#sorry this one is a little stilted!
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prowerprojects · 1 year ago
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I was thinking maybe a weird mix of both?Between his older friends, where he feels he has to pull his weight harder in order to keep up and his younger ones where he, not necessarily needs to "set an example" but knowing when to stand up and lead when there's a problem or a sense of danger ahead. Especially for those who look up to HIM; as he does Sonic. (Allows for him to have some flexibility, and just more tastes of his progression and what he could be in the future.)
(Nah, I get ya. Although it could make for interesting dynamics, just because certain characters have similar ages or traits does not mean they have to hang out with each other only. Nor should it be the SOLE reason.)
In some aspects, yes. "Wanting to be cool and stronger" has been a goal since his debut. He's made progress, it's the independence that's a struggle. (Sa1 was him making the epiphany. Frontiers is like him, reaffirming his goal or him making it 'clearer' after looking back a bit. But again, it's just words until we see results. Who knows what we'll be saying by 2032.)
Yeah, just a few tweaks and maybe some accessories. But nothing to throw off most fans. (Although I don't see them changing Sonic's iconic shoes, I know some really like his SOAP ones. It'd be cool if they did some happy medium between the two.)
Heh, if he got his own game again, Tails would probably have a more gadgeteer look to him there. (Also, I like the idea of him slowly upgrading his friends' gear as his skills [and confidence] grow.)
There's a lot of confusion during that time, I remember some being concerned that Sticks would replace Cream; or just Modern in generally. (But yeah, gotta be careful with redesigns. I don't think anything will top how Movie Sonic first went.)
Heh, it seems like it was a small experiment they were testing the waters with. Now that they have a flow and the series has been received positively so far, they might churn out more at a quicker pace. (No rush though. I suspect we'll get one more before the year ends.)
Oh yeah, I probably misunderstood what you were talking about last time a bit. I'm just gonna say that I hope we get more of Tails character focus.
Personally I love what they did with Sonic's shoes in sa1, they look like classic shoes but modernized, but the ones he wears nowadays just look kinda weird and metallic.
Oh yeah, they would probably be allowed to spice up the look in a spinoff. Hehehe. (You're making me waaay too hopeful about it)
You know what could be cool about upgrading the gear? If you could get upgrades for other characters in future games, and they would canonically come from Tails.
Oh I hope ^-^
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kazanskyy · 5 months ago
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iceman + his concern for maverick post-hop 31
#icemav#top gun edit#ice is a FASCINATING one to watch post-hop 31 imo because while yes‚ obviously‚ the focus is on maverick and his grief and devastation#ice is there the whole time in the background‚ watching. and he's visibly disturbed by what he's seeing. because yeah -#he and mav had a rivalry going and yeah he called maverick dangerous and reckless to his face and he stands by that - he does.#but the problem is that this time - this one fluke freak accident of a time - it wasn't maverick's fault at all.#an unrecoverable flat spin brought on by a compressor stall from ice's jetwash isn't something that maverick could've outflown#by sticking to textbook maneuvers. it was just shit luck and shitty circumstances aligning to create a tragic mishap.#but now - now ice can see the way maverick is unraveling in the aftermath#and i'd bet that on some level it terrifies him to see that.#he's used to seeing maverick with all that brash cocky confidence with the moves to back it up.#he's maybe even had a bit of fun jockeying against that. not that he'd admit that out loud. (yet)#but maverick's spiraling now - a hollowed out shell of his former self - leaking grief and self-doubt and despair everywhere he goes#and it actually hurts to look at for ice‚ seeing maverick like this. seeing how much maverick really REALLY fucking cared under that facade#and wondering if maverick is finally taking the stuff ice said to him to heart‚ but applying it all wrong.#so he watches maverick and eventually that concern builds to a point where he tries to offer an olive branch in the locker room#you can SEE how carefully he gathers himself - how much he's holding back - he doesn't want to say the wrong thing to maverick NOW#he doesn't want to make this worse than it already is. so it comes out stilted. it's earnest - but restrained. he can't find his footing.#he doesn't know where he and maverick stand now but he's sorry - that goose is gone‚ that maverick's going through this‚#that he doesn't know how to help or what to say‚ and - crucially - for his own part in this.#but he wants mav to stick around and push through this. even though he's dangerous. even though he's reckless. ice wants him to beat this.#so when maverick shows up to graduation‚ ice is encouraged. and he's a little warmer. maverick really might pull through.#but then‚ all too soon‚ it's ice's life on the line in maverick's hands. and it scares the shit out of him because maverick's not ready#and now ice - and slider - are going to have to pay the price for that.#and then‚ against all odds‚ maverick pushes through. he comes back for them. he comes back for ice.#and after that...well.#after that‚ ice does know what to say: a vow.#my amvs#linds original
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boygirlctommy · 7 months ago
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watching ark: tas and <3 the animation is so bad even my dad can tell
#my post#i am. what#what. what. what.#who made this. who let this happen.#i know nothnig about the game idc about the game. one why do the people look like that two why do the people move like that#this show drew me in and LIED to me the animation in the trailer i saw was beautiful and not the stilted oddness that is the actual show.#AND WHY DO THE MAIN CHARACTER AND HER FRIDGED WIFE HAVE THE SAME EXACT BODY.#its not even an issue where every single woman has the same model!!! because there are other women and they look DIFFERENT#not hugely so but!! the only difference between helena and victoria are their hair and eyebrows and the colors.#they are the same height the same build the same face shape the same nose#i thought they were sisters or cousins at first..#also why was the inside of the evil roman guys tent ORANGE who looked at this and went you know whats an intimidating and roman color.#ORANGE. GIRL WHAT?#AND DONT GET ME STARTED ON THE VOICE ACTING??? its like entirely a celebrity cast#why is gerard butler driving the bus all of a sudden#i knew it was celebrities before going in but im still disappointed and sad. they sound really bad.#and the lipsync is almost always off by like half a second#and the faces show little to no emotion#sorry um um um im just. im having so much fun watching this show aha.#the show feels like a videogame. i was talking about it to my brother and he said ark doesnt have a plot its like rust and minecraft but if#there were dinosaurs. ok. sure#why is this WRITTEN like a videogame though like it FEELS like im watching a letsplay or one of those edited together videogame movies#this feels like when i watched sonic adventure 2 but sonic adventure 2 looked better
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beloveds-embrace · 15 days ago
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noona. noon. any angsty thoughts to share for the duke au? 👁️ (i’m craving angst sorry)
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I DO!! Angst version of the au would be if you weren’t welcomed at all. Sure, no one is being flat out rude to you, no one is actively sabotaging you and John doesn’t hit or force you into anything.
But it’s lonely.
The maids barely touch you, as if disgusted they have to help and tend to the woman their Duke needed to and not wanted to marry, and the butlers are the same. Especially the head butler Garrick. You still don’t know his first name and he doesn’t seem inclined to tell you.
During the dinner… nights with John, you’ve started noticing that your food isn’t quite as well done as his? Less decorated, occasionally burnt or not cooked well, but you don’t want to cause any trouble so you remain silent and John never asks why you seem to eat so little.
You do also meet Duke Riley, the man that John is said to have an incredibly close friendship with, something born during his time servicing the kingdom. You’ve heard so much about him, from bad to good, and you wonder how he actually is.
In the end, you wish you hadn’t met him, too. The humiliation of being flat-out ignored in your own home while he speaks amicably with John…
So yes. Life as Duchess Price isn’t a happy one, but you are just glad you aren’t physically hurting.
But you do find solace in the only kindness your parents had bothered to show you before they gave you away; your personal knight, König. He is the only one to not treat you as such. He is the only one you can confide in, feel just a little bit of happiness and friendship with even if you haven’t even seen his face yet.
“I’m so tired,” you whisper to him one night, under the blanket of the night sky. You’d thrown a simple shawl over your shoulders, and hadn’t questioned it when he fell in steps behind you, always a protective shadow. Today had been hard. You had also decided to no longer dine with John, not too excited about the lackluster food and the stilted conversations. Cold maids, lonely night… you ached for something more.
You take in a shuddering breath, wrapping the shawl tighter around yourself. Konig stands right beside the bench you are sitting on, a familiar and comforting sight and presence. But tonight, it’s not enough. “I’m so tired, König.” You repeat, your voice cracking.
König simply stares at you for a while; you are used to it, used to everything about him. The mask, the accent, the unyielding body that is always keeping you safe. The quiet congestions you have had, during the days you lock yourself away in your office to ignore the loneliness and sadness plaguing you.
You aren’t used to seeing König bend down in front of you, holding his hands out until you place them in his. Familiar pale eyes peer up at you. Proper etiquette doesn’t matter to you in this moment; who will chastise you for the lack of it when this entire duchy holds only the most basic form of respect for you?
Even if they did, you would not let go of König, your confidant. Your knight.
“…What do you need, mylady?”
After a silent moment, you take in a deep breath and look back at him. “…I want… someone who loves me enough to be kind towards me. I want someone who loves me.”
König nods his head. With bated breath, you watch silently as he brings your hands forward, under his mask, to kiss each knuckle on your hands.
“I am your knight, mylady. I am your sword, and your shield. I, too, can be your lover if that is what you want, mylady. Whatever you desire, it is my duty to provide.” König breathes out against your skin, eyes not once flicking away, words not once breaking. He is fully devoted in his decision. “Will you allow me, mylady? The decision is your, always has been. I cannot take you away from this horrible place-“ not yet. “-but I can give you my love and devotion, just as I’ve always done. Will you allow me, mylady?”
And after everything you’ve been through, all the pain and loneliness and exclusion- you can’t say no.
“…Yes, König.”
(By the time John begins to realize that he may have misjudged you, once you find out the truth, it is already far too late for mending any bridges. There is no particular feeling when you look at him, or any of his men. You only ask that no one bothers your time alone with your shadow, your knight. It’s far too late for anything.)
Part 2 + dukedom au masterlist
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casdeans-pie · 3 months ago
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---- AO3 link post
---- Part 1
----------------------
Cas makes his way into the kitchen after Dean hears him apologise and make an excuse to leave the table. His gaze flicks to Dean’s shoulder as he walks into the room, in a familiar gesture that’s so quick Dean’s sure he’s seen him do that before and just dismissed it.
“Dean?” Cas says with concern, eyebrows scrunching together endearingly. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, but you mind telling me what’s up with this?” Dean gestures at where the handprint should be – which to him still looks like normal skin.
For a moment Cas says nothing. His eyebrows scrunch impossibly closer. He takes a longer look at Dean’s shoulder, then straightens up, clears his throat and says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” in a stilted monotone that would fool absolutely nobody.
“Oh come on! You’re a terrible liar, I know that you can see there’s a handprint.”
Cas sighs. “Yes. There is.”
“What the hell, Cas? When were you going to tell me about the friggin’ mood ring on my shoulder?”
“Mood ring?”
“Patience said it was glowing brighter than ever and I guess I was feeling really happy and uh-”
The corners of Cas’s lips twitch up into a smile. “It was glowing that brightly?”
“Hey, nope, not the important thing right now,” Dean says, heat crawling up the back of his neck remembering why he’d been so happy. He gestures back at his incredibly normal looking skin. “Who else can see this?”
“Psychics like Patience…” Cas begins, a little hesitantly, “and other Angels.”
“Okay, this is starting to make sense ‘cause they’ve always looked at my shoulder funny.”
“And Demons,” Cas continues quietly.
“Wait, are you kidding?”
“And probably ghosts. Though I’ve never asked one.”
Dean takes a deep breath. “Okay. That’s great. Everyone but me can see my sparkly my little pony cutie mark-”
“I don’t understand what ponies have to do with any of this.”
Dean smiles before he can help it and Cas’s eyes flick back to his shoulder. Dean grabs at the skin there, but he still can’t see anything different. “Seriously? Just from you doing your,” he lowers his voice when he mimics, “‘I don’t understand that reference’ bit?”
Cas turns his head away, but Dean can see the crinkles at the corners of his eyes from the smile he’s trying to hide.
Dean sighs, knowing the warmth in his chest will only be making the mark glow even brighter. Damn it. “And it's always been like this?”
Cas turns back to him, the smile gone. “I healed the physical scar as soon as I could, but that mark was made on your soul. The glowing print it left behind can’t be healed away,” he says softly, “I’m sorry, Dean.”
“Figures.”
“When I made it… it was the only way I could bring your soul back with me.” Cas’s shoulders tense in that way that means there’s more, he just doesn’t want to say it.
Dean catches on. “Wait… it means something, doesn’t it? What does it mean?”
Cas holds his gaze but says nothing, lips pressed into a thin line.
“Cas? C’mon man, what does it mean?”
Cas closes the short distance between them (Dean hadn’t even noticed they’d been standing so close) and gently lays a hand onto the skin of his shoulder, over where the handprint would be if Dean could see it. He gasps when a hot jolt of something electric shoots straight through him and leaves his entire body tingling.
Cas finally says, “It means you’re mine.”
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lipglossanon · 7 months ago
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Dirty Little Secret
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Stepson!Leon S. Kennedy x Stepmom!Reader <one shot>
Warnings: 18+ MDNI, pseudo incest, cheating, loveless marriage? lol, mommy kink, breeding kink, mentions of lactation kink, dirty talk, noncon, slight somno, mention of a rape play scenario, unprotected sex, creampie
not proofread ✍️ just smut
title from Dirty Little Secret by The All American Rejects
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You thought it was love. This guy wined and dined you then showed you the world. So when he proposes to you only three months into your relationship, you’re so smitten that you agree before he even finishes asking. 
It must’ve been the honeymoon phase because a year later, you’re stuck at home while he galivants around the globe for his business. It’s not like you have a hard time, but you’re lonely, done begging for attention from a man who apparently just wanted someone to live in his empty house while he’s gone.��
Then after months of stilted phone calls and cut short video chats, he drops by only to surprise you with a son from a previous marriage. Something you knew nothing about. After introducing Leon to you, he leaves him there—some flimsy excuse of letting you two get to know each other—and is off again once more. 
Leon smiles at you as his dad leaves, “Sorry to drop in like this.”
Your frown smooths out as you take a deep breath, “Not your fault, sorry if I’m off kilter. He didn’t even tell me about you til now.”
You wince after saying the words out loud but Leon only laughs. 
“It’s okay. I’ll stay out of your hair as much as possible.”
You wave your hand, “Don’t be silly, it’ll be nice to have company again.”
He smiles again but this one makes you feel a little more on edge, something about the way it doesn’t quite meet his eyes. 
“Well then, I’m sure we’ll get on like a house on fire.”
You settle into a new routine, Leon fitting into your day to day pretty easily. He’s sarcastic and mouthy, but it beats only having yourself for company. Your husband dropped off his son in late January and it’s now early May; it’s like you blinked and realized you haven’t even had anyone else visit except for Leon’s actual mom. (She’s surprisingly a sweetheart and quite helpful even if she makes Leon all moody to have her in your shared space). 
It’s after one such visit that left Leon in an irritable mood where you decide to have a little movie night in order to cheer him up. You’re unsure as to what started it this time, but the ex missus just gave you a quick smile and wave goodbye as Leon stormed off upstairs. Taking in a deep breath, you rap your knuckles on his closed door and listen for any movement.
Half a minute passes by before you hear him walk over and open the door. You take in his sweats and loose white tee. Good, it doesn’t look like he's headed out—you tilt your head before looking back up into his face. 
“Yes?” He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms, a corner of his lips ticking up into a half smile. 
“Wanna watch some shitty horror movies and order pizza?” You smile, pleased with yourself when he drops his arms. 
“Sure,” he shrugs, tossing his phone back onto his bedspread and pushing you away from his door, closing it behind him, “w’nna order a cheese pizza?”
“Sounds good,” you lead him back downstairs, flopping down on the couch and grabbing your phone. 
Leon sits on the cushion next to you, leaning over to watch as you scroll through the app. 
“Want any sides or anything?” You ask, attention still on your phone. 
