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SUMMARY: you grew up with clark on earth prime, and everything was perfect until the sky turned redâŚ
WARNINGS: CONTAINS SPOILERS! angst, violence and blood, emotional abuse, physical assault/minor injuries, PTSD themes, dissociation, existential dread, angst with a happy ending, fluff if you squint your eyes, canon compliant (mostly), toxic love.
A/N: hey so first time posting a fic hahaha⌠icl this turned out longer than expected and probably isnât all that good and a tad bit boring since this is my first time! i lowkey enjoyed writing though so i may aswell post more in the future because i got a looot of unposted stuff in my drafts. honestly, this was supposed to be a series but then i realized if it is i prolly wont finish it so forgive me if some things arenât as fleshed out. also.. the timeline may not be accurate because its been a good while since ive read infinite crisis lol and english isnât my first language
the sky above your beloved earth, or earth prime as you learned it was called, had always been a brilliant, beautiful, unremarkable shade of blue. it was the kind of sky that belonged to a world where the most exciting thing that could happen on a random tuesday was a pop quiz in geometry (which to note, was not the good sort of exciting, you always hated geometry), or a new issue of action comics hitting the stands at the local pharmacy.
you remember that sky so incredibly fondly. you remember the way the summer heat used to rest softly on your skin as you walked the smallville streets alongside your friends, the way the air smelled like cut grass and always a little salty before a thunderstorm came through which gave you a perfect head-start on when to prepare for rain or when not to.
but most of all, the thing you remember the clearest, was a boy named after a comic book hero and who wanted to be a hero so badly himself. clark. clark kent. not the superman, or well, superboy-prime everyone else knows (and formerly knew) him as on new earth, or the cosmic terrifying anomaly or the monster who punched reality until it shattered. just clark.
he had been a boy with messy black colored hair and glasses that always sat slightly uneven on his nose. a boy who could rant for hours and hours and hours about one topic.
the boy who would sit with you on the hood of his dadâs beat up truck, sharing a basket of chili fries from the local diner, arguing passionately about whether batman could actually beat superman in a fair fight (which you still don't believe batman could, and you will die on that hill if you must).
ââits about preparation,ââ clark had insisted to you one evening, waving a fry in irritation to your disagreement which made you struggle to keep in a laugh - he had always been so easy to throw off the rockers, and god did you enjoy doing it.
the grease of the fries stained his fingers, and he wiped them carelessly on his jeans as he noticed it, much to aunt naomiâs future dismay. ââbatman is a tactician! tactician,ââ he emphasized. ââsuperman is just raw power. if bruce has time to plan, he wins. he always wins! thats the whole point!ââ
ââclark, superman can literally just throw the moon at him.ââ you countered, stealing a fry from his basket. ââi donât think any planning or usage of utility belt gadgets is going to save batman from getting the full, concentrated power of the moon thrown at his ass at the speed of light. its the moon.ââ
ââum, actually, in the comics superman is faster than the speed of light,ââ he began which made you groan and roll your eyes.
such a nerd, but still so endearing to you. at your visible annoyance, he had laughed. that bright, unburdened sound that seemed to belong to an entire different lifetime. a laugh you had adored. ââyou just donât appreciate the nuance of the narrative. itâs not just about throwing the moon or that he simply could yâknow? its about the psychological warfare and what's behind itâââ
ââi appreciate that youâre such a nerd,ââ you interrupted him before his umpteenth-ramble, teasing him and bumping your shoulder against his.
he had bumped you back in response, his cheeks flushing slightly. ââheeey! iâm just an enthusiast. thatâs like⌠completely different!â
sure bud.
that was the clark you knew and adored. the enthusiast. the boy who was named after a hero and loved them so much he wanted to be one, even in a world where heroes only existed in four-color print.
clark kent, son of jerry and naomi kent. he showed you his scars and flaws, and in return, he let you pretend that you had none. he was kind and he was earnest and he was yours. you had known him since kindergarten, back when he was just a quiet kid who got picked on for having the same name as a comic book character. you had defended him then, and you had defended him every day since.
you remembered the halloween in eighth grade. he had gone as superman, (naturally, who else would clark kent go as?). aunt naomi had sewn the costume herself, and he had worn it with a mixture of pride and profound embarrassment. you had gone as lois lane after his repeated asking (you did not know back then, that they were lovers. a much similar fate you would share with lois).
you had worn a trench coat and were carrying a notepad around, mostly just to make him smile. and he had smiled. he smiled and his face was like the sun - he had looked at you like you were the only person in the room.
ââyou make a good lois,ââ he had whispered, his voice cracking slightly.
ââyou make a good superman.ââ you had replied, fingers running along the giant âsâ on his chest.
soon enough after halloween, clark would confess to you and you would become boyfriend and girlfriend.
it was a simple, but happy life. a life of watching comic live action movies at the local theater after clarkâs relentless begging, sneaking beers from his dadâs garage, and bowling on friday nights.
it was a life of being a normal teen, of thinking you had all the time in the world to figure out who you were going to be.
the two of you had stayed in that room standing together for several long minutes, your first awareness of each other undimmed and uninterrupted by your surroundings. slowly, clarkâs face turned red and his face split even more into a smile like a burst of sunlight - a sun that would warm you for what it felt like a long time, until the day of your last farewell, when the cold that has dried out your beloved earth had suddenly gotten to him.
because then, the sky turned red.
the memory of that day was burned into your mind, like a massive jagged scar across your consciousness you are forced to live with your entire life long. it had started like any other day, as most bad days do. you were sitting on the bleachers at the highschool football field, watching clark try out for the team. he wasnât very good, but he tried so hard to be.
then out of nowhere, the air pressure dropped. the sky, that brilliant, beautiful, unremarkable blue you so loved, bled into a terrifying, apocalyptic crimson (a shade of color you would come to hate dearly).
the clouds twisted into unnatural shapes you had never seen before, and a very low, resonant hum vibrated through the ground, rattling your teeth in your skull.
with the way the entire fucking planet was practically shaking, it felt like your teeth were about to fall out your damn mouth.
panic erupted and people were screaming, running and pointing at the sky. hell, some idiotic fucks even took out their phones to record instead of running for their lives.
you had scrambled down the bleachers, searching frantically for clark who had disappeared from the middle of the field, because of fucking course he did.
luckily, you found him near the fifty-yard line instead, staring up at the sky with an expression of absolute awe and terror⌠mostly awe.
ââclark!ââ you had screamed, grabbing his arm. ââare you actually insane? standing here like some weirdo, we have to go!ââ
even as you tried pulling him, he hadnât moved. he just kept staring at the sky like a man possessed. ââdo you see them?ââ he whispered.
ââsee what?ââ you demanded, still pulling on him and strangely enough, he wasnât budging at all.
ââthe heroes,ââ he said. and his voice sounded strange and manic in a way you had never heard it be before.
and then, the impossible happened. a man descended from the red sky, wearing the exact costume aunt naomi had sewn for him that one halloween. superman. the real superman, (kal-l from earth two. you only figured out from which earth and who he was exactly later). superman landed on the field, the ground cracking beneath his boots.
ââclark kent.ââ the man had said, his voice booming across the chaotic field. ââwe need your help.ââ
clark had looked at you, his eyes wide, terrified and⌠exhilarated?
honestly, you shouldâve seen his choice coming. it was clark afterall, your clark. the boy obsessed with becoming a superhero. why wouldnât he accept an offer from his absolute idol to save the world? it was stupid to expect anything else.
of course, you had pleaded anyways.
ââi have to go.ââ he said, his voice trembling.
ââno,ââ you had pleaded, gripping his arm tighter. ââclark, you canât leave. please. donât leave me! this is fucked! you don't even know those weirdos!ââ
his brows furrowed and he looked sad for a moment, but that wasnât enough to keep him. ââiâll come back,ââ he promised, pressing a desperate, fleeting kiss to your forehead. if the situation had been different, you wouldâve been tripping over your shoe laces and gushing.
but you hadnât.
this wasnât some fairytale romance where heâd sweep you off your feet and carry you off into the horizon.
this was your damn reality, and clark was leaving you for men wearing their underwear over their damn clothes.
ââiâll come back for you, okay? i promise. but i have to do this. iâm meant for this - to be super.ââ
before you could even muster up a reply, he had flown away with superman who gave you an empathetic glance. fucking flown - you didnât even know he could fly!
you couldnât even fully process what was happening at the time, the sky turning red, literal superman taking clark away?
so to say that you were abandoned by clark would be unjust, he didnât expect the earth to dissolve into nothingness later on, afterall, he tried to save it. but that you felt abandoned, and horribly so, is true.
the neverending garden of purity ends the second you step on a flower - your beloved earth didnât die in a day. the gods arenât that kind.
you had returned to your parents alone, who cradled you and held you as they cried. the world slowly turned into anti-matter around you, washing over your universe.
people were dying and the world erupted into chaos.
your parents dissolved into the anti-noise soon after everything went wrong, they tried to protect you until the very end.
then it was aunt naomi and uncle jerry, they didnât stop looking for their son until it was their turn to dissolve.
you didnât have the heart nor the words to explain what had happened. hell, you couldnât even fully fathom it yourself.
yet you still had hope for some time, even after they disappeared, that clark would come back for you, as he had promised.
you sat alone in the end, watching the crimson sky as your home kept disappearing.
you closed your eyes and wondered if clark knew what was happening to his home⌠he probably didnât. maybe it was to comfort yourself from the impending doom of death, but youâd like to imagine that if he knew his world was actively disappearing, he wouldâve come back. for his family. for you.
he was probably out there being super alongside that weird superman guy who took him. and even in your misery, you couldnât find it in yourself to blame him. after a while, you had stopped hoping for him to come too, only hoping he was safe wherever he was and that this wouldnât hurt him too much. he had always felt everything so strongly, afterall.
all you could do now was wait for the end and the end came.
you had been seventeen when he left, and you had been seventeen ever since.
and for years, or what you believed to be years, you thought you were dead. or rather, you didnât think at all. you were simply unmade, a casualty of a cosmic crisis too vast for your small mind to comprehend.
and you think youâre fine. not understanding, i mean. itâs easier to just cope with the fact that you existed in a state of non-being, a ghost haunting the mere edges of reality than some other crazy explanation.
but, of course, the multiverse is such a strange, fractured thing, isnât it? when alexander luthor and clark shattered the walls of their paradise dimension, the resulting temporal shockwave had unintended consequences.
fragments of dead universes washed up on the shores of new earth.
and somehow, by the grace of the universe, you were one of them.
you woke up in an alleyway in metropolis, gasping for air, your lungs burning as if you had been holding your breath for a decade.
you were wearing the same summer clothes you had on the day the sky turned red. the world around you was so damn loud, chaotic and just fundamentally wrong.
the heroes here werenât confined on the pages of comic books like back home; they flew overhead, real and really fucking imposing.
but they were so much darker than in the comics and so much angrier. the city felt so heavy with a cynicism that your home had never known and it scared you.
the news broadcasts you could see on the giant screens of sky scraping towers were filled with violence, corruption and utter despair.
it wasnât exactly hard to figure everything out, but it still took you a while after doing your own research in public libraries and finding homeless shelters who wouldnât try to send you into the adoption system.
thanks to this thing called âdaily planetâ, you learned what happened to your universe (not that they explicitly said it, but based on the video footages and your own experiences, you had a pretty good guess) and essentially the multiverse.
the destruction of blĂźdhaven, the slaughter of the green lanterns, the death of superboy, or connor kent if you remember his name correctly, and you learned the name of the monster responsible for it all.
superman-prime.
this version of metropolis was the complete opposite of what you remembered of your beloved home.
it felt more like a monument to a future that was a complete lie. to everyone else here, it was the âcity of tomorrowâ, protected by a god amongst men in a red cape.
to you, it was a graveyard of memories you werenât supposed to have.
the butterflies of hope for a good life in your stomach have long since turned into skull moths crawling up your throat and you canât help but throw them up.
and no matter how good superman seemed, you couldnât bring yourself to like or trust him. remembering what happened what felt like an eternity but also just yesterday ago.
if youâre going to trust a hero just because he wears a cape, you might aswell trust a snake just because it doesnât have hands to scratch you with.
you lived in a studio apartment in suicide slum (a name that felt far too on-the-nose for your current state of mind). the walls were so damn thin that you could hear your neighbors cough and the constant, loud ass honks of the cityâs traffic.
it was a small and cramped place - absolute shithole if you were to be honest with yourself. it smelled faintly of old paper and damp wood at times due to the rain. but it was yours. or at least, this was the space you occupied. nothing felt really like âyoursâ in this god forsaken planet.
you basically were a ghost. nothing more and nothing less.
it felt like the only plausible word befitting enough to describe your current state of mind. you walked through the streets of new earth, yes, but you didnât belong in its soil.
you had no birth certificate, no social security number, no history and no family. you were a mere fragment of a world that had been erased, a glitch in the multiversal code.
you were all alone.
but you didnât feel as terrible as when you first ended up here all by yourself. back then, in those first days, you were so alone that everyday was like eating your very own heart.
you had managed to secure a place at a small, local library, which was obviously how you paid for your apartment. it was an old and dusty place because most people were drawn to electronics nowadays, but it was enough.
you spent your days shelving biographies of people who probably never existed on your earth or were slightly different - and filing history books that were either completely different from what you knew or altered.
sometimes you would wander into the daily newspaper section. you would see the glossy covers of the latest ââcrisisââ events, and you would feel a physical wave of nausea.
these werenât stories to you anymore that you saw in one of clark's many comics.
they were crime scene photos. everytime you saw a drawing of superman, you didnât see a hero; you saw the man who had taken clark away.
everytime you saw a mention of the green lanterns, you saw the victims of a boy who used to share his life with you. a boy who was a sun child once - now it seems thereâs nothing left but rage.
and for what? a world he chose to leave despite your begging?
your friends (if you could call them that, they were very few), were martha and leo. martha was the head librarian who was too kind to ask you why you had no family and absolutely no history or anything else you'd usually need to get a job. she just saw how miserable (and possibly pathetic) you looked and gave you a job.
leo was the guy who ran the coffee cart on the corner. they were both nice people, but they were âânew earthââ people. they werenât your people.
they lived in a world where the sky turning red was just another normal day.
they didnât understand the fucking misery and ache and absolute hollowness of losing an entire universe.
you kept up with the news, of course. it was impossible not to. the giant screens in centennial park were always flickering with the latest exploits of the justice league.
you watched them with a grim, detached fascination as they rebuilt after what they had deemed ââinfinite crisisââ aka the shit clark, or rather superman prime had caused.
you heard the talks of the monster they had apparently locked away in some part of the universe, the boy from another world who tried to destroy this one to ââfixââ everything.
to reassure the public, the masses were informed that the threat was safely tucked away guarded by fifty green lanterns very deep and far away in the universe.
and yet, despite all heâs done, you had hoped in a dark, selfish corner of your heart, that he was okay. and in another, louder corner, you hoped that he would never get out.
because you knew what happened when clark got angry.
even back home, he had an incredible hot temper. give a boy with a shit temper the powers of basically a god and thereâs guaranteed to be wreckage.
the shift, of course, happened on a tuesday. it was always a fucking tuesday.
you were closing up the library, the sun setting behind the skyline of metropolis.
for some reason, the air felt more tense today than usual and you got random chills throughout your shift. like the hair on your arms would stand up at random which was really weird because it didnât usually happen and shouldnât be happening now.
deciding to brush it off because thereâs nothing you can really do, you turned on the small, flickering television in the breakroom to catch the evening news, a habit born of desperate need to know where the monsters were. (if you meant the justice league or actual monsters is unknown even to you).
the screen came out as a chaotic mess of static due to the tv.
ââreports are coming in from across the globe,ââ the anchor stammered, her voice trembling. ââit seems as though an unknown force has breached the atmosphere. theyâre calling themselves the sinestro corps.ââ
the camera cut to a shaky feed from the coast. the sky wasnât red this time. it was a sickly and very ugly, blinding color of piss yellow.
thousands of streaks of light were descending like fallen stars, each one a warrior clad in black and gold, wielding massive rings.
and then, you saw him.
the camera zoomed in on a figure hovering above the wreckage of a military vessel. he wasnât wearing the tattered remains of a blue suit anymore. he was encased in a new set of armor; yellow and giving off absolute villain vibes.
it looked like a mockery of the anti-monitor suit he had worn before, but sleeker and more predatory. on his chest the ââsââ shield was carved deep.
he wasnât a boy anymore either. his face had hardened, his jawline sharp as a damn razorâs blade and his eyes glowing with a manic, solar-charged fury. he looked like a damn god of wrath.
ââsuperman-prime,ââ the reporter whispered, the name sounding like a death knell.
you watched in absolute horror as he reached down and tore a fighter jet out of the sky with one hand, crushing it like a soda can. he wasnât even fighting them, he was enjoying it!
and he was laughing - the same laugh you had so adored and so missed. but there was something twisted and wrong and really fucking messed up about it.
it sounded cruel. and he was slaughtering people. real people.
you felt the bile rise in your throat at the sight, gripping the edge of the table for support so damn hard your knuckles turned paper white.
this was the boy who wanted to be a superhero.
this was the boy who promised heâd come back for you.
ââclark,ââ you whispered and suddenly, the television exploded into complete static. the lights in the library flickered for a second and then died, plunging the whole room into a suffocating darkness.
the fuck? you moved your hands to shield your body as the air pressure dropped so fast and hard your ears were about to pop, and the temperature in the room skyrocketed like hell.
the windows of the library fucking vaporized a second later!
a shockwave of heat and yellow light slammed into the room, throwing you back against the shelves. books tumbled down around you, but you were quick to scramble to your feet.
what the actual fuck? you coughed through the dust caused by the falling of the books, your heart hammering against your chest.
in the center of the ruined room, he was standing perfectly fine though.
the yellow piss colored armor radiated a very weird low frequency vibration that felt like it was rattling your bones.
the glow from his eyes was the only light in the room, two twins of pure, unadulterated rage. he looked like he had just stepped out of the heart of a damn star.
he didnât move and merely stared at you.
ââi felt you,ââ he says finally.
his voice was so different. it wasnât like the voice from your dreams and memories at all. it was resonant and powerful and felt like it could shatter the world. but underneath all that you could hear a tremor. a mix of relief and the innocence of joy.
ââhow are you here? earth prime got ruined by them, didnât it?ââ he began, ââactually, it mustâve happened when we broke the paradise dimension, right? did the multiverse spit you back out? but that means you were alone for so long⌠mâsorry. mâso so sorry. because of those wannabe-hero-supervillains we were separated for so long, but not anymore.ââ he rambled and rambled and if you werenât paralyzed with shock, youâd punch the air out of his lungs.
ââi was at the center of a sun, yâknow,ââ he continued, taking a slow, heavy step toward you. the floorboards charred beneath his boots. ââi was fighting the entire universe, fixing it, all the corrupted and evil stuff like a real hero, ,ââ he rambled on. god, he fucking rambled on. just like back then. and its so cruel.
its so fucking cruel.
ââi was killing everything that wasnât real. actually, no not killing. fixing.. yeah. fixing everything. making things the way they were sâpposed to be. and then⌠then i felt a heartbeat. a real one.ââ he stopped a few feet away from you and the heat radiating off him was almost unbearable, the smell of ozone and burnt air filling your lungs.
he reached up with a gauntleted hand and unclasped his helmet. the metal hissed as it retracted, revealing his face.
you had seen his face on tv just a second ago, but the second between him putting his helmet back while he assumingely flew to you on and then seeing him take it off in front of you was immense.
he looked older, yes. there were lines of exhaustion and something you could only guess to be madness around his eyes.
but despite all that, he was still clark, wasnât he? he was still the boy you lost all that time ago on that forsaken football field.
ââyouâre here,ââ he whispered, his eyes searching yours with a desperate, terrifying intensity. ââyouâre actually here.ââ
you looked at him, really looked at him - the armor, the blood on his hand, the monster he had become to ââsaveââ a world that was already gone. you looked at the man who had just murdered hundreds of people on live television.
ââclark,ââ you said, your voice trembling. ââwhat have you done?ââ
he didnât flinch, albeit you could see his smile slightly twitching before a bigger, more terrifying one spread across his face - a burst of sunlight that felt like it was going to burn you alive.
ââi found you, thats what iâve done.ââ he said, stepping into your space, and shit was his presence overwhelming. ââi told you iâd come back. i promised.ââ
well a tad bit too late, ainât it? you werenât able to get those words out as his yellow-piss colored gauntlet hand moved to hover just inches from your cheek.
he was still looking at you like you were the only thing in the multiverse that truly mattered.
âânow,ââ he whispered, his eyes glowing brighter. ââonce im done, we can finally go back home.ââ
you always knew that clark was a little delusional, but holy shit. ââclark, there is no home!ââ you screamed, the word basically tearing from your throat - years of repressed emotions finally pouring out like a waterfall.
you took a step back, your heels crunching on the earth he deemed âfakeâ. the earth you tried so fucking hard to live on.
ââour earth is gone, clark! itâs dead and itâs not coming back! you literally saw it burn, god! you saw it dissolve into nothingness from wherever the fuck you were!ââ
ââno!ââ he yells back, the sound shattering whatever of the windows was left. hell, the glass vaporized into thin air before it could even hit the ground. ââitâs not dead! i can bring it back! itâsâŚitâs just hidden from us by these failures who call themselves heroes!ââ
he was breathing heavily. you always knew clark was fragile mentally, and he never took well to rejection. his eyes were hysterically moving across the room, avoiding direct eye contact with you before they eventually stopped on you.
if this person wasnât your clark, you probably wouldâve shat yourself seeing the look in his eyes. absolutely fucking manic.
ââthey⌠they turned you against me, didnât they? they got to you before i did..ââ he explains, more to him than you.
god, you wished he would just shut up. if anyone here should be losing it, it should be you! while you arenât the fondest of the justice league either, youâre rational enough to know what happened to your home wasnât their fault. clark is justâŚ
mental.
heâs gone absolutely fucking mental.
but.. thats how he always was, wasnât he? maybe it wasnât as bad back then, or you pretended not to see it, but he always felt very strongly and reacted accordingly.
and yet you still adored him so. afterall, you donât fall in love with people just because theyâre good people.
you fall in love with people whose darkness you recognize. you can fall in love with a person for all the right reasons, but that kind of love can still fall apart.
but when you fall in love with someone because your monsters found a home in them, like yours did clarkâs, thats the kind of love that owns your skin and bones.
itâs why you could never stop loving him either, no matter how much of a shit-show he has become.
you want to say something, but before you can, you are very rudely interrupted by said shit-show.
ââthey filled your head with their venomous, piece-of-shit air!ââ he moved forward as he spoke, and you flinched away from the sudden movement - more instinct than actual fear.
however, clark froze.
well shit - the silence right now is definitely worse than any scream you have heard on television just now. but youâre not sure you want him to talk either.
of course, once more despite your pleas, he did.
ââyouâre afraid of me.ââ he whispered. it wasnât a question and more of a realization - a wrong one! you definitely did not fear clark!
but the boy in front of you hasnât been your clark for a long time, has he? so maybe you are afraid. how could you not be?
ââi donât know you,ââ you said, your voice more a mixture of desperate, agonizing grief than terror. ââi look at you, and i see the face of the boy who i loved, but the person standing in front of me⌠heâs a stranger. heâs a monster, clark. youâre going down a path i canât follow!ââ
ââi am a hero!ââ he screamed, his heat vision flaring. two blinding, hot beams of red light scorched the floorboards between you, sending up a cloud of ash. ââi am the only real hero left! iâm the only one who cares enough to do what needs to be done! i fought my way out of a sun for this - for you!ââ
ââand thatâs the problem!ââ you yelled, stepping forward. you donât know what the hell has gotten into you, but a sudden, definitely fueled by desperate, rage ridden, suicidal bravery, letâs you grow some guts.
ââyes, weâre damaged, clark! really fucking damaged! but that does not make us wise! weâre not - youâre not special! we donât get to choose who lives or dies!ââ he stiffened, and fuck did it feel good to get this out. his piss colored weird-energy pulse in his suit even stuttered for the entire fraction of a second.
ââweâre just kids,ââ you finally whispered, tears finally falling out of your eyes. ââwe.. we were supposed to just be seventeen yâknow? i know it was ages ago for you, but for me it wasnât that long ago. we were supposed to live together and see bad movies and sneak beers and⌠and just be. but youâre playing god with peopleâs lives for some fucked up fantasy or dream!ââ
you inhale and then exhale, voice slightly softening. ââthatâs wrong, clark. a hero doesnât murder. look at yourself, at what youâve become!ââ
ââi have to!ââ he pleaded, his face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated lunacy.
of course heâd rather double down than to admit he was wrong. what else did you expect from him?
ââif you donât come with me.. if you donât stay⌠then what was it all for? why did i fight? why did i survive up until now? because iâm meant to save us. we're supposed to be together!ââ clark pleads once more, and youâre not sure if heâs trying to convince himself or you.
ââif we're supposed to be together,ââ you replied, looking him straight in the eyes, ââyou would have stayed that day when i asked you to. you would have listened. youâre so damn obsessed with the past that youâre murdering the future. i wonât be a part of it. i wonât go with you.ââ
ââthat boy you want is dead!ââ he screamed, once desperate emotion turning into pure rage once more - this time with the vengeance cherry on top. ââthe universe killed him! and now, iâm going to kill the universe!ââ
before you could process anything, he lunged forward, his movement a complete blur to your normal eyes. hell, before you could even blink, his gauntleted hand was clamped around your upper arm.
it feels like your bones are melting! who the fuck even wears arm gauntlets that hot!?
you groan in pain as he pulled you towards him, his face inches from yours.
ââyouâre coming with me,ââ he said angrily, if a tone of voice could kill youâd be dead a dozen times over. ââiâm taking you away from this filth. and thenâŚââ he paused, his face softening if only for a brief second.
ââweâll relive being seventeen again, before our home was taken. weâll do all the things we couldnât.ââ clark being the hot and cold boy he is, suddenly turned angry again. ââwhether you want to or not. but obviously, you will.ââ
ââclark, stop!ââ you screamed, his strength was so superior you couldnât even properly struggle. ââyouâre hurting me! please, youâre hurting me!ââ
he flinched at the words, his grip loosening just a fraction, but his twisted mask of love and madness remained unbroken. ââitâll.. um, itâll be better once weâre home,ââ he promised. ââyouâll see, and then youâll understand me. youâll love me again⌠and everything will go back the way its supposed to be.ââ
ââi never stopped loving you, you fucking crazy bastard!ââ you sobbed in pain, looking into the twin suns of his eyes with a mixture of pity and horror. ââbut you are not who you were! not in the slightest!ââ
the words mustâve hit his ego like a physical strike because, albeit barely, in your pain you could see his chest heaving, his eyes flaring a bright shade of crimson once more.
well fuck - you didnât mean to make him even angrier (not that you knew it was possible, but then again what isnât possible with clark?)
he stared down at you, but the desperation in his face quickly hardened into a cold, ugly sneer.
he didnât look at you with guilt or anything like that. the guy looked fucking disgusted.
ââi thought it wasnât too bad yet, but youâre already corrupted.ââ he spat, his voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm, venomous whisper. ââlook at you, youâve been breathing their air for too long. youâve been living in their dirt, listening to their lies, until youâve become just as broken and fake as the rest of this garbage planetââ
he let go of your arm, shoving you away from him like you were something contaminated. the sudden release of pressure sent you stumbling backward, collapsing into the wreckage of library shelves.
you can only groan in pain while having half a mind to ponder on what the actual fuck is even happening right now. after trying to convince you like that, youâre what now? broken and fake?
you know he was only coping, but god did you want to give him a right hook so badly. if only you werenât groaning in pain and actually had super powers.
ââi thought you were real,ââ clark said, looking down at you from his height, his weird piss-colored armor humming, with what you assume to be energy. and even that sounded arrogant to you.
ââbut youâre not. youâre just another bad copy now. you want to stay in this shithole for now? fine. iâll just cut you free myself.ââ
he took a step back, the madness surging to the surface as he looked up at the ceiling. ââthose pretenders did this to you. superman did this. they say they protect people, but they let you rot here until you forgot who we were, iâm going to make them pay for what they stole from me.ââ
he looked back at you one last time - not with despair, but with a chilling, messed up superior form of detachment.
