#And it feels like it’s so trivial and stupid and that’s making it worse

[teamfortresstwo]

Eughhh,,, feeling like shit cause I suck at Hades now because I stopped caring about improving in the game but I didn’t think it would make me backslide so much…

[jetii]

Always

Pairing: Hunter x Jedi!Reader / Hunter x fem!Reader

Words: 16,083

Tags/Warnings: 18+ only! fluff, hurt/comfort, forbidden relationship, a very heartfelt reunion, Hunter is a crier no I won't be accepting any criticism, smut, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, nipple play, marking, primal kink, scent kink?, breeding kink

Summary: Months after you went into hiding, Hunter hasn't stopped hoping, waiting for the day when you can finally be together again. Now that it's here, and there's no reason to hide his feelings for you anymore, he can't help but be a little overwhelmed.

A/N: I'm sure no one believes me at this point but I had no intention of writing this much. I was possessed by the spirit of romance, true love, etc. etc. Anyway, please enjoy some very soft, very protective, very affectionate Hunter. Thank you so much to @dindjarins1ut for the prompt!

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Hunter is nervous.

He tries his best to hide it, keeping to himself while Tech and Echo bicker in the cockpit, but he can't ignore the butterflies in his stomach, nor the clammy hands threatening to soak through his gloves. It's ridiculous. He's faced off against far worse than this. He shouldn't be getting worked up over something so small.

But it isn't really small, not when you think about it. He hasn’t seen you in months. No comms, no messages. Nothing. He knows you’re alive, and even that was a miracle. The last words he said to you were in person, when you were standing right in front of him and he told you he loved you, and he'd kissed you and then left with the promise to come back as soon as he could.

That was before the Republic fell, and every Jedi across the galaxy was marked for death. Before the purge and the Empire's reign began. Before you were forced to go into hiding on your own.

And he hasn't spoken to you since.

You haven't seen each other in months, and Hunter is terrified that the feelings aren't mutual anymore. That you've grown apart during your time away, and what he had thought was love, you now see as nothing more than a fling. He's scared you'll look at him differently, scared you won't look at him at all.

He doesn't know what he'll do if you don’t want him anymore. If he loses the best thing that's ever happened to him.

It's stupid, Hunter knows that, because even if you don't love him the same way you used to, you'll still be friends. He should just be happy you're alive and not worrying about something so trivial as his emotions, but he can't help it. He can't shake the feeling, and it's eating him up inside.

A hand settles on his shoulder, and he jumps.

Hunter hasn’t been startled like that in ages, not since he was a cadet, but here he is, nearly falling out of his seat at the sudden contact. It takes him a moment to get over his shock, his heart pounding, before he looks up to see Wrecker looking down at him with a frown.

"Hey, we're almost there," Wrecker says, his voice uncharacteristically soft, and Hunter swallows the lump in his throat.

"I'm fine," he says, but it comes out rough. He clears his throat, tries again. "I'm fine."

Wrecker’s eyebrows raise, and Hunter realizes a moment too late Wrecker never asked how he was doing. But his brother doesn't call him out on it, only gives him a look, one that Hunter recognizes as his attempt to look serious.

“You sure?”

"Yeah," Hunter replies automatically. He can feel the anxiety creeping into his gut, and he pushes it down, looking away. "Why wouldn’t I be?”

"I dunno," Wrecker shrugs, leaning back against the bulkhead. "You've been real tense all day."

Hunter sighs. He should have known Wrecker would notice something was wrong, even if the others hadn't. He'd always been perceptive, despite what people thought of him, and Hunter’s never been able to get away with hiding his feelings, not even when they were kids.

"I just..." he hesitates, wondering how to explain his feelings without making himself seem pathetic. Wrecker might not care, but Hunter still has his pride. He still has the strong desire to protect you, to keep you secret and safe. He knows Wrecker would never betray his trust, but still, he doesn't want to admit how anxious he's been, or how much the anticipation is killing him.

"It's nothing," Hunter decides. He turns back to look out the viewport through the doors of the cockpit. They’ll be landing in a few minutes, and he doesn't want to miss the moment you step into view. "Just... worried, is all."

"What for?"

"I..."

He can't say it, can't get the words past his lips, but the hand on his shoulder squeezes gently, and the unspoken encouragement makes the admission easier.

"It's been a long time," Hunter says finally, and the rest comes tumbling out of him, unable to be held back anymore, “We haven’t seen her in months, Wrecker. What if she's... I don’t know. Things have changed, is all. For her. For us."

"So?" Wrecker scoffs, and his dismissal of the problem only makes Hunter feel worse. He scowls, glaring up at his brother.

"So," he echoes, trying to sound stern, but he can't even bring himself to look mad, not really. His shoulders slump, the fight leaving him, and he looks away. "It might not be the same anymore."

For a moment, the silence is deafening, but then Wrecker lets out a laugh, loud enough to echo throughout the ship, and Hunter bristles, his eyes darting to the cockpit. Tech and Echo are still arguing about the finer details of landing, but he doesn't doubt they can hear every word they're saying.

"What?" Hunter snaps, glaring at his brother, but Wrecker only laughs harder.

"I'm pretty sure she won't have changed that much," he says, nudging Hunter's shoulder hard enough to make him sway. "I bet she's gonna be so happy to see us, she'll probably forget how to talk. Just like last time."

Hunter huffs, but he can't help the twitch of his lips at the memory of your first meeting, of how nervous you'd been, unable to string two words together without stumbling over your own tongue. You always did tend to trip over your own words when you were flustered. 

You had been rendered speechless after he'd told you about his feelings for you, your face flushed red, mouth hanging open in surprise, and he hadn't been able to keep from grinning at your reaction. You couldn’t form a single sentence until after you'd kissed him, and by then, it was his turn to be caught off guard.

He can remember the look on your face like it was yesterday, and the thought of seeing you again, of seeing your eyes light up as you smile up at him, fills him with a familiar warmth. He wants so badly to believe that your reunion will go well, that things haven't changed and that your relationship is the same, but a part of him, the pessimistic part that's kept him alive all these years, knows that it can't possibly be true. 

And Wrecker has no idea what you mean to him, because Hunter has never told him, has never told any of them. You're his secret, his one solace in the galaxy, the one thing he keeps from his brothers, the only thing he's ever wanted that's completely his.

And you were taken from him.

It hurts just thinking about it, knowing you were alone, afraid, with no one to turn to for help, while Hunter was hundreds of thousands of parsecs away. They'd spent weeks trying to find you after the Empire was established, scouring the holonet and every contact he could find, but it was like you had fallen off the face of the galaxy.

Hunter had never felt so helpless in his life.

So yes, he's a little scared of how this is going to play out. You were taken from him once, and it broke his heart. He's terrified that if you don't want him anymore, he won't survive losing you a second time.

"Yeah," Hunter murmurs, glancing out the window. Your home planet is starting to take shape in the viewport, the blue and green and brown and white all blending together. "You're probably right."

Wrecker chuckles, patting his shoulder.

"You know I am," Wrecker says cheerfully, and then he's walking away, back towards the cockpit to interrupt the debate Tech and Echo are having.

Hunter stares after him, not sure if he should be offended by the comment or not. He chooses not to dwell on it, pushing himself out of his chair to follow his brother. Tech spares them a quick glance, rolling his eyes when he sees Wrecker is already pushing his way into his space.

"Would you mind," he grumbles, elbowing the bigger clone, but Wrecker is unfazed, squeezing into the small space behind Tech's chair.

"Nah," he says, grinning down at him.

"Then could you at least wait until we've landed?"

"Where's the fun in that?"

"It would certainly make things less complicated."

"Guys, come on," Echo groans, his head hitting the back of his seat. "We're almost there."

"And what a relief that will be," Tech grumbles, pushing his goggles up his nose, and he looks at Hunter, his brow raised. "What is the matter with you?"

"Nothing," Hunter says, but he's a little too fast to reply, and Tech doesn't buy it. His gaze turns suspicious, but he doesn't push. Instead, he shoves Wrecker's hands away from the controls and starts his descent, taking the ship down in a controlled spiral towards the planet's surface.

Omega drops into the seat beside him and secures her restraints, and Hunter follows suit, though he can't help the nervous energy building in his limbs. He can't keep still, his fingers tapping an unsteady rhythm against his thigh, and when Omega's small hand covers his, he startles.

"Are you excited?" she asks him, and Hunter hesitates for a moment before he nods.

"Yeah, kid," he answers, and it's not a lie. Not really. He is excited, in his own way. "I'm glad we get to see her."

"Me too," Omega smiles as she pulls her hand away, and she turns to watch the clouds disappear as they sink below the atmosphere. "I can't wait to meet her."

"She's gonna love you," Wrecker says, his arms braced on Tech's chair. "You're gonna love her, too. She's real nice."

"Really?"

"Oh, yeah," Hunter replies, leaning back in his seat. He can't keep the fondness out of his voice when he speaks, the memory of your laugh echoing in his head. "She's one of a kind."

Tech glances over his shoulder. "It has been some time since we last saw her," he says, and Hunter feels his heart stutter in his chest. He knows Tech doesn't mean anything by it, but he can't help but hear the implication in his words.

It's been a long time, and people change.

"Well," Echo says, turning in his seat to grin at Hunter. "Let's hope she hasn't forgotten all about us."

Hunter swallows the lump in his throat and forces a smile, nodding along with the rest of them, but he can't ignore the pit in his stomach. He wants so desperately to believe they're right, that your reunion will go well and it won't be awkward, that everything will be just like it used to, but no matter how hard he tries, he can't shake the feeling.

"It'll be... nice, to see her again," Tech says. "Even if it has been awhile."

"Aw, you missed her too, huh?" Wrecker grins, clapping a hand on Tech's shoulder, who swats him away irritably.

"She was a competent general, and she is a valuable ally," Tech replies, adjusting his goggles. "I didn't say I missed her. Simply that it will be nice to see her."

"It's okay to admit you like her, you know," Echo teases. "We won't tell anyone."

Tech shoots him a glare, but he doesn't say anything. He's focused on the descent now, the ground growing closer and closer, and when they break through the cloud cover, the land below them comes into focus.

Hunter leans forward in his seat, eyes straining against the sun. You live on a small colony in the southern hemisphere, surrounded by a large forest. It's isolated, and perfect for someone trying to lay low, but it's also a bit difficult to find, and Hunter doesn't spot your house until they're nearly on top of it.

It's small, a cabin tucked neatly among the trees, with a yard and a path that leads to a dock down by the lake. There's a ship parked outside, a tiny thing, and Tech guides the Marauder down beside it.

"There she is!" Wrecker booms, pointing out the viewport. Hunter stands up, ignoring the nausea building in his stomach, and scans the house.

And there you are.

You're sitting on the porch, a datapad in your lap, and you glance up with a hand shielding your eyes. It's impossible to make out your expression, but when the Marauder slows to land, you're already standing and hurrying down the dirt path towards them.

It's been so long since he's seen you, and even though he knows your face, has it memorized and replayed in his head so many times it's burned into his mind, the sight of you is enough to knock the wind out of him. You're smiling, waving up at the ship, and you look so happy that he can't stop himself from mirroring your expression.

You're here.

Hunter has dreamed of this moment for months, the day he gets to see you again, and the reality of it is even better than he'd hoped. He's barely aware of his feet moving, taking him towards the hatch as soon as the ship has touched down.

"Hunter?" Wrecker's voice is far away, barely registering in Hunter's mind as he practically runs towards the exit. "You okay?"

"Fine," he calls over his shoulder, his hand slamming into the button. The door hisses as it slides open, and a rush of warm, fresh air washes over him. The second his feet hit the ground, he's moving, his legs carrying him as fast as he can.

"Hey!" Wrecker shouts, but Hunter doesn't answer. He's halfway down the path, his eyes locked on your figure as you hurry towards him, and when you're close enough to touch, he's pulling you into his arms.

Your hands slide around his neck, fingers tangling in his hair as he crushes you to his chest. He doesn't realize he's crying until he hears you whisper his name, but then you're laughing, soft and beautiful, and all he can do is hold you tighter, your scent enveloping him as he breathes you in. He can't keep himself from pressing his lips to the skin behind your ear, needing to feel the warmth of you, the solidness, the realness of you here, alive, with him.

"Hunter," you whisper, and his name has never sounded so sweet. Your voice, your hands, the sound of your breath as it ghosts across his skin, the way you say his name. All of it is like a balm to his soul, soothing his worry, and for a moment, everything feels right again.

Hunter lifts his head and cups your cheeks in his hands, forcing you to look at him, and you do.

Your eyes are shining, tears brimming along the edges, and when you blink, they spill over. He thumbs them away, smiling so wide his cheeks ache.

"Hi," he whispers. You laugh, a sob escaping with it, and he feels his heart soar at the sound.

"Hi," you say back, and then you're surging forward, capturing his lips with yours.

It's a desperate kiss, the kind that says how much you've missed each other, how afraid you were of never seeing the other again. It's the first kiss you've shared in months, and it's the best damn kiss Hunter's ever had. The world narrows down to just the two of you, and nothing else exists, not the trees or the ship or his family watching from the hatch, their jaws hanging open.

It's just him and you, finally, blissfully, reunited.

He kisses you hard, and you return the pressure, clutching him close. His arms slip around your waist, lifting you off the ground for a moment, and you gasp against his mouth, laughing when he sets you down again.

"Miss me?" you ask, a teasing note to your voice, and Hunter pulls back just enough to meet your eyes.

"Yeah," he replies, and then he's kissing you again, softer this time. Gentler. His lips move against yours, slow and deliberate, and your fingers tighten their grip in his hair. 

He doesn't know how long it's been since he's started kissed you, or how long you've been kissing him, but it doesn't matter. It's not enough, could never be enough. He needs more of you, needs every part of you pressed against him, so close he can feel your heartbeat.

You hum, your hand moving to cup the back of his head, and the kiss deepens. Hunter's hands drift, sliding down the curve of your spine until his palms are pressed flat against the small of your back, and he pulls you closer. Your body molds to his perfectly, and you're warm and soft and so unbelievably real, and he never wants to let you go.

"Uh..."

The sudden intrusion startles him, and he pulls away from the kiss with a jerk, looking over his shoulder. The rest of his squad is staring at him, dumbfounded, and he can't keep the blush from creeping up his neck.

"Uh," he repeats, his face flushing. "Hey."

Wrecker's jaw is hanging open, and so is Tech's. Hunter doesn't think he's ever seen either of his brothers at a loss for words.

"We, uh..." Hunter clears his throat, glancing back at you. Your cheeks are flushed, lips swollen from the kiss, but you're grinning up at him, your eyes dancing. You give him a little nod, a silent permission to tell them the truth, and his heart flutters. "We were going to tell you, but things... got in the way."

Wrecker is the first to recover, his surprise shifting into a massive smile.

"I knew it!" he yells, pumping his fist in the air. "I told ya, didn't I? Didn't I?"

"That you did," Tech replies. His mouth is still open, but he closes it quickly, pushing his goggles up his nose before reaching up to scratch the back of his head. "Well, this is... certainly unexpected."

"That's an understatement," Echo mutters. He glances at Hunter, his brow raised. "So, how long has this been going on?"

"Uh..." Hunter's eyes dart to you, but you only smile at him. He swallows the lump in his throat and takes a deep breath. "It's been a couple years."

"A couple years?"

"Yeah."

"Years," Echo repeats. "Right. Okay."

"You could have told us," Tech says. He's looking at Hunter now, his face impassive, but Hunter can read the hurt in his eyes hidden behind the mask of indifference. "We wouldn't have betrayed your trust."

"I know," Hunter sighs, running a hand over his head. "We just... we wanted to keep it quiet."

"It was my idea," you say, and Hunter's surprised to see you look guilty. Your eyes are fixed on the ground, and he watches the way your bottom lip wobbles before you suck it into your mouth. You look up at him through your lashes, and he offers you a reassuring smile. You return it, but it's hesitant. "The Order's views on attachment were... a little different, to say the least. It would have put both of us at risk if anyone found out. So we kept it secret."

"Well, now you don't have to," Wrecker grins.

"No, I suppose not," you reply, smiling at him, but there's a sadness to your expression that makes Hunter's chest tighten. He can only imagine how difficult the last few months have been for you, what it's like to be in hiding, constantly looking over your shoulder. His arms ache to wrap around you again, to pull you into his chest and hold you close, to protect you from everything and everyone.

But he can't.

The Empire is everywhere, always watching. The war might be over, but the danger isn't gone, not yet. Not for him, and not for you.

"Can I come out now?" a voice voice drifts from the ship, and Hunter looks up, surprised. His eyes land on Omega, her arms crossed over her chest. She looks irritated, a frown pulling at her lips, and he chuckles.

"Yeah, kid," he says, nodding his head towards the ramp. "Come on."

Omega wastes no time in running out of the ship, her irritation forgotten in her excitement. She skids to a stop a few feet away, her eyes wide as she stares at you. You kneel down, a warm smile spreading across your face, and Hunter feels his heart squeeze in his chest.

"Hey," you say softly. "You must be Omega. I've heard a lot about you."

Omega steps forward, holding her hand out for you to shake, and you take it.

"Nice to meet you," she says politely.

"And you," you reply, giving her hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. Your eyes are soft as you study her face, a fondness to your expression that Hunter's only seen a few times.

He knows how much you love children. The Order never allowed its members to have families, but that hasn't stopped you from falling in love with kids everywhere you go. He's seen the way your eyes light up when you're around them, how gently you speak to them, like they're the most important people in the galaxy. 

He knows it's just the way you are, but sometimes, he wonders if it's something more. If maybe, someday, you'd want to have kids of your own.

And the thought terrifies him.

Not because he doesn't want a family with you, but because the world is changing, and he's not sure there's any place for it. You're in hiding, and he's a traitor to the Republic. How would it ever work?

He knows you wouldn't care about the dangers, though. You'd risk everything for a chance at a normal life, a family, and while he'd give anything for that too, he doesn't think he can allow himself to get his hopes up.

Not now. Not yet.

He's lost in thought, his gaze drifting to the trees surrounding the house, when a tug on his arm brings him back. You're looking up at him, an eyebrow raised, and when he blinks, you roll your eyes, a fond smile twitching at your lips.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "What did you say?"

"I was asking how long you're staying," you repeat, but he can tell by the look on your face you know what's going on in his head. You're giving him a moment to compose himself, a distraction to keep him from slipping into another spiral.

It's a common occurrence these days.

"Well," Hunter starts, glancing at the rest of his team. "We're kind of... between jobs, right now."

"That's putting it lightly," Echo scoffs.

"So we figured we could use a little vacation," Hunter finishes. He looks back at you. "If you'll have us."

"Of course I will," you smile, and Hunter doesn't miss the way your shoulders relax, the relief in your eyes. "Stay as long as you want."

"We don't want to intrude," Hunter says, his gaze softening. "If you need some space, we understand. We can—"

"Don't be ridiculous," you huff, nudging his shoulder. "I'd love to have you."

"Really?"

"Yeah, of course," you nod, glancing at the others. "All of you."

"Good," Hunter breathes, unable to keep the sigh of relief from escaping his lips. "I didn't really wanna leave anyway."

"Good," you say, leaning into his side. You rest your head against his shoulder, and Hunter's arm wraps around you almost automatically, pulling you against him. "I've missed you."

"Yeah," Hunter says softly. "Me too."

"Oh, yeah," Wrecker grins. "He hasn't shut up about you."

"Wrecker," Hunter hisses.

"No, really," Tech nods, adjusting his goggles. "Ever since we lost contact, he hasn't stopped talking about you."

"Not that he wasn't always talking about her," Echo teases.

"Hey," Hunter protests, but he can feel his cheeks burning, and he knows the blush is starting to creep up his neck. You're smiling, a knowing glint in your eye as you glance up at him, and Hunter rolls his eyes. "They're exaggerating."

"We are not," Tech says, frowning at him.

"Maybe not," Echo smirks, his gaze settling on you. "But now we know why he's been so weird about seeing you again."

"He's been weird?" you ask. You're trying to hold back a laugh, but Hunter can see the mirth in your eyes.

"He hasn't stopped pacing for days."

"He nearly fell over his own feet trying to get off the ship."

"Oh, yeah, he was nervous all right," Wrecker chuckles, crossing his arms over his chest. "Never seen him like that before. I was startin' to get worried."

"Guys," Hunter grumbles. "Come on."

"Well," you smile, patting his chest. "I'm glad you came. All of you."

"Us too," Omega says. Her face is scrunched up, like she's trying not to laugh. "Hunter was so nervous he forgot how to breathe."

"Alright, that's enough," Hunter huffs. He can feel his ears burning, and he shoots Omega a pointed look. "Everyone, inside."

"Aw, but—"

"Now," Hunter snaps, cutting Wrecker off. He's not mad, not really, but he can't help the embarrassment. "We'll be there in a minute."

Wrecker opens his mouth to protest, but Echo nudges him, nodding his head towards the house. Tech doesn't wait for either of them, heading inside without another word, and Wrecker reluctantly follows after him, grumbling under his breath. Omega casts one last look over her shoulder, waving at you before disappearing inside.

The silence that settles over the two of you is heavy, and Hunter lets out a long breath. He runs a hand over his hair, avoiding your eyes.

"I can't believe they told you that," he mutters, but he can feel your gaze on him, the smile in your eyes, and his irritation fades.

"They're only teasing," you say, resting a hand on his cheek. You brush your thumb over his skin, and he closes his eyes, letting out a shaky breath. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," he replies, opening his eyes to look at you. Your smile is soft, gentle, and he melts under your gaze. "Just a little overwhelmed."

"Me too," you chuckle, dropping your hand. He quickly grabs it, pulling it to his chest, and your expression shifts. "I've been so worried, Hunter. I thought..."

"I know," he whispers. His grip tightens on your hand. "I've missed you so much."

"I missed you too," you whisper back. Your voice wavers, and Hunter tugs on your arm, bringing you closer.

"I'm here now," he murmurs, tilting his head down. "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."

You nod, but the fear is still shining in your eyes. He knows that feeling all too well, the uncertainty, the constant worry, the doubt. And it's hard to believe him, he knows, when the past few months have been nothing but fear and anxiety. But he's determined to make it better, to do whatever it takes to ease your mind, even if it's just for a little while.

He leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours, and the contact makes you sigh.

"I'm gonna take care of you," he says softly, bringing a hand up to cup your cheek. He strokes the skin with his thumb, his fingers gentle, and his heart stutters in his chest at the way your eyes flutter closed. "You don't have to worry anymore. I'll make sure nothing happens to you, I promise."

"You don't have to—"

"I know," he cuts you off, brushing his nose against yours. "But I'm going to. We're gonna protect you, sweetheart. All of us."

"Thank you," you whisper, opening your eyes. He's startled by the emotion swimming in your gaze, the tears pooling along the edges, and the sight breaks his heart. “But I can’t put you guys in danger. The Empire—”

"The Empire won't do anything," he assures you. "You're safe. We'll keep you safe."

"But what if—"

"Listen," he murmurs, stroking his thumb over your cheek. You suck your lip into your mouth, chewing on the flesh, and he gently pries it from your teeth. "None of that. I won't let anything happen to you. Neither will they. You're part of the team, and we take care of our own. No matter what."

