None of it was enough.

It would never be enough.

She would always want more of him.

She would always need him.

Sirius pushed her against the stone wall of the bridge, lifting to wrap her legs around his waist. As he trailed down her neck, one of her hands found its way to his hair, fingers running through the silken mess that she loved so much. The stones cut into her back as she arched against him, Sirius taking the opportunity to bite at the juncture of her neck and shoulder.

“Siri—“ she gasped, tightening her legs around him.

He groaned into her neck, “Say my name like that again, and we’ll never leave from under this bridge.”

She pulled at his hair and he laughed, even in the dark his smile lit up her soul. Sirius kissed her again slowly, until the sound of a passing group of people tore them from the moment.

He brushed a thumb over her bottom lip as she spoke, “Wanna check out one of the clubs?”

Sirius shook his head slowly, voice low, “I’d much rather continue this conversation at home.”

Home.

The way he had said it made her thoughts spiral. In the blink of an eye, she could picture it. A life, a future, with him. She hadn’t put much thought into what life would look like post-Hogwarts. The boys would always be a part of it obviously, but they all seemed to be diverting onto their own paths, and it looked like maybe Sirius’ was parallel to hers.

She kissed him one last time, setting her feet back on the ground. Lacing their fingers together she laughed, pulling him from under the bridge, “C’mon, I’m not letting you leave Camden without seeing a live show.”

Dingwalls was packed when they arrived, a new punk band from Surrey apparently playing a set that night. Drinks in hand, they pushed towards the stage, finding a spot against one of the side walls to stand against. Sirius pulled her back against his chest as they danced and drank to the fast thrumming of the music. He let his hands wander, leaning down to kiss her as much as he wanted. Maybe it was the atmosphere, the sweaty bodies and loud music drowning their senses, or maybe it was something else entirely, but time ceased to exist around them. Her hands tangled in Sirius’ hair as they leaned against the wall, his knee wedged between her legs as the the pounding drums echoed the elevated beat of their hearts. His arousal was evident against her thigh, and she smiled against the column of his neck as she pressed closer.

“You’re killing me, bee,” Sirius groaned into her ear, following up with a gentle bite to her lobe.

She looked up at him, eyes trying to convey innocence though she knew he didn’t buy it for a second. “Wanna head back?”

He kissed her for emphasis, grabbing her hand and practically dragging her out the door.

Later that night, she laid in her bed unable to relax. Her parents had already been asleep when her and Sirius arrived back from Camden well after midnight, tiptoeing upstairs to their respective rooms. The journey back had sobered them up a little, the night air cooling down whatever intense feelings had flared to near catastrophic levels in the club. Sleep never came, and she instead stared at the ceiling and tried to turn all thoughts away from Sirius Black sleeping across the hall. But when her bedroom door cracked open, a wave of relief washed over her.

Sirius shut it quietly, climbing into bed beside her like they had done so many times throughout the years. As he settled down beneath the sheets she turned to face him, “Can’t sleep?”

Sirius’ hand trailed along her hip, “I told you we’d finish our conversation from earlier, didn’t I?”

She smiled into a kiss, wrapping herself entirely in him.

In the early hours of dawn, she awoke to Sirius’ even breaths and perfect skin. He looked like a painting, like one of the romantics had crafted him from pure desire and passion and beauty. She almost felt guilty waking him, but at the risk of her parents seeing him leave her bedroom, it had to be done. He groaned into her neck as she scratched the back of his head.

“If you don’t go back to your room, my parents will kill us both,” she whispered, kissing him on the temple. Sirius made another dramatic noise as he sat up, reaching over the side of the bed for his clothes. Before leaving, he kissed her again, one filled with promises for more.

“See you at breakfast,” he murmured against her lips, slipping out the door and back to his room without another sound.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

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crimsonedquill · 11 months

Note

Hey I love you're writing so much! If you are comfortable with it could you write a aged up f!Mc x Sebastian where they are busy having sexy times 👀 It is really rough and obviously Seb is in charge but then MC feels like it is getting to much and she rather wants soft, gentle Seb

Hope that makes sense! And if you don't feel comfortable with my request then obviously feel free to ignore it 😅💛 Anyways have a wonderful day!

In Heat (Sebastian Sallow x f!MC)

Sebastian ends up hurting MC in the heat of the moment, then needs to make it up to her...

Full disclosure, I don't have that much experience writing F/M smut so writing this had me 🥵 for more than one reason – though I'm still quite happy with how it turned out!

Also, I now seem to have a backlog of requests for the first time since ever (gee, how'd that happen) so I want to promise all of my lovely requestors that I'm getting to your asks, it might just take some time because I want to give you all the quality content you deserve 🖤

Content warning: NSFW (18+). Aged-up characters, obvious dom!seb, yadayadayada

“Fuck,” Sebastian growled.

He was propping himself up on his hands, looking down at his lover like a wolf regarding its prey. His eyes wandered over her exquisite body; her blouse, having been ripped open to reveal a pink lacy bra, which he ripped between his teeth so that her delightfully perky breasts spilt out. His eyes lingered just enough to induce a hot shade of crimson in her glowing skin, a wave of primal exhilaration surging through him. He let his gaze wander, to her neck, a pale canvas for him to utterly ravage; then to her beautiful features; her soft lips, half parted to allow her short, heavy breaths to escape; her cheeks, radiating with a feverish warmth he was able to feel even at a distance, and then her big doe eyes, staring up at him with an arousing mix of lust and fear. Merlin, she was beautiful, and she was entirely his for the taking.

“Look at what you do to me,” he snarled at her, grinding his hardness against her thigh, the thin barrier of clothing hardly doing anything to conceal his excitement. MC let out a high-pitched whimper at his touch, and he sensed that there was little holding her body back from giving in to his corruption. It left him hard and aching for the feeling of her tightness clamping down on his cock as he palmed her breasts and mashed them together, burying his face into her damp flesh, tasting the thin glaze of sweat coating her skin. MC’s head fell back against the pillow and she let out a strained cry as he feasted on her bosom, her legs convulsing at the sensation of his teeth grazing her nipples. Fuck, she was too good. Usually she was so calm, so collected in her emotions, the contrast with the complete mess underneath him so great that he had a hard time keeping himself under control, only briefly pulling back to rip off his shirt before diving back in.

He resumed kissing her breasts as his fingers slipped down into her skirt, dipping into the wetness waiting there for him.

“You depraved slut,” he whispered through grinding teeth, “you really thought I wouldn’t notice? You think I wouldn’t find out just how much of a cock-starved whore you are?”

MC blushed heavily at his brashness, the unseemly language causing her to involuntary twitch on his fingers. He had never been this forceful with her, never this… rough. It honestly frightened her a little, for she knew just how impulsive and carried away he could get even when he wasn’t pinning her down, eager to fuck her raw. She wondered if she should say something, anything to convey at least her uneasiness – but then his fingers curling inside of her drove the words from her lips as her back arched up from the bed, a whimper working itself out of her throat.

“That’s right,” Sebastian grimaced, “show me just how much of a needy little bitch you are –”

Without warning, his hand lashed out and struck the side of her face. Her eyes widened in surprise, a tear quickly beginning to run down her red cheek, the sight only seeming to fuel his desire. He withdrew his fingers to ram them right between her lips, cutting off her breath.

“Taste it,” he ordered, and she did as she was told, obediently sucking her sap off his digits as she looked up at him with teary eyes. She couldn’t exactly deny that the expression of primal lust on his face turned her on, but even so, she was slightly unsettled at her lack of control in the situation. They had never deemed it necessary to come to any sort of agreement about their boundaries in bed; heck, she’d gleefully taken an aggressive pounding from him on more than one occasion, though she sensed that something was different tonight. He seemed to be losing himself to his own urges, driven by nothing more than animalistic instinct – and she didn’t know just how far he was willing to go.

He finally pulled his fingers out, leaving her gasping; saliva dripping down her chin. She was barely able to draw another breath before his lips crashed into hers, a deep growl rising from his throat. He dragged his tongue along her jaw, a shiver running down her spine as he settled into the crook of her neck, teeth pressing against her flushed skin.

There was a sharp, stinging pain. Then a sudden shriek, and finally nothingness, as his mouth disappeared from her neck and his weight shifted off her body. She opened her eyes and looked up to see him staring back at her. There was no more lust in his eyes, only guilt.

“M-MC…” he stammered, “did I hurt you?”

“It’s all right,” MC said, hasting to prop herself up on her elbows even though she was still seeing stars, “things just… spiralled out of control a little –”

“No.” He shook his head. “No, I’m sorry, I – we should stop.”

“Don’t be silly, it just was –”

But he’d already slipped out of bed before she could finish her sentence, disappearing into the bathroom. MC was left more than a little perplexed as she sat alone in the remains of their short-lived rodeo, her naked chest still exposed to the cool night air. She sighed and shook her head, making a half-assed attempt to cover herself up as she went after Sebastian.

There was only the sound of running water as MC entered the bathroom. She saw him slightly hunched over the basin, his dark eyes staring down into the small whirlpool. She walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his waist, softly kissing his nape. “Hey… stop torturing yourself so much. I know you didn’t mean to do it.”

“That’s not the point.” His voice was heavy, full of anguish. “I… I lost control of myself. Who knows what could have happened if I hadn’t come to my senses, I could have ended up harming you –”

“I think you’re giving yourself too much credit. Do you really think that after an army of goblins and dark wizards, I couldn’t protect myself against one hormonal brat?”

She was relieved to see at least a hint of a smirk forming on his lips. Taking his hand, she turned him around and cupped his face in her hands, lovingly looking into his gentle brown eyes.

“Sebastian, I know you would never hurt me on purpose,” she assured him. “And really, my body having this effect on you is more of a compliment than anything, but… I think I would prefer for this to be more than just fucking, do you understand?”

Sebastian frowned at her. “You’d like me to dance and sing too?”

“No, you goof,” she giggled, moving her hands down to rub his bare chest, “what I’m saying is… I would like for you to make love to me.”