“Pizza’s plenty.”
You feel his breath ghost across your neck and it sends a chill down your spine. Scrunching your shoulders up, you laugh and bump against his side. 
“That tickles, Leon,” you shift a little and you feel him move to face the television. 
Once you place the order, you lock your phone and sink into the couch. Leon’s close enough you can feel his body heat, but you know if you move he’ll end up next to you again. It’s something you’ve noticed over the time that he’s stayed here; you’ve only brought it up once and he admitted he likes being close since he misses his mom. 
You frown to yourself as Leon channel surfs, not wanting to start any movies only for it to be interrupted by the delivery guy. For him to miss his mom so much, he’s always pissy when she visits. Maybe he’s just salty that she let him end up living here with you? Glancing over at him, he notices you looking and shoots you a grin. 
“Have any idea on what movie we start with?”
You return his grin and drum your fingers against your thigh, “Hmmm, you ever watch Spookies?”
He shakes his head, “I’m assuming it’s bad?”
“The worst but in the best way,” you laugh.
He studies you for a moment. 
“Thanks for trying to cheer me up.”
Giddy warmth bubbles in your chest, “Of course, Leon. I know the situation probably isn’t ideal, but I’ll take care of you.”
He laughs low in his throat, “We’re nearly the same age.”
You wave him off, “Yeah, yeah, but I’m still older though.”
Lapsing into a companionable silence, you mindlessly watch as Leon zips through different shows until the doorbell rings. After stuffing your faces with pizza, you settle in comfortably on the couch, feet laying over Leon’s lap after he tugged your legs away from you. 
“No reason to stay curled up like that,” he pats your calf. 
Unsure how to feel, you eventually relax into him. If it doesn’t bother him, then why should it bother you? The heat from his lap must lull you to sleep because the next thing you know is blinking your eyes open to some random movie playing on the tv. Another beat and you groggily glance down your body at the new weight pressing you into the cushions. 
Sandy blonde hair fills your vision as you feel Leon softly suck a nipple into his mouth. Without you noticing, he has pushed your flimsy shirt up and tugged your bra cups down. Squirming under him only leads to him sighing softly, eyes fluttering shut as he licks around your stiff peaks. 
“Stop, stop,” you pant, feeling sluggish and out of sorts, arms and legs feeling wooden as sleep tries to cling to your senses.
Leon only laughs and goes back to softly sucking on your nipples, mouth drifting from one hard bud to the other with quick swipes of his tongue. 
“But mommy, you said you’d take care of me,” his low voice raises the hair on your arms, “mmm, and what I really need is to suck your sexy tits.”
There’s no denying the rush of slick that fills the gusset of your panties. 
“S’wrong, Leon,” you counter, weakly crying out when he gently bites your nipple. 
“Maybe, but I think you need this, need me to take care of you. After all, my dad’s not going to,” he growls and roughly sucks the puckered skin around your stiff bud, “you need a husband who wants to stuff your hot little pussy.”
A loud keening moan leaves your mouth before you can clamp your lips shut.
His eyes are bright as a grin lights up his face, “See? C’mon, no one has to know that you let your stepson dick you down on the couch.”
Hips jumping, you mewl as he goes back to lapping at your nipples, hands coming up to grope the soft fat of your breasts. 
“Been waiting for this,” he murmurs into your sternum, mouth leaving a trail of hot kisses across your skin, “fuck, I’ve wanted you so bad, mommy.”
The condescension in that one word makes you drip, pussy throbbing for more than just words. 
“W-we shouldn’t though,” you try to get a grip on yourself, hands hovering over his hair, “god, I’m married to your father.”
“Is he here? Is he ever here?” He raises up and sneers at you, “never around when you need’em huh?”
Raising up onto his haunches he gives you a nasty smirk, “But that’s why you have me now. I’m gonna pound your hot little pussy day and night. Maybe it’ll even make you a real mommy.”
“Leon!” You gasp, nipples tightening at the thought, hands digging into the couch.
But he’s telling the truth. Your husband is never home— hasn’t called you back and barely replies to texts. You’ve been lonely and neglected even before Leon got here; so what if it’s wrong? It won’t kill anyone just to go along with him this one time. So that’s what you decide to tell him. 
“This one time,” you whisper, biting your lip as you give in to him, “just once.”
He laughs, “Sure, I can work with that.”
Once turns into twice. 
“It’s still just the one time,” you pant as he fucks into your squelching pussy, face mashed against the armrest of the couch, “it’s still the same round.”
“Sure, mommy,” he murmurs in your ear and you clamp down on him tighter, “whatever you say.”
Which turns into three and four and then five…
By the next afternoon, you're bouncing on your stepson’s fat cock in your own marriage bed. 
“Fuck, fuck, I need it, please, I wanna cum,” you whimper, grinding down onto Leon’s dick, “please.”
“Take it then, mommy, take your son’s cock deep in that little pussy,” he growls, thumb rubbing your clit in tight rough circles. 
“Yes, yes, yes,” you chant, eyes rolling back as Leon’s fat tip kisses your cervix, “god, it’s so good.”
“Yeah? Better than dad’s?” Leon asks, flashing you a smug little smile. 
“Uh huh,” you whine, hands pressing on his broad chest so you can ride him harder, “you’re the best fuck I’ve ever had.”
“Goddamn,” he growls, grabbing your waist and flipping you onto your back. 
Pulling halfway out, he bullies his cock back into your sopping wet hole, pace fast and hard making you wail as he rams against your g-spot. 
“Tell me mommy, tell me who’s making this fat pussy feel so good,” he pinches your nipples, “c’mon mommy, say it.”
“You,” you whimper, tears clumping your lashes, “you’re making mommy’s pussy feel so good.”
“Who?”
“My son,” you cry out as he tugs your nipples roughly, “my son’s filling my pussy and making me cum.”
“Good girl, mommy,” he coos mockingly and you squeeze his cock, pussy walls snug and wet around his thick length. 
“I’ve given you so many creampies,” he sighs, “fuck, I hope one of them takes. Wanna drink your milk.”
You shudder, hips stilling, “That’s so—”
“Hot?” He slaps your thigh and you start grinding on his cock again, “these tits leaking milk for me would be a dream come true. Let me breed you, mommy.”
“I can’t,” you mewl, clit throbbing as you rock your hips into his thrusts, “can’t get knocked up by my stepson.”
Leon groans, “It’ll just be the one time. Besides, I’ve been dumping load after load into this tight little cunt. We both know you want it, mommy. Making that pussy crave to have me stuffing her to the brim.”
You lean forward, face pressing against his neck as you moan brokenly. 
“I shouldn’t,” you hiccup, hips writhing as Leon reaches underneath you to grip your ass. 
“It’ll be our little secret,” he humps your pussy, cock knocking against your cervix and making you squeal, “let me breed you, mommy. Let your son breed your fat pussy.”
“I’m gonna cum,” you slur, mouth panting and drooling against his skin, “oh god, you’re gonna make me cum.”
“Next time, I want you to fight me,” he whispers in your ear and you moan, “fight me so when I pin you down, I’ll be raping your hot wet pussy until you cream all over my cock, mommy.”
Your nails dig into his back and you scream, orgasm wiping out your thoughts as your body thrashes under Leon.
“I’m cumming, fuck, mommy, gonna fill you up again,” he rambles, hips pistoning his cock in and out of your pussy as you continue to orgasm. 
The last thing you see is Leon’s blue eyes staring down at you as your pussy milks his cock while he spurts rope after rope of thick cum inside your clenching hole. 
You wake up sometime later with Leon running his fingers along your arm and shoulder. 
“You okay?”
You hum and nod, stretching out along the bed, feeling a slight twinge in your hips. 
“May’ve over done it,” you mumble, rubbing your eyes with the palms of your hands. 
Leon laughs and drops a kiss to your head. 
“Yeah I got that after you passed out.”
Giggling, you turn on your side to face him. 
“Need to drink more water I guess.”
He nods, a funny sort of smile overtaking his features. 
“You’re not gonna tell anyone right?”
You scoff and roll your eyes, “Why would I? Even if we’re both adults, I don’t think anyone’s gonna be happy it happened.”
Sighing, you push up until you can swing your legs over the side of the bed. 
“I’m gonna take a shower.”
Standing up, your thighs shake but you’re able to walk over to the en-suite bathroom. At the doorway, you turn back to see Leon staring at you, a hungry look in his eyes. You bite your lip knowing what you’re about to say isn’t a good idea, but what the hell. You’re already in it this far. 
“If you wash my back, I’ll wash yours,” tone flirty as you smile at him. 
Not waiting for an answer, you walk into the bathroom, listening as the sheets ruffle from Leon climbing out of bed to follow you.  
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rebelfell · 3 months ago
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bestfriend!eddie has an itch only you can scratch.
1k worth of flangst (fluffy angst? is that a thing?) sometime preceding this…
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“You all right over there, buddy?”
The question came out half-chuckle, stilted by the air coming through your nose as you looked over at Eddie from your place on his bed.
He was stood in his open doorway with his back up against the frame, moving side to side in what could only be described as a shimmy.
“I have an itch, that alright with you?” he asked, the snark in his voice undercut by how silly he looked wiggling back and forth, rubbing his back like a bear against the bark of a tree.
Or a really uncoordinated pole dancer.
“Touchy, touchy,” you tutted at him and shook your head, going back to your book.
You paused, worrying your bottom lip with your teeth as you stared blindly at the words on the page, not absorbing them in the slightest.
“Do you, um…want help?”
Eddie froze in place mid-shimmy and he stared back at you like he was trying to decide if this was a trap or not. You peered back just as cautiously.
“What kind of help?” he asked warily.
You smirked.
“You know these guys are good for more than just shoplifting,” you told him as you held up your hands and wiggled your fingers.
“Oh, ummm…”
He coughed, trying to cover up how he was shaking at the thought of your nails scraping down his back leaving hot streaks in their wake.
Eddie knew why he hadn’t asked you to scratch his back. It was the same reason he never asked you to put suntan lotion on him or let you sit on his lap even when seating was limited. Why he always sat on the floor when you came over instead of sharing the space on his bed.
Because he knew if you touched him, if so much as one pad of one of your fingers made contact with him, he’d have an enormous problem.
Okay, maybe not enormous.
Above average, easy.
“Ed—are you for real?” you demanded when all he could do was stammer out a non-answer. “It’s just a back scratch, it’s not like I’m offering to penetrate you or something.”
And with that image in his head, Eddie was lucky he didn’t spontaneously combust on the spot.
“Yeah, okay, sure,” he answered at last.
Your eyes rolled, but you tossed your book to the side and got up on your knees, shuffling toward him with a smile. Steady, Munson. Steeeady…
“Sit down, you weirdo,” you instructed, a little too sultry for his liking.
He literally gulped as he turned and sank down on the foot of the bed, fists gripping the edge of the mattress so tight he could rip off a whole chunk.
“Is it anywhere in particular?” you asked.
Your voice was soft, way too soft, in his ear and he nearly jumped out of his skin as you took his long hair and gently draped it over his shoulder.
“Kinda…all over…” he said, stilted and tense.
“Okay. All over it is.”
This must be what hell feels like…
It was the only thought Eddie could manage that wasn’t x-rated. As your fingers curved into a claw shape and you started to gently drag them down Eddie’s back, he felt like his body was consumed with searing hot flames and suddenly the itch on his back didn’t seem all that pressing anymore.
The fact that all he could do was sit there while you touched him, your fingers doing something he could only describe as mind blowing, unable to act on the million and one filthy things that were running though his mind right then…
What he wouldn’t give to turn around and sweep you up in a kiss. To run his hands up and down your back until you were trembling, shivering, quaking out of control. Begging for him.
Oh, yep. He was in hell for sure.
A moan rumbled in his chest as you moved your hand to the small of his back and drew it slowly up his spine. And when your nails reached the nape of his neck his body literally writhed.
“Sorry,” you whispered, “too much?”
Too much, and not remotely enough.
“N-no,” Eddie stammered, still recovering from his shivers. “Just, ah…wasn’t ready for it.”
“Should I keep going?”
Yes, for the rest of our lives.
“No, that—ahem—that’s okay. Y-you got it.”
He cleared his throat again and started to stand, only to find himself unable to. He shifted his hips, trying to wiggle his way to some relief as he filled his mind with all the un-sexy thoughts he could.
A Herculean feat with you in the room.
Behind him, he could feel you back away and climb off the bed. Mercifully, you kept your head down, averting your eyes like you knew what he was hiding as you tucked your book back in your bag and slung it over your shoulder. Eddie looked up sadly when he realized what you were doing.
“You’re going?” he asked. “Already?”
“Yeah, kinda,” you said, still not looking at him.
Shit, he knew he fucked up. What was a not-weird way to tell you he didn’t mean to moan like that?
“Gotta get ready for this date, I guess.”
Oh. Right. Your date.
Eddie had seen him around campus a few times before he asked you to dinner. He was more on the preppy side—and blonde of all things. And his name, Johnny, made Eddie’s eyes roll.
He also thought he looked like a thumb.
“Well…have fun,” Eddie said shortly.
You finally looked up, meeting his eye line and shooting him a small smile.
“Thanks,” you said. “Try and go easy on your door frame,” you added lightly before you left.
Eddie chuckled, but the sound was too heavy.
He sat there, listening to your footsteps recede and crunch on the gravel outside as you walked to your car. He waited until he’d heard your engine roar to life and fade as you sped away before flopping backwards on the bed.
The issue between his legs having disappeared the moment you uttered the word “date.”
No doubt about it…
He was definitely in hell.
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matthewtkachuk · 3 months ago
Text
somehow still stuck on you
navigating the realities of your post break up friendship with quinn is exacerbated by how much you’re not over him
pairing: quinn hughes x reader
warnings: a bit of exes to lovers angst
word count: 2.4k
a/n: hi @boqvistsbabe i’m your fic exchange writer, i’m sorry for the wait but i hope you enjoy!! i was feeling mad regret over not signing up for the fic exchange so when @wyattjohnston asked if i wanted to step in as a pinch hitter i said duhhhhh. this is as much a love letter to vancouver in late july as it is a quinn fic
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Quinn’s back in Vancouver. 
It’s not exactly revolutionary given the millions of dollars and the capital C handed to him by the Vancouver Canucks, but it is noteworthy given the timing.  
Training camp doesn’t start for another month, which makes it highly strange for Quinn to be back in the city already. Last you heard he was having a Brat Summer in Michigan. 
Not that you were keeping tabs on your ex-boyfriend-turned-just-friend, of course. It’s not a crime to click through the first five Insta stories when you open the app, even when it showcases how much fun he’s having without you. 
Although it might have felt like it when you were dating, the sun and moon didn’t rise and fall at the behest of Quinn Hughes. It was just easier to remember that fact when you weren’t faced with him—quite literally faced with a giant banner of his likeness leaving the Stadium-Chinatown SkyTrain station. The start of the regular season would be bad enough with his name on every one of your coworkers' lips. 
All this to say you thought you had more time before he re-entered a position at the center of your universe. 
Summer had been kind to you, giving you the time and space needed to move on and heal. Even with the colder than usual June, you’d managed to sneak away to Osoyoos a couple weekends with the girls. Your skin? Glowing. Your hair? Shining. Your thoughts? Totally devoid of one Quinn Hughes. 
Until you’d been swiping through the aforementioned stories and spotted one of your favorite walking spots in his story. Very much downtown Vancouver and very much not Michigan. 
It wasn’t a terrible break up and you’d been friends long before ever getting together, so it’s not unreasonable to receive an invitation to get the gang together for drinks and dinner in Gastown to celebrate the return of Quinn and others in your friend group to your city. 
The time and place all but guarantees you have no way of getting out of it, and truly you are happy to get together with everyone, so you have no choice but to react to the “thumbs up if you’re coming” message. 
All the healing and the positive thinking in the world can’t  stop you from dressing a little better than you ordinarily would for a casual hang or spending a little more time on your hair. 