"You don't have to do this, Hunter."

"I know," he says, his voice low. He doesn't want to push, doesn't want to force you to come with them, but he needs you to believe him. Needs you to understand. "But I want to. Please. Let me take care of you. It'll be good for all of us."

You're quiet for a moment, your brow furrowed, but then you let out a soft sigh, your shoulders slumping, and your eyes drop to the ground.

"Okay," you whisper. "Okay."

"Hey," Hunter says. His free hand tilts your chin up, forcing you to look at him. "Trust me, alright? You're safe now."

You nod, but you don't look convinced. He sighs, leaning forward until his lips brush against yours, featherlight, barely there.

"We can talk more later," he murmurs. He's desperate to kiss you again, his whole body aching for it, but he doesn't want to rush you. He's willing to wait, no matter how badly he wants you. "If you're okay with it."

"Yes," you breathe, your hands coming up to clutch at his armor, and you press a soft kiss to his jaw. "I'd like that."

He lets out a shaky breath, fighting the urge to press his hips into yours, but then your hands slide up over his shoulders to tangle in his hair, and he groans. You chuckle, a sweet, breathy sound that has his blood singing, and Hunter's restraint crumbles.

He kisses you, slow and deliberate, and his hands are moving on their own. He lifts you into his arms, and you wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him closer. You're pliant under his touch, letting him guide the kiss, and he licks at your lips, begging for entrance. You give it easily, and his tongue sweeps into your mouth, curling against yours.

His hips press against yours, and your body is hot against him, so soft and perfect. You taste so good, and feel even better, and the sounds you're making, the little whines and gasps, are driving him crazy.

"I'm not letting you out of my sight," he murmurs, pulling away from the kiss. He's breathing hard, his pulse thrumming, and he can't keep the smirk off his face. You look beautiful, flushed and breathless, and his desire spikes when your fingers tug at his hair.

"Fine with me," you smile.

"Good." He kisses you again, deep and slow, and his hands drift lower. "I've got a lot of time to make up for."

"Mmm," you hum, your head falling back. Hunter can't resist the urge to kiss your throat, his teeth grazing over the delicate skin, and you shudder. A breathy moan falls from your lips, soft and quiet, but Hunter hears it. He always does.

"Fuck," he growls. "You sound so pretty."

"Hunter," you sigh. His name is the sweetest thing he's ever heard, and he has to fight the urge to take you right then and there.

"We should go inside," he murmurs, brushing his lips over the shell of your ear.

"Mmhmm," you reply. You're nuzzling his neck, your hot breath sending shivers down his spine, and his hold on you tightens.

"Sweetheart," he groans. "I can't think straight when you do that."

"That's the idea."

"Come on," he says. He's reluctant to put you down, but he does, his hands lingering on your waist for a moment.

You look at him, your eyes bright, and your smile makes his chest ache. He wants so badly to stay with you, to pull you into his lap and bury himself in your warmth, to have the freedom to kiss you, touch you, love you, without having to worry about getting caught. He's never been able to do that before, always keeping you a secret, always worried about being found out, but the Order doesn't exist anymore, and now he has the chance.

And he's going to take it.

He's not going to hide his feelings anymore. You deserve more than that.

You reach up and touch his cheek, the gentle gesture enough to calm his racing heart.

"Let's go," you say, your thumb stroking over his skin. "Before they get suspicious."

"I'm pretty sure they're already suspicious," he chuckles, glancing towards the house.

"It's a little obvious, isn't it?"

"Yeah," he admits, his face heating up. "A little."

You laugh, taking his hand in yours. You're leading him towards the door, but he stops, giving you a gentle tug.

"Hey," he murmurs, waiting for you to turn around. You do, a small smile tugging at your lips, and he can't help the way his eyes dart down to your mouth, the memory of your kiss sending a thrill down his spine.

"What?"

"I love you," he whispers. He's not sure why he says it. You know how he feels, you've known it for a long time, but something about it feels different, now. Like it means more than it did before.

Maybe it does.

Your expression softens, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards, and he can see the happiness in your eyes, the fondness. It's a look he's familiar with, one he's seen many times, but the knowledge that he can see it as much as he wants now, without having to hide or sneak around, makes his heart flutter in his chest.

"I love you, too," you whisper, a smile spreading across your face.

"Come here," he says. You're in his arms again before you can say a word, his mouth finding yours, and you're melting into his touch, the kiss deepening, turning desperate. He has to pull away before his brain completely shuts down, and when he does, he rests his forehead against yours, breathing heavily.

"Later," he promises, his voice a rasp.

"Later," you agree.

He lets out a long breath, nodding his head once before stepping back. His hand slides down to rest at the small of your back, and he gives you a gentle nudge, nodding towards the house. You smile, reaching up to straighten his bandana, and Hunter can't help but chuckle at the action.

"Lead the way," you say.

"Always," he grins, and then you're walking up the path, the warmth of the sun enveloping you as you step onto the porch.

The door slides open before Hunter can even reach for the panel, Wrecker's smiling face poking out.

"Oh, good," he says, looking at the two of you. "I was beginning to think you'd forgotten about us."

"Of course not," you reply.

Wrecker's grin widens, and then he's stepping aside, his arm sweeping towards the inside of the house.

"After you, General."

"Thanks," you smile, nodding your head in appreciation. Hunter follows behind, his hand hovering at the base of your spine. Wrecker doesn't miss the movement, his eyebrows shooting up, but he doesn't say anything. He just watches, a knowing look in his eyes, and Hunter rolls his own.

"Not a word," he warns.

"Wasn't gonna say anything," Wrecker smirks, his gaze flickering to the hand resting on your back. "Not sure I need to."

"Don't start," Hunter sighs. He slows to a stop, crossing his arms over his chest, and you keep walking, a laugh spilling from your lips as you head towards the kitchen.

"Hey," Wrecker raises his hands in surrender, but the grin doesn't fade. "I'm happy for you. Both of you."

Hunter blinks. "Thanks," he says slowly.

"I mean it." Wrecker smiles. He claps a hand on Hunter's shoulder, a silent confirmation of his words, and Hunter returns the gesture. "You two deserve each other."

"Yeah," Hunter says, looking over at you. You're already in the kitchen, Tech at your side, and the two of you are talking rapidly at each other with Omega sitting on the counter between you. Tech's arms are waving wildly, a datapad gripped tightly in his hands, and you're grinning at him, the excitement obvious on your face. Echo is stirring a pot of something, the delicious smell of dinner drifting through the house, and he chimes in every now and then, his smile growing wider each time.

Omega glances up at him, and she gives him a little wave, her grin so wide her cheeks must ache. Hunter smiles back, his heart swelling, and he can't help but think, maybe everything is going to be alright.

You look so at home with his family, like you've always been a part of it, like you've always belonged there. And maybe you have. Maybe, this was where you were supposed to end up all along.

It's funny, how things work out sometimes. How, even after losing so much, even after having nearly everything taken from him, he somehow still managed to find something good.

"I guess we do,” Hunter finally replies, his gaze settling on you. He can't tear his eyes away, can't stop looking at the way the setting sun dances over your face, lighting you up in the most beautiful glow, the way your smile makes his heart beat faster.

Wrecker follows his gaze, the corners of his mouth twitching upwards. "So, does this mean she agreed to stay with us?"

"Yeah," Hunter sighs, unable to keep the smile off his face. "Yeah, she is."

"Good," Wrecker says. His smile widens. "That's good."

"It's going to be hard, keeping things quiet," Hunter says, glancing at his brother. "We've got a target on our backs, and I'm not sure how much longer we can hide. The Empire will find us eventually, and when they do—"

"It's okay," Wrecker interrupts, holding his hand up. "I know. But it's worth it, right? To keep her safe? And Omega?”

"Yeah," Hunter says without hesitation. "It is."

"Then we'll do whatever we have to," Wrecker replies. He nods towards the kitchen. "They'll understand. ‘Sides, Omega's gotta have a mom at some point. Might as well be her."

Hunter's breath catches, his chest tightening. "Wrecker—"

"You're happy," he continues, ignoring Hunter's protest. "You haven't been happy since... well, not since I can remember. And she makes you happy. And she's good with the kid, too. I can see how much she loves you, and how much you love her. So, what's the problem?"

Hunter stares at him, the surprise clear on his face.

"I, uh... nothing. There's no problem," he stammers, his brow furrowing.

"Good," Wrecker grins. He nudges him with his elbow, giving him a wink. "She's good for you, Sarge. And we're not gonna let anyone take that away from you. No matter what happens."

"Thanks," Hunter replies. He swallows the lump in his throat and blinks back the sudden moisture in his eyes. Wrecker squeezes his shoulder, smiling down at him, and Hunter takes a shaky breath.

"Don't mention it," Wrecker says. "Come on. I‘m starving."

"You're always hungry."

"Well, yeah," he scoffs. "We gotta keep our strength up, right? Especially if we're gonna be fighting off Imperials."

He mimes a punch, his fist slamming into his palm, and Hunter chuckles.

"Yeah, alright," he agrees. "Let's go eat."

The two of them walk into the kitchen, Wrecker immediately making a beeline for the pot Echo is stirring, and Hunter makes his way over to where you're standing with Tech.

He stands beside you, close enough for his arm to brush against yours, but he doesn't touch you. He keeps his hands at his sides, his fingers curling into his palms, but the desire to wrap his arms around you is overwhelming.

He knows you'll let him, but it's only been a few hours, and he's afraid if he touches you again, he won't be able to stop.

Tech is explaining something to you, his hands moving rapidly as he talks, and Hunter watches, his head tilted to the side. He's only half listening to what his brother is saying, but he's content to just watch the two of you interact. You're so invested in the conversation, asking questions, listening intently as Tech answers, and Hunter can't help but smile at the sight.

"So, what do you think?"

Tech's voice startles him out of his thoughts, and he shakes his head, forcing his attention back to the present.

"Uh... sorry," he mutters, glancing at you. "What was that?"

“Tech wants to gut my ship for parts like a bantha carcass," you huff. You're smirking at him, amusement shining in your eyes. "He's trying to convince me to let him take it apart."

"It's not as though we have much use for it," Tech argues. "And besides, it would give me something to do while we're here."

“Aren’t you all supposed to be relaxing?”

“I happen to find tinkering with electronics quite relaxing," Tech replies. "Especially old ones. And it will keep me busy, which means I won’t be pestering you. So really, you would be doing yourself a favor by allowing me to do this.”

Hunter smirks. “He’s got a point.”

“Traitor,” you mutter, nudging his shoulder.

He nudges you back, his grin widening, and you roll your eyes.

"Alright, fine," you sigh.

"Excellent," Tech smiles. He turns his attention back to the datapad in his hands, his eyes darting across the screen. “Omega, would you like to help me dismantle this ship? It will give you a chance to learn more about the components of different models."

"Sure," she nods. She jumps down from the counter, landing with a soft thud. 

Hunter watches the two of them disappear into the living room before looking at you. You're smiling softly, your head tilted to the side, and he can't stop his gaze from wandering, taking in every detail of your face.

"You're staring," you murmur. You look at him out of the corner of your eye, and the hint of a smile tugging at your lips betrays your feigned irritation.

"Can’t help it,” he replies. He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your hip. The simple touch is enough to send a spark shooting through him, a warmth blooming low in his stomach, and his grip tightens, pulling you closer.

"Hunter," you laugh, your eyes widening.

"Hmm?"

"We're not alone."

"We're not?" He arches an eyebrow. "Didn't notice."

"Hunter," you hiss, but there's no bite to your words, just a soft laugh. "Stop it."

"No," he grins, leaning forward to brush his lips over your cheek. You shiver, goosebumps erupting across your skin, and he feels a rush of pride at the reaction.

"You're impossible."

"Only because I can be," he murmurs, pressing another kiss to your cheek. You sigh, your eyelids fluttering shut, and Hunter can't resist the urge to brush his mouth over the soft skin, trailing gentle kisses down your neck. You let out a soft whine, the noise so quiet only he can hear it, and his body reacts instinctively, his hands tightening, his hips shifting closer.

"Hunter," you gasp, your voice low.

"You smell so good," he groans. His nose brushes against your throat, and he inhales deeply, breathing in the sweet scent. It sends a thrill through him, a burst of heat washing over his body, and he nuzzles the skin, his lips ghosting along the edge of your jaw.

He doesn't want to stop. He wants to keep going, wants to drag his mouth across every inch of you until there's no part untouched, until the taste of you is burned into his memory for good. But he's aware of the others in the room, and he forces himself to pull away. He puts some distance between you, enough so that he can breathe, but he can't bring himself to move too far away.

"Tonight," Hunter says, his voice rough. He glances over his shoulder, making sure the others are still distracted, before continuing, "I'm gonna take care of you."

"Mm," you nod. You look dazed, your cheeks flushed, and Hunter feels a surge of satisfaction knowing it's his fault. "You'd better."

"Oh, I will," he smirks. "All night, if you want."

You bite your lip, your eyes sparkling. "Promise?"

"I—"

"Alright, I’m no chef, but I think it’s ready," Echo calls, Wrecker already heading towards the pot with a stack of bowls. He turns around, a spoon in one hand, and Hunter catches a glimpse of a wicked smile. "If you can pry yourselves apart long enough to eat."

"We were just talking," you argue, but your face is red, and Hunter has to bite back a grin.

"Right," Echo laughs, his gaze flickering between you. "Just talking. Got it."

"Echo," Hunter warns.

"I didn't say anything," he replies innocently. He waves his spoon at the two of you, his grin widening. "You can have your little chat after dinner.”

“Enough talking,” Wrecker groans, snatching the spoon from Echo’s hand and shoving him out of the way. "Food first."

"We'll finish this later," Hunter whispers, and you nod.

"I'll hold you to that," you whisper, brushing a kiss against his cheek before you pull away, stepping towards the counter. You glance over your shoulder at him, a sly smile curling your lips, and Hunter has to force himself not to follow after you. He waits until you're busy helping Wrecker dish out the food before moving, and even then, he makes sure to keep his distance.

It's difficult.

The need to be near you is overwhelming, and he can't stand the thought of leaving you for even a moment. But he doesn't want to crowd you, either, and he has to remind himself that you're not going anywhere.

You're here, and he's here, and nothing is going to take him away from you. Not again.

The thought settles over him, calming the ache in his chest, and he finally allows himself to relax, falling into an easy rhythm with the others as the six of you gather around the table. He takes a seat next to you, his leg pressed against yours, and his arm is draped over the back of your chair, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin. You lean into his side, your body fitting against his like it was made to, and the warmth of you is enough to ease the last bit of tension that's been lingering beneath the surface.

The rest of the night passes in a blur. Hunter loses track of how many times his hand drifts to your side, or his fingers slip into your own, or his lips press against your temple. Every time he does it, he expects a reaction from you, a protest or an admonishment or a roll of the eyes, but each time, you simply smile, your eyes crinkling at the corners, and he finds himself doing it again, unable to stop himself.

It’s easy, familiar, like this is how it was always meant to be, and the fact that he can finally hold you without fear of getting caught is a relief that's impossible to put to words. There's no more hiding, no more sneaking around, no more worrying about being seen standing too close together or his hands lingering too long. It's freeing, not having to hide how he feels, not having to pretend like his feelings don't exist.

It's the most natural thing in the world.

And he's going to enjoy every second of it.

Eventually, the meal ends, the food vanishing into Wrecker's stomach, and Hunter helps you clean up while the others disappear outside. The setting sun guides them toward your ship with Tech in the lead, and Hunter watches them go, his eyes lingering on the door for a moment before returning to you. You're scrubbing at a pot, your brow furrowed in concentration, and he can't help the fond smile that spreads across his face. He leans against the counter, crossing his arms over his chest, content to watch you work.

"You're staring again," you mumble, not bothering to look at him.

"How did you know?"

"I can feel it," you chuckle. You set the pot aside and dry your hands before hanging up the towel. "I always know."

"It's not my fault," he says, pushing off the counter. Hunter closes the distance between the two of you, his hands resting on your hips. "You're hard to resist. And I can't keep my eyes off you."

"You're such a flatterer."

"It's not flattery if it's true."

You shake your head, a smile spreading across your face.

"What?"

"Nothing," you laugh. "Just... the way you're acting. It's kind of cute."

"Cute?" He frowns, his nose wrinkling. "I don't know about that."

"It is." Your arms snake around his neck, your fingers tangling in his hair, and you tilt your head to the side. "I'm used to the serious, stoic Hunter. I like this one, too."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Mmhmm," you hum. Your lips press against his jaw, a soft kiss that has his eyes fluttering shut, and his hands slide down to grip your thighs. He lifts you onto the counter, and your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer.

"Is that so?"

"Uh-huh," you nod, and you kiss him again. This time, it's lower, right where his pulse is jumping under his skin, and he groans, his eyes falling shut.

"I didn't know you liked him so much," he manages to say, his breath hitching.

"I love him," you murmur. "As much as the other one."

"Well," he chuckles. He pulls away just enough to look at you, his hands cradling your face. "I think I can live with that."

You lean forward, and he meets you halfway, his mouth finding yours.

It starts off slow, a lazy kiss, his hands moving from your face to tangle in your hair. But then your lips part, and the soft sound you make is enough to light a fire in his veins, and he's kissing you with everything he has, pouring all his emotion into it. You return it eagerly, matching him stroke for stroke, and when his tongue brushes against yours, the groan he lets out is so loud he can't even hear the others yelling outside.

It doesn't matter, anyway. Nothing does, except the two of you.

"Bedroom," you gasp, breaking the kiss. "Now."

"Yeah," he pants. He grabs your thighs, pulling you off the counter, and you wrap your legs around his waist, his arms hooking under your knees.

He doesn't say anything else. He can't. He just kisses you, his tongue sliding past your parted lips, and your nails dig into his shoulders, a desperate moan spilling from your throat.

He carries you through the house, navigating the halls blindly, too focused on kissing you to care where he's going. He nearly trips over a chair, but he manages to keep his balance, and you laugh, the sound vibrating against his mouth. He breaks the kiss long enough to shoot you a playful glare, and you beam back.

"In a hurry, are we?"

"You have no idea," he mutters. He kicks the door to your bedroom open, shutting it behind him with his foot, and strides across the room. "Been wanting this for too damn long."

"Mm," you sigh. You're kissing his neck now, your tongue lapping at his skin, and his pace quickens. He feels the softness of the mattress hit the back of his legs, and he sits, his hands shifting to cup your thighs.

"Missed you," he rasps as you settle into his lap. You're straddling him now, and the heat of you against him is driving him crazy. "Missed you so much."

"Missed you too," you whisper, and your hands are cupping his face, pulling him towards you. Your fingers trace the outline of his tattoo, your touch gentle, almost reverent. He closes his eyes, savoring the feeling, and his breath hitches as you brush your lips over his temple.

"I can't believe this is real," he admits, his voice low. "I keep thinking it's some kind of dream, that I'm gonna wake up and find myself back on the ship."

"It's not a dream," you promise. You press a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his nose, and then, finally, his mouth. It's soft, chaste, but no less intense, and Hunter sighs, his hands sliding up to curl around your waist.

"You're really here," he whispers. "I didn't think..."

"I'm not going anywhere," you assure him, and the conviction in your voice makes his heart ache. Your forehead is resting against his, your lips barely an inch apart, and he can feel your breath ghosting across his skin. "I love you."

"I'm sorry," he breathes. "For not coming to you sooner. For not—"

"Hunter, stop," you cut him off, your fingers pressing against his mouth. He quiets instantly, his gaze locked with yours. "It's not your fault. There was nothing you could've done."

"I could've tried harder," he protests. "Could've tried to find you."

"You couldn't," you sigh, shaking your head. "You know that. I didn't want to be found. I'm not even supposed to be here. If anyone finds me, I'm as good as dead."

"I won't let that happen."

"I know," you smile. Your thumbs rub gentle circles against his cheeks, and you press a kiss to the corner of his mouth. "And I love you for it. But we can't change the past. We just have to make the most of the time we have now."

"Right," he nods. He swallows the lump in his throat, trying to push away the guilt, the anger, the regret. "I just..."

"What?"

He lets out a long breath, his shoulders slumping. "Do you ever think about what it could've been like? If we hadn't lost each other? If...things had gone differently, and the war had ended the way it was supposed to?"

"Yeah," you admit, and you give him a sad smile, the corners of your mouth twitching upwards. "Sometimes."

"Me too," Hunter whispers. He pulls you closer, burying his face in your neck. You hold him there, your arms wrapping around him, and his hands drift up to clutch at the back of your shirt. He inhales deeply, taking in the scent of you, letting it fill him up, ground him.

"Sometimes I wonder," you murmur, your voice low, "what would've happened if we'd met in a different life. If we were just people, with no obligations or duties, no expectations or responsibilities. No wars, no battles, no death. Just us."

"A life together," he mumbles, the words muffled against your skin.

"Yeah," you say, and you sigh, a wistful sound that sends a pang through his chest. "A life together."

"We'd have a place like this," he says. He glances up at you, his chin resting on your chest. "A home."

You hum in agreement, leaning down to press a kiss to his forehead. "We would."

"We'd be happy," he continues. He smiles at you, a small, sad thing, and your fingers trace the curve of his lips. "We'd have a family. Maybe even kids. And we wouldn't have to hide."

"We wouldn't," you agree, a tear slipping down your cheek. He reaches up, catching it before it can fall, and brushes his thumb over your cheekbone, wiping away the dampness.

"I would've married you," he whispers. His voice breaks on the word, and he has to pause, taking a deep breath before continuing. "If I could. I would've married you, and given you everything I had."

"Hunter," you whisper, your voice breaking.

"I'm sorry," he sighs. "I just—"

"No, no," you cut him off with a shake of your head. You kiss him again, and he melts into it, the feel of your lips against his enough to soothe the ache in his chest.

"We could still have it," he breathes, his mouth moving over your jaw, the skin so soft and warm and inviting. "We could."

"I know," you reply, and you tilt your head back, allowing him access to your neck. He nips at the sensitive skin, and you shudder, a whimper falling from your lips.

"Do you want it?" he asks, his voice low. He's not sure why he does, not sure what he wants the answer to be, but the question falls from his mouth without thought.

"More than anything," you admit, and Hunter feels his heart skip a beat.

"Then we'll make it happen," he promises. "If you'll have me."

"I already do," you whisper, and then you're kissing him again, harder this time, with more desperation, like you need to prove how much you mean it.

His hands wander, mapping out every curve, every contour, every inch of your body, and your own exploration isn't far behind, the two of you touching and caressing and stroking in a way that leaves him panting, his heart racing.

"Please," you whimper, and the sound goes straight to his cock.

"Anything," he rasps. "Whatever you want."

"I just want you."

"You have me," he breathes. "You'll always have me."

You're kissing him again, the desperation in your touch increasing with every second that passes. He feels like his entire body is on fire, like the slightest touch could set him off, and he groans into your mouth, his tongue darting out to trace the seam of your lips.