His gaze lingered a little longer, taking in her pretty features as he finally cracked a smile. “I think we can make that work,” he said, and then his lips brushed against hers, hungry but tender, and she parted them to allow him in, feeling his arms close around her waist as his warm breath tickled the roof of her mouth. He spent only a brief few moments caressing her lips before kissing the corner of her mouth, then proceeding along her jawline until he reached the sore spot on her neck, drawing a soft gasp from her as he used his lips to ease the pain.

“There there,” he whispered, the gentle tone in his voice doing more to get her dripping than his fingers ever did, “I’m going to make it all better, my love. Just relax, deep breaths, let it all go –”

“Y-yes…” she whimpered, closing her eyes as he moved further down, letting her blouse slip off her shoulders. He nipped at her collarbone, sending a hot pulse down her chest that immediately caused her nipples to harden again. Sebastian seemed to take note, teasing her with a mischievous smirk before kissing his way to one of the pink buds, closing his lips to suck on it. A moan left her lips as she looked down through hooded eyes at her lover, cradling his head in her arm as she nursed him; a muffled grunt signalling just how much he wanted her.

Yet, in spite of his own clear desire, he took his time to love her, to put her as much at ease as possible before he let his treat go with a wet ‘plop’. “My love, I need to taste you – can I…?”

His chivalry led a redness to blossom on her cheeks; she bit her lip as she nodded, watching him kiss down her abdomen until he reached the top of her skirt, which he slowly worked down her legs. He couldn’t help but smile as he noticed just how soaked her tights were, their brief intermezzo clearly having done nothing to abate her arousal.

“So wet,” he hummed to himself as he hooked his fingers into the band of her panties and pulled them down, a cool breeze of air meeting her heat. “So needy.”

She wined slightly as she felt his fingers near her core, so close but not quite near enough to offer her the release she craved the most. Sebastian grinned as he drew lines in her inner thigh. “I can tell someone’s excited.”

“You talk too much,” MC scoffed.

“But I thought you like it when I tell you unsavoury things?”

She blushed. “I do, but –”

“So,” Sebastian said, leaning forward to blow on her clit, the sensation quickly driving her to the very edge of her sanity, “tell me, my sweetheart, what do you need me to do?”

She barely managed to keep her voice under control as she looked at him kneeling on the floor, ready to rock her world with just one command. “I need you to eat my fucking pussy,” she said.

The instruction was all he needed. He offered her one last smile before he grabbed hold of her legs and forced them apart, his tongue shooting past his lips to drag agonisingly slow along her clammy folds. She let out a cry as she fell back against the basin, hands clamping around the edge. His nose nuzzled her sensitive bud while he lapped at her with broad strokes, the reward of her delicious honey leaving him throbbing hard against the fabric of his trousers. She could feel the wet muscle carefully exploring her hole, eliciting a content moan from her as he finally dipped inside and started fucking her properly. She made no effort to behave as he feasted on her cunt with the ferocity it deserved; riding his face until her juices were dripping from his chin, biting down on her lip hard enough to draw blood. The added stimulation of one of his digits thrashing her to release was enough to break her resolve, and she came hard, crying out in quick hiccups as Sebastian tugged at her lips to suck out every last drop.

The Slytherin was quick to veer up to lift MC on top of the small drawer next to the basin before unbuckling his belt and dropping his trousers to his ankles. He was aching for the feeling of her walls on his cock, and he sensed his desire was shared. Still, he took care to make sure that MC was all right at first, wiping a pleasure tear from the corner of her eye as he lightly stroked her hand. “My love, I’m going to put it in now, all right?”

Armed with a soft nod, he stroked his length up and down a few times before placing the swollen head at her entrance. They moaned in unison as he pushed through her wetness, her walls stretching to accommodate him. He kept still for a few seconds to allow them both to relish the moment, his breath heavy as he throbbed inside of her.

“You feel so good, sweetheart,” he whispered to her, catching her whimper with his lips as he began thrusting. She wrapped her arms around his neck, observing the flush of determination only slightly hidden under the scattering of freckles. How he managed to be so kind and caring and – ah, she mewled at his prick hitting a particularly sweet spot – yet so utterly driven by passion was a mystery that kept eluding her, though she found herself in no position to complain.

The symphony of their combined gasps and breaths and his pelvis slapping against her bare ass was the only sound filling the room for a while, and she rested her head on his shoulder as she settled into his rhythm. He hooked his arms under her legs to pull her hips towards him, fucking her onto his cock with increasing fervour, dictating her pace perfectly to her release.

“Look at you, all nice and tight,” he grunted. “Come for me, princess, I want to hear you scream while you drench my prick –”

There was no disobeying his commands, and she even managed to coax a moan out of him as she crashed over the edge, squeezing down on him with a scream of his name. Sebastian had to fight the urge to unload in her right then and there, though he somehow managed, waiting for her to ride out her climax before picking her up and dragging her off the drawer. She let out a yelp of surprise, giggling as she tightly locked her legs around his ass, revelling in the feeling of bouncing up and down on his cock with every step as he carried her over to the bed. He threw her down on the sheets, quickly crawling on top of her.

“Look who’s excited now,” MC teased him with a smile, palming at his chest.

“I guess you should be flattered.” She gasped at the feeling of his hardness dragging along her folds, his head red and swollen and slick with her juices.

“Oh, I very much am,” She grabbed a hold of him, guiding him back into her tight hole. She moaned as he felt him filling her to the brim once more, locking her legs around his butt again to keep him close as he resumed pounding into her. Sebastian lost himself in the shared flow of their sex, looking down into her gleaming eyes, which were so filled with innocence and lust that he couldn’t help but softly moan her name as he loved her. She was so warm and snug, the way her walls perfectly hugged his cock leaving his balls swollen and tingling as they slapped against her damp skin, ready to be milked dry.

“Sweetheart,” he whispered to her, “I’m close. Where do you want me?”

“Inside,” she whimpered back, her eyes practically speaking the words. “I want you inside of me, Sebastian.”

He smiled before kissing her, tasting the longing on her lips as he sped up his movements, thrusting himself inside of her at a greater pace. With her arms enveloping his neck, she clung to him, yearning to be as close to him as possible as he claimed her as his own.

He came with a groan, burying himself into her neck as she milked him. She cried with joy at the feeling of being rewarded with his warm seed, the sensation bringing about a small orgasm of her own as she held on for dear life, never having felt more closer as she was then, full of him in every sense of the word.

They lay basking in each other’s release for a while before he withdrew, making himself comfortable against the pillows so she could settle against his chest. He lightly stroked her hair, sighing before looking down at her. “So, was that more to your satisfaction?”

“Hmm,” she purred. “I’d say it was certainly… adequate.”

“Adequate? Are you pulling my leg?”

“Maybe I am.” She turned to meet his gaze, chuckling as she saw the expression of disbelief on his face. “Would you start feeling insecure if I said I wasn’t?”

“Well no, it’s not that, it’s just – I merely wish the best for you, you know?”

She laughed, reaching up to touch his cheek. “See… this is why I love you. Now, let’s kiss and go to sleep.”

He finally smiled, hunching forward to meet her lips with his own. “Let’s.”

#hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #sebastian sallow x mc #sebastian sallow x f!mc #sebastian sallow smut

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blackknightax · 22 days

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I wanted to add a Metroid character forever ago. I love the universe of Metroid and need to play more Metroid games, I’ve only played Prime 3, Prime hunters and Other M. I know, fake fan. I just never have money when new Metroid games come out. So bleh. Anyhow. Let’s get down to business!

Metroid doesn’t have a lot of characters in general, it’s a not story based series and a large part of the vibe of Metroid is being alone in space. That’s such an important part of the Metroid vibe and aesthetic and such, so characters aren’t plentiful. That being said, I somehow have only played the games that have more characters than just Samus. Shrug. That being said, Metroid probably has one character request as of recently and that is Ravenbeak from Metroid Dread. I’ll admit I don’t know about that at all outside what was shown in trailers, I wanna play it, i just don’t own it. But he isn’t my choice. I’ve chosen one of the hunters from Metroid Prime hunters! So when i first conceived this idea I had chosen Weavil. Simply because, i wanted a space pirate, but they added Ridley so i don’t need a space pirate representative anymore. For that reason, I decided i wanted one of the cooler hunters. My personal favorite was Trace but he’s a sniper with stealth abilities, I don’t think he fits into smash as well as other characters. I also almost chose Kanden because he’s a cool looking character with an interesting story. BUT instead I’ve chosen

SPIRE! Seriously, look at this guy! He’s SICK! (Note OP likes rocky stuff). Spire is a being from the species known as the Diamont. It’s a shame he was made for a DS FPS game. Seriously who thought a Metroid Prime game on the DS was a good idea? Metroid Prime hunters you’d think wouldn’t lend itself to creative move sets since all the characters were designed to be played in multiplayer but the characters were also designed to feel different in multiplayer so that gives me plenty of room for that purpose. I think he’d be a weight much heavier than Samus, maybe close to K Rool. I think he should feel like a bruiser, like a living armored tank. So let’s discuss move set! By the way, I plan to redo the first two posts to add move sets to those characters and not be so wishy washy on the DK section. That being said.

For his Neutral B he will use his signature weapon the Magmaul. In the game it’s a bit of a chargeable grenade launcher and when Spire himself uses it adds a damage over time effect and it splits into more projectiles when it hits. Obviously we’ll used both of those properties BUT, i won’t be using the charge property. Instead he’ll fire it slowly and be at the fully charged state by default. This way holding the B button allows you to change the angle at which you fire it.

For his Up B he briefly makes a platform of magma to jump off of, dropping a magma spike below him when used in the air like elwind or Sonic’s spring, and leaving a magma spike on the ground when used on the ground. This move does not induce special fall.

For his Side B his uses the Dialanch, his version of the morph ball in multiplayer. He unleashes spikes on his body and rolls in the direction you used the move in. Unlike similar moves like rollout it’s not a chargeable move and is not stopped when he makes contact, instead it does a bunch of hits, and keeps going until you reach full distance or press B again. If you hit a wall Spire will climb it, in this state he will automatically stop using the move when he gets to the top of the platform. When used in the air assuming you don’t hit a wall it does induce special fall. I see this mixing up his ledge options.