ââenjoy your burning shit hole.ââ he paused, eyebrows slightly furrowing as he whispered something you couldnât fully make out. ââi will definitely rescue you, just wait for meâŚââ
without another word, he ignited - and gone he was.
a devastating shockwave of the piss colored yellow light and absolute heat exploded from his body, shoving the library shelves you were against and you even further back.
all you could really do right now was sit in silence. by the time the dust settled and you could open your eyes, he was already gone as fast he came. you looked down at your arm, a dark blooming bruise the shape of his fingers forming.
well, you were alone now. you can still feel the lingering heat, but that barely does anything for you.
wanting to take you âhomeâ your ass! he wanted to put you into a dead world and call that shit a life! all to.. to satisfy his fucked up fantasies!
he wanted to freeze time and make you both statues in a museum of his own making.
you should be relieved that heâs gone. you should be running to the door, screaming for help, finding a way to hide from all of this.
but for some reason, you can only sit here.
are you even real?
you are a fragment of a world that was erased, a glitch in the code, a girl who died what it felt like ages ago on a football field in smallville.
and the only person who truly remembers you - the only person who knows the sound of your laugh and how you prefer things - is a monster who just tried to kidnap you and then called you âanother bad copyâ when you didnât meet his standards.
the tragedy isnât that heâs a villain with the delusions of a hero, but that he is the only thing of home you have left - and also left of him himself.
a crazed, lunatic, bastardized version of home and the boy you used to love.
but you did the right thing not going with him didnât you? despite your hatred and pain and desire. you deserve to feel better. you deserve to grow and live. you tried to be good.
you cry, tears clearing the dust off your skin.
maybe sometimes, the only closure youâll ever get is the quiet knowing that your intentions were pure and that you tried - that your heart was in the right place.
maybe not every ending comes with explanations or apologies or understanding.
maybe some people might walk away without even trying to understand, and situations maybe just close without justice or fairness.
but also maybe instead of grieving - constant, constant grieving, you can find peace in knowing that you finally tried. that you didnât give up. that you gave him honesty, kindness and love - even when it wasnât returned.
you feel a strange sense of closure form as you let your body fall back and rest, taking a breath. you did your best. you meant well. and thatâs enough, right?
you open your eyes and look around the room.
it looks really fucking disgusting and if you werenât in so much pain, youâd be aching to get out of there.
but youâll deal with this all later, you just need to breathe right now.
alright? that was it?
you pondered as you slumped back against the jagged remains of a library bookshelf and inhaled, the dust of a thousand dead stories coating your throat before you pushed the breath out of your lungs with more force than normal.
it wasnât that you missed him now that youâve got a clearer mind. or to be more precise, there wasnât anything to miss.
you hardly knew the monster heâd become, but the way your heart was hammering against your ribs maybe said otherwise.
kicking your feet forward, you outstretched them into the rubble, slamming them into the debris before using the leverage to pull yourself upright. if you couldnât stop thinking about the piss-colored golden blur of his exit, then youâd just clutter your mind with the physical reality of the absolute wreckage that surrounds you until you could.
youâd expected the aftermath to be worse, in all honesty. not because the library exploding wasnât bad - it was. very much so. libraries werenât supposed to explode, much less the one you worked at.
most buildings werenât supposed to actually. still, youâd expected something a tad bit more dramatic. a breakdown or a crisis, maybe even a conveniently (and justified) timed mental collapse.
instead, the police asked questions. lots of questions. questions you couldnât (and for a part didnât want to) answer. questions you utmost definitely shouldnât answer because that would earn you a psychiatric evaluation if you answered honestly.
so you lied.
a lot.
and not particularly well, either.
still basically sitting in the midst of the rubble because you absolutely couldnât give a shit about moving out, you watched the firefighters in your peripheral vision trying to move through it.
you would have felt bad for them if you werenât stuck in your own damn dilemma, the only thing keeping you somewhat from thinking about clark and wallowing in your misery was the scratchy emergency blanket wrapped around your shoulders.
a certain red-caped hero, however, did not agree to let you wallow in peace much to your misfortune.
descending through the completely butchered ceiling, his boots thudded against the cracked marble floor with far too much weight for someone who claimed he was just there to âhelpâ (help your ass. you didnât need his help. if he had just never appeared in the first place everything would have been better).
it didnât exactly help that he looked like clark, too. hell, he had the name, the face (although to note, he looked a tad bit older than your clark did), the same dark shade of hair. but when he reached out a steady, warm hand to pull you from the ruins, you flinched.
honestly? the movement was more instinctive than outright rejection to his kindness even though it mustâve looked that way to him.
why couldnât he just leave you be anyways? he was a total stranger and reinforcements were already here. a god playing man who stayed while your clark left, only to return some wannabe herald of absolute destruction.
superman protected people. superman comforted people. he was everything clark was supposed to be and not be, and the stark contrast made you want to vomit.
however, through his presence, you eventually understood the difference between someone who simply possessed power and someone who chose to use it responsibly.
and eventually, you like to think you found it in your heart to stop holding a grudge against every superman that exists. that the podium of believed superiority your clark believed himself to stand upon was not constructed of marble but mere dirt and sand.
your friends, leo and martha, eventually found you in the wreckage next to superman, far more frantic than you and saying, in their words, that ââyou look like a vampire sucked the life out of youâ.
thankfully though, they took over answering questions and giving statements to responders. but with the library entirely reduced to debris, your sanctuary was gone. more importantly, your only source of income was gone too.
the months that followed were a mindless grind of survival. you honestly felt like batman with the way you were existing in metropolis as if you were one of the many shadows caused by the massive sky scraping buildings.
you bounced from one dead-end job to another with absolutely nothing to your name. you werenât even supposed to exist here for fucks sake!
to say the least, existing was exhausting. and you were done merely existing - not living. you were done feeling out of place because you were some weird multiversal glitch.
so somewhere between one cold dinner and another last sleepless night, you decided it was time to live again - even if you had to break the law to do so. the question just was.. how?
lucky for you, as if your prayers had finally been answered, you met him. evan. and heâs just a guy, really. no tragic backstory, no glowing fancy world destroying powers, and no reality-altering fists, (thank god).
as it turned out, this guy you met was a government official in charge of databases and cybersecurity, secretly keeping a double life for the state because he was also a wanted hacker. just your luck, of course.
the friendship happened gradually, the way the best ones usually do. one conversation became two, two became twenty, and suddenly, he knew your favorite drink order. life was just weird like that, yâknow?
the real problem was when evan dearest became quite curious about you. and in hindsight, it was fair enough, you never shared anything about yourself and evan being the nosy-freak he was decided to look you up in the database and no records of you existed at all.
the discovery happened exactly as horribly as one would expect such a thing to happen (if one would even have the mind to expect such a situation in the first place).
he had been trying to help you secure an apartment lease, his fingers flying across the keyboard with a locked in intensity until he suddenly stopped. his shoulders tensed as he stared at the glowing monitor in silence. one moment he was looking into a standard background check, the next he was looking at you. then back at the computer. then back at you again, as if your records might magically manifest if he stared at you hard enough. they didnât.
ââbro.. you donât exist.. like, at all.ââ he said, his voice flat and final. and faced with the bleak truth, you finally let the words out. there wasnât much point in lying anymore, was there?
so you told him about your world and the guy who became a massive multiversal threat trying to restore it.
the reaction could have been worse. you had braced yourself for a shit ton of questions, or disbelief or laughter or screaming.
instead, he just looked incredibly exhausted and then sympathetic. which, funnily enough, felt so much worse. but⌠he didnât run or abandon you or call the heroes. he just took pity on you, slumped back into his chair, took a deep breath, and got to work.
he never exactly showed you the process of what he was doing because its not like you would have understood anything anyway.
he never explained which firewalls he bypassed or which databases he manipulated. but suddenly, you had a history. a pristine childhood, a highschool diploma, and graduation credentials from a good college. a life that could exist on paper, stamped and verified by the very system that should have rejected you.
years later, you would reflect on it with a grim sort of irony. you were living once more on a lie, but it was the only way to be real.
still, the counterfeit worked. years passed after that. actual, quiet years.
you finally settled into new earth, and things genuinely got better. you moved out of suicide slum into a larger, spacious apartment in metropolis where the walls were actually thick enough to drown out the neighbors.
you found stable, good work as an archivist, spending your day filing records of a world you finally were able to accept living in. you even started buying stupid little decorations, fully accepting your home as your home.
you made more friends, built a real social life, and kept in close contact with martha and leo.
evan made sure to crash by at least once a day, too.
you still bought your morning drink from leo. life was just happening, quietly. and somehow, despite everything, it was happening to you, too. you were growing. not barely existing anymore but actually living.
but of course, clark remained a permanent, haunting fixture of your mind.
the nightmares never really stopped and you donât think they ever will. maybe with luck only get less frequent.
some mornings you would wake up utterly convinced the sky outside would be bleeding a crimson, your breath coming in short gasps thanks to memories you longed to bury.
everytime you caught a headline in the daily planet mentioning âsuperman-prime,â you froze, your skin remembering those searing heat gauntlets on your skin.
when the news reports finally announced his definitive defeat - that the villain had been captured and âsafely tucked awayâ as the justice league had put it in a debrief conference, you felt bittersweet.
a mixture of relief and a hollow, aching grief. you sat in your apartment, staring at the white ceiling, wondering if the boy you grew up with and loved was going to die entirely alone in the dark. millions of miles away at the edge of the universe and despite you not wanting to, you grieved him.
anyhow.. life went on. you would wake up, go to work, answering boring emails, and buy groceries.
however, every now and then a strange phenomenon began occurring over metropolis. the sun would turn a deep red for an hour before returning to a normal. the constellations appeared slightly shifted one night before correcting themselves by morning. unnatural red lightning storms swept across as the city without producing a single drop of rain.
like everyone else, you simply assumed these were the typical consequences of living in a world overflowing with metahumans. you would shrug it off, kicking your feet up your desk, trying to desperately ignore the way your heart shattered at the all too familiar sight of sky crimson. (you would only figure out later that this was part 2 of clark trying to punch his way back into reality).
if the library scene had been complete horror, then whatever the fuck was happening now was something else entirely.
see, you had spent years painstakingly rebuilding yourself whole again to become a functioning member of society, while⌠clark was doing whatever the fuck he was doing.
point is, neither of you were the same people anymore.
the first sign that reality was fracturing once more was the sky. naturally. honestly, at this point you should have really expected it. the universe had apparently decided long ago that subtlety was for cowards and now itâs just breaking down every chance it gets.
you noticed it on the walk from after your finished shift at the archives, the sunset looked really strange that day. maybe not dramatic enough for anyone else to care, but you (justifiably) had your own sense of paranoia and danger.
people continued walking their dogs, cars drove through the standard metropolis traffic, and nobody pointed upward in absolute horror. but you noticed it.
how could you not? the sun looked really damn red. almost as red as⌠well, that day. the bleeding crimson that stains the absolute worst of your nightmares.
your stomach dropped. you utterly hated that a single color still had that kind of power over you. years later, and all it took was a particular shade of red to undo you.
pathetic, really. why couldnât you just grow past this? why did he still get to control your breathing from millions of miles away? you forced yourself to keep walking, the mundane buzz of the city carrying on as normal around you. conversations drifted past, traffic lightened, and somewhere a dog barked at birds.
life continued as it always would and did.
you had just reached your apartment building when every sound abruptly disappeared. it didnât fade out: it literally just stopped. the traffic, the conversations around you, even that distant barking - vanished in a single instant.
your breath halted and your pulse immediately started hammering against your ribs.
no.
please god, no. not here. not after everything it took to build this life. you didnât even need to turn around, before you even dared to look, you just knew.
ââwell thatâs usually a bad sign, yâknow? the sudden silence.â
the voice came from right behind you. it was older, quieter, and yet so devastatingly familiar.
you closed your eyes for a second. just one second. after all these years of nightmares, memories, and the slow, agonizing process of healing, some stubborn, desperate part of your soul had always known this day would come. you could never fully believe what you saw- the shit about your clark being âdeadâ.
slowly, you turned.
for a long, suffocating moment, neither of you spoke. you hated that seeing him still hurt this much. you hated that a part of you was desperately relieved. most of all, you loathed the fact that against all reason, logic, and common sense, you still loved him.
how could you? after what he did? after the library? the feeling was like a disease, a stubborn parasite refusing to just fucking die.
ââyouâre fucked up, you know that?ââ you finally said.
his mouth twitched, and then, completely unexpectedly, he let out a small laugh. it was nothing like the cruel sound from the library or the terrifying rumbles from the news broadcast back then when he was destroying earth. it was just clarkâs laugh. god, you absolutely hated that, too.
ââyeah,ââ he admitted softly, rubbing the back of his neck. ââbeen getting that one a lot.ââ
the silence returned and neither of you seemed eager to fill it. it was strange in a way. the clark you grew up with hated silence and always tried to, whether intentionally or unintentionally, fill it with his endless rambling about comic book trivia or whatever else weird tangent possessed his brain that day.
now he just stood there, watching you as if he couldnât believe you were real - even though it should be the other way around.
ââyou shouldnât be here,ââ you told him, your voice tight.
his eyes lowered to the pavement. ââi know.ââ
ââyou really have a really bad habit of showing up and ruining my week.ââ
that earned another laugh - quieter this time, and infinitely sadder. you didnât laugh with him. clark looked up at and you and in seemingly immediate shame or guilt or maybe a mix of both, looked away immediately.
ââi came to apologize.ââ
what? you blinked and pursed your lips. an apology? now? after he basically made you go insane and left you to rot in that god forsaken library? a part of you had spent such a long time fantasizing about this exact conversation, dreaming up vicious arguments. the screaming and insults and curses you would hurl at him if you ever saw him again.
now he thought a few soft words could fix what he had done?
ââyou what?ââ
ââi came to apologize,ââ his voice remained surprisingly steady and calm, there was even a hint of certainty to it. ââi was wrong.ââ
you could only stare at him, the rage beginning to boil beneath your skin in an instant.
the words just simply didnât make sense coming from his mouth - not from the guy who had hurt and killed so many people, and certainly not from the monster who had spent years blaming everyone else for his own wreckage.
and yet there he was, standing in your street, saying them anyway. i was wrong. the confession sounded painful, like something torn out of his throat rather than spoken.
âi thought i was fixing things,â his gaze shifted toward the horizon. âi thought if i fought hard enough⌠iâd get everything back. i thought i could get you back.â
get you back? he thought he was doing this for you? the absolute nerve of him. clark laughed again, but there wasnât a single happy thing about it. âturns out the universe doesnât work like comic books. well, kinda, not entirely though.â
âoh, is that what you think this is?â you spat, taking a heavy, furious step off the curb. âa comic book event? a little plot twist you get to narrate?â
clark flinched, his eyes snapping back to yours.
âyou left!â you screamed, years of repressed grief, loss, and pure, unadulterated venom pouring out all at once. you stepped right into the middle of the street, your chest heaving.
âyou donât get to stand there and look sad, clark! you left me on that football field while our entire world fucking disappeared! i watched our sky turn to blood, i watched my family turn to nothing, and you werenât there! you were out playing the cosmic savior with people who didnât even care about you!â
âwait, i-â
âno! shut up! you donât get to speak!â you yelled, the tears finally breaking through, hot and stinging against your cheeks, but they were born of pure, raging fury.
âyou came back to new earth, you tracked me down, and what did you do? did you comfort me? did you stay? no! you destroyed the one damn place i had! you grabbed me until my bones felt like they were melting off, you threw a goddamn tantrum, and then you called me corrupted! you called me a bad copy because i wouldnât bow down to your psychotic little fantasy!â
âi know,â he whispered, his voice cracking, his shoulders dropping under the weight of your words. âi know, i was mental, i-â
âyou were a fucking monster!â you threw the word at his chest like a weapon, wanting it to leave a bruise.
âyou terrified me! you became the exact thing we used to read about and hate! you butchered people, clark! real people with real lives, and you justified it by using my face! you used our dead home as an excuse to murder people!â
you were shaking now, the rage vibrating through your entire frame. you stepped directly into his space, forcing him to look at the tears on your face, forcing him to see the raw wreckage he had made of you.
âyou donât get to do this,â you said, your voice dropping to a low, vicious hiss that cut deeper than the screaming.
âyou donât get to disappear for years, let me crawl through the mud to build a fake life, and then show up on my street looking like a beaten dog, expecting me to forgive you! i buried you, clark! i buried you so many damn times! do you have any idea what that feels like? i buried the boy from our home. i buried the boy who i shared so many precious memories with. i buried you so many fucking times because it was the only way to stop the nightmares!â
clark looked absolutely, completely devastated. his chest heaved, his bare hands trembling at his sides.
good. a selfish, deeply human part of you wanted him to bleed. you wanted him to feel a fraction of the agony of the girl who had sat beneath a bleeding red sky, waiting for a savior who was actually just a herald of destruction.
look at him. the great and powerful superman wannabe, brought to his knees by a normal human girlâs rage. he deserved every ounce of this fire.
âi know,â he whispered again.
there it was. no excuses. no tantrums. no heat vision flaring to melt the pavement between you at the slightest inconvenience. just total acceptance. for the first time in his entire life, clark wasnât trying to force reality to agree with him; he was simply facing it.
well, now you just felt pretty damn exhausted. the fire burned out, leaving nothing but ash in your throat.
he had finally grown up.
it was years too late, it was after a trail of blood and an entire shattered world, but he was finally facing reality.
you suddenly felt so incredibly tired, your knees trembling under the weight of a decade of grief. looking at him, you realized he was entirely empty, too.
âstay,â the word slipped past your lips before your brain could filter it. why did you say that? why, after everything, did you still want to crawl back into the ruins with him?
his expression shattered. just for a single, fleeting second, the weary soldier vanished, and the seventeen-year-old boy from home was staring right back at you from behind his eyes.
you could see exactly how badly he wanted to hold you. you could see the desperate urge to throw away the universe just to stay.
then, it was gone. the quiet resolution of a real hero settled over his face. he offered you a small, sad, beautiful smile.
âiâm finally doing something right.â
your chest tightened, a cold, sudden panic replacing the anger. no. not a sacrifice. he couldnât leave you to mourn again. âclark-â
âi canât stay,â he whispered, his voice trembling just a fraction. âi really want to.â
the finality of it stretched between you, painful and absolute. clark took a slow step backward, and the physical space between you suddenly felt like an enormous, uncrossable gulf.
âi kept my promise,â he said softly.
the words almost made you angry again because he didnât, he came back but he didnât stay. but instead, they just left a dull, aching hollow in your ribs.
because looking at him, you finally understood what he meant. he hadnât succeeded, and he hadnât fixed your dead world, but he had never stopped trying to get back to you. he was going to face the dark so you could have a tomorrow.
his smile softened, turning into the exact same smile from the boy you so adore. he reached out his hand as if to touch you, but in seemingly shame he pulled away.
he looked at you one final time, and then he flew away.
this time, you knew he wasnât coming back. and for the first time since the sky turned red, neither of you tried pretending otherwise.
superman was gone.
just⌠gone. the big guy in the red cape had vanished, and for a few weeks, metropolis had been a collective, anxious wreck.
youâd been sitting in the breakroom of the archives, nursing a lukewarm coffee and trying to ignore the way the silence in the city felt like a complete threat because it always did. you visited gotham once, and youâre just glad you donât have to put up with that.
anyway, youâd mourned clark. youâd done the whole âmoving onâ thing. you had a proper life now.
for years, you had lived with the absolute certainty that he was dead and soon enough⌠you found peace with it. you had sat in your spacious apartment on new earth, watching the news reports after that final, pitch-black night against, what the justice league labelled âthe darkest knight,â and you had accepted it. he was gone. he had burned himself out to save a tomorrow he wouldnât get to see.
real damn heroic.
the first few years after his sacrifice had been a total shit-show inside your own head.
the nightmares didnât just disappear, because itâd be waaaay to easy if they did. youâd wake up drenched in sweat, your lungs burning as if the anti-matter wave was actively swallowing your bedroom, or youâd dream of his iron-hot yellow-piss colored gauntlets bruising your flesh all over again.
sometimes you even dreamed of the football field. and every single time, you woke up crying.
but time is a weird, persistent bastard. slowly, the nightmares grew less frequent. the painful edge of the grief started to dull, shifting into something you could actually carry without choking.
you didnât forget him - how could you? - but somehow, against all odds, you had found a quiet kind of peace with his memory.
you had buried the guy who didnât know how to be super in the most sacred, locked-away corner of your heart and you would never forget him.
you had forgiven him in the dark. you had accepted that he died a hero (something he had always wanted to be), and you had finally learned how to breathe the air of this stupid, chaotic new earth as your own without any back thoughts.
you were a girl with a fake history and a real life, and you were finally, genuinely okay.
then the news hit the screen and blew all that hard-earned peace to total hell.
some new hero had just stopped a building from collapsing in the middle of the city and beat the shit out of a supervillain.
the reporter was stammering, the camera shaky as it zoomed in on a figure in blue and red. no yellow-piss colored armor and no jagged âsâ scar. just a kid - no, a man - who looked so much like the boy from all those years ago that you nearly choked on your coffee.
âthe hero, calling himself superboy-primeâŚâ
superboy-prime?
what the actual fuck?
you didnât think. hell, you didnât even finish your coffee. you just shoved your chair back, the legs screeching against the floor, and bolted. you ran out of the archives, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
are they serious right now? you couldnât even have a dead boyfriend in peace? the universe just had to keep messing with you. you didnât care about your shift. you didnât care about the confused looks from your coworkers as you bolted. you just needed to see if reality was playing another one of its sick, twisted jokes on you.
you burst out onto the street (luckily and sometimes unluckily your work building was near the center of metropolis and its park), your lungs burning as you shoved through the crowds. people were pointing at the sky, whispering, looking up with a mixture of awe and confusion. you followed their gaze, your eyes searching the blue until you saw him.
he was hovering a few feet above the pavement in centennial park, surrounded by a small crowd of reporters and grateful citizens who were chanting âsuperboy primeâ over and over. he looked as smug as always and carried a smirk on his face, but he also looked awkward.
âhey!â you screamed, your voice cracking.
he froze. even from fifty yards away, you saw the way his shoulders tensed. he turned, his eyes searching the crowd until they landed on you.
the reporters tried to swarm you, but he was there in a blur of motion, landing in front of you with a soft thud. he looked at you, and for a second, neither of you said a word. he looked older, sure, but the madness was completely gone. the rage was gone. he just looked like clark.
âyouâre alive,â you panted, doubling over to catch your breath. âyouâre actually alive, you crazy bastard.â
âi⌠yeah,â he said, rubbing the back of his neck. he looked like he was about to cry, or maybe throw up. âiâm back. iâm trying to⌠to help. since superman is gone ân allat.â
you straightened up, wiping the sweat from your forehead. you had cursed and buried him and relived him so much that you didn't have the heart to get angry anymore. you looked him up and down - the suit, the cape, the whole âheroâ look... at least he didnât wear supermanâs red undies.
âsuperboy-prime?â you asked, a hysterical laugh bubbling up in your throat instead of anger. âseriously? you went from superman-prime, the god of fear, to superboy? what, did you lose your man-card in the dark multiverse?â
clark winced, a faint blush creeping up his neck. âit⌠it felt more right. iâm not superman. not yet. iâm just⌠me. but iâll be just as good soon enough. iâm on my redemption arc, every sick hero gotta have one, ya know.â
âyouâre a dork, thatâs what you are,â you said, shaking your head. you wanted to punch him. you wanted to hug him. you wanted to scream at him for another ten years.
âyou have any idea how many times iâve had to mourn you? iâve buried you like three times in my head, clark! you canât just keep popping back up like a goddamn weed!â
âi know,â he whispered, stepping closer. he didnât try to touch you, but the heat radiating off him was familiar. it didnât feel like a threat this time. it just felt like him. â mâsorry. mâso, so sorry for everything.â
âyeah, well, you should be,â you snapped, though the edge was gone from your voice. you looked at the crowd, at the city that was finally starting to feel okay again.
âso what now? you going to save the world and then vanish again? or are you actually going to stay this time?â you may have put up a nonchalant front, but you were nervous. really fucking nervous.
clark looked at you, and for the first time in your life, his eyes were clear, no red glow, no manic intensity and no sorrow.
âiâm staying,â he said. âif⌠if youâll have me. i know i donât deserve it. i know iâve messed everything up. but i want to try. i want to be real. i want to be with you again.â
you looked at him, and then at the blue sky above. it was just a sky. no red suns. no impossible storms. just a clear, unremarkable blue.
âyouâre still a total mess, you know that?â you said, a small, genuine smile finally breaking through.
âi know,â he grinned, and it looked so much like home.
âfine,â you sighed, reaching out and finally, tentatively, taking his hand. his skin was warm, solid, and real. âbut if you ever wear that ugly armor again, iâm personally going to kick your ass.â
âdeal,â he laughed.
you looked down at your intertwined fingers, the heat of his palm seeping into yours.
you had spent so long telling yourself that dying under that red sky back on the football field that day would've been the perfect ending to your life.
it would have been clean and painless. but he ruined it. he had to go and survive. he had to go and drag you right back into this confusing, messy world of never-ending uncertainties.
but if that's what life truly is - this chaotic, fractured thing you had both been running from - then you'd still choose this life.
even if there's nothing perfect, beautiful, or clear about it. even if it's full of suffering and the heavy weight of dead worlds.
you would rather choose this life where you can finally be with clark, and perhaps at one other day and time, far in the future, perish peacefully under a blue sky.
you mean it, too. even if the two of you were destined to be constantly tormented by a delusion that will never truly go away. even if the ghosts of earth-prime would always linger in the corners of your eyes.
maybe if you both keep being in the dark like together like this, walking towards the light and hiding away from the grand cosmic stages and just trying to be ordinary, for a day, two days, or even several months⌠maybe once you've both gotten used to walking towards a new light and letting the past rest, you'll never have to let go of this hand that you grabbed on to almost miraculously again in the middle of a crowded park.
you leaned your shoulder against his, and clark seemingly to this as a sign to pick you and begin flying as he grinned down at you.
you laughed, holding onto him, your eyes closing against the brilliant, mundane metropolis sunlight. maybe this is a fairy tale romance where he ends up sweeping you off your feet after all.
no matter how many times it takes, you just needed him to keep returning to you, just like he did on that day.
đš.á synopsis: ur his favorite alongside Superman, got a bit too obsessive than idolising. Now he has you pinned against a wall at a rooftop of all places (Deffo did NOT stalk you and sweet talk to get in ur pants)
đš.á warnings: semi-public sex? Idk. He's a bit over the top here, (ďźďźďżŁ)
đš.á message: I want him to headlock me while he does me from the back dats all Nyways this is not proofread
Superboy Prime believes he deserves you.
Clark Kent from Earth-Primeâ he always prided himself with the fact that he was named after his favorite superhero. Idolising Superman, trying to live up to his ideals and morals. To be just like him.
It was obvious Superman was his favorite. That didn't mean you weren't his favorite too... even if it meant him obsessing over you in a different way. He remembers the very first day he read about you. Hearing about another hero debuting under DC after a small appearance in a Batman issue.
Since then, he was glued onto you. Not because of your strength and powersâ I mean, sure, he did like it. One of the many reasons he latched onto you. But the main reason? Probably something he'd never admit to anyone other than in a subreddit dedicated to you.
First, your face. It was the artist's fault, drawing you so gorgeous and captivatingâ it made his eyes twitch with every panel you spawned in.
Then his gaze went lower, your body. It made him feel guilty. He had vowed to himself that he'd never stoop as low as those rancid perverts who only liked characters for their physical appeal back then.
Swearing to God that he'd value what every hero brought to the table:
Their morals and how they fought for the greater good.
Apparently, when he saw you, all of that was thrown out of the window.
He'd screenshot any appearance you made, whether it be in your own runs or you in a single panel in an issue in someone else's run. Saving it to a folder just to stare at it later.
He bought merch of you, didn't care if it was cute, normal, or lewd. But naturally, he'd even gravitate towards the more lewder ones... much to his dismay. Even considered buying a body pillow of you once.
Then it dawned to him. Were you one of those characters made for fanservice?
You had a decent backstory, OP abilitiesâbut some of the situations you ended up in? The poses you were drawn into?
Eh, who cares. Every character had those moments.
What matters now was that you were in front of him.
Living.
Breathing.
Real.
This was fate. The universe had brought you together! Heâd read every issue where you appeared! Even wrote fanfiction in his notebook! This was the universe's way of rewarding him for being a good boy and following through his redemption arc.
His cape was doing a half-assed job at hiding you both as he dry-humped you against a wall. Your moans ringing in his ears as he pressed his bulge deliciously in the area between your thighs.
He deepened the kiss instantlyâmore confident now, less franticâand this time added his tongue. Smiling smugly as he laved your mouth with his saliva.
It wasn't gentle or romantic like in the movies. This was Superboy Prime claiming what he believedâas delusional as it may beâwhat was rightfully his.
His other hand slid down from your neck, your shoulder, then lower.
Until it hovered at the curve of your hipâthe softest part of that perfectly sculpted body heâd drooled over for months through comic panels and pixelated fanart prints taped above his bed on Earth-Prime. Squeezing your ass appreciatively and giving it a good slap, earning a noise from you.
"You'll let me fuck you out in the open, on a rooftop like this?" He pulled away, licking his lips. Eyes half-lidded and full of lust. "So fucking easyâ" He chuckles, punctuating it with a sudden grind. Then moved his palm to cradle your breast over fabric first. Testing weight and shape, then pressed in slightly as if memorizing every curve.
It filled his palm snugly, like it was made to be groped just by himâthe same hand he used to fist his cock into while he dreamed of you riding him.
"What's next? I bet you'll spread your legs out like the whore you are..." His voice was low against your ear, sending an unwilling thrill down your spine. "... You don't know how long I've waited to get my hands on you."
His hand creeps to your nape, brushing over the skin, threading into the roots of your heart before gripping harshly and tilting your head back. Licking a long, wet stripe of saliva against your throatâthe warm pressure of the flat of his tongue drags from your collarbone to the side of your neck.
Clark bit hard, rolling his hips into yours as he did so. His touches felt thick and hot, you could only respond with moans and heavy breathing.
The sound of your moans went straight to his dick.
Fuck.
Suddenly, kissing wasn't enough.
The transition was fastâone second he was kissing you, the next heâd lifted you effortlessly and pinned you against the wall. His hands were everywhere at once:
Gripping your thighs to hitch them around his waist, squeezing your ass as he ground his hips into yours with zero patience left.
Clothes got in the way, so in between frantic kisses, he yanked his pants down, did the same to you, and pulled your panties to the side.
A curse escaped from him as he finally shoved inside, burying himself deep with a groan that sounded almost pained from how long this had been building up in him.
Your legs shook as he slid inside, filling you up to the hilt. Eyes blown wide at the feel of the stretch. "Superboyâ"
He thrusts sharply, getting you to shut up. "Drop the formal stuff when I'm balls-deep in you. Call me Clark."
"Okay... Calm downâ" You stutter. Focusing on adjusting to his size. A sweat rolling down your brow.
"I wanna take you home." He mutters, burying his face into your neck. He breathes you in, dragging his cock out slowly. "First round here, second at my apartment. Deal?"
When he got no response, he pulled out and pounded into you. Making you sputter at the force. "Deal?" He repeats, clearly not wanting to ask again.
"D-Deal." You nod absent-mindedly, trying to spread your legs open for him.
plot! you and dick grayson started as rivals, the kind everyone whispered about in class. top students, top of your year, neck and neck in every assignment. you couldnât stand him: the perfect smile, the natural ease, the way he never seemed to struggle. and he found your sharp retorts and stubbornness endlessly entertaining. when a teacher paired you together for a major research project, it was war. he teased, you rolled your eyes. he smiled through everything, you matched him with pure determination. but somewhere between late-night notes and quiet library corners, things began to shift. he defended your work in class, publicly giving you credit for an idea, something no one expected from cocky, confident dick grayson. for a moment, your guard cracked. he chose to walk instead of calling alfred, talking with you about classes, life, small things. you saw glimpses of the person behind the perfect grades, the humor, the warmth. and he, in turn, saw the intelligence and quiet kindness behind your walls. now the rivalry feels heavier. full of tension, half-spoken truths, and almosts. heâs starting to realize you mightâve overheard more than you should, and youâre trying not to admit that maybe, just maybe, you donât hate him as much as you used to.
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Helloski! I absolutely love your head cannon posts!you single handedly are getting me back into writing!!