He knows what you want, and he gives it to you without hesitation, his mouth opening wide as he dips his tongue inside, his fingers digging into your hips. You gasp, and he swallows the noise, his hands gripping the fabric of your shirt.

He pulls it up and over your head, breaking the kiss for only a moment, and he takes the opportunity to drink in the sight of you, his gaze sweeping over every inch of exposed skin.

You're so beautiful, it almost hurts to look at you.

You stare back, your chest heaving, your eyes dark with lust. You're biting your lip, and his own mouth falls open, his eyes widening.

He doesn't say a word. He can't. His brain can't seem to form a coherent thought, not when you're looking at him like that, and he swallows, his eyes darting to the swell of your breasts. You're wearing a bra, but it's not much, a scrap of lace and silk that leaves nothing to the imagination. He can see the outline of your nipples, the stiff peaks pressing against the fabric, and he can't help but reach up and run his thumb over one, the contact making him shiver.

"Hunter," you whimper, your eyelids fluttering shut. He repeats the action, watching in fascination as your chest rises and falls, and he does it again, the soft whine that falls from your lips spurring him on.

"Look at you," he murmurs, his hand cupping your breast. "So perfect."

He leans down, his mouth closing over the soft mound, and he sucks gently, his tongue lapping at the hard nub through the fabric. Your back arches, a broken moan escaping your lips, and Hunter feels a rush of heat shoot through him, his cock straining against the confines of his pants.

"Fuck," he curses, his breath hot against your skin, his hands moving to undo his belt. It's a struggle, his fingers shaking, but he manages, tugging it free and tossing it to the side. As soon as it hits the ground, you're pushing his hands away, taking over, and he grins, letting you take the lead.

"Here, let me," you murmur as your fingers work to unclip his armor. He nods, sitting back on his hands and admiring the view as you remove each piece, dropping them to the floor. The way your brow furrows in concentration, the softness of your skin, the swell of your breasts as they rise and fall with every breath, the warmth of your hands, the gentleness of your touch, all of it sends another wave of heat crashing through him.

It's breathtaking, the sight of you, and Hunter can't help the pride that swells in his chest. It’s not the first time he’s felt it, the rush of joy that comes with seeing the woman he loves, but it still catches him off guard.

He wonders, briefly, if he'll ever get used to the feeling. If he ever stops being amazed by how incredible you are, how lucky he is to have found you.

"What are you thinking about?"

You're kneeling in front of him now, your hands resting on his knees, and the question startles him out of his thoughts.

"Nothing," he says, and you tilt your head to the side, giving him a knowing look. He chuckles, reaching out to cup your cheek, his thumb stroking along your jaw. "Just admiring the view."

"Oh, really?"

"Really," he replies, his gaze dropping to the exposed flesh of your chest. He can't stop himself from leaning forward, his fingers skimming along the lace, before brushing over the delicate skin of your cleavage.

"Hunter," you whimper, arching into him.

"Beautiful," he says. His eyes meet yours, a wicked grin pulling at his lips. "I can't wait to get my mouth on you."

You blush, the heat creeping up your neck, and Hunter chuckles, pulling you towards him. He wraps his arms around you, burying his face in your chest.

“But first,” he murmurs against your chest. His lips brush over your sternum, his nose skimming the tops of your breasts, and his hands find the waistband of your pants, tugging the fabric down. “I want to see all of you.”

You moan, letting him pull the material down your thighs, your eyes slipping shut as his hands glide along your legs. You step out of the clothing, them aside, and he takes the opportunity to remove his pants and shirt, tossing them into the growing pile of clothes.

You stand between his legs, staring down at him in nothing but your bra and panties, and Hunter has to take a deep breath. The sight of you is almost too much, the need coiling in his belly threatening to overwhelm him, but he manages to rein himself in.

"Gorgeous," he whispers. His hands are on your thighs, his thumbs rubbing slow circles into the sensitive flesh. "Come here."

He pulls you into his lap, guiding you to straddle his hips, and you go willingly, settling yourself onto his thighs. He presses a kiss to the hollow of your throat, his teeth grazing the skin, and you sigh, tilting your head to the side, granting him access.

"You smell so good," he murmurs. His nose traces the column of your neck, breathing in the sweet scent. It sends a thrill through him, a wave of desire surging forward, and his hips jerk involuntarily, grinding against yours. His cock is straining against the fabric of his underwear, aching for release, and he can't stop himself from groaning.

"Fuck," he rasps, his teeth scraping against your collarbone as you shift. You're moving against him, a slow roll of your hips, and Hunter can feel his restraint slipping.

"Hunter," you sigh. His mouth moves down, his lips trailing over the swell of your breast, his tongue darting out to lap at the lace covering your nipple.

"You're driving me crazy, sweetheart," he breathes, his breath hot against your skin. "The things I wanna do to you."

"What do you want to do to me?"

He can't stop the groan that escapes him. He grabs your hips, his fingers digging into the flesh, and tugs you down, grinding his clothed erection against you.

"Everything," he growls. His mouth moves along your neck, biting and sucking, leaving a trail of bruises in its wake. "Anything you want. I'd do anything for you."

"Anything?"

"Mmhm," he murmurs, nuzzling your chest. He can't stop himself from licking and sucking, the taste of your skin intoxicating. His hands are roaming up and down your sides, squeezing and caressing, and you arch into him, your body reacting to his touch.

He slides a hand down your spine, his fingers finding the clasp of your bra. He makes quick work of it, unhooking the latch and pulling the straps down your arms. You sit back, letting the fabric fall away, and he can't help but stare, his mouth hanging open.

Your nipples are hard, pebbled and straining, and he can't resist the urge to flick his tongue across one, teasing the stiff peak. You let out a whimper, your fingers tangling in his hair, and he grins, swirling his tongue around the sensitive bud.

"Oh," you gasp. Your eyes are closed, your head tipped back, and Hunter smiles against your skin. He continues his assault, licking and sucking, his teeth grazing over the stiff nub.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" he purrs. You nod, a soft moan falling from your lips. He switches to the other nipple, giving it the same attention, and you squirm in his lap, your hips rocking against his.

"Force, yes," you pant, tugging at his hair. "I missed this. Missed you."

"Me too, sweetheart," he murmurs. His hands move to cup your breasts, squeezing and kneading, and you let out a shaky breath, rolling your hips against his. "I missed touching you, kissing you, being inside you."

"Yes," you whimper. His fingers are plucking at your nipples, pinching and tugging, and you grind down on his lap, desperate for friction. "Please, Hunter."

"Don't worry," he promises. He kisses his way up your chest, along the curve of your neck, and nips at your earlobe. "I'm gonna take care of you."

"Good," you huff, wrapping your arms around his neck. "I've waited long enough."

"Too long," he agrees. He lifts his head, his gaze meeting yours. "But we've got all the time in the world."

You smile at him, cupping his face. For a moment, the two of you simply stare at each other, neither saying a word. He can see the desire in your eyes, the need shining bright, but there's something else, something deeper, and his heart swells, his chest filling with warmth.

Then, without warning, Hunter flips you over, pressing you down into the mattress. He hovers above you, his weight resting on his forearms, and he smirks when you let out a surprised squeal.

"Hunter!"

"Hmm?" he hums, dipping his head to kiss the underside of your jaw. You arch into him, a soft moan escaping you.

"What are you—mm, that feels good," you sigh, tipping your head to the side.

"What's that, sweetheart?"

"Nothing," you murmur. Your arms are draped over his shoulders, your fingers threading through his hair. He presses a kiss to your throat, his teeth scraping over the sensitive skin, and you groan. “Keep going.”

Hunter chuckles, his hands sliding up your thighs. He reaches your hips, his fingers hooking under the waistband of your underwear.

"Lift your hips for me," he says, his breath ghosting across your ear. You obey, lifting yourself up off the mattress, and Hunter pulls the fabric down your legs. He tosses it over his shoulder, not bothering to see where it lands, before turning his attention back to you.

"Perfect," he breathes.

You're spread out in front of him, completely naked, your cheeks flushed, chest heaving, and he's mesmerized. It's not the first time he's seen you like this, but it's been too long, and his memory can't compare to the real thing.

He traces a finger along your inner thigh as he settles between your legs, his hand gliding over the soft flesh, and he watches as goosebumps erupt across your skin. You're trembling, the anticipation clear in your eyes, and Hunter grins, enjoying the effect he has on you.

"Tell me what you want," he says, his fingers ghosting along your slit. He's not surprised to find you wet, the scent of your arousal thick in the air, and he inhales deeply, relishing the familiar aroma.

"I want you," you whimper, your hips bucking upwards. He places a hand on your stomach, holding you down.

"How do you want me?"

"I don't care," you pant, reaching for him. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, your nails digging into the skin, and he bites back a groan. "I just need you. Please."

"Soon," he promises. He kisses your thigh, his lips trailing over the smooth flesh. "Let me take care of you first."

"You don't have to," you insist.

"Oh, I want to," he murmurs, his mouth inches from your center. "So badly."

"Oh," you moan, your back arching as his breath ghosts over your sensitive skin. You're trembling beneath him, and Hunter can't help but smile. It's intoxicating, knowing how badly you want him, and he can't stop the pride that swells in his chest.

His tongue flicks out, teasingly brushing against your folds, and you let out a breathy sigh, your body tensing.

"Stop teasing,” you plead.

"Sorry, sweetheart," he says, though he can’t find it in him to sound apologetic. His fingers part your folds, and his tongue slides through your slick heat, circling your entrance before dragging up to flick over your clit.

"Ah, fuck," you moan as your eyes roll back. Your hands are clutching the sheets, and he grins, swirling his tongue around the bundle of nerves. You gasp, your hips jerking, and he grabs them, holding you in place as he begins to lick and suck.

He wastes no time, his tongue and lips reacquainting themselves with your folds, and the taste of you is enough to make him dizzy. It's sweet and salty, familiar and unfamiliar, and Hunter can't get enough. He buries his face in your cunt, his nose rubbing against your clit as his tongue probes your entrance.

"Oh, Hunter, yes," you pant, your hand shooting down to tangle in his hair. He grins against you at the praise, his tongue plunging inside, and you let out a strangled moan.

He eats you out with enthusiasm, his tongue exploring every inch of your pussy. He's not sure how long he spends there, his face buried between your thighs, his mouth sucking and licking at your cunt. It could be hours, or mere minutes, but he doesn't care. It's perfect, the feeling of you underneath him, the way your body writhes, the noises falling from your lips.

He fucks you with his tongue, his grip on your thighs tightening, and your back arches, a desperate whine escaping you.

"Fuck, yes, Hunter," you cry out, your legs wrapping around his head, locking him in place. He moans, his tongue plunging deeper, his fingers digging into the soft flesh. He can't stop himself, his movements becoming frantic, desperate.

He needs more, craves it. Wants to feel you come apart, to know that it's his name on your lips. That it's his touch making you lose your careful composure.

"That's it," he groans, his breath hot against your pussy. "Come on my face, sweetheart."

He's not sure if it's the words or the way he thrusts his tongue inside, curling and stroking, but something sends you over the edge, and he's rewarded with a choked cry and a gush of slick heat as you clamp down around him.

Your toes curl, your back arching off the bed, and Hunter has to hold you down, his grip tightening as his mouth continues its relentless assault. Your walls pulse around him, clenching and releasing, and he lets out a growl, his tongue pushing deeper.

"Kriff," you moan, your hands clutching at his hair, pulling and tugging. He lets out a muffled groan, his eyes slipping shut, and he savors the feeling, the taste, the smell.

The fact that it's you, that he's the one who got you here, who made you come undone, is enough to send a wave of pleasure coursing through him. It's addicting, the feeling of having you like this, and he can't help the surge of satisfaction that comes with the knowledge that no one else has ever seen you this way. And if he has his way, no one ever will.

"Force, I missed that," he says once you finally relax, your legs falling from his shoulders. He licks his lips, grinning, and wipes his chin with the back of his hand.

"Me too," you breathe, propping yourself up on your elbows. "That was incredible."

"Yeah?" he asks, crawling up your body. He plants a kiss on your sternum, moving higher until his mouth finds yours. You return his messy kiss eagerly, moaning when you taste yourself on his tongue, and he chuckles, cupping your cheek.

"Mmhm," you sigh.

"Good," he murmurs, kissing you again. His tongue probes your mouth, searching for every last drop of sweetness. You cling to him, your nails digging into his shoulders, and he grunts, his cock twitching at the feeling.

"Need you," you whisper, breaking the kiss. Your hands slip down, coming to rest on his ass. You give him a squeeze, a playful grin on your lips, and Hunter can't stop the smirk that pulls at his mouth.

"Patience, sweetheart," he says. "We've got all the time in the galaxy."

"No," you shake your head, hooking your leg around his waist. You pull him closer, the hard line of his clothed cock rubbing against your clit, and you moan, grinding against him. "I need you now."

"Kriff," he groans, his head falling forward. The heat is radiating off of you, and he can't stop himself from pushing against you, seeking relief. "Yeah, alright. But I wanna take my time with you."

"We can take our time later," you promise. You tug at his underwear, pulling the fabric down his thighs, and he kicks them off, sighing in relief as his cock springs free. A pleased noise escapes you at the sight of him, hard and straining, and your other leg wraps around him, urging him on.

"Sweetheart," he breathes, his hips rolling. His cock is trapped between the two of you, sliding through your slick folds, and the sensation is almost too much.

"Please," you beg, tilting your hips upwards. You're soaking wet, the head of his cock sliding through the mess, and it's all he can do not to sink inside you.

"Fuck," he hisses. His grip on your waist tightens, and he presses a kiss to your neck, his lips tracing a path along the curve. You moan, arching into him, and he takes the opportunity to capture your lips in another messy kiss. He can feel the desire pouring off you, the need coursing through your veins, and it's overwhelming. He doesn’t even notice your legs tightening around him, not until you flip him over, and suddenly you're on top of him, straddling his lap.

"Shit," he gasps, his eyes wide. "That was—"

"Fast?" you finish. He nods, swallowing hard, and you laugh, the sound sending a shiver down his spine. “I think you forgot what I am, Hunter."

"Never," he whispers, his hands roaming up and down your thighs. He takes in the view, his eyes trailing over the length of your body, from the flush on your cheeks to the way your breasts sway with every breath, to the glistening wetness coating your thighs and the base of his cock. "You're incredible."

"Yeah?"

"Mmhm," he hums. His gaze drifts up, meeting yours, and he smiles, the sight of you making his heart swell. "You're perfect."

"I love you," you say, and Hunter can't help the warmth that spreads through him at the words. He's heard them a hundred times before, but each time, it still feels new. Like the first time.

"I love you, too," he replies. His fingers brush over your clit, gathering the wetness, and he slides his hand down, taking himself in his fist. "Ready?"

"Yes," you breathe.

You rise up onto your knees, placing a hand on his chest for balance, and Hunter guides himself to your entrance. His cock slides between your folds, the tip nudging at your entrance, and you both moan, the sound mixing together.

Hunter has to fight to keep his eyes open, to keep his hands steady. He wants to watch as you sink down on his cock, to see the pleasure wash over you as he fills you. He knows what it feels like, to be buried inside you, and it's always been intoxicating, but now? After everything that's happened, after the fear and the pain and the longing, to have you back in his arms?

It's beyond words. Beyond comprehension.

He doesn't deserve it. Doesn't deserve you.

But he'll never stop trying.

You let out a gasp as he pushes inside, his cock stretching and filling you, and Hunter has to grit his teeth, his hands tightening on your hips. The heat is incredible, the feeling of being buried deep inside, and he groans, the sound coming from deep within his chest.

"Fucking hell, sweetheart," he grunts. His eyes are locked on where the two of you are joined, watching as you slowly slide down the length of his cock. "You're so tight."

"It's been a while," you say, your breath coming in short pants. Your brow is furrowed, your teeth biting into your bottom lip, and Hunter has to bite back a groan.

"I know," he breathes. His hands caress your sides, his fingers skimming over the soft skin, and he feels your body relax. You're fully seated on his cock now, and Hunter can feel the way your cunt flutters around him, squeezing him tight. You tremble, and he reaches up, cupping your face.

"You alright?" he asks, stroking his thumb over your cheek. You nod, the corners of your mouth curling upwards.

"It's been a long time. Need a minute."

"Take all the time you need," he says.

"Thank you," you smile, turning your head to press a kiss to his palm.

You sit there, staring into his eyes, the two of you just existing. He doesn't mind it. Doesn't care about anything other than the feeling of being inside you. He can't believe he forgot what this was like, how perfect it is, how much he loves it. How much he loves you.

The urge to keep you here, to never let you go, to keep you safe and warm and loved and happy is overwhelming, and he can't help but reach out, his fingers tracing the curve of your jaw. He wonders if this is what it feels like to drown. If this is how people describe being swept away, pulled under the waves by the current, never to surface again.

He wonders if this is what they mean when they talk about being lost in someone.

Because he is. He's completely and utterly lost. Lost in you. Lost in the warmth of your gaze, the softness of your touch, the scent of your skin, the feeling of your body surrounding him, your heart beating in sync with his own.

He knows, in this moment, that he's not just in love with you. That he's not just madly infatuated with the woman in his arms. He's lost, and there's no coming back. He's yours. And he knows, without a shadow of a doubt, that you belong to him. That the two of you are bound together. That there's no one else for him. No one else he wants. Just you.

It's not the first time he's felt it, this overwhelming sense of love. But it's the first time it's hit him so hard. Maybe because it's the first time it's been this intense, this all-consuming. Maybe because it's the first time he's actually understood what it means. What it truly means.

Maybe because it's the first time he's truly believed it.

"Hunter?"

You're staring at him, concern etched across your features, and he realizes, with a start, that tears are rolling down his cheeks. He hadn't noticed.

"Sorry," he mutters, hastily wiping his face.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he says.

"Are you sure?" you ask. "Because I've never seen you cry before."

"I'm okay," he says, smiling softly. "I'm fine. Just... overwhelmed, I guess."

"You sure?"

"Yeah," he nods. He sits up, bracing his back against the headboard as his hands cup your cheeks. "I'm more than fine."

"Okay," you say, giving him a worried smile. His thumb smooths the crease between your brows, and he presses a gentle kiss in its place.

"I promise," he murmurs as he leans his forehead against yours. "I love you."

"Love you too," you whisper. You place a hand on his chest, just above his heart, and he wraps his arms around you, holding you close.

"I don't say it enough," he says, his voice hoarse. "But I mean it. Every time."

"I know," you assure him. You kiss his cheek, your lips trailing over the curve. "You don't have to say it. I know. I can feel it. I always have."

"Good," he sighs. His hands move up and down your back, the tips of his fingers gliding over your spine. "Never forget it."

"I won't," you promise.

He holds you there, your foreheads pressed together, your noses touching. He closes his eyes, inhaling deeply, letting the scent of you wash over him. It calms him, soothes him, and he feels his heart slow, his breathing evening out.

You shift, lifting your hips, and he gasps, the feeling of your cunt gripping his cock sending a jolt of pleasure through him. You smile, kissing the corner of his mouth.

"I'm okay," he whispers, his hands moving to grip your hips.

"Good," you say, your lips brushing over his. You start to move, rising up onto your knees before sinking back down. You both groan, the feeling of being joined sending a surge of warmth through him.

"Kriff," Hunter rasps as your hands find his shoulders, your fingers digging into the muscle, and you lift yourself up again, repeating the motion. His head falls back against the headboard with a dull thump, and you smile, your teeth scraping over the sensitive spot where his neck meets his shoulder.

"How's that feel?"

"So good," he breathes.

"Yeah?" you hum, rocking against him.

You're moving slowly, the pace torturous, and Hunter can't help but grind his hips upwards, trying to speed things along. You're having none of it, placing a hand on his chest, pushing him back against the bed.

"Slow," you order.

"Can't," he groans. His grip on your waist tightens, his fingers digging into the soft flesh, and he pulls you down, forcing himself deeper as his hips buck up into you.

"Why not?"

"Need more," he pants.

"Hmm," you murmur, nipping at his throat. "I thought we were going to take our time."

"Changed my mind."

"Too bad," you smirk.

Your lips find his, capturing him in a heated kiss, and Hunter moans, his mouth parting for you. Your tongue sweeps through his mouth, seeking his own, and he can't stop the desperate noise that escapes him as you taste him. He tries to move, to thrust up into you, but a weight presses down on him, holding him in place. He knows without looking that the Force is holding him down, keeping him still, and a thrill runs through him, the realization making him even harder.

"Fuck," he hisses.

"What was that?"

"Kriff, I hate when you do that," he mutters, glaring up at you.

"Do what?" you ask, feigning innocence.

"That." He jerks his chin towards the invisible pressure pinning him to the bed. "You know exactly what."

"No idea what you're talking about," you grin. You're still moving, the movement slow and steady, and Hunter lets out a low whine, his eyes slipping shut.

"You're insufferable," he huffs, his head falling back.

"I think you're the one being insufferable," you tease, placing a hand on his chest. You run your fingers through the coarse hair, dragging them down until they brush over the base of his cock. "If I recall, you were the one who said we should take our time."

"Well, maybe I was wrong."

"Oh, I don't know," you say, your fingers tracing the edge of his hip bone. "I think it's nice."

"It is," he concedes, hissing as you squeeze his balls. "But it's not enough."

"No?"

"No," he says, opening his eyes. He looks up at you, taking in the sight. Your skin is flushed, your lips swollen and parted, your eyes glassy and filled with desire. He swallows hard, his hands tightening on your hips. He knows there will be marks tomorrow, a reminder of what happened tonight, and the thought makes him twitch inside you.

"So impatient," you tut.

"Yeah," he agrees. "You're so kriffing gorgeous. And I want you so badly. Always. I can't get enough of you."

"Hunter," you gasp, grinding down on him.

"Yeah," he breathes, his eyes drifting down to where the two of you are joined. Your cunt is stretched tight around his cock, and Hunter lets out a moan, the sight making his mouth water. He's always loved watching you take his cock, loved the way it looked as it slid in and out of your wet heat, loved the way it felt, being inside you. But now, after everything? After almost losing you?

"Force, I can't get over how beautiful you are," he whispers.

You're moving faster now, his cock sliding in and out of you with ease, and the room fills with the sounds of skin slapping against skin and heavy breathing.

"Fuck," you cry out as he hits that spot deep inside, and Hunter lets out a grunt, his hands finding your breasts.

"There you go," he says. He palms the soft flesh, his fingers finding your nipples, and he pinches them, rolling the stiff buds between his thumb and forefinger.

"Oh," you moan, arching into his touch. "Oh, that feels good."

"Yeah?" he breathes.

"Yes," you nod, rocking against him. You're bouncing on his cock, the bed shaking with each thrust, and Hunter can't tear his eyes away. He's transfixed, unable to look anywhere else. You're a vision, sweat beading on your brow, your body trembling as the pleasure builds.

His hands find your ass, pulling you down onto his cock, and he can feel the muscles flexing beneath his fingertips. He can feel his climax approaching, his balls tightening, the pressure building. He's not ready for this to end, not yet, so he grits his teeth, biting the inside of his cheek.

"You gonna come for me, sweetheart?" he pants, his hands roaming over the curve of your ass, squeezing and groping.