For his Down B he covers his body in magma and it hardens instantly. Now he moves even slower but every move now has 2 or 3 hits of super armor and he cannot be launched in this state, but he will fall significantly faster. But in this state even him falling does damage to opponents. Or maybe it should work like Monado Shield but i liked my idea so bleh!

I know this one is late and to make up for it I will be doing another character today so it still looks like daily posting. That being said i hope you all like this idea for a move set. I had a lot of fun coming up with this one. “Tomorrow” I’ll be doing a post that requires a small amount of research. I will probably start ending weeks with posts that require research until I have no other choice either way.

#super smash bros #daily post #unfiltered thoughts #rambling #super smash ultimate #smash bros #Metroid #Samus #Spire #metroid prime hunters #Metroid prime

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that-one-weeb-buts-its-the-main · 2 years

Text

Being Frank Castle's Daughter in Hawkins Pt 4

Gif Caption: top gif - Thor and Loki from Marvel. bottom gif- Billy Hargrove from Netflix's Stranger Things

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Reader: female | Age: 17-18 range

Characters Mentioned: Frank Castle (MCU), Matt Murdock (MCU), Thor Odinson (MCU), Loki Layfeyson (MCU), Korg (MCU), Dinah Madani (briefly MCU), Black Panther (briefly, MCU), Billy Hargrove (ST), Steve Harrington (ST), Mike Wheeler (ST), Nancy Wheeler (ST), Max Mayfeild (ST)

A/n: this is the most crackhead things are going to get

Warnings: Billy bleeds and is injured, emotions, Neil hit billy >:(

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Frank drove off as soon as you got in the car.

It was silent ride.

You were trying to hide your crying

It was just too much with everything going on

Between the freshly beaten bullies and now adults bullying you

It wasn't nessacary that it was the words.

Its the fact that you can't do anything about it

"You okay kid?"

"Uh...I think I just lost my only friends..." she smiled weakly, "And I think Im really fucked because of it..."

He looked over at her as she sniffled, wipping stray tears, "Hey. Hey. They are you're friends. Those are the friends you want. Whats his name? Steve? Steve Harrington? With the three added inches because of his hair?"

Y/n chuckled and nodded still crying, "He's a friend. He's someone that's got your back. And what he did? What he did back there while you were in the bathroom? He did what he was suppose too. He stood up for you. Alright?"

Y/n nodded, a heavy plate being set in her lap as she sniffled looking down, "You stole the pie back?"

"You bet damn right I stole the pie back." Frank spoke causing Y/n to laugh, "that's my damn pie dish alright?"

Y/n couldn't stop laughing.

"Probally only fuckin thing that had flavor too." Frank contuined pulling two forks out his pocket.

"You stole there silverware!?" Y/n laughed.

"Come on. They should be glad I didn't use it!" Frank spoke his voice raising the warmth of laughter as it filled his chest.

"Midani's gonna come for you because you stole silverware watch!" Y/n laughed.

"Let her try!" He laughed Y/n cutting into the pie and taking a big bite.

"Mhm." Y/n hummed, "This is good."

Y/n took another bite, "Like really damn good! Mhm! I feel bad the kids didn't get any!"

"Come on give me a bite."

Frank for sure did know how to cheer you up

Even if you'd be in a sugar induced coma after comfort eating most of the pie.

He doesn't care. He can always make another fucking pie. He'll make you 20 as long as your happy.

You both go home and change into actual comfortable clothing and watch a movie

You've had a long day so you'd fall asleep to some crappy western pretty damn quick

He'd pick you up and put you in bed, kissing your temple before leaving you to sleep.

A few hours pass by before theres knocking on the window .

It makes your stir at first but soon it wakes you up and you get up.

"Hargrove?" Y/n asked head sticking out the window,"what time is it?"

"You okay?" He asked, Y/n nodded.

"Y...yeah...just been stressful recently." Y/n told leaning on the window seal, "Just my breaking point I guess."

Billy nodded, looking up at her slightly, "c...can you help me..."

It meek and soft, scared of being hurt.

Y/n looked at him concered,"who the fuck am I kidding I shouldn't...fuck."

Y/n reached for the flashlight beside her bed and turned it on directing it towards Billy.

"Holy Shit!" Y/n cursed, Billy's eyebrow split along with his lip and a bloody nose.

"Seems like everything that happened at dinners my fault..." he admitted, "I. Fuck. I kept lookin off. Ya know?"

"Come on." Y/n spoke holding her hand out as he grabbed it, Y/n helping him in and letting him sit on the bed while she turned the big light on, and went under her bed to grab first aid.

"I kept spacin out..." he told her she sitting next to him, "and I knew I should. But I kept doin it. I didn't mean to be starin at Wheeler. I."

"Hey. No need to explain it to me." Y/n smiled small, "Dont feel forced alright?"

Billy nodded, "i got mad." He explained.

"I got mad. I didnt say anything. I got mad because It should of been me. I should've stood up for you. Not Harrington." Billy started, "I should of stoped it. I knew it. I knew it was happening and I sat there. And I listened."

Y/n frowned, as Billy's eyes glazed over: "I. I know how it is. You. You don't."

"I know-"

"That's it!" Billy spoke, "You don't know. And I don't want you to know. I. You're my. Fuck...I."

"Billy." Y/n called softly, finger on his chin guiding it in her direction for her to clean it, putting a butterfly bandage near the corner of his upper lip.

"You're my...You're my city bird..." He finally croaked out, tears that filled his eyes fell from baby blues down his face.

"Hey...hey..." Y/n coaxed calmly, "I'm not goin anywhere. Im not."

She wipped a tear away, "and you're the only one that gets to call me the stupid as shit nickname."

He stiffled a laugh as Y/n smiled, "That nicknames so fuckin stupid ya know that?" She contuined.

"Sound like a damn piegon."

He chuckled as Y/n contuined to clean his face, the blood had stopped but she still had to address the eyebrow split.

"Damn. Hargrove were you always this pretty?" Y/n teased he rolling his eyes in response.

"Mad that I look better beat up than you?"

There he was. Billy Hargrove, back in action with his eye rolls and playful tone. Y/n knew part of it was an act a spacegoat: but she knew there was a part few got to see.

She finsihed cleaning his face and helping him disinfect everything. Kissing his head softly she smiled against his skin. Pulling away just enough for him to raise his gaze.

His nose grazing against her's just slightly as eyelids hung low. Billy's hand lifting up to hold the side of Y/n's neck as he leaned forward the beginning edge of there brow bones resting against one another with closed eyes. He was soft with his touch as he pushed forward, his lips pushing against hers, her lips tasted like apple pie.

But it didnt last long, they both mutually pulling away. That...didn't feel right...to neither of you.

Why?

"Did you?" Y/n asked quietly, and Billy shook his head.

"You?" Billy questioned softly, as Y/n shook her head no.

"Fuck...I can't loose you..." Billy spoke, "I. I can't."

"Im still here. I told you I wasnt going anywhere."

And thats when you guys became Plantonic soul mates

The only reason Billy kissed you was because well he's never had emotions this strong

He could tell you: I love you but kissing you. It was wrong. The kissing? Oh yeah that was great. It was the "you" part

Which made no sense to him because for a straight fact he knew he loved you.

So he's like: b i t c h what are these feelings

Safety and Security Billy, safety and security

You both were surpised you talked about it afterward, still the pinky promise dumbasses you both are

He still likes the head kissing though, or the kiss cheek.

Its the romance factor that just doesn't work.

You guys have a little pinky promise hand shake now,

Billy wont admit it but you're everything to him, and he knows he's everything to you: after all you said it too him

Yet unfortunately he's gotta leave, and you let him back out the window

"Sleep Tight City Bird." Billy spoke looking back up at her.

"Sleep Tight Hargrove." Y/n spoke holding out her pinky as he stiffled a smile, raising and interlocking pinkies with her.

And you watched him walk off into the darkness of the woods, most likely back to the main road.

You cleaned up and went to bed afterward.

You need the sleep: You're just exhausted from everything

Luckily no one woke you up for school-

Wait, No one woke you up for school?

She looked at the alarm clock beside her, school started thirty minutes ago, "SHIT!" She cursed now fully awake and running around, luckily she had washed all that makeup off the day before.

Hopping on one foot as she tried tying her shoe, she fell against the door, its opening, and her body followed, ending on the floor.

"The hell," Frank spoke.

"School! I'm late!" Y/n argued standing up, but there sat Steve Harrington, and the Wheeler siblings, with cups of hot coffee, and a cup of hot chocolate for mike.

"Well, morin to you too." Steve spoke drinking from his mug, "And happy fall break."

Oh...

"fall break!?" Y/n asked looking at the calendar, fall break was indeed in full swing.

you had been relieved as Frank pulled a chair for you to sit down while he was making breakfast.

He also stuck a cup of coffee in front of you

They had come to make sure you were alright, Steve especially, and he apologized to his mom like five times

"I'm really sorry."

"No Don't be." Y/n spoke sipping her coffee, "It's not your fault."

"And your sure your okay?" Nancy asked, "It's not every day an ordinary person takes a mental beating like that so easy."

Y/n nodded, "I...yeah, I got it."

"of course she's okay!" Mike argued, "She's taken bigger beatings from villains!"

So Mike thought you were a hero, just in hiding, and laid it all out for you: who and how you became an undercover superhero he had a very original origin story planned for you

It made you feel good, a kid being a kid: a happy kid

"but it's obvious you have a rival in the superhero world, is it Iron Man!? Captain America! I bet it's Black Panther."

Y/n laughed, "No. I haven't seen the King of Wakanda in new york for some time."

"You know Black Panther?!" Mike asked, Y/n half nodding.

"Brief visit," Y/n spoke.

"She knows Black Panther," Mike told his sister with a stupidly happy smile on his face.

"I know Mike, I can hear her."

Y/n smiled and took a drink of coffee, a brief visit meant getting thrown off a cliff by him.

Frank made breakfast for you all, waffles and everything

He likes your friends: he has a certain respect for Steve too

especially after that dinner

"You should come trick or treating with us!" Mike suggested.