You’re glad for the extra effort when you stroll in right on time. Everyone is loitering around the entrance, clearly waiting on an open table. It kind of foils your plan to slip into an empty chair, thereby avoiding the initial how are you hug train. Before you can even think of another way out of it, you find yourself being passed along from one friend to another until you reach Quinn, fumbling into a quick and stilted hug. 
“Awkward,” Sienna hisses but all you can do is shrug pathetically. 
You’re saved from much more embarrassment by the hostess informing your group the table is ready and you’re so grateful you could almost kiss her. The long table means you’re not sat immediately beside Quinn which is a blessing because you’re not sure you could take any more close contact. Conversation flows easily around you, the usual topics of work, families, and shitty roommates. 
Everything is going well until the conversation turns to Quinn’s summer in Michigan. The distance between the two of you isn’t large enough for you to miss the way Quinn’s eyes flicker over to you when someone asks him if he’s seeing anyone. 
It’s not fair the way your vision briefly turns to black, your heart constricting in your chest. The feeling of almost betrayal that floods your veins isn’t fair either—it’s been months since you broke up and you’ve been on your own fair share of dates. Failed dates to be fair, but dates all the same. 
Sienna is your saving grace in the form of a clenched hand around your forearm, hauling you to the bathroom with some fake excuse you don’t hear. 
“Are you okay?” she asks outside of the table’s listening distance 
You can only shrug pathetically, all words failing you now. 
She waits a solid three minutes before leading you back. 
“Crisis averted!” she declares when you both return, flipping her hair over her shoulder. 
The conversation has turned away from romantic endeavors, circling back to someone’s work drama. 
You get the sense that Quinn is trying to meet your eyes, but you don’t dare look in that direction until it’s time to leave. Your exit is hasty, the excuse of needing to catch the sky train in the next eight minutes excusing you from any further contact. In the sea of goodbyes, Quinn’s is the clearest. 
-
It’s not technically avoiding if your workload has you so busy you barely see your roommate, let alone your friend group, right? 
There’s a major deadline coming at work and it feels as though you’re wasting money on rent when all of your time is spent at the office. Wake up, work, eat, sleep, repeat. 
It’s easier to just mute the group chat, rather than be bothered by the buzzing of your phone. 
Easier until Sienna ends up bursting through your door after work using the key you’d given her for emergencies only. 
“This is an emergency,” she says before you can speak—caught red handed knee deep in an episode of Love Island UK and a tub of ice cream. 
Neither of you speak as she grabs a spoon from your drawer and burrows into the couch beside your pathetic cocoon. It’s born of burnout rather than heartbreak, but you’re aware of the optics of it all. 
“You’ve been avoiding us,” she says while some hot blonde cries in the confessional on TV. 
“Have not,” you rebut, unceremoniously pulling the tub of ice cream away from her so that she scoops up air instead. “I’ve just been so busy with work. I haven’t even had the time or energy to go grocery shopping, hence the ice cream for dinner.”
Her eyes flicker down to the tub in your hands but she doesn’t say what you’re both thinking. That there’s more to the unconventional supper than just laziness. 
“Come to fireworks this weekend,” she says instead, her motives for the impromptu visit finally becoming clear. “You missed last weekend and yesterday. I’m asking in person so you can’t ignore the group chat message like the last two times.”
“If I say yes will you be quiet and let me watch my show?” you ask. She nods emphatically, apparently proving that she can in fact be silent. Truthfully the festival of lights is a highlight of your summer, and watching the last two shows through other people’s stories isn’t your favorite way to view them. 
“Fine.”
She squeals and throws her arms around you. You want to ask if Quinn will be there, and the look on her face says she’s waiting for you to, but you don’t. 
At the end of the day it doesn’t matter if he’s going to be there or not. Exes or not, he was one of your best friends and will always be a major part of your friend group. There’s no separating the two and the sooner you get over it and everything returns to the way it was before you started dating the better. 
She doesn’t push any further, content to sit alongside you and soak in someone else’s love drama on screen rather than your own. 
“Remember a sweater!” are her parting words to you, notorious for always neglecting one. 
-
You forgot a sweater. 
It’s not until you’re sitting down on the 99 beside an old lady that you realize. You’re already running a little behind schedule and it would double your transit time to head back, so you settle into your seat and hope it doesn’t get too cold later. 
By the time you reach the beach the group is already together, sitting on a couple beach blankets lined up end to end. You spot Quinn’s unruly dark hair before you even realize you’re looking for him. 
“Look who finally showed!” someone says, and you roll your eyes as you drop down on the only spot available, right next to Quinn. 
“I’m at the mercy of Vancouver transit, we all know this.” You’d rather rake your naked body over hot coals and then confess your lingering feelings for the boy beside you in front of everyone you know than waste time in traffic and pay the outrageous inflated parking price on a night of fireworks. 
Quinn doesn’t tease you like the rest of your friends, and you wonder if he’s thinking about how the last time you saw fireworks together he’d driven. Or how he kissed you for the first time after driving you home from a different fireworks show. 
The late afternoon passes by with an impromptu game of frisbee that you don’t partake in—there’s way too many people at the beach for it to be enjoyable and you’re more content to people watch and gossip while picking at the charcuterie spread someone else brought. The active rest of the group seems to reach the same conclusion you had and someone breaks out Uno. 
By the time the sun sets, you’ve considered murdering both your friend to your left and your ex-boyfriend to your right. It’s bad enough you’re walking around with a still broken heart, now they’re ganging up on you with draw four cards and Uno reverses. The group is spared by the darkness making it too hard to play. 
If circumstances were different, Quinn likely would be teasing you about being a sore loser, offering to kiss it better until someone inevitably fake gagged and told you to get a room. 
Instead he’s silent as you turn your back to him in order to face the direction of the show about to start. The sea breeze hits and you can’t hold back your shudder. 
“Did you seriously forget a sweater?” Sienna asks. “I told you.” 
You spin around. “Yeah yeah yeah.”
Quinn is quick to pull off his hoodie, offering it to you with an outstretched hand. “Here.”
It feels too personal, too heavy, too full of implications and so you start to shake your head. “Oh, that’s okay.” 
“You’re literally shivering,” he says. “Take it.” 
It’s warm and soft and smells just like him. As you pull it over your head you’re taken back by just how right it feels. Like if you closed your eyes, you could almost pretend things were different. 
The train of thought is broken by the first firework, and you spin back to watch. 
The fireworks are beautiful and you sit in awe, ‘ooh’ing and ‘ahh’ing along with the crowd around you. 
Someone up ahead stands up to take a photo and Sienna has no problem heckling him. “Sit down!”
They do and you just shake your head at her antics. 
It turns out that sitting on the sand on a blanket isn’t the most comfortable position to be in. Mid way through the show, you find yourself shifting and leaning back to find a better way to situate yourself. In the process you brush your hand against Quinn’s, quickly pulling it back like you’d been burned. 
“Sorry,” you murmur over your shoulder, unsure if the blush coating his cheeks is just your imagination. 
When it’s over, you help everyone pack up and follow the group through the beach, quietly bitching about the sand getting into your sandals. 
Everyone starts splitting up when the sand gives way to pavement. Sienna lives close, within walking distance and she gives you a tight hug and heads off in the direction of her house. 
You’re turning away to start towards the bus stop when Quinn grabs your arm. 
Thinking he wants his sweater back, you begin to pull at the hem but his words have you freezing in place. 
“Do you want a ride home?”
Your place isn’t the exact opposite of his, but it’s also certainly not on his way home. Call it masochism, call it a desire to return to the way things were before you loved and lost, you agree with a quiet ‘yes.’
The walk to his car is quiet, and you resist the urge to ask him how much he paid for parking tonight, not sure you want to break the silence first. 
That silence continues in his car, at least between the two of you. Something soft and acoustic plays through the car speaker as the lights of Kits turn into downtown. 
When you get home, he offers to walk you to your door. Once, it was his way of making sure you got in safe. Then, it was his way of trying to prevent the night from ending. 
Now, you’re not sure of his reasoning. 
You get to the door, and he doesn’t say much more as you unlock it and step in. 
“Do you want to come in?” you find yourself asking despite yourself. 
He hesitates, hands in the pocket of his shorts. It kind of looks like he’s contemplating between stepping inside and running away. 
It makes you angry, that bitter edge of hurt you haven’t quite gotten over yet surfacing. 
“What do you want? You need to use your words, Quinn. Because your actions are confusing me!”
You have a very formulated argument prepared, full of evidence and conflicting actions—the result of hundreds of mini one sided arguments playing in your head since he’s been gone and since he’s been back. Arguments that don’t come to fruition because the look on his face is dangerous. 
He cups your face in his hands and presses his lips solidly to yours. You don’t even have enough time to fall into the kiss before he’s pulling apart. “How’s that for confusing?”
There’s no answer from you, not verbally at least. Just the momentum of you throwing yourself at him, crushing your lips to his. 
Words can wait. 
630 notes · View notes
peachesofteal · 5 months ago
Text
Dead Disco / Chapter Fifteen Dead Disco masterlist
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AO3 Warnings: Angst. The storm.
“You’re here.”
“I’m here.” Your heart breaks on it, on two little words. Breaks apart again at him standing in your door. The silence between the two of you is a scream, and though your tears have dried, there’s still an ache stretching infinitely before you. You peek over his shoulder, hoping Johnny is here too. Wanting to fix the mess you just made, but he’s not.
Simon is alone.
He pulls it wide. His face is twisted. His eyes are red. He’s been crying. The realization nearly brings you to your knees. “Can I come in?”
You didn’t clean the kitchen up, and neither did Johnny. He stood there for too long, kissing you over and over on your cheek, your forehead, your mouth and profusely apologizing, tugging his jeans up over his hips. Frozen afterwards, the two of you, fire and fuel once burning in your veins now ice cold, slithering under your skin like a disease.
That’s what you are. Who you are, who you were. An illness. A plague.
A slowly healing thing.
You always thought they made you better.
“I’ll stay, I should-“ 
“He’ll wonder.” You stared at the floor. “And he’ll worry, you know he will. He’ll be scared something happened to you.” 
“Darling, I dinnae want to leave ye right now-“ 
“I’m fine. Go.” 
Simon doesn’t try to touch you. He takes inventory of the mess, the caramel puddle of coffee spilled over the edge of the counter to the floor, the knocked over stagnant water and paintbrushes.
You become starkly aware, too aware of the state you’re in. The state of your apartment. The state of your brain.
You wish Johnny was with him. You want it to feel like before.
You can see his face so perfectly in your mind, the slope of his nose, the plush of his lips. Anxiety twists your stomach, worry about how he’s doing, what he’s doing weighing you down.
Still. Simon is steadfast. He’s the ship in a storm and you’re the sailor, clinging to a mast, praying to god you’ll survive.
“Are you-“
“I’m sorry I was so emotional on the phone.” You rush out, cutting him off. His brows knit together, prodigious sympathy in his eyes, golden brown refracting.
“I’m sorry for calling.”
“I’m… I’m glad you did.” He steps closer, and then away, opting to stand to the side, still taking stock of the kitchen, studying the orange pill bottles on the counter. “New meds?”
“Yeah.” The conversation is stilted, a dam preventing a flood.
“Are they working out?” You shrug.
“The one makes me really forgetful, but it’s not so bad.”
“That’s good.” You’re nodding and can’t stop. There’s a part of you wanting so badly, so desperately, to go to him, to bury your face in his chest and let it all go.
And there’s another part that doesn’t know what to do. Doesn’t know how to reconcile any of this.
“Will you tell me how you’re feeling?”
“Confused. Sad.”
“That’s okay.”
“Is it?”
“Yes, darling. Whatever you’re feeling is okay.” Your stomach rumbles at the exact same time, and his lips quirk to the side. “Are you hungry?”
“A little.”
“Have you eaten today?” You can’t force your mouth to give the answer, the obvious no, so you shake your head. “Do you have groceries?”
“Some.”
“Can I make you something to eat?” You suck in a sharp breath. Can he? Will you let him? Will the two of you revert to these roles, like no time has passed? Have you not made progress, have you not grown? 
You pack the shame of it away, burying it deep. You’ll try to unpack it later, on the couch, in front of the doctor. You’ll talk through every second, pick it apart and try to put it back together again. You’ll rip yourself open, expose your soft spots, the ones that bleed more than any other.
She’ll tell you it’s okay.
She’ll ask you how you feel about the decision.
You’ll say you don’t know, as you always do, and she’ll say that’s okay too. You don’t have to know right now. She’ll tell you there is nothing wrong with the way you feel, just like Simon does.
There’s been intensive therapy, to get you to this place. To drag you across the finish line. Sessions after sessions, four days a week.
It was a bargain. She promised not to have you sent involuntarily, and you promised to be in her office every other day.
Still, she doesn’t know Johnny, doesn’t know Simon. She doesn’t see how they love, how they exist.
You take a deep breath. “Yes.”
You watch him from the couch. Curled over the armrest, your chin on your elbow. His shoulders, chest, flex under his t shirt, opening cabinets, searching for things in an unfamiliar place.
You’ve never felt more loved by him than you do in this moment.
A man willing to push everything away to take care of you, to disregard himself in favor of you, to put himself aside every time he steps through the door to focus on you.
A man who knows what's coming. Who's always been able to see inside you, and yet, still makes you dinner. Still cares for you in the way he knows how. 
All you ever wanted, was to feel loved by them. Separately and together.
Now you feel it more than ever.
You tried to force a circle into a square. 
You think about Johnny again. About how he’s at home, penitent, destroyed. You think about how he must feel, knowing Simon is here, and he’s there. You ache for him. Wish you were settled between them in bed, his body against yours, the steadfast pace of his breathing evening your own out. You want him to hold you. 
You wish he was here.
You ache without your pieces.
But you know it’s not supposed to be this way.
“Darling?” The cadence of your moniker pulls you away from yourself, and you look up.
He’s crouched in front of the couch, nearly eye level with you. “You’re crying.” You tap your face, surprised. You are, the realization abrupt, the onset of them too acute.
“’m sorry.” You choke, and he murmurs softly.
“It’s alright. You’re okay.” His thumb finds your cheek, carefully sweeping them away.
“I’m not.” The truth is agony. You’re not okay. You weren’t okay when you fucked Johnny, and you’re not okay now. You haven’t ever been okay, and it hurts so badly. It stings deep down in your heart, your belly.
Your tears rush out of you, and Simon moves, comes around the side of the couch.
He pulls you into his arms, and you bury your face in his chest.
Hiding. Relying. Letting him carry you through. 
“Simon…” You sob, and he rocks you, arms tight, resolute in their hold.
“Shhh, I know. I know, it’s okay.”
“I d-didn’t mean for this to happen.” You’re talking about Johnny, but you’re talking about everything. The struggle, the agony. Everything.
“I know you didn’t. I don’t want you to worry about that.” The feeling inside you is more than pain, it’s death, it’s excruciating. There’s a piece of you dying, crumbling, turning to ash. You’re trying so hard to hold onto it, to keep it inside, but it comes out with these wretched sobs, the ones that split your ribs open and bleed you dry.
He holds you through it. Holds you tight enough the pressure eventually calms you, and there’s nothing left except the soaked circle on his t shirt and your tired, wet eyes.
“I’m sorry.” You whisper.
“You have nothing to be sorry about.” He takes a deep breath, still clinging. “Let me feed you.”
“Okay.”
He sits next to you at the little table where you usually try to eat alone. Where you drink your coffee, alone. Where you pick at your food, where you swallow a handful of pastel-colored pills with a glass of juice every morning like clockwork. Like a robot.
You manage more than a few bites. Breakfast for dinner, one of your favorites. You know he picked it because you love it, and he wants to make you happy.
It only makes you lachrymose. “I’m sorry about Johnny.”
“It’s not your fault, darling.”
“Don’t be mad at him.”
“Let me worry about that.”
“It wasn’t… he didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who put him in that position. I kissed him and-“
“He knew better. I don’t want you to dwell on… that.”