"Mmhm," you nod. You're leaning forward now, your hands braced on his chest as you ride him. Your nails rake across his chest, leaving angry red lines in their wake, and his hips twitch, trying to thrust up into you. The weight keeps him in place, and he lets out a frustrated groan.

"That's it," he coos. He can feel the tension in your thighs, the way your legs are shaking, and he knows you're close. He grips your ass tighter, helping you keep pace, and you whimper, your movements becoming erratic.

"Please," you plead, and he can't deny you, not when you're begging.

His fingers find your clit, his thumb rubbing the swollen bundle of nerves. Your head falls forward, your hair falling over your face, and Hunter reaches up, brushing the strands aside.

"Come for me," he says, his voice hoarse. “Come for me, and then I’m gonna fill you up."

"Yes," you gasp.

"You wanna feel it, don't you?" he murmurs. He's barely holding on now, the heat pooling in his belly threatening to overwhelm him. "Want me to fill you up, mark you as mine. Make you mine."

"Yes, yes, yes," you chant, grinding against him. "More, please, please, please, I need—"

He flicks his thumb over your clit, pressing down hard. Your breath hitches, your walls fluttering around his cock, and Hunter watches, mesmerized, as you shudder above him. You're staring at him, your pupils blown wide, your hair a mess, your skin covered in a thin sheen of sweat, your mouth hanging open in a silent scream.

"There it is," he growls. The weight pressing down on him disappears, and he grabs your waist, flipping you over. Your back hits the mattress, your legs wrapped around his hips, and he pounds into you, chasing his own release.

"Yes," you cry out, wrapping your arms around his neck. Your mouth finds his, swallowing his moans, as his cock pistons in and out of your dripping cunt.

He fucks you, hard and fast, the bed creaking underneath the two of you. You're clinging to him, your nails scratching his back, and he knows there will be marks, knows that he's probably hurting you, but he can't stop, can't slow down. He's so close, the pressure building, the pleasure coiling deep inside, and he's desperate for it, his thrusts becoming frantic.

"Gonna fill you up," he gasps.

"Please," you beg, and that's all it takes.

His orgasm hits him hard, and he cries out, his hips jerking erratically as he spills inside you. He buries his face in your neck, biting and sucking, and you whimper, your legs tightening around his waist.

"Fuck, yes," you groan, and Hunter can feel the warmth of his spend leaking out of you, the mess coating his cock, dripping down his thighs. It's intoxicating, and he can't stop himself from thrusting deeper, trying to make sure every drop is buried inside you.

"Oh, Hunter," you moan. Your hands are on his ass, pulling him closer, urging him on. He grinds his hips against you, and you sigh, a lazy smile spreading across your lips.

"Good?" he asks, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

"Perfect," you whisper. You cup his face, and he leans into the touch, his eyelids fluttering as he savors the feeling.

He doesn't want to move, doesn't want to let go. He's perfectly content to stay like this, holding you, his cock buried deep inside you, your hands stroking his face. You're watching him, your eyes roaming over his body, and he preens under the attention, a soft smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"Well," he huffs, "I hope that was worth the wait."

"It was," you nod. You pull him closer, his head resting on your chest, and he lets out a sigh, his body relaxing.

"You alright?" he murmurs, pressing a kiss to the swell of your breast.

"Mmhm," you nod. Your hands are tracing patterns over his skin, fingers trailing across his back, and he can't help but shiver, goosebumps erupting in their wake.

"I'm not too heavy?"

"Not at all," you say. Your fingers move up, combing through his hair, and Hunter practically purrs, a low rumble rising from his chest.

"Good," he sighs. He tilts his head, his nose brushing against the hollow of your throat, and he inhales deeply, the scent of your arousal still thick in the air. He can feel the heat radiating off your body, and he shivers, the sensation sending a tingle down his spine.

"Hey," you murmur, and he hums in response. He shifts his weight, settling his elbows on either side of your head, and kisses your cheek.

"Hi," he whispers, his breath ghosting across your skin. He leans forward, brushing his lips against yours. You return the kiss eagerly, a soft moan escaping you. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, and he goes willingly, his hips grinding against you.

"Mm, again?" you giggle, your teeth scraping over his bottom lip.

"If you're up for it," he says, grinning.

"I'm always up for it," you smirk. You roll your hips, your legs wrapping around his waist. He's still half-hard, his cock slowly swelling, and he can't stop the groan that rumbles in his chest.

"Good." Hunter grins, capturing your mouth in another searing kiss. "Because I'm nowhere near done with you."

"Well, we've got plenty of time," you breathe.

"Plenty," he echoes, his hands finding your hips. "Let's make the most of it, then."

And he does.

He spends the rest of the night worshiping you, his mouth and hands mapping every inch of your skin. He leaves no part of you untouched, his lips and tongue and fingers exploring every inch, and you do the same. The two of you take turns, exploring and teasing, pleasuring and loving, until you're both too exhausted to continue.

Afterwards, you lie together, his arm draped over your waist, his nose buried in the crook of your neck. Hunter inhales deeply, the familiar scent filling his nostrils, and he lets out a content sigh. He can feel the ache in his limbs, and he's suddenly aware of how tired he is. He doesn't remember the last time he slept, and he can't even recall the last time he was able to relax. It feels like forever since he's felt this good, this safe.

This happy.

"I love you,” you murmur as you press a kiss to the top of his head.

"I love you, too," he whispers, his voice thick.

"I know," you chuckle, and he smiles against your neck.

You're both still breathing hard, chests heaving, bodies sticky with sweat, and he revels in the feeling, his arms tightening around you. He can't stop himself from kissing you, peppering your neck with gentle kisses, his lips ghosting over the delicate skin.

He makes his way up to your jaw, then your cheek, before finally meeting your mouth. It's slow, tender, filled with a sense of intimacy he hasn't felt in a long time, and it's enough to make him tear up. His hand cradles your cheek, his thumb stroking the skin, and he closes his eyes, savoring the moment.

He never thought he'd have this. Never thought he'd get a chance.

And now that he does? Now that he's got you here, in his arms, where he's meant to be?

"I'm not letting you go again," he mumbles, his forehead pressed against yours. "I don't care what it takes, I'm not letting anyone or anything take you from me."

"Hunter," you start, but he cuts you off.

"I know. I know, you can handle yourself, you're more than capable. I know all that. But I'm still going to be there. I'm always going to be there."

"I know," you say, your hand cupping his cheek.

"Do you?"

His eyes search yours, searching for any hint of hesitation, any sign of doubt. He finds none. Just warmth. Just love.

"Yes," you whisper.

"Good," he nods. He pulls back, just enough to look into your eyes. He doesn't think he'll ever get tired of seeing you like this, bare and vulnerable, looking at him like that. Like he's the only person who matters.

"I meant what I said earlier," he says. "About wanting a family. A future."

"Me too," you smile.

"Really?"

"Yes," you nod, placing a hand on his chest. Your fingertips trace over the curve of his collarbone, and he shivers. "I want that with you. I always have."

"Even after everything?"

"Especially after everything," you assure him. "I've always wanted a future with you, Hunter. Ever since we met. I know you're scared. I am too. But I love you, and I want this. Us. All of it."

"Okay," he says, smiling.

"Okay," you repeat, returning the smile.

He pulls you into another kiss, his hand cradling the back of your neck, and the two of you stay like that, kissing and touching and loving, until exhaustion takes over. You curl up against him, your head on his chest, his arms wrapped around you, and he feels his eyes begin to droop. He can't remember the last time he was this relaxed, the last time he was this comfortable. The last time he felt so safe. So loved.

And for the first time in a long time, Hunter doesn't worry. He doesn't stress. He doesn't plan.

Instead, he closes his eyes, a smile tugging at his lips, and he lets the world fade away.

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

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@marchingviolinist @deerspringdreams

[yanderestarangel]

Wesker has consumed my mind entirely, so could I leave an request for him?

Albert wesker as the father of readers boyfriend, at first he didn’t pay much attention to them but the more often reader came by, the more his thoughts started to become intimate and every time reader would have a fight with his son, wesker would use it to make them doubt their relationship with his son.

Really love your fics, if you won’t do this request it’s fine, but really can’t wait to read more of your story’s! Hope you’re doing alright and take care of yourself 🫶

— HEADCANONS RE || WESKER FATHER-IN-LAW X SON-IN-LAW READER

TW ┊dark smut, ftm reader, aggression, toxic relationship, age gap, v!sex, cheating, eat out, blowjob, 69, sexual recording, sensitive themes, dead dove.

WARNING : no negativity please. If this isn’t your sort of content, block me and move on with your day<3

— SFW AND NSFW

In Wesker's eyes, at first you were just another toy for his son, you were already the third boyfriend his son had in less than three months — so the scientist didn't even look at you, just greeting you out of politeness and isolating himself again in his office to continue his work."It won't last long, I bet." Albert said to himself, referring to yet another boyfriend of his son, but he didn't get involved in matters... After all, he was a man too busy for trivial things.

You obviously tried to be a polite boy and get along with your father-in-law, but all your attempts failed as the blonde didn't even look at you — and if he did, you couldn't speak because he simply wore those sunglasses 24 of the day. It was frustrating for you every time you received a rude and rude response from your own father-in-law, making you give up on getting closer to him.

But despite his attempts to avoid you out of pure disinterest, he couldn't deny that you were getting into his routine much more than he wanted to admit. His son always brought you to spend the weekends and have lunch at his mansion, so finally the older man's eyes noticed you.

You were a kind and sweet man, different from his son who was always the same as his personality — only a little worse considering his extreme elitist upbringing. But not you, you were simple and sweet, it even surprised him how stupidly innocent you could be sometimes.

And his also knew that it wouldn't take long for his son to start a fight with you because of his stupidity.

The older blonde started to have unhealthy thoughts about you, your presence was like a balm for him, but also like an inferno that threatened to burn everything and everyone around him.

He began to wonder what it would be like to squeeze your thighs, how your soft skin would feel in his big, calloused hands — how beautiful you would look moaning and begging him to go deeper into your beautiful body... How he would be better than his son being a companion to you.

He really tried to push those thoughts away and tried to approach you like a real father-in-law would, apologizing for his previous behavior and that he was just stressed about some company matters.

But the way your face and doe eyes lit up at simply being treated well by him made the heat in his core gradually rise — every fiber of his being was pulsing and burning like a fire... Only he knows how much he controlled himself to doesn't push you against the nearest wall and make you his right there.

Albert tried to suppress the feelings of lust that were slowly threatening to rot his mind, but every time he saw your smile, even those caused by his son, he wanted to do some crazy things and take you for himself. "Fuck, I'm too old to act like a dedicated man controlled only by his desires." Wesker thought as he rested his temple on his closed fist and watched you on the other side of the room, in his mansion, hugging his son and watching a movie. But he knew that moments of peace like that would end soon, especially with his son's toxic behavior — he had already predicted this, but he never thought it would take a considerably longer time compared to other times.

Even though it took a while, it happened, you fought with your boyfriend and practically the entire gated community heard the screams. Wesker was still trying not to interfere in your two lives because of the feeling of wanting to have you for himself — but after the fifth fight where you were slapped in the face by his son, he felt obliged to break up the heated argument and take you to a safe place away from there.

Before you said anything he just took off his sunglasses and for the first time looked at you with his piercing blue eyes. "No no, you don't need to say anything kid... I know my son was a horrible man and an asshole to you. I'm on the right side, just because he's my son doesn't mean I'm going to blind myself to the horrible things he did you hear." Albert said it loud and clear, then his cold, rough hands found your face and made you focus on his face.

"Listen to me, pretty boy, you deserve someone better than him." He spoke with a tone that made you feel goosebumps, the nickname "pretty boy" came out practically erotically from his thin lips and the look with the older man's dilated pupils didn't help much with your confused feelings.

With each fight that happened in your relationship, you felt closer and closer to your father-in-law. Even starting to frequent Wesker's mansion when your boyfriend wasn't there, purposely just to be alone with the older man.

Between smiles, conversations and not-so-unconscious looks, you quickly found yourself sitting on the older man's thighs while both of you were breathing faster — unable to hold back any longer, Wesker had given in to his desires and finally kissed you, his lips on yours, in a warm and desperate kiss — his hands going to your ass squeezing the soft flesh and quickly soft moans coming out of both of you, the erection in his pants wouldn't let him lie that he wanted more than just kissing his own son-in-law. "Come on lad... I'll show you how much you need someone older who really knows how to take care of you."

Wesker's cock was thick and pulsing enough to make your brain shut down with each thrust, moaning and drool dripping from the corner of your mouth as your legs trembled around his muscular torso — your pussy dripped onto his bare, skin-tight member. skin made you feel the thick, dirty tip of precum kissing your uterus and threatening to fill you at any moment. "Fuck--! open that pussy wider for me, good boy..." Wesker moaned as he grabbed your thighs and squeezed the soft flesh there, leaving marks all over it.

Having sex with your own father-in-law was dirty and wrong... But it was incredibly hot. Unlike your boyfriend, the older man really focused on your pleasure.

He smiled huskily as he saw you turn into a trembling mess barely able to suck his dick while you did a 69 in his office. "You have a charming and pretty pussy, boy," He moaned, licking and wrapping his lips around your clit, sucking hard as he felt your hand on his cock, stroking it gently. The light pressure on his dick was pleasant and arousing as it also fueled his desire to make you feel as good as he could. He kept alternating between his fingers inside you and his tongue on your clit, and every now and then, he'd let a finger slip into your ass, and a moan from your lips encouraged him to continue doing so. "Fuck, you're tight, so, so tight..." Wesker's moaned, his hands squeezing your thighs, wanting you to hold onto him, to let him know that you were enjoying it. "My son is an asshole for letting such a needy and bitchy boy like you run wild, I'm glad I got you for myself, right?"

The two of you fucked like two animals in heat, even with your boyfriend at home — every time you waited for him to sleep and ran to Wesker's office. "Do you want me to help you with this my angel?" The scientist laughed as he fingered your pussy with two thick fingers, rhythmically thrusting into your g-spot and making you roll your eyes and hold on to the wooden table that you were leaning against, making the tall man laugh.

"Shhhh, don't make any noise, be a good slut and keep those beautiful moans bottled up ok? You really are sensitive boy- holy shit, it's just my fingers and you're already squirming for me to touch that cute pussy of yours." He snapped his fingers against your pussy, a sting, but not enough to make you shudder too much as his attention was diverted to your clit, flicking it with his thumb, trying to tease you even more and make you beg for him. him again. "You want me to fuck you don't you? Then you better beg for it boy." Albert pronounced each syllable fiercely, unbuttoning his pants and once again exposing his thick, pulsing member — you could smell the musk and the heat radiating from his groin, making you drip even more and barely be able to think beyond begging him in a slurred manner to fuck you soon.

"My son should see what a whore his boyfriend is for me, you know?" He teased as he buried himself without warning into your wet heat, covering your mouth with his hand as his thrusts were animalistic but with a concern that his cock would hit all the right spots on your sensitive wall.

Fingers, tongue, dick, sex toys, everything you wanted he used for your pleasure, taking you to orgasms that you didn't even know could be so pleasurable. Besides his look conveyed more than a simple desire for you — he wanted more, a lovers' affair wouldn't satisfy him, he needed to steal you from his son.

And how to do this? Simple, record a short porn video and send it to him later — cruel? Sure, but your father-in-law was sick and obsessed with you enough to not even care about his own son.

"Look at the camera, come on my prince, be a good slut and fix your eyes on the lens." Wesker pulled your hair as he made you look at the recording instrument with your face messy and flushed with pleasure — your pussy squeezed and milked the older man's cock as he made sure to record you from every possible angle.

"Smile darling... Tell him who you belong to." He grunted in your ear, hearing you moan his name repeatedly as he increased his thrusts to the point of making your groin hurt and hot, mixing your juices and his cum that made your thighs even wetter. He held his head tightly to the camera, as a cruel smile spread across his own face. “It looks like you lost quite a boy, I never thought you were so stupid, son... But you can leave it, daddy will take good care of your... Ex-boyfriend." The blonde laughed as he came again inside your pussy, seeing you moan drunk of pleasure for him — Wesker loved you in a distorted way, but unlike his son, he really saw a future with you by his side. Like his boy, as it had to be.

[arieslost]

waking up from a nightmare, literally gasping for air and in seconds charles is by your side and holding you close. he’s whispering in your ear, trying to soothe you and is wiping your tears with his thumb bye i love my little precious leclerc

“my little precious leclerc” actually made me tear up i hope u know. i adore him

© arieslost 2024. DO NOT REPOST WITHOUT PERMISSION.

wake me up | cl16

you wouldn’t call it a recurring nightmare. more like a nightmare that started one night, years ago, and kept getting worse and worse as time went on, layers of hurt and fear and heartbreak settling on top of each other every time your subconscious displayed it in all its horrid glory. you can’t even pinpoint what the worst part about it is anymore.

it used to be waking up alone. by yourself, in your pitch black room, was almost as bad as being asleep and experiencing the nightmare. there was never anything to distract you from the feeling of tears sliding down your cheeks, your heart still racing from fear, your eyes conjuring up flashes of the nightmare even though you were awake.

now it’s waking up next to charles, wanting to wake him up, desperately craving the comfort that only he can give you, but refusing to do so because of how hard he works. you won’t deprive him of his sleep, certainly not for something as trivial as a stupid nightmare. especially because he has trouble falling asleep most nights; always thinking about things he might have forgotten to do, his schedule for the next day, the next race weekend, when he can get you your all access pass.

you always tell him not to worry about you, that he has enough on his plate and you knew that when you said yes to being his girlfriend. this, your nightmare, is certainly much more trivial than making sure you have a paddock pass for a race weekend. this isn’t even real. it doesn’t matter.

so when you sleep horribly because of it, and charles notices (because of course he does), you just brush it off, saying you couldn’t get comfortable, you were too hot, too cold, whatever excuse you can think up on a whim.

“you should’ve woken me up, amore.” it’s what he says every. single. time.

and you know he means it. that he truly wants you to wake him up so he can care for you in whatever capacity he possibly can. you just can’t bring yourself to do it because of this.

this time, though, you don’t have a choice.

there’s another terrifying layer to your nightmare tonight. you’re lucid to some degree, enough to know that you should have the ability to wake yourself up from this subconscious plane, but you’re incapable of doing so. you tell your eyes to open, but they’re glued shut like they have to see this through to the end, even though you know how this ends.

you fight, and fight, and fight, until finally, your eyes fly open, tears flooding your vision and a ragged gasp tearing its way out of your throat as you scramble into an upright position. the commotion wakes charles immediately, and he doesn’t even ask what’s going on before he springs into action.

“breathe, baby,” he murmurs softly, gathering you into his arms. “listen to my heartbeat.”

you’re trembling, trying your hardest to calm down as you instantly melt into his embrace, his warmth spreading into your limbs and working to ease the tension you didn’t know they were holding.

“i-i—” you try to say, your mouth struggling to form the words.

“shh, it’s okay. i’ve got you, i’m right here.” he whispers, kissing your forehead and running his hands along the backs of your own.

“i’m sorry,” you say finally, nuzzling your face into his neck and breathing in his comforting scent.

“don’t apologize,” he replies firmly. “is this why you’ve been having trouble sleeping?”

you nod slowly, already knowing what he’s going to say next.

“why didn’t you ever wake me up?”

“i just...” you sigh, shifting closer to him and tilting your face towards him as he reaches to wipe your tears. “it’s stupid. i’ve been having this nightmare for years now, and it just keeps getting worse. this time, i couldn’t wake up. usually i just wake up and deal with it. you work so hard every day, and this really isn’t important—”

“i’m going to stop you right there, amore,” charles interrupts, cupping your face with both hands. “i don’t ever want you to say that anything you’re going through isn’t important.”

“but—”

“yes, i do work hard. i have a lot going on more often than not. but out of everything, i work hardest for this. us. do you know what the most important thing in my life is?”

“ferrari?” you answer immediately, only half joking.

“no, ma drôle de fille,” he laughs, “it’s you. i’m going to retire from racing one day, but i’m going to be with you until the day i die. and even after that.”

you feel yourself tearing up for a whole new reason.

“so don’t tell me that it’s not important,” he continues, leaning back into the pillows and bringing you with him. “if it’s bothering you, it bothers me too. you hear me?”

you nod.

“and you’ll wake me up next time?”

you nod again.

“good. now close your eyes. keep listening to my heartbeat. i’ll fight off the nightmares for you, okay amore?”

“you are so cheesy, cha,” you grumble, snuggling into his chest.

“shh, go to sleep,” he coos quietly, stifling a laugh as he pets your hair.

you shut your eyes dutifully, focusing in on the steady beat of his heart, the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.

you dream of him.

word count: 907

masterlist — join my tag list here!

note: every charles leclerc request i get makes my heart soar because not only do i get to write about my favorite driver but i also get to improve on said writing THANK U ANON

ma drôle de fille = “my funny girl” (i hope)

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reblogs are always appreciated <33

dividers by @/saradika

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[zweiginator]

having an argument w stepbro!patrick over smth stupid like who didn’t shut the fridge or who forgot to put the washing in the dryer and it ends with hate sex :) him groaning “i fucking hate you” as he bottoms out, and you moaning it straight back at him

you're a genius

your mom and patrick's dad are in the kitchen and they notice that one of you accidentally left the milk out. it's a stupid and trivial and innocuous mistake. could've been anyone.

"it was patrick." you grab a strawberry from the dining room table. "he was eating cereal yesterday.

"no it fucking wasn't. you're not just going to pin this on me." patrick shoves you aside and sits at the seat you usually sit at for breakfast. pours himself a glass of orange juice and glares at you. "you were putting milk in your coffee after i ate breakfast."

"guys--it doesn't matter." your mom says. and it truly doesn't. when you're sitting at a grand dinner table with fine china in a house that patrick's dad bought for four million dollars--spoiled milk doesn't matter.

but you fucking hate patrick and he fucking hates you. your eyes twitch when you see each other. he shoves into you in the hallway and gets your towels in the bathroom dirty even though he has his own bathroom in his own room. he makes fun of the boys you date and when you wear lipstick. he says you're annoying and too stuck up and too uptight.

and you get makeup stains on the t-shirts you steal from his closet. you borrow his tennis rackets whe you want to play with your friends. you giggle on the phone with your little boyfriends until three in the morning, until patrick bangs on your door and screams in your face. calls you a spoiled fucking brat. as if he isn't worse.

"i know how to put things back where they came from. i'm not an idiot." you spit back, yanking the butter knife away from him.

"could've fooled me. you're pretty fucking stupid actually. and last time i checked, you steal, like, all of my shit." patrick fakes a smile at you. yanks the knife back.

"i don't want your disgusting clothes that you never wash. you couldn't pay me to go into your closet to smell it in there."

patrick takes a bite of his toast, rolling his eyes. "now you're just fucking lying."

"stop talking with your mouth full it's gross. have some decorum."