"Me?" Y/n asked digging into her eggs.

Mike nodded, "yeah! Your super cool!"

Y/n smiled and looked at Frank who shrugged, whatever she wanted.

"Yeah. That sounds like fun." Y/n smiled, "I'd love to."

"Sweet! The guys would love you."

You guys spend your morning talking: Frank truly getting to know your friends, they all thought he was pretty cool too: especially with being in the service in the past and all

Plans for the break are thrown back and forth.

"So that new Horror movie is coming out." Steve spoke, "The 29th."

"Really? Didn't think you had a movie theater in Hawkins."

"funny."

"I know." Y/n smiled, "You guys wanna go see it?"

"You're busy the 29th," Frank spoke.

"I am?" Y/n asked.

"I'd hope you'd be busy with Murdock and them comin' out"

"Matts coming!?" Y/n asked in disbelief, "Seriously!? Like really!? You're not shitting me!?"

"I can tell them all not to come-"

"NO! NO!" Y/n spoke, "Guys you'll love Matt! He's a really good lawyer..."

And you went on and on saying they all had to have dinner while he was down,

AHH, Matt Murdock's coming! You're so happy, as said before: while Frank was in prison he had become somewhat of a fatherish figure to you, and you truly did care about him, and he really did care about you

Sure he had his own problems, and had no idea how to help you, and didn't shover his religion down your throat, but did take you to his church one time

Explained that she had to find a place like his church: a thinking place, wherever or whatever this place was: either it be a parking lot or an old park, you need a place to be grounded, where the weight just drops off the shoulders

just thinking about there talks made things better sometimes

so you were excited

Steve? Steve was not

Okay so this guy was older: but, you talk about him like he was a superhero

Oh he has no idea

But they still want to hang out with you during break

And Frank says he's fine with you being out as late as you want as long as you call him a few times, letting him know what was going on

Yet after a long breakfast nancy had casually looked at her watch

"Crap! I said I'd have Mike back by 10 am." Nancy spoke, "Hurry up Mike!"

"why what time is it?" steve asked.

"11:30!"

"Crap!" Steve spoke apparently they both had things to do quickly eating his plate of food, "I have to go! I'm gonna be dead!"

Steve got up quickly followed by Nancy and Mike.

"Mr.Castligone! Thank you for breakfast! Y/n! I'll call you later1 We'll do something on a day you're not busy! Breakfast was great! Okay! Bye!"

it was comical to you and Frank, watching them eat as quickly as they could and rush out like you had run out thinking you were late for school

You both just laughed, and you did the dishes, after all, they were your friends.

it was a peaceful day, you and he had spent his off day together, taking a nice walk through the woods by the water, skipping stones on the water, and lounged around the house

That's when you got a phone call, it hadn't been Steve, it was too quick for that despite the hours he was gone already

"Hello?" Y/n asked.

"Ah! Y/N of Midgard! Daughter of the Punished!"

"Thor?" Y/n asked quietly looking back but Frank was busy doin something in his room.

"Yes! It is I!"

"I am here as well!" Loki shouted annoyed from the back.

"Me too!" Korg cheered

"How did you get this number?" Y/n protested, "And Hi Korg,"

"No need to ask such questions! We are friends! Like, brother and sister! What is in your mind is in mine!" Thor cheered, "See I will tell you now what you are thinking! Guns! Weapons! Blood oh so much blood! And pure destructive victory! Which is why I wonder why are you in this place they call Hawkins?"

Y/n froze, what?

"Thor, just. Why are you here?" Y/n asked trying to keep her cool.

"To celebrate the falling of leaves!" He spoke, the smile heard in his voice.

"Did Jane break up with you again?"

"What!?" He laughed, "Pfft! No! Yes. She did. So I figured we could drown ourselves in such over-sugared delights; like old times, and you could show me around this very much lonely empire of yours. Korg would also like to do some drawing with you."

"Just. Where are you?" Y/n asked.

"Uh."

"give me the damned thing!" Loki ordered, snatching the pay phone, "I swear Y/n if you do not come and get us I will be invading New York again!"

"Okay One, rude." Y/n protested, "Where are you?"

"In front of..whatever this place is, looks like a prison."

"Does it say Hawkins High?"

"Yes! It does!"

"Just, give me 20 minutes."

"You have five."

"Fifteen."

"Fine."

You were never so quick in your life: you told Frank you were borrowing the Truck and said you loved him and call him later because you be out late and left

Left to go pick up who?

Billy Fucking Hargrove

OUT OF ALL PEOPLE

You knocked on his door so quick, and loudly too

"Max! Get the door!"

"Im going!"

She was surpised to see you there: and said Hi real quick before walking through following the blasting music.

"HARGROVE!"

"Jesus! What the Hell!" He argued looking back.

"How'd you like to help me baby sit Thor and Friends!?"

"What?" He asked, turning off his music confused as fuck, "Excuse me?!"

"You're going to see Thor?" Max asked Y/n turning around.

"Yeah. Yeah." Y/n answered nonchalantly hoping Billy would agree, "Well?!"

"Yeah! Yeah Im comin!" He argued grabbing his jacket as he quickly followed Y/n.

"I wanna come!"

"No!" Billy argured.

"Yeah! Fine whatever!" Y/n asked, "I don't have time to argue or Lokis gonna blow up New York again!"

"Excuse me!?"

"Get in the fucking truck now!"

Max thought Billy was an insnae driver? When your in a rush? Damn. You're crazy.

Billy's bracing himself your acting so crazy

You're sweating bullets and to hyperfixated on the road to answer any questions

You're racked with anxiety and pull into the hawkins high parking lot where the group waits.

"Hi Y/n!" Korg waves happily, Y/n getting out the truck leaving the two in the front seat completely speechless.

"Ah Y/n!" Thor cheered, "It's an honor to make- ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!"

Y/n grabs Thor by the ear and drags him along, Loki laughing just to be given the the same treatment.

"Ow! Okay! Okay!"

They're dragged to the car and ordered to get in. Korg following patiently. Max and Billy staring in complete shock as the back of the truck is filled with aliens.

"Must you be so rude?" Loki spoke in his defense. Y/n getting in the truck.

"Max, Billy." Y/n spoke, "these are the asshole brothers, and this is Korg."

"Hi!" Korg spoke with a smile, "It's a pleasure to meet you."

"Uh..Hi." Max spoke with a small wave,"same here..."

"Y/n." Billy started, "what. the FUCK."

"What?! You're the only one that knows!" Y/n defended, "Im fucking loosing my head!"

"Yeah you're the Punisher's daughter! Thats one fuckin thing! These are fuckin Aliens!" Billy argued.

"You're dads the Punisher?!" Max asked.

Oh god. Things just can never chill, she feel like she's going to have a stroke.

And now everyones arguing.

"EVERYONE BE FUCKIN QUIET!" y/n shouts, it's silent.

"If I may intruppted-"

"Loki." Y/n spoke looking back, "Shut the fuck up please."

"Well you did say please."

It grows quiet as you pull out of the parking lot.

And it's just silent the whole time going down that long road.

"Um. Y/n." Korg spoke up sweetly, "Can we get ice cream. Please? I've always wanted to try it!"

You take them to get icecream, you saying everyone gets Vanilla because your not dealing with orders

Turns our Korg enjoys ice-cream

Are they suppose to ask you to do something? Or just let you keep driving to calm your mind?

But your going over the speed limit and a cop stops you

"I was hopin this didn't Involve you Hargrove." The cheif speaks but with the back windows roll down he spots the group of well...Aliens.

"Cheif?" Y/n asked gesturing for a name.

"Hopper..." he responded still awe struck by seeing who he's seeing.

"Cheif Hopper. If. You'd please. Just. Ticket." Y/n pleaded, "please."

"Uh...yeah....go ahead...with a. Warning."

"Thank you sir. You like donuts? I like donuts. I'll bring you down to the station later. Thanks."

You drove off after that taking a deep breathe in today...was gonna be real long

What were you suppose to do? Take them Downtown to spend the day?

That didn't seem like a bad idea.

Then again Korg. And as big of a sweet heart Korg was. He stood out

But people could feel safe if Thor labeled him as a side kick

Maybe you'd just dress him up and just say he was real tall

Or. Maybe you just could walk around him: its not like Hawkins had thousands of Cameras.

And Loki could just wipe tapes if nessacary

Then again people seeemed so shocked they dont think they'd be able to move to even get a camera or call anybody

Okay plan dress Korg up hoodie and swear pants and pray just say he's tall or under Thor watch

Yeah Yeah that sounded good.

Sounded good.

So with a calm mind you tell everyone they can ask there questions one at a time.

And they do tread waters very carefully

And then you tell them your plan. Which is stupid because no one has chlothes that are gonna fit Korg

Fuck it Superheros on Vacation thats the new plan

Just when you thought Hawkins was sane: you were oh so wrong.

Previous part - next part

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Tag list!!! (Yaya!! It grew!!) : @raelwrites @miiikkeey @beebslebobs @ah-witch

Dm me or send me an ask if you want to be tagged!!

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persephone11110 · 1 year

Text

Highway To Heaven

tom kazansky x daughter reader

ofc: Nadia“Gladiator”Kazansky

summary: He watches her fight, now he’s watching her lose against death.

characters: Tom“Iceman”Kazansky, Original Female Characters x2, Sarah Kazansky

TW: medical induced coma, talks of injuries, possible death, hopeful ending

SN: i wrote a shitty reason of health problems

- I completely got carried away but its fine.

- this isn’t proofread at all.

He thinks back to her first basketball game, how she still got back up even after getting a busted lip. Never since the day she was born has Nadia Kazansky given up, not when she came out the womb blue, not even against death. So why now?

He hates how she’s not smiling as she sleeps. Ever since Nadia was a baby there would be a smile plastered on her face as she slept. Now Nadia lips sat straight on her face as she laid medically sedated on her hospital bed.

Ice listened to the heart monitor as it beeped steadily, the only sound he’s listened to for the last four days. He misses her smiles, her laughter, her corny jokes.