I was wondering if you'd be willing to do kink head cannons for The Batch (And anyone else you'd like, it's so hard to choose between the commanders for me) particularly kind of what they're into as a top V. That they're into as a bottom ? (If you haven't already) Please and thank you! I leave you this lovely candle lite dinner in exchange
đđˇđŻď¸đ
mmmmm i thank you kindly for it đ
WEâRE GETTTING KINKY IN THE HOUSE⌠the ship⌠the barracks⌠iâm so bad at talking iâm sorry.
i LOVE that you asked about how theyâd be as a top v. bottom because i honestly canât imagine a ton of clones being tops all the time (even though that is the persistent male character prototype in todayâs mediaâŚ). i definitely think some clones fox would be control freaks but the bad batch prob arenât. theyâve never not once in their lives followed the rules so lowkey anything goes with them. bunch of switches. all of them. they def have preferences but like. switches.
hunter
ok lowk heâs kinda vanilla. well, my imagining of him is if youâve read any of my fics.Â
itâs not that heâs opposed itâs just that itâs taken him a long time to get comfortable with sex.
hunterâs hot okay everyone lost their SHIT when the bad batch debuted and most fics i see assume heâs somewhat experienced cause heâs hot
WHICH IS VALID CAUSE BRO IS SMOKING.Â
but i would like to explore the other route.Â
taking his enhanced senses into consideration, i wonder if he might have taken a while to lose his virginity just due to getting overstimulated easily and not wanting to deal with all the complications and awkwardness. he has shit to do anyway.
once physically comfortable with intimacy (presumably by the time you roll along), i think heâd be open but cautious to trying anything.
i think heâd be into some sensory play, isolating your sight or your hearing. he definitely has POWERFUL noise cancellation devices that lessen his advanced hearing by half but would completely mute yours.
itâs so interesting to see you unaware of heâs going to do, he gets a huge kick out of seeing you twitch nervously when he touches you after blindfolding you. like a cute little bunny. he thinks itâs crazy that you CANT hear anything. yeah his hearing is THAT enhanced.Â
i donât think heâd be super rough, but i think heâd drag out the sensory play for a very long time. especially because when you have earplugs in and can hear⌠little to nothing around you, you get very loud cause you have no sense of what your volume is, and he likes that. (as long as his own ears are protected)
he enjoys it too, he likes isolation because he can basically just shut off one of his senses that bothers him and focus on FEELING.
i can imagine a blindfolded, sound deprived partner sitting between his legs, cuddled with one of his arms as he fingers them silently for a while, forcing them to solely focus on the sensation.Â
i also think hunter would like hearing you moan as confirmation heâs doing things right. once he realizes youâre stifling it, heâll ask you to wear the earplugs more often so he can hear you and know just how good heâs making you feel.
which⌠plays into the next note on my hunter agenda.
heâs a major sucker for praise. he loves being told heâs doing well, how handsome he is, how much you love his cock, you get the idea.Â
clones have⌠no sense of how attractive they are. thatâs a universal headcanon i have. except maybe fives who thinks heâs hot stuff and the occasional cocky shiny, clones generally think theyâre average. like. cody has no idea his scar is sexy, heâs just like âeh, at least people will know itâs meâ
they also get a lot of body dysphoria due to the fact that⌠they look identical. they want to be their own person with their own body. thatâs why they dye their hair and get ridiculous tattoos.
now hunter knows heâs not bad looking, he GETS girls (i also hc that he gets catcalled on missions in like a funny way) but he doesnât think heâs anything special.
but of course yâknow most of us tumblr whores think heâs the hottest cunt on kamino, soâŚ
yeah he is FLOORED by the amount of things you say to him just. wowed. flattered.
and⌠extremely turned on. this is when he slips from the top to the bottom⌠hunter is definitely the leader and the caregiver in his batch so he naturally assumes that role in bed kinda without considering thereâs another alternative
my boy just needs to let his hair down tbh. he could use a good topping.
but praise absolutely melts him, his movements grow sloppy
his grip on you gets tighter at the initial spurt of pleasure and then weaker as he processes what you said and what it means
you berate him with kind words (oxymoron lol) until heâs almost shaking. then you offer to get on top for a while, to which he immediately agrees.
he could probably orgasm just from hearing you talk about him like that.
He loves the words that fall, choppy and breathy from your mouth as you ride him even if itâs repetitive sex-drunk garbage⌠(âSo good, always taking careâf everyone, youâre so hot and no one appreciates you, do they? Well I doâŚâ ) That last bit isnât entirely true, but we all know it feels like no one appreciates us sometimes.
he knows he works hard and he knows heâs doing well, but letâs be honest, he and his brothers arenât all lovey dovey with each other, not like the 501st is.
hearing you acknowledge everything he does AND pile sugar on top just lulls him into a loopy, submissive state.Â
he gets kinda puppyish, which is not how he usually is at ALL. definitely his soft side. definitely also that little boy that wanted shaak ti and 99 to be proud of him.
he loves it especially when youâre trying to fluster him because he can hear the intent in your tone and know that you mean everything you say.
techÂ
oh you KNOW heâs open to anythingÂ
i absolutely adore the idea that tech pulls the most girls in the whole gar
heâs the one that brings the kinks to you tbh
i also accept the headcanon that tech is a holoporn site warrior
he is clinical. he narrates like everything heâs doing and everything you do.
iâd assume that lowkey might get annoying at timesÂ
but luckily, thereâs a solution to everything
iâm talking about gags and binds guys.
this is literally so stupid, he would come up to you like âi figured out a solution to your criticismâ and then heâd freak out once you tied him up.
heâd be intrigued at first and then realize he wouldnât be able to talk and heâd get pissed
but honestly it was weirdly refreshing for him. being restrained and being forced to calm down and take a step back ended up being a good thing
tech is a little too eager, and he can get to be a control freak about sex
which position is âsuperiorâ and the order of actions (MUST be oral and then penetrative and gets pissy about switching things up. god FUCKING FORBID a girl wants to get fingered)
the uncertainty of it did make him anxious but he ended up loving letting you take control. he didnât think heâd like being surprised but when the surprise had him shaking and sweating and p u l s i n g with need⌠he made an exception.
the only other thing to do to get him to shut the fuck up is to praise him.Â
but like. differently. tech highkey reminds me of saiki k, physical beauty doesnât really matter to him and most of the time he judges people solely off their personality. (techphee shippers, consider. doesnât this open up a beautiful hilarious door? pheeâs personality needs to be scientifically explored. she is such a queen, i love her and i love techphee)
what WILL get to him though, is if you praise his intelligence, his performance
he LIVES forÂ
as a top, like i said, heâs a bit of a control freak but heâs still open to trying new things
he just has to be the one to orchestrate them⌠âno, cyar. lie like this⌠bend your knees. there. that is correct.â
heâs surprisingly rough, i think once he lost his virginity he kind of got addicted to the feeling and is still chasing that high
like many of the others in this fandom, i do accept the headcanon that he records everything
i bet he goes through the footage for hours, trying to take notes and observe what seemed to âproduce the most optimal resultâ but ending up just getting hard
speaking of which i feel like heâd make you watch him touch himself and grin as you just got more and more horny.Â
#1 orgasm withholder. itâs for science. he wants to see how long he can keep you squirming and needy until you either get angry with him or just break down.Â
he wants to know if youâll come harder the longer he postpones your orgasm
THIS is the stuff he actually takes notes on. motherfucker sets like a stopwatch trying to beat his last time. (record of 10 min so far, heâs hoping for 15)
heâs also one of those little shits who tries to get you to cum like at a certain time. like he counts down⌠yâknow what i mean?Â
this is going to sound so bad but i feel like heâd also lowkey (highkey) be the most open to sharing a partner with one of his brothers.Â
ugh in conclusion tech is one kinky motherfucker.Â
wrecker
as a top, he is justÂ
muah
incredible
so considerate and sweet but still sultry and sexy
#1 PUSSY EATER
IF HE COULD CHOOSE ONE WAY TO DIE IT WOULD BE UR FAT CUNT SUFFOCATING HIM.Â
i lowkey donât know why he likes it so much but he gives off the strongest pussy eating vibes iâve ever seen.Â
actually i lied i do know
heâs the mediator, heâs the glue that holds the batch together.Â
he NEEDS everyone to be happy, and he gets uncomfortable with conflict. (âokay, iâll say it, i miss crosshairâŚâ)
that kinda translates to him wanting to be EXTREMELY thorough in pleasing you.Â
also he likes the taste? like quite a bit
heâd be the type of guy to call ur pussy breakfast, lunch, dinner, and dessert depending on what time of day you were fuckingÂ
additionally just to make you laugh heâd call it a snack, munchie, girl dinner, and âjust a little smth to tide me overâ
if u ask me though he needs to be loved and pleased just as thoroughly
this will be mainly what i will be speaking about. wrecker needs to be topped and adored like catholics adore the FUCKING EUCHARISTÂ
(i can say that im a victim of pre-synod-on-synodality catholicism)Â
he likes when youâre messy, sloppy.Â
if youâre nervous about him being inside you, i sincerely hope you make up for it with the best head ever to make ur man feel appreciated
i know people appreciate wrecker but also he needs more appreciation. guys. hunter and crosshair the most attention in this fandom and wrecker needs to be compensated for all the love he puts out in the world
grab his (rock hard) ass and give this man a goddamn lap dance he will be floating after you with cartoon heart eyes
l i c k  h i s  b o d y
i d c  i f  h e  i s  a  l i t t l e  h a i r y
lowkey would probably love foreplay, especially if youâre like just coming onto him like itâs the first time yall are meeting
he needs to be aggressively appreciated idfk what else to sayÂ
what i want is for you to be the annoying kinky couple like charles and genevieve from b99 or diane and elliot from big mouth
but like in a less satirical cringe way
wrecker gets a FUCKING kick out of you leaving hickeys on him.Â
he likes smth to show off to the boys. heâs so obnoxious about you too, heâs like âHUNTER LOOKâ (hunter is contemplating death)
ur crazy if you donât think heâs got a sexy mural of you on the marauder
SENATOR WHO???? (im sorry im sorry im so sorry ms. amidala maâam)
i think wrecker likes dominant women
cause!!! whereâs the fun in someone whoâs scared of him??? heâs a big baby, not to mention the sweetest guy ever. he likes someone who can be sassy and short around his brothers so he doesnât have to be (even when he reaaally wants to say something)
tie this man UP so heâll finally be still and let you do the work
this is so random but i feel like heâd be one of those ppl who would like painting all over each other with like some safe kind of paint and then fucking and making a beautiful colorful mess
butt stuff.Â
idk a LOT a lot about it but i bet heâs down
heâd probably like being pegged or eaten
cause itâs like. an alternative to just having his dick sucked and then ridden over and over. i think heâd appreciate the variety.
donât imagine him like whiny though thatâs not him at all but i feel like when we usually talk about putting a cock in a man it leads to whimpering. no good boys here. this is the BAD batch. sorry. that came and i had to say it. iâm sorry. what am i doingâŚÂ
nah wrecker is happy as a clam, heâs thrilled. heâs one of those big GROANers and he swears a lot but like excitedly âaw KRIFF there we KRIFFING GO!â
he also has no shame telling you what feels good, how great youâre doing
he just needs to be topped ok? his fucking back hurts from carrying this squad (metaphorically and literally) and single-handedly maintain morale.Â
crosshair
this piece of shit
i cannot stress enough that crosshair is not as smooth as he thinks he is
he had sex ONE TIME and considers himself the ladies man of the batch
wrong.
i bet heâs all talk until youâre like âokay, letâs take our clothes off!â and then he just goes q u i e t and hesitantly slides his shirt over your headÂ
i think sexy crosshair needs to be unlocked
you, because youâre considerate stop him and are like âhey, are you okay? have you not done this before?â
and he gets all angry and defensive like âof cOuRsE i have, what did you think?â
he just needs to be encouraged lowkey
heâs secretly a fucking freak and for some reason he doesnât want people to know
âsome reasonâ i lied we know the reason. itâs cause heâs lowkey conceited. and shy. cause he KNOWS that heâs bullshitting when he teases you.
thank the fucking lord youâre a good person, because you keep the sexy mood going and arenât overbearing about him being awkward.Â
âcome and show me, then,â âprove it,â and âi donât believe youâ are phrases that motivate him to (for lack of a better word) be better (i guess?)
imo crosshair is kinda type-a like tech. he likes being in control of things, he likes things to be done CORRECTLY and gets pissed when they arenât
but thereâs also this sassy rebellious side of him that makes him so deliciously infuriating
he likes being on top. he likes being the sass-er, he likes outdoing people and seeing people stammer and gasp to find a comeback
he needs to be the one thatâs doing it because he knows exactly what comes next and he controls exactly when he cums, when you cum, you get the idea.
he is THAT tease who annoys you into fucking him
he gets the biggest kick out of getting you all angry and then gaslighting you and telling you to shut up or heâll make you
at first he does not like being a bottom, and thatâs when his type-a need-to-do-it-right side comes out and you honestly donât like it as much. he just wants to get back on top where heâs comfortable, his heartâs not in it, heâs trying to be as âgoodâ and low drama as possible until you let him be in charge again
you definitely get fed up because who wouldnât? let a switch be a switch? and you snap at him a little, which gets him very hard. and you start throwing the same lines at him that he uses on you, and it just unlocks this cheeky bratty side of him thatâs so like the cross you know and yet so unlike him.
he realizes he kind of likes being a bottom, he just needs to FIGHT you. i mean, why does he tease the regs to the point of them brawling with him? to get a fucking reaction, to get attention. heâs a little brat.
i also feel like heâd get such a major fucking kick out of exhibitionism and public sex
like he was shy in the beginning but once heâs into it he is INTO IT.Â
kind of a dopamine addict tbh. heâs not a holoporn warrior like tech but he is highkey jorking it at least once a day. so once yâall get the awkward first time out of the way, he cannot fucking keep his thoughts or his hands to himself.
i canât look you in the eye and tell you hunter would fuck you in the cockpit of the marauder. heâs not that kind of guy in my mind, he likes privacy, he likes his relationship being separated from his duty.
crosshair though? crosshair could not give a shit if his brothers hear you, he doesnât care that youâre riding him in techâs pilot seat, he doesnât care that the room is probably going to smell like fluids and have some suspicious dried white stuff on the edge of the console.Â
heâs shameless once he really gets into it.Â
heâs a big ass guy. i think heâd let you stick some stuff up his butt. as long as he could put stuff up yours.
i bet heâs a toy guy too. i feel like heâd have one of those remote control vibrators or some shit.
echo
all echo wants is his old body again. istfg he used to be so vain about his looks
look at that clean cut man in the 501st, he knew he was a stud
heâs kinda angry when he fucks you, lowkey impaling you trying simultaneously to regain the part of himself he (thinks he) lost and completely wreck you to the point youâre sobbing and begging for him
because he wants to be wanted and drooled over
this is not to say that he canât be soft and sweet and kind, because that is undeniably a part of echo.
but i donât think we explore how fucking nASTY echoâs mind is past his Polite If A Little Grumpy Manly Man You Can Bring To Dinner With Your Dad facade
dawg he served under the most LAX general in the whole GAR, you best believe he got used to being able to do whatever the fuck he wanted
now he has to be RESPONSIBLE for a bunch of SHELTERED and SMELLY clones with a FUCK ton of attitude.Â
heâs gotta get all his feelings out somehow and it ainât gonna be sweet
hella fucking dominant I DONT GIVE A SHIT
heâs also like. #1 orgasm denier, will edge you until youâre crying
i kinda feel like heâd eventually develop some kind authority kink but heâs not even a fucking commander or anything so maybe thatâs completely baseless.Â
inner mando- fucks with the helmet on sometimes. initially it was because he was nervous to get all up close and personal. youâve heard his self deprecating comments in the first season of tbb. he acts tough but heâs struggling. he has to find this balance between doing what needs to be done (esp after omega) and trying to get back in touch with himself.Â
this is gonna sound so bad (idfk how to phrase it because iâm running on 2 hours of sleep, 1 nap, and doritos and I just had two theater tech weeks FOR TWO SEPARATE FUCKING SHOWS) but i think heâs always really liked those sweet innocent kind of people. not like virgins because I think thatâs creepy and Iâm a biased bitch
but like. sweet âassume the bestâ kinds of people whose world he can totally shake up. like. itâs not corruption⌠like echo is obviously an ethical person. heâs just still kind of a cocky shiny at heart. thatâs mostly the point of this.
like crosshair, he doesnât CARE who hears or where you are. if someone walks in, he looks them in the eye and stares them down, CONTINUING to fuck you as they scramble to leave.
heâd lowkey get a kick out of a little voyeurism too. in the 501st he was kind of the âimmature shinyâ with fives and hardcase and stuff, and he gets a KICK out of the batch being kind of impressed by him and how much heâs seen the world.
bottom line, heâs SUPER SUPER dominant at first but after your relationship deepens, he evens out, he calms down. he lets you take charge.
he does end up really liking you using HIM for pleasure, riding his thigh, seeing what you can do with that metal arm, ykykyk. it makes him feel wanted and loved.
also aftercare is the best with him. he is def one of those guys whoâs energy TANKS after the deed is done
so there are a lot of lazy, blissful moments which is hilariously ironic, considering you two absolutely traumatized hunter who has been trying to go to sleep for the past hour.Â
heâs very cuddly and sweet, he will lowkey do a complete 180 from being controlling, he will nuzzle like a little cat into your arms
i feel like iâm making him sound kind of like a psycho, i swear to gawd, he is not. heâs a good person. heâs super attentive and kind and will be your #1 cheerleader
â ď¸ Written for @the-tech-turn and @gar-romance-month with the prompt Late Night and Sunrise
Warnings: SFW, Tech POV, fluff alert, the tiniest slightest against, Tech carries a huge mental load on his shoulders, he is a nervous boy as usual đ¤
Authorâs Note/Prompt: Hey @the-tech-turn!!! So so sorry it took me forever and a day to write this for you. I super hope you enjoy it! You sent in such a great prompt idea! My tumblr is glitching out so it wouldnât let me reply directly to your post, so for those wondering, they requested the following: Okay, HEAR ME OUT, a Tech x reader fic where it's late at night, after a mission, and tech is staying up in the cockpit(as usual) and was there with him just decompressing from the day. Like we've been starting to silently spend time with him at night, but today you guys actually spoke. Ask about what maybe a show we used to like and want to watch with Tech or our life before joining the batch. Both? I think that would be cute! Romantic please!!
The Marauderâs cockpit was quiet except for the soft hum of idle systems and the occasional beep from Techâs datapad.
Tech had been staring at the same sensor data for the past eleven minutes, his eyes tracking the numbers without actually processing them. He was waiting, though he would never admit that to himself. Waiting implied expectation, and expectation implied hope, and hope was a variable Tech preferred not to factor into his calculations.
Except you had come to the cockpit every night for the past six nights. The pattern was established. The data was clear.
The probability of your arrival sat cleanly at eighty-nine percent.
Then he heard your footsteps in the corridor. Right on schedule. You were as predictable as orbital mechanics, and Tech found that reassuring in ways he could not quite quantify.
The cockpit door slid open.
You stepped inside without a word, moving to the co-pilotâs seat like you had done this a hundred times instead of just six. You settled in with a quiet exhale, drawing your knees up and wrapping your arms around them.
Tech did not look at you directly. That was the agreement the two of you had developed without ever discussing it: silence, no expectations, just existing in the same space while the rest of the ship slept. His datapad glowed in the dim lighting, casting blue across his face.
You shifted in your seat, and Techâs awareness zeroed in on the sound despite his best efforts to focus on his screen. Usually the silence was immediate and total, but tonight felt different, charged somehow, like the air before a lightning strike.
Techâs thumb hovered over his datapad, not quite touching the screen. He could feel you looking at him, and his heart rate increased about twelve percent.
âTech?â Your voice was soft, careful, like you were testing the weight of breaking your established pattern.
Techâs hand tightened on the datapad. âYes?â
He still did not look at you, could not look at you, because if he did he would see whatever expression you were wearing, and that expression might undo every carefully constructed defense he had built around these quiet nights together.
âCan I ask you something?â
Techâs throat went dry. This was new territory. You had never initiated conversation during these sessions, never asked questions. The silence had been safe and easy, but now you were changing the parameters and Tech had no data for how to proceed.
âOf course,â he said, aiming for calm and landing slightly strained.
Silence stretched between you. Tech counted his heartbeats. Fourteen. Fifteen. Sixteen.
âWhat are you working on?â you finally asked.
Tech blinked. That was your question? Not why he spent every night alone in the cockpit or why he never joined the others in the hold or any of the hundred more invasive questions you could have asked? Relief and disappointment warred in his chest.
âMaintenance protocols,â he said, which was true in the most technical sense. âReviewing system efficiency reports.â
âAt twenty-three hundred hours?â
âThe time of day is irrelevant to data analysis.â
He heard rather than saw your small smile. Something in the quality of your breathing changed. Perhaps a slight laugh.
âYou do this every night,â you observed.
Techâs fingers stilled on the datapad. âThe Marauder requires consistent monitoring.â
âHunter doesnât monitor it every night.â
âHunter has different priorities.â
âAnd yours areâŚ?â
Sitting here hoping you will show up so I can pretend I am not completely alone with my thoughts. Making sure everyone survives another day. Trying not to think about all the ways todayâs mission could have gone wrong. Memorizing the sound of your footsteps so I know when you are near.
âEnsuring optimal ship performance,â Tech said instead.
Another pause. Then: âCan I see what you are looking at?â
His hands moved before his mind could catch up, angling the datapad toward you.
You leaned forward to look, and suddenly you were closer. Much closer. Close enough that Tech could see the faint shadows under your eyes and smell whatever soap you used and feel the warmth radiating from your shoulder nearly touching his.
âThese are power consumption rates?â you asked, pointing at a column of numbers.
âYes. Each systemâs energy draw over the past forty-eight hours. I am identifying areas where we can improve efficiency.â
âThis one here,â your finger traced a line on the screen, âThe environmental controls. They are using more power than the others.â
âCorrect.â Tech pulled up a secondary screen from the shipâs console, trying to focus on data instead of the fact that you were right there and actually seemed interested in power consumption analytics. âThe starboard crew quarters has a faulty seal. The system is compensating by working harder to maintain temperature.â
âCan you fix it?â
âYes. It requires approximately thirty minutes and standard tools.â
You hummed thoughtfully, still studying the screen. âYou notice everything, donât you?â
Techâs chest tightened. It was not a question, not really, but it felt like one, like you were asking something deeper than whether he noticed power fluctuations.
âIt is necessary,â he said quietly. âSmall problems compound. A faulty seal becomes a system failure. A system failure becomes a mission compromise.â
If I do not notice, people die. If I do not pay attention to every detail, I lose the people I care about. If I am not hypervigilant every moment, something will slip through and it will be my fault.
âThat sounds exhausting,â you said softly.
Techâs jaw tightened. âIt is simply how my mind works.â
âI know.â Your voice carried something warm. âI wasnât criticizing. I was just⌠observing.â
You pulled back slightly, and Techâs shoulder felt cold where your warmth had been.
âI like watching you work,â you continued, and Techâs entire thought process derailed. âYou get this focused expression. Like nothing else in the galaxy exists except whatever problem you are solving.â
Tech stared at his datapad. You liked watching him work. You had been observing him enough to notice his expressions, and you were telling him this at twenty-three hundred hours in the quiet of the cockpit like it was a casual piece of information and not something that would replay in his mind for the next several weeks.
âIâŚâ His voice failed him. Start over. Organize your thoughts. Respond like a functional human being.
âThank you,â he managed. âThat is⌠I am pleased that my work ethic is noticeable.â
You laughed quietly, and the sound did something devastating to his cardiovascular system.
âYour work ethic,â you repeated, and there was something teasing in your tone. âSure. Thatâs what I meant.â
Tech had no idea what you actually meant, and his brain was too busy malfunctioning to calculate the possibilities. He pulled his datapad back and pulled up another screen just to have something to do with his hands.
âWhy do you come here?â The question escaped before he could stop it. âEvery night. To the cockpit.â
Silence filled the space between you, and Tech immediately regretted asking. He had broken the unspoken rule, questioned the pattern instead of simply accepting it, and now you would realize how pathetic it was that he noticed, that he counted the minutes until you arrived, that your presence had become the only thing that made the late hours bearable.
âBecause youâre here,â you said simply.
Techâs hands froze on the datapad.
His mind raced through possible interpretations. You came because he was here. Because you wanted to be where he was. Because his presence was somehow desirable rather than merely tolerable.
The data did not make sense.
âI am here every night,â he said carefully. âIt would be more logical to spend your rest hours sleeping.â
âProbably,â you agreed. âBut I like it here.â
Here. With me. You like being here with me.
Techâs throat felt tight.
âThe cockpit does provide optimal solitude,â he managed.
âThatâs not why I like it.â
His heart was doing something arrhythmic and entirely outside standard protocol. Not that he and his brothers usually followed standard protocol anyways.
âThen why?â The question came out quieter than he intended.
You were silent for a long moment, and Tech risked a glance at your face.
You were already looking at him, your expression soft in the blue glow of the instruments. Something in your eyes made his breath catch.
âBecause itâs peaceful,â you said. âAnd because you donât expect me to be anything other than what I am. I can just⌠exist. Without speakingâŚ. or performing, or explaining or trying to fit.â
Tech understood that feeling more than he could articulate.
âI find your presence similarly comfortable,â he managed, but knew it was an insurmountable understatement.
I find these nights with you are the only time my mind quiets.
Your smile was small and genuine.
âGood,â you said. âBecause Iâve been worried I was bothering you.â
âBothering me?â Techâs voice came out sharper than intended. âNo. You are not⌠you could notâŚâ
He trailed off, struggling to find words adequate for the magnitude of how wrong that assumption was.
âYou are welcome here,â he said finally, firmly. âAlways.â
The word hung between you. Always. Infinite. Absolute. Your expression softened into something that made Techâs chest ache.
You settled back into your seat, pulling your knees up again, and Tech tried to remember what he had been doing before this conversation rewrote his entire neural pathway. Right. Maintenance logs. Power consumption. Things that made sense.
Except now he could not focus on any of it because you were still here and you had said you liked being here with him and his mind was entirely occupied with processing that information.
Minutes passed in comfortable quiet. Tech pulled up his sensor calibration data, the same screen he had been staring at for the past hour, and made a valiant effort to actually read it this time.
âTech?â
His attention snapped to you immediately. âYes?â
âCan I ask you something else?â
His pulse spiked. âOf course.â
You shifted slightly, and there was something nervous in the movement that put Tech on high alert.
âBefore you left the Empire,â you started slowly, âbefore all of this⌠what was your life like?â
Techâs entire body went still.
Of all the questions. Of all the topics. You had chosen the one that required him to excavate parts of himself he preferred to keep buried under layers of technical specifications and tactical analysis.
âIâŚâ He paused, buying time by adjusting his goggles even though they did not need adjusting. âClone Force 99 has been my unit since creation. We were designated experimental. Desirable genetic mutations enhanced our combat ability beyond what was required for standard deployment.â
He kept his voice clinical. Detached. Like he was reciting someone elseâs history.
âWe trained separately from the regs on Kamino. We were never integrated with the regular clone forces.â He kept his eyes trained on the screen, drowning in blue light as his throat tightened. âIt was adequate for our purposes.â
It was isolating. Even among my brothers I was the strange one. Too technical. Too literal. Too much of⌠everything.
âAdequate,â you echoed, and there was something knowing in your voice.
âOur unit functioned with high efficiency,â Tech clarified. âWe had a 100% sucess rate. That was sufficient.â
âBut what about when you werenât on missions? What did you do?â
Tech frowned. âI studied. Maintained equipment. Expanded my technical knowledge base. Standard activities.â
âFor fun?â
âThe activities were enjoyable.â
âBut were they fun? Did you do things just because you wanted to? Not because they were useful or necessary?â
Tech opened his mouth. Closed it.
The honest answer formed in his mind but felt too vulnerable to speak aloud: I never learned how to want things that did not serve a tactical purpose.
Your expression shifted into something that looked uncomfortably like sympathy.
âTech, those are still work.â
âThey were informative.â
âThatâs not what I meant.â You leaned forward slightly. âDid you ever just⌠watch something because it was entertaining? Because it made you happy?â
Happy. The word sat strangely in Techâs mind.
âI did not prioritize entertainment,â he said carefully. âThere were always more pressing concerns.â
You were quiet for a long moment, watching him with those eyes that saw too much.
âWhat about now?â you asked softly. âDo you do things just because they make you happy?â
Techâs fingers tightened on his datapad.
Did he? He maintained the ship because it was necessary. He studied because knowledge was survival. He came to the cockpit every night becauseâŚ
Because you were here.
Because somewhere in the past few nights, sitting in silence with you had stopped being about decompression and started being about something he could not quite name but desperately wanted to keep.
âI am⌠learning to,â he said quietly.
Your smile was soft and warm and made something in his chest crack open.
âGood,â you said. âYou deserve to have things that make you happy.â
Tech had no response to that. The concept felt foreign. Revolutionary. Like you had just suggested that gravity was optional.
âWhat about you?â he asked, redirecting before his defenses crumbled completely. âWhat was your life like before joining us?â
Your demeanor shifted, brightness creeping over your expression.
âOh, completely different. I wasnât military. I worked in Republic Intelligence, data analysis mostly. Very boring compared to this.â
âData analysis is not boring,â Tech protested immediately.
Your laugh was quiet but genuine. âI had a feeling youâd say that.â
Techâs face warmed.
âBut outside of work,â you continued, âI had a pretty normal life. An apartment, friends, routines. I used to watch holovids on my days off, go to markets, just⌠normal civilian things.â
Tech tried to imagine it. You in an apartment somewhere, living a life that did not involve firefights and narrow escapes. You watching holovids without worrying about Imperial patrols. You being safe.
His chest tightened.
âDo you miss it?â he asked quietly.
You considered the question with visible thought.
âSometimes,â you admitted. âI miss the stability. The predictability. Knowing Iâd wake up in the same place every day.â You paused. âBut I donât regret leaving. This⌠what we do now. It matters. And the people Iâve metâŚâ
You trailed off, but you were looking at him again, and Techâs heart once again struggled to maintain a steady rhythm.
âThe people make it worth it,â you finished softly.
Tech swallowed hard.
âI am glad you are here,â he managed, but continued, âYour tactical analysis has proven invaluable. Your ability to remain calm under pressure has contributed significantly to mission success rates.â
You make everything better. You make me feel less alone. I wait here every night because it means I get to sit here with you and pretend that this is normal, that people like me- that clones, get to have things like this.
âJust my tactical analysis?â you asked, and there was something teasing in your tone but also something else. Something hopeful.
Techâs mind went blank.
Was that a leading question? Was he supposed to read subtext? He was terrible at subtext. Give him an encrypted Imperial transmission and he could break it in minutes- no, seconds! But this?
âNo,â he said carefully. âNot just your tactical analysis.â
âWhat else?â
Techâs mouth went dry.
âYouâŚâ He struggled to organize thoughts and they all felt too large for words. âYou listen when I explain things. You ask questions that indicate genuine interest rather than polite tolerance. You make me feelâŚâ
He paused, searching for the right word.
Seen. Valued. Like maybe all the parts of me that other people find excessive or annoying are actually acceptable.
ââŚless alone,â he finished quietly.
The cockpit felt very small suddenly. Very quiet. Just you and him and the hum of instruments and all the things Tech was not saying hanging in the air between you.
âYou make me feel less alone too,â you said softly.
You shifted closer, just slightly, and Techâs awareness narrowed to the diminishing space between you.
âCan I tell you something?â you asked.
Tech nodded, not trusting his voice.
âThere was this show I used to watch,â you said. âAnd there is a point to me saying this, I promise!â
Tech studied her quietly, slightly off kilter by the sudden topic shift.
âIt was before the fall of the Republic. Before all this⌠called Galactic Frontiers. It was about explorers charting unknown space. Completely ridiculous from a scientific standpoint, but I loved it anyway.â
Techâs brain latched onto the familiar topic like a lifeline.