"aww she learned a five dollar word!"

and patrick gets up, shoving his hip into your chair to spill your water on your shirt. puts his dishes in the sink. "i have practice, bye."

but this argument, it lingers for days. stays sour in your mouths and tickles the end of your tongues. you've never had a spat like this, one that spans for days and days.

patrick invites a girl over. you embarrass him in front of her.

"fourth one this week. that's a record."

she leaves fifteen minutes later.

patrick turns the hot water off when you go to take a shower.

you take his clothes out of the washer to wash your own, so he has to wear soaking wet shorts to a match.

whatever one of you does, the other retaliates. but the fight doesn't reach a head until you take his car without asking. you only went to get some ice cream, but when you pull into the driveway, patrick is already screaming at you. seething. his ears are red and his arms are crossed and spit flies at your face as he yells.

"are you fucking kidding me? this isn't a what's mine is yours situation. you don't steal my fucking car whenever you want." he grabs your wrist. throws your cup of strawberry ice cream on the concrete. "how does that feel? you're such a fucking brat."

you slap him. "what is up your ass? god, you're so fucking uptight. let loose for once, why are you so tense and annoying? chill the fuck out!"

patrick hates that. he hates that you're mocking what he's said to you before. hates that you're pressing your little fingers into the bruise of his ego until it really stings.

he yanks you inside, slamming the door. your mom and step dad left hours ago, something about a dinner party forty-five minutes away. you and patrick figure they'll drink too much wine and stay the night.

"you think that's fucking cute?" patrick pushes you against the door. turns you around so your stomach presses against the cold door knob. you feel your pulse in your belly button and his body looming behind you. and he spanks you. as hard as he can. it stings and the pain lingers. you yelp.

"patrick--" you look back at him.

the silence is all-encompassing. you hear the ticking of the clock in the foyer, the soft hum of the air conditioner. the trickling faucet in the kitchen that never turns off, and patrick's heavy breathing. and suspended between you is a choice. you can tell him off. apologize for this whole big drawn-out fight. you can walk away.

or, you can ease into the tension. let the rubber band snap and hit you both in the face. you can do something taboo and wrong. something that your respective parents would fucking disown you for.

patrick lowers you onto the rug in the foyer. fumbles with the buttons of his shirt. shoves his tongue in your mouth and feels yours in his. his hips rut into you and you tangle your fingers in his hair.

you hate to give him the satisfaction of moaning, of letting him know he's good at something. but you do.

"you think you're so cute when you piss me off." he whispers against the shell of your ear. he pulls his boxers down, revealing his cock and it's so big you don't know if you can take it.

patrick reads your mind. sees the look on your face.

"you started this so you're gonna fucking take it." pushes himself deep inside you until he bottoms out. he hisses and groans as you claw at his back. you say patrick, please, patrick i--

and he laughs at you. because you thought you won your little spat. but patrick can shut you up. he can make you forget all about your cockiness when he's slamming into you. and he does.

your legs bounce over his shoulders, his little gold chain necklace dangling over you, tickling your lips. patrick spits on you. you slap him across the face. he grabs your wrist and slams it on the ground, pinning it above your head.

but you moan nonetheless. and you know patrick feels good by how his mouth stays open. how his chest is flushed and his hips twitch as you squeeze him tighter and tighter.

"i fucking hate you. you're the worst thing that's ever happened to me." his hand is wrapped around your throat. it doesn't matter if he stops thrusting; you'll fuck yourself on him, use him for yourself. and he think's you're so greedy.

your moans and words are choppy from the force. the table in the foyer wobbles as patrick throws both of your legs over one shoulder and goes deeper.

"god--i--hate you too. hate you so much. i fucking--" you gasp, throwing your head back. patrick laughs at you. "fucking wish we never met."

patrick pulls out. uses your body as a cum rag. paints your stomach, your lips, your face with it. and then he gets up and goes to his room.

you don't speak to each other until your mom and his dad get back a couple days later. it's early in the morning and you sit in the kitchen in complete silence. nobody but you notices that when patrick is finished with breakfast, he leaves the milk out. he looks at you and winks.

[ranoutofficssoiwritemyown]

Rindou x Reader

wc: 1200

angst, fluff

not edited

Rindou loves you. You know he does, but he has this annoying habit of not listening to you sometimes. Especially when it comes to recommendations. You recommend him food? Yeah, he'll try it. spoiler alert: he forgets. what about a movie you watched the other day and liked so much that you told him to watch it immediately? "Yeah, when I have time I will" is his answer. However, he'll only watch it if someone else recommends it too not even remembering you mentioning anything about it. And then he has the nerve to tell you all about it while you listen to him unimpressed. Sometimes it makes you feel like your opinion matters very little to him but you've never told him this. Part of you doesn't want to seem like an insecure girlfriend while the other part thinks there is no deep meaning to this.

This war in your mind ended when you entered your bedroom after having a bad day and saw Rindou sitting on the bed leaning his back on the headboard and "One Flew Over The Cuckoo's Nest" in his hands. You remember telling him how you cried reading it. However, you're surprised he's reading what you recommended. sensing your presence Rindou removed his glasses and looked at you.

"Tired?"

"Exhausted" you sit beside him "Do you like it?" you ask indicating the book.

He shrugs

"I've only read 20 pages yet. But Kakucho said it's really good"

You roll your eyes. thinking that you should've seen this coming you mumble "Of course he did" which wasn't as quiet as you expected because Rindou turned to you with a confused hum. You just shake your head as in "nothing" and try to get up but Rindou grips your arm and makes you sit back down. You sigh not having enough energy to deal with this.

"What is it?"

"Are you mad at me?"

"Should I be?"

He closed the book setting it aside as he turned to me with narrowed his eyes as if sensing the trap.

"I... don't know. What did I do?"

"It's nothing Rindou, let me go"

Your words had the opposite effect as his grip tightened.

"That's not my name" His voice got low

"Uh it actually is"

"Not for you. Did I fuck up that badly?"

Now that you think about it no he didn't. It's probably you who's overreacting and creating a problem over nothing. You sound ridiculous even to you and you hate yourself.

"It's really nothing. I've just had a bad day so... I just wanna sleep"

After a moment of hesitation, Rindou let you go, his eyes following as you got changed and got in bed turning your back to him. As you lay in bed your overthinking got worse. The fact that he doesn't know what he's doing affects you this badly means that he's not doing it on purpose. But that's even worse. Does that mean that he doesn't even value your opinion enough to think about how neglecting it would affect you? Maybe he thinks you don't care about it so he doesn't too. Or maybe he just forgets. This also means he doesn't care. Every version you think about leads to you thinking he doesn't care and that feels really shitty.

On the other hand, Rindou was watching you lying silently with your back to him and he knew then he definitely did something wrong. You get in bed and do not snuggle up to him planting your head in his neck? Yes, something is terribly wrong.

"C'mon love, tell me what's wrong" he snaked his arm around your waist, and turns out this is all it took for your tears to run free. You bite your lip to stop it from trembling feeling so stupid for crying over something so trivial.

"And don't you dare to say it's nothing bec- are you crying?"

Rindou could swear he heard his heart crash. He turned you around to face him. tucking your hair behind your ear he quickly wiped your tears.

"Hey, don't cry, i- I'm sorry okay? Whatever I did, I didn't mean it just don't cry"

Even though he thought, and has told you this plenty of times, that you looked pretty when you cried, he hated when you cried. Even more, when he was the reason behind those tears.

"Talk to me please?"

Looking anywhere but at him, you opened your mouth to speak.

"It's really stupid"

"So stupid that you're crying over it? I don't care, tell me."

You don't want to.

"It's just... sometimes you don't listen to me"

Rindou was confused. You sound so crazy to him right now. He doesn't listen to you? You have him wrapped around your finger. Your word is a fucking law to him and you have the nerve to say that he doesn't listen to you? He only listens to you.

"What do you mean?"

"Everything I suggest you just forget until someone else suggests the same thing. Like-" You sniffle between speech "Like this book. You're reading it because Kakucho told you, but I told you to read it weeks ago"

The more you talk the more you want to shut up. Dreading seeing Rindou's expression you focus on your hands.

"It feels like you don't care about my opinion. It's so stupid I know..."

"I don- What?" Rindou couldn't help but exclaim. His mind processing thousands of thoughts right now. You think he doesn't care? How long have you been feeling like this? And you didn't tell him? Is there anything else you're not telling him because it's so "stupid"? "Listen, love, I'm so sorry, I didn't know- Of course, I care, Who do you think I listen to if not you? Ran? Fucker used to think Julius Caeser was named after the salad."

That made you chuckle and it was like a rainbow after the storm for Rindou. A sound he never wants to stop hearing. smiling at you he continued.

"I do listen to you okay? I remember every little detail you tell me. Starting with the shows you watch to the drama going on at your work. By the way, Rika got what she deserved, she was being the bitch first."

"That's what I'm saying" You exclaim and Rindou was so happy he could see you smiling again.

"I don't want you to doubt your value in my life okay? You're the best thing ever happened to me and I'd be a dumbass if I didn't appreciate you. And don't ever try to hide things from me again. No matter how stupid you think it is. Nothing is stupid to me when it comes to you. So no more tears, alright?"

You nod scooting closer.

"alright"

Rindou wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you against his chest, kissing the crown of your head.

"By the way, I started reading this book because you suggested it. Kakuchou saw it in my car when I bought it and told me it was good"

"Really?"

"Yes, really. Sleep now"

"Goodnight"

"Goodnight, love"

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

got the idea from modern family's one episode

might delete this one too later, not sure. just felt like sharing

[mrsshabana]

𝐆𝐲𝐮𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐨'𝐬 𝐕𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐞'𝐬 𝐃𝐚𝐲

꒦꒷‧₊ Summary Gyutaro hates Valentine's Day, but he doesn't hate you. So he decides to do something he thought he'd never do. ꒦꒷‧₊ Content Gyutaro x female!reader, modern au, fluff, Gyutaro is a delinquent and a bit of a pervert ꒦꒷‧₊ Note 1.6k words. Happy Valentine's Day!! ♡

Gyutaro despises Valentine's day.

Everything about that day makes his skin crawl. So much so that he always skips school on that day so he can avoid being reminded of it.

The only good thing about the day is when Ume comes home with various assortments of chocolates and candies that she shares with him. They munch on the sugary treats while making fun of the pathetic letters she received from the boys in her class.

But deep down Gyutaro wishes he'd receive something for Valentine's Day. That a cute girl from one of his classes would give him a box of chocolates, or even a note confessing her love to him. But he knows that would never happen. He's far too ugly and disliked.

Gyutaro has a reputation for being a delinquent. Skipping class, smoking cigarettes, and getting into fights. Most students avoid him, especially the girls. His appearance is off-putting and his personality is even worse. He typically only harasses the boys though, leaving the girls alone unless his sister has a problem with one of them.

The only time he's ever talked to a girl was when he was forced to be her partner for a biology project. Of course, he didn't contribute anything to the project. But the girl didn't complain. She was kind to him anyway and got them both an A, never telling the teacher she did all the work by herself. Gyutaro thought that girl was sweet and really cute too, though she was a bit of a nerd. Sometimes when he sees her in the hall she'll wave to him and he'll smile and nod back.

Besides the other delinquent kids, that girl is the closest thing Gyutaro has to a friend.

And now that it's senior year and he's about to graduate he feels like he has nothing to lose. So why not give a Valentine's gift to that cute nerdy girl? Out of everyone in the school, you're the only one that makes him blush when he thinks about you.

He knows you'll reject him, there's no doubt about it in his mind. But he's a firm believer in debts and he feels like he owes you one. You did get him that A in Biology after all. This is the only way he can convince himself that it makes sense to give you something for Valentine's Day. Just to get rid of his debt to you. Nothing more than that.

The day before Valentine's day he decides to skip his afternoon class and go to the convenience store to find you a gift.

The aisles are filled with flowers, heart-shaped boxes of chocolates, and cheesy stuffed animals. Looking at the pathetic displays makes him scoff. He doesn't want to be like everyone else and get you something stupid and trivial. But he doesn't know anything about you, so how is he supposed to pick a gift that you'd like?

With a groan, he walks up and down various aisles in the convenience store - stopping when he sees a wall of gashapon machines. And that's when he sees it. A little character on one of the machines that looks so familiar, every time he sees it he's reminded of you. He has no idea who this character is or what show they are from, all he knows is that you like them. When you were studying with him for that stupid project you wore a graphic t-shirt with this character on it. He remembers them so well because their face was plastered on your left tit. He may or may not have been staring while you were busy working on the project.

A grin tugs at his lips as he pulls out some change and walks over to the machine. First try, and it's not the character you like. Second time, it's not them either. Neither is the third try.

"Goddammit!" He grunts, grabbing a cigarette from his pocket and lighting it in frustration.

"Sir! There's no smoking allowed in here!" The cashier yells at him.

Gyutaro glares at him from the corner of his eye, without saying a word. The coldness in his deep blue stare is enough to send shivers down the employee's spine. He gets a cold sweat and quickly turns a blind eye to Gyutaro.

He brings the cigarette up to his mouth and breathes in deeply. Exhaling as he inserts more coins into the machine.

He plays the gashapon twenty-one times before he gets the character you like.

"About fucking time," he growls - shoving all of the capsule toys into his backpack.

He makes sure to flip off the employee before he leaves the convenience store. Lugging his bag full of capsule toys home, making sure to keep them hidden so his sister doesn't notice.

The next day, Gyutaro skips all of his classes. Only coming into the school building to put your gift in your locker. He walks up to your locker, looking around suspiciously to make sure that no one is around, and tries to open it. But it's locked.

"Fuck," he curses under his breath. Of course, it'd be locked. Is he an idiot?

He furrows his brows as he tries to think of a way to open this damn locker. Looking over at the clock he sees that there are only two minutes left until the bell rings.

"Shit!" Without thinking he kicks your locker, creating a large dent in the spot where the lock is, making it completely unusable now. "Whatever, I don't have time!"

He hurriedly puts the capsule toy in your locker with a sticky note reading, "Happy Valentine's Day - G," and leaves the scene.

.˚₊┈ ꒰ఎ ♥︎ ໒꒱ ┈₊˚.

When class ends you immediately walk towards your locker, eager to get your stuff and leave for the day. Not wanting to be around all of the other girls who received Valentine's gifts from boys in their classes. You feel insecure and embarrassed. You never receive anything from the boys in your class so it's nothing new. But since it's your senior year you had a glimmer of hope that you'd receive something.

Not only did you receive nothing for Valentine's Day, but it appears that your locker has been vandalized. "What the hell!" you shout as you run over to your locker.

"Who would do something like this?" you whimper under your breath as tears begin to form in your eyes.

You hesitantly open your locker, fully expecting to see that your belongings have been stolen. But it's quite the opposite. Everything seems to be in place except there's something new.

A gashapon capsule accompanied by a sticky note.

"What the..." you reach inside and grab the items. Taking a closer look at the note and the capsule toy, "G?"

You open the capsule to see a cute chibi keychain of your favorite character from your favorite anime. Tears begin to prick at your eyes again but for a different reason this time. Who could have been so thoughtful to do something like this for you?

You take the keychain and hold it against your chest, smiling like an idiot because you received a Valentine's gift for the very first time. You're so happy that you don't even care about your locker anymore.

"But who is G?" You think to yourself. Who in this school has a name that starts with the letter G and would vandalize your locker to give you this gift?

There's only one person that comes to mind.

.˚₊┈ ꒰ఎ ♥︎ ໒꒱ ┈₊˚.

During lunch the next day, instead of sitting by your friends in the cafeteria you rush outside towards the natatorium. Finding Gyutaro in his usual spot behind the building smoking a cigarette. All alone.

"Um, Gyutaro?" you say shyly, walking up to him hesitantly.

The permanent scowl on his face instantly disappears when he sees you and is replaced by a blush across his cheeks. But he tries to play it cool, "Uh... wh-what do you want?"

"Well, I wanted to thank you for the Valentine's gift. I really love it," you look up at him with eyes full of admiration and appreciation.

Gyutaro tosses his cigarette on the ground, crushing it with his foot to put it out. He exhales a puff of smoke as his blush deepens, "I dunno what you're talkin' about."

You ignore his denial and step closer to him, "How many tries did it take you?"

He looks away shyly and mumbles, "twenty-one..."

Your eyes widen when you hear his response. He must have spent at least 50 bucks trying to get this specific character for you. And you can't hide the smile on your face as you realize how much he must really like you to have tried so hard to get something that you'd like. He's so much more thoughtful and caring than anyone gives him credit for.

You lunge forward and hug him tightly, "Thank you, Gyutaro! This is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me..."

He doesn't know what to say. This is an outcome that he never in a million years would have expected to happen. All he can manage to do is awkwardly hug you back.

His body feels firm and rigid against you, but you don't mind. Despite that, the embrace is filled with so much warmth that you wish you could stay in his arms forever.

Gyutaro stands there, internally freaking out, as you hug him for far too long. But eventually you pull yourself away and look up at the delinquent boy one more time.

"Would you like to hang out with me this weekend?" you say with a newfound confidence in your voice.

"R-Really?" he mutters back, unable to believe his ears.

"Yeah! There's a new arcade downtown that I've really wanted to go to. They have lots of gashapons and claw machines!"

"Alright," he huffs, "But no more gashapons. I hate those fuckin' things..."

You giggle, "That's fine by me. So... it's a date?"

"It's a date," he agrees with a smile.

[adhdnursegoat]

Have fun!

Per usual, link to full story beneath teaser!

Warning: blood play, obviously, and oral sex in full length fic

?

This is too much.

You’re overwhelmed by the sensory overload—the smell of sweat and fear, the sounds of pain and terror, the suffocating heat trapped beneath the blindfold and gag. Every little thing adds to the weight pressing down on you, and you feel like you’re smothered by it all. The fear, the disgust, the helplessness—it’s all too much to bear. You want to scream, to cry out for someone to help you, but the gag reduces your voice to nothing more than muffled sobs and desperate whimpers.

And then you hear it—a voice that slices through the suffocating darkness, male, sharp, and clear. It’s a voice that, against all odds, makes you feel oddly calm. Not calm enough to stop the silent sobs racking your body, but it doesn’t bring the same paralyzing terror that gripped you when the henchmen spoke. This voice is different.

"Ah, quite the pitiful selection you brought me this time."

The voice is confident, dripping with haughty arrogance. There’s a cocky undertone, a showmanship that tells you this man enjoys the sound of his own voice. As the speaker moves closer, each word is a note in a cruel symphony, and you can almost see the smirk on his face. You’re not sure why, but the sound doesn’t send chills down your spine the way the others did. It’s unsettling, yes, but in a way that makes you want to listen more closely, to hear what comes next. And, for some reason, you feel like you’ve heard the voice before.

"They all look dumb, don’t they?"

His tone is casual, almost playful, as if he’s discussing something as trivial as the weather. You can hear his footsteps now, the rhythmic clomp of boots against the floor. The sound grows louder, closer. You and a teammate knock elbows every time one of you moves, a stark reminder that you’re all lined up like cattle. There is a faint rustling, maybe the others shifting uncomfortably, or maybe just the thugs making sure none of you try anything stupid.

The speaker hums a tune, one too cheerful, too lighthearted for the situation. The absurdity of it all almost makes you laugh, if it weren’t for the tears still streaming down your face. This whole thing feels like a twisted joke, a nightmare you can’t wake up from.

"Ugly, too… I’m doing the world a favor by culling the rabble."

The way he says it is so nonchalant, as if human lives mean nothing to him. You can hear the disdain dripping from his words. He is mocking you all, taking pleasure in your fear. The footsteps stop, the sound dying away right in front of you. Your breath catches in your throat, the air around you suddenly thick with tension.

And then, after a heartbeat of silence, you feel his presence looming over you. The air feels colder, the space around you narrowing, suffocating. You brace yourself for whatever comes next, muscles tensed, heart racing.

"Oh my…” His voice drops into a silky purr, dripping with something dark and sinister. “Except for this one~"

There is a shift in the atmosphere, an almost palpable change. You don’t know why, but you feel like a spotlight has just been turned on you, like he’s zeroed in on you and no one else exists. You cannot see him, but you can feel his gaze, a weight pressing down on you, stripping you bare. He is close now, too close, and you don’t know whether to scream or stay silent.

Your mind races, trying to decipher his intentions. What does he mean by “except for this one”? Is it a compliment, a threat, or something worse? You’re paralyzed, unable to move, unable to think clearly. You try to tell yourself it’s nothing, just more of his sick game, but there’s something in his tone, in the way he said “this one,” that makes your blood run cold.

Every nerve in your body is on high alert, waiting for the other shoe to drop. You can feel his eyes on you, like a predator sizing up its prey. The sobs you were trying so hard to suppress start to bubble up again, fear mixing with confusion, making it hard to breathe.

The sound of boots scuffing against the floor cuts through the thick air, signaling a shift in the predator's attention. He’s right there, standing over you, and you don’t know what he’s going to do next. Then he’s moving, twisting his weight to face you, and with a rustle of fabric, you sense him lowering himself closer. The space between you evaporates, his presence invading your personal bubble, suffocating you.

All you can do is wait, your heart pounding in your chest, and the voice that once brought a strange calm fills you with a new kind of dread.

And then, without warning, a hand clamps onto your chin—a grip so cold, it feels inhuman. The sudden contact against your burning, sweat-soaked skin sends a shock through your body. There is a texture difference between the skin of his fingers and the palm of his obvious fingerless gloves. The chill of his touch seeps into you, freezing your breath in your throat. You start to pant, struggling against the vise-like grip, your body’s natural reaction to the overwhelming fear and discomfort. The gag forces your drool to spill out the sides of your mouth. The more you squirm, the tighter the hold becomes until you swear you can hear the faintest crack of your mandible straining under the pressure.

A pitiful whimper escapes you, filtering through your nose in a desperate plea for mercy. But the hand doesn't relent. Instead, the person twists your head from side to side, tilting it up and down as if examining a prized possession. You feel utterly powerless, reduced to an object under their control. His cold thumb rakes firmly across your lower lip, dragging the flesh in a way that exposes your bottom teeth as you bite down on the gag. The touch is slow, deliberate, and it sends a shiver of dread down your spine. Your breath comes faster around the wet gag, each movement of air accompanied by a moist hiss.

Your chest tightens with each huff and pant, the fear clawing at you from the inside. What are they going to do to them? To you? The questions swirl in your mind, but there are no answers, only the increasing sense of doom that coils around your heart and mind.

"Quite the little snack, aren’t you?" the voice coos.

The words slide out of his mouth, smooth and sensual, a stark contrast to the situation. It’s as if he’s toying with you, savoring the moment, relishing in your fear. You can only whine in response, the gag muffling your voice, reducing your defiance to a pitiful sound. The lilting tone of his voice feels out of place, too intimate, too wrong for what’s happening.

He finally releases your jaw, the sudden absence of pressure almost as jarring as its presence. His fingers tap your cheek lightly, almost playfully, as if sealing some unspoken agreement.

"Yes, you’ll do nicely."

And then, just as suddenly as he appeared, he moves away. The space he occupied feels actually warmer in his absence. Panic wells up inside you, and you try to speak, try to ask the burning question that gnaws at your mind.