“I love him.” Your voice cracks.
“I know.”
“I love you.”
“I know you do, darling. I know.” You’re going to cry again; you can feel it. The acid starts up behind your eyes, and though you’re not sure you have anything left, they pool along your lower lids. “None of that.” He soothes. “C’mon. stay here, stay with me.” You shake your head.
“I l-love you both, so much. It hurts.” He blinks furiously, and then through your own blurry vision, you see his tears. The ones that slip reluctantly through his lashes, down his cheeks.
“We never wanted to hurt you.”
“I know, and you d-didn’t. It… it hurts Simon. It hurts and I don’t know why.” He tugs you from your chair and into his lap, hauling you up onto his thighs. “P-please-“
“Just… let me- let me hold you, darling. I don’t want- I want to feel you.” He cheek rests on the top of your head, and you cling to him, a child lost, a sailor scared in a storm.
He knows.
You know he knows. You feel it in the rapid pace of his heart, the shudder of his shoulders.
He knows. He knows it better than you do.
And maybe he always has.
“You were right.” After a while, he whispers in your hair. “And so was I, even though I didn’t want to see it. It was never fair.”
“We wanted it… too much.” That much is more than true. You wanted it so desperately, and so did they, you know it. You don’t doubt their love for you, though the scales have always been imbalanced. Imperfect puzzles, trying and failing to click together.
“I’m sorry, I… we, were so selfish.”
“I wanted you to be.”
“It still wasn’t right.”
You sit there for hours, curled up on his lap, listening to him breath, memorizing his heartbeat.
You think of Johnny for the hundredth time. You want him to be here. You want him to hold you too. You close your eyes and try to remember how he feels, your love for him overflowing into a mountain of more and more agony. For both of them. 
“I should go.” Simon finally says, shattering the moment, and you nod.
It’s a death march to the door.
“Will you come by, to see us? I mean… to… talk to us. Together.”
“Yeah, I… I will.” The guillotine waits in the wings, a final chorus cut off by a symphony.
“Tomorrow?”
“Okay.” He leans in, presses his lips to your forehead.
“I love you, darling. We always will.” You nod, but say nothing, cheeks wet again.
He turns away, rolling his shoulders, heading down the hall.
There’s something building in your heart, an explosion, fear compounding.
“Simon! Wait.” He stops. You close the gap, tugging him down until your lips crash together, warm and salt soaked and full of torment, suffering. “I love you.”
This time, he says nothing. Only kisses you again, long and slow, before taking you by the shoulders and intentionally stepping away.
“I know.”
You stand in front of their door for too long.
You wish there was something you could take, something you could do, to release you from this. To build a barrier around your heart so you don’t have to feel it. Any of it.
There’s not, and you know that.
You know you must succumb to the water, dip your head below and hope you come up for air on the other side.
There’s nothing left to do except this.
You lift your fist to knock.
“This is my fault.” Johnny cries, and you squeeze his hand.
“It’s not. It’s… it’s all of us. We did it together.” Simon kisses his temple, rubs his back, and he leans into him, face buried in his shoulder. The guilt eats you alive, knowing that the last time you truly spent with him was when he was inside of you. You wish you talked to him more, made him feel loved, told him how much you cared.
But you were selfish.
And so was he.
“It’s not your fault, sweet boy. I promise.” Simon tries to soothe him, but  Johnny slams a fist into his knee, so hard you wince, and Simon grabs it, fingers firm around his wrist. “Stop. Stop now.” He strokes a hand through his mohawk. You struggle to breathe. 
“I love you so much. That’s… that’s never going to change.” Johnny shakes his head as Simon closes his eyes, nose dipping down into his hair.
“Ye cannae leave us, darling. We need- I need ye. I love ye… p-please.” The three of you are crying, sliced open, surgically diced into cross sections for an autopsy.
The death of a relationship.
The death of three parts to a whole.
“Johnny.” You say his name, over and over, until he pulls away from Simon and tugs you close. You bury your face in the crook of his neck, breathing him in, committing his scent to memory.
Simon wraps his arms around you both.
You feel whole. A puzzle complete. A sunrise after a storm.
And that’s why. 
“I love you.” You kiss the shell of his ear, soaking him with your tears. They’re everywhere, dripping down your face, your neck, your shirt. You can barely keep your breathing steady, despair restricting your lungs. “I’ll always love you, Johnny. Always.”
“Please.” He sobs, shakes, holding onto you so tight. “Dinnae leave me. Please.” Your heart is shredding to pieces. Ribbons of blood and muscle trying to contain too much, unable to cling together. His pleas are enough to make you second guess yourself, to make you nausea enough to nearly throw up.
It’s beginning to become overwhelming, and in the throes of your building panic, you glance wildly at Simon.
He stares back. Nods. Wraps his hands around Johnny’s shoulders and tucks him back into his chest. “No!” Johnny hisses, but Simon holds him steady.
“I’ve got him.” He says, voice broken.
You sit frozen like a deer in headlights.
“I love you.” You cry, and hope they know it’s meant for both of them.
It’s always meant for both of them.
Simon takes one last long look at you and closes his eyes. “I’m proud of you.” He whispers, hoarsely, and the final piece of your heart breaks. “Go.”
Can you? 
Do you have the strength? 
The sun is bright on your face.
It’s warm, and beautiful, the promise of something new, something different. You stand on the sidewalk, devastated but-
Unafraid. Imperfect pieces, slowly stitching together to make you whole, all on your own.
Without Simon. Without Johnny.
Just yourself.
It’s terrifying. Heartbreaking. And it’s only you now.
You, figuring out how to exist in a world too harsh for your heart. You, without the protection and promise of your other pieces, the ones who came home to you every time, the ones who put you back together. You, learning how to take care of yourself, to truly do it, for the first time.
You, who is not broken.
You, who is stepping forward without darling.
You who is just… you.
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wordsinhaled · 4 months ago
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Restaurant owner/chef Charles / Food critic Edwin AU!!!
So, I just thought of this AU and I am so jazzed about it that I need to drop this idea somewhere so it can become a 100k fic I can devour in one sitting asdfhfhfhf
In an ideal world I’d want to offer the floor to someone Desi to run with this idea, or to collab with me on it because I want to do Charles' food and culture and relationship with his mum justice. I’ve only been adjacent to the restaurant business (my family ran a small café for a bit and I worked there, and I have a family member who did culinary school, so).
I just know that this idea has Arrived in my brain and I can’t just let it sit in there unattended, asdjfjfjf
I'm tagging @nix-nihili and @queen-of-hobgobblers 'cause I feel like this will be up your street???
Okay - so Charles and his mum own a small Indian restaurant. It’s a family business and his parents ran it together ("together") before. Charles’ father was incredibly controlling about the menu, their community partners and suppliers, as well as pretty much every other aspect of the business (and their lives, behind the scenes). Now Charles’ father is out of the picture—I'm undecided how this happens, but I just think Charles deserves to live an unfettered life without Mr. Rowland hurting him anymore, tbh.
He gets to rediscover the joy of cooking together with his mum, cooking as freely as he wants and not being held back by his dad's expectations, refreshing the restaurant's menu to feature more authentic versions of the dishes, making connections with new suppliers, redoing the accounting to pay everybody a living wage... Just generally, like, revamping the entire restaurant to be a more joyful place to be that celebrates delicious food and companionship as a form of connection and sharing. Edwin is a food critic who goes to the grand reopening of the restaurant. Edwin likes to write about and document food. He enjoys experiencing a restaurant and its food possibly even more than the tasting of it. He presents like the uptight, exacting sort of food critic restaurants are intimidated by, with his many layers and his bow tie and his posture and his perfect hair, his little notebook and his vintage pocket pen. But inside he just wants to be able to feel some sort of a connection: with the chef through the food (What is the dish trying to tell him?); with the other person at the table—if there is another person, which is so rare.
Family mealtimes for Edwin growing up were distant affairs, overly formal and stilted and coded, minefields for being scrutinized and speaking and acting in only the most acceptable ways; not places to be honest or genuine or to let one's guard down. Certainly not occasions to experience genuine enjoyment. He wants to believe that food, which is so vital to life, and the preparing and the sharing of it, can be different. Positive. Joyous.
Charles gives Edwin a tour of the restaurant when he arrives. Charles is not like a lot of other restaurant owners Edwin has met. He introduces Edwin to his mum and the way he looks at her makes a pang go through Edwin's chest because clearly, they love each other so much, and Edwin may have never had that but just looking at it heals something in him. He's not getting invested, though. (Right?)
Charles' enthusiasm is like, off the charts. He's practically vibrating, to the point where excitement tips over into anxiety, clearly trying to keep it toned down and failing. And Charles is like, "I'm sorry. Just a bit nervous, yeah? I really care about this place. I need it to—I mean. I really want it to do well."
Edwin's heart goes out to him. "Do not worry," he says, softly. "I am not here to hurt you." He doesn't know why he says it but all the tension goes out of Charles, the slightly frantic look goes out of his eyes, and he gives Edwin the brightest smile he thinks he's ever seen. It's a gorgeous smile. Relieved, and carefree, and warm like sunshine.
"D'you want to try some food?" He says it almost conspiratorially, as though this is not Edwin's primary and entire purpose in being here.
Edwin looks around the quiet, empty restaurant. It's cozy and warm with mid-afternoon sunlight streaming in through the windows at the front. Even without any patrons, without the din or bustle of a full dining room, it seems to beckon to foster shared happiness within it. "I was under the impression that I would be partaking of your dinner service this evening," he says delicately, trying to hide that he might actually want nothing better than to never leave here at all, let alone try some food.
"Well, yeah," Charles says, "'course you are. But this is different, innit? Not for the article. Come on, let me cook for you. You look like..." He stops. Perhaps considering if he's about to say too much. His eyes are bright and thoughtful and fixed on Edwin so intently that Edwin doesn't breathe for a moment. "You look like no one's cooked for you in ages." It comes out soft, but firm; as though he knows what he's talking about. Edwin feels like the wind has been knocked out of him.
"No one has ever cooked for me," says Edwin matter-of-factly.
He has no idea what it is about Charles that makes him admit something so honest—although it is not entirely accurate. His family had had a personal chef. Technically speaking, all of Edwin's meals had been cooked for him, until much to his parents' chagrin he went off to a student flat, and culinary school, and began to cook them for himself. But he suspects that no one has ever cooked for him, the way Charles Rowland is offering to now. Properly. Like it means something. Like he is trying to say something through it; unspoken words that Edwin has always wanted to hear.
Let me know you. Let me connect with you. Let me take care of you.
Charles' eyes widen. Clearly, he is trying to process Edwin's bleak admission. "Right," he says, after a beat, as his posture gains something determined; his grin bright and charming. "That settles it, then. I know exactly what I'm going to make you."
And before Edwin can say anything else, he's taking Edwin's hand in his and tugging him towards the kitchen.
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pseudowho · 7 months ago
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Domestic Bliss: Higuruma Hiromi #3, Bite
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Hiromi suffered from cute aggression. But, only for you.
He simply couldn't help himself. After a terrible, awful, no-good day at work, full of trials and tribulations, to come home and see you, in all your comfy glory...well. He simply couldn't help himself.
Stepping through the doorway, and leaning back to shut the door with an incoherent huff that might have been 'I'm home', Hiromi locked onto his target. He didn't even stop as he kicked his shoes off. Instead, he yeeted them off mid-step, one at a time, in two practiced, fluid flings.
You hadn't managed to spin round by the time his arms looped around you, pressing you into the wall from behind with more incoherent groans into the back of your shoulder. You felt his hooked nose, nuzzling hard, his whole face rubbed with some force, as he squeezed you, shook you from side to side with minimal self-restraint, pushing against you, as if he'd climb straight into your skin if he could.
You laughed, squirming against him, which only made his grumbling ministrations worse.
And then-- the bite. You yipped to feel his sharp canines sink into you, and his biting reproach.
"Stop squirming," Hiromi chastised, muffled, "and I wouldn't have to bite."
"It hurts, you're so strong--"
"--shut up and take it, there's a good girl--"
"--you're so rude to me--"
"--gosh, I'm sorry, I meant shut up sweetheart--"
By this point, you had turned in his arms, still pinned to the wall, play fighting. Hiromi laughed as you tried to get away, pinning you harder, wedging you to the wall with his hips, until--
Bite.
Hiromi moaned, raw and pornographic, as your teeth pressed into his throat. You short circuited, pulling away and looking up at him in surprise.
Oh. The way his eyes glimmered down at you, feverish, little lit coals in the dark. The way his cock pulsed, thickening against your belly. The way he wordlessly begged you to do it again.
You reached up, sinking your teeth into his neck once more. Hiromi moaned again, ragged and stilted. His hips fucked involuntarily against you.
"--haaah shit-- don't stop-- harder--"
You did as you were told. By the time he was done with you, splayed and full of cum beneath him, Hiromi was peppered with bite-marks, panting, hardening again against your thigh and grazing his teeth around your nipples.
He simply couldn't help himself.
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moonstruckme · 6 months ago
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Hey! Unsure what happened but I copy+pasted a request into my doc and now it's gone :( Anyway to whoever sent this, thank you!
Request: can i request hurt/comofort with high!reader x buzzed!sirius (or poly!mar whatever you’d like) where reader smokes a little more then she can handle and he takes care of her but he’s like still a little high himself, if that makes sense TT just nice and lovey and dovey!!!!
cw: weed, greening out, mention of vomit/nausea
Sirius Black x fem!reader ♡ 727 words
Sirius is trying to be comforting, but he keeps getting distracted by the feel of your back underneath his hand. The muscles of your shoulders are tight, your breathing stilted and your skin shiny with a thin layer of sweat. Sirius can’t stop thinking about how he’d like to rest his face in between your shoulder blades and kiss an adoring line down your spine. He worries it wouldn’t be very helpful. 
“I’m sorry.” Your voice is quieter than breath, a soft sigh drooping your shoulders as you let your head loll forward. 
Your body starts to list forward with it. Sirius weaves his arm under yours, settling down more comfortably on the bathroom floor and pulling you back against his chest. 
“I’m sorry, baby.” He kisses the crown of your head. “I should have warned you about this. I need to remember to be careful with you.” 
Caution isn’t really in Sirius’ nature, but however unwisely, you put a lot of trust in him. The weed you’d smoked tonight was a different strain than the one he’s shared with you before, but he’d forgotten to clue you in. You’d matched him hit for hit, and with your lower tolerance it hadn’t ended well. You’ve been sick more than once. 
“You’re so nice,” you whisper. Your voice sounds tight. Sirius’ chest contracts, worrying you’re starting to get teary. “You don’t have to take care of me, but you are. You’re so, so nice.” Definitely teary now. “I’m really sorry for ruining your night.” 
“Aw, sweetheart.” He kisses the side of your face with something akin to desperation. He already feels like his heart is going to spill right out of his ribcage, and your upset makes it about ten times worse. “You’re not ruining anything. Of course I have to take care of you, you’re my girl, you know? I want to.” 
He peers around you, trying to see your face. You’ve got that same, slightly spaced-out look you’ve had for the past hour, a sad little line between your brows. Sirius reaches up to smooth it out with his finger, and you turn toward him like you’d forgotten he was there. He wonders if this much affection can actually crush his bones to dust. It feels plausible.
“I love you,” he says. 
You sigh, fitting your head into the crook of his neck and shoulder. It’s not a happy sound, but he knows it’s not meant for him. “You, too.” 
You take his hand, turning it palm up and tracing the lines in his skin. Your touch is so light it tickles. He has a small scar from a failed attempt at cooking with James when he first moved out, and when you get to it you raise his palm to your lips, resting them there purposefully. 
“Can I have a hug?” you mumble against his skin. 
“Fuck yeah, always.” 