âI am familiar with that program,â he said, and there was definitely too much interest in his voice but he could not help it. He paused, adjusting his goggles. âActually, I had forgotten about it until you mentioned it. The scientific inaccuracies were egregious, but the character dynamics were compelling. I suppose it did not occur to me to mention it earlier because my partaking in Galactic Frontiers was an anomaly.â
Your face lit up like he had just given you the galaxy.
âYouâve seen it?â
âI watched several episodes during downtime on Kamino. The atmospheric consistency alone was statistically impossible. Every planet had identical gravity and breathable air.â
âRight?â You leaned forward eagerly. âAnd the faster than light travel made no sense. They just⌠jumped to hyperspace instantly with no calculations or nav computer.â
âEntirely fictional,â Tech agreed, and he could feel enthusiasm creeping into his voice. âReal hyperspace travel requires extensive mathematical modeling and multiple safety protocols.â
âI know! But I loved it anyway. Something about the adventure of it, the discovery. Finding new worlds, meeting new species.â You paused, your expression softening. âWell, my point is⌠I always wanted to rewatch it with someone who would appreciate how absurd it was while still enjoying it.â
Techâs heart performed an acrobatic maneuver that would have concerned a medical droid.
With someone. You wanted to watch it with someone. You were telling him this while looking at him with those eyes and, despite the subtext, he knew what that implied, what you were offering.
âI would be interested in that,â he said, trying to sound calm and failing spectacularly. âWatching it. With you. If you wanted to.â
Your smile could have powered the entire Republic fleet.
âReally? Youâd want to watch a completely scientifically inaccurate show just to make fun of it with me?â
âYes.â The answer came without hesitation. âI would find that⌠enjoyable.â
I would find any activity enjoyable if it involved spending time with you. I would watch the most tedious programming in existence if it meant I got to hear your laugh and see your smile and exist in your proximity for a few hours.
âThereâs one problem though,â you said, âWe donât exactly have access to holovid streaming on the Marauder.â
Techâs mind immediately began calculating solutions.
âI could construct a receiver array using salvaged components from our last supply run. With proper modifications to our comm system, I could potentially access archived Republic entertainment databases. It would require approximately six hours of work and some creative rewiring, but it is feasible.â
You were staring at him.
âYou would build an entire system just to watch an old show with me?â
Tech adjusted his goggles, suddenly uncertain.
âWas that⌠did you not want me to? I apologize if I misunderstood the request. I simply thoughtââ
âTech.â You were laughing now, soft and warm. âI would love that. I just⌠youâre amazing. You know that?â
Amazing. You thought he was amazing?
âI am simply solving a technical problem,â he managed.
âYouâre doing it because you want to spend time with me.â
Techâs face burned hot enough to compromise his gogglesâ thermal regulation.
âIâŚâ There was no point denying it. You had stated the obvious truth he had been trying to rationalize away. âYes. I want to spend time with you.â
The admission hung in the air between you, vulnerable and terrifying and honest.
Your hand moved, reaching across the small space, and suddenly your fingers were brushing against his where they rested on the datapad.
Techâs entire nervous system went into overdrive.
You were touching him. Deliberately. Your fingers warm against his, the contact soft and tentative like you were asking a question without words.
Techâs thumb shifted, just slightly, pressing back against yours.
âI want to spend time with you too,â you said quietly. âThatâs why I come here every night. Not for the cockpit or the quiet. For you.â
Techâs throat felt impossibly tight.
âOh,â he managed, which was possibly the least articulate response he could have managed.
You laughed softly, and your fingers curled more firmly around his.
âYou really didnât know?â
âIâŚâ Tech struggled to form coherent thoughts with your hand holding his. âI considered it a possibility, but the data was inconclusive. I did not want to make assumptions that might compromise our⌠our current dynamic.â
âOur friendship?â
âYes.â
âWhat if I wanted to compromise it?â you asked softly.
Techâs heart stopped.
Then restarted at approximately twice its normal rate.
âThat wouldâŚâ He swallowed hard. âThat would depend on how you intended to compromise it.â
You shifted closer, and suddenly the co-pilotâs seat felt very far away and much too close simultaneously.
âIâm not very good at this,â you admitted. âSaying what I mean. But I like you, Tech. A lot. More than just as a teammate or friend.â
Tech stared at you like you had just rewritten the laws of physics.
âYou have romantic interest,â he said, needing the clarification, needing to be absolutely certain he was understanding correctly. âIn me.â
âYes,â you said simply. Though the single word felt inadequate for what was happening in this cockpit with your fingers tangled with his.
âI haveâŚâ His voice came out rough. âI have developed similar feelings. For several weeks now. Possibly longer. I have been attempting to analyze them but the data has been inconclusive and I did not want to jeopardize our established rapport by introducing variables that mightââ
You kissed him.
One moment Tech was explaining his feelings using the emotional processing capabilities of a particularly anxious droid, and the next your lips were pressed softly against his and his brain forgot how to do anything except feel.
Soft. You were so soft. And warm. And kissing him. You were actually kissing him.
Techâs datapad clattered to the floor.
His hands came up automatically, one settling carefully on your waist, the other cupping your jaw with the kind of reverence he usually reserved for rare technical components.
You made a small sound against his mouth, and Techâs entire system overheated to a level nearing catastrophic.
When you pulled back, his goggles were askew and his breathing was unsteady and he was quite certain he had forgotten his own name.
âWas that okay?â you asked softly, and you sounded as breathless as he felt.
âThat wasâŚâ Tech struggled to find words. âThat was significantly more than okay. That was optimal. Exceptional. The data suggests that repeating the experience would be advisable.â
You laughed, and the sound vibrated through him where you were still touching.
âVery smooth, Tech.â
âI apologize. My verbal processing capabilities appear to be compromised by your proximity and the lingering sensory input fromââ
You kissed him again.
Tech stopped trying to think and just let himself feel.
Your fingers tangled in his hair, careful around the arm of his goggles. His hand tightened slightly on your waist, pulling you closer across the small space between seats. The angle was awkward and the armrests were digging into his side and none of it mattered because you were kissing him like he was something precious.
Like he was worth wanting.
When you finally pulled away, you were smiling and Tech was quite certain his cardiovascular system would never recover.
âIâve wanted to do that for weeks,â you admitted.
âI have wanted you to do that for weeks,â Tech replied, then immediately felt his face heat. âThat is⌠I have experienced similar desires. Of a reciprocal nature.â
âTech?â
âYes?â
âYou can just say you wanted to kiss me.â
âI wanted to kiss you,â he repeated obediently, and then added because apparently his brain-to-mouth filter had been completely demolished: âI want to kiss you again.â
Your smile widened. âGood. Because I want to kiss you again too.â
âExcellent,â Tech said. âThen we are in agreement about the desired course of action and can proceed withââ
You were laughing now, bright and warm, and Tech realized he was being ridiculous but he could not seem to stop.
âYouâre adorable when youâre flustered,â you said.
âI am not flustered. I am simply experiencing elevated neurological activity in response to novel stimuli.â
âUh huh. Very scientific.â
âIt is an accurate description ofââ
You kissed him again, and Tech decided that you were absolutely right to keep interrupting his explanations with your mouth.
Minutes or hours laterâTechâs usually precise temporal awareness had been completely compromisedâyou were both sitting pressed together in his pilotâs seat, your head resting on his shoulder, his arm around your waist, hands still tangled together. The cockpit had grown quieter, your breathing evening out into something close to sleep, and Tech found himself perfectly content to sit here holding you for as long as you would let him.
Then you stirred slightly, and Tech glanced at the viewport.
The horizon was beginning to change. The deep black of night was giving way to the faintest hint of color, a gradual lightening that Techâs pattern recognition immediately identified as pre-dawn.
âLook,â he said softly, not wanting to wake you fully but unable to keep the quiet wonder from his voice.
You lifted your head from his shoulder, blinking sleep from your eyes, and turned toward the viewport.
The sunrise was slow, methodical, exactly as planetary rotation dictated it should be. But watching the sky transform from black to deep purple to brilliant orange felt like witnessing something extraordinary. Light spilled across the landscape beyond the Marauder, illuminating rock formations and scattered vegetation in shades of gold and amber.
Tech had seen countless sunrises on countless planets. He had calculated the exact timing based on axial tilt and orbital position more times than he could count. He had never found them particularly noteworthy beyond their scientific implications.
But this one was different.
Because you were here, your hand still tangled with his, your shoulder warm against his side, watching the same sky transform with an expression of quiet awe that made his chest ache.
âItâs beautiful,â you whispered.
Tech looked at you instead of the sunrise, at the way the growing light caught in your eyes and painted your features in soft gold.
âYes,â he agreed quietly. âIt is.â
You caught him staring and smiled, âWe should do this again, watch the sunrise together.â
Techâs thumb brushed across your knuckles. âI would like that very much,â he said.
And as the sun continued its inevitable rise, painting the cockpit in warm light and chasing away the shadows of night, Tech thought that maybeâjust maybeâhe was starting to understand what it meant to want things that served no tactical purpose.
To want things simply because they made him happy.
Don't imagine Rex quietly fixing a younger cloneâs armor after hours, muttering, "you gotta take better care of yourself, kid," while he polishes each scratch like itâs sacred.
Don't imagine Fives trying to teach shinies how to play cards, cheating outrageously so they win, whooping and hollering like theyâre champions of the galaxy, and slipping a few credits into their pockets when no one's looking.
Don't imagine Cody staying up all night after a tough battle because he's personally stitching medals of bravery into the empty bunks of fallen troopers, so when theyâre remembered, theyâre remembered right.
Don't imagine Hardcase giving away his dessert rations to any clone who looks even remotely sad, acting like itâs a prank or a dare so no one knows heâs doing it out of love.
Don't imagine Echo re-learning how to shoot left-handed after his injury, stubbornly, painstakingly, so he can teach other injured clones that theyâre not broken â just different.
Don't imagine Jesse carving tiny little messages into the walls of every base theyâre stationed at. Messages like "501st were here. We fought. We lived." like he's trying to leave proof they mattered.
Don't imagine Dogma leaving tiny notes in people's lockers that just say "youâre doing good." "youâre brave." "I believe in you." â and then feeling too shy to admit it was him.
Don't imagine Wolffe pretending to be annoyed when Boost and Sinker sneak stray animals into the barracks, but secretly building a little hidden shelter for them behind the hangar.
Don't imagine Kix memorizing the medical charts of every single brother in his battalion â birthdays, allergies, old injuries â because he doesnât trust the GAR systems to care enough (and he's 30000% right).
Don't imagine Tup tending to a tiny makeshift garden in the middle of a warzone with whatever seeds and scraps he can find, because "somethingâs gotta grow, sir."
Don't imagine Rex carrying every goodbye letters and notes he never got to say or give tucked in the seams of his armor or in a chest under his bed â every brother he couldnât save, every friend he couldnât reach â and still standing up the next morning because someone has to lead, and if not him, then who?
Don't imagine Waxer carrying around a crumpled, dirty drawing of Numa from Ryloth in a hidden pocket inside his armor, smoothing it out and smiling every time he feels like the war is eating him alive.
Don't imagine Boil pretending to grumble about it but secretly checking the drawing too, mouthing, "stay safe, little one," before every mission because part of his heart never left Ryloth.
Don't imagine Bly sketching little comic strips in the margins of his field reports to make Aayla laugh during debriefings â and still carrying the last one he never got to show her, tucked inside his chest plate.
Don't imagine Colt teaching his new ARC trainees how to properly tie a tourniquet and lecturing them seriously, but at the end quietly handing each of them a little lucky charm, like an old Republic credit or a braided cord, "for good luck, kid."
Don't imagine Appo still wearing a piece of Fives' blue paint on his armor as a "tradition" without telling anyone where it came from or why it matters so much.
Don't imagine Fox locking himself in his office after long shifts guarding Coruscant because he canât stand seeing the brothersâ faces when they look at him like heâs a stranger now â so he sits in the dark and listens to the old 501st comms chatter recordings, just to feel something again.
Don't imagine Jesse and Kix starting a stupid prank war in the barracks where they replace each other's ration packs with terrible "mystery meat," laughing until Rex threatens to demote them â but Kix sneaks Rex a spiked caf packet later as revenge.
Don't imagine Tup painting tiny flowers on the inside of his helmet where no one can see them, tiny bursts of color against the cold plastoid â because he wants to carry beauty into battle even if no one else knows.
Don't imagine Dogma standing at the memorial wall and reading every single name out loud, even the ones he never knew, because he thinks someone should.
Don't imagine Waxer and Boil talking about "after the war" plans, like opening a repair shop on Ryloth, taking in lost kids, making sure no one else has to grow up the way they did â and laughing about it like it could actually happen.
Don't imagine Fives pulling a prank so chaotic that even Rex laughs â real, loud, helpless laughter â and Fives looking absolutely stunned before grinning like he'd just been handed the whole galaxy.
Don't imagine Rex tracing the scars on his hands sometimes without realizing, as if heâs trying to memorize every mistake, every battle, every time he almost didnât make it â and then closing his fist around them like a promise to keep going.
Don't imagine Kix secretly saving every "thank you" note the boys have ever given him â crumpled sticky notes, bad handwriting, a piece of torn armor that just says "thanks doc" â tucked into his med kit like the most valuable supplies he owns.
Fives stopped dead in his tracks when the shuttle doors opened.
âStars aboveâŚâ he breathed.
Heat rolled over him like a welcome punch, warm and thick, nothing like the recycled air from a cruiser. The sky was gorgeous, endlessly blue, the sun bright enough to make the landing pad he stood on glow. The ocean in the distance, waves crashed rhythmically, and the breeze carried the scent of salt instead of blaster residue and engine grease.
He smiled and turned to you, adjusting the luggage he was carrying over his shoulder.
âSo,â He began, his signature smirk appearing on his lips. âYou sure this isn't some kind of trick? Because Iâm pretty sure I died on Umbara and this must be my reward.â
You giggle, reaching for his hand and tugging him forward. âCome on, baby, try not to look so shocked.â
Fives laced his fingers with yours, squeezing once as though to ground himself. âHey, I can't help it. This time last week, I was knee deep in mud and battle droids. Now Iâm here.â He glanced at you, his eyes bright behind his dark lashes. âWith you.â
That earned him a soft smile, and something in his chest loosened.
***
The villa was unreal.
Private, perched just above the beach, open archways and pale stone that stayed cool beneath bare feet. The main room opened straight onto a terrace overlooking the ocean, where the water shimmered in impossible shades of turquoise and baby blue. Palm trees swayed lazily, and somewhere below, the tide whispered against the sand.
Fives dropped his luggage by the door and walked straight onto the terrace, resting his arms against the railing.
âNo bunk beds,â He muttered in awe. âNo rations, no one barking orders at me.â
He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, letting the sun hit his face. âI could get used to this.â
You stepped up beside him, slipping your arms around his waist from behind. He immediately relaxed into you, hands coming to rest over yours.
âMission objective,â You murmured. âRelax.â
âSweetheart, I don't think Iâve ever relaxed a day in my life.â
Then he glanced down, noticing what you were wearing for the first time since arriving. And for a second, he forgot how to breathe. His hands stilled against yours, his posture went rigid for a second before leaning back deliberately, pressing into you with an appreciative whistle.
âWell, if this is the uniform on this planet,â He raised an eyebrow. âIâm never going back.â
You rolled your eyes, feeling the suggestiveness in his voice. Fives turned slightly, one hand sliding to your hip, thumb brushing your bare skin like it belonged there.
âYou're trying to kill me, right? Because if so, congratulations. It's working.â
***
The beach became Fivesâ favourite place in the galaxy within an hour.
Soft white sand, warm water so clear that he could see his own toes beneath the surface. No armour, no helmet, no blaster, just the ocean and the sound of your laughter.
Snorkelling gear felt almost silly after years of combat equipment, but Fives adjusted quickly as usual, splashing into the water with boyish enthusiasm.
The two of you floated side by side, faces submerged, watching schools of bright fish dart through coral like living art. Sunlight filtered down in rippling patterns, and for once, the quiet didn't feel dangerous.
When Fives surfaced, pushing his goggles up onto his forehead, he looked at you with something close to wonder.
âI never thought Iâd get to do something like this,â He admitted softly.Â
You drifted closer, hands brushing his under the water. He caught them, fingers threading together, and squeezed gently.
âThank you,â He said, quieter now.
Then his grin returned, wicked as ever. âAlso, Iâd like to officially thank whoever made that swimsuit.â
***
By the time the two of you reach the villa after snorkelling, Fives is vibrating with tension.
You're still dripping seawater onto the stone floor, peeling the snorkel gear off with zero urgency. Your bikini is clung to you like it's determined to make his life miserable. It's thin, damp, riding up just enough every time you move.
âYou're doing this to me on purpose.â
You glance over your shoulder. âDoing what?â
He laughs under his breath, sharp and breathless. âWalking around like you don't know I've been staring at your ass for the last hour.â
You turn fully now, adjusting your bikini top. âHmm, maybe I just like the attention.â
Fives groans, forehead dropping to your shoulder. âKriffâbaby don't do that.â
âOr what?â You tease.
He lifts his head, eyes dark and wild. âOr I won't be gentle.â
You smile. âGood.â
His mouth crashes into yours, his kiss rough and hungry. He bites your lower lip, sucking it into his mouth until you whine, his hands roaming freely, cupping and kneading like he's been deprived.Â
âYou have no idea,â He pants. âHow hard it was not to touch you on the beach.â
His hand slides down, fingers slipping beneath your bikini bottom, finding bare skin. He rips it off in one smooth motion and tosses it aside. You gasp as he presses exactly where you're already aching.Â
You barely have time to inhale before his mouth is between your thighs. He doesn't tease, doesn't pace himself. He eats you out like he's reclaiming something that's his. His tongue is firm and relentless, hands gripping your thighs to hold you still while he works you open.
âStars,â He groans. âSo wet for me.â
Your back arches, fingers clawing into his hair as pleasure builds fast and sharp. He knows exactly when to pull back just enough to make you whine, then dives right back in.
âSo impatient, baby,â He murmurs. âCanât blame you. Iâm losing my mind, too.â
Your hips start to rock helplessly. âFivesâ I'm close.â
âI know, sweetheart. Come for me.â
You come hard, thighs shaking around his head as you cry out. He doesn't stop until your trembling, riding it out with you like he wants to feel every second of it.
When he finally pulls back, he's flushed, breathing hard, brown eyes blown wide.
âYour turn.â You say, still catching your breath.
He strips fast, no showmanship, just urgency. He kisses you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and you moan into his mouth as he lines himself up.
He pushes in slowly, filling you inch by inch, groaning as your body takes him. You cling to him, nails digging into his shoulders.
âFuck baby,â He mutters. âAlways so tight for me.â
He gives you a moment, then starts movingâdeep, steady thrusts that quickly turn rougher and faster. The bed creaks, your breath stutters, and he watches you like he's addicted to the sight.Â
âLook at you,â He mumbles. âTaking me so well. I missed this.â
His hand slides between you, fingers finding your clit, working you in time with his thrusts.
âFivesâbaby, I'm going to come.â
âYeah?â He groans. âThat's it, come all over my cock.â
You do, your body tightening, pleasure ripping through you as you cry out. He groans loudly, thrusting deep as he follows you, spilling inside you with a shudder and groan. He collapses beside you, pulling you into his chest immediately, arms tight and protective.
For a moment, there's just the sound of the ocean and your breathing.
âTomorrow,â He mutters lazily, kissing your hair. âYouâre wearing something less dangerous.â
âIf this is the resultâŚâ You giggle. âThen no way.â
***
The next morning, the two of you were stretched out on a towel on the golden sand. Fives had one arm bent behind his head, the other lazily draped across his stomach. The sun kissed his skin, the breeze cool just enough to keep it from being overwhelming.
He cracked one eye open and immediately smirked. You were wearing a red bikini today, one just as skimpy as yesterday's.
âYou know,â He drawled. âThere are regulations against causing severe distraction among clone troopers.â
You turned your head slightly, moving your sunglasses down your nose. âOh?â
âMhmm. And yet here you are.â His gaze flicked pointedly in your direction, slow and appreciative. âBreaking at least twelve of them.â
You shifted, adjusting your position, and his smirk deepened.
âCareful. I might start filing official complaints.â
You reached over and flicked his ear. He yelped dramatically, then laughed, grabbing your wrist and pulling it to his chest.
âOh, that's how it is?â He teased. âAssaulting an arc trooper on leave?â
***
By the time the sun starts to sink, the heat of the day finally loosening its grip, Fives feels like he's stepped into someone else's life.
You're both cleaned up, dressed for dinner, nothing too formal, Fives in loose linen, and you in your favourite pink evening dress. Fives keeps glancing at you as you walk down the path towards the open-air restaurant near the beach, fingers brushing yours every few steps like he can't help checking that you're still there.
The sky is painted in soft oranges and pinks, the water reflecting it like glass. Lanterns glow low and warm, and somewhere nearby, music hums.
âThis is ridiculous,â Fives says, looking around. âHow is this place real?â
You smile and take his hand in your own. âYou're allowed to enjoy it, you know.â
He hums thoughtfully. âI am enjoying it.â
As the two of you grab your seats at the restaurant, Fives immediately reaches for your hand over the table. You gladly take it, giving him a warm smile.
Fives looks different. Still unmistakable himself, but a looser. Happier. His shoulders aren't tight, his posture isn't alert in that soldier-ready way.Â
âYou look good.â Fives says casually.
You glance at him, an eyebrow raised. âThat's it? Just good?â
He smirks. âI'm trying to behave in public.â
You roll your eyes, kicking his shin lightly under the table.Â
The menus arrive, and he studies his like it's a tactical brief. His brows knit together in concentration.
âThere are pictures of drinks,â He says, incredulous. âWhy don't we have this on base?â
âBecause nothing would ever get done.â
He snorts, then points. âWhat's a pina colada?â
You grin. âTrust me.â
When the drinks arrive, his eyes widen. Tall glass, a coconut garnish, a little umbrella. He looks at it, looks at you and then looks back at it.
You slide the glass in his direction. âGo on, baby.â
He takes a sip, and his eyes widen immediately.
âOh wow,â He says, then takes another, longer sip. âWhy is that so good?â
âYou like it?â
âI love it.â
You grin and pull out your datapad to take a picture of him before he can finish it. He notices immediately.
âHey, wait.â He says, trying to sit up straighter. âI look like I don't know what I'm doing.â
âThat's the point.â
You take the picture anywayâhim mid-sip, eyes bright, clearly delighted.
He leans over to see it, smiling as he does. âLet me take one of you.â
He does, serious about it, adjusting the angle like it really matters. He takes a few, frowns, then takes another.
âWhat is it?â
âLightning's wrong,â He says. âHold on.â
You laugh, watching him try again. Then he sets the datapad down and slides his palm across the table. You place yours in it without hesitation. His thumb brushes slow, absent-minded circles over your knuckles while you wait for the food.Â
âI like this,â He speaks after a moment.
âThe drinks?"
âThis,â He repeats, lifting your joined hands slightly. âNormal stuff. No blasters or orders. Just us.â
Your chest tightens in a good way.Â
âMe too.â
The food arrives on bright plates, generous portions and Fivesâ eyes light up again.
âThis smells amazing.â
You both dig in, stealing bites from each other's plates.
âHey,â You protest lightly, as he takes a big forkful of yours.
He offers you a bite, holding his fork out patiently. You lean forward, taking it and he watches you with an expression that's almost embarrassingly fond.
âOkay,â You admit. âThat's really good.â
Fives hums. âTold you.â
He orders another pina colada without hesitation, then a third later on, laughing a little louder each time.Â
You take another picture, this time the two of you together, leaning close, candlelight warm against your faces. He doesn't even protest this one.
As the night deepens, the lanterns glow brighter, and the restaurant fills with music and laughter.Â
âYou know,â he murmurs, leaning in slightly. âIf this is what regular people do on their leave⌠I've been missing out.â
You smile. âGuess I'll have to make sure you get more of it.â
Chapter Summary: The bottle lands on Tech, who, despite not being dressed as a classic 'monster,' still shows you a monstrously good time. (badum-tss)
Chapter Warnings: 18+ minors go away; mad scientist!Tech x gn!reader; kinks: forced orgasms + erotic electrostimulation; discussion of consent and safewords, kind of dark!Tech but only a little, restraints, ball gag, aphrodisiac, vibrator use, overstimulation, pain-as-pleasure, unprotected penetrative sex (wrap it irl) (can be read as PiV or PiA), they actually use lube for once, aftercare, they kiss but only once; if I missed any please let me know!
Word Count: 3.4k
A/N: Happy Friday the 13th! đŞ I refuse to apologize for this one. much appreciation to @sev-on-kamino for beta'ing this chapter <3
A round of wolf-whistles rises from the rest of the group (quite literally, in Hunterâs case). Across the table, Techâs white, blood-splattered lab coat glows in a flash of ultraviolet lights; his swirling goggles gleam. You stare for a moment, transfixed by the way the blood illuminates in a deep, glowing blue, so dark itâs nearly black. The sight should give you pause, but instead, warmth pools low in your belly. Whatever scientist Tech is embodying, there is no doubt in your mind of how utterly dangerousâand yet how utterly capableâhe is.
You stand. Tech rises from his seat as well, adjusts the collar of the coat, and runs one hand through his curls to smooth them. Despite the action, one stubborn curl falls onto his forehead.Â
âI hope you do not mind, ner cyarâika,â Tech says as he approaches, âthat I will be cataloging all physiological reactions and changes during this process.âÂ
âI expected nothing less from you, Tech,â you say with a smile.Â
He simply nods. Waving at the rest of the table, you allow Tech to lead you through the crowd. The press of bodies doesnât bother you; but nonetheless, you keep close to Tech. He uses his height to his advantage, standing several inches taller than the regs, as he guides you towards the back of the building. Though you catch glimpses of other troopers you recognize, you canât help the way your gaze always draws back to Tech. His presence is magnetic. The way his shoulders stretch the lab coat makes your mouth water.Â
His voice jolts you out of your silent admiration. âI had the good fortune of exploring the back area of this building when we arrived,â he says, ushering you past the threshold. âIt seems that many of these rooms were purpose-built for an event such as this. Our hosts must understand the rather base instinct to, ah, how did you put it? âKnow how a monster fucksâ.â
Hearing such vulgar language spill from Techâs lips sends a delightful shiver up your spine. âI assume you picked a room already?âÂ
âOf course,â he says. The grin he fixes you with is so unlike his usual stoic countenance that it throws you off. Lopsided, nearly a snarl, his gaze piercing and laser-focused behind those odd goggles, he seems to undress you with his eyes. Then the moment passes, and his expression smooths into his usual close-lipped smile.Â
âI presume,â he says, leading you down a labyrinth of hallways, âyou have a safe word.â
âI do,â you say. âMeiloorun.âÂ
âExcellent,â he says. âMine is âocclusiveâ.â
You nod, committing the word to memory.Â
âAh.â He pushes a door open with one large hand. âHere we are.âÂ
Whatever you were expecting, it wasnât far off from the sight before you. Inside, a cobblestone room is dominated by a massive metallic tilt table, currently vertical, with slack leather straps. Racks of various implements, some of it almost...medical in appearance, rest on wheeled carts near the table. Flickering sconces provide unstable illumination. The faintest scent of chemicals tickles your nose. That warmth in your belly from before, sparked by the alluring mixture of dangerous and capable, kindles into a low flame. Your chest rises and falls faster, anticipation making your fingers tingle.Â
The door shuts. You flinch at the resounding boom of a thick wooden beam sliding home.Â
âNow, ner cyarâika,â Tech murmurs. He pauses by your side, eyes searching your expression as you continue to survey the room. âNormally I would offer to explain what is going to happen, but I think in this case, a single-blind experiment is in order.â
Snapping your head to look at him, you meet his calm, calculating gaze with widening eyes. Thereâs something there that again gives you the distinct impression that you should be scaredâhe is a mad scientist after all, and who knows what that magic potion can do? Those medical tools...the table with straps...clearly youâre meant to be an experiment.Â
But of what nature?
âTechââ
âDoctor.âÂ
You blink, heat blazing through you. âOf course. Doctor. May I at least ask the inspiration for your...costume?â You gesture vaguely at his attire.
âGranted,â he says, an amused lilt to his voice. âYou see, I often have the ability to engage in experiments. In part, it is what I was made for. However, these experiments are always done in service of the greater good. The Republic, my brothers, Kamino.Â
âI do not begrudge these experiments. But,â he pauses, and his gaze lingers on your lipsâyour neckâyour waist, âI want something for myself.âÂ
Goosebumps prickle delightfully along your skin. Techâs eyes miss nothing, and his brows twitch in amusement at your reaction.Â
âWhat is that exactly?â you ask. You canât help how breathy your voice comes out. Arousal, hot and thick, rests under your skin.Â
âYou, ner cyarâika.â He says it like itâs the simplest, most obvious thing in the world. It would be sweet, except for the harsh, possessive undertone that washes over your skin and sets your nerves screaming. âI may not be a monster in the classic sense, but the urge to claim you for myself may certainly drive me to act...monstrously.âÂ
Your core clenches around nothing. If heâs a monster, so are you, you decide. Nodding once, you quickly shuck your clothing, ignoring Techâs quietly hungry stare, and allow yourself to stand completely bare before him. The cool air of the chamber makes your nipples pebble, stiffening to taut peaks. Catching your bottom lip between your teeth, you raise one eyebrow as if to say, Well?Â
Techâs gaze darkens behind those swirled goggles, his hands reaching for you. He stops himself, though.Â
âDo you trust me?â he asks.Â
âI do,â you say.Â
He bares his teeth in a feral smile, nearly a grimace. âYou really oughtnât.â
Without giving you time to react, he snatches one of your wrists and twists your arm behind your backânot enough to hurt, but enough to startle you. A squeak of surprise escapes you. You canât do much else but march forward, the pressure in your shoulder growing as he pushes your arm against your back.
Tech parades you to the tilt table and roughly spins you around. Your back arches as the cool metal kisses your skin; shivers wrack your body, nipples becoming almost painfully hard with the added stimulus. Techâs hands, rough and calloused, manipulate your body into position, ignoring your physical discomfort. Arms held overhead, wrists secured by supple leather straps about shoulder-width apart, your body stretches over the table. He nudges your feet apart, the toe of his boot tapping your instep, before he crouches to tighten similar straps around your ankles.Â
Standing straight once more, his gaze sweeps your restrained, prone form hungrily. This time, he allows himself to reach out and caress you. One large hand cups your face. You nuzzle into his touchâbut he draws his hand away just as quickly, down your body to tweak one nipple then the other, drawing a gasp from you. And farther down still, fingertips skimming your heated and sensitive skin, dancing around the one place you ache to feel him.Â
âDoctor,â you murmur. You try to press your chest forward in presentation, lure him into doing what you want.Â
He chuckles and withdraws completely. With a petulant whine, you watch, neck straining with the angle, as he retreats to one of the wheeled trays. Though you canât see, you can only imagine the kinds of tools and toys heâs poring over. Your breath hitches when he faces you once more, several items held in his hands. What draws your attention are the ball gag and vibrator, but he also carries a length of silk ribbon andâis that a potion?Â
Tech sets the ribbon and vibrator down. When he straightens, he uncorks the small, glowing red bottle. A puff of sweet scent, like strawberries, wafts to you.