"Nicely for what?" you attempt to say, but the gag distorts your words into a garbled mess. "NIthly her mut?!" you repeat.

There’s no answer, no clarification. Instead, a rough hand—much less gentle than the last, which is saying a lot—grabs you by the upper arm. The henchman’s grip is strong, unyielding, as he drags you to your feet. You fight against him, kicking and thrashing with all the strength you can muster, but it’s useless. He doubles down, grabbing you with both hands, and you feel yourself being hauled away. Your screams fill the air, high-pitched and cracking with fear, each screech echoing off the walls as you're pulled into the unknown.

?

Read the full length piece on ao3: In Vein

[cinnamonest]

Cyno trying to fight off his sexual desires for darling... 🤭

This reminds me of the post I did for guilty sadist Kazuha... consider guilty sadist/rapist Cyno...

Cyno seems like the sort of boy who has absolutely zero history too, so the thing is, he's never really had to practice controlling these kinds of urges before. He's always been so busy with his responsibilities, he's sort of put the idea of romantic relationships to the side, with the idea that he'll get to it one day.

And, partially, he also knows deep down that he's avoiding it because he's intimidated by the thought. See, urges themselves aren't his only problem, the other issue is, for all his sternness and stoicism, he's horrifically awkward with anything of a romantic or, gods forbid, sexual nature. His face feels hot just thinking about it. Oh, and when he's super nervous, his face and voice get extra stern and serious-sounding, which comes off almost like being angry or irked, which does not work well for him.

The one time he tried to approach you and speak to you with specific intent, talk to you in a way that was unrelated to his role, he was so tense and focused and anxious that you stiffened up the moment he said your name, you asked if something was wrong. Then he panicked, and when he tried to explain himself (realizing how stupid it was to have walked over to you with no plan beyond a greeting), he ended up stumbling over his words, making up something about asking if you've seen someone else, keeping his shaky arms folded, and just when he thinks he's pulled off an interaction at least somewhat smoothly, his words of departure go over as-

Well, I'll see you arOUND—

-And he bites down hard at the voice crack, clearing his throat before trying to repeat himself as if nothing had happened, turning around and summoning his utmost willpower to walk away normally and not take off running. And then proceeded to lay in bed face-down for several hours, wallowing in frustration and humiliation.

It's a combination of those factors —a very odd, mismatched combination at that. The awkwardness over so much as a very simple interaction, yet at the same time, deep urges to do unspeakable things to you. He'd be fairly nervous about even doing something normal, and much more so the actual things he so deeply desires for.

Even if he could get over the feeling of guilt for the things he thinks about doing to you, all the depraved fantasies he's long since given up on trying to refrain from allowing his mind to conjure and instead now jerks off to several times a day, he'd still be so awkward, just thinking about it frustrates him.

However, said combination of factors is itself what makes it exponentially worse. It would be one thing if he was struggling to summon the balls to just talk to you and to start something normal, but that's not what he wants. He's self-aware of the fact that his urges are unusually violent and depraved.

He knows exactly where it started, too. He used to not have such depraved thoughts. Previously, he would have thought of himself as fairly normal in terms of tastes and urges, mostly using the occasional piece of adult material he's managed to get his hands on, books and prints that he keeps insistently hidden in a storage bin under the bed somewhere. All that was normal, nothing more than images of nudity with lewd posing.

But you just had to go and present an issue. It was so trivial, it's almost irritating that the inconvenience presents itself, forcing him to use valuable time to handle it. And it turned out to be a misunderstanding, too. Repeated absence, some professor claimed you hadn't showed up all semester, it led to a gradual increase of strikes to your conduct record and eventually, seeing as there were no bigger issues for him to handle that day, they sent him off to deal with something usually left to lower-ranked individuals. Turns out you'd registered for a different section of the same class, forgot to officially turn in the form to unregister from the former, and apparently fail to check your assigned mailbox at all. Admittedly, it was a bit irritating to have time wasted on something that was preventable, had you not been so airheaded, so his tone certainly reflected that.

—and in the future, *please* try to remember things like this.

I know! I know, I'm really sorry....

And if you'd checked your mail, you would have gotten all the letters the office has been sending you.

I know...

It was frustrating. At first, it was just pure irritation being taken out on you. But you just kept apologizing. Bowing your head, clasping your hands together.

I'm soooo sorry, I'll be more responsible in the future, I promise! S-so... please don't get me in trouble...

That was it. He can still hear those exact words in his head, exactly as you said them. The trepidation and nervousness in your voice. The way you bit your lip. The pleading look on your face.

A completely non-sensual interaction. Unpleasant, even. Something someone would have to be some kind of lust-obsessed pervert to find anything remotely sensual about, to think anything of beyond the plain, simple reality of the exchange and situation itself.

That's why it felt so bizarre, suddenly becoming aware of an increasing heartrate. The sudden sensation of heat across his body. A fuzzy, tingling sensation in his abdomen. And at first, he could have, albeit with some embarrassment, admitted to himself it was because yes, you did immediately strike him as pretty, and was ready to chastise himself for not having better control over himself, to let that influence him. In his conscious mind, he intended to merely tell you what you wanted to hear, that it was fine. After all, such a trivial misunderstanding would be unfair to hold against you, and he had every intention on just letting it go and taking any notes of the incident off your record. He was going to just tell you that it was all fine and to forget about it.

That's not what came out of his mouth, though.

I can't afford to have you making more unnecessary inconvenience in the future. You'd be more incentivized if you had some deduction of some kind.

No, really, I don't -- that's not necessary. I mean, it can't be that big of a deal, it's just a form...

It felt strange. Like it just came out of his mouth without thinking. He's normally not that much of a stickler, he's reasonable, and usually forgives first-time unintentional mistakes.

And now you're trivializing it?

N-no! No, I didn't mean it like that, I just...

To you, he comes off as irritated, but in truth his heart is beating so fast, there's this weird swelling feeling in his chest. That swelling feeling surges when your eyes widen and you start to apologize and stammer. The look of sudden panic on your face, the nervousness in your entire demeanor.

You're intimidated and nervous. The little things he says control and change your entire demeanor. Speaking harshly and coldly makes your panic worse. What happens is dependent on what he decides, and you're standing there pleading with desperation. And when he agrees, you sigh a huge breath of relief, thank him just as profusely as you were apologizing moments before.

You're very lucky I'm willing to strike this off your record entirely. Normally, I'd at least make a note of past negligence to fulfill academic responsibility.

I know, I know, thank you...

He thinks about that initial interaction a lot. For the rest of that day, it wouldn't leave his mind, even at night when he laid there, looking up at the ceiling. Unable to determine why he said all that. Drew out your suspense and worry.

But he's perceptive enough that he can figure it out, after some reflection. It just felt nice, to have that degree of control over you. Amusing, endearing even, how you reacted to it all, and a sort of exciting buzz at the awareness of having so much control over someone. That should be something he's fairly used to, but he's never felt this sensation when dealing with anyone else. It's usually just a responsibility that he doesn't have any particular emotions about.

And maybe, seeing your intimidation and dread and pleading was, in and of itself, entertaining. Pleasing. A sort of egotistical rush.

You now recognize him, smile and wave when you see him, despite the unpleasant nature of that situation. He's not at all resentful of you or anything for it. In fact, he's taken a sort of fascination with you since then... not that you'd really know, given it's all from a distance, aside from that one aforementioned time he fumbled the attempt to talk to you normally.

He can't look at you without feeling shameful about the thoughts that begin to sprout — as dumb and forgetful as you apparently may be, you're so sweet to him when you see him, and seem so kind and pure-spirited, and here he is wanting to do horrible things to you, it makes him feel so guilty and ashamed and he sulks for hours... usually before jerking off to the thoughts again, unable to resist the urge to do so. Admittedly, he's hoping that expressing the urges that way will make him more rational and less prone to impulse in real life.

More importantly, he can't look at you without stripping you down in his head. He hates that, keeps trying to chastise himself for it. It's the sort of behavior that's reserved for rapists and perverts, not people like him. But it just keeps happening. Every time he looks at you, he keeps imagining all the pieces coming off, tries to envision your skin, the curvature of your body. It usually serves as a preceding thought to far worse ones.

You're so nice, you've never done anything wrong to him. You have such a cute smile. Your heart is pure and sweet. That makes it so much worse, makes him feel a knot in his chest, whenever he tries to keep the fantasies wholesome and normal, if he can't fight them off entirely — only to fail at that too. It makes it so much worse that, no matter how much he tries to envision you smiling and moaning and encouraging him, once he gets hot and into a lust-crazed haze, it always drifts. Before he can even stop himself, the images become you whimpering and teary-eyed, looking scared, trembling. He sees your arms straining hard against restraints, feels your body squirm against his, hears little gasps and hisses of pain when he reaches down to bite your neck and digs his nails into your hips and so many other things, oh, so so so many other things he could do to you, things to make you squeal and squirm and clench and sniffle and beg and cry. He can hear it, a side to your voice he's never heard in reality, higher in pitch and strained, stop, stop, I'm sorry, please—

And the fantasy always breaks there, because once he gets to the part he can hear your voice in his head is always what pushes him over the edge. His eyes bolt open and his muscles tense as cum splatters onto his stomach, and he's left to lay there panting and staring up at the ceiling, wallowing, feeling like he's the worst person in the world.

It's getting harder. He starts to get jittery, like some sort of psychological itch that can't be scratched except for one specific way, one he can't do. He can't.

He can just barely justify it to himself with the notion that fantasizing helps. As long as he does this, he won't do anything to you. At least, that's his hope...

But splashing cold water on his face whenever he feels weird is getting less effective. He feels a sense of dread, worried about his own self and his own mind, when he finds himself spacing out and absent-mindedly wandering around, but just so happening to make a direct path for your residence. He feels a nagging sense of sickness when he gradually caves to one urge after another -- first following you around, then increasing the amount of time he spends doing so, then using the master key he's provided with to break into your room and lie on your bed and inhale your scent for over an hour, then to start stealing clothes out of your room. It makes him feel sick to his stomach, makes him feel shameful and dirty, but it's overridden by the haze of arousal and lust and desperation.

He knows it's getting worse, and that his self-control is rapidly waning. He comes to acknowledge that he's lying to himself when he reasons that doing this will satiate the desires, prevent him from doing something worse. That it will only accelerate it instead. That it's a matter of time and circumstance from this point forward, and that he's just a step away from going out of his way to create the right circumstances. That he's going to commit a crime, and not because it's the only way he could obtain the physical act itself, but because he wants to, because he wants it to be forceful and frightening and brutal. As much as he wishes he didn't want that, he knows his inner mind does, his body does, he wants that, craves it, needs it.

Maybe he could break into your room while you sleep. Put a hand over your mouth. Keep you in the dark, only whisper so you can't recognize his voice. Then you wouldn't know. Ah, but then, if he had that once, if he could experience that once, there's no way he'd be able to keep it at only once. There's no way he could just walk out and leave you there and live without ever getting to do it again. He has to do something, but there's nothing he can do that isn't a terrible idea for anything but the immediate few minutes it would take place.

What if he just... did it? Without even concealing his identity? Would you tell anyone? Would you not, because you'd think no one would believe you? Would you be too afraid of him to do that? Would you allow it over and over and over, to the point that you would just accept it as your fate? Would it eventually break your mind into accepting him, too?

He doesn't end up having to think it through, or plan it out, or even finally give up resistance to the urges enough to make an active effort to go through with it. No, he gets something much easier. So much so, so coincidental and perfect, it feels like some kind of joke, like it can't even be real, when he gets that knock on his door late at night, freezing up entirely when he sees your sheepish, apologetic face.

I'm so sorry sir, it's just... I locked myself out of my residence hall, I don't know anyone else I could go to this late... I thought maybe you have some kind of key that can get into the halls...?

For a moment, he doesn't respond, and you're almost afraid you've upset him. He stands there slowly blinking, expression blank, staring forward at you, completely still. The silence carries for just a few seconds, just enough to feel awkward, before he speaks — that is, lies on immediate impulse.

No, I don't. Sorry.

There's an odd dullness to his eyes, it almost makes you feel uneasy, but you deem it easily explicable as tiredness due to the late hour.

O-oh, alright, sorry to bother—

You can stay in here.

There's a few seconds of pause. He seems to recognize the somewhat surprised look on your face, and adds,

I have a chair I can sleep in. You shouldn't be outside so late at night. I'll allow you to stay here for the night. It's probably best for your safety.

The words come out of his mouth before he can think them through, impulsive, and hopefully not so instantaneously after you just barely finish your own words that it came across as odd. He can't really tell how he's coming across, too deep into a daze. He can't read the expression on your face either, as if his brain is short-circuited, unable to focus on or process anything. It takes another moment for him to realize he's still standing in the doorway, and takes a step back.

And you know it's strange, sure. But again, it's reasonable, it's late, he's tired. And he's extending such a kind gesture for someone he really doesn't know all that well, you'd feel bad for rejecting it, and thereby obligated to agree. It's only natural that unsavory ideas briefly cross your mind, but for someone like him, both in character and in position, you don't really worry about something like that, you trust him far more than you would a regular guy.

Thank you so much!

He doesn't even nod in acknowledgement, merely steps to the side as you make your way in. You're taking in the predictable neatness of the room around you as you listen to the click of him locking the door back up for the night, and then, the slow, heavy sound of each step taken from behind you drawing closer and closer, as you set down the things you had on you, a jacket and a bag. Your lips part and you inhale just before asking if it's okay to put them where you did, but a hand slams down onto your throat before you can speak.

[hum-suffer]

We'll say hello again (Nevermind the chasm between us) 19

The last taste of love on her tongue is bitter and sour, like a rotten gooseberry. It's pathetic, the way she still craves love.

Gauri wants nothing more than to curl up and be held but she doesn't have that option right now and it feels worse than the fact that someone dared to make her feel so. She feels like a wretched girl, eighteen years and all she's managed to gain in the respect that comes from being of royal blood.

Her fingers and arms drip in the gold chain that clinks with every moment of hers, colliding with her armband and bangles and rings. The small dangling rubies at the end of the chain, that rest on her collarbone, make her throat appear bloodied. Gauri curls her fingers in a fist and imagines hitting Vijay with this hand, the gold scraping off his skin, the rubies becoming redder.

It is with this thought that Gauri swipes her tongue behind her teeth and walks out of her room to attend to Vijay's request for a walk with her. She hasn't bothered to change the saree she'd been wearing the whole day, and neither has she done up her hair in any other way than she usually does. She doesn't wish to give him any special attention nor does she wish his attention on herself.

Vijay is waiting for her on her doorstep, and Bhairav is stoically standing there, face impassive. Gauri notices a red bloom on the jut of Bhairav's jaw, wondering what exactly had happened within the span of an hour that she'd been in her room. She raises an eyebrow at him and he looks down with a minute shake of his head. Unsatisfied with his wordless reply, Gauri purses her lips but she knows not to push the topic in front of Vijay.

"Your highness," Vijay greets her, with a nod. Gauri usually doesn't wish to be arrogant, but a splash of arrogance has always been in her and it sparks and burns, at his audacity to not bow. If only she could kick his legs from him and make him kneel.

Gauri smiles wanly. "Mahoday. How may I help you this evening?"

"Be less formal, for one," Vijay smiles like he's cracked a joke. Gauri doesn't bother changing her expressions. He quickly backtracks. "May I have the pleasure of your company for a walk?"

Ideal etiquette would dictate that she say that his company is her pleasure. She forgoes it.

She nods, for she doesn't think she wishes to lie about such trivial matters, and steps forward. Vijay promptly turns and begins to walk out of the Royal wing.

He's not even making sure that they're walking parallel.

When she does reach enough to walk parallel to him, he eyes her. Ah, she thinks sarcastically. So, the man follows the ancient misogyny of not allowing the woman to walk parallel. Her ego grows wings.

"Royal family members are supposed to walk ahead, you know?" She says, almost purring with how low her volume is. "To show you the way, of course."

Vijay smiles at her, that dim smile that she's come to despise. "Well, I am about to be your husband and hence a royal, am I not?"

A shudder goes through her spine at the mere thought. "Unless you plan to stay at Mahishmati and become Princess Consort, the same rights as a Royal do not apply to you, Mahoday. I thought you'd know this. Since, you seem to know everything."

Vijay puffs up a bit at that and Gauri seriously wishes she could smack him over the head. Goodness gracious, she wonders how on Earth did the man survive.

Gauri wonders how she will survive the day with him.

Behind them, she hears a sound from Bhairav that she can think of as a scoff. He's never made a noise before, in regard to any private conversation she might be having, in all of their years. It tells her just how stupid Vijay is.

Vijay talks about his preferences and routine, back at his home. She notes him as a man of routine, who never strays. A man of plans. She wonders how predictable he might be. She wonders how easy it may be to slip him poison between one of the meals, before he goes for exercise. How it may seem like an accident when he chokes while exercising.

Gauri suppresses a sigh, and lets her breath cool in her chest.

"One day, you will be a part of the same routine," Vijay says, almost soft in his speaking.

Gauri once again thinks that had he not been so misogynistic, he would have deserved love. In another universe, Gauri might have helped him find that love with someone else too. But Gauri isn't kind enough in this world.

If her love is not enough, neither is she.

Vijay will have to die.

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Amar was taught by his teacher that a human heart is slightly bigger than the size of one's fist.

The first moment when he experienced love, is the moment he doesn't remember, but is told of. That moment when Maa lifted him in her arms and named him Bahubali, held him in her arms as she sat on the seat of Rajmata, with Bhalla on the other half of her lap.

With a breathlessness that is dizzying, Amar wonders today, where was Gauri, if not in Maa's lap? Where was Gauri? Where was Gauri?

When he thinks again, he knows he doesn't remember it, but he thinks that perhaps he experienced love first when he was in his mother's womb, with Gauri. Katappa Mama tells him that his mother was sure that she will bear a boy and his father was sure she will have a girl and god granted them their wishes together and it takes his breath away again to realise that the first time his mother must have talked to her pregnant stomach, talking to herself, she would have only addressed him.

It leaves a taste of ash in his mouth.

He wonders if the first love he experienced was the moment he was born. When Gauri wouldn't stop sobbing and screaming until she was put beside him. They are the same age, and he's barely older than her by mere minutes and yet, all he can think of her is that she is his little sister.

His baby sister.

He remembers the first time he lifted her up in the air and she squealed and he realised she was too light. He remembers the times he made her eat something throughout the day for a month to train her body to demand for more food. He remembers seeing the jut of her wrist bone and collas popping and he remembers an assassination attempt on her and he remembers the way his breath caught in his chest as he began running towards the river— uncaring that he did not know how to swim.

Amar remembers being held back by Katappa as Bhairav jumped in the river instantly and he remembers the way she moulded herself to him as soon as he had his arms around Gauri.

The instant trust, the feeling of home that he has for her, that feeling that she too had for him.

Now, he isn't sure she has the same feeling for him.

Gauri doesn't glare at him or any of the other family members. She doesn't say anything. More than anything else, her silence lodges itself in his throat like a shard of ice. Amar doesn't remember feeling so pathetic in his life.

When he sees her walking with Vijay, he realises why she hates Vijay. It's not just about her autonomy. They both know that one day they will have to marry and it might not stem from their own choice. But seeing the casual disregard Vijay has for her, the way he treats her like something he owns.

Amar is surprised that Bhairav hasn't unsheathed his sword yet. Amar knows he wants to. Hell, he's even seen Bhalla break a spoon in half just because Vijay presumed to call Gauri by her name alone.

"Tell me, Gauri," he hears Vijay say,"have you ever been to the West?"

Gauri shakes her head. It's rude, not to reply in words, and yet, Amar only feels vindictively proud of her for not speaking. She holds her stand, even if he can't.

He feels indebted to Maa, for loving them. He knows what might have happened to them, had she not held her ground and loved them in equal to Bhalla. Her love and protection has him kneeling on the ground and Amar can do nothing but watch as she decides to marry Gauri off to this oaf.

"I wish I had a brother like yours," Vijay says, looking away to the palace grounds. "Bhallaldev and Bahubali both are mighty young men."

And Amar remembers again, just how old Vijay is. A dozen years older than them. He calls Bhalla and Amar as young men and yet he wants to marry Gauri, who is of the same age.

"Do you think we would have sons like them?" He asks her.

The mere thought that this man might touch his sister is an abomination. Amar grits his teeth and very pointedly keeps his hand away from the hilt of his sword, knowing that his impulse control is next to none currently. The audacity of this man makes Amar want to commit several crimes.

Bhairav has no such regards. He goes rigid and from the distance, Amar sees Bhairav put his hands behind his back and take hold of the hilt of his own dagger.

(Amar can't keep track of that bloody dagger. It's either on Gauri or on Bhairav. Or perhaps both of them have the same commissioned dagger. He doesn't know.

And the mere thought of not knowing this trivial fact aches him in a way that he cannot explain. Not knowing something about his sister, his precious darling sister. Unfathomable. And yet, true.)

He can't see Gauri's expressions from here, but he hears her clearly enough. "There cannot be another Bhallaldev or Bahubali. Legends happen once."

"Well, then, I suppose it's not too much to hope there will not be another Gauri too?" Vijay says. Bhairav pulls the dagger half way out and Amar has the temptations to join him. There are only three more guards and Katappa here. No one will need to know where Vijay ended up. Vijay continues speaking, unaware of the danger he has drawn for himself. "I need heirs, you see. And a girl..."

Gauri shrugs delicately. "I do not claim to mould the future."

"You can do anything you put your mind to, is that not true?"

And Amar may not know his sister as well as she knows him, and he might not understand her as thoroughly, but he hears the bloodlust in her tone when she speaks. "Yes."

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Bhallaldev doesn't claim to be all knowing, but the one thing he knows for sure, is that Vijay will die soon after his marriage with Gauri.

Gauri will marry him, if only for the state, and will make him live enough for him to name her as his heir and then, he will die. It will seem like an accident, a horse going into madness at the wrong time, a dagger slipping from his hands, falling from wet stairs. Anything. And everyone will know but none will be able to prove it.

Bhallaldev finds that he does not care about Vijay being dead. It is true, that to marry Gauri, Vijay had promised that the whole of West province would support Bhalla's claim to the throne, and Bhalla had made an error in judgement and said yes to the man's proposal— not realising that he was dealing his sister.

Now, as they sit at the evening tea, Vijay talks about his childhood. Bhalla hasn't heard Gauri say a word.

He discreetly glances at Bahu and lifts his eyebrows after gesturing to Gauri with his eyes. Bahu cringes and gestures to Vijay with a grimace. It's enough explanation. Bhallaldev wonders if this is what the future shall hold for them— a silent Gauri, who isn't herself at all.

He knows that his father and him are the biggest to blame for her silence, and it burns away at his chest.

Bhallaldev might get the throne, but at what cost?

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Just after she retires from the dinner, Gauri sees the expression on her cousin and her brother and she ignores them.

The walk to her room is silent except for her anklets tinkling and the silver of them shining even more brightly under the caress of moonlight.

When they stop in front of her chambers, Gauri sees the stoic look on Bhairav's face. "What is it that you are thinking, Bhairav?"