Sirius does the work of turning you around, your own coordination not spectacular at the moment, and your arms curl under his arms, wrists crossing between his shoulder blades. He thinks your hands might be making fists. For his part, he rubs up and down your spine slowly, squeezing intermittently, unsure how much you want. Sirius has always been shit at comfort. He’ll keep trying as long as you let him.
“I don’t like this,” you admit. Your face feels warm where it’s pressing into his shoulder, and Sirius realizes you might be crying again. He hugs you harder. “I can’t think.” 
He feels, very acutely, his heart fracturing. “Oh, baby,” he murmurs, “I’m so sorry. I know it’s awful.” 
“I’m scared,” you whimper. 
“I know, sweet girl.” He may well be crushing you now. If your ribs are breaking, you don’t seem inclined to say anything about it. “You’ll be okay, though, I promise. I’ve got you. Just try to relax, and I’ll take care of you, yeah?” You don’t respond, sniffling. Sirius rubs your back again. “Do you feel like you’re going to be sick any more, darling?” 
“I don’t know. I don’t think so.” 
“Alright, my lovely. Let’s go to bed, okay? You might feel better when you wake up.” 
You hug him tighter. “Thank you for being so nice to me.” 
“Wrong again,” he says, tucking a kiss into your hair. “I’m not nice to you, I just love you too much.” 
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jetii · 13 days ago
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By Your Name
Part Two
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Pairing: Wrecker x fem!Reader / Wrecker x Jedi!Reader
Words: 11,228/19,226
Tags/Warnings: angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, forbidden romance, unrequited feelings, love confessions, some kissing and heavy petting, smut in part 2
Summary: Ever since you were assigned to the squad, Wrecker has delighted in calling you pet names in Mando'a — an'edee, cyar'ika, mesh'la, the list goes on. Little does he know, you understand every single one of them, and it's starting to become a problem.
A/N: I wrote this months ago and got around to editing it recently and whoa, was not prepared for the sad. Sorry about that! This is mostly self-contained to part one, with part two being purely a smut add-on for my own amusement. I'll post that next week.
Previous Work | Next Work | Masterlist
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You hit the ground hard, skidding to a stop face down in the dirt, your whole body aching. The ringing in your ears slowly subsides, and the sounds of battle come back in bits and pieces. The roar of blasterfire, the clatter of droids and metal feet, and crunch of tanks rolling over rubble. You groan and turn yourself over onto your back, coughing and trying to get the taste of dirt out of your mouth, just in time to see a droid bearing down on you, cannon aimed.
You try to move, but you’re completely winded. Your lightsaber was thrown from your grasp when you were sent flying, and it lay several feet away, taunting you with the idea of your own survival. You close your eyes and prepare for the worst, waiting for the searing pain of a laser bolt tearing through you
There’s the sound of metal tearing as a large hand grips the droid’s head and rips it clean off its neck, and your eyes fly open as the metal body falls to the ground in a clatter of lifeless metal, its head still in the hands of your savior.
You look up and meet Wrecker’s eyes, and he pushes his helmet up with the back of his hand to offer you a toothy grin, the droid head held aloft in the other. The relief at seeing him alive and well washes over you like a tide, and you can only manage a weak smile back, your ribs smarting from the impact of your fall.
"That was a close one!" he says, tossing the head away like a child throwing a ball for a dog. It pings off the chest of a droid advancing on the pair of you, sending the metal soldier careening backwards.
"A little too close for my liking," you wheeze, and you take his offered hand. Wrecker pulls you to your feet with ease, the motion tugging you close to his chest, and his arm wraps around you to steady you.
“You okay, cyar’ika?” he shouts over the sound of another tank exploding, a cloud of debris flying up and raining down around you in a shower of dust and smoke. You nod, the movement stiff and stilted, and you pray he doesn’t notice the flush on your cheeks at the use of that Mando'a word.
And that's the problem, isn't it? Cyar’ika, sarad, mesh’la, all the words he said to you in his native tongue, thinking you wouldn't know the difference. It made your heart race and your head spin, and the fact that you understood exactly what they meant only made it worse. It was like a secret between you two, one you weren't supposed to know.
The words made your heart do cartwheels, but the tone he said them in?
That was what was really going to kill you.
The soft way he said the words, the gentle, affectionate way he looked at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention, the way his hand seemed to linger on your shoulder after pulling you back up from a fall, the way his smile made your knees weak... It all came together to paint a picture of how Wrecker felt. It was a picture that made your face feel warm and your throat dry, and it was one that was starting to drive you crazy.
It also drove you to distraction, so much so that you hadn't even noticed the AAT firing at you until you were flying through the air.
And now you're here, in Wrecker's arms, your heart beating fast for more than one reason. You take a moment to gather yourself before stepping back, Wrecker's arm falling reluctantly from around your shoulders, and you give him a grin that's a little stronger this time.
"I'm alright, thank you!" you shout back. "We need to stop that tank!"
Wrecker nods, and the two of you turn to face the massive tank, which was slowly making its way through the city, demolishing everything in its path. The cannons swivel back and forth, destroying a building to your right, then to the left, then forward.
You call your lightsaber back into your hand, and it flies past Wrecker's head into your awaiting palm. You ignite the blade and glance at him, and he grins and cracks his knuckles before slamming his helmet back onto his head.
"Ready, cyare?"
Your breath catches in your throat. It wasn't the word you thought he'd use, but the endearment has the same effect. He doesn't seem to realize what he's said, and you decide not to bring it up.
You can think about it later. For now, you had a droid army to stop.
"Ready," you murmur.
Wrecker holds his hand out to the side, bowing his head in a courtly gesture. "After you."
You roll your eyes and step past him, and you feel the heat of his gaze on the back of your neck.
"Keep up, then."
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It doesn’t get any easier.
You try your best not to let it affect your performance. You focus on the missions, on keeping your men safe, but Wrecker is always there, with a compliment or a gentle touch, and the feelings grow until they threaten to burst from your chest.
He does everything in his power to make you laugh, and every time he does, your stomach feels like it's doing backflips. He calls you pet names and winks at you, and your knees get weak. He smiles at you, and the world seems to get brighter.
He does everything he can to protect you, and you find yourself falling for him, hard.
And you can't let it show.
So you ignore the feeling, try to bury it deep inside, but you can feel it growing, day by day.
You have never wanted to tell someone how you feel so much, and yet you are absolutely terrified to do it. It's almost funny, really. You’ve stared down the barrel of a blaster a hundred times, fought dozens of battles, and yet this one man is the only one who can make your heart race.
But there's a difference. With the other things, you could always fight back, try to fix the situation. But how can you fight against feelings? How can you stop yourself from falling in love with the most wonderful person you've ever met?
You can't, and you know it.
Every night, you think about telling him, but every morning, the fear stops you. In the light of day, the idea of a Jedi and a clone being together is ridiculous. It's impossible, and you can't risk your career and his life for something so foolish. So, each time, you say nothing, and the words go unsaid, lingering between the two of you, a heavy weight that seems to follow wherever you go.
You try your hardest not to think about it, but it's like a constant buzzing, an annoying insect that's always in your ear, always nipping at your thoughts, always reminding you of something you don't want to deal with. It's dangerous, and distracting, and it makes you worry that someday, someone will find out.
And that's the most terrifying thing of all.
If the Council ever discovered what was going on between you, they would have no choice but to separate the two of you. The thought of never seeing him again fills you with a deep dread, and the knowledge that it could happen at any time drives you crazy.
Every time the thought comes to the forefront of your mind, you try to push it away, and the effort has become a daily struggle. The others have noticed your preoccupation, and have done their best to cheer you up, but even their good-natured attempts have become frustrating, the reminders of what you were trying not to think about grating on your nerves.
The only person who doesn't seem to notice is Wrecker.
It's ironic, really. It's Wrecker who causes all the trouble, and it's him who's oblivious to it. He doesn't know the effect his words have on you, and if he does, he doesn't acknowledge it.  Instead, he seems to be more affectionate, more playful, more himself than ever, and the more you try to push away your feelings, the harder they come crashing back.
It's like being caught in a riptide, unable to stop yourself from being pulled farther and farther out, no matter how much you struggle. You wish he would stop, wish he would just back off and let you think, but a part of you doesn't want him to. A part of you wants this, wants him, and it's slowly consuming the rest of you.
The only thing that keeps you sane is the knowledge that you will have to return to Coruscant soon, and that when you do, you can go back to the Order, and put the distance between you that you sorely need.
You can't hide anything from the Council. The Force is your ally and enemy, and it shows you exactly how they would react if they ever found out about you and Wrecker.
Dismissal. Disapproval. Disdain.
All things you're not ready to face, and the sooner you're separated, the better. That thought, the idea that you won't have to see Wrecker every day, helps to soothe your anxiety, and, despite the guilt and sadness it brings, you look forward to the mission ending.
The sooner you can distance yourself from him, the easier it will be.
At least, that's what you tell yourself.
You have no idea how wrong you are.
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The tunnel network on Akiva is a mess, a winding labyrinth of tunnels and dead ends. The six of you have been trying to navigate them for hours now, and it's starting to take its toll. You've lost the trail of the tactical droid you're hunting multiple times, only to pick it up again an hour later. Your patience is wearing thin, and the squad is getting restless. You're all tired and hungry, and the dim, flickering lights of the tunnels are giving you a headache.
"How many turns have we made?" Crosshair asks, his voice echoing in the narrow tunnel. He's leading the pack with Hunter, whose trying his best to keep up with the trail, though it's growing colder by the minute.
"I...have lost count," Tech admits bitterly, squinting at the holographic map of the tunnels displayed on his datapad. "Perhaps we should have split up, that would have made the task—"
"Not happening," Wrecker cuts in, his voice firm.
"I wasn't finished," Tech snaps.
"Yeah, but you were gonna suggest splitting up," Wrecker says, "and that ain't gonna happen. We're all staying together."
"Tech, if we split up, we might lose each other," Hunter adds, his voice strained as he concentrates. "This trail is difficult enough to follow as it is. I don't need the distraction of trying to find a missing man on top of it."
Tech opens his mouth to reply, but stops when he catches your eye, and you give him a subtle shake of your head. He sighs and nods, looking back down at his datapad. "As always, the logical course of action is the least popular," he mutters.
Hunter snorts, but says nothing, and you and the rest of the group continue down the tunnel. You trail behind the group, trying to keep your frustration in check, when you suddenly feel a presence behind you, and you glance back to see Wrecker fall into step next to you, a small smile on his face.
"Hey," he says softly, and you can't help but return the expression. You realize what you're doing and try to school your features, but the damage is already done, and Wrecker's smile widens.
"Hi," you murmur.
"You holding up okay?" he asks.
You nod, the movement stiff. "I'm fine."
"You sure? Cause you look like you're ready to kill someone."
You grimace and glance ahead, where the others were slowly disappearing from view, and you lower your voice. "I'm sorry. It's been a long day."
"Ain't that the truth," Wrecker mutters.
"This is a mess," you sigh, glancing around the cramped, dimly lit tunnel. "We're not gonna find anything at this rate."
He shrugs, and his elbow nudges yours gently. "It'll be alright, cyar'ika. We'll find him."
The affectionate word is like a bucket of cold water thrown over your head, and your heart skips a beat. You swallow hard, and nod, hoping he can't see the flush on your cheeks.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Cause we're the best there is," Wrecker says. His arm brushes yours as the pair of you walk, and his fingers bump yours. He pulls his hand back quickly, but not before his fingertips brush against the back of your hand, and you can't suppress the shiver that runs through you. "And we have the best General in the galaxy."
"Stop," you groan, the tips of your ears burning. "I'm not the best. I've gotten us lost three times today, Wrecker. Three. If I was a better General, I would have found this stupid droid by now."
"Hey," he murmurs. "It's not your fault."
You keep your eyes on the ground, but his hand comes up and his fingers brush the back of yours. Your hand twitches, but you don't move, and his thumb runs gently over the back of your hand. You're too distracted by his touch to notice that the group had stopped walking, and it's only when Hunter speaks that you snap back to reality.
"Guys, we've got a problem."
You and Wrecker stop short, and you pull your hand from his quickly, ignoring the way his face falls. You glance up and see the other clones gathered around the entrance to a large cavern, their backs turned to you.
"What's wrong?"
Crosshair steps aside to allow you to join the group, and his eyebrow arches as his eyes flicker between you and Wrecker, a smirk crossing his face. You pointedly ignore him, and he shakes his head before returning his attention to the task at hand.
"Dead end," Hunter says.
"I don't understand," Tech murmurs. He steps forward to scan the walls and floor of the cavern with his datapad, and Echo peers over his shoulder. "According to the map, this tunnel should continue on, not stop at a room."
"Well, clearly it does," Crosshair snarks as he moves past you into the cavern. "Or are we supposed to climb the wall?"
"The structural integrity of these walls is poor," Tech replies. "Climbing would only serve to bring the ceiling down upon us."
"Then how are we supposed to get through?" Echo asks, and you bite your lip, the wheels turning in your mind.
Crosshair's flashlight pans over the walls and floor, illuminating the room, and it's then that you see the marks in the dirt. Footprints, dozens of them, some large, some small. Hunter crouches down and brushes the prints, and he frowns and pulls his glove off, running his fingers along the floor.
"These are fresh," he murmurs.
"So are these," Echo says. He and Crosshair are crouched by the far wall, examining a patch of disturbed dirt. You move to take a step forward when a chill runs up your spine, and you freeze, the hairs on the back of your neck rising.
Something is wrong.
You feel it, the air becoming thick with danger. Your muscles tense, your hands clenching at your sides, and the others must sense it, too. They rise to their feet and turn to you, their weapons ready, and the only sound is the distant dripping of water and the soft whirring of Tech's datapad.
"What is it?" Hunter whispers, his voice barely audible, but you can't answer. Your eyes dart around the cavern, searching for the threat. There's no cover in the room, nowhere to hide, and it's making your skin crawl.
"I don't know," you whisper back.
Suddenly, the ground beneath your feet starts to sha, and the men shout in alarm as the shaking gets worse. Dust falls from the ceiling, and you scramble backwards, trying not to fall as the walls start to crumble.
"Go! Go!" Hunter shouts, and the group bolts for the tunnel. You trip on a stone, and the ground cracks and splits open, swallowing the rocks whole. Wrecker grabs you and pulls you to your feet, and the pair of you race after the others, the cavern falling apart around you.
"This isn't natural!" Tech shouts, and he ducks as a rock flies towards him, missing him by inches. "The droid must have set charges!"
"Doesn't matter! Just keep moving!" Hunter yells.
There's a loud roar, and the ceiling comes crashing down. You barely have time to throw up your hands before the weight of the cave-in hits you, and your arms tremble with the effort of holding it up. Ahead of you, the others shout, but the dust and rocks muffle the sound. Your knees buckle, and the rubble starts to push down on you, your back bowing.
No, no, no, no...
The rocks shift, and your hands slip, and the ceiling starts to come down again, and all you can think is that you're not ready, not ready, not ready—
There's a flash of black, and suddenly Wrecker is diving towards you, his arms wrapping around your waist, and the two of you are thrown to the side, out of the way of the falling rocks. He wraps himself around you, his broad shoulders protecting your head, and the pair of you hit the ground hard as the rest of the cavern collapses.
The impact knocks the wind from your lungs, and you're left gasping for breath, unable to move as the cave-in rages around you, the sounds of the others muffled by the rocks. After what feels like an eternity, the noise and movement ceases, and silence settles in, save for the soft tumble of stones.
Your eyes fly open, and you're greeted with darkness. It takes a moment for them to adjust, and you blink away the grit, a shudder running through you. Your limbs feel heavy, and it's only then that you notice the crushing weight on top of you. You can feel the hard edge of plastoid digging into your chest, something softer cradling your head, and Wrecker's heavy breathing fills your ears.
"Wrecker?" you rasp.
His body moves against yours, and his helmet buried in the crook of your neck, his chest rising and falling as he pants for air.
"Yeah?"
"Are...are you okay?"
He laughs, a soft, wheezy sound, and his grip around you loosens, his arms pulling back, allowing the air to return to your lungs.