He sighed putting his book down, standing up and leaning over her bed rails kissing her forehead. “Honey I need you to wake up”, Tom Kazansky was never a man to beg, but for this he will; for her he always will.

Tears dropped to down his face, guilt clenched his heart. Ice himself had approved of this mission and he’d also picked Nadia for the mission knowing she would be the only person to pull it off.

If there was a way to look into the future, Ice would have never put his daughter in that damn fight jet. He wouldn’t had given the okay for her to fly, if he had known about the fallout.

He feels digusted with himself, those thoughts didn’t belong to him. They belong to a father who’s at risk of losing his only child, a father who’s already grieving for the death of his daughter.

A sob left his mouth as he thought about the possibility of losing his daughter.

He would be left childless, Tom Kazansky would know how it felt to bury a child. Something he doesn’t want to do, a thing he thought he wouldn’t have to go through.

He stares at her pale face, her face lacked it usual tan of life. Nadia would had murdered her father if she had known about a tube being down her throat.

At the thought of food his stomach growled viciously. He wanted to move and grab food. But what if he walked away and this was last time his daughter was alive?

What if this was the last time her chest went up and down, no matter if she had help or not?

“Thomas” a feminine voice pulled him out his horrible thoughts of hell.

Sarah Kazansky his little sister, grabbed her older brother and hugged him. She ran her hands up and down his back, easing his rattling body frame.

He held on to this pain for almost a week. Ice cries for his daughter at thought of her being in pain. He also cries as he knows death is approaching and finally Tom allows his guilt to unravel from his heart.

He didn’t want to be this vulnerable, not now when Nadia is facing against death.

“Here Tom” she said handing him a pb&j sandwich, and a bottle of juice. In return he offered her weak attempt of a smile.

She gives him another hug before leaving him alone in the cafeteria to return to work.

He leaned back in the white plastic chair, uncomfortably adjusting his tall frame in the chair. He twirls the necklace that Nadia gotten for him a long time ago, he feels the slight comfort and hope the necklace gives him.

He on the verge of slumber when a voice erupts his sleep.“Admiral Kazansy”

He hums lowly, his eyes open to see the doctor who had been treating his daughter.

Ice is out of the chair in seconds, hoping the doctor is sparing his already broken heart and giving him good news.

He noticed the grim look the doctor had on her face, the way her eyes had a look of pity and sadness to them.

Bad news.

“How is my daughter?”, he asks her.

“Sir, I think it’s time we discuss a plan” She pauses briefly looking at Ice before continuing.

“What I mean by that Admiral is that, Nadia is suffering from a brain injury called cerebral edema, her entire brain is bruised and swollen from the impact of her crash”.

His mask was instantly replaced with concern and anxiety.

He felt his world starting to crash and burn.

Ice’s eyes started to prickle to with tears as he thought about the death of his only child.

He took a shaky breathe before asking Dr. Foreman his next question“can you fix it?”.

Ice didn’t want the answer to his question. He knew most likely he going to end his week, month or year by burying his daughter Nadia.

“Lets take a seat” Dr. Foreman gently ordered, she gestured to the chair and led her and Ice to them.

He felt it, he knew those words by heart.

It only meant one word was going to appear in the next sentence.

Death.

The hands on the clock ticked as she talked to him describing in great detail for what was best for his Nadia.

His daughter, how dare a she tell him whats best for his kid.

He drowned out the conversation, only hearing the word death.

“Admiral Kazansky, Its in you and Nadia best wishes to let her go peacefully”. She spoke as she held Ice’s hand before letting go.

“Unless, Nadia pulls through” Dr. Foreman said kindly.

“And the chances are?” He asked as his body shooked with anger, sadness, denial.

“Less than 35 percent” she nodded her head sadly, already grasping what Ice meant.

“Admiral, sit on it and think about your next move” she ordered as she walk away from him, leaving him alone with his thoughts.

——

As Ice slept, in his dream he kept hearing erratic beeping as if it was an alarm going off.

Someone yelling pulled him out his short slumber. “she’s coding, she’s coding!”

He was being yanked out the chair by Sarah.

Ice watched from the outside as they tried to revive Nadia back.

He watched the doctors hands go up and down as they tried cpr on her.

He heard the orders being yelled, he heard them upping the charge number on the AED.

You could hear Ice sobs even aganist Sarah’s shoulder. But what you couldn’t hear and see was death as it loomed over his daughter.

“Give me another chance God, please”.

#top gun #tom kazansky #top gun maverick #tom kazansky x reader

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bonefall · 1 year

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How would Dark Forest cats like Tiger(claw)star or Darkstripe or Thistleclaw react to cats like Morningstar or Cloudberry and Ryewhisker? They’re all in the Dark Forest together so it makes sense they should at least know of each other’s existence. How does the evil DF characters react? Do they have positive or negative opinions of the “innocent” DF cats? What are their interactions like? Have they tried to attack each other? What are the evil DF cat’s opinions on the cats who left StarClan as a way of protest?

Also, can cats in the Dark Forest attack / kill each other? This is an addition relating to the question above.

And lastly, is there any difference in Mapleshade for the Bonefall Rewrite? I know about the Call Mapleshade AU but does anything change with her in the Bonefall Rewrite?

Mechanics of the Dark Forest

I mention the mechanics briefly in the StarClan Morality overhaul, but I'll clarify!

Q: Can Dark Forest cats attack each other?

A: Hurt? Yes! Kill? No. A Dark Forest warrior who gets mortally wounded by another spirit simply poofs back into existence the next 'day.' This is usually how they teach the living how to do killing moves.

(little known fact: DF warriors killing each other was a retcon, Snowtuft is horrifically flayed on-screen in early OotS and I refuse to believe he just walked away all hunky-dory.)

The exception to this is going to be during the Great Battle, which I'm going to make the night of the True Eclipse. For one night only, the Dark Forest warriors are as solid as real flesh and bone and can kill and be killed freely. Sol's eclipse in Po3 was just a god-induced preview of what was to come.

Q: How do they meet each other?

You don't run into any cats you're avoiding, and you will not find anyone who does not want to be found. It's Just Magic.

So, despite the fact that Mapleshade is hunting down the cats she 'dragged down with her,' they don't have to deal with her outside of hearing her yowling now and then, or the horror of hearing pounding pawsteps only to turn around and see no one is there.

This question is super dependent on the cat in question. Ryewhisker, Cloudberry, and Morningstar are very friendly and happily greet the unreasonably damned when they're lonely. Darkstripe is horribly lonely but people tend to avoid him after one meeting. You'd think Ripplestar would get along with Thistleclaw, but he actually ripped him to pieces this one time so they don't talk anymore.

So on that note,

Q: What's the general opinions of the cats on each other?

Morningstar is surprisingly disliked at first, just because most cats tend to get sent to the Dark Forest for being dishonorably violent. A "cowardly pacifist" who's just a normal warrior usually gets into StarClan, Morningstar's in a very unique position. The cats who get to know him usually end up changing their minds, like Ravenwing and Appledusk. Cloudberry and Ryewhisker, obviously, have always liked him.

Cloudberry and Ryewhisker are a lovable old couple. Tigerstar and his ilk hate them, but they're so widely beloved by the other denizens that Tiger would never do anything to hurt them. There's no point and he'd just end up alienating a ton of his supporters.

Mudclaw is WIDELY respected. I think he actually kinda likes being there.

Generally, the innocent cats are taken as proof that StarClan's "not that great anyway, who even WANTS to be there anyway!!" Never underestimate the power of sour grapes... but there's exceptions of course. It depends a ton on interpersonal feelings.

Bonefall Mapleshade

Because I stay close to canon for the rewrite, Bonefall Mapleshade is completely separate from Better Call Mapleshade. I like to imagine the difference is heavily based on her environment though (she isn't a fundamentally 'good person' in either incarnation), so if things had been different, she could have become BCMapleshade.

But, she was condemned to the Dark Forest, along with Frecklewish, Appledusk, and Ravenwing. She played up the crowd for sympathy, and StarClan did give her the chance to say goodbye to her beloved kittens, but she charged into the Dark Forest to hunt down her victims forever more... and she did it happily.

She lied to StarClan, too. She said she would be satisfied hunting down the cats who wronged her kittens forevermore, but she's not. She wants MORE revenge, thinks it's not fair that Appledusk's descendants are still in RiverClan, and so haunts them

She's definitely one of the strongest Dark Forest cats, exactly because StarClan sent her off with blessing. She uses this extra power maliciously, making false signs, pushing Stormkit off a rock, starting illnesses, she's a malignant entity.

The biggest change I'm intentionally making here is giving Mapleshade special power on purpose, and making it so Dark Forest warriors can do real, tangible damage to the living through magical means

#Mapleshade #Ripplestar #Cloudberry (CotC)#Ryewhisker #Dark Forest #Place of No Stars #Bonefall Rewrite #Bonefall OotS #Bonefall Po3

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becausegoodbye · 1 year

Text

'Moving Into a More Transfeminine Space': An Investigation

A little under three weeks ago, I started hormone replacement therapy. Once a day, every day, I swallow a tiny quarter-pill of Cyproterone and rub a little bit of estradiol goop on my thigh. These two innocuous rituals will, surreally, gradually shift my body's hormonal balance from a male one to a female one. They'll give me softer skin, weaker muscles, and breasts. My fat will start migrating down from my belly more towards my hips, and my erections will be softer and fewer. Instructions which have been dormant in my DNA my whole life – dusty folders in the back of my body's filing cabinet labelled activate in the event of estrogen – will start getting cracked open and followed by my body's dutiful cells. And there'll be a variety of mental and emotional changes, all of which seem highly personal and difficult to anticipate.

The obvious question is: why am I doing this?

The truth is I only kind of know. I'm not in the position of 'always having known I was a girl', or even of having a locked-in ambition to pass as a cis woman. When I've talked about the transition I'm undergoing, I've described it as 'moving into a more transfeminine space'. Just making a daily, iterative decision to feminise my physical existence, and seeing where that goes. Once I've been on it for longer, I'll probably be in a better position to say whether 'trans woman' is the inevitable destination here, or whether I'll keep finding something important in a looser, fuzzier, and more nonbinary kind of transfemininity.