âDrink this,â he orders, holding the bottle to your lips. At your wide-eyed, worried look, he sighs. âIt is an aphrodisiac. It will ensure that you stay hydrated and that your body does not tire as quickly as it normally would.â
He had said you shouldnât trust him, so why do you still do? Perhaps, despite the magic potion lowering his inhibitions, heâs still Tech, still the intelligent, caring man youâve been casual acquaintances with for some months now. Tech wouldnât hurt you.Â
You open your mouth and allow him to pour the liquid in. Sweetness explodes on your tongue, definitely berry-flavored, and it settles into your belly with a peculiar sensation, like popping candy.Â
While your mouth is still open, he pushes the ball gag in. The red rubber ball wedges your jaw open; saliva already begins to pool around the intrusion where it rests on your tongue.Â
âVery good,â Tech states once the gag is secure. He bends to retrieve the other objects. âNow, here is how this is going to work. You are going to cum as much as I deem fit for my experiment. I need reliable data, and you are my guinea pig.âÂ
Eyes widening, you whimper around the gag.Â
He ties the silk ribbon around one of your thighs, creating a loop for the vibrator. Once his handiwork is complete, he nods. The head of the vibrator rests against your aching core; no matter how much you squirm and twist, or angle your hips, the toy wonât move. Breathing shallowly through your nose, you follow Tech with your gaze as he moves away again.Â
Your one solace is that, when he turns, you catch sight of the sizable bulge tenting his pants. Maybe you can break his resolve, convince him, somehow, to have mercy on you.Â
Kriff, he hasnât even started yet. Spit drooling down your chin, you steel your nerves.Â
âReady?â he asks.Â
You try to answer in the affirmative, but the gag in your mouth prevents the words from forming, half-moaned grunts falling from you instead. Â
âThat is satisfactory.â
He pushes a button on the small device in his hand. The vibrator whirs to life. Your body jerks, pleasure arcing through you. Moaning, you roll your hips. Though the vibrations arenât strong enough to make you cum, not yet, it feels divine to have some kind of stimulation on your heated center.Â
Tech strides to a nearby lever and pulls it back one notch, the heavy metal gear clanking, his biceps bulging with the effort. The table youâre strapped to begins to incline until your body now rests at an angle, the change in position altering the pressure on your wrists and ankles. Flexing your fingers, you peer at Tech through half-lidded eyes.Â
He merely hums and, with a click of a button, ups the intensity. You groan as the vibrations climb, ripples of pleasure cascading through you. Undulating your hips, you chase the growing seed of orgasm sparking to life in your belly. Pleasure laps against your senses like the incoming tide, each wave larger than the last, each one threatening to drown youâbut itâs not until Tech pushes another button that the surf breaks over your head.Â
You cum, body pulling taut as you cry out. There is nothing for you to do except let it ride out; and once the pleasure resides, aftershocks jolting your body, you whine, trying to arch your body away from the vibrations.Â
But you canât. Stalking around the table, Techâs eyes devour the way that your body twitches in overstimulation. You become aware of the sweat already pooling in the bend of your clavicles, the sticky release coating your lower half. On your own, youâd be satisfied, arousal ready to abate.
Tech, on the other hand, is not sated. Another press of the button, and the vibrations intensify another notch. You yelp. Tugging at your restraints, you try to remember how to breathe as the string in your belly begins to pull tight again. Your entire body feels like itâs on fire and submersed in ice at the same time, nerves singing.Â
At another increase in intensity, you shout, cumming again. Every muscle in your body locks up, brow scrunched as you bite down on the gag in your mouth.Â
Zap!Â
You flinch. Eyes shooting open, you stare at Tech and the new device in his hand. Confusion and the painful shock, already diminishing, distract you from the never-ending overstimulation between your legs.
âIt is a specially designed electrostimulation tool,â Tech explains. He holds the small, handheld cylindrical device up to your face. Smooth and nondescript, the end of it contains two metallic prongs that remind you vaguely of a taser. What in the Sith blazing hells is he doing!?
In your ears, your heart thuds, drowning out everything else as the vibrations change in pattern this time. Shifting from the steady, monotonous drone, Tech selects a rhythm of several short bursts followed by one long drag of vibrations. Each pulse makes your body lurch. Youâre already so spent, and yet, you feel another orgasm building in your belly. Toes curling, nails digging into your palms, you loose a hoarse cry when the pleasure crests once again. It pulsates through your entire being, throbbing in time with your heart.
Zap!
Whining, you try to twist your body away from the painful stingâbut it was slightly less unpleasant this time than before. Panting, spit coating your entire front, you study Tech with guarded eyes as he brushes his knuckles over your flushed and warm cheek.Â
âDoing so well,â he murmurs. âGiving me such excellent data to work with. Now, cum for me again, ner cyarâika. You can do it.âÂ
A wail rips from your throat as the pattern changes againâseveral staccato pulses in quick succession, with no end in sightâand the intensity grows. Itâs becoming nearly painful, but thereâs a part of you, deep down, that preens under the praise, under the idea that Tech believes youâre a good subject for his experiment.Â
It takes a few moments longer, but you eventually cum for a third time. This time, you anticipate the electric shock, and this time, you find it feels...not pleasurable, necessarily, but good. Moaning brokenly, your head thunks back against the tableâs surface. Your entire body is overheated, flushed with equal parts arousal and embarrassment, sticky with sweat, spit, and slick. Youâre a mess.Â
In contrast, the only sign that this is affecting Tech at all are two high spots of color on his cheeks and a wet patch where the tip of his dick strains against his pants. He flashes you that dangerous smirk, one that you know now means that heâs not done with you. Far from it.Â
âAgain.âÂ
You lose track of how many times you cum. Youâre sobbing, tears mixing with spit and sweat, body wracked with unending quivers as Tech plays with the settings of the vibrator. Equal parts pleasure and pain clash within you, each one feeding into the other. Youâre uncertain how youâre still aware, mind so blissed out that the only thought you can conjure is how empty you feel. Despite reaching your peak so, so many times, there remains an ache in your core.Â
Zap!
You nearly cum just from the electric shock alone. Body sagging forward, you keen, voice cracking as pleasure threatens to blind you once again.Â
âFascinating.â Tech switches off the vibrator suddenly. âAbsolutely fascinating.âÂ
You draw in shuddering breaths through your nose. Vaguely, youâre aware of Tech bustling around you, but you donât care to focus until you feel him loosening the restraints holding your limbs down: first your ankles, then your wrists. He catches your limp body as you fall weakly forward. Arms supporting you easily, he carries you to a bed that you hadnât noticed earlier, laying you on its plush surface.Â
Next, he removes the gag. He holds your mouth open once the toy is gone, then slowly helps you close it, massaging the joints of your jaw to help work out the soreness.Â
Tears continue to leak from your eyes. You donât have the strength to raise your head, barely have the strength to reach with trembling fingers for him, but you whimper low in your throat to catch his attention.Â
âI am here, ner cyarâika,â he assures. His voice still retains a hard edge to it. âWhat do you require?âÂ
âY-You,â you gasp out. Your voice is raw and hoarse. âYou.âÂ
He seems to understand. He shifts the both of you on the bed so that your legs fall open, bracketing where he kneels before you. At last you catch a glimpse of his hard length as he frees it from his pants. Angry red and dripping with pre-cum, his cock jumps as you moan. Tech squirts a line of lube onto his dick and then some onto his hand. He works most of it across your so-far neglected entrance.Â
âP-Please,â you rasp.Â
Wordlessly, he pushes the blunt head of his cock into your tight entrance. He pants, chin falling onto his chest to watch where your body swallows his length. That one stray curl bounces with the movement, and you yearn to brush it away from his forehead. As it is, you feel like you can barely move. All you can do is lie there and take it, take what you so desperately need.Â
He stills when he bottoms out, his hips pressed flush to your ass. Fingers digging into your hips, hard enough to leave bruises, his chest heaves with arousal. A low, broken wail rakes from your throat as the tip of him nestles against the bundle of nerves deep inside you, the perfect length, the perfect stretch.Â
âTe-e-e-e-ch!â you cry.Â
Nails biting into your skin, his grip tightens. âThat is not my title, cyarâika.âÂ
âD-Doctor,â you sob. âPlease, doctor, fuck me!âÂ
âGladly.âÂ
The pace he sets is punishing. His cock drives against that shattered piece of bliss in your core with each thrust, setting your entire body on fire once again. But this time itâs different. The thread in your belly winds tighter and tighter, but the rope is thicker this timeâstronger, a heavier recoil. Dimly youâre aware of the way that Techâs jaw clenches, the veins in his neck standing out as he strains, the heavy and wet clap of his balls against your ass. But your mind zeroes in on the stretch of your hole around his thick lengthâand without warning, you cum.Â
You black out for a moment, ears ringing. Then: screaming. Youâre aware of someone screaming. You think itâs you wailing, unable to control yourself. Your entire body is rigid, legs convulsing around Techâs waist as he groans, high and heady.Â
âThatâs it, let everyone know the monster making you feel this good,â he grits out. Though his hips falter for a moment, he doesnât let up his pace, fucking you through your orgasm. It doesnât take long before he groans, tossing his head back as his dick pulses, his hot, sticky seed spilling into your spent body.Â
Shaking, you whimper as his softening length slips from you. You lay there, gasping for breath, staring up at the stone ceiling while Tech rummages through supplies nearby. Your entire body is sore, aching, battered; yet youâve never felt more gratified in your entire life.Â
âDarling,â Techâs voice whispers nearby.Â
You donât have the will to turn your head, but in your periphery youâre aware of him sitting on the bed next to you, wiping away the various fluids that coat your body. Lips twitching in a small smile, you simply gaze at him through hooded eyes. Heâs doffed the lab coat, leaving him in his blacks, and swapped his goggles for his normal yellow lenses. Contentment sprawls through you at the sight of him, so familiar.Â
âYou performed exceptionally well,â he says with his usual, barely-there smile. âThank you. As soon as you are able, I would like to talk through everything you experienced, if that is alright.âÂ
Blinking once, you try to nod.Â
Tech shushes you, smoothing a hand over your forehead. âIâll get you some water. Regrettably, these rooms do not come equipped with a refresher of any kind; I shall put in a formal request with our hosts so they can make appropriate changes for the next party.â
Quiet amusement, warm and affectionate, curls through your chest. Of course Tech would be concerned about this place not having the proper amenities.Â
With supreme effort, you get your vocal chords to work. âTech?âÂ
He hums. âYes?âÂ
âKiss me?âÂ
A small chuckle escapes him, but he obliges, leaning over to press his lips to yours in a chaste, sweet first kiss. You sigh happily. Body slipping into sleep, you canât fight the warm pull of dreams any longer, but you vow to kiss him again as soon as youâre able, his lips soft and smooth against yours.
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Five standard days, one hundred twenty hours, seven thousand two hundred minutesâgive or take a few seconds depending on planetary rotationâsince the storage compartment door had slid open to Wrecker's booming laugh and Hunter's knowing smile. Since you'd both stepped out flushed, his goggles slightly askew, lips swollen, and clearly unfinished.
Tech had cataloged every single one of those minutes, and he's been⌠distracted more so than usual. He was never distracted before, always sharp and focused on his tasks, but you always did manage to occupy his thoughts ever since you joined their squad. Even more now that he had shared that game with you and itâs disrupting his routine and everyday function. It got to the point where heâll drown himself in whatever task available to ensure his focus was still intact.
He'd run diagnostics on the hyperdrive three times more than necessary during hyperspace jumps. He'd recalibrated the Marauder's sensor array twice while the others slept. He'd stared at the same conduit panel in the cockpit fourteen minutes straight last night, replaying variations of what could have happened if the timer hadn't interrupted.
All he could do was come back to that memory.
Your hands on his body, your teeth on his neck, the way your voice had dropped when you'd whispered exactly what you wanted to do to him next. The way you looked at him then, piercing and knowing, has never left his mind ever since.
He hadn't slept properly as well.
Not that he ever slept for long, but now that he's haunted by that memory, he thought he would never know proper rest until he has you again. But with their current missions and the company of his brothers, the chances of being alone with you were slim to none. And he could only keep his distance to give you the respect you deserved.
Currently, the Marauder sat grounded on a dusty Outer Rim resupply worldâsome backwater with more dirt and sand than senseâwhile Hunter, Wrecker, Crosshair, and Echo fanned out into the settlement for rations, medical-grade bacta, and whatever spare parts they could barter for.
Meanwhile, Tech had volunteered to stay behind.
âRoutine maintenance on the navicomputer,â He'd said, pushing up his goggles. âAnd someone should remain aboard for security.â
No one questioned it, but he didn't miss the way Hunter looked at him before they left. Like he knew something was going to happen while he stayed behind.
And now he was elbow-deep in the cockpit console when he heard your boots on the deck plating.
You didn't announce yourself, but he always knew it was you from the way your footsteps fell.
Tech's shoulders tensed under his armor, but he kept his eyes on the exposed wiring. He could feel your presence there, and the weight of your stare bearing down on him from above.
âThe others will be out for several hours,â He said without turning. âThe local merchants are notoriously inefficient.â
âI know,â Your voice was calm, dangerously so. âThat's why I stayed.â
He exhaled through his nose, a controlled breath to gather his thoughts and himself. âDid you require something from the medbay inventory? I canââ
âTech.â
The single word stopped him cold. Low and firm. The same tone you'd used in the storage compartment when your fingers had curled into his hair and tugged just hard enough to make his mind break into pleasure.
He straightened slowly, turning to face you. You stood in the narrow space of the entrance, arms loosely crossed, head tilted. Your medic's fatigues were still dusted with the planet's red sand, but your eyes were clear and focused.
He's seen that look before.
Right before you pinned him to the wall in that storage compartment. When you whispered all those filthy things that made his blood run hot and straight down his spine. Or the moment he watched you sink to your knees before him, vivid and haunting behind his closed eyelids every time he took himself in hand and pictured it was yours or your pretty lips around him.
âAnd perhaps,â He cleared his throat, adjusting his goggles out of pure habit. âYou stayed behind for⌠other reasons?â
You didnât answer yet. Instead, you tilted your head and hummed.
âInterrupted is one way to put it,â Your gaze flicked down his body, deliberate and intentional, then back up. âYou've been avoiding me all week. Iâm starting to think youâve changed your mind.â
He opened his mouth to deny it on reflex, then closed it again. âI have been... preoccupied with extrapolating possible outcomes.â
A slow smile curved your lips, raising an eyebrow at him. âOutcomes.â
âYes,â His voice stayed even, but his pulse had increased ever since you'd entered the cockpit. He wouldn't be surprised if you could hear it. âThe chances of us being alone again without external interruption was low. Believe me, I had calculated it. Yet here we are.â
âHere we are,â You echoed, the glint in your eyes burning now. âAre you gonna do anything about it?â
You took one step towards him, then two. And three. Until you were standing right in front of him, staring up into his tinted lenses beneath your lashes. Then, you reached out and plucked the hydrospanner from his gloved fingers, setting it aside on the console with a soft clink.
âNo timer this time.â
Tech swallowed, his next word was strained. âCorrect.â
This time, you didn't rush.
You simply rested your hands against his armored chest until his legs met the edge of the pilot chair, and he dropped down on his seat with a soft grunt. He didn't stop you when your knees slid beside his thighs. He didnât push you off when you sat yourself on his lap, and he found himself enjoying your weight pressing on top of him. He could feel the heat radiating off you through both your clothes.
His hands froze in the air, and you clicked your tongue as you guided them to your waist.
âIn the compartment,â You murmured, âYou also froze when I knelt in front of you.â
âI did not freeze,â He corrected automatically, but the blush on his cheeks betrayed him. âI experienced a momentary processing delay due to unexpected sensory input.â
Your laugh was soft, dangerous. âIsnât that the same thing?â
A beat.
His gaze shifted, fingers flexing on your waist in a tight squeeze before easing. âI guess it is.â
âAnd did you like it?â
â...Yes.â
âI didn't hear you.â
Tech gulped, feeling the skin beneath his collar heat at the authority in your tone. In a louder, yet still strained, voice he answered.
âYes, I liked it. Very much so.â
You leaned in until your lips brushed the shell of his ear. âThen why haven't you asked for more?â
âBecauseââ He inhaled sharply as your breath hit his neck. ââthe variables were unfavorable. Mission parameters. Squad proximity. Professional boundaries.â
You ghosted a smile underneath his jaw, then kissed his racing pulse. âAnd now?â
âNow the variables have shifted,â His grip tightened again, as if he was more certain of himself. âSignificantly.â
You pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. âGood. But that didn't explain why you were avoiding me, Tech.â
Yes, he was avoiding you.
Not because he didn't want you. But because you awakened something in him that he feared would be too shameful to admit. That time in that storage compartment, he never knew he could be so⌠pliant when it came to intimate acts. He never did indulge in such thoughts, too preoccupied with more pressing matters. However, you managed to bring out a side of him he never knew he had.
Something uncontrollable. Something different.
Something only you can elicit without struggle.
And now, here you were.
Seated on his lap like you belonged there. Looking at him with that hungry gleam in your eyes that swallowed him whole and caused him a loss for air. He was guilty of imagining you then, even before that game, of how you'd look when you're under the influence of pleasure. He wasn't as innocent as his brothers thought him to be. Of course, he was well-versed with the knowledge of sex and what it entailed.
After all, he researched about it.
But then again, studying something was entirely different than experiencing it.
And he would admit it.
He would love to learn from you.
Anything you could give him. Anything you had to offer that would gain him both knowledge and experience. So that, perhaps in the future, he might surprise you with his own advances. As much as he enjoyed your display of dominance, he still preferred to have things his way after a certain time. Perhaps next time, you'd allow him to take control. But for now, clueless and flustered, Tech will simply sit back and let you do whatever you wanted with him.
As if you sensed his submission, the smirk on your lips stretched into a pleased grin.
Your fingers were at the clasps of his chestplate. Efficient, practiced, the same way you stripped armor off wounded troopers.
Only this time it wasn't medical. âTake this off.â
It wasn't a request.
Tech's hands moved before his brain fully caught up. Plates came away with quiet clicks and thuds, set carefully aside because even now he couldn't treat equipment carelessly. When only his blacks remained, you removed yourself from his lap and pointed at his lap.
âThat too.â
He obeyed.
He always will.
And when he was finally free of any barriers save for the skin tight dark fabric, you hummed in approval and licked your lips.
âGood soldier.â
An unexpected sound caught in his throat, shifting in his seat as his breathing deepened. He felt exposed in a way no battlefield ever managed. In his mind, only one thing echoed loud and clear like a beacon.
Follow orders.
You placed yourself on his lap again, hands sliding up his chest, over the subtle ridges of muscle under fabric, then curled around the back of his neck. He sighed at the sensation, squeezing your waist until he reached your back. He returned the gestureâcaressing the curve of your spine, lightly digging his nails against the muscles, then falling to your hips where he gripped you.
You tugged him closer, gentle but insistent, until his forehead rested against yours.
âLast time,â You whispered, âI barely got to taste you before we were interrupted.â
Another sound caught from him, this time you heard it. Small, strained, and needy.
âWe won't be interrupted now,â He tilted his head, gaze stuck in your lips. âThey'll be gone for quite some time. I made sure to list as much materials as we need to keep them at bay.â
You chuckled, lips brushing against his. âClever.â
He cracked a small grin. âEfficient.â
This time, when your mouth found his, there was no frantic urgency. And the sensation was profoundly better than the first time. Not as special, but still as breathtaking. You kissed him like you were studying him, every small sound he couldn't quite suppress. When your tongue traced the seam of his lips he opened for you immediately, sighing into your mouth as you pushed yourself deeper.
One of your hands descended, fingertips tracing his chest down to his lean and taut stomach. To where you finally reached him, palming his stiffening length through the bodyglove. At first, he whimpered at the light pressure. Then, he jerked, a choked noise escaping into your mouth once you pressed harder.
âStill thinking about probabilities?â You teased him, gripping the length of him now.
âCurrently recalculating all of them,â He managed, but his sentence cracked on the last word.
You smiled against his lips.
âGood. Keep thinking,â Your fingers hooked into his waistband. âLetâs see if you can last.â
He might not.
Not when you finally slipped your hand inside, and wrapped around his hard length in a firm hold. His hips bucked forward, chasing a stuttered breath when your hand began to move. Slow, steady, and hard enough to have him gasping out loud before he bit his lip to muffle another sound.
His head fell back against the headrest. âThatâ That is a highly effective stimulation."
"I know,â You swept a thumb across his tip, and his mouth fell open to release a broken groan. âTell me what you want.â
He stared up at you, pupils blown wide behind the lenses. For once, words failed him. But his hands found your waist again, gripping hard enough to leave marks through fabric.
âEverything,â He said hoarsely. âI want... everything we didn't finish.â
Your smile turned wicked. âThen let's finish it.â
You released him in the next second, and he shifted his hips to chase your touch. However, you pushed him back against his seatâwearing a light glare as a warningâand he obeyed immediately.
Follow orders.
âStay still.â
Good soldiers follow orders.
âJust sit there and look pretty.â
Tech nodded, barely holding in a needy sound at the back of his throat. âOf all the descriptions others have given me. Talkative, know-it-all, and some less than pleasant comments. None of them called me pretty before.â
You fixed him an amused look, settling yourself on your knees before him. âGlad to be the first one.â
You leaned in, your breath ghosting over his bulge as you peeled away the last layers of his bodyglove. He was already hard, straining against the thick fabric you'd just freed him from, and the sight of himâflushed, vulnerable, his usual composure cracking under your gazeâsent a thrill through you and a shudder through him.
He averted his gaze aside, suddenly timid. âAh, you do not need to⌠assess it.â
Meanwhile, you still took your time admiring him. Wrapping a hand around his base, feeling his thickness throb in your palm, and squeezed him once to see him snap his eyes close and mouth fall open.
You smirked, brushing a thumb over his flushed tip. âSo kriffing pretty for me, Tech.â
First, the degradation.
Now, the praise.
Tech wasn't sure which one he liked more.
Though after mulling over the thought for several minutes, he has come to a decision that he didn't mind either. As long as you were the one giving them. As long as you were the one touching him like this, kissing his knees and murmuring those sweetened words. When your lips inched closer to his inner thighs, he twitched and released a shaky breathâtempted to shove his hips outwards to get closer.
âRemember,â You murmured, your breath hitting his warm skin. âYou don't get to finish until I say so.â
Tech's eyes widened behind his goggles, his chest rising and falling in quick, measured breaths.
âThat constitutes an⌠edging. It would heighten several physiological factors inââ
You silenced him with another firm grip around his base, squeezing just enough to make his words dissolve into a sharp inhale.
âAre you against it?â
He quickly shook his head, hands clenching the armrests of the pilot chair as you sank to your knees between his spread legs. The cockpit was tight, the console lights casting a soft glow over his body, highlighting every tense muscle. You took your time, leaning in to press a teasing kiss to the inside of his thigh, then another higher up, drawing out the anticipation until he was squirming subtly.
When your lips finally brushed his tip, he bucked involuntarily, a low groan escaping his throat.
âPatience,â You chided, your tongue flicking out to taste him, salty and warm. âBut keep talking. I love how you sound.â
You swirled around the head slowly, deliberately, watching his face as his head tipped back, goggles slipping slightly askew. Then, without warning, you took him into your mouthâenveloping him in wet heat that sucked him in deeper and deeper.
Tech's hips jerked, but you pinned them down with your hands, controlling the pace.
You moved languidly at first, sucking lightly, your tongue pressing flat against the underside as you bobbed your head.
His gloved fingers dug into the chair, knuckles white. âThat'sâ Oh, stars. That is unfair.â
You only hummed around him in response, the vibration pulling another choked sound from him. Picking up speed, you hollowed your cheeks, taking him deeper until he hit the back of your throat. His thighs trembled under your palms, breaths coming in ragged pants. You could feel him thickening, pulsing, getting closer, his body betraying how desperately he wanted release.
But not yet.
You pulled off with a wet pop, your hand replacing your mouth in slow, firm strokes.
Tech whimpered, loud and unashamed, his eyes squeezing shut. âWaitâ What are youââ
âShhh,â You blew a cool breath over his slick length, watching him twitch. âTell me how close you were.â
âImminently,â He admitted through gritted teeth. âI was almost at my peak until youââ
âGood,â You dove back in, this time relentless.
Sucking hard, twisting your hand at the base in rhythm with your mouth.
He jolted again, babbling incoherently about the feeling of your mouth and how perfect you felt on him, but you didn't let up until his whole body tensed and one of his hands reached for your head. Not to control you, but to ground himself by caressing your hair and threading his fingers through the strands.
Then you stopped once more, lips hovering just out of reach as he thrusted weakly into the air.
âNot yet,â You whispered, your voice husky from the effort. âHold it, Tech.â
His groan was pure frustration, forehead beaded with sweat. âYouâ You're torturing me.â
âAm I?â You stood slowly, shedding your own fatigues with deliberate movements, letting him watch. âIs it torture when you enjoy it?â
His gaze tracked every inch of exposed skin, pupils dilated, until you were completely bare for him to see. He imagined you many times before, but no vivid imagery can compare to how you looked before him. If he could speak, he would've praised you immediately. But again, words failed him. And so you climbed back onto his lap, straddling him again, while he blinked in disbelief and stunned awe.
He was still throbbing, slick from your mouth, and you positioned yourself above him, teasing the tip against your entrance.
âReady to finish what we started?â
âYes,â He rasped, hands finally reaching for your hips, desperately rolling his hips. âPlease.â
You kissed him first, pulling him towards you with a harsh tug.
He followed easily, groaning into your lips and reciprocating the kiss with fervent hunger. He could get addicted to this. To the taste and warmth of you. He wouldn't spend another day without thinking of this moment. Then, you pulled away to lift yourself above his length. When you saw the pleading look in his dark eyes, you finally sank down onto him in one smooth motion, taking him fully.
The stretch was perfect, and you both moaned. A broken exhale from him, yours in contentment.
You rolled your hips slowly at first, building the rhythm, your hands on his shoulders for leverage.
Tech's head fell forward against your chest, his breaths hot against your skin as he thrusted up to meet you.
âThis isâ Stars, you feel soââ
âPerfect," You sighed dreamily, clenching around him as you rode him harder. âSo perfect for me, Tech. Wish I could've had you like this back then.â
That tore another grunt from him, imagining you like this in the storage compartment. Riding him like this, taking what you needed, and he would've let you control the pace just so he could watch everything. He'd be perfectly content sitting beneath you, while you moved over him hypnotically. Grinding and rolling. Pushing and pulling. Moving up and down to chase your pleasure.
Perhaps after this, he'd give you permission to pull him back in that compartment or back here to take him again.
And again. And again.
He took one nipple into his mouth, muffling his own sounds by swirling a tongue around. It produced a pronounced moan from you, so he did it again in hopes to hear more. He played with your other breast, massaging the flesh and pinching the nipple lightly. All the while he was staring up at you to watch your face, and you were staring right back wearing a dazed smile.
âGood?â You asked, and he nodded against your chest. âIt's all yours, Tech. I'm all yours.â
He twitched inside you, an unfamiliar surge spurred him to grip your hips in a possessive hold.
Without warning, he pushed you back until your back hit his steering wheel and started thrusting upwards.
Harder, deeper, and faster than the last.
You choked another moan, clutching his shoulders tighter. He didn't know where the sudden strength and dominance came from. But after hearing those wordsâall hisâsomething in him snapped, and all rational thoughts were abandoned. You should've known how much he valued his possessions. His tools, his datapad, his armor. Everything that belonged to him was always taken care of, and now you gave yourself away.
And he planned to take care of you too.
Your breaths turned sharp, thighs trembling as you ground down against him, clit rubbing just right with every roll.
And Tech noticed.
Of course he did.
His voice came out fractured, words tumbling faster than he could filter them.
âYou're clenching in rhythmic intervals,â He gasped, forehead pressed to your collarbone. âSustained contractions. Approximately three seconds apart... increasing in amplitude. It'sâ it's drawing me in deeper with every pulse.â
You moaned breathlessly, the sound hitching as another wave of pleasure rolled through you.
âKeep talking.â
He groaned, hips snapping up involuntarily. âTheâahhhâthe internal pressure variance is exquisite. Your walls are textured, ridged in irregular patterns that create localized friction gradients. Every time you descend there's this... this perfect interference pattern against the coronal ridge. It'sâ it feels extraordinaryââ
His words cracked into a whine as you deliberately tightened around him, holding the squeeze for a long second before releasing.
âYour voluntary control isâ it's devastating. The way you convulse when you're approaching threshold. The heat, theâoh, kriffâthe slickness increasing exponentially, lubrication coefficient approaching ideal, reducing drag while maximizing sensory feedbackââ
You were close now, so close, grinding down harder, chasing it.
Your nails dug into his shoulders as you met his thrusts halfway. âTechââ
âAnd the temperature differential,â He rambled on, voice pitching higher, almost frantic. âYour core is running at least a degree hotter than baseline. It's enveloping me. It's melting my higher functions. I can feel every microvascular pulse, every involuntary spasm building towâ toward the edge.â
His hips stuttered, thrusts turning erratic as he fought to hold on for you.
âYou're close,â He gasped, and he was too. âPlease let me observe the peak. I need the data. I need to feel you.â
He drove himself faster, using his hold on your body to move you up and down on his length.
You placed a hand behind you to grasp his knee, and the other looped around his neck to pull him closer.
âKriff, I'm close.â You panted in his neck, tightening around him. âTech, I'm almostââ
Tech angled his head, capturing your lips in a heated kiss. âCome for me, my dear. Please.â
You shattered first, clenching hard around him as the orgasm ripped through you, a sharp cry tearing from your throat. The sudden, vise-like grip pulled him over the edge with you.
Tech came with a broken, hips jerking as he spilled inside you, babbling through the aftershock. His release hits him like an overload surge, pulling you over the edge with him in waves of shared intensity. The cockpit echoed with your combined pants as he slowed, collapsing against him.
No interruptions. Just satisfaction, finally complete.
The cockpit smelled of sweat and sex, something he would've been repulsed by before. But now, with you on his lap and still wrapped around him, he found himself enjoying the new sensations. For a while, he simply hugged you close. Cherishing the heat from your body, feeling your racing heartbeat slow against him, and coming down from the high that clouded his mind.
He felt your hand on his cheek, then his head was being turned to face you.
âHow was the data?â You smiled at him.
Tech returned the smile, closing the distance. âQuite enlightening.â
You come over to Herman's place and find something you weren't supposed to find..