"Am I okay? I should be askin' you that!"
You laugh, the sound coming out as a half-sob, and you feel his hand cup the back of your head, his fingers threading gently through your hair. "What...what happened?"
"You almost got crushed," he replies, his voice hoarse. "Had to get you outta there."
You blink rapidly, trying to get the dust out of your eyes, and the dim light illuminates his form. He's curled around you, his body protecting yours, and his arms are still holding you tight, one wrapped around your waist, the other cupping the back of your head, his fingers gently stroking your hair.
"Oh," is all you can manage.
"Yeah," Wrecker chuckles, and his grip tightens. "'Oh' is right."
"How did you...?"
"I dunno," he mutters, and his chest rumbles with his words. "I just knew I had to get to you, no matter what."
"Well, thanks."
You swallow hard, trying to ignore the fluttering in your stomach. His hand is large enough to cradle your entire head, and his thumb gently strokes the skin of your neck. You're suddenly hyper-aware of the feeling of him pressed against you, the weight of him, the warmth, the smell of metal and dirt and sweat, and you can't help the way your face heats up.
Your hand pushes at his chest plate, and his grip on you loosens. "Uh, we should—"
"Right!" Wrecker exclaims as his arms unwrap from around you. "Sorry!"
"No, no, it's okay!"
"I shoulda let go sooner," he babbles, and you can hear the flush in his voice. "I didn't mean to..."
"It's fine," you assure him, and you sit up, wincing at the aches and pains in your body. You can hear him move beside you, his armor scraping the floor as he stands, and a moment later, a gloved hand appears in front of your face.
"Need a hand?"
"Thanks," you say, and Wrecker helps you up. The pair of you stand for a moment, listening to the silence around you. The room is dark, the only illumination coming from the narrow gaps in the stones above you, and the occasional shift sends dust falling from the ceiling.
“—al…Wrecker! Are you alright?" Hunter's voice crackles through the comms, the sound distorted by static.
"I'm okay," Wrecker replies, stepping back a little as he activates his comm. He pauses and glances down at you, and his head tilts slightly, like he's looking you over.
"What is it?" you ask, and Wrecker hesitates, his fingers brushing yours.
"You sure you're alright, cyar'ika?"
The endearment is like a slap to the face, and you blink rapidly, taken aback.
"I'm fine, thank you," you say, trying to keep your voice steady.
Wrecker doesn't seem convinced, and his fingers curl around yours. "You don't sound fine."
"I am."
"Really?"
"Yes, Wrecker," you snap. "I'm fine."
"Wrecker, report!" Hunter's voice demands, and Wrecker pulls his hand from yours and activates his comm again.
"We're okay," he says. "Me and the General."
"Thank the Maker," Hunter replies. "What happened?"
You let Wrecker answer while you try to calm yourself, your heart pounding against your ribs. It's just a word, you tell yourself, and yet the knowledge that he was willing to put himself in harm's way, risk being crushed by the rocks just to get to you...
You're not sure how much more of this you can take.
"Is anyone injured?" you ask, cutting off Wrecker mid-sentence.
"No," Hunter replies. "A few bumps and bruises, nothing serious."
"Good," you say. You walk toward the wall of rubble, reaching out with the Force and testing it, searching for a way out. There are gaps here and there, large enough for a person to fit through, but the amount of debris is daunting, and you know that without tools, the task would take hours.
"Well, this is a karking mess," Crosshair grumbles, speaking your thoughts aloud.
“You can say that again,” you say. “We’ll try to dig our way out, but it might take a while."
“Negative,” Tech’s voice cuts in immediately. “This tunnel system is too unstable. Any further attempts to excavate the debris could result in further cave-ins, which could cause catastrophic structural damage.”
You sigh, leaning your head against the rocks. "So we're stuck?"
"It would appear so," Tech replies, and you can practically hear him grimace.
“What are your orders, General?” Echo asks. You can tell by the sound of his voice that he knows what you’re about to say, but the question still makes your stomach twist. You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself, but the feeling of the walls closing in is growing, and the anxiety is starting to become overwhelming.
"You're going to have to leave us," you say softly.
The words are met with a chorus of protests, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to block out the noise. Behind you, Wrecker has fallen silent, and his eyes are burning into the back of your skull, his presence looming, waiting.
"You'll be walking blind," Hunter argues. "Without Tech, you could get lost."
"Or crushed," Crosshair snarks.
"It's dangerous," Echo adds.
"It is," you reply. "But we can't stay here. We need to find the tactical droid, and the longer we wait, the colder the trail gets. So get moving. That's an order."
There's a moment of silence, then: "Copy that."
“May the Force be with you,” you reply, and you turn off your comm and close your eyes.
The silence seems deafening after the sound of the voices, and you stand there for a moment, collecting yourself. You can still feel Wrecker behind you, and his presence is as comforting as it is suffocating. You take a deep breath and steel yourself before turning to face him, and you offer him a small smile.
"Ready to get outta here?"
He doesn't reply, and his gaze is so intense that it makes your skin crawl. You clear your throat and glance away, and when you look back, he's still staring.
"Wrecker?"
"You really think they're gonna leave us here?"
"They don't have a choice," you say gently. "And neither do we."
He grunts, but says nothing, and he turns away to scan the rubble, the flashlight on his helmet casting eerie shadows on the walls. You watch him as he walks the perimeter of the cave, and it's not until he's made his third trip around the space that he speaks again.
"There's a gap over here," he calls, and you cross the cavern to join him.
He's right; the rocks have formed a tunnel, large enough for you to crawl through, and when you peek through the other side, the tunnel stretches on for several meters, the walls and floor clear of debris.
"Well, at least we have somewhere to start," you murmur.
"I'll go first," Wrecker offer, and he drops to his knees and crawls into the opening, his wide shoulders brushing the stone. You follow close behind, crawling over the jagged rocks, and when you reach the other side, Wrecker grabs your arm and helps you stand.
"Thanks," you murmur, and the pair of you turn and shine your lights down the tunnel. It stretches on ahead of you, twisting and turning, the path vanishing around a corner.
"When I get my hands on that droid..." Wrecker growls.
"If I don't get to it first," you mutter, and the two of you set off down the tunnel.
It's slow-going, with the two of you constantly checking for traps or pitfalls, and the longer you walk, the more nervous you become. It's too quiet, and the tension between you and Wrecker is thick, like an unspoken word lingering in the air.
You've been trying to think of something to say, but every time you open your mouth, your throat dries up, and the words die on your tongue. Every time, you convince yourself to tell him how you feel, and how you can't deal with his attention, his affection, but each time, your nerves get the better of you, and you lose the courage.
After a while, you turn and glance back at him, and his gaze is locked on you, his head tilted.
"What?" you ask, and the word is sharper than you intended, but the tension is starting to make your skin itch.
"Nothin'," he says. You can hear the smile in his voice, and you sigh and look ahead again, trying not to think about his eyes on you.
"Stop looking at me like that," you grumble.
"Like what?" he asks, his voice low.
"I don't know," you say, your frustration getting the better of you. "Just...just stop."
He falls silent, and you bite the inside of your cheek, the guilt starting to eat at you. It's not his fault, you remind yourself. You're the one who has the problem. He's doing what he always does, and it's driving you insane, and he has no idea, and it's not his fault, it's yours.
"I'm sorry," you murmur.
"No, no, it's okay," he replies. "I'll...I'll try not to stare."
You can hear the disappointment in his voice, and you swallow the lump in your throat. It's not his fault, it's yours.
"Thank you," is all you manage to say.
Silence settles in again, and the two of you continue on, your footsteps echoing off the walls. Wrecker keeps his promise and doesn't look at you, and it only makes the tension worse, the distance between you yawning wider.
It's hard to see anything in the dark, and the tunnel seems endless. The walls are crumbling, and the ceiling is low, and every time the stone shifts, you're afraid the tunnel will collapse on you, and that'll be the end of the Jedi and her trooper, crushed in the tunnels on Akiva. It's not the way you expected to go out, but you suppose it could be worse.
It's not a very Jedi-like thought, and you shake your head, trying to clear your mind. The exhaustion is starting to creep up on you, the long day finally catching up, and you're not sure how much longer you can stay focused.
"You okay, mesh'la?"
Wrecker's voice, soft and low, catches you by surprise, and you glance up to see him watching you, his head cocked. You're not sure what's worse, the fact that he can see right through you, or the fact that he's still calling you those names.
"Fine," you lie, turning away so he can't see your face. "Just tired." 
"We can stop if you want," he offers. "Rest for a bit."
"No," you say, forcing a laugh. "I'll be fine. We need to keep going." 
"You sure?"
"Yes."
"Okay," he replies. "But tell me if you need to stop."
You nod and walk a little faster, leaving him behind. The sound of his footsteps behind you makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand up, and it takes all your self-control not to turn around.
You need the distance.
The longer the two of you are together, the closer you feel to him, and the closer you feel to him, the harder it will be to say goodbye. And if the way he looks at you, the softness in his voice when he speaks, the gentle brush of his hand against yours is anything to go by, Wrecker isn't planning on leaving your side anytime soon.
The thought makes your heart swell, but you push it down, ignoring the longing it brings. You can't get attached. You can't let him get attached. It's not fair to either of you.
Wrecker's hand finds your shoulder, stopping you in your tracks. His grip is firm, but not painful, and his fingers gently squeeze, pulling you back a step.
"Cyar'ika, slow down," he murmurs. "Don't go runnin' off."
"Sorry," you mutter, and his thumb runs over your shoulder.
"S'okay. Just be careful."
He doesn't release you, and his grip stays on your shoulder, his thumb running gently over the fabric of your robes. You should pull away, should shrug his hand off, but his touch is comforting, and you can't help but lean into it.
"I will."
You don't move, and his fingers stroke your shoulder, the motion slow and rhythmic.
"What's wrong?" he asks, his voice barely a whisper.
"Nothing."
"Don't give me that," he says. "There's something bothering you. I can tell."
"It's nothing, Wrecker," you say, and this time, your words are firm. His grip on your shoulder tightens, not painfully, just enough to make his presence known. "Everything's fine."
"You can talk to me, y'know," he says, and the gentleness in his voice makes your throat close up. "Whatever it is, I'm here for you."
You stare at him, torn between wanting to scream and wanting to cry. Instead, you take a deep breath and let it out slowly. You can't do this right now. You can't handle his concern, his kindness, his affection.
"I said I'm fine," you say, your voice tight. "Just drop it, Wrecker." 
He stares at you for a moment, then his hand slips from your shoulder and falls to his side. 
"Okay," he says flatly. "I'm sorry."
You want to reach out and grab him, pull him back and apologize, but you can't. You can't even bring yourself to say anything, to explain yourself. You just watch him as he walks away, and the distance between you feels like a chasm. He's only a few steps away, but it might as well be miles.
You stand there, frozen, for what feels like an eternity, before finally you turn and start walking again. The silence is unbearable, but there's nothing you can do. You're trapped, with nowhere to go, and the man you care about most is walking away from you. It's a helpless, hopeless feeling, and you can't shake it. But you have to keep moving, so you do.
At some point, Hunter checks in and lets you know they're close to finding the T-1, but the knowledge does little to ease the pain in your chest. You keep walking, pushing yourself as fast as you can, but it doesn't seem to make a difference. The darkness, the silence, and the weight of your emotions seem to swallow you whole.
Wrecker doesn't seem to be faring much better. He keeps casting glances your way, and his posture is tense, his steps heavy. You know he wants to talk to you, but the words won't come. So you both suffer in silence, each step feeling like a betrayal, and the air is thick with things left unsaid.
When the two of you finally reach the end of the tunnel, the sun has started to set, casting the world outside in shades of orange and gold. The entrance opens into a field, the long grass swaying in the wind, and the sky is a vibrant shade of purple. It's a welcome relief from the stifling confines of the tunnel, and the sight of the sky is enough to make your heart ache.
I never want to be underground again, you think, and you take a deep breath, relishing the taste of the air. Beside you, Wrecker does the same, ripping off his helmet and sucking in a deep lungful of air.
"Fresh air," he groans. "I love fresh air."
"Me too," you murmur.
His head turns, and he smiles. "Glad we're outta there, cyar'ika?"
The affectionate word is enough to ruin the mood, and you glance away. "Yes. Glad."
"Good," he replies. His voice is soft, and when you look up, he's staring at you, his eyes searching your face. You want to look away, to avoid his gaze, but his eyes are like a magnet, drawing you in.
"Wrecker—"
"There you are!"
The sound of Hunter's voice startles you, and you tear your gaze away from Wrecker's to find the rest of the squad running towards you. Tech has his datapad in his hand, and his eyes are bright with triumph.
"I have good news," he says. "The tactical droid is—"
"Dead," Crosshair interrupts, and he tosses something at you. You reach up and catch the object, and the metal is still warm from Crosshair's grip. It's the head of a tactical droid, its expression fixed in a permanent nonplussed grimace, the red light behind its eyes extinguished.
"How...?"
"Hunter ripped it apart," Echo explains.
"I didn't like the way it was talking," Hunter mutters, and his shoulders shift uncomfortably.
"So, that's it, then?" Wrecker asks.
"Yep," Echo says. "Mission's done."
"Then let's go home," you sigh.
The men cheer, and the squad gathers around, jostling each other playfully. You smile at the display, and the weight on your chest starts to lift. You're free, the mission's over, and everything is going to go back to normal. It's a relief, and yet...
Your gaze wanders, and your eyes find Wrecker, and your chest aches. His expression is bright, a grin splitting his face, but his eyes are dark, and his smile doesn't reach them. Your hand tightens around the droid's head, and the guilt is almost unbearable.
It's better this way. You remind yourself. Safer. For both of us.
You can't risk the Council discovering what's been going on. If they ever found out, the repercussions would be disastrous. The thought of the men being punished for something that's your fault makes your stomach turn, and the idea of losing them, of never seeing Wrecker again...it's too much.
So you put on a smile and try not to think about the future, try not to think about what's waiting for you, the distance that will grow between you, the way you'll feel when the time comes to say goodbye.
The six of you pile into the ship, and Tech takes the controls, lifting the ship off the ground and flying into the evening sky. The takeoff is bumpy, and the ship groans under the strain, but eventually, you're in the air.
All you want to do is hide in your bunk, but there's a debrief to be done. Hunter is giving his report, and you're trying to pay attention, but all you can think about is the look on Wrecker's face.
You can't get it out of your head, and it's starting to drive you crazy. He was so happy when you got out of the tunnel, and now he looks like he's in pain, and you're the cause. You hate yourself for it, but the fear is still there, lingering, a constant reminder of the dangers that await you, and it's enough to make you stay away.
"We made it out with a few scrapes, but nothing too bad," Hunter finishes. He turns his head, looking between you and Wrecker. "What about the two of you?"
You open your mouth to answer, but the words die on your tongue, and the silence grows. All eyes are on you, and the longer you wait, the more concerned the men become. You look at Wrecker, hoping he'll say something, but he doesn't. He's staring at the floor, his shoulders tense.
"Uh, we're fine," you reply, and the words feel like glass. "No injuries. We're...we're good."
Wrecker scoffs and pushes himself out of his seat, stalking out of the cockpit. You watch him leave, a knot forming in your throat.
"That's odd," Tech murmurs, his eyes following Wrecker.
"Yeah," Hunter mutters. He shakes his head and sighs, then follows Wrecker, leaving you alone with the others
Crosshair raises an eyebrow and turns to look at you, his sharp eyes scanning your face. "Well?"
"What?"
"You really expect us to believe that?" he asks, his tone mocking. "You're a terrible liar, General."
You glance between him and Echo, and both of them are staring at you, their expressions unreadable. You swallow hard and force a laugh, shaking your head.
"There's nothing to tell."
"If there was nothing to tell, Wrecker wouldn't be sulking," Echo points out.
"And you wouldn't be sitting here looking like you're about to throw up," Crosshair adds.