Either way: there are plenty of read-as-masculine signifiers that HRT doesn't change, and even years down the line, passing as a cis woman may honestly just take more effort than I'm willing to put in. (Whatever kind of transfemme I turn out to be, I genuinely think it's important that I get to be a bit lazy about it.) So I'm not really imagining myself as passing or glamorous or anything; I'm just imagining myself happier. I'm imagining myself as a kinda goofy transfeminine person with a confusing palette of gender-signifiers, a warm vibe, and a bunch of books and board games. That feels like a harbour I can sail towards.

This is going to be a extremely long post (6000+ words lol), so it's really only for the genuinely interested. The tl;dr 'action items' are basically:

I'm going by Ada in most contexts now (not work or official stuff yet, but pretty much everywhere else)

I'm using both she/her as well as they/them pronouns

'nonbinary transfemme' is probably my favourite nomenclature for myself at the moment.

But for anyone who's interested in an extravagant amount of detail about how I've come to this point:

Part 1: One Must First Become Aware Of The Body

Going back now to read the post where I originally named being nonbinary and agender is an interesting exercise for me. Some parts induce a tragicomic wince – like, imagine making a big deal out of identifying with a J.K. Rowling character in the post where you're coming out as trans, lmao shoot me – but I mostly stand by it! It was how I understood myself at the time, and within the pragmatist framework it lays out – aspiring towards gender as a self-negotiated tool for pleasure and meaning, as opposed to a site of coercion and limitation, and labels as only being good insofar as they're useful – were all the foundation I needed to have eventually arrived at the place that I have.

One omission in that piece that's fairly glaring in retrospect, though: I don't really talk about my body at all. I briefly mention that I felt disassociated from it growing up, and I later make the polite reassurance that 'I’m not looking to alter my body in any way'. But those are the only lines my body gets in the whole production! The rest of it takes place in the realm where I'm obviously more comfortable: in words and ideas. Part of this is just a reflection of the cerebral, head-in-the-clouds kind of person that I am, but another part is rooted in the specific philosophical framework that enabled me to come out as nonbinary in the first place: Rortyan pragmatism.

I've written about the way pragmatist philosophy enables us to conceive of gender before, but without getting too in the weeds: Richard Rorty is an important guy for me. I felt pretty indifferent towards a lot of the philosophy I studied in my bachelors degree, but when I finally encountered Rorty in my third year, it felt like being given a fresh oxygen tank on a long underwater trudge. Finally, someone asking all the same questions I was! He had this marvelous way of seeing all the different ways you could conceive of the world as different 'vocabularies', which he had the gift of being able to take on and off as smoothly as hats. In Contingency, Irony, and Solidarity in particular, he gave me a vocabulary of his own to describe the internal project of self-creation: the way in which an individual can, without imperialistically assuming that it must be the same for everyone, "work out their private salvation, create their private self-images, reweave their webs of belief and desire in the light of whatever new people and books they happen to encounter." There's this sense, reading Rorty, of the self as a fundamentally poetic project – responding to the destabilising chaos of a godless universe not with terror or ennui, but with the gusto of an artist – and as a 22-year-old, it absolutely sang to me.

But Rorty also placed certain limits on how far you ought to take these private projects of self-creation. He was extremely committed to liberal democracy, and made a strong distinction between public and private. In private, Rorty says, you should feel free indulge in whatever poetic fancy of self-creation you like – there, you make the rules – but in public, you still need a common civic language. You need to be able to be intelligible to your fellow citizens, and to be able to communicate with them for collective ends. This was essentially Rorty's way of reconciling all the postmodern wibbly-wobbly truth-shattering with the liberal democratic societies that he was so fond of (and which had, after all, produced the postmodernists, who he was also very fond of).

At the time of writing my nonbinary post in early 2015, I would have happily told you about how my understanding of my own nonbinary identify was influenced by Rorty's poetic approach to self-understanding. In retrospect, though, I can see that I was also really influenced by his notion of the public/private split. That original post is suffused with the idea that 'this is how I've come to understand myself – I think it's neat – but don't worry; I promise I'm not going to make anyone else do anything about it.' I instinctively shied away from the idea of making my gender stuff anyone else's problem. As much as I didn't enjoy having a male body, the idea of transitioning to the point where a cashier or a stranger on the street might be confused by me – i.e. making myself less intelligible to my fellow citizens – felt like an imposition on others that I couldn't face making. I couldn't countenance the idea of modifying my body, because in some sense that would be making public an aspect of my self-creation that Rorty had coaxed me into thinking of as fundamentally private.

To be clear, I'm not dragging Rorty here. Being the person I was, I think I needed that purely private space of self-creation before I could be capable of making any of it public. And even as the public/private split gave me some particular anxieties, it also valuably alleviated some. I've spoken to so many baby transes who've been panicked about making sure they're labelling their gender "correctly", that they're using the right language and slotting everything into its ultimate place in the true taxonomy of reality, and the biggest relief I can give them is simply permission to stop worrying about the goddamn metaphysics. With Rorty's framing of the question of self, you can just stop asking gender's unanswerable questions, and start asking more grounded and productive ones. Not "what am I?", but "what would I like to be?" Not "is this label correct?", but "what does this label do for me?" What possibilities does it open up? What might it foreclose? How do you feel about what you could make of yourself with it?

It's pure pragmatism! It's focusing on the language here as a customisable set of tools whose value lies in what they allow us to do. It's a turn away from metaphysics and towards self-understanding as a practical private poesis. (I usually don't say that to the baby transes in quite those words, but the point gets across.) I continue to think Rorty's pragmatism is a pretty brilliant frame to have in beginning to think through your gender; it gets you asking the more helpful questions.

At the same time, though: my starting on hormones is clearly a step away from Rorty's public-private split. HRT is a process that will (slowly, eventually) inscribe this aspect of my private poeisis onto my visible body – the body I take into the public square – and I've had to become comfortable with that. Rorty died in 2007, so I never got the chance to take his temperature on the subject, but I have to think he'd at least be interested in nonbinary identities, in the same wry way he was interested in all eccentric projects of self-creation. But by the same token, I suspect he'd be a bit more purse-lipped about the idea of someone like me going on hormones. Somebody who needed them to relieve otherwise-crushing dysphoria, I imagine he'd be okay with, but a more marginal case like me? That feels less certain.

If I were to argue my case on a purely philosophical level, I'd probably try to interrogate how the 'civic democratic language' is constructed. Like, sure, after being on hormones long enough and carrying around a bunch of mixed gender signifiers, I may confuse some people in public. But I'm a citizen too, and is it really a shared democratic language if it isn't created democratically? It seems like a mistake to overstate the value of the false intelligibility gained by me going out into the world in man-drag, when what I'm offering instead is an opportunity to rework our social scheme of gender intelligibility that demonstrably isn't serving the populace particularly well. Plus – on a more specific and groundedly ethical note – it's increasingly true that most people don't actually want to misgender others, so hiding my gender in public may not actually be the obvious 'thoughtful' move it once seemed.

Really, though, my way through this problem hasn't been philosophical at all. It's just been a steeling of nerves. It's been facing my body, getting more and more certain that I want to act and be related to from a more feminine position than my body predisposes, and realising that I can actually change that. But because of how useful Rorty's framework was in allowing me to articulate my gender stuff to myself in the first place, convincing myself that it's okay to expand that desire out from my most private and intimate relationships – and more into the public sphere – has genuinely been the hardest aspect of all of this.

Something that helps, ironically, is when misogynist pseudo-intellectual twerps like Jordan Peterson complain about the social unintelligibility of nonbinary people. When I'm worried about it for myself, my anxiety can lend it the heft of a real imposition, and it can produce real fear about taking up unmerited space in other people's apprehension. But when it's a dickhead like Peterson voicing it from the outside, it becomes massively easier to just be like "Oh, go fuck yourself! You can be confused if you want to be, but it's really not that hard! If you just treat people with baseline human respect you'll actually be FINE!"

Distastefully, up to this point in my life, if I'd ever had the misfortune of meeting Jordan Peterson, he'd "know how to treat me". Perhaps he'd smell something queer on me – and his hackles would certainly be raised as soon as I said anything – but I would be more or less socially intelligible to him as a man. But honestly, he should be more confused than that by me. I'm a different kind of queer than he'd likely assume, and there's obvious negative utility to the scheme of gender intelligibility as he practices it. Given that his response to nonbinary people is not actually merely confusion, but active hostility for daring to make him confused, it makes my response pleasantly straightforward.

"Sounds like a you problem, my guy!"

Part 2: The L word, or, the breeze in the valley

Okay, now I have to put my money where my mouth is. I made a big deal in Part 1 about having grown more confident in letting these private gender-things be more public, but this is the part I'm by far the most nervous about talking about. Did I keep putting off this section and have to circle back to it after I'd written everything else? Did I put a bunch of philosophy before this so that fewer people would see it? Who can say.

Because the truth is, in this gradual shift from 'agender nonbinary' to a clearer sense of my transfemininity, the formative word – the guiding lantern steering me to where I want to go – hasn't been 'woman'. The formative word has been lesbian.

I'm just such a fucking lesbian already! Every relationship I've ever had has either had lesbian vibes and worked, or tried to be a straight one and failed miserably. Queer people usually understand this a million times better than straight people: sexuality isn't just about who you're attracted to; it's also how you want to be found attractive. And when women find me attractive as a guy, I shrivel up like a time-lapsed leaf. Sex doesn't work; I'll dissociate and clear right out of my body within 30 seconds of genitals becoming involved. Even being flirted with by someone who's clearly experiencing me as a guy feels rotten, like I'm fraudulently advertising something that the store simply does not stock.

But every time there's ever been a flash of a woman or transfemme finding me attractive in a gay way ... Christ, that's a whole different thing. It feels impossibly good, 'getting away with something' good, good in a way that I'm not sure I'll ever entirely feel that I've earned. I honestly never dared to think of myself as a lesbian before other people – romantic partners in quiet moments – started naming it as something that felt obvious to them. In the less-lit corners of an intimacy, you can build a lot of curious shapes without necessarily having to name them. It was only when these partners started naming these shapes I kept building that I was able to see, briefly, light breaking through fog, a glimpse of what they saw.