Cw: fem!reader, stalking, obsession, possessive behavior, heavy manipulation, codependency, lonely!reader, willing(?)!reader, light angst, herman is actually lowkey insane (also a bit ooc sorryyy)
Wc: 3.4k
Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4
You thought Herman was a really nice guy. After all, he cared for you in ways no one else ever had. He remembered the small thingsâyour tea order, the ache in your back, the books you might like. He walked you home every night to make sure you were safe from the "stalker" you'd once confessed you feared. He stood at your doorstep and looked at you like you were something precious, something worth protecting.
ExceptâŚ
Except you had a crippling suspicion that he was the stalker.
Of course the thought was completely ridiculous when it first came to you, however now, no uncertainty was left as sat on his bedroom floor and stared into a small box. A box filled with you.
That morning had started normally. As always.
You'd woken to grey light filtering through your curtainsâthe curtains you'd started leaving slightly parted, though you'd never admitted to yourself why.
At work, Herman was already there, pushing his mop in slow, lazy arcs near your desk. He looked up when you walked in, and that smileâthat soft, sweet smileâcurved his lips. "Morning," he said, his voice steadier than it used to be when you had first talked.
"Morning, Herman," you'd replied, and you'd held his gaze a beat too long, searching for something you weren't sure you wanted to find.
The day crawled. You filed reports. You answered emails. You watched Herman make his rounds, always orbiting your desk, always finding reasons to be near. And the question that had been festering since the bus, since the book, since the flash of light, circled in your head.
Where do you actually live, Herman?
At 5:02 PM, you packed your bag. He appeared at the edge of your desk, quiet nod, expectant pause. The walk began.
You let the silence stretch longer than usual. The autumn air bit at your cheeks. Leaves skittered across the sidewalk in little spirals.
"Herman," you said, your voice softer than you intended. "Can I ask you something?"
His head tilted. A flicker of somethingâalertness, caution, anticipationâcrossed his features before answering. "Of course. Anything."
You chose your words carefully, "A few weeks ago, I⌠I took the bus home. Earlier than usual. And I saw you. At a bus stop." You watched his face, the micro-shifts in his expression. "You got on a bus going the opposite direction of myâour neighborhood."
You could feel him recalibrating behind those soft, earnest eyes.
"I thought you said you lived close," you continued, keeping your tone light, curious, trying your best not to sound accusatory. "Aviation Avenue, right? But that busâŚ" You trailed off, letting him fill the silence.
He did, after a second too long. A small, self-deprecating laugh escaped himâ"Oh. Oh, that." He rubbed the back of his neck, a gesture of embarrassment so perfectly executed it made your chest ache. "I⌠yeah. I should have explained. I do live near Aviationâ or uh, I used to, at least. But I just moved in with my grandma. She's⌠she's getting older, needs help with things. Her place is on the other side of town."
The explanation tumbled out, seamless and sad. A devoted grandson. Of course.
Relief and shame washed through you. You couldnât believe you'd spent weeks nursing suspicion against a man who was only caring for an elderly relative. You felt horrible for doubting his innocence after heâd done so much for you.
"Oh, Herman," you breathed, your hand instinctively reaching out to touch his arm. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean toâI wasn't trying to accuse you of anything, I justâ"
"It's okay," he said, and his eyes were so warm, so understanding. "You were curious. That's⌠that's normal. I should have just told you earlier."
You smiled, the tension draining from your shoulders. "If you need any help unpacking or something, I'd be happy to help. You've helped me so much, after all."
Something shifted in his expression. A quick intake of breath. A widening of his eyes that could have been surprise, or something else entirely. "You'd⌠you'd want to come over?"
"Of course. It's the least I can do."
He swallowed. Nodded. "Okay. Yeah. That would be⌠that would be really nice. Maybe this weekend? My grandma will probably be out at noon"
"Saturday?" you offered.
"Saturday," he repeated, a wide smile spreading across his face. "I'll text you the address. It's⌠it's not much, butâ" he said, standing in his usual spot.
"I'm sure it's lovely," you interrupted, smiling. "I'll bring snacks."
"OkayâŚGoodnight," he breathed.
"Goodnight, Herman."
Saturday arrived sooner than Herman was expecting.
He had spent the intervening days in a state of oscillating between excitement and panic. Youâre coming to his apartment. You want to help him unpack. This is intimacy. This is progress. This is the next level.
But first, he had to create an unpacking.
His grandmother's house was already fullâstuffed with sixty years of her life, her cats, her embroidered doilies, her collection of ceramic birds. It smelled like lavender, old wool and cat food. However his bedroom, the room he'd actually occupied for years, had to look like he'd just arrived.
He stood in the doorway of his room, heart hammering, and assessed the disaster.
The plastic-covered mattress. The single chair facing a small television. The walls already plastered with posters of various metal bands and bookshelves filled with comics and such. A few empty mugs on his mess of a desk.
So he'd spent Friday night trying to make his room look not so lived in. He cleaned his desk for the first time in forever. He stripped the posters from the walls, rolling them up carefully and placing them in a half-empty box in the corner, filled with random items he found lying around, to suggest he'd just started settling in
He cleared the bookshelf, shoving the carefully curated volumes into another, slightly bigger box.
The room looked⌠plausible.
By Saturday morning, he'd added the finishing touches: a few items deliberately placed to look freshâa toothbrush still in its packaging on the dresser, a duffel bag half-emptied on the floor, a stack of shirts waiting to be folded.
The doorbell rang.
He opened the door and there you were. Real. Solid. Smiling at him.
"You came," he breathed, and he couldn't help itâhis face did that thing it always did around you, the flush, the eagerness.
"I said I would." You held up a small bag. "I brought snacks. And some fancy tea. I figured your grandmother might like it."
You'd brought him things. You'd thought about him, and even about his grandmother.
"You didn't have to," he managed, his voice thicker than he intended. "But⌠thank you. That's⌠that's really thoughtful."
He stepped aside and watched you enter.
He watched your face as you took in the interior: the doilies, the ceramic birds, one of the many cats wound between your ankles, and you bent automatically to scratch its ears.
"It's⌠cozy," you said, and your smile was genuine.
"My grandma's in the living room," he said, leading you forward. "She's excited to meet you. I've told her about⌠about my friend from work."
His grandmother looked up as you entered, "Oh," she said with a pleased look. "You're the pretty girl from the office. Thank you for keeping my Hermy company, not a lot of people do."
You glanced at Herman, surprised. He felt heat creep up his neck.
"I, uhâjust, you know, office photos. Group things. She, um, she likes to know about my day."
It was true, he'd shown his grandmother photos of youânot the box photos, obviously, just casual ones, ones he could explain away. "This is my friend," he'd said, pointing at your laughing face. "Sheâs really nice, and really pretty too." His grandmother had agreed.
You sat with her for a few minutes, making gentle conversation. She asked if you had a boyfriend. You said no. She asked if you liked cats. You said yes. Which made her smile as she patted your hand and told you Herman was a good boy, a little strange but good, and you should be patient with him.
Herman watched from the kitchen doorway, bringing you both teaâthe fancy one your broughtâand felt his heart swell to bursting. This was it. This was the life. You in his home, talking to his grandmother, existing in his space like you'd always belonged.
After a while, his grandmother's eyes began to droop. The cat in her lap stretched and resettled. You took the cue gracefully, standing and murmuring that you should let her rest.
"I'll show you my room," Herman said, and the words came out before he could stop them. "I meanâto help unpack. If you want. There's not much, butâ"
"Of course," you said, âThatâs what I came here for after all.â
He led you down the hall to his bedroom, the door already open, the staged room waiting. The boxes in the corner. The fresh sheets.
You stepped inside, looking around with polite interest. "It's bigger than I expected," you said. "Nice light."
"I just⌠haven't really made it mine yet," he said, hovering in the doorway. "Still figuring out where things go."
You turned to the box in the corner, kneeling beside it. "Well, that's what I'm here for. What's in here? Kitchen stuff? Books?"
"Uhâmix of things," he said, his voice tightening slightly. âLetâs start with this one.â
The next two hours were the best of his life.
You helped him "unpack" in earnestâwhich mostly meant rearranging items that had been in his room for years. You asked about the bands on the posters. You held up a pretty worn out book and asked if he'd read it. He said yes, it was an old favorite. You asked if you could borrow it when he was done settling in. He said yes so fast he nearly choked. He couldn't believe you were taking interest in his things. His things. Touching them. Wanting them.
You laughed at his stories. You asked questions about his grandmother, about the cats (you learned all their names), about his favorite spot in the neighborhood. You sat cross-legged on his floor, and you looked so perfectly at home that he couldn't breathe.
At one point, you held up a framed photoâan old one, him as a teenager, awkward and pimpled, standing with his grandmother at some long-forgotten fair.
"Oh my god," you said, dissolving into laughter. "Herman. Your hair."
"I went through a phaseâ"
"Oh that I can see" You were grinning, holding the photo up next to his face, comparing. "=The all black clothing and ripped jeans. The frown. Were you trying to look mysterious?"
"YesâŚâ he admitted, and your laugh was so bright that he felt it in his bones.
You set the photo down gently, still smiling. "You were cute. In a sad puppy kind of way."
"And now?"
The question slipped out before he could stop it. Your eyes met his, and for a moment the air between them changed. Thickened.
"Now you'reâŚ" You paused, your head tilting slightly as you looked down at your hands, then back up at him through your lashes. "Still cute."
The word lodged itself in his chest like a bullet. Cute. You thought he was cute. Present tense. Now. Here, in this room, on this floor.
He opened his mouth to say somethingâhe didn't know what, maybe âthank youâ, maybe âI love you please marry meâ, maybe something stupid and desperateâbut you were already turning away, already reaching for another box, already releasing him from the intensity of your gaze.
"We should probably actually unpack something," you said lightly, but there was a flush on your cheeks that hadn't been there before. "Instead of just going through your embarrassing childhood photos."
"Right. Yeah. Unpacking." He scrambled to his feet, his heart hammering. "I shouldâI'll get us more tea. And those snacks you brought. You must be thirsty."
You smiled up at him. "That would be nice."
He practically fled the room.
The room was cozy now that you'd spent time in it. The posters gave it personality. The books and comics on the shelf were carefully arranged, you'd pulled one down, one of Hermanâs claimed favourites, and flipped through it while you waited for him to come back.
It was annotated. Small notes in the margins, observations about characters, predictions about plot. You smiled. Of course he was the type to annotate books.
You slid it back onto the shelf and glanced around. The room felt⌠lived in already. The sheets were creased from the package, but the pillow had a slight indent., probably his old one. The closet door was closed, but a single slipper peeked out from underneath.
You knelt to look at the books on the bottom shelf, and that's when you saw it.
The corner of a box. Just visible under the bed, pushed against the wall.
Probably more unpacked things, you thought. Maybe you could help with those too, while Herman was making tea.
You reached under and pulled it out.
It was smaller than the others. Lighter. A simple cardboard box with a lid, the kind you'd keep shoes in. Curious, you lifted the lidâ
And the world stopped.
A few hairpins, the ones you'd lost and replaced without a second thought.
His voice whispered in your head.
âYourâ uh, your hair looks reallyâŚprâpretty like thatâ
Crumpled tissues, the faint pink of your lip balm still visible on one.
âI can, uh, take out theâthe trash for you, if, uhm, if you want. Iâm taking out mine anyâanyway right nowâŚâ
A button you'd lost from your favorite coat months ago.
âDon't worry, I, uh.. I replaced it for⌠for you. I know itâs your favourite!â
A receipt from the cafe, your usual order shakily circled with a pen.
âYour favorite. UhâŚI just memorized it fromâŚuhm, from last time.â
The box slipped from your fingers, landing on the thin carpet with a soft thump. From inside, muffled by the photos, you could have sworn you heard a soft, contented sigh.
And the photos. God, the photos.
The top one had you in your pajamas, mug in hand, steam curling around your face.
Thatâs when you saw the flash, wasnât it? Youâd dismissed it as a carâs headlights, a reflection.
Your eyebrows furrowed as you scrambled through the pictures.
There were at least twenty of them, maybe more. You couldn't count past the blurring of your vision. All in different settingsâyour desk at work, the sidewalk on your walk home, the cafe window, your kitchen.
The center was always you. You laughing. You frowning. You walking. You breathing. You sleeping.
On the back of the photo was a small note scribbled with a black pen. "You talk in your sleep. You said my name."
On a separate piece of paper, in careful handwriting: "I was going to take your hairbrush, but youâd surely notice, I didn't want to spook you. Not yet."
On the back of photo of you smiling at himâ you hadnât even noticed him taking itâ was another note, "Do you feel safe?"
Your hands trembled around the box. It was too much for you to handle. He was there almost every second of your day, every step you took he was there.
Your heart hammered in your chest as you realized you were not in control. You had never been in control.
The box slipped from your fingers, landing on the thin carpet with a soft thump.
âNo. No, no, noââ you whispered.
"Oh. You found that. I was hoping you wouldn't."
Herman's voice came from behind you. You were so panicked you hadn't even heard his footsteps, hadn't heard the soft thud of the tea mugs being set down, hadn't heard anything over the roaring in your ears.
You spun, still on your knees, still clutching the photo like it might save you or burn you. He stood in the doorway, blocking it completely. His frame filled the space, backlit by the hallway light, his expression impossible to read.
His voice wasn't panicked. It wasn't even rushed. It was calm. So calm it made your skin crawl.
"Iâ" You tried to stand, but your legs wouldn't cooperate. Your back hit the edge of the bed. "Herman, this isâthese areâ"
"Proof," he finished for you, stepping into the room. One step. Then another. "Proof of how much I care. Proof of how long I've been taking care of you."
The box lay open beside you, its contents spilled.
"You've been in my house," you whispered, and your voice cracked on the last word. "You took pictures of me sleeping. Herman, that'sâthat'sâ"
"Love," he said softly. "That's love."
He knelt, slowly, bringing himself to your level. His face was so close now. So familiar. The same face that had smiled at you this morning, that had blushed when you called him cute. But there was something else in it now. Something that had always been there, you realized. You'd just been too naive to see it.
"See how much I care for you?" He reached out, and you flinched, but his hand only hovered near your cheek, not quite touching. "No one else could love you as much as I do. No one else sees you like I do. Every moment. Every expression. Every sigh. I know you better than anyone."
"Hermanâ" Your voice was barely a rasp. "This isâthis is insaneâ"
The word hung in the air. Insane. You saw hurt flicker in his eyes.
"I'm not insane," he said, and his voice was still gentle, still patient. Like he was explaining something to a child. "I'm devoted. There's a difference. Insane people hurt the ones they love. Have I ever hurt you?"
You opened your mouth. Closed it.
Have I ever hurt you?
No. He hadn't. He'd made you feel seen. Loved.
"I've only ever helped you," he continued, his voice softening further. "I've protected you. I've kept you safe from everyone who would use you, who would take advantage of your kindness. Do you remember how tired you used to be? How anxious? When was the last time you felt that way?"
You tried to think. When was the last time you'd felt the old dread, the old exhaustion? When had the paranoia faded?
Around the time he started walking me home.
"See?" He smiledâthat same sweet, shy smile that had made your heart flutter. "You're better now. You sleep better. You're happier. Because of me. Because I've been here."
"I need you to understand something," he said, and his hand made contact with youânot grabbing, not gripping, just resting lightly on your knee. "I have never wanted anything but your safety. Your happiness. Your peace. That's all I've ever wanted. And if that makes me crazyâ" he shrugged, a small, helpless gesture, "âthen I guess I'm crazy. Because Iâm so in love with you."
Your throat was so tight you couldn't speak. Tears were sliding down your cheeks, hot and silent.
"Shh," he murmured, and his thumb brushed your knee, a tiny, soothing motion. "It's okay. You're home now. With me. Safe."
Home.
You were in his bedroom. In his grandmother's house. Surrounded by photos of yourself, by evidence of months of stalking. And he was telling you that you were home.
And somewhere, deep in the part of you that had always been so tired, so lonely, so desperate to be truly seenâ
You found yourself nodding.
Because he was right, wasn't he? You were safe. You'd never felt unsafe with him. The fear had only come after you knew. Before that you'd felt nothing but warmth. Nothing but comfort. Nothing but the profound, peaceful certainty of being cared for.
He'd given you that. He'd given you peace.
His hand squeezed your knee gently, then withdrew.
You're home now. With him. Safe.
A/n: final chapter yayyyy!!!! Honestly, this is probably one of my favorite things I've written, especially this part. I really hope you enjoyed, thank very much everyone for the nice comments and reblogs and THE ART!!!! This was super fun!
i had a dream about waterboy and it was kind of funny so i wanted to tell you it, but basically in the dream he was trying edibles for the first time since being high would probably help him with his anxiety sometimes. but y'know how being high can make people really hungry? yeah thats what happened, but instead of getting actual food. he ate me out in the dream, much waterboy for the win
- đââŹ
YOU LUCKY SON OF A BITCH give me your dreams rn.
this man is such a munch especially when heâs relaxed and high and not actively greening out. his munchies come out of nowhere, like you both could be on the couch staring at a wall and heâd randomly manhandle you to lay back and toss your legs over his shoulders once the craving hit. his body may be curved in an uncomfortable position on the couch, sure, but his foggy brain gives him no room to think about the soreness of his spine as he nudges your panties to the side with his nose and latches his lips around your clit. heâs not stopping until heâs drank enough of your slick to cure his cotton mouth, and even then heâs not stopping. for as long as his munchies persist, which is a while considering his body is begging for food but his brain is begging for pussy, heâs eating you out like a starved man lost at sea. <3
Crosshair is the type of guy who would see a mom struggling to bring a stroller down the subway steps and then would help her carry the stroller down before he just keeps walking, the whole time without saying a thing.
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Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, smut, pretty much pwp let's be honest, but there is some squad family bonding/good-natured ribbing, reader is a known flirt, reader has a nickname, insecure Echo to confident Echo, return of the king (pleasure dom Echo), he talks you through it, Echo's scomp is a paid actor, brat taming?, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, vibrator play, squirting, praise kink, overstimulation, aftercare
Summary: There's something between you and Echo, but despite your best efforts, he's yet to make a move. A night out at 79s changes everything.
A/N: the most self-indulgent thing iâve ever written. đ do not perceive me
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The music is a wall of sound, a thudding rhythm so loud it's practically a physical force. There's a strobing light show that seems to be designed to make people sick to their stomachs, and the dance floor is so crowded with writhing bodies you can't tell where one person ends and another begins. You're entranced by it, drawn into the pulsing beat. It's like a heartbeat, and you swear it's calling to you, drawing you in.
It's been ages since you were out at a club like this. You never realized how much you missed it. You've spent months fighting battles on countless planets, patching up the squad after every fight, and then going back out and doing it all over again. The only thing that really makes the exhaustion worth it is the promise of something like thisâthe thrill of a good time, of letting loose and just enjoying yourself.
The song ends and another one takes its place. The music changes, but the crowd doesn't. Everyone on the floor keeps dancing, and you keep right on with them.
You don't know how long you're out there, but after a while you're starting to get worn down. You slip away from a pair of hands around your waist, leaving a trail of apologies in your wake, and head off the floor. There's a booth in the corner of the first floor that the squad has commandeered, a rare commodity at 79s, and you stumble towards it.
You've had enough drinks that you're pleasantly buzzed, and you've lost count of the number of people you've danced with. It's made your body feel alive and hot, the music's thudding beat thrumming through your skin. You haven't had this much fun in months, and for the first time in a long time, you feel free.
"Having fun?" Hunter calls out as you approach. He's sitting on one side of the round booth, next to Crosshair, who has an arm slung casually over the back. You left Wrecker out on the dance floor with a group of Twi'lek women who seem to find his bulk a source of fascination, and Tech is seated on Hunter's other side next to Echo, nursing a drink and watching the room with a passive gaze.
"Of course," you say with a laugh. "You're not?"
"Eh." Crosshair scoffs, not bothering to look over at you. His eyes are trained on the dancers out on the floor. "Not really."
"What about you, Tech?" you ask, leaning against the table and taking a sip of your drink.
"I find the entire affair rather fascinating," he says as he gestures vaguely at the crowd. "All the various forms of sentient expression are...interesting, to say the least."
"And what do you think of my form of expression, Tech?" you ask playfully, putting your hand over your heart and giving him a flirty smile. You take a seat at the end of the booth and lean closer.
Tech, ever immune to your antics, doesn't miss a beat.
"You appear to be expending a lot of energy on a relatively simple activity. However, the results do seem to be pleasing to you."
"What he's trying to say is, you look like you're having a good time," Echo supplies. He has his chin propped on his hand, but he's smiling at you, clearly amused. You meet his gaze and grin back.
"I am having a good time," you confirm. "How about you?"
"It's not exactly my scene," he says, and he gives a shrug. "But I can see why you'd enjoy it."
"If you change your mind and want to dance, just let me know," you tell him. "You know, since I'm already expending all this energy."
"Maybe later," he says.
His smile softens, and you're a little surprised to see it. The last few months have been hard on Echo, and you can count on one hand the number of times you've seen him smile like that. He's been working through a lot of guilt and self-loathing, and seeing him smile, even if it's small, is a nice change. It's good to see him loosening up a bit.
"I'll hold you to that," you tell him, and Echo grins and leans back.
"Are you sure you don't want to come out on the dance floor, Tech?" you ask, glancing over at him.
Tech shakes his head. "I prefer not to dance."
"What about you two? Not planning on getting out there?"
"I would sooner stick my hand in a rocket booster than step foot on that dance floor," Crosshair says without looking away from the crowd.
Hunter nods, and he gestures with his bottle. "That goes for me, too."
"Bunch of party poopers," you mutter and take a drink. "You should be ashamed of yourselves."
âThereâs no shortage of people willing to dance with you," Crosshair says, still staring at the crowd, and you can hear the teasing lilt in his voice. "No need to bother with us."
"We wouldn't want to deprive the galaxy of your...talents," Tech says.
"Very funny." You take a long drink and let the conversation drop.
"So," Hunter starts after a long silence. His eyes flicker to Echo and back to you, and he raises a brow. "How many people did you have to beat off with a stick on the dance floor?"
"Not too many," you say. "Only a few."
"Only a few, huh?" Crosshair asks. He sounds skeptical.
"Cross, don't act like you weren't counting every guy I danced with," you retort, and when he doesn't immediately respond, you grin and lean forward, bracing your elbows on the table. "See? Knew it."
"Don't flatter yourself," he says. "I was bored. Had nothing better to do."
"Yeah, yeah," you say, rolling your eyes. "Whatever you say. Donât worry, none of them are worth mentioning."
âWhat about that guy who was talking to you earlier?" Echo asks, and he nods over to a spot near the bar. "I saw him buy you a drink. Didn't look like nothing."
"Who, that Mirialan?" You wave a dismissive hand. "Nah, he was cute, but not really my type.â
Echo gives a low hum of acknowledgement, his eyes never leaving yours, and you feel a strange thrill at the attention. You've always loved the way he looks at you. There's something about his eyes that makes your heart skip a beat, something warm and knowing and inviting. Youâve caught him looking at you like this plenty of times before, but tonight feels different. It feels almost daring. You sit up straighter and turn toward him.
"And what is your type?" he asks. There's an edge of seriousness to his question, and you consider him for a moment, watching him watch you.
"I like someone who can keep up with me," you say finally, and then, with a playful smile, add, "You know, someone with stamina."
Echo laughs a quiet, low chuckle, and your chest tightens. His laugh is a rare and beautiful thing, and you feel a thrill when you hear it.
"Stamina," he repeats, his voice soft and warm. There's a dazed look in his eye, and he blinks it away and meets your gaze again. âRight.â
The conversation is interrupted when Wrecker comes back to the table, panting and laughing, clearly out of breath. There's a sheen of sweat on his forehead and his cheeks are flushed, but he looks thrilled. He drops into the booth next to you, and the motion shoves you closer to Echo. You feel his leg brush yours under the table, and the sudden touch sends a warm spark shooting up your spine.
"This is great!" he shouts over the music. "Why don't we go out more?"
"Because our lives are a shitshow," Crosshair deadpans, finally turning to look at the rest of the squad.
Wrecker lets out a hearty laugh, and reaches across the table to give Crosshair a good-natured smack on the shoulder. "Ah, don't be so gloomy!"
"I'm not being gloomy, I'm being realistic," Crosshair replies with a scowl, but he softens a bit when Wrecker pulls back and settles into the booth, his arm slung over the back behind you.
"Oh, don't listen to him," Wrecker says. He's turned towards you now, and his arm is pressing against the back of your shoulders. "We should go out more often. You're a great dancer, y'know that?"
"You're not so bad yourself,â you say with a grin. âYou're pretty light on your feet for someone so big."
Wrecker lets out a loud, barking laugh, pulling his arm out from behind you to slap his knee. His laugh is infectious, and you can't help but laugh along.
"You hear that, Cross?" he says. "I'm light on my feet."
"You're a regular acrobat," Crosshair drawls, his tone flat, but the hint of a smile plays at his lips.
"See, you're in a good mood!" Wrecker says, his smile growing. He takes a long pull from his drink, and then sets the glass down on the table, turning back to you. âLetâs go back out there! You and me, we'll show these losers how it's done."
"I need a break," you say, holding up a hand to stop him. "Sorry, Wrecker. Maybe later."
"Aw, alright," he says. He's still grinning, and he claps you on the shoulder with a bit more force than necessary. Your body rocks to the side, and you let out a breathless laugh as Echo puts a steadying hand on your arm.
"Easy there," Echo warns. His fingers linger on your forearm, and you can't help the thrill that rushes through you. You meet his gaze, and the corners of his mouth twitch.
"Thanks,â you say, and offer him a small smile.
Echo doesn't say anything. He just smiles back and pulls away, lifting his drink to his lips.
The conversation moves on, but you're barely paying attention to anything other than the feeling of Echo's leg against yours, the heat of his body, the lingering feeling of his hand on your arm. The touch was casual, friendly, but there's a part of you that wants to reach out and take his hand. It's been a while since you've gone dancing, and it's been longer since you've had any kind of physical intimacy, and a small, desperate part of you wants that contact. Especially if itâs Echo.
You steal a glance at him and find him looking back at you. His gaze is focused, a bit calculating, like he's trying to puzzle you out, and thereâs a faint flush high on his cheeks. You raise an eyebrow at him, and his lips curl into a small smile. The two of you share a long look, and you wonder if he's thinking the same thing as you are.
"I'm gonna head back out," Wrecker says, and the words snap you out of your trance. He's standing next to the booth now, his drink empty, his hands splayed out on the table. "You guys should come out there with me. Stitches, câmon!â
"I told you, I need a break," you say, a teasing smile playing at your lips. "Why don't you take Hunter? He was just saying how much he wanted to dance.â
"No," Hunter says immediately, shooting you a warning look. "Absolutely not."
"Yes!" Wrecker exclaims.Â
The small smirk on Crosshairâs face spreads into a full on grin as he stands from the booth, pulling a grumbling Hunter up with him. He pushes him into Wreckerâs awaiting arms, and Wrecker gives a loud cheer. âLetâs go, Sarge!â
"You're a traitor," Hunter hisses, shooting you a dirty look over his shoulder as Wrecker drags him away. You give him a cheeky little wave, and he narrows his eyes.
"Have fun!" you call after him. You can hear Hunter let out a loud groan over the sound of the music, and you laugh as the pair disappears into the crowd.
Crosshair snickers and slips back into the booth, stretching out across the seat and resting his arm across the back. "Well, thisâll be entertaining."
"He'll be fine," Tech says, taking a sip of his drink before returning to his datapad. The four of you laugh a moment, and then fall into a companionable silence.
With the other two distracted, you slide closer to Echo, letting your leg press against his. You don't know if he does it on purpose or not, but he shifts and his leg presses harder against yours, a solid weight against you.
You let your eyes wander to the dance floor, where Hunter and Wrecker are dancing amongst the crowd. Hunter seems to have loosened up a tad, and his movements are more fluid, less rigid. But when he turns to look over at you, you can see the murder in his eyes. You can't help but laugh and give him another wave.
"You're cruel," Echo says, leaning in so his voice will carry over the noise, his breath warm on your cheek.
"No, Iâm a genius," you reply easily. "And an opportunist."
You turn your head back towards him, and the two of you are closeâmuch closer than you expected. His face is only inches from yours, and he's so close that you can see the flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the stubble on his jaw, the tiny scar on his forehead.
He's looking at you the way he did earlier, and a wave of warmth runs through your body, pooling low in your belly.
"A dangerous combination,â he says. He looks down, and his lips curl into a smile.
You laugh, and his eyes dart up to meet yours. "Is that a good thing?"
Echo pauses, considering. "I guess we'll find out."
There's a tension building between the two of you, and for a moment, neither of you speak. He's studying you with that intense, focused gaze again, and your body is thrumming. You've felt this feeling before, whenever Echo looks at you like that.
He's attractiveâthat was an undeniable fact. And he's funny, and smart, and caring, and he's a really, really good friend. But it's the moments like this, the times when his focus is all on you, that make you wish for something more.
You don't know what exactly that something more is, but right now, you can't help but imagine his lips pressed against yours, the feeling of his fingers running through your hair, the heat of his body pressed up against yours. It's been so long since you've had any sort of contact like that, and right now, it's all you can think about.
"So," Echo says, finally breaking the silence. His voice is a low rumble. "Stamina, huh?"
You hum, nodding. "It's a requirement."
"And what other requirements are there?"
"Depends," you say with a little shrug. You find yourself leaning in a fraction, drawn to him, and he mimics the motion. Youâre not sure if he even realizes heâs doing it, but the sight of him moving towards you sends a hot pulse of anticipation through you.
"On?" he asks. There's a teasing lilt in his voice, a gentle playfulness, and you can't help but smile. His eyes drop to your mouth and then flick back up to meet yours.
"Who's asking."
You watch a range of emotions flicker across his face, and then Echo leans back, the tension in the air dissipating. He takes a sip of his drink and gives you a smile. "Good to know."
He turns back to the group, and you feel the loss of his gaze like a physical thing. The conversation shifts, and Echo starts talking to Tech, and the two of them get caught up in whatever it is they're discussing.
You can't focus on the conversation. Your eyes are fixed on Echo's face, watching him. It's like something has shifted between the two of you, and you're not entirely sure what that means. It's hard to read him sometimesâhe's not exactly forthcoming with his emotions, but you had thought there was a mutual attraction, an understanding.
But then, you can be wrong about these things. it wouldnât be the first time, and now that the moment has passed, it feels like it never even happened. You move to a sip of your own drink to try to calm your racing heart before you realize itâs empty.
"I'm gonna grab a refill," you say, sliding out of the booth and turning back toward the table. You ignore Crosshairâs smirk, and ask, "Anybody want anything?"
Crosshair and Tech both shake their heads, and Echo looks up at you and smiles.
"I'll come with," he says and slides out of the booth to follow you.