"My princess," he swallows behind the words, as if he were about to say something else but reigned himself in. He drops to a knee before her, the empty hall making so that the only witness to them is the air between them. "I beg of you. Please, whatever happens, do not relieve me of my duties to you as a protector. I do not trust that man. I must be with you to protect you."

So pretty on your knees for me, she thinks abruptly and dismisses the thought instantly. She will not make him beg for anything and relish in it. She knows how important his self respect is to him and him kneeling for her makes it all the more important.

He's never knelt for anyone else.

Gauri uses her knuckles to tip his chin and make him look at her as she leans down. "You have heard me multiple times, soldier. You are mine. You're mine to protect and you are mine to command. No one will make it otherwise. Where I go, you will be beside me."

Bhairav's eyes fall shut, as if her words are his absolution and salvation wrapped in one. Gauri leans back up and forwards a hand to him. His calloused hand makes way into her own rough hand, painted with alta, and she pulls him up.

"You are mine to protect, my princess," he tells her,"I cannot bear to see you for even one more day as I have seen you today— withdrawn and quiet. My princess is a woman of power and fire. She needs not to keep silent and let some oaf speak for her. You can command the entire nation with one sentence alone. He does not command you."

____________________________________________________

A shorter chapter because I've been stuck in a slump for this and i have no inspiration nor the proper encouragement for this story anymore. Let's see tho. Idk if I'll abandon this yet. I love Gauri Bhairav too much

Tagging: @alhad-maharani @vijayasena @allizzprobablynotwell @nerdreader @voidsteffy

[idensgarden]

you guys seemed to like my last au ranting post so. here we go

some more takes on classic gravity falls aus because i like reimagining things. Here's my 2 cents on reverse falls, which. i havent seen the visual novel if thats considered canon or anything to the au. i think uts like batman now where everything you apply to it is canon if it vaguely follows the premise

from what i've seen, it's more of a situation swap than a personality swap, so most parts of the au will follow that. but pacifica didn't come to gravity falls for the summer- she had to move here because her stupid dad got involved in a scandal or something and had to lay low. the northwests have inherited enough money to last them a good while, but apparently they can't go spending it on "trivial things", like pacifica's very important designer clothes. so she has to get... a... a... god, i can't say it without gagging, a JOB!!! at a worn down car sales shack!!! hold on. let me add a cut here.

okay im back. alright. at her job, pacifica meets gideon gleeful, who's basically gideon but less entitled, and surprisingly a bit like mabel. he's immediately the most annoying person pacifica has ever met. but he's the only company she has, besides mr. gleeful, who is way too cheerful to be pleasant and gives off major discomforting vibes, and mrs. gleeful, who makes her reflect on the lack of affection she receives from her actual mother and creates a deep pit of sorrow in her heart. just girly things.

(since gideon is much more pleasant in this au, his mother is much more stable, and takes the role of the primary caretaker since bud is too normal for me to write about)

the other employees are bad, but could be worse. the sleepy cashier with eyebags for eons and ROBERT written uncaringly on his nametag, and the overachieving pink-haired errand-girl who seemed to have a different name each time you asked her and a cartoonishly large bow on her head.

the longer pacifica works at her new summer job, the more fond she grows of it. when she's not hearing about gideon's annoying ramblings about wanting to be on broadway and the melancholy of settling for a mascot gig, she's actually feeling this gross sense of pride after actually working for something in her life, and getting sandwiches made for her by ms. gleeful (eventually nicknamed aunt agnes). pacifica hates to admit it and it keeps her up at night, but she's happier here than she's ever been. which is why she doesn't leave when she notices strange things happening around gravity falls.

ms. gleeful denies it, but gideon totally agrees with her- something weird is going on in this town. pacifica, going through an old car with an undefinable model much too damaged to repair, finds a journal in the glovebox, embedded with an X over an eye, and from here, the show plays out a bit like normal gravity falls. give it that unnerving, darker touch that the northwest manor episode had. some early episode ideas:

a full episode based on the what's-his-face comic, obviously without the mystery twins. pacifica gets a pimple, and thinks that since she's starting to get older, she's losing her adolescent beauty, and thus becoming less of a 'valuable asset' to her family. what choice does a girl have but demon magic? i hope this one doesn't backfire!!!

after the last episode, the effects of pacifica's fear of not meeting the beauty standard linger. after catching pacifica staring at multi level marketing get-pretty schemes, ms. gleeful decides to revoke her phone and take the kids camping, saying that technology is evil. it turns out she's right, as pacifica's phone has grown restless after it's abandonment and transformer'd into a beast, which is hunting them down in the forest slenderman-style.

pacifica doesn't believe in the tooth fairy- she's almost 13! it takes her a terribly long time to be appropriately afraid when it gets one tooth from her (gideon convinces her to just TRY putting one under her pillow) and becoming obsessed with harvesting her perfect teeth. inspired by ckret2's goldilocks au!! :)

and then comes episode four...

on her break (thank god!), pacifica sits down to watch some trashy tv, but can't stop seeing ads for this flashy tourist attraction called the mystery shack. at first she rolls her eyes, but the lights and the colors and all the cool effects just look to awesome to pass up. this town must be getting to her, because she'd never indulge herself with something like that before, but now she just has to go. she works overtime for money to see the shack, and gideon uses his allowance to go, too. (pacifica is surprised. why is he spending money on this? he said he doesn't even want to go!!! (gideon just wants to get closer with his first friend)).

the shack is run by a professional conman, who collects and shuffles the money dramatically at a fancy desk, called stanford pines (not actually, this is pre-ford). his employees were vigilant, and yet always exhausted- a goth girl with a sharp tongue and a bodyguard who always seemed uncomfortable in his suit.

but customers really came for the twins; mason and mabel, psychic slash drama slash comedy duo. the townspeople practically (sometimes literally) threw money at them. they were the same age as pacifica and gideon, but had this air of disconnect to them. in all their posters they had the same matching yellow earrings, contrasting their bedazzled blue outfits. their hair also seemed to be greying, even at such an early age.

pacifica was not happy to have spent her 45 dollars on watching two kids read fortunes more vaguely than a cookie and tell dumb jokes and do stupid dances, but gideon seemed jazzed.

the next day, there's a knock at the office door. the twins came to visit! pacifica is pissed. mabel asks to chat with gideon, and pacifica tells her to screw off, but gideon rushes out of the door with mabel, 0 hesitation. he probably has a crush on her for a bit like in canon, but it doesn't go anywhere.

dipper invites himself in, offers that pacifica could offer him some tea free of charge, and pacifica almost thanks him. she lashes out at him, and quickly learns that he is all bark and no bite, curling up like a scared kitten in the recliner. she picks on him a bit, barely noticing the glow of his earring, before mabel comes back out with gideon.

"alright, that'll be all! hey, can gideon take work off today?" she says. "we want to go get makeovers! you know, since we're best friends now and all."

for some reason, pacifica feels a strong pang of rage. but she doesn't act on it, just standing there dumbfounded as mabel doesn't wait for an answer, and gideon skips out of the shop with his new best friend.

it keeps pacifica up at night. she should be important to him!!! wasn't she his first friend?

wasn't he hers?

when gideon finally comes back, pacifica is still angry, but she's relieved. at least that wacko girl is gone- nevermind, she's back, and she's taking gideon out for tacos and pedicures.

it goes on and on and on. pizza night this, karaoke night that, arts and crafts here, a cool party there... pacifica knew that she should be mad. she should be frustrated- she was pacifica northwest! she should be the center of everything, she should be invited to these stupid get togethers, she deserved it!

but she wasn't angry about that. she was angry about gideon. and above all else, she was lonely.

so she did the responsible thing and communicated with gideon about how she felt and I'm lying I'm lying to you right now. she actually hunts down mason, demands that he spill the ulterior motives of mabel pines, and yanks him up by his shirt collar like a cartoon bully. at first, mason won't talk, but pacifica drops him on the ground and gets a good look at his stupid dumb constellation birthmark. she asks him about it.

"it's... not actually a birthmark. it's,, like a tattoo." mason confesses. "it's a long story. with a really gloomy sleep paralysis demon at the center of it. please don't tell anyone."

pacifica has no idea why it's that important, but utilizes her leverage, and blackmails mason into telling the truth because shes kind of a dick. he tells her that the whole mystery shack is a con made up of conmen and conwomen and conpeople, and mabel is trying to make gideon another cog in the cog-powered con machine and swindling him into giving up his family's business in order to expand the shack, showering him with attention and taking advantage of how gideon has never had any friends.

pacifica is outraged. yes he has, she decides.

she barges into mabel's backstage room in the mystery shack just in time to dramatically yell DROP. THAT. PEN!!! before gideon signs a waiver.

gideon is disgruntled, confused, and angry. "you're just upset that mabel is treating me like a real friend, something you never did for me!"

"i didn't know how to do that for you, i never... i'd never done it before!"

gideon squints and softens at pacifica's confession. oh. so she's not actually that mean, she's just repressed and lonely. she's just like me for real!

the two make up and hug, before the sentimental scene is destroyed by a loud "ENOUGH!!!" from mabel. mason dashes into the room to come to her aid, a bit sorry for leaking her plan, and the two use their cool crystal earrings to beat the shit out of pacifica and gideon.

"YOU WANNA HAND OVER YOUR PROPERTY TO ME SO BAD, IT MAKES YOU LOOK STUUUPID!!!" (cool psychic fight)

eventually, gideon manages to snatch the amulet from mabel, asking her what the diddly darn she's doing. mabel sighs.

"come on, gideon! i have braces! those mess with girls' emotions and hormones and stuff!"

"d-... do they really?"

"no, but you wouldn't know, you never had friends!" she towers over him. the whites of her eyes become a ghastly blue, her pupils shifting to a shape akin to a goat's. "come on, gideon! what's it hurt? your dignity? your family? your life's work? we both know you need approval. need to feel normal. like you're not a freak." her words are venom. "i can give you that. there's no reason for you to miss this opportunity. there's no reason for you to miss me."

pacifica is restrained by mason, reaching out for gideon. "don't believe them," she sputters. gideon looks up at mabel.

"you're right. it's just nonsensical. to miss this. miss you..." he takes her hand, as he speaks again.

"not when my aim is just getting better."

he takes his free hand and SOCKS mabel in the face and unclips her earring because i decided theyre clip ons and ripping it out is a little extreme!!! he throws it on the ground and stomps on it, and mabel is FURIOUS. she turns to mason.

"come on, bro bro!" she huffs. "do something!"

mason is still for a second. and then he shakes his head. "mabel, we need to talk."

"NOW!?"

as the twins begin to argue, gideon and pacifica take the opportunity to flee the shack and run back to the car shop. before ms. gleeful makes dinner, gideon asks if he can actually stay at pacifica's tonight.

ms. gleeful is okay with it, but pacifica quickly dismisses the topic. it's the thought that counts, but she didn't want to see her parents at the moment.

"you don't mind if i stay here tonight, though, do you, ms. gleeful?" pacifica asks.

"please, sweetheart, call me aunt agnes. i have a sleeping bag 'round here somewhere!"

she and gideon smiled at each other.

[i520u]

star-crossed ✩°｡ ⋆⸜

twenty-one. today

Your heart was banging against your chest as you reached the quiet playground again. The same playground where you saw Gyuvin for the last time. That was 3 weeks ago. It’s been almost a month since you’ve seen Gyuvin, almost a month since Gyuvin started sabotaging himself. Almost a month since the guilt started eating you from the inside out.

You knew his sobriety is not your responsibility, but you couldn’t help but feel like the change in his demeanour was somewhat your fault. Maybe if you never did the stupid intervention? Maybe if you had just sought him after he kissed you and properly talked it out? Maybe things that may look trivial like these to you in the past could’ve stopped him from becoming whatever he was now.

Summer was coming to an end, the night breeze was no longer hot, but rather gentle. You slowly approached the playground with Ricky, your hands turning colder the closer you reached the playground. You could see a familiar silhouette sitting on one of the swingsets quietly, both you and Ricky exchanging looks before approaching him.

You didn’t have to say anything, Gyuvin was already looking at you. The night was dark, it was 8 PM, but you could clearly see how sombre your friend had looked like. Exhausted, famished, and sombre. You had to stop yourself from running towards him and pulling him into a hug, you so badly wanted to hug him — he was right in front of you, but he felt so far away.

“I thought you would’ve come alone.” He sighed, his eyes falling to his shoes, the rustic noise of the swingset slowly creaking as Gyuvin’s body swayed ever so slightly. Your eyebrows slightly furrowed, you didn’t want to pity him — you knew pitying him would make him feel worse about himself — but you couldn’t help it. You felt sorry for him, and you deeply missed him.

Three weeks.

Three weeks and he looked so different.

“How are you, Gyuvin?” Ricky was the first to break the silence between the two of you. He left your side as he stopped in his tracks to stand in front of Gyuvin. He avoided Ricky’s gaze, but you were unsure why. Was he uncomfortable? Or scared? He exhaled, blinked a few times as if he was thinking of a way to answer Ricky’s question.

It felt like you were frozen in time, you stood there at the same spot, just looking at Gyuvin. A wave of emotions had crashed onto you, and you didn’t know why. You worry for Gyuvin — he was clearly not in a good mental state. But why? He sounded sober, but was he really? Is it your fault he became like this? Was it the kiss? Or the intervention? What do you tell Yujin?

Gyuvin darted his eyes towards you, his gaze felt unwelcoming. “You asked us to meet. Why are you so quiet now?” He asked, completely ignoring Ricky’s question after purposely leaving it to hang in the air for a while. Your eyes widened slightly upon realising that the question was targeted at you.

You didn’t understand why you were so stunned now that you were standing right in front of the person you’ve been having sleepless nights over. You felt tongue-tied somehow. You glanced over at Ricky as he stared at you, he made sure to give you a small smile and a little nod as a non-verbal way to give you reassurance.

Gyuvin let out a scoff, his head dropping once again as he waited for your answer. Standing up, he had a condescending look on his face. “Hey.” He called out, slowly walking towards you, “let’s meet up again when you have something to actually say. Wasting my fucking time.” He spat out, the last sentence was quieter, as if he was mumbling it to himself.

You pressed your lips together. Your legs backing away as you helf your hands up to stop him from walking any further. “Gyuvin, you don’t look well.” You finally said, your voice wavered a little, but it didn’t matter. You didn’t want him to think that it was a waste of his time to meet up with you. He let out a dry chuckle, nodding to your statement. “No shit.” He whispered, making sure that it was just you who could hear him. “Did you make me come all the way here to comment on my appearance? That’s it?” It wasn’t really a question, and you knew that. It was a taunt.

Yujin used to have similar tantrums like this, you were used to enduring it. Though, it did hurt a little when it came from a friend. “I wanted to meet up with you because I missed you.” You sounded breathless somehow, it didn’t feel good to admit it, and it was also one of the many things that you didn’t understand why. Telling the truth always makes you feel better. Except this time.

Gyuvin had a smile on his face, not the good kind. The smile was more like he was in disbelief, turning around to catch a glimpse of Ricky, before diverting his attention back to you again. “Missed me? You?” He asked, using one finger to poke your shoulder harshly. Your face morphed into a look of disbelief as he jabbed at your shoulder, shocked that the Gyuvin before you now was reduced into some asshole.

Ricky made his way towards you, pushing Gyuvin back and making sure you stood behind him instead. “I don’t know if your brain is all fucked from all those drugs you’ve been taking, but don’t touch her like that.” Your eyes widened in shock, the sight of two friends threatening the thinning patience between them both wasn’t something you wanted. If they wanted to fight, you didn’t want to witness it. You weren’t sure how much more emotional baggage you could endure if they did. “Wow. Making fun of my struggles? You’ve stooped so low.” Gyuvin spoke with a condescending tone as he provoked the two of you even further.

Ricky was visibly angry, his lips parted as he was about to say something just as harsh in return. You tugged him by his arm as hard as you could in an attempt to stop them both before it escalated. “Stop picking a fight with him. You told me that you wanted to talk and fix your friendship with Gyuvin, which is why I let you follow me in the first place.” Your voice was stern as you reminded him, the grip on his arm was as tight as ever.

Gyuvin shook his head at the sight of you and his friend. “And what about you, Y/N?” He voiced out, the sound of your name made your head snapped towards him. “Did you just come here to give me sorry looks and to make me feel small and pathetic?” He continued.

You clenched your fist at his question, your gaze automatically falling to the ground as you were once again at loss for words. “I came here for you.” You muttered quietly, through gritted teeth. “Because I care about you.” You finished, although your gaze remained on the dark ground. “If you cared about me you would’ve come to me sooner, don’t you think so?”

“If you cared, you wouldn’t have shunned me out. I mean, come on. Restricting Yujin from playing Animal Crossing and like, what? Fucking Roblox because you think I’m dangerous?” Ricky sighed, upon hearing Gyuvin’s rant, it was getting obvious to him by now regarding Gyuvin’s mental state. He wasn’t sober — which wasn’t the slightest bit surprising to him — and he was also just spewing whatever. Maybe it was pent up anger, but Ricky knew it was about to get hurtful.

“You would’ve done the exact same thing, Gyuvin, and you know that.” He said, his hand slowly found yours to give it a light squeeze. He wasn’t sure if it was going to do anything, but he just wanted give you some reassurance since he was aware of how guilty you felt for not letting Yujin see Gyuvin anymore.

“It’s kinda funny. Yujin was genuinely the only person that actually showed any sign of concern for me. Not you, or you, or Gunwook. Just some little boy that I was tutoring. It kinda makes me sick.” He chuckled dryly, looking at Ricky, “you see me doing shit that can get me killed, and what do you do? Nothing. For months on end, if possible.”

He kicked the little pebble on the ground absentmindedly, swallowing down the lump that had surprisingly built up in his throat. “You never do anything. Not then, not now, not ever. But you want me to believe that we’re equal?” He deadpanned, his features broke into a sorrowful one.

Gyuvin frowned, he no longer had that cynical expression on him, and it was once again the same exhausted, and sombre face he had when you first looked at him. “If you were in my position, I would’ve done everything and anything to help you. And I did, again, and again, and again, a million times. Gunwook would’ve helped you. Maybe she would’ve too. Why can’t any of you do the same to me?”

His voice had a hint of hurt to it. Hurt, and a mixture of anger. His pupils were dilated, and he was gritting his teeth. Your mind went blank for the first time that night. You came to a realisation — all Gyuvin ever wanted was to be wanted, to feel reciprocated.

“I’m just tired. It’s tiring to be your friend, Ricky. You seem to always suck in everyone around us, and you leave me with nothing. You’re always the star of the show, and I’m always in your shadow. You say that you care for me — that I’m your friend, but I haven’t felt that way for a while. Am I just not worth any of your efforts? You never seem to be there when I need you the most. None of you were.” He sighed.

Gyuvin was less hostile now, what was left of him was purely sadness, “I guess Y/N was the last straw for me. Of course you managed to win over Y/N too. It didn’t matter that I’ve known her for longer — of course Y/N was going to open up to you the same way she opened up to me in such a short time. I’m sick of it. I’m sick of you, and you.” He glanced over to you, the glance was only for a second, but you felt the weight of it.

“Gyuvin, I’m sorry–”

“If you’re sorry, promise me this.”

Ricky blinked a few times as he stared at his best friend. Guilt was hitting him like a sudden big ocean wave. “Promise what?” He asked, his voice was soft. Gyuvin looked at both you and Ricky properly for the first time that night. His expression was stoic, but his gaze remained despondent.

“Promise to leave me alone. It was a good friendship, but I want to live a life where I don’t feel like I’m constantly standing in someone’s shadow. Constantly the first to apologise, constantly the one to prioritise your feelings over mine.”

He waited for an answer, Gyuvin’s hand reached out to Ricky’s shoulder, lightly squeezing it. “I’ll do as you say, only if your promise to be clean?” Ricky’s question turned out to be more like a statement as he stared at his friend. Gyuvin retracted his hand slowly, flashing him a sincere smile for the first time, nodding his head. He stood there for a moment, waiting. It was his silent plea, hoping Ricky would say something more, but he never did.

His smile faded, and the hand on Ricky’s shoulder was slowly retracted. Gyuvin walked past Ricky, he kept his gaze ahead. Ricky turned around as he watched his friend slowly disappearing into the night, a small frown on his face as he knew it would probably be the last time he was ever going to talk to Gyuvin.

You didn’t know why Ricky didn’t say anything — why he didn’t try to oppose Gyuvin. He looked like he had a lot to say, but you didn’t feel like you were in the position to ask him. He knew Gyuvin more than you did, and maybe he would be fighting a losing battle if he argued with Gyuvin’s terms.

The blonde boy sighed, looking over to you, flashing you a bitter smile. “I never realised how badly I treated him.” He forced a chuckle out of him, but there was no humour to it. You caressed his back gently as a way to comfort him, “fall outs happen all the time.” You reassured him.

The two of you stayed in the playground even though Gyuvin had left hours ago. None of you felt like going home, and you knew Ricky probably didn’t want to be alone at that moment. He didn’t mention Gyuvin again that night, nor did he mention anything that happened just hours ago. As if it never happened. You didn’t want to bring it up either, respecting his silent decision.

You two finally decided to walk home when the night breeze started getting colder. Ricky had an arm around your waist as you continued talking about many different things. Some trivial and some were more personal. “Can we be together tonight? Can I stay over?” He asked suddenly. You stopped on your tracks, looking over at him.

He had his usual pleading widened eyes as he waited for your answer. With everything that had unfold, you didn’t see a reason to say no. You’d like to be accompanied for the night as well. You nodded your head to his answer, which resulted in Ricky bending down to give you a kiss. 

His warm breath was a contrast to the cold air, the hand on your waist immediately pulling you closer to him. You ran your fingers through his hair as you returned the kiss, as it deepened when you tilted your head to the side so it would be easier to match the rhythm of his lips.

It was sweet as usual, Ricky’s kisses always felt romantic and sweet. But it felt desperate too, the hold he had on your waist was strong, like he wanted to keep you by his side, like you were going to escape. The other hand was holding the side of your neck, to gently guide you so that the kiss would be a proper one.

When he pulled away, his cheeks were slightly flushed, a shy smile on his face as he looked you in the eye. You grinned at him, gently caressing his cheek. “I love you.” He mumbled as the two of you resumed walking again, your house already visible from where you were standing. “Ricky, are you sure you’re okay?” You finally asked, you couldn’t stand it any longer. The amount of times something bad turned worse due to unspoken words — you’ve had enough of it.

Ricky inhaled a deep breath, once again the hold on your waist tightened ever so slightly. “I feel so many things right now, I don’t think I’m okay. For now at least. I had so many things I wanted to say, but I just couldn’t. If that’s what he wishes, the least I can do is to respect it, right?” It was a genuine question, Ricky wasn’t sure if he had dodged a bullet or if he had lost his best friend with the choice he had made.

You hummed at his question, you thought carefully on what to say for an answer. A part of you was also sad that the two had a fall out like that one, you didn’t want to encourage Ricky to stay quiet, but you didn’t want to push Ricky into doing something he doesn’t want either. “It doesn’t matter what your choice was. I think it’s never too late to fight for your friendship. I think the seven years that you two shared would hold a lot of weight if you ever decide to break the promise you made with Gyuvin one day.” You flashed him a smile, which made Ricky smile too.