And look, I know that there are going to be cis lesbians for whom this is contentious. I'm sure I'd get into less trouble if I confined myself to the roomy expansiveness of queer (with its "principled and deliberate fuzziness", to borrow a phrase of Rorty's I always loved). But – I don't know what to tell you! Lesbian just captures something vital about the way I love and want to be loved. Look how clearly the pull of it was present in the 2015 nonbinary post:

Another thing I can understand a lot better in the light of this realisation is how much, ever since I was young, I’ve loved and identified with gay women. I don’t mean ‘gay women’ in the sense of some big homogenised group; I mean specific gay women, who made me feel things that no-one else in my life did. God, I’ve had so many crushes on queer girls. I used to have a whole stand-up bit making fun of myself for it. Over and over, I kept having these strong feelings for musicians and actresses and characters who I would only discover later weren’t straight. I kept feeling weird about penis-in-vagina sex, and secretly preferring all the other kinds. I kept surreptitiously reading Autostraddle.com (”they have great taste in books!”, I’d say to the imaginary inquisition in my head). I kept having these experiences of feeling deeply at home amongst gay women, but only being able to talk about them in really cryptic ways (look at this post from 2010, at the way I grammatically absorbed myself into “the crowd”). I kept crying reading Adrienne Rich. This is … whatever it is, it’s a thing. And it makes sense, right? If I’m not actually a man but I am attracted to women, of course I’m going to feel more drawn to queer women than straight women. Of course I’m going to feel more of an affinity for queer and lesbian relationships than heterosexual man-woman ones. They’re closer to something I could actually feel fully seen and affirmed in. They’re closer to the kind of people who could find me attractive, not for the man I’m supposed to be, but for who I actually am. They’re closer to who and where and how I actually want to be.

"Whatever it is, it's a thing." I was terrified to publish that back in 2015, because I was (and still am) low-key terrified of ever being thought of as intruding on lesbian territory – but it was all just getting harder and harder to ignore. An interesting wrinkle that's developed in the intervening years: in the original post, I listed a bunch of examples of "musicians and actresses and characters" who I had unaccountable strong feelings about, all of whom identified at the time as lesbians, but two of whom have since come out as transmasc. (I have more than one ex-partner who has too.) There's a whole fuzzy topography of feeling here, where sometimes what I can pick up on in people is a kinship in the way each symmetrically working our way around our gender, and an unshakeable sense that this is a person who could see me. I'm making a big deal out of the word 'lesbian' here, but I don't mean it particularly restrictively. This is what I wrote about my own gender in that 2015 post:

When I look into the deepest parts of myself, outside of how I’m treated and read and understood by others, I don’t feel any gender at all. I just feel a still, calm, responsive space. An open enclosure; a gentle valley. A response waiting to make itself. And a particular kind of yearning to make it. [...] If the core of me is this adaptive, bendy, pragmatic neutrality, the main thing I have available to listen to is the quiet voice (the breeze in the valley) telling me who I want to adapt to. And that breeze has only ever blown in one direction.

I was being coy and poetic about it then, but "who I want to adapt to" is queers and trans people, and always has been. The breeze in the valley is lesbianism. I know that might sound like a strange, thin, rebounded way of identifying my desires here, but it's the direction I've been travelling in since I first learned to walk, and the light by which my relationships make by far the most sense. My last partner, especially, was remarkable for the unshakeable and clear-eyed solidity with which she experienced me as a lesbian – even before I'd actually fully articulated it to her – and that was huge. It made it so clear not only that it was right, but also that it was simple.

Like, realising in my 20s that I kept getting crushes on lesbians was one thing. (That can, with the right spin, merely be quirky.) But realising that nothing makes me feel more whole and seen and myself than being loved as a lesbian?

Well, shit. That's a whole different thing. And it puts me in a much more vulnerable spot.

Part 3: :3

Some years ago I saw (or possibly hallucinated) a tweet that's stuck in my mind ever since. I haven't been able to find it again, but that's probably unsurprising, as it's the exact kind of thing a person might tweet high on weed gummies and then delete 12 hours later. It was from a trans woman, accompanying a photo of her estradiol and spironolactone pills, and to the best of my recollection, it read as follows:

"just taking my little faggot pills :3"

Now, look, I'm a cautious kind of person. With the reclamation status of the word 'faggot' still so niche and contested, I probably wouldn't personally throw around the word so cavalierly. It's honestly impressive how many different political traditions would be entirely aghast at that tweet, for a whole variety of different reasons. But at the same time:

What a sentence, right?

To my mind, the tweet has power because it's a silly and ribald articulation of a genuinely powerful truth. By taking HRT, you're making the deliberate choice to make your body, your sexuality, and your existence more deviant and confusing from the perspective of heteronormative society. It's deviant behaviour, yes, but it's also inscribing that deviancy in your body's material composition. You're choosing to actively increase the likelihood that somebody will, at some point, in anger and as a way to punish and demean you, call you a faggot. They are, in this extremely literal social sense, little faggot pills.

(Obviously there are straight trans people, but I think the point still holds. Even the trans people most committed to staunchly performing straightness and being "one of the good ones" – your Blaires White, et al – are still extremely liable to have 'faggot' lobbed at them at any moment, even by their fans. It's not a word with a particularly precise definition; it's just a hammer.)

But when queer people pick up the hammer ourselves – perhaps do a gay little dance with it – that can lend real courage. I haven't liked to talk about this much, but years ago, I got a death threat on the street for wearing a skirt. I was waiting for a tram less than 100 metres away from where I was living in Brunswick (Brunswick! Lefty progressive Brunswick!), largely presenting as male except for a lovely fuchsia wool skirt. A gaunt, balding, middle-aged man walked up close to me and whispered in my ear, "If I had a gun, I'd shoot you in the head."

I wish he'd shouted it.

At the time, I convinced myself that I was okay, more or less. It was clearly an empty threat, and I obviously knew I signed up for the possibility of this when I started dressing in more gender-variant ways outside the house, right? But the truth is: I pretty much stopped wearing skirts outside after that. Not straight away, but after my resolve had slowly but steadily drained out of that puncture-point. It became a calculus of "is it worth the hassle" and "ugh, I just really don't want to be so visible today", which more and more frequently led me down the path of least resistance.

Which means that the abuse worked. Even though I could tell the story in a way that made me sound cavalier about it, I let myself be cowed. One of the really significant things about HRT is that, in a certain way, hormones are like a skirt you can't take off. Obviously there are always presentational decisions you can make on the basis of safety, but once you've been on hormones long enough and your body has really changed, it can become tough to fully boymode. Even if you're not passing as a cis woman, your gender weirdness is written on your body, in a way that would probably anger my gaunt Brunswick murder-wisher just as much – and for exactly the same reasons – as the sight of 'a guy in a skirt' did.

This, I think, is why I've always been so captivated by the 'faggot pills' tweet. To have such a fun, silly, gleeful attitude towards becoming a faggot, towards the choice to actively make oneself more faggotlike (in the deeply real social sense of 'liable to be punished as one') – there's a source of queer power in that which is basically thermonuclear. It could power all of the gay submarines. It could Superman-spin the world forwards. May we all live in its glow.

Part 4: Dysphoria, A Ghost Story

The history of the medical gatekeeping of trans people has mostly been a nightmare: a small cadre of creepy cis men holding all the levers of power and witholding healthcare to any trans person they didn't find sufficiently fuckable, or sufficiently willing to parrot their own theories back to them. At most times and places when doctors have been in charge of deciding whether not a trans person should get access to hormones, I straight-up wouldn't have qualified. The medical model of transness has always made suffering its yardstick, and I've just never had the kind of loud, acute, "unable to live as a boy" dysphoria that could have made me certain from a young age that I wanted to transition. It's all been a lot foggier than that. And when the model is "HRT is medicine purely to alleviate the symptoms of gender dysphoria, which is one thing and defined by distress", people like me aren't gonna make the cut.

Here's the problem, or one of them: the instruments needed to locate the gender dysphoria are pretty ruinously vulnerable to the exact forces they're attempting to measure. If I've gone through life feeling disconnected from my body, that could potentially be a marker of dysphoria, but it also means that I don't have any of those viscerally strong feelings people sometimes describe of having the wrong body. The disconnect is such that I've just never been able to access any strong feelings about my body at all. What exactly is one to do with that? It certainly doesn't sound very sturdy on an intake form. To the extent that I have gender dysphoria, it seems that one of its primary effects has been to bury in sand my ability to access my own feelings about my gender and about my body.

Don't get me wrong: it wouldn't be hard to line up a bunch of facts about my prior history – for instance, the way I always took every opportunity to play girl characters in video games; the way I refused to even contemplate going to an all-boys school when that choice was offered to me; the wobbly little smile I'd get whenever anyone mistook me for a woman online or from behind; the way I once broke down sobbing at a stupid "what would you look like as the opposite gender" photo filter; the way I kept dissociating through straight sex – and say I dunno man that sounds pretty dysphoric. But there always seemed to me to be other potential explanations for them, which I've spent the last 20 years dutifully exploring and exhausting. And the truth is, at most gender clinics historically, none of that would be enough to get me a diagnosis.

Because – and I know this is in a very deep, unpleasant, grey way – I could pretend to be cis. if I couldn't transition, I wouldn't die. I'm a very accommodating person, with a bone-deep aversion to 'making a fuss'. If transitioning weren't an option for me, I'd just get on with things, live a cis life, and try to find as much happiness as I could in the seams. At most gender clinics historically, if I told them this, they'd immediately say, 'Oh okay then! Well, no need to transition then. To be honest, we only begrudgingly allow it for the people who insist that they couldn't stand living otherwise (and even them, we make insist it for years and years before we relent). Feel free to take a lollipop on your way out.'

It's only been in recent years that an informed consent model has started, quietly, in some places, to be put in place for adults seeking hormones. Informed consent is essentially where, when you come to an endocrinologist wanting to be put on gender-affirming hormones, they don't see it as their job to assess whether you're 'really transgender', but rather – assuming that you've thought about it, and it's your decision to make – they see it as their job to make sure you know exactly what the hormones will do, exactly what the risks are, and how to take them safely. This is the model my GP and endrocrinologist have used with me, and I honestly can't express how grateful I am for that.