You can feel the weight of Crosshair's eyes on the back of your neck as the two of you walk off. You have a feeling that the conversation will pick back up the moment you're out of earshot, and you have a strong suspicion that you know exactly what it's going to be about.
When the two of you get to the bar, Echo flags down the bartender. The two of you place your orders and wait for the droid to prepare them, and you lean against the bar, your shoulder pressed against Echo's. He glances over at you, and you give him a smile.
"You doing okay?" you ask, tilting your head towards him.
"Yeah, why?"
"I just wanted to check in," you say. You shift a bit, leaning in closer. "We've all been under a lot of stress lately. I just wanted to make sure you were okay."
Echo considers your words, his brow furrowed in concentration as he looks back at you. Eventually, he seems to come to a decision, and his expression clears.
"I am," he says. "And I appreciate you checking in, but I'm fine. Really."
You nod. That's been Echo's refrain ever since he joined the Bad Batch. The squad has helped him adjust, and the new prosthetics have helped too, but you can tell it's still not easy for him. You've tried your best to support him, and the others have done the same, but there's only so much any of you can do.
"I'm glad," you say. You pause, and then, after a moment's consideration, add, "If you ever need to talk, or anything, you know where to find me."
Echo smiles and nods. âI know.â
The droid sets down your drinks, and you each grab one. For a moment, you debate whether to take them back to the table, but you can hear the sounds of shouting and laughter, and a quick glance at the crowd reveals Hunter and Wrecker stumbling back to the booth.
"Wanna stay here?" you ask, lifting your glass.
Echo looks over at the group, and then back to you. He's got that smile on his face again, and it makes your heart skip a beat.
"Sure," he says, and he hops onto one of the stools. You follow suit, sitting on the one next to him.
You sit in companionable silence for a while. You can hear the sounds of the music, of the dancers and the laughter, but the sounds seem distant, and for a moment, you and Echo are alone.
"I'm happy to see you having fun," he says, breaking the silence.
"Why's that?"
"We've been through a lot the past few months,â he answers. His voice is quiet, but the look in his eyes is steady and focused. "You deserve to have a good time."
"So do you, Echo.â
He doesn't reply, but there's a thoughtful expression on his face as he looks back out at the dance floor. His eyes are distant, and you follow his gaze with a curious tilt of your head.
"You want to get out there and dance, don't you?" you guess, a teasing grin spreading across your face.
Echo gives you a sidelong glance, and his mouth twitches in a little smile. "I told you, it's not really my scene. Not anymore, at least."
"So we'll find another way for you to have fun,â you reply as you turn on the stool to face him. You take a sip of your drink and give him a pointed look. Itâs a bit forward, even for you, but the alcohol has you feeling bold, and you get the sense that Echo isnât as put off by your flirting as he pretends to be.
The two of you lock eyes, and the moment stretches on. His eyes flit over your face, searching, and you meet his gaze, refusing to blink.
Echo rolls his eyes before ducking his head, shaking it slightly. You can see a faint blush on his cheeks, and he lets out a quiet laugh.
"Yeah, okay,â he says sarcastically, and you frown.
"You think I'm not serious?"
"No," he replies, raising his eyebrows at you. "I know you're not."
You tilt your head, studying him. He looks a mixture of amused and annoyed, but beneath that, there's something else. There's a softness to his expression, an almost pleading edge to his voice. It's a strange combination, and you're not sure how to interpret it.
"What makes you say that?"
"Because itâs you," he says, as if that explains everything.
"So?"
"So, you're..." he trails off, gesturing vaguely in your direction. You raise your eyebrows at him, and he lets out a small huff. "Look, we both know you're not really interested."
You feel a surge of annoyance. "Well, maybe I am. Why don't you give me a chance to prove it?"
Echo stares at you, his mouth set in a thin line, and for a moment, the two of you are locked in a silent stand-off. Finally, he breaks the stalemate, letting out a quiet sigh.
"What?" you ask
"Nothing," he says, shaking his head. "You're drunk."
"I am not," you protest. Your eyebrows furrow in indignation. "I've had three drinks, max. And they were light. I'm just feeling good."
"Okay, then," he says, a skeptical look on his face. "Maybe you're not drunk. But you're not exactly thinking straight, either."
You scoff. "Is anyone ever thinking straight in a place like this?"
"Very funny."
"I'm just saying, I'm serious," you insist. "I'm more than happy to have fun with you, if that's what you want."
Echo opens his mouth, and then shuts it, his lips pressed in a thin line. You've never seen him so unbalanced, and the sight fills you with a perverse sense of satisfaction.
"You're not thinking this through," he says. "You have no idea what you're offering."
"So explain it to me," you say. You set your drink down and slide closer to him, your knees brushing against the side of his leg. His eyes dart to the movement, and then back up to meet yours. There's a spark of heat in his gaze, and you can't help but smile.
"You're reallyâ" He breaks off, his gaze dropping to your mouth, and his tongue darts out, swiping over his lips. His gaze lingers for a long moment, and you can feel the tension in the air thicken, like static electricity building just before a lightning strike.
"I'm really what?"
He lets out a frustrated sound. "Youâre not making this easy.â
"Oh, please," you say, rolling your eyes. "If it was easy, it wouldn't be any fun."
"You're something else," he says, and there's an edge of frustration to his voice. He runs a hand over his face, and then looks back at you. âIâm not talking about this here.â
"Fine," you say, a little miffed. "Then come back to the ship with me, and we'll finish this conversation."
Echo lets out a long breath, his shoulders sagging. He looks torn, and you can't quite figure out what's going on in his head.
"Echo, if you're not into it, that's fine," you tell him, your voice softer. "I'm not trying to pressure you. I just wanted you to know that I'm interested."
He nods slowly, his eyes still trained on yours. There's a wariness there, and for a moment, youâre certain he's going to reject you.
Instead, he slides off the stool and takes a step forward. You turn, your legs parting of their own accord, and he moves between them. He's so close that your knees are brushing his hips, and the contact sends a spark of anticipation through you.
"Let me make this clear," he says, leaning in, and his voice is a low, raspy whisper in your ear. "You don't know what you're getting into."
"Try me."
"You really wanna go down this road?"
"Absolutely.â
There's no hesitation. You've wanted this, wanted him, for longer than you're willing to admit, and now that it's within reach, there's no way in hell you're backing down.
Echo pulls back, but he doesnât go far. His eyes are dark, the light gold overtaken by his pupils, and a hot wave of arousal shoots through you.
"Please," you add for good measure, the word a breathless whisper.
That seems to be the last straw. Echo lets out a heavy breath, and his hand comes up, cupping the back of your head. His fingers are digging into the strands of your hair, and you can't help but tip your head back a little, letting him feel the weight of your skull in his hand. His thumb traces a soft, slow line over the nape of your neck, and you shiver at the sensation.
"This is a bad idea," he says. His words are barely a murmur, and they send a warm thrill running through you.
"Yeah," you agree. You reach up and curl a hand around the back of his neck, stroking the sensitive skin with your thumb, and his eyes flutter closed. âCome back to the ship with me.â
âKriff,â he mutters, his voice rough. He looks back at you, his eyes searching your face, and he lets out a frustrated huff.
Echo steps back, releasing his hold on your head, and you hold your breath as you watch him. You wait for him to leave, to walk away from you, but he just reaches for his drink and finishes it, his eyes never leaving yours. When he's done, he sets the empty glass on the counter and holds his hand out.
"Let's go."
You can't help the way your face lights up at the words. You finish the last of your drink and take his hand, letting him pull you to your feet. You weave through the crowd, the two of you practically joined at the hip, his hand still grasping yours tightly.
"Do you want to let the others know we're leaving?"
"Nah," Echo says. He doesn't turn to look at you, his eyes fixed ahead as he pulls you along. "They're too busy having a good time."
"Butâ"
"Stitches.â
He glances over his shoulder, giving you a sharp look. The intensity in his gaze, the hunger, is enough to send a rush of heat through your body, and you swallow.
"Oh," you say, the word almost a gasp.Â
Echo gives you a little smile, and his hand slips away from yours. For a moment, the loss is nearly overwhelming, and then his fingers skim over your lower back. They trace a slow line down to your hip, and his hand settles there, guiding you through the crowd. The touch is light, gentle, but it's the possessiveness of it that sends a shiver up your spine.
When the two of you step through the doors and into the night air, he lets his hand slip lower, until it's resting just above the swell of your ass. You're not sure if the motion is intentional or not, but it sets a fire alight in you, and you have to resist the urge to press back against his palm or try to coax him to move lower.
You slow down. "So, uh, are we gonnaâ"
"Walk and talk," Echo says, cutting you off with a gentle push forward. His voice is low, and there's an authoritative edge to it that makes your knees feel weak. "The others will notice that we're gone eventually. We don't have a lot of time."
"Okay," you say, nodding. The two of you walk quickly through the city, and you're grateful for the fresh air. It clears your head a fraction, enough that the buzz of the alcohol has started to fade, and you're left with a sharp clarity.
The silence between the two of you is tense, but it's not uncomfortable. It feels charged, full of energy, and you're keenly aware of his hand on your lower back. His fingers are splayed out, his hand spanning the width of your waist, and his thumb is tracing a slow line over the fabric of your shirt.
It's driving you crazy, and you can't help the way you arch your back, pushing into the pressure. You feel his grip tighten, and you bite your lip, fighting back a moan.
Echo lets out a small chuckle. "Someone's eager."
"I thought weâve established that already,â you reply. You let a bit of a whine slip into your voice, and when he looks over, his eyes are wide.
"Are you always like this?" he asks.
"Like what?"
"This..." he trails off, gesturing with his scomp, and his face flushes a light pink. "Teasing."
"Only when I want someone."
Echo doesn't say anything in response. He just nods and keeps walking, but you don't miss the way his grip tightens a little, or the way he starts moving faster.
The moment the two of you are through the hatch of the Marauder, Echo slams his palm on the control panel, shutting the door behind him. The ship goes dark as you stand a few feet apart, staring at each other.Â
Echo leans against the wall, settling back with a considering look on his face, and he crosses his arms. Heâs lit by the light coming through the window, and the pale glow makes him look otherworldly.
"Well?" you prompt, raising an eyebrow.
"Come here."
His voice is quiet, and you can barely hear him over the pounding of your heart. But the tone leaves no room for argument, and you can't help but comply. You step forward, moving slowly, and Echo's eyes track your movements.Â
You stop when your shoes are a few inches from his, and you tilt your head, looking up at him. You can feel the heat radiating off of him, and it's taking every ounce of self-control not to touch him.
"What do you want from me?" he asks.
"Iâ"
"No," he says. His hand and scomp come up, settling on your hips, and the motion pushes the two of you together. He's so close that you can feel his breath on your face, and the warmth of his body is burning through the layers of your clothing. "Don't think about it. Tell me."
Your eyes dart down to his lips, and he doesn't miss the movement. His lips quirk upward, and his thumb rubs gentle, slow circles on the fabric of your shirt.
"I wantâ" you break off, hesitating, and Echo gives your hip a squeeze. The pressure is light, but it's enough to get you to focus.
"I want this. I want you," you say, the words tumbling out in a rush. You take a breath and meet his eyes. "But I want you to know that I'm not just doing this because it's convenient, or because I'm bored. I'm doing this because I like you, Echo. I have for a long time."
Echo doesn't speak, and for a moment, the only sound is the gentle hum of the ship around you. His eyes search your face, as though trying to determine if you're being truthful, and you watch as the hard edge of his expression softens, replaced by something softer, something hopeful.
"You really mean that, don't you?"
"Yeah," you reply. You feel a wave of relief at his words, and you can't help the grin that spreads across your face.
"How long?"
"I don't know," you answer honestly. You take a step closer, until there's no more space between the two of you. He doesn't move, but you can see the way his breath catches, and you can feel the way his hand tightens on your hip.
"Why didn't you say anything?"
"Because you weren't ready," you say. You take a deep breath, and the motion makes his eyes drop to your mouth again. "I wanted to wait until you were ready. So I just want you to know, this isnâtâI mean, it's not just a fling, or anything. I want this to mean something."
"Good," he says quietly. "Me too."
You can't help the sigh of relief that escapes your lips. "Thank fuck."
Echo's lips twitch, and he ducks his head. The tips of his ears are a bit pink, and his shoulders are shaking a little.
"What's so funny?"
"Nothing," he says, looking back up. There's a soft smile on his face, and it makes your stomach flutter. "I justâyou're really cute, you know that?"
"Am I?"
"Yeah," he replies, and his fingers start tracing patterns on your hip. The feeling is a light, tickling sensation, and you can't help the way your body shifts a bit, moving closer.
âIs that a good thing?â you ask.
"Depends," he says, and the way he parrots your words makes you laugh. He smiles and adds, "And Iâm a little relieved. I don't do flings."
"Then why'd you agree to come back here with me?"
"Because I trust you," he says. "And because I want you. More than I've wanted anyone in a long time. Maybe ever."
"Yeah?"
Echo nods, his eyes never leaving yours. You're both close, and you can feel the tension building between the two of you. He's not holding back anymore, and his expression is open, his emotions plain on his face. The butterflies in your stomach kick up, fluttering wildly. Echo reaches up, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. He tucks it behind your ear, and the contact is gentle, tender. His fingers brush against the sensitive shell, and the feeling is so delicate, so soft, that it sends a shiver through you.
"Yeah."
You nod, a smile spreading across your face. "Okay, then."
"Okay."
He's smiling now too, and the sight is almost too much. You've seen him smile plenty of times before, but this one is different, and it takes your breath away. His fingers skim over the curve of your jaw, and when they reach your chin, he tilts it up, angling your face towards his. Your lips part, and you suck in a quick breath.
"So," he says, his voice quiet. His eyes drop to your mouth, and he pauses for a moment, just staring. His tongue darts out, swiping over his lips, and when his gaze flicks back up to meet yours, his pupils are blown. "What do you want me to do?"
You hesitate, the words sticking in your throat. You're not quite sure how to answer the question. It's a little hard to form words when his thumb is brushing over the soft, sensitive skin of your chin.
"Don't get shy on me now," Echo murmurs. "Come on, tell me."
"I wantâ" You break off, swallowing. Your throat feels dry, and you try again. "I want you to kiss me."
His mouth curls up into a smirk. "You can do better than that."
"Kriff, Echo, justâ"
His grip on your chin tightens a fraction, and you force yourself to swallow and try again, more confidence in your voice. "I want you to fuck me. I want you to take what you want. I want you to make me feel good. Is that enough for you?"
Echo's smirk melts away, and his lips part, his breath coming out in a quick huff. His eyes are fixed on your mouth, and his pupils are dilated, his irises just a thin ring of gold around the edges.
"Fuck," he mutters, and his eyes flicker back up to meet yours. There's an intensity to his gaze that sends a shiver through you, and the feeling is only heightened when his thumb traces the edge of your bottom lip, his touch light.
"So what do you think?" you ask, unable to keep a hint of amusement from creeping into your voice.
Echo shakes his head, his brow furrowed, and you can't help the way your lips curve into a grin. His gaze darts back down to your mouth, and his own lips twitch. When he speaks, his voice is low and husky.
"I knew it."
"Knew what?"
"That you'd be like this," he says. There's a teasing note in his voice, but the look on his face is serious, and you can't help the shiver that runs through you.
"You've been thinking about it?" you ask softly.
"Yeah, I have," he mutters, and then he's moving. He grips your waist, lifting you, his scomp arm sliding underneath your ass, and he turns, pressing you against the wall. The sudden motion and the cool metal at your back sends a rush of adrenaline through you, tearing a sound from your lips.
"I've been thinking about it too," you admit, wrapping your legs around his waist. You're clinging to him, and you can't stop the way you're moving your hips, rubbing against him.
"You have, huh?"
"Yeah," you breathe. "You have no idea."
He makes a sound, a cross between a laugh and a groan. He closes his eyes, and his head falls forward, his forehead pressing against yours.
"I've been driving myself crazy," he mutters, his voice thick with desire. "Just wondering."
"Is that why you've been staring at me?"
He huffs a quiet laugh, and he lifts his head, a rueful smile on his face. "You noticed."
"It was hard not to." You grin, leaning back a fraction, and his grip on your hip tightens, his fingers digging into the fabric of your pants. "Especially when I was trying to catch you."
He lets out a frustrated sigh, and he presses you against the wall, his hips grinding into yours. The pressure is firm and steady, and you can't stifle the moan that slips out.
"You are cruel," he says, and there's a note of wonder in his voice.
"So are you," you shoot back, rocking your hips against him. "All that eye-fucking."
"Eye-fucking," he repeats, letting out a short laugh. "That's what you're calling it?"
"It's accurate."
He lets out another quiet chuckle, his body shaking a fraction, and the motion sends a shiver up your spine.
"I just had to figure it out," he explains. "I had to make sure."
In the dim light, it's hard to see the details of his face, but you can't miss the heat in his eyes, or the flush that colors his cheeks. You can't help the soft laugh that escapes your lips, and you reach up, letting the backs of your fingers trace over his jaw.
"I didn't mind," you say softly. "I've been watching you, too."
Echo hums, a soft, thoughtful sound, his eyes searching your face. "Watching me, huh?"
"Of course," you say. You lean forward, brushing your lips over the sensitive shell of his ear. You can feel him tense against you, and when you drag the tip of your tongue along the delicate flesh, he sucks in a sharp breath. "And I've liked what I've seen."
"Fuck," he breathes, and you can feel him shudder. "Do that again."
You oblige, pressing another kiss to his ear, and this time, you let your teeth scrape over the delicate skin. He lets out a low moan, and his hips roll forward, grinding against yours.
"Kriff, that feels good," he groans, and the sound goes straight to your core. "Keep going."
You nip at the soft skin, and when his hips roll again, you grind down, pushing back. The friction is delicious, and the motion makes him gasp, his eyes fluttering shut. Your mouth trails along his jaw, and his skin is soft under your lips. You kiss a slow path along the edge, and when you reach his chin, you nip the skin, making him jerk his hips again.
"Fuck, you'reâ" he breaks off with a groan, his head falling back as you trail a series of kisses down his neck.
"I'm what?" your murmur, tracing a line of kisses underneath his jaw.
"You're gonna be the death of me," he manages. His head falls forward, and his mouth crashes into yours.
It's not a gentle kiss. It's messy, a little desperate, and when his tongue licks into your mouth, you can't help the whimper that escapes your lips. He tastes like spice and smoke, and he's kissing you with an intensity that makes your head spin.
You let go of his neck, and your hands move to his chest, tracing over the hard planes. His lips move frantically against yours, his scomp underneath your ass encouraging the motion of your hips, and his hand roams over your body everywhere he can reach. He grabs your waist, squeezing the soft flesh of your hip, running up your ribs and skimming over your stomach before drifting back down. He cups your ass, grabbing a fistful of the flesh and tugging you closer, until there's not an inch of space between the two of you.
You can't help but moan, and the sound seems to spur him on. He lets out a low groan and pulls away, leaving a trail of biting kisses along the line of your jaw, down your throat. His mouth is hot and wet against your skin, and he nips the sensitive flesh, soothing the sting with his tongue.
"Echo," you gasp. "Bed, please. Now."
He nods before his mouth finds yours again. The kiss is sloppy and deep, his tongue sliding against yours, and you can't help the moan that escapes your lips as he pulls away. Echo steps back and sets you on your feet, steadying you with his scomp when your knees wobble.
"Come on," he murmurs. He takes a step forward, backing you toward the bunks, and his gaze doesn't leave yours as he navigates the small space.
His bunk is only a few steps away, and when you reach it, Echo stills. He turns you, guiding you until you're facing the bed, your back to him. You can feel the warmth of his body behind you, the press of his armor against your back.
"Take off your shirt," he says, his voice low in your ear. His scomp is a firm weight on your hip, keeping you still, and his other hand drifts over your side, ghosting over your ribs.
You reach for the hem of your shirt and tug it over your head, letting it fall to the ground. Echo deftly unhooks your bra, sliding the straps down your arms, and you toss it on top of your shirt. He presses a soft, gentle kiss to the back of your neck, and his hand slides up your waist. You're not sure when he took the glove off his hand, but his fingers are tracing a slow, languid path, his calluses sending little tingles over your skin.
"Take off your pants," he says. The words are quiet, almost reverent, and his fingers brush over the soft swell of your breast.
You follow his command, taking off your boots and socks before you slide the pants down your legs. Your underwear is last, and the thin material is soaked through, the damp fabric clinging to the sensitive flesh.
When you turn back around, he's watching you with a look of open desire. His eyes are dark and heated, and the way they drag over your body, taking in the sight of your naked form, sends a flush spreading over your skin.
"You're overdressed," you say, and there's a teasing edge to your voice.
Echo doesn't answer, just gives you a heated look before turning his attention to his armor. He removes it piece by piece, until the only thing left is his blacks. The fabric clings to his body, outlining the hard planes of muscle and the sharp angles of his shoulders. You can't help but watch him, taking in the sight of him, and the longer you stare, the more he seems to relax.
"Enjoying the show?" he asks, his mouth quirking in a smile.
"Yes," you say honestly. "Very much."
"Good," he says, and he lifts his scomp, making a twirling motion. "Turn around."
You obey, turning back around, and out of the corner of your eye, you see him smile.
"Now bend over," he says, and the words send a bolt of heat straight to your core. "Hands on the bunk."
"Echoâ"
"Trust me," he murmurs, and the words send a shiver down your spine. "It'll be worth it."
You nod, and slowly bend at the waist. You brace yourself, leaning forward and resting your weight on your forearms. The position leaves you vulnerable, and you can't help the way a hot, tingling blush creeps over your skin.
"Good," Echo murmurs. His hand slides over your hip, and he gives it a light squeeze before trailing his fingers over the curve of your ass.
"Are youâ"
"Don't move," he says, and the words send a jolt of heat straight through you. He's standing so close, his body nearly pressed against yours, and the warmth of his body is seeping into you, heating your skin. "Just let me take care of you."
He steps back, and you can't help but squirm, trying to follow him. "Butâ"
"What did I just say?" he asks, and the tone of his voice makes your core clench.
"Echo," you whine, and your voice is a bit higher than usual. You can't help the way the heat creeps into your face, or the way your stomach flutters.
"What did I say?" he repeats. He reaches up and brushes his fingers over the curve of your ass, his touch feather-light.
"Don't move."
"Good girl," he says. You hear him drop to his knees behind you, and his hand slides over the curve of your ass. He grabs a handful of the flesh, squeezing it, and the pressure is enough to make your hips jerk.
"Stay still," he says, his voice low and firm. "You know the rules."
"Yeah," you breathe, a bit breathless. "I'll be good."
Echo doesn't say anything, but his thumb rubs a slow, soothing circle over the soft skin. His hand slips from your ass and comes up to the junction of your thighs. He traces the crease where your leg meets your ass, and his fingers brush over the sensitive skin.
"Open your legs," he murmurs, his breath hot on the skin of your inner thigh. "Wider."
You obey, widening your stance, and when you do, he lets out a low hum of approval.
"Just like that," he says. His scomp rests on your hip, steading you as his fingers dip between your thighs. They drag over the sensitive folds, spreading the slick arousal coating your core. The touch is light, teasing, and it's barely enough to satisfy the ache building inside you.
"Kriff, Echo," you groan, and your voice is a bit shaky. "Please, don'tâ"
"Don't what?" he asks. His hand stills, and he doesn't move, his fingers barely touching the heated flesh.
"Don't tease me," you beg, and the words come out a bit strangled.
"You like it, though," he says. He leans forward, his tongue darting out and dragging a slow, wet line up your core. The feeling makes your hips jerk, and the muscles of your abdomen clench. "Don't you?"
"Yes," you gasp, and the word comes out a bit ragged. You can feel your walls clenching around nothing, desperate for any kind of friction, and the tension is nearly unbearable.
"Then let me," he says, and his voice is a low, raspy murmur. "Let me make this good for you."
He ducks his head again, and his tongue is hot and slick as it drags through your folds, the tip just barely dipping inside your entrance. He repeats the motion, his tongue teasing the sensitive flesh, and the feeling makes your hips buck. His scomp is firm on your hip, preventing you from moving too far, and you can't quite decide if the lack of control is maddening or exhilarating.
"Echo," you whine, and the sound is a plaintive, pleading noise.
He doesn't answer. His thumb and scomp move, his thumb spreading the swollen lips of your pussy, and his scomp helps holds them apart, giving him better access. The motion leaves you exposed, the cool air of the ship caressing the heated flesh, and the feeling makes a shiver run down your spine.
"Look at you," he murmurs. He lets out a low, satisfied sound, and you can't help the way you push into his touch. "So eager."
He dips his head and his tongue slides over your core, tracing a slow, torturous line to your clit. When he reaches it, he presses a wet, open-mouthed kiss to the throbbing bud. The feeling is almost too much, and your hips buck, trying to get away from the sensation.
"No, no, no," he says. "None of that."
His hand grips your hip, holding you still as he teases the bundle of nerves with his tongue. He traces circles around it, and when he sucks it into his mouth, the feeling makes your legs tremble.
"Oh, fuck," you moan, and your hands curl into fists, clutching at the blankets.
"Do you like that?"
"Yes," you gasp. "Feels good."
He hums, the vibration making your legs shake. "How about this?"
You suck in a breath as he presses his tongue flat against your clit, his lips wrapped around the throbbing bundle. His tongue strokes the sensitive flesh, and when he slides a finger inside you, your vision blurs.
"Oh, fuck, yes," you groan. "Yes, yes, please, just like that."
"Good," he says. His voice is a low rasp, and it makes heat pool in your belly. "You're doing so good for me."
Your walls clench around his finger, drawing him deeper, and he starts a slow, torturous pace, working his finger in and out of your dripping cunt.
"Please," you pant. "More. I need more."
"Like this?" he asks. He slides a second finger along with the first, stretching the delicate tissue. The burn is delicious, and it feels so good, the way his fingers fill you up. His mouth is hot and slick against you, and his tongue is dragging over the hard bud of your clit. His fingers thrust slowly, the motion gentle, and his scomp is holding you still, keeping you from pushing back against him.Â
The way he's forcing you to stay still, to let him do as he pleases, is sending a hot, tingling flush spreading over your skin. Your eyes squeeze shut, and your breath is coming in short, shallow pants, your entire body wound tight.
"Do you like that?" Echo murmurs, his lips brushing against the soft skin of your inner thigh.
"Yes," you manage. You can feel the heat rising inside you, the tension building in your belly, and your toes are starting to curl. "So much."
"Good girl," he says, and the words send a wave of warmth rushing through you. "You're being so good for me."
"Thank you," you pant. "Feels so good."
He hums in response as his scomp leaves your hip, and you feel the cold, metal appendage drag down the curve of your ass. It slides lower, until the tip of the metal is just barely pressing against the folds of your entrance. The feeling is foreign and strange, and the sensation makes you jerk.
"Is this okay?" he asks.
"Y-yes," you say. The sensation is unfamiliar, and the feeling of the cool metal against your core is making your muscles twitch. "Keep going."
He slides lower through your wet folds, and the motion is slow and deliberate. It's not like his fingers or his tongue, not quite the same. It's harder, cooler, less yielding, but the contrast is delicious, and it's making your legs tremble.
"That feels..."
"Weird?" he asks, his lips brushing against the sensitive skin of your inner thigh.
"Not bad," you manage, and the words come out a bit strangled. "Different. Good."
"You want more?"
"Yes," you groan. Your hands tighten in the blankets, and the heat is starting to creep up your spine. "Yes, please."
He doesn't reply, just slides his scomp back up through the folds again, this time a little harder. The metal is smooth, and the tip is cool against your clit. He drags it over the hard bud, and the feeling makes a jolt of electricity shoot through you.
"Echo," you gasp.
"Shh," he says. His mouth is hot against your thigh, and his lips press a wet, sucking kiss to the sensitive flesh. "Just relax. Let me take care of you."
You nod, and your eyes slip shut. Your hands clench in the sheets, and the feeling of his mouth, of his fingers, of his scomp, is enough to drive all thoughts from your mind. Your head falls forward, resting against the bunk, and you can't help the soft, desperate sounds that fall from your lips.
Echo keeps up a steady rhythm, his fingers thrusting as his scomp presses patterns over the throbbing bundle of nerves. You can feel the pressure inside you growing, building, and the tension is so intense that it makes your legs shake.
"Please," you beg. "I needâ"
"Shh," he soothes. "I know what you need. I'll take care of you."
You whimper, your body shaking, and the tension inside you is nearly unbearable. He keeps up a slow, steady pace, and you can feel your orgasm coiling, tightening inside you.
"I needâ"
"Let go," he murmurs. He curls his fingers, pressing the tips against the bundle of nerves hidden inside you, and the feeling is enough to send you hurtling over the edge.
Your body goes rigid, your back arching, and your eyes slam shut as your orgasm crashes through you. The sensation is intense, almost painful, and the tension in your muscles is so strong that it's hard to breathe.
Echo doesn't stop, doesn't even slow. He keeps up the slow, steady pace, and it feels like hours pass before the aftershocks subside, leaving you limp and sated. Your head is spinning, and your lungs are burning as you try to catch your breath. Your release is slick and sticky on your thighs, and Echo's tongue slides over your skin, lapping it up.
"You're perfect," he murmurs. He trails a series of kisses over the swell of your ass, the tip of his nose tracing the line of your spine. "So beautiful."
Finally, Echo pulls away. He removes his fingers, and the sudden emptiness makes you gasp. You collapse forward, unable to hold yourself up any longer, and the sheets are cool and soft against your face. You're dimly aware of Echo shifting, his arm slipping under you, lifting you off the bed. He sits on the edge, holding you against him, chest to chest, and your legs fall to either side of his thighs.
"You okay?" he asks, his voice a low, husky whisper.
"I think so," you mumble. Your head is still spinning, and your limbs feel heavy, a pleasant lassitude spreading through your body. "Just need a minute."
Echo doesn't answer, just nods. He reaches up, brushing your hair away from your face. His fingertips trail over the shell of your ear, and the contact sends a shiver down your spine.
"You were so good," he murmurs. "Such a good girl."
The praise makes a hot flush spread over your cheeks, and you turn your face, hiding it in the crook of his neck.
"Don't," you mumble, the word muffled by his blacks.
"Don't what?" he asks. There's a note of amusement in his voice, and you know without looking that he's smiling.
"Don't tease me."
"But you liked it," he says. His arm tightens around your waist, and his other hand slides into your hair, gently cradling the back of your head. "And I meant every word."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," he says, and his hand moves, cupping your cheek. His thumb brushes over the soft skin, and he tilts your head up, leaning down to brush his lips against yours.
The kiss is soft and sweet, a gentle brush of lips, and it's almost enough to make your heart stop. Your hands move, reaching up and fisting in his blacks, and you pull him closer. You can taste yourself on his lips, the tangy-sweet flavor a sharp contrast to the lingering sweetness of the liquor.
When you pull away, the look on his face makes your heart skip a beat.
"You're staring," you murmur.
"Yeah," he says. He runs a thumb over the swell of your bottom lip, and the touch is soft, reverent. "You're beautiful."