"I am not," you argue.
"Oh, please," Crosshair snorts. "It's written all over your face."
"It's pretty obvious," Echo says, his voice gentler than Crosshair's. "What's wrong?"
You shake your head and rise to your feet. "Nothing."
"We're not gonna leave this alone," Crosshair calls after you.
"We're worried about you," Echo adds.
"Fine," you say, trying not to sound as defeated as you feel. "Worry. It doesn't matter. We'll be on Coruscant soon, and then I won't be your problem anymore."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Echo asks, his voice sharp, but you ignore him and keep walking. You can hear them arguing, their voices rising, and the words they're throwing at each other make your stomach churn. You keep your head down and keep walking, but before you can reach the bunks, you see Hunter and Wrecker. They're standing in the middle of the hallway, their backs to you, and Hunter's hand is on Wrecker's shoulder.
"—just give her some space," Hunter is saying.
"But she's—"
"She's fine," Hunter cuts in. "She just needs some time to herself. You've been a little clingy, and she needs a break."
Wrecker's shoulders stiffen, and the hurt in his voice is palpable. "Is that what she told you?"
"Well, no," Hunter says slowly. "But—"
"Then how do you know?" Wrecker demands, pulling away. "How do you know that's what she wants? How do you know she doesn't..." He trails off, his voice thick, and he turns, and his eyes land on you. The two of you stare at each other, the space between you charged with emotion, and when he speaks again, his words are quiet, and heartbreaking. "...want me?"
"She's a Jedi," Hunter says softly. "They don't...feel those kinds of things."
Wrecker stares at you, his expression open, the longing on his face so plain, so obvious, that your knees feel weak. You can't take it anymore. You turn away, ducking into the refresher and locking the door behind you
The room is silent, the air still. There's no sound but the pounding of your heart, the blood roaring in your ears. You lean against the door and slide to the floor, wrapping your arms around your knees.
You know what you have to do, but the idea is terrifying, the thought of saying goodbye to Wrecker too painful to bear. But he's hurting, and it's because of you. You can't put him through that, not any longer. He deserves better. He deserves someone who can be with him, can give him the affection he deserves, not a cowardly Jedi who can't handle the consequences of her actions.
The realization hurts more than you thought it would, but there's nothing you can do. You've known all along that this would have to end someday, and that someday has come.
The only thing you can do is let him go.
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The next day passes in a blur, and the tension is thick in the air. Wrecker doesn't say a word, doesn't look at you, doesn't acknowledge your presence, and you're grateful for it. You can't bring yourself to look at him, and the others are quick to pick up on the change. They cast furtive glances at each other, their concern growing, and their efforts to cheer you up only make the situation worse. You'd much rather they focus their attentions on Wrecker, so you avoid all of them as best you can. 
It's easier this way. Safer. Less painful. 
And maybe, if you keep telling yourself that, you'll start to believe it.
Once you land on Kashyyyk to refuel, the five of them disappear into the village, leaving you alone to meditate. It's the one thing that can help you clear your mind, and you welcome the chance to relax.
The ship is silent, the hum of the engine the only noise, and the quiet helps soothe the ache in your chest. You close your eyes and settle onto the floor, clearing your mind and reaching out with the Force.
When you were a youngling, you were told that the Force was your ally, and you believed it. Now, you know better. The Force doesn't take sides. It simply is. It exists in everything, every living thing, and sometimes, when you meditate, you can feel it. It's a gentle brush against your senses, like a soft caress, and you let yourself sink into the feeling, allowing it to envelop you, and for a moment, everything seems to fade away.
That's why, when you hear the sound of someone approaching, you're startled, and your eyes fly open. You frown, remembering Hunter saying he'd comm you when the others were headed back. It's more than likely Tech sneaking away from the group to tinker with the ship, and so you stand, turning towards the sound.
What you see instead, however, makes your blood run cold. 
Wrecker is standing at the top of the ramp, his form silhouetted by the light outside, his eyes burning into you. You're frozen in place, unable to move, unable to think. All you can do is stare at him, trying to make sense of the expression on his face, but all you can see is anger, and your heart sinks.
"What's going on?" he asks. His voice is low, but there's an edge to it, and his shoulders are stiff.
"What do you mean?"
"I'm talking about the way you've been acting," he says, stepping further into the ship. "Ever since we left Akiva, you've been avoiding me. Why?"
"I haven't been avoiding you," you lie, turning away from him.
"Like kriff, you haven't!" he exclaims, and you flinch, the anger in his voice catching you off guard. "I've tried to talk to you, and you walk away! You won't even look at me!"
"That's not true," you argue. "I'm always—"
"Yeah, it is," he snaps. "You think I don't notice, but I do. You're always running away, avoiding me. Why? Just tell me why. Talk to me. Please."
"Wrecker..."
"Don't say my name like that," he pleads, his voice cracking. "Don't push me away. Please, cyar'ika, I need to know what's going on."
The endearment sends a jolt through your system, and you squeeze your eyes shut, trying not to cry. You've spent the past twenty-four hours doing nothing but thinking about this, trying to steel yourself for what's to come, and yet here he is, begging for answers, and you're not ready. You can't bring yourself to say the words, can't bring yourself to push him away, but if you don't, it will only get harder.
"Please," he whispers. "What did I do? How did I hurt you?"
You can't look at him, but you can't ignore him, either. The last thing you want is for him to think any of this is his fault, and so you force yourself to turn, your eyes meeting his, and your resolve breaks.
"You didn't," you murmur. "It's not your fault, I promise."
"Then tell me what's wrong," he pleads, and his voice is soft, and the desperation in it is enough to break your heart. "Tell me what I can do to fix this."
Wrecker reaches out and takes a step towards you, his hand outstretched, but the gesture is hesitant, almost as if he's afraid to touch you. When you don't move away, he steps closer, his fingers brushing the hem of your sleeve. His gaze is intense, his eyes searching yours, and the ache in his voice is enough to make you want to scream.
"I'm not good at this," he admits. "This...talking stuff. I never know what to say, and I'm sorry. If I made you uncomfortable, or did somethin' wrong, I'm sorry."
"Wrecker..."
"I just want to make things right," he whispers, and his fingers curl around your sleeve. "Just tell me how, and I'll do it. I'll fix it."
He's so earnest, so sincere, and the guilt is crushing. You can't lie to him, not anymore. Not when he's looking at you like this.
"It's not that simple," you say, and the words feel like lead in your mouth.
"Why not?" he asks, his voice raw.
"Because," you say, the words tumbling out before you can stop them. "Because I can't do this anymore, Wrecker. I can't..." You trail off, the words dying on your tongue. You can't bring yourself to say them, can't bring yourself to end things like this. But it's too late. He knows.
He drops his hand, and the look of pain on his face is almost enough to break your heart.
"Do what?" he asks, his voice shaking.
"This," you say, gesturing between the two of you. "Whatever this is. I can't keep pretending that I don't know what you mean when you call me those names. I can't keep acting like it's nothing, because it's not." 
Wrecker stumbles back a step, eyes wide.
"You knew?" he asks, and his voice is barely audible. "This whole time...?"
"Of course I knew," you say, trying to keep the frustration out of your voice. "You think I could have missed it?" You try to laugh, but it comes out as a choked sob. "You're not exactly subtle, Wrecker."
"Oh," he says, and the single word holds a world of hurt. He turns away from you, his hands curling into fists at his sides, and the tension in the air is palpable. A heavy silence settles in, and when he speaks again, his voice is a hoarse whisper.
"Why didn't you say something?" he asks. "Why didn't you tell me to stop?"
"I couldn't," you say, swallowing the lump in your throat. "I...I liked it too much."
"What?" Wrecker turns, his head snapping around to face you, and his expression is torn between hope and horror.
"You heard me," you say, fighting to keep your voice steady. You turn away, but his hand finds your chin, gently tilting your face back to his. The heat of his palm burns into your skin, his touch so gentle, and your heart leaps into your throat.
"Then why are you doing this?" he asks, and the words are barely audible. "If you like it, why are you trying to push me away?"
You close your eyes, trying to gather your thoughts. It's a good question, and one you're not sure you can answer.
"Because," you start, and then trail off. When you open your eyes, his face is inches from yours, and the pain in his eyes is overwhelming. "Because I'm not meant for this. For us." You motion between the two of you. "I have a duty. A responsibility. I can't...I can't give you what you want. What you deserve."
"But I don't want anyone else,” Wrecker says softly, his thumb brushing your cheek. "I just want you."
The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you close your eyes, trying not to cry. You can feel the warmth of his body, the weight of his hand, the scent of him surrounding you. You want to pull away, to run and hide, but the way his hands cradle your face, the gentleness in his touch, makes it impossible.
"You don't mean that," you whisper, the words like poison. "You can't. I'm a Jedi. You know what that means. You know what my life is. I can't give you anything, Wrecker. I can't even be there for you. I can't..."
"Stop," he whispers. 
His hands drop, moving to your shoulders, and he turns you, pulling you closer. You let him, and his arms wrap around you, his forehead resting against yours. The touch is warm and gentle, and his eyes are soft, full of pain and love. 
He's never been anything but gentle with you, even when he didn't have to be. Even when the mission demanded he take risks, put his life on the line, he was always careful with you. Always protective. Always gentle. And now, here, when the mission is over, the danger gone, he's still treating you like something precious, something to be treasured.
It's too much.
"Don't say that," he murmurs, his voice low and rough. "You don't get to tell me how I feel. You can't decide for me, cyar'ika. I'm not gonna change my mind. I'm not gonna stop caring about you. So just...just stop. Okay?"
Your hands find his, curling around his wrists. His pulse is pounding under your fingertips, and his chest is rising and falling with each breath, the beat of his heart matching the rhythm of yours. It would be so easy, so tempting, to let yourself give in. To give him the answer he wants. To give him the one thing you've wanted to give him for so long.
But you can't. You can't let him sacrifice his future, his happiness, for you. It's too much. Too selfish.
"Wrecker, please," you say, squeezing his wrists. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."
"Then don't do this," he whispers. "Don't walk away from me. Please." His voice breaks, and his fingers dig into your shoulders. "Just...just give me a chance."
You want to scream. You want to cry. You want to hit him, to shove him away, but you can't. All you can do is stare up at him, his face inches from yours, his eyes begging. It would be so easy, and yet, impossibly difficult. If you do this, if you give in, it's not just your life on the line, but his. If you give him what he wants, if you allow him to care for you, it will only lead to more heartbreak. More pain.
And yet...
You can't bring yourself to pull away, can't bring yourself to deny him. And, if you're honest with yourself, you don't want to. You've wanted this for so long, wanted him, and now that the moment has finally come, the opportunity has presented itself, you can't let it go.
"I can't," you whisper, your voice shaking.
"Why not?"
"Because I'm scared," you confess. You reach out and cup his cheek, running your thumb over the scarred tissue beneath his eye, and his expression softens. "I'm not supposed to feel like this. I'm not supposed to...to love you." The words come out choked, and the tears in your eyes blur your vision. "It's wrong. It's forbidden. It's...it's..."
"It's what?" he asks, his voice rough with emotion. "It's amazing? It's the best feeling in the galaxy?"
"Yes," you whisper, and the tears spill over. "But I can't do this. I can't...I can't let you sacrifice yourself for me."
"You think that's what I'm doing?" Wrecker asks. His hand slips from your shoulder, his fingers stroking your cheek, catching a tear as it falls. "Cyar'ika, I'd sacrifice myself for you a hundred times over. You think I care about what they'd say? They can go kriff themselves. I'd fight every single member of the Council for you, if I had to. But I don't need to. 'Cause they can't tell me what to do, and neither can you."
"You say that now," you mutter. "But—"
"I'll say it every day," he cuts in. "Every single day until you believe me. I don't care about them. I don't care about the rules. I just want you."
"Wrecker, stop," you whisper, but he shakes his head, his hands cupping your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks.
"I know you're scared. I know you're worried about what's going to happen. But we don't have to think about that. We can just be together. Just us. Nobody has to know. We can figure this out. Together. But you gotta let me in."
You stare at him, stunned by the strength and certainty in his words. He's right. You are scared. You're terrified. And not just of what the Council will do, or what the consequences might be. 
You're afraid of him, of the power he holds over you, the way you feel about him. But standing here, with his hands on your face, his eyes searching yours, it's enough to make you reconsider. Enough to make you question everything. And so you swallow your fears, and you say the words.
"I love you, Wrecker."
His lips part, and his eyes widen, and the sound that comes out of his mouth is halfway between a laugh and a sob.
"You mean that?" he asks, his voice tight with emotion.
"Yes," you say, and the word is like a weight lifting off your shoulders. "I do. I love you."
His arms slip around your waist, and he pulls you into him, pressing his forehead against yours, his breath warm on your face. He doesn't say anything, just stares down at you, his gaze burning, and the silence stretches on, charged with anticipation. And then, finally, he speaks.
"I love you too, cyar'ika," he says, his voice trembling. "More than you know."
Your heart feels like it's going to burst. You pull him close, burying your face in his chest, and his arms wrap around you, holding you tight. It's an overwhelming feeling, this affection, this love, but you can't deny it. Not anymore. And as you stand there, his body wrapped around yours, his hands running through your hair, you know that he's right.
"Don't let go," you whisper, your voice muffled by his armor. "Please, don't ever let me go."
"I won't," he says, his voice a rumble in his chest. "I got you, an'edee. Always."
The words send a jolt of warmth through your body, and you melt into him, allowing yourself to be swept away by the feeling. It's like coming home, the warmth and comfort washing over you, and the tension melts away, leaving only relief in its wake. 
You're not sure how long you stay there, wrapped up in each other, but when he finally pulls away, you're stunned by the look in his eyes. No one has ever looked at you like that. No one has ever seen you like he does.
"Better?" he asks, his voice gentle.
"Yes," you say, smiling up at him. "Thank you."
"Don't thank me," he says. "You don't gotta thank me. Just keep lookin' at me like that."
"Like what?"
"Like you love me," he murmurs.
"Oh," you reply, blushing. "Well, then, I suppose I should do my best. It wouldn't do for me to fail in that regard."
He chuckles, his hands sliding up your sides. "No, it wouldn't."
You shiver at his touch, the heat of his hands sinking into your skin. His palms are rough and calloused, and his fingers are gentle, tracing the curve of your waist. Your eyes meet, and his smile is so wide, so warm, that you can't help but return it.
"So," he says, his hands drifting lower. "Where does this leave us?"
"Us?"
"Yeah. You know, our relationship," he says. "Are we...together? Or do I still gotta keep pretendin' that you're just a friend?"
You sigh, a smile tugging at your lips. "Together, Wrecker. We're together."
"Good," he grins, his eyes bright. "'Cause I wasn't sure how much longer I could take it. Having you around, knowing how I felt, not being able to do anything about it."
"That's why I was avoiding you," you admit. "I knew if I had to spend much more time with you, I was going to break. I was already having trouble controlling my feelings. If we'd had another mission, I don't think I would have made it. I was so close to telling you how I felt."
"Really?"
"Yes."
"Kriff, cyar'ika," he groans, his grip on your waist tightening. "I wish you would've said something sooner. Woulda made things a lot easier."
"I'm sorry," you murmur.
"Don't apologize," he says, his voice husky. "You're worth the wait."
Your breath catches in your throat, and his eyes flick to yours, and his grin turns mischievous.
"What is it, mesh'la?" he asks, his fingers digging into your hips. "Tell me."
"I, um..." You clear your throat, trying to ignore the way his voice makes your insides turn to mush. "It's just that...when you call me those names, it, uh, does things to me."
"Good things?" he asks, leaning in.
"Yes."
"You want me to keep saying them, then?"
"Yes."
"Well, I can do that," he murmurs. His breath is warm on your skin, his voice low and teasing. "And I can do a lot more, too. If you want me to."
You stare up at him, trying to ignore the butterflies in your stomach, trying not to let your desire show on your face. You've never done anything like this, never even considered doing something like this. And yet, the idea of him touching you, kissing you, fills you with anticipation.
"I'd like that," you manage, your voice hoarse.
"You sure?"
"Yes."
He nods, and he leans down, his lips ghosting over yours. His eyes search your face, and he waits, and when you nod, he presses his lips to yours.
It's a slow, soft kiss, the barest brush of skin on skin. But the contact sends a thrill through your body, and you can't help but press closer, wanting more. Your hands move to the back of his neck, pushing yourself onto the tips of your toes, and he obliges, pulling you in.
His lips are warm, his tongue slick and hot as it traces the seam of your mouth. You open for him, letting him deepen the kiss, and his palm slides up your back, cradling your head. His thumb strokes your cheek, and the gentleness of the gesture sends a rush of warmth through your veins.
When the two of you finally break apart, your lungs are aching, and his breath is ragged. He leans his forehead against yours, his fingers tracing lazy circles on the back of your neck.
"Kriff, cyar'ika," he whispers, and the name sends a thrill through you. You can hear the longing, the need, in his voice, and it's enough to make your knees weak. "Do you have any idea how long I've waited for this?"
"Tell me," you say, your voice shaking.
"Too long," he murmurs. "Far too long."
You lean back, looking up at him. The adoration in his eyes takes your breath away, and you pull him down, kissing him again. This time, the kiss is deeper, more intense, and you can't hold back a moan as his tongue slips past your lips.
The noise seems to ignite something in him, because the next thing you know, his arms are around you, lifting you up with ease. You wrap your legs around his waist, pulling him in, and his hands roam over your back, sliding down to cup your ass. He breaks the kiss, his lips moving to your neck, and the heat of his mouth, the scrape of his teeth, makes you gasp.
Wrecker sets you down on the edge of your bunk, and the height difference is suddenly very apparent. You're not used to being on eye level with him, but now, with your legs spread, his body between them, it's impossible not to notice. His gaze rakes over you, taking in every detail, and the hunger in his eyes sends a jolt of excitement through your body.
"You're so beautiful," he murmurs, his fingers tracing the line of your jaw. He sounds awed, like he can't believe his luck, and the compliment makes your heart flutter. "So kriffing beautiful, cyar'ika." 
You lean into his touch, and his fingers brush against your lips, the callouses of his hands rough against your skin. You kiss his fingertips, and the heat in his gaze makes you blush.
"Not as beautiful as you," you murmur. He shakes his head with a wide grin, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
"No one's as beautiful as you," Wrecker says, his hand finding yours. His fingers lace with yours, and he raises your hand to his lips, pressing a kiss to the back of your knuckles. His touch is gentle, and the tenderness of the gesture makes your heart clench. "I could look at you forever. Never get tired of it."
The heat on your cheeks is unbearable, and you're not sure how to respond. Words can't capture the emotions coursing through you, and so you lean in, your lips meeting his in a searing kiss. He groans against your mouth, his hand finding the small of your back and pulling you flush against him.
You wrap your legs around him, the need to be closer, to feel his body pressed against yours, overwhelming. He seems to understand, his fingers tangling in your hair, his teeth nipping at your lip.
"I'm gonna take such good care of you, cyar'ika," he promises, his voice rough with emotion. "Promise."
"You already have," you whisper. "Just having you here is more than I deserve."
"Don't talk like that," he mutters. His hand slides up, cupping the back of your head, and he kisses the corner of your mouth. He tilts your face up to meet his, and the intensity of his gaze is almost overwhelming. "I've never wanted anyone the way I want you. I'm not gonna give that up. You're mine, and I'm not lettin' go."
The words are a jolt to your system, the possessiveness of his tone making you tremble. He's always been protective of you, but this is different. This is more than just a desire to keep you safe. This is something else entirely. You can't find the words to respond, and so you nod, swallowing the lump in your throat and praying the tears in your eyes don't spill over.
"Wrecker," you whisper. "I..."
"I love you," he murmurs, his nose brushing against yours. "So much."
The words are a balm on your aching heart, and the tears finally fall. Wrecker leans in and kisses them away, his lips soft and gentle against your cheeks. The tenderness, the closeness, it's too much to bear, and the emotions welling up inside you are overwhelming. You wrap your arms around him, burying your face in his chest, and he holds you tight, his hand rubbing soothing circles on your back.
"I got you," he whispers. "It's okay. You're okay."
"I'm sorry," you murmur. "I don't know why I'm crying."
"I do," he replies. He cups your chin, tilting your face up to meet his. His eyes are soft, and his lips curl into a gentle smile. "You've been through a lot, and you're tired. You're allowed to cry."
You nod, wiping the tears from your face. He's right. The past few days have been exhausting, emotionally and physically. Between the mission, the tension between the two of you, the anxiety and uncertainty, it's a miracle you're not falling apart.
"Hey," he murmurs. "Stop thinking so hard. It's okay."
"I'm not supposed to let my emotions get the best of me," you murmur.
"That's some banthashit, an'edee," he says, and his voice is teasing, but there's a hint of steel in it. "You're human. You're allowed to have emotions."
"I suppose," you reply, unable to keep the smile off your face.
"Good," he says, and his thumb strokes your cheek. "We'll make this work. We'll find a way."
"Wrecker," you sigh.
"Shh," he cuts in. "None of that. We're together, right?"
"Right."
"Then trust me. I'm not gonna let anything happen to you," he promises. "I'll keep you safe."
"I know," you whisper, closing your eyes.
"We'll figure it out," Wrecker says. "It might be hard, but we'll find a way. We always do."
He leans in and kisses you again, his lips soft and warm. You kiss him back, allowing yourself to give in, to let go of the fear and worry, to let yourself be swept away by the feeling. He's right. It will be difficult, but it's worth it.
This is where you belong, in his arms, and no matter what the future holds, no matter what the Order says, no matter the consequences, you know you'll always have him. And that's more than you could have ever hoped for.
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jaegerbby · 1 year ago
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➳ tomura shigaraki x female! reader
╰┈➤ word count; 1423
╰┈➤ drabble; dubious consent, season one shigaraki (not buff lol), cervix fucking, rough sex, dacryphilia kink, creampie, unprotected sex, manhandling, yn has an immune quirk.
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shigaraki has your hands pressed to the small of your back.
where your skin is warm, his is so cold.
his quirk does not turn you to dust. no! you are different from all the others. you are special.
maybe too special for your own good because that is the reason you wound up here.
he is panting, sweat lined along his hairline. you are crying so much but he cannot help that it only makes him fuck you harder.
he does not have one bit of restraint.
he does not like that you seem so miserable, he swears he is doing this out of love. he wants to make you feel good. really! he just gets a little rough.
he just gets so caught up in how tight your cunt is, how wet you are, how your gooey walls clamp down on him.
he pounds into your leaking slit until he is bruising you. he does not prep you despite the agonising stretch he subjects your pussy to.
shigaraki is sorry, truly he is!
he hunches over you, his bony chest meeting your back. his balls are squished between your bodies as he presses on the small of your back and ruts into you. it is borderline painful.
he puffs heated breaths, "don't cry s'much." he slurs. he leans down to cover your swollen lips in a messy kiss. he licks into your drool filled mouth, silencing your sobs and a few kisses are all it takes to have you fawning for him again.
you take any and every thing that he is willing to give you.
"don't like it like this." you whine when he pulls away, the strand of saliva sticking to your chin as you mush your face to the sheets.
you say that yet you are pushing your ass back on him. you say that but your cunt is tightly gripping his cock like you need it to survive.
he sneers, nails digging into your flesh, the jagged edges nicking the skin. his cock slips out halfway, covered in slick, so much that it drips between your thighs.
everything is sticky and your eyes squeeze at the feeling. he shoves back in roughly making you jolt.
"but your pussy likes it. your little cunt likes being filled with cock, she's soaking for it." your fingers flex under his hold, you can feel his eyes burning into you, can feel his body against your skin, you wish you could hide.
you cannot at all, not when he is pressing down on your back and has you at his whim. has you in a position where he can fuck you as hard and fast as he wants.
"i want to see your face." you brokenly speak, his spit slick tongue comes out to lave over your cheek, licking up your tears as he pounds his cock into you.
"you are so fucking spoilt." shigaraki's gravelly voice fills you ear, his free hand slips under you, rolling your stilted bundle of nerves.
the pert of his nipples grazes on your back with every sharp movement that has his cock prodding at your cervix. has it dipping deep in your slurping cunt and stretching your hole until it fits perfectly around him.
"fuckkk." he drawls, your body is so soft, so comfortable. you whine, your ass pushing more into him, your body moving with his thrusts. he is putting all his weight onto you, forcing you into the bed completely.
his hand squeezing your neck so tightly you gasp. his jaw hangs, spit trailing down the side of his mouth as his eyes roll back. he is not focused on you, he is focused on how good your slick cunt feels.
how your insides seem to suck him in and grip his cock. it feels like you are milking him dry, like you are squeezing his release out of him and into your pussy.
shigaraki's movements grow sloppy, his strokes are no longer full. his body shakes, humping you shallowly but somehow it hits every spot inside of you.
he is fucking into you with desperation, loud paps and squelches fill the room as your cunt tugs him in.
the swollen walls of your warm insides make it difficult for him to function. he feels like he is short circuiting.
"shouldn't feel this good!" he whimpers. you turn him into a mindless freak who only cares about sticking his cock in your warm, soaking hole.
he hates that you have that power over him.
your ass feels bruised at this point, his pelvic bones colliding with your skin so often you wince.
he is forceful and uncaring, vigorously fucking you with everything in him and his hips stutter before he is releasing heavy drops of his load into you.
you grit your teeth, not able to move with how he forces you down onto the sheets. his hips rock, head leaning back and his lips parted.
it is so hot and thick, it feels like your stomach is bulging from the amount. he is still humping you whilst his cock spurts streams of his load along your walls.
the milky cream coating your cunt and leaking its way into your puckered cervix. he collapses onto your back, your clit rubbed raw although you have not came once.
shigaraki pants, still grinding into the swell of your ass to fuck his seed back into you. the excess spews past the perimeter of his length, making your cunt messier.
he covers you, using all of his weight to keep you pinned to the mattress and only focused on him.
despite your squirming, he is unmoved.
"stop your fucking whining." he pinches your nipple. "your pussy feels good." he says it like it is the most renowned compliment in the world. like it does not reduce you to one thing alone. he nuzzles your cheek like he was not awful just a moment before.
you eyes are still teary, "nothing else?" you mumble. he shakes his head but it is only to get you angry. to see your lips tremble and tears fill your eyes. to see how hard you try not to cry but fail.
he knows you want to move but you cannot in this position.
not when he has you trapped beneath him, your cunt filled to the brim with his cock and his cum.
"get off!" shigaraki does not like when you talk to him like that. his teeth nip at your throat.
"be nice to me." he rasps. you want to but when has he ever been nice to you?
you can still feel his cum dripping inside you while his heavy body is flushed to you. you can barely breathe when he has you secured under him by lean muscle.
you are not sure how long he keeps you in the puddle of his semen before he pulls out.
his cock bobs between your legs as he sits up, you are wincing at the feeling. the slick mess of his cum leaks out of you.
you feel dirty.
he does not bother asking, his rough fingers tug you to face him but you slump further into the sheets.
you hear him huff at your resistance and then he is forcing you unto your back.
he hovers over you, thick strands of hair hanging down and framing his features.
"i thought you wanted to see my face." you did. you wanted to more than anything else. in a way you like to pretend that he is yours as much as he says you are his.
your eyes trail over his pretty red eyes and his blushed skin. his swollen lips and his sunken cheeks. you want him closer.
he should be the last person you find comforting but you cannot help that you do.
your hand strokes his aching cock, thumb massaging the prominent vein on the underside.
he lurches forward his stiffening erection meeting your slit. you mutely cry as he shoves it inside all at once.
he groans lowly, rocking his hips before his lips meet yours. he sloppily kisses you as he fucks his cum back inside of your cunt.
your hands greedily find purchase in his skin, trying to convince yourself that you mean something to him.
he takes and takes with no consideration. perhaps this is your purpose. to give without a care.
to give shigaraki every bit of you.
it only made sense for someone with a quirk like yours.
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love my scrawny mannn
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5iyoomi · 5 months ago
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How The Haikyuu Boys Kiss You ━ Part 2
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characters: Sugawara, Shirabu, Semi, Akaashi
warnings: all fluff with a touch of hurt/comfort in Sugawara's 🙏 gender neutral reader here as well
A/N: I'm totally not procrastinating making my masterlists (I don't have much on here yet so it's fine right? right.) but anyways I've had so many ideas lately which is crazy cuz almost all of what I usually write is like mlm x characters. I barely touch x readers myself but I love reading em'. Making a blog in the middle of a deep hyperfixation will do wonders like that cuz I've been writing smth practically every day LOL.... sorry if this one's shorter/sorta all over the place
Part 1 | Word Count: 1,170
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Sugawara Koushi
His kisses are definitely short and sweet (like Hinata) but they're passionate
He's probably the most experienced of the boys or at least comes off that way, he knows what to do and how to do it
He's pretty feather-light with his touches, so much so that you don't even register they're there half the time
But you like how they ground you in the moment
Sugawara's also the kind of guy to kiss your tears away, relishing in how your eyelashes flutter while he flashes you a comforting smile that he saves for you in your more vulnerable moments
"Everything's gonna be alright, okay? I'm here for you"
He'll usually kiss you when you least expect it, rambling on about something you're interested in or something before he leans in
Your words get caught in your throat when he does, but he doesn't let it linger, so you're just left blinking in surprise with a visible question mark floating over the top of your head
He must be able to tell cuz he laughs a little
It leaves you wanting more, so he never complains if you ask for another or take the initiative and give him one right back
He has a tendency to place his hand atop yours or on your knee/thigh when you kiss
He also likes when you kiss his cheek, right where his birthmark is. It tickles since it's by his eye, but it makes him feel closer to you
Sweet but super shameless, if somebody sees you and you get fidgety he'll tell you there's nothing to be embarrassed about
"So? It's fine if people talk. We're dating, aren't we?"
Needless to say you stopped caring so much after that
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Shirabu Kenjirou
ANOTHER UNDERRATED KING
"He's mean/annoying" DON'T EVEN JOKE LAD
Anyways....
He's not allergic to PDA but he won't entertain it at first
Like at all
It's not cuz he doesn't want to, but he gets really shy about it
As his first partner, you're naturally his first kiss too, so he has no idea what he's doing
He's scared you'll make fun of him, so when the perfect moment arises and he turns his head at the last second, you have to face him and tell him that his inexperience doesn't matter to you
You won't laugh or poke fun at him, you respect his feelings and always will
He's less apprehensive if it's also your first, but it's still a hurdle you have to overcome
He's probably a little blunt especially when it comes to affection, he says the exact opposite of what he means 80% of the time
"I can do it myself" = he wants help but doesn't know how to ask for it
"I know that, idiot" = he's silently thankful you didn't brush him aside, that you looked past that composed facade he puts on sometimes and brought him out of it
Once that's out of the way and he feels like he can be more open with what he wants, he recloses the distance between you
It's messy and stilted, but neither of you mind. He just wants to be near you
He's so touch starved it's insane, you'll hold his hand or touch his face and he literally freezes up
If you didn't know any better, you'd think it was because he didn't like it, but you know he wants to, he's just really awkward. He has a lot of difficulty with asking for physical touch
Did I mention touch starved?
He pushes away from you if somebody sees, even if you guys aren't kissing
"You didn't see anything" he says to whoever it is, and you chuckle, ruffling his hair and pressing a kiss to his forehead
You can see his brain short-circuit in real time when you do :>
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Semi Eita
Tendou would absolutely tease him for it but he has the biggest soft spot for you
You'd be at one of their games holding up a sign with his name on it or cheering the loudest for him and Tendou makes a mental note to mess with Semi later (much to the shorter boy's dismay)