“And you don’t have to fix this immediately either. Maybe when the timing is better, you’ll know what to do.”

He leaned in once more, this time to kiss the top of your head, “thank you.” He mumbled, the grip on your waist loosened this time, his muscles relaxing for the first time that night. “Thank you for being here with me right now.”

masterlist | previous | epilogue

synopsis ↯ in which you are paired up with ricky shen, who fully convinced himself that you purposely became his partner in order to date him.

𖤐 𖦹 ༘⋆⊹ nara’s note: hii i’m sorry i took a while to post this i got really busy! but anyway, let’s wait for an epilogue +++ EXTRA CHAPTERS (you guys can send me requests on who you want me to write in the SCCU <star-crossed cinematic universe>, but if no one sends a request then i guess the series will just end after the epilogue) AND THEN we’ll might have a gyuvin spin off (CROWD CHEERS)

🏷️ ; @shiningstar-byulxx @jiaant11 @justemalove @okkomi @jeonghyeonsgf @blaycke @lvieee @softyminhee @starhyeon @rikislady @raeewe @se0ngmins @i-yeseo @aariiil @daydreamer5006 @ahnneyong @jayujus @girlokarina @aerxz @rikimylove @jisunglogy @pleasantgardendetective @mposkyje @ilovechanhee @livelaughlovelicky @igotkpoops @moonlightjungwon @imthewon @wycure @sunoosluvr @dumb-cxm-slxt @partiallyderived @sparklingsjy @jinkiseason @444yizhuo @wave2love @wtfhyuck @satoreu @huipinkhair @keilovr

[writersdare]

In the Hands of Two | Bang Chan 방찬

Pairing: Bang Chan x Reader (she/her)

Summary: Chan was grateful for Y/N gifting such strong feelings, but at some point it became unbearable to carry them alone.

Warning: friends to lovers

Requested: yes

Word Count: 1 510

Author’s Note:  I miss describing emotions and deep thoughts of characters, so this one is rather special. I hope you'll like it ♡ Remember, your engagement helps so-so much!

To love someone… was it a blessing or a curse? Chan couldn’t exactly figure it out. The guy was grateful for Y/N gifting him such emotions. The feeling like everything was possible, like he could do it all at once and never get tired. He genially was happy to finally go through something that he only read and fantasised about before, and Chan could bet his life that it was the most wonderful thing he had ever experienced. However, even the most perfect things tended to have their “buts”. In fact, the “but” was a big one, the size of Seoul’s skyscrapers — Y/N was his friend. The constant thought of that fact made Chan’s heart fall on the ground and never come back to a normal beat. How could he mess up so much? It was the most basic and trivial rule the guy shouldn’t have broken, yet, he did. 

Chan couldn’t exactly recall the moment when he realised he fell for her completely. It was happening gradually and then collapsed to the idol suddenly, with all the weight of those unbearable feelings. Funny how love could be so easy when was held by two, and how heavy it was once it was in the hands of only one person. 

The guy’s mood was swinging worse than seesaws he used to like so much as a child. One morning he’d be determined to spill everything out, beg Y/N for forgiveness and maybe for a little chance. Another sleepless night Chan would scold himself for being such an idiot, for overlooking the time when he still could stop himself. As if it was possible to control the feelings… As if it was just a silly anger or nerves, tickling the stomach. The problem of love was that it consisted of all feelings at once. Happiness, pain, fear, joy… The guy looked at her eyes and believed he could fly. Another second, when she wasn’t smiling at him but someone else, the feeling was eating him up like worms on a fresh grave. 

Chan couldn’t control his emotions. He’d hate himself for snapping at his members simply because Y/N suddenly paid a bit more attention to them than him. The guy would hate the fact that she was his friend, and that he was so blind in the beginning, when they first met. If he had known it’d be that way, he’d confess right away, avoiding the stupid friend zone. However, all those thoughts of the past didn’t make things any better or easier. The past was the past, and Chan, unfortunately, couldn’t change it.

Could he change the future, though? Could he actually make another dream of his come true? After all, the guy knew how determined he was, always being able to get what he wanted. With the career, no matter how hard it was, the musician usually — well, most of the time — knew which direction to follow. With Y/N it was completely different, and the guy was lost. He used to believe that he liked taking risks, and yet, when it was coming to the confession, his whole body would go numb just thinking of it. 

It became sort of a tradition to be occupied with that mess in his head, days and nights; even when the girl was around. Or especially when she was around. It was harder to keep a secret, and it felt as if Chan was going to burst up any second. 

"Coffee," he smiled and placed a cup of latte with coconut syrup on a table, next to Y/N. The guy felt ridiculous for being so whipped for her, but he couldn’t do anything about it.

"Thank you. Are you reading my mind?" the girl looked up at the friend and smiled. Chan had always been rather attentive, so such gestures were not exactly surprising, however, they did become more frequent recently.

At that moment Chan was ready to give everything to read Y/N mind, indeed. Just to know if she felt the same way about him as he felt about her. Or at least if she liked him not just as a friend. He wished he could read her mind…

"Not exactly, I just know you well enough," the guy grinned and took a seat next to her, trying to look as casual as it was possible. Chan couldn’t stop smiling, though, once Y/N’s pretty lips touched the edge of the cardboard cup carefully. She tasted the drink, trying to figure out the flavour of the syrup, and he wished the girl could know how adorable she looked. With her he started to dream more. In fact… what was stopping him to let Y/N now how wonderful she was?

"You’re so pretty," the guy suddenly mumbled. Once the words left his mouth, the idol couldn’t believe he really said it.

Y/N, though, just smiled again and friendly petted Chan’s shoulder.

"You’re always so nice to me."

The musician was ready to scream. No, he needed to scream. To hell with the voice, he needed to let it all out, otherwise he’d just explode. 

"Right," was his only reply. The guy’s ears turned red, and he looked at the screen of his laptop, trying to concentrate on a song. Y/N joined him in the studio that day to be the first listener of a demo. Most of the time Chan’s head was full of music, but at that moment he didn’t feel so creative.

The guy sighed heavily and stood up sharply, starting to walk back and forth and trying to reason himself – he needed to calm down.

"Chan, what’s wrong?" Y/N chuckled, although wasn’t sure if it was okay to laugh. No matter how cute the friend looked, she could read anxiety on his face, too.

The idol suddenly stopped and simply spilled out, staring at Y/N.

"Would you finally acknowledge my feelings for you if I kiss you right now? You’re so bad at taking hints," he growled, getting angry at Y/N, at himself, at basically the whole situation he happened to be in. 

"What?" Y/N blinked, and the heart skipped its beat. She was staring back at Chan and couldn’t believe her ears. Literally, as once the words of confession were uttered, it became very noisy, her ears were ringing.

"I like you, Y/N," Chan whined, throwing hands up to the ceiling, being simply desperate.

He couldn’t keep it to himself anymore, he simply couldn’t. "If she was going to scream at me or ask how could I, how could I break the basic rule of the friendship," he thought. "So be it." It was worth it all. One more day with that huge secret in his heart, and he’d go crazy. 

However, once he let it out, a wave of fear covered the guy from top to bottom. He messed up again, maybe even more than before.

"Y/N…"

"Chan…"

"No-no… I’m really sorry. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have," the guy squatted down in front of Y/N and covered her palms with his. "Please, just forget it. Just forget it, we still can be friends and–"

"I don’t want to," the girl interrupted, looking in the eyes.

"You don’t?…" Chan mumbled, and his face became paler than usual.

"I don’t want to be just friends," Y/N continued quietly and broke the touch only to change the position of their hands and to cover his palms with hers instead. "I like you, too," she whispered, feeling how everything was shaking inside. Only after saying the truth, Y/N realised that she wasn’t even looking at Chan, being too nervous.

"You do?…" they guy echoed after some time, as if wasn’t sure if he heard her right. Then his lips stretched in a wide smile. "God, I’m such an idiot. I freaked out… Y/N," he giggled anxiously. Chan couldn’t believe that it was real; that finally the love for her wasn’t so heavy. Cause she took the part in her hands, too…

"I was scared, too," Y/N admitted. "We were always… close, but I know how career is important to you, and I didn’t… think… us, being more than friends, would be possible."

"It is. It is possible," Chan hurried up to reassure, looking at her eyes. "Can I kiss you?" he almost whispered, feeling the warmth spreading all over his body.

The only one regret the guy had was not being brave enough to tell Y/N everything earlier. The fear and worries were long gone, as if he had never experienced it at all. Funny how things could be easily forgotten. Not the feelings, though. They stay in the hearts until the very end.

"You threatened me with it twice today, but still didn’t do it," she teased him, but not for too long. Another second the guy took a seat next to Y/N and, pulling her closer, simply pressed the lips against hers in a tender kiss. 

– gifs aren’t mine and belong to the rightful owner, found them here @gnabnahc –

taglist: @yukichan67, @laylasbunbunny, @skz-streamer

© writersdare | all rights reserved

All stories are original and written by me. Do not copy, trace and post anywhere without permission and credit. The stories are fictional, they do not correspond to reality and written just for fun ♡

Main Masterlist | K-POP Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

[displacedbias]

[pre-gala]

He can't be a coward again. Not this time. 

Deep breaths, Felix. It was hard to believe he'd gotten an invitation to the gala. Didn’t he embarrass himself last time? He recalled crying, moping, being upset that Teddy and Penny were together. While he was alone the whole time.

--No. No bad thoughts! If Teddy knew what he was thinking, he'd tell him to be nicer to himself. Not to dwell on these things. That this time, it'll be different, and that's what matters. Felix will not let himself be lonely and pathetic again. That's why he's here, after all. ...Even though every part of him was screaming not to do this, not to ruin their friendship with such a trivial whim.

Clammy hands rap on the door, not ready at all but forced to do it anyway. Felix couldn't stand stewing in such unbearable feelings for a second longer. He barely could stomach regular feelings. He couldn't help but think Teddy would handle something like this so much better in his place. Asking Penny out in the natural flow of conversation? So easily, so swiftly, without even an ounce of nervousness Felix was feeling right now? Right. That could never be him. Felix was much too inept for that.

"Felix?" --Goodness, he hadn't even noticed the door was open now, Ozzy's hands already quickly releasing its grip on the (already very clean) doorknob despite being aptly covered in nitrile gloves. His warm eyes met Felix's, a look of care piercing through the young Huxley's heart as he was reminded of everything he loved about Ozzy. The way his ginger hair caught the light of sunbeams, the way he stood at a bit of a distance unless you were someone he was comfortable with, the endearing love and excitement he harboured for that Destructotron franchise-- Ozzy blinked and creased his brow as he stood in the middle of the doorframe, "...You look like you really need the bathroom. Are you okay?"

And oh, how Felix admired how blunt Ozzy could be. ...Usually. Right now, however, he was mortified.

He could only hope his face didn't match Ozzy's hair as he shook his head frantically, "N-No! Not at all! I mean-- No to the first thing. I'm fine! Perfectly fine! Whyever would you think otherwise??"

Ozzy laughed awkwardly, "Uh... Well you're acting a lot more nervous than usual, for one thing. You're here without Ted, and you look like you reeeeally wanna say something. Which is, y'know. Rare."

Felix remained silent, glancing away long enough to completely miss the softened expression Ozzy was giving him.

"...So what's up? You can talk to me about anything, I promise. I'll listen." Ozzy concluded, smiling kindly.

How was it that everyone always seemed to know Felix better than himself? He took in a deep breath for what felt like the hundredth time in the past... however long he'd been standing on the doorstep, mustering the courage to knock. "Erm... So... You know the gala that Penny, Teddy, and I went to before...?" Felix fidgeted with his hands as he watched Ozzy nod, the silence urging him to continue, "W-Well... Would you... like to... bemydatetothegala--?"

It took Ozzy a second to process what Felix sped through saying. Be his date to the gala. Ozzy blinked. Felix blinked back. And then the panic set in. Ozzy wasn't saying anything. Why wasn't he saying anything--? ...Did asking that make him hate Felix!? Lord, please, no, Felix could not live with himself if that were the case. What if Ozzy shot him dead for daring to ask such a stupid question. Or worse, rejected him. And what if he tells him he hates him and that they can't be friends anymore and he's always secretly hated him and Teddy is so much better than he is and he is simply so unloveable and awful and pathetic and stupid and of course no one would ever like him and gets a restraining order against him for being so cringeworthy?? What the bloody hell was Felix thinking, doing this--

Ozzy smiled, a hint of shyness, and astonishment, and gratitude. He looked so happy. "You really mean it? You want to go with me?" Felix could swear his heart skipped a beat, and he wordlessly nodded. His entire mental ordeal had him so shaken that he was worried his voice wouldn't work properly if he said anything more. Ozzy held up some hand sanitizer. Felix took it, knowing what that meant. Vaguely, at least, because he wasn't at all ready when Ozzy gently grasped Felix's hands with the most tender touch after they were all sanitized up. "Felix... I'd be honoured to go to the gala with you. I'd love that. I really like you a lot and I... Well, I'm glad you asked me this time. Really. That means a lot to me."

For some reason, this reaction was a lot harder for Felix to wrap his head around than any other imagined scenario. "I... Ah... Huh...?" 

Ozzy chuckled and squeezed Felix's hand gently, "You're cute when you're confused." 'Cute'... Ozzy thinks Felix is cute...! "Anyway, thanks. I'm really excited, Fe. I guess... we could pick out outfits together, maybe? That'll be fun, right?"

And Felix smiled back, finally. Squeezed Ozzy's hand back too. That would be fun.

[lobautumny]

So like, there's some really shitty video that this toy saw a while back about QoL mods in Terraria and how if you install all of them and then crank all of their settings up to the maximum, then the game basically plays itself. The whole video was weirdly hostile and vindictive and effectively just made fun of the concept of QoL features/mods as a whole. But it stuck in this toy's mind, not because the video itself holds any value, but because the core topic of how quality of life & accessibility features have a tangible impact on a game's design is really interesting and nobody talks about it with any kind of nuance.

So like, Terraria is obviously a very different game from what it used to be. But all of the raw content (hardmode, bosses, biomes, weapons, NPCs, etc.) that always gets the spotlight in updates only makes up a relatively-small portion of that outside of, like, the tinkerer’s workshop from 1.1, and damage classes being added in 1.0.6, both being relatively-early additions. The plethora of things that were changed/added to make the game look nicer also aren't the core thing responsible, obviously. So what is the biggest reason modern Terraria feels so alien when compared to 1.0.X versions, or even 1.1?

It's the quality of life features. Inventory management got exponentially easier/more efficient, you have a minimap at all times, smart cursor lets you expend far less effort mining and dealing with backwalls, there are special equipment slots for grappling hooks and light pets, grappling hooks are bound to a hotkey instead of being an item that you need to manually select and use, you can use items directly from your inventory instead of needing to place them in your hotbar and then select that hotbar slot, you automatically walk up 1-block inclines and open/close doors as you walk through them, there’s a plethora of features to make getting around the world trivial, the start of the game moves way faster due to the player getting access to better equipment faster, block-swapping exists… This toy posits that this is all why Terraria feels like a fundamentally different game. In old versions, it felt like you had to fight tooth and nail to get anything accomplished, but nowadays, everything feels all buttery-smooth. The main friction you encounter in progressing through the game is with boss fights, as Re-Logic obviously intends.

Now, obviously, it would be insane and stupid to claim that Terraria is a worse game, right now, than it was all the way back in the 1.0.X era, and it would be even stupider to claim that it’s worse because it has QoL features. However, this toy does not believe that every single QoL feature added to the game was inherently objectively positive or correct from the game's inception. Rather, they were natural, smart conclusions for Re-Logic to come to with the direction they decided to take the game in as it continued development. But this was not the only direction Terraria’s development could have taken.

There’s a very unique feeling to old-ass Terraria versions, and it sucks that tracking down and playing these versions is so goddamn hard. You only ever have a vague idea of where you are because there’s no map to use as reference so you’re heavily encouraged to keep most of your stuff on the surface, and to build infrastructure to connect important things underground/in the sky so you don’t get lost. Everything is so unwieldy that building a simple house and making it look remotely nice feels like a herculean effort, enemies kick your ass way harder earlygame due to decent gear being much harder to access, and there’s a lot more gravity to the choices you make in what gear you use, because it’s a lot harder to hot-swap your armor and accessories when you're not actually at your base, which is harder to get to/from due to the world being far more difficult to navigate, as a whole.

This all leads to an exponentially slower game than modern-day Terraria is, where every single thing you do needs to be deliberate and well-thought-out, and everything takes a much longer time to do. This toy remembers spending weeks as a kid building housing for the meager number of NPCs that were in the game back then, alongside farms for all of the potion-making herbs and a big obsidian generator, and all of that could be accomplished in a single play session in 1.4.X.

There is a universe in which Terraria saw minimal QoL updates and instead leaned really hard into this direction, making a slow, exploratory game where the player’s power level very slowly increments upwards and you’re encouraged to build largescale infrastructure rather than the (relatively) fast-paced boss rush where your power balloons out of control immediately and your infrastructure is a fast-travel teleportation network that takes minimal effort to set up that the game currently is, and that version of the game would not have been wrong, inherently. It would’ve been more niche, for sure, but it wouldn’t have necessarily been bad, or even worse than the current game is.

This is what makes this toy sad that old Terraria versions are so difficult to get ahold of, as well as what fascinates it so much about the retro Minecraft community. Speaking of, let’s switch gears and talk about Minecraft for a bit.

Minecraft, as it’s sure most of the people reading this are well-aware, has recently been having something of a renaissance in its retro community, the people who prefer alpha and/or beta versions of the game to the modern game. A handful of complete overhaul mods have come out for these versions (notably, Better Than Adventure and ReIndev) that put interesting spins on the game’s design, basically asking the question, “What if Mojang decided on a different direction for Minecraft to take from this point in time?”

A lot of these mods cast aside the instant-gratification convenience and linear progression of modern Minecraft in favor of slower-paced, more survival-ey gameplay, placing more emphasis on the act of exploring your world and gathering resources as the core gameplay loop as opposed to… Well, modern Minecraft really doesn’t have much of a core gameplay loop to speak of, and that’s sort of the problem, now isn’t it? This toy doesn’t want to get too far into all of this, though, as its thoughts on Minecraft’s game design are not the focus of this essay. Rather, it wants to put the spotlight onto Minecraft’s community.

An ever-increasing number of people have been growing more and more critical of Minecraft over the last 5 or so years. It’s obviously always had its detractors, but in recent time, there have been more of them that have gotten more vocal, and it’s become pretty normal to have the take that Minecraft has been getting worse lately. And a big culprit that people keep pointing to is QoL. One of the most common criticisms of Minecraft online is that quality of life features have made it way too easy to trivialize the process of blasting through the game’s content, getting obnoxiously overpowered enchanted diamond (or netherite) gear, reaching the End, and getting access to elytra and shulker boxes.

Despite both being excessively popular games that have been made far easier through their QoL changes and overall polish, that have both been in constant development for over a decade at this point, the critical responses to those features in Terraria and Minecraft could not be more different. This is amusing, and gets at something deeper with regards to game design that this toy doesn’t know it’s ever heard anyone actually say: Quality of life features are fantastic tools for reducing the noise that gets in the way of a game’s vision, but when you add them haphazardly and/or with no real vision for what you want your game to be in the end, you can very easily wind up accidentally removing a large portion of what could’ve otherwise become compelling parts of your gameplay loop. They need to be used intelligently, or they can, in fact, harm your game and make a significant contingent of your playerbase enjoy it less.

[sidgeno-ficrecs]

this delicate place by @ljummen

sidgeno (2019, explicit, 32.8k) **content notes: mental illness, anxiety attacks, depression, trauma and its aftermath

“Are you?” Taylor asks unexpectedly. “Am I what?” Looking up from the stove, Sid finds her watching him with an odd look on her face. “Happy.” It should be an easy question to answer. Sid has escaped back to Canada after a career ending injury. It doesn’t dawn on him exactly how much early retirement has affected him, until Taylor introduces him to a YouTube channel where a firefighter talks about his own struggles with his mental health.

Hey Geno,

I just watched this video and realized that I’ve had several panic attacks over the course of a few months. I had one a few hours ago. I haven’t experienced anything traumatic, but anxiety (I assume, based on your description in this video) has been sneaking up on me. A week ago, I bought two plants, like you suggested in another video. Today’s panic attack was triggered by me noticing that they were dead (the plants, I mean).

I feel stupid for reacting to something so trivial. I haven’t watched that many of your videos, but from what I understood, you actually experienced something bad. So why am I broken for no reason?

this is a hard time of year.

it's dark, it's cold (if you're in the northern hemisphere), and for me at least, it always seems like the post-holiday winter stretch is when bad things happen. it's easy to get lost in your own head and spend hours dwelling on what's gone wrong, or what might go wrong, and get stuck in a negative feedback loop that can be so, so hard to break out of.

i've mentioned before that i don't love fics that diagnose sid (or geno, but it's usually sid) with certain neurodivergencies because in my experience it leads to people talking about him like he actually has x or y and it makes me uncomfortable, but i re-read this fic last night because i've been feeling down recently and i think it deserves a moment in the spotlight.

this story is a very raw, honest look at what it can be like to deal with depression and anxiety, from the perspective of someone who never has before and doesn't know what's going on and needs an extra push to see what's happening and get help.

depression is a lonely, isolating experience, and that's part of what makes it so dangerous. it's so easy to not notice that you're withdrawing and losing yourself until it's almost too much to climb out of, and on top of all that you've lost all motivation to take steps to get better. it's a vicious, evil little trick the brain can play on you, and @ljummen walks us through sidney's experience with it with care, honesty, and compassion.

this fic made me feel seen. it can be hard to read—sid has panic attacks and we as readers experience them right along with him, along with the other symptoms of depression—but if you're in a space where reading about it won't make you feel worse or trigger anything, i really recommend it. we see sid struggle, we see him be in denial of what he's dealing with—what does he have to be depressed over, after all? what trauma does he have to deal with?—and, crucially, we see him turn a corner and start to get better.

i think that's the magic of this story. sid manages to step outside of the black pit he's stuck in long enough to take steps to get help, and he meets someone who knows him and understands what he's going through, and they fall in love despite the obstacles in their way. it's a story about someone whose life isn't going the way they thought it would, but who manages to see that's not necessarily the end of the world, and for me at least reading this story gave me comfort and hope.

yes, it can be dark at times. life can be hard, so hard that it seems easier to just go back to bed and try and wait it out. but you also might meet someone who sees you, and knows you, and is there for you, and who you can see and know and support in return. there's light out there, if you can peek outside the curtain to look for it.

i hope you're all taking care of yourselves. be gentle with your own mind if you've been having a difficult time. reach out to the people who love you—they want to be there for you, even if you're hearing that little voice that says you're just a burden.

and if you're up to it, read this story, which will hopefully provide you a little comfort and escape and hope, like it does for me when i'm having bad days.

read it here on ao3!

and don't forget to leave a comment!