In my first session with my endocrinologist, we had a 10-minute chat about what my deal was and why I wanted to try them (friendly and non-invasive, and I guess just checking for the most obvious of red flags), and then the rest of the hour was straightforwardly about the practicalities of what the hormones would do. It was perfect. If I had to go through the kind of interrogative, invasive assessments that are still common practice – which are better than they used to be but which still ask a ton of "are you really just a pervert" questions – I honestly don't think I would have made it. I wouldn't have wanted to lie. I wouldn't have wanted to smooth out the bumps in my story to present a more standard narrative. I wouldn't have been able to deal with the violations of privacy, the insinuations of ulterior motives, and the need to fit into a tiny diagnostic costume. Even if I'd had a relatively compassionate doctor simply following current WPATH standards, I strongly suspect that I'd be knocked back.

Which means, I guess, that I can't feel too much chagrin about having 'taken this long' to start hormones. If I'd attempted it even 10 years ago, I probably wouldn't have been able to. I wouldn't have been able to find an endocrinologist willing to prescribe on an informed consent basis, I wouldn't have had the stamina to endure all the invasive assessments, and I definitely wouldn't have had the nerve to self-medicate. Informed consent was the only way I was ever going to be able to transition. Which, given how immediately and obviously the right decision I feel it to be, should probably give us pause about the whole medical model of transness.

Here's something that I think is illustrative. Recently, some clueless cis person on Twitter posed this question:

The reaction from trans people I saw was pretty much universally negative. People compared the prospect to a lobotomy, to conversion therapy, to brainwashing, to being killed and replaced by someone different. Now, if you asked those same trans people whether they would accept becoming cis as their gender, I suspect you'd get much more mixed results (though still far from universally affirmative). But when it came to the prospect of simply 'taking away their dysphoria' – turning them into someone who was, in the language of those old awful clinics, 'content with their birth sex' – virtually every trans person replied with the horror and revulsion of someone facing the prospect of their personhood getting wiped from existence.

If HRT really was treatment for an ailment called gender dysphoria, you wouldn't really expect that, right? Like, if you offered people with kidney stones a magical new treatment that could simply get rid of them painlessly, pretty much 100% of sufferers are saying yes, with no hesitation. Ailment after ailment, very few people are saying no to instant painless miracle cures. But transness is clearly different, right? Even though the medical authorities have always focused so exclusively on the pain of being trans as the problem in need of medical redress, that's clearly not all that's going on. Trans people don't want the kind of 'cure' that tweet proposes, because transness is genuinely so much more than the pain caused by being it in a transphobic world. It's a core ingredient in our stew, a central thread in our life's narrative, a fundament of our self-concept. It's inextricable from the people we are, to the extent that the 'miracle cure' proposed in that tweet could literally only function by destroying the person.

Now – before I get too over my skis – it's obviously politically important to recognise trans HRT as healthcare. Hormones are a medically complicated dimension of the body, and I do think it's generally a good idea to have a trans-competent endocrinologist involved (at least in the beginning) to do blood tests and explain the risks and be on the lookout for the kinds of medical complications we might miss. But at bottom, I feel like hormones are a question of bodily autonomy. We should simply get to do this with our bodies if we want to. We shouldn't need a 'diagnosis', as though what we have is a disease in need of cis people's cures; we should just be able to decide if we want to shift ourselves in this way.

Here's the truth of it for me. When I think about my daily ritual of taking my Cyproterone and rubbing estradiol goop on my thigh, I don't experience it as a medical treatment. I certainly don't think of it as 'medicine' I'm taking for a disease I have called 'gender dysphoria'. I think of it as a change I'm choosing to make to my body for my own reasons: more akin to the way that some people choose to tattoo themselves, or exercise in pursuit of a particular form. Those analogies might risk coming across as minimising, but I don't mean them to be. Starting HRT feels like one of the most important decisions I've ever made – a fundamental reorientation of my relationship to myself and to how other people will relate to me – and even if the experiment ends up leading to me going back off them, it'll still have lifelong repercussions. But while it's clearly medical in the sense that it involves making some alterations to my body chemistry, it's honestly difficult for me to conceptualise my own HRT as a treatment. Not in the way I've been treated for other health problems I've had. For me at least, it's just a fundamentally different kind of project.

Whimsically, my organisational instincts were already gesturing at all this before I'd really articulated my thoughts on it. When I first got my hormones, I kept in the bathroom cabinet. Obvious place for them, right? But after a few days, I realised I had this nagging sense that this was the wrong spot for them. I'm very particular about the organisation of my belongings; I like to be able to see everything at once, and get a lot of satisfaction out of having everything well-categorised. And having my trans stuff in my medicine cabinet, I realised – alongside the cough medicine and diarrhea-relief capsules and antiseptic gargle – was rubbing dissonantly against that instinct. These things are in different categories. So I took the HRT stuff out of the medicine cabinet, and instead arranged in on a dedicated little shelf beside my bed. On it, in a neat little row, sit the pills, the gel, a little plastic pill-splitter, and a pair of scissors for opening the little sachets the goop comes in.

It was a great decision; my organisational instincts satisfied. Ever since, I've often found myself just looking fondly over at the shelf – all the tools laid out for my favourite daily ritual – and sharing a little smile with myself.

Part 5: The bottom line, the simple truth, the thigh in the ointment

All of what's preceded this amounts to an explanation of why I started hormones, but it doesn't secure any particular outcome. This is an experiment, and like any good scientist, one must be prepared to get all sorts of results. If I try them and they end up doing nothing for me, I am perfectly prepared to accept that. If I stay on them for years but eventually stop appreciating the changes and abandon the whole idea, I am steeled to accept the more permanent changes as dignified monuments to my willingness to answer a question that was worth asking. ("Why do I have these tits? For science, dear boy. For science.")

But listen.

It's early. It's obviously stupidly early. But so far the experiment's been going great.

I've been in a consistently ebullient mood: grinning at nothing, dancing in the shower. I've started exercising (which I've never done uncoerced before in my life), because it turns out that once I make a single real decision in relation to my body, I feel more invested in it, and find myself wanting to use it / shape it / be in it more. I wrote this whole blog post, which (however self-indulgent and meandering it may be) is the longest-form writing I've managed to do in ages. I even went to a local market today and bought a mirror, which probably doesn't sound like much, but it's literally the first time I ever have. I've always recoiled from mirrors. But now, somehow, even before any visible changes whatsoever have occurred, I find I just don't hate the idea of seeing myself anymore.

Now, I obviously have no way of separating out to what degree any of these are actually chemical versus simply the excitement of embarking on a big and long-awaited change. It's probably always a mixture, and ultimately the exact ratio isn't terribly important. But one perceptible effect that I'm confident is chemical (cut to the Cyproterone looking guilty) is the way that my sex drive has vanished without a trace. That'll probably sound ominous to a lot of people, but I've honestly experienced it as a pretty pure and profound relief. It's led to me feeling much friendlier towards my genitals: like they're gentler and chiller and more a real part of me. (Contra's bit about the feminine penis was, I'm realising, a little bit life-changing for me. It was the first time I can recall somebody articulating a physical effect of hormones that I was capable of realising that I wanted.)

This will all keep shifting, of course. In relation to the sex drive, I've heard a number of trans women describe the process of sexual rebuilding on estrogen as like: your old sex drive gets absolutely nuked from orbit – no survivors – but then, slowly, something new starts growing, not quite 'in place' of the old thing, but in a slightly different place, which can make it tricky to even recognise it as a sex drive, because it feels so different from the only reference-point for that you've ever had. That's not been every trans woman on HRT's experience – every part of this is variable – but I genuinely hope it's mine. I'm really curious to know what might start growing in the places inside me I don't know about yet.

There's one last little story I want to relate. A few days ago, I was sitting on my couch reading and listening to Carlo Giustini, when I glanced up from the book and looked over at the Lucy Dacus poster on my wall. I suddenly remembered this essay she wrote about coming out, and all the little ways we usually don't get to have it happen on our terms, and I remembered the line "Coming out can feel like giving in", and before I knew it, I was crying.

I've always been a decent crier; this isn't some stoic facade that's never been pierced. (My facade is and has always been a pincushion.) But something about how close to the surface those tears were did feel meaningfully new to me. Historically, my crying has required a slower build than that: a steady uphill walk up to the emotional precipice. But this was like: five seconds ago I was reading about something completely unrelated, and now I'm crying. Which –

I'm sorry, I know this probably sounds chintzy and cornball, but ... is that not more me? Is that not drawing closer to me my more inhibited and authentic feelings? Me suddenly crying because of a line from a Lucy Dacus essay about being queer is obviously not the strange bit here; that makes all the sense in the world. The strange part is that, when I first read the essay last year, I didn't cry. I really liked the essay, and shared it with a few people, and remembered it – but I didn't cry. And like, clearly that's where you've got a problem, right? That's where you've got a body clogged with alien chemicals gumming up the works, rusting the pipes, and getting in the way of the business at hand, which is being a weepy lesbian.

(ಥ﹏ಥ)

Look: there's a lot more here that I don't know than that I do, and almost all of what's going to happen is still to come. It feels ludicrous to say given how long this post has turned out to be, but there honestly are a ton of aspects of this that I haven't even touched on. (Visiting a sperm bank! Wild new HRT virility research that means I may not have needed to visit the sperm bank! The complex semiosis of facial hair! Questions of differential outness! My name!) But in the interests of having this be readable by anybody at all – if you're still here, I love you – I'm going to wrap it up here.

So far, I feel really good about the decision to start HRT. It's making me feel more like myself, and making 'myself' feel like a better thing to be. It feels surreal and satisfying and obviously where I want to be going, and I don't know what more I could ask from a tiny quarter-pill and a little goop on my thigh.

#hrt #hormone replacement therapy #cyproterone #estradiol #I don't know if anyone's gonna read this whole thing but I'm really glad I wrote it

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