"Flattery will get you everywhere."
"Good to know," he says, grinning.
You smile and reach up, tracing the line of his jaw. His skin is warm and soft under your fingers, and the stubble is a rough contrast to the smoothness of his cheek.
"I could stare at you forever," he says.
"I'm sure there's something else you'd rather be doing," you say, grinning.
"Maybe," he says. His eyes flick over your face, searching. "What about you? What would you rather be doing?"
"You," you say, and his lips twitch in a smile.
"Now who's the flatterer?"
"It's not flattery," you say, and his eyes are bright, the gold flecks in them glowing in the dim lighting. "I want you, Echo. More than I've wanted anyone in a long time."
"So what are we waiting for?" he asks.
"What, you don't want me to return the favor?" you tease, running a hand over his shoulder.
"I'd love that," he says, and his voice is a low rasp, his breath hot against your skin. "But later. Right now, I just want you."
"Well," you say, trailing your hand down his chest. "I'm not stopping you."
Echo smiles and leans down, his mouth finding yours. The kiss is soft, almost tentative, and it sends a bolt of heat straight through you. His lips are gentle against yours, and when his tongue traces the seam, you part for him.
The kiss deepens, and his tongue slides against yours, the slick, velvety muscle stroking yours. You can't help the soft, breathy sound that escapes your lips, and when his teeth nip at your bottom lip, your hands tighten in his blacks.
He lets out a soft grunt, his arm tightening around your waist, and he shifts, the movement rocking his hips forward. The friction makes a soft gasp escape your lips, and you can't help the way you press closer.
"Come on," you murmur, kissing a path along his jaw. You nip the skin, and his hips roll again, pushing up.
"Fuck, wait," he breathes. "Let meâ"
You bite down, and his head falls back, exposing the column of his throat. You lean forward, nipping the skin, and the sound he makes is like a prayer.
"Come on," you say again, your teeth dragging over the skin.
"Kriff, wait," he groans, and his scomp is cool against the small of your back. "Just a second."
You pause, pulling away and looking at him.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he says, his breathing a bit ragged. "I justâit's been a while, okay?"
"A while?"
"Yeah," he says, and he's blushing, his cheeks turning a faint shade of pink. "A long while."
"So?"
"So," he says. He glances down at his lap, then back at you. "It's gonna be over embarrassingly fast if you keep doing that."
"Doing what?" you ask, unable to keep the grin from spreading across your face. "This?"
You lean forward, pressing a kiss to the soft skin just below his ear, and the action makes him suck in a breath. His hand comes up, sliding into your hair, and he guides you to the juncture of his neck and shoulder, his fingers tightening. You can't help the satisfied smile that crosses your face, and when you nip the tender skin, his hips buck, grinding against you.
"Come on," you whisper. You let your tongue slide over the skin, and his hand flexes in your hair. "You don't have to worry about me."
"That's not the point," he mutters, and his hand slides from your hair to grip your hip. "I want you to have fun."
"And I am," you murmur. You drag the tip of your tongue along the line of his throat, and the motion makes him groan. "Trust me, I'm having plenty of fun."
"You're not worried aboutâabout..."
"About what?" you ask. "About finishing early? About getting off and leaving me hanging?"
"Yeah," he admits, his voice low. "Something like that."
"Why would I be? You already made me come," you say with a smile. "That was fun, remember?"
"Yeah," he says. His scomp slides over the curve of your ass, pulling you closer.
"Then why don't you let me have some more fun?" you murmur. You rock your hips forward, and the motion makes him groan. "Come on. Let me take care of you."
"Are youâ"
"If I say it's fine, it's fine," you say. You press a line of kisses down his neck, pausing to nip the soft skin. "Stop worrying and just enjoy yourself."
"That'sâ"
"Easy for you to say," you finish, and he huffs out a breath.
"Come on," you murmur, nipping the skin. "Let go."
He doesn't say anything, just tugs your hips forward, grinding you against him. You can't help the soft gasp that slips past your lips, and the feel of him, even through the fabric, is delicious.
"Just like that," you whisper, your lips brushing over his jaw.
Echo rolls his hips again, and the friction is delicious. The pressure is almost too much, but his grip on you is tight, preventing you from pulling away. His mouth finds yours, his tongue sliding past your lips, and he licks into your mouth with a slow, wet slide. The kiss is messy and frantic, his tongue tracing the edges of your lips, the tip flicking over the roof of your mouth.
You moan at the feeling of his mouth on yours, the way he's taking what he wants, and the sound seems to spur him on. He surges forward, your back hitting the bed, and his body follows, covering yours. He braces himself, his weight on his elbows, his mouth never leaving yours. His tongue delves deeper, and the kiss is hard and messy, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.
"You feel so good," he groans, his lips brushing over the soft skin. "Can Iâ"
"Yes," you interrupt, and he lets out a soft laugh.
"At least let me ask," he says. "It's polite."
"Youâve been very polite," you say. Your fingers trace over his ribs, and his abs clench beneath the soft touch. "But please, don't hold back anymore."
Echo pulls away, and the look on his face is enough to send a hot, tingling blush spreading over your cheeks. He's watching you with a mix of awe and desire, as his hand reaches down, fumbling with the clasp of his blacks.
"Do you need some help?" you tease, grinning.
"No," he says. His tone is firm, almost commanding, and the sound makes your stomach flip.
Echo finally manages to unclasp the garment, and his hand falls away, letting the blacks hang loose around his hips. He tugs them down, revealing the hard planes of his stomach, the sharp cut of his hips, and he slides off the bed and stands, kicking them away.
When he turns back to face you, his thumb hooks into the waistband of his briefs, and his eyes meet yours.
"You okay?" he asks.
"Are you seriously asking that question?"
"Just checking," he says. He hesitates, and the expression on his face is almost shy. "I'm not... I mean, I don't look likeâ"
"Echo, if you don't get your ass back over here and fuck me, I'm going to scream," you say, and he snorts.
"Alright, alright," he says. He tugs the briefs down his legs, and when his cock is free, it bobs, slapping against his abdomen. You try not to stare, but the sight of him is enough to make your core clench.
Your eyes widen, and the words die on your lips.
"Oh."
"Oh?"
"Uh-huh."
Echo steps closer, and the movement makes his cock bob again. The shaft is long and thick, the head a deep, dusky red, and the sight makes your mouth go dry. He's leaking, and when he gives himself a quick stroke, a bead of precum dribbles down the head, making the soft skin glisten.
"Fuck, you're pretty," you say, and his cheeks turn a faint shade of pink.
"You're one to talk," he murmurs, his gaze flicking over you. "I could stare at you all night."
You blush and shift, pulling your legs together. "I bet you say that to all the girls."
"No," he says, his voice soft. "Just you."
Your breath catches, and for a moment, neither of you speak.
"I should, uh, get aâ"
"I have an implant,â you say, and he nods, swallowing.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," you murmur. "If you're good with it, I'm good with it."
"Yeah," he breathes, and his gaze is dark, heated. "Yeah, okay."
He hesitates for a moment before grabbing the neck of his blacks, and with a quick motion, he pulls the shirt off, dropping it onto the pile. You can't help the way your eyes roam over his body, taking in the sight of him.
His muscles are defined and well-defined, his arms and shoulders corded with lean muscle. The planes of his chest and abdomen are sharp, the lines of his muscles standing out in sharp relief under the scars that spread across his skin, and you can't stop yourself from reaching out and tracing a line over his ribs. Youâre pleased to see heâs put on weight, the bones not so prominent, and there are some soft edges where there were none before.
He's beautiful, and for a moment, you're struck dumb by the sight of him.Â
Echo watches you, and the longer you stare, the more his muscles twitch, his nerves clearly getting the best of him.
"Sorry, you're justâyou're really hot," you say. "It's a bit intimidating."
He lets out a soft huff of laughter, and his cheeks flush.
"Yeah, right," he says. He climbs onto the bunk and crawls toward you, his eyes locked on yours. When he reaches you, he settles himself between your legs, his forearms resting on either side of your head.
"If anyone's intimidated, it's me."
"Why's that?"
"Have you seen yourself?" he murmurs. He leans down, brushing his lips against yours. "You're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen."
The words make your heart stutter, and you reach up, cupping his cheek. "You're just saying that because you want to get laid."
"I'm just saying it because it's true," he says, and the words are a quiet whisper against your lips.
He dips his head, and his mouth finds yours again. You can't help the soft moan that escapes, and the sound makes Echo's hips rock against yours. His cock brushes against your thigh, a warm, velvety weight, and the feel of him sends a wave of heat crashing through you.
Echo breaks the kiss and rests his forehead against yours, his breathing ragged. His hips move again, and this time, his cock drags against the folds of your core.
"What do you want?" he asks, his nose brushing over the swell of your cheek. "Tell me."
"You," you say, and your hands slide over his shoulders, clutching at his back. "Inside me. Now."
Echo doesn't answer, just shifts, sliding the thick head of his cock through the slick arousal coating your folds. When the tip brushes against the bundle of nerves nestled between the swollen flesh, your hips jerk, and a soft whine slips past your lips.
"Come on," you whisper, and your voice is a breathless, needy whimper. "Justâ"
"Shh," he murmurs, his mouth finding yours. "I've got you."
He reaches down, gripping the base of his cock and guiding the head to your entrance. He doesn't move, doesn't thrust, just lets the tip rest there, a heavy weight against your core. The anticipation is almost too much, and you can feel the slick, heated flesh throb, clenching around nothing.
"Gods, Echo," you breathe. "Don't tease."
"You like it," he says, and his hand slides over your thigh, his fingers wrapping around your knee. He pulls it up, spreading you open, and his hips shift, his cock bumping your clit.
"Kriff, come on," you gasp, your back arching. "Don'tâ"
He doesn't wait for you to finish, just pushes forward. His cock is thick, the stretch almost too much, and the sudden feeling makes a soft, keening cry slip past your lips. He stills, and you can feel him trembling, the muscles in his shoulders quivering.
"Fuck, you're tight," he chokes out. "Justâhold still for a second."
You nod, and Echo lets out a shuddering breath, his head falling forward. His forehead presses against your shoulder, and his eyes slip shut. His hips twitch, and the motion makes his cock sink another inch inside you, the stretch making a soft whine slip past your lips.
"Shit," he breathes. "You'reâI don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," you gasp.
He nods and shifts his hips, sliding a few inches deeper. His cock is thick and heavy, and the feeling of him stretching you is almost too much. The fullness is almost painful, but there's something delicious about the burn, and you can't help the way you twitch, trying to get closer.
"Fuck," he groans, and the word comes out strangled. "How are you so kriffing tight?"
"Sorry," you gasp. "Been a while."
"You're going to kill me," he murmurs, and his hips push forward again, the movement a slow, steady slide. "Justâfuck, you feel so good."
His words make a bolt of heat shoot through you, and the tension inside you is nearly unbearable. You can't help the way a soft whimper slips past your lips, and the sound makes his hips jerk, his cock sinking deeper.
"Shh," he whispers, his breath hot against your shoulder. His hand tightens on your knee, and the motion spreads you wider, allowing him to sink deeper. "I'll take care of you."
"Come on," you plead. Your hands slide over his back, the skin damp with sweat, and you can feel the muscles tense and relax under your touch. "I can take it."
"I know you can," he says, and his scomp strokes the curve of your hip. "You're being so good for me. Taking me so well."
The praise makes a shiver run down your spine, and his hips thrust again, pushing forward until he's buried to the hilt. The feeling is intense, the stretch a delicious ache, and your legs fall to either side, spreading to accommodate him.
"That's it," he murmurs. "Good girl."
You can't help the way the words make your core clench, and the feeling makes his breath catch.
"You like that, huh?" he asks, his mouth moving against the hollow of your throat. "Being told what a good girl you are?"
"Echo," you whine.
"Yeah," he breathes. "You do."
He lifts his head and kisses you, his tongue sliding against yours. The kiss is slow, languid, and his hand is gentle as he cups your cheek. His thumb strokes over your skin, the touch almost reverent, and the sweetness is such a stark contrast to the way he's buried deep inside you that it makes your head spin.
"Fuck, Echo," you gasp, the words muffled against his lips.
"So good for me," he says. His hand leaves your face and moves to your leg, pulling your knee up and pressing it toward your chest. Your ankle rests on his shoulder, and the position allows him to push deeper, his hips grinding against yours.
The new angle makes him slide against a spot hidden deep inside you, and the sudden rush of sensation makes your toes curl.
"Oh, fuck," you gasp. "Right there."
"Here?" he murmurs. He repeats the motion, his hips rolling against yours, and the feeling is so intense that your vision blurs.
"Yeah," you manage through a choked sob.
"That's it," he soothes, and his hand strokes the side of your thigh. "You're doing so good for me."
His hand moves from your leg to the bunk, and his weight presses down on you, his body covering yours. His movements are slow and deliberate, his hips grinding against yours. Each thrust is a steady, rolling grind, and the pressure is so intense that it takes everything in you not to break apart.
"Good girl," he murmurs, and his mouth finds yours. The kiss is messy, a contrast of hard and soft, and when his teeth nip at your bottom lip, the sharp pinch is a delicious counterpoint to the sweetness.
His hand leaves the bunk and slides into your hair, fisting the soft strands and holding you still. The grip is firm, but not rough, and the sensation is strangely erotic, sending a rush of heat coursing through you.
"Harder," you gasp, and he obeys, snapping his hips forward hard enough to punch the breath from your lungs. The new pace is harder, faster, and the slap of flesh against flesh is loud in the quiet of the ship.
"Fuck," he groans. "You feel so fucking good."
You don't reply, just moan, and his hand tightens in your hair. His teeth graze the line of your jaw, and the sudden bite of pain is so sharp and delicious that it makes your vision blur.
"God, yes," you groan. "Harder."
He lets out a soft grunt and thrusts forward, the force of the movement making the bunk creak. You can't help the strangled cry that slips past your lips, and the noise seems to spur him on, his hips driving against yours with a force that has the bed shaking.
"Echo," you gasp, and the word comes out in a desperate, keening whine. "Please, I needâ"
"I know what you need," he whispers, and his hand falls away from your hair to brace himself above you. His scomp leaves your hip and trails between your bodies, the smooth, cool metal sliding over the sensitive bud of your clit. "And I'll give it to you. You just have to trust me."
"I do," you gasp.
"Yeah?" he murmurs, and his mouth moves to your throat. His lips trail a path down the delicate skin, his tongue darting out to taste you. "You trust me?"
"Yes," you manage.
"Good," he says, his breath hot against your skin, and the tip of his scomp presses against the hard bud, circling slowly. "I'm going to make you come. Hard. And when you do, I'm going to fuck you until you're sobbing. Can you take that?"
The words send a thrill of electricity through you, and the tension inside you is so strong that it makes your legs shake.
"Can you?"
"Yes," you manage.
"Good girl," he says, and his teeth nip at the skin below your ear. His scomp moves faster, the motion a steady circle over the throbbing bundle of nerves, and you gasp when you feel it start to vibrate.
"Oh, fuck," you groan. Your back arches, pushing your breasts against his chest. "Whatâhave you alwaysâ"
"No," he says, his voice strained. "Never used it for this. Just for you."
"That'sâfuck, Echo, please," you beg. Your eyes are squeezed shut, the pleasure so intense that you can't think straight.
"You like that?" he murmurs, and the vibration gets a fraction stronger. The feeling makes a wave of heat wash over you, your muscles clenching and twitching, and your head falls back, resting on the mattress.
"Yes," you gasp.
"You're so close, aren't you?"
"Fuck, Echo," you choke out, and your nails dig into his back, scratching at the skin. He moans at the feeling, his hips driving faster, and the combination of sensations is enough to send you hurtling over the edge.
Your orgasm hits you like a bolt of lightning, and the intensity of it makes your legs spasm, the muscles twitching uncontrollably. You can't control the sounds that are coming from your mouth, desperate gasps and soft, choked sobs, and it's only the feeling of Echo's mouth on yours, kissing the noises away, that keeps you from screaming.
"Oh, fuck," he groans against your mouth. "Just like that. So good for me. Let me hear you."
The words are a whispered prayer against your lips, and the praise makes another wave of heat crash through you. Your core clenches around his cock, and the sensation is so exquisite that it makes tears sting the corners of your eyes. True to his word, he doesn't let up, and his scomp never stops, the vibrations against the sensitive nub sending sparks of electricity shooting through you.
"Please," you sob, and the words are barely audible. "Please, too much."
"One more," he pants. His breathing is ragged, and his thrusts are growing harder, his hips snapping against yours. "Give me one more. Can you do that for me?"
"I don'tâI can'tâ"
"You can," he says. "I know you can. You're being such a good girl for me. Come on. Give me one more."
You nod, unable to speak, and Echo rewards you with a kiss, his tongue sliding against yours. His hips are moving faster, losing any pretense of control, his pelvis grinding against yours with each forward snap of his hips. His scomp circles your clit, and the feeling is so intense that your limbs go numb, a tingling sensation creeping up your spine. You can feel the pressure inside you building again, coiling, and the tension is so strong that it feels like you're going to fly apart.
"Oh, fuck," you gasp, and the words are muffled against his mouth.
"Yeah," he groans. His thrusts are rough, almost desperate, and the movement rocks the bunk. "That's it. You're doing so well. I'm going to make you come all over my cock."
"Please, Echo." Your hands grip his back so hard that you're afraid you're going to leave bruises, and you can feel his muscles tense and release, shifting under the thin layer of sweat-slick skin. "Please."
"I know," he says. His voice is low, husky, and his lips brush over the shell of your ear. "Come on, sweetheart. Be a good girl and come for me."
The words are your undoing. You can't hold back any longer, and with a loud cry, you tumble over the edge, falling headfirst into the blinding, white-hot pleasure that's coursing through you.
This time, your orgasm is too much to contain, and a scream rips from your throat, the sound echoing off the walls. Your back arches, and your legs twitch, a violent tremor wracking your frame as a hot flood of liquid spills from your core. The force of your release is enough to push Echo's cock from your body, and a wet gush follows, coating his stomach and dripping down your thighs.
"Oh, fuck," Echo chokes out. He buries his face in the crook of your neck, and his scomp falls away, slamming down beside your head, bracing himself. "Fuck, I'mâ"
He doesn't finish the thought, just fumbles for his cock, gripping the base. It only takes a few quick strokes before he's coming, a loud groan escaping his lips. The first pulse hits your stomach, followed by a second, and a third, and the sensation makes a choked moan slip past your lips. He lets out a low groan, his hips twitching, and his cock dribbles the last few drops of his cum, painting a thick line over your skin.
Through your blurry vision, you see Echo's mouth is open, his eyes wide as he stares down at you, and the sight is so sweet, so genuine, that you can't help the breathless huff of laughter that slips past your lips.
"Kriff," he pants. His hand drops to the bunk, and he props himself up on trembling arms. The two of you stay frozen for a moment, chests heaving, your expressions a mirror of each other's shock.
"Fuck," Echo finally chokes out. "Are you okay?"
You nod, unable to form a coherent thought. You let your head fall back against the mattress, and the movement makes a drop of his cum run down your breast, dripping off the underside and falling to the sheets.
"Did Iâ"
"So good," you manage, and the words are a slurred mumble. He nods, swallowing, and then he turns, collapsing onto the bunk next to you. He lets out a noise somewhere between a groan and a laugh, and when you glance over, he has his forearm draped over his eyes, his chest still heaving.
"Fuck," he breathes. "Oh, fuck."
"What?" you ask. You try to shift, but the feeling of his cum cooling on your stomach and chest is a distracting, sticky sensation, and you're not entirely sure if your limbs are still attached.
"I, uh," he starts. Echo huffs out another small laugh as his arm falls away, and his head lolls to the side, his eyes finding yours. "That was the hottest thing I've ever seen. I don't evenâyou'reâthat was incredible."
"I can't feel my toes," you admit, and the confession makes him laugh.
"Yeah?"
"I'm serious," you say. "Like, are they still there? Is anything still there?"
He rolls onto his side, making a show of looking you over, and when his gaze lands on the mess covering your abdomen, he sucks in a sharp breath.
"Yeah," he murmurs, his eyes darkening. "They're still there. Everything's still there."
"You look smug," you say.
"Can't imagine why," he says, grinning. He reaches out, tracing a finger through the cooling mess on your skin, and the gentle caress makes a shiver run down your spine. "Fuck, look at you."
"Yeah?"
"You're a mess," he says, and he grins, leaning forward. He kisses you, his lips soft against yours, and when he pulls away, he looks a fraction more composed. "Let me clean you up."
Echo sits up, swinging his legs off the bed, and the movement makes his back muscles ripple, the motion a fluid, graceful flex of sinew and tendon. You can't help the way the sight makes your heart skip a beat, and you have the sudden urge to wrap your arms around him and bury your face in his back, to cling to him and never let him go.
"Are you okay?" he asks, looking over his shoulder at you. "Does anything hurt?"
"No," you say, shaking your head. "Everything feels... really good."
His answering grin is more self-satisfied than you're used to seeing, and the expression is so charming that you can't stop the affectionate roll of your eyes.
"Don't look so pleased with yourself," you tease.
"Hey," Echo says, getting to his feet. "I think I earned it."
"I guess so," you murmur, and he chuckles, shaking his head.
"Come here," he says, turning. He tugs you upright and wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you against his chest. The sudden motion makes a laugh bubble up in your throat, and he flashes you a grin, his arms tightening around you. He leans down, his mouth finding yours, and the kiss is sweet and tender, his lips moving over yours with a languid, easy affection.
"What's gotten into you?" you ask when he pulls away.
"You," he smirks, tilting his head. "Or I got into you. Something like that."
"Oh, shut up," you laugh, and you shove his shoulder. He smiles, a wide, crooked grin that makes your heart stutter.
"Come on," he says. He pulls away, grabbing your hip and turning you around, guiding you toward the fresher. "Let's get you cleaned up."
"I can do it," you protest, but his arm wraps around your waist, holding you close.
"I know.âÂ
He doesn't elaborate, just steers you toward the fresher. You lean your hip against the sink while he turns on the shower, and you let him tug you inside, his scomp hooking the handle and closing the door behind the two of you. The water is cool, but it's not unpleasant, and the droplets feel nice against your heated skin.
Echo washes you with a gentleness that takes your breath away, and the tenderness is so at odds with the man you thought you knew. His touch is careful, almost reverent, and there's a quiet intensity in the way he traces the lines and angles of your body with his hand and his scomp, the movements slow and deliberate. He pays special attention to the space between your thighs, the touch firm but still gentle, and the sensation makes you bite back a whimper.
"Shh," he soothes, and his mouth finds the hollow of your throat. He kisses the delicate skin, and the gesture is so sweet that it makes your chest ache.
"Why are you doing this?" you whisper.
"Because I want to," he says, and his thumb swipes over the swell of your breast. "And because you deserve it."
"Deserve it?" you ask as his mouth trails up your neck.
"Yeah," he murmurs. His hand slides up your ribs, and his fingers cup your breast, the palm covering the soft, supple flesh. It's a gentle touch, almost absentminded, and the intimacy of the gesture is so startling that it makes your breath catch.
"Why would you say that?" you whisper.
"Because it's true," he says, and his mouth slides along your jaw, the kiss tender. "Because you deserve to be taken care of. Because I like taking care of you."
"You do?"
"I do," he says, and the words are spoken against the delicate skin just below your ear. "More than anything."
"Butâ"
"It's okay," he murmurs. "Stop overthinking."
You swallow and nod, and his touch is gentle as he finishes washing you. When you're both clean, Echo leaves you under the water to change the sheets, and you try to ignore the fact that your limbs are a bit unsteady without him.Â
The water starts to turn cold, and you quickly shut it off, squeezing some of the excess water from your hair. You step out of the shower and grab a towel, and you smile to yourself when you see your sleep clothes folded on the edge of the sink, Echo's handiwork evident in the perfect creases. You dry off quickly, and you're just pulling on your shorts when you hear the sound of the hatch opening and a pair of heavy footsteps rushing up the ramp.
âEcho!â Wrecker shouts, his voice frantic. The floor shakes slightly under your feet as he comes to a stop, and the hatch slides shut with a metallic clang.
You freeze, the fabric halfway up your thighs, and a bolt of panic shoots through you.
You can hear Echo outside of the fresher, and the rustle of fabric as he tosses the soiled linens to the side, followed by a few muttered curses.
"What?" he finally calls, his tone annoyed.
"There you are," Wrecker says.
"Where else would I be?" Echo snaps, and you can hear him tugging his blacks over his head.
"Crosshair said he lost track of you," Wrecker says, and you hear him walk across the ship. "Thought maybe you were in trouble. And we can't find Stitches. Have you seen her? She disappeared, and she's not answering her comm."
Your eyes go wide, and your stomach drops. Oh, fuck.
"Uh," Echo says, and you hear him shuffling around, the sounds a lot closer than they were before. "Yeah, she's here. She's just, um, taking a shower."
"Oh," Wrecker says. There's a long pause, and you can picture the look on his face, the puzzled frown as he tries to process the information. You can almost hear the gears turning in his brain, and you wait, holding your breath.
"We, uh, decided to head back," Echo explains after the silence has dragged on for a bit too long.
"Together," Wrecker adds. It isn't a question, but the note of suspicion is obvious, and Echo doesn't miss it.
"Yeah," Echo says, his voice strained. He clears his throat. "We were, uh, really tired. We were having a good time, but the club was really loud, and we just..."
He trails off, and you let out a quiet groan and press a hand to your face. You're tempted to leave the fresher, to make your presence known and get the conversation over with, but you can't quite bring yourself to open the door.
"Oh," Wrecker says again, and the way the word is drawn out makes you wince. You can practically hear the grin in his voice, and you know he's figured it out. "You guys had a good time, huh?"
"I mean, not like that," Echo says quickly, and you grimace.
"Uh huh.â
"We were just talking, and we decided to head back, and she was, um, she was drunk, and I was tired, and we were just gonna hang out and watch a holo or something."
"Right," Wrecker says, his tone knowing. "What holo were you gonna watch?"
"Itâs uhâŚâ Echo trails off, and a moment later, he lets out a sigh of defeat. You canât help but laugh at that, the sound loud enough to echo off of the tile.
"Hey Stitches,â Wrecker calls out in greeting, and you roll your eyes and open the door.
"Hi Wrecker," you say, leaning against the door frame.
"Did you have a good time?" he asks with a wide grin.
"Yeah," you say, and you can't help the way your eyes flick to Echo. "We had a really good time."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," Echo echoes. His eyes meet yours, and the expression on his face is soft, a tiny smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. You smile back, unable to keep the happiness from welling up inside you.
"Yeah," you say. You can't help the way you feel yourself blush, the heat rising in your cheeks. "It was, uh, really good."
Wrecker's grin widens, and he glances at Echo, giving him a thumbs-up. Echo blushes, his cheeks turning pink, and his shoulders lift in a small shrug.
"That's good," Wrecker says, beaming. "I'm happy for you guys."
"Thanks, Wrecker," you laugh. "Sorry for making you worry."
"It's okay." He waves a hand. "I'm glad you two had a good time. It's about time."
"Wrecker," Echo groans, and Wrecker lets out a loud guffaw.
"What? I'm not wrong." He looks between the two of you, his smile growing wider. "We've all been rooting for you two. We were starting to get a little worried, honestly. I thought I was gonna have to lock you guys in a closet or somethin'."
Echo lets out a groan and buries his face in his hand, and the sight is so comical that you snort a laugh.
"Sorry to keep you waiting," you say dryly.
"Nah, donât apologize.â Wrecker pauses, his expression thoughtful. "Well, actually, maybe apologize to Crosshair. He's not too happy about this, since it means he lost the bet."
"The bet?"
"Oh yeah," Wrecker says. "We had a running bet on when you guys would finally hook up. Crosshair thought it would take you until at least next month, so he's pretty pissed."
"You guys were betting on us?" you ask, aghast. Echo's hand slides down his face to cover his mouth, and in his eyes is a mixture of mortification and disbelief.
"Hey, don't look at me," Wrecker says, holding his hands up in defense. "I was for you two from the start. I had last month."
"For fuck's sake," Echo mutters, and he leans against the bulkhead and stares at the ceiling, shaking his head. "Just kill me now."
"Who won?" you ask.
"Hunter," Wrecker grumbles, and he lets out a huff. "He has an unfair advantage, if you ask me."
You and Echo exchange a glance, and Echo shakes his head, looking resigned.
"Don't worry, though," Wrecker continues. "We're all glad you two are finally together."
"Yeah, well, thanks, Wrecker," Echo mutters, and Wrecker beams.
"No problem. Anyways, Iâm gonna head back to the club," he says, winking. âYou guys enjoy the rest of your night.â
"Sure," Echo groans, his head thumping against the bulkhead.
"Oh, we will," you say, and you shoot Echo a wicked grin. He meets your gaze, his eyes widening and his cheeks going pink before a slow smile tugs at the corner of his mouth.
"That's my girl," Wrecker crows. He grins and waves before turning on his heel and heading down the ramp. The hatch opens with a hiss, and you listen as the sound of his boots fades into the distance.
The silence is a welcome relief, and the tension seems to leave Echo's shoulders, the muscles relaxing. He takes a step toward you, his scomp reaching out to pull you close, and the motion is so sweet and natural that it makes a wave of emotion rise up inside you.
"Hey," you whisper.
"Hey."
"So," you start slowly. "That was fun."
"I'm sorry," he sighs. "If you wanted to keep it quiet, I'll talk to them."
"No, it's okay," you say, smiling. "I think it's nice."
"You do?"
"Yeah," you say. You reach up and wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him down for a quick kiss. "And I'm kind of proud that you're finally mine."
"Finally?" he asks, a smile tugging at his mouth.
"Well, yeah," you say. You press a kiss to his throat, right above his pulse, and his chest rumbles with a contented hum. "I've been interested in you since day one."
"Really?"
"You're kind of hard to resist," you admit, and he huffs out a soft laugh.
"Trust me, the feeling is mutual."
"Well, I'm glad you're not fighting it anymore."
"Me too," he murmurs. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer, and he leans down and brushes his lips over yours. The kiss is tender, affectionate, and his hand trails over your lower back in a gentle caress.
You pull back, and his forehead dips to rest against yours, his breathing steady.
"Do you wanna watch that holo?" you ask, and he huffs a laugh.
âSure.â
You grab your datapad and settle onto the bunk, and Echo curls up beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. His touch is warm and comforting, and the feeling is enough to make your chest ache.
You put on a mindless holodrama, some action flick that's probably more entertaining if you've actually seen the other movies in the series. You don't mind, though. The plot isn't that interesting, and the acting is pretty bad. What really draws your attention is the feel of Echo pressed against your side, the weight of his arm draped over your waist, and the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes. It's comfortable, and intimate, and just what you both need.
And if, during the holo, Echo's hand starts creeping up your shirt, and his mouth starts tracing the curve of your jaw, well, that's nobody's business but yours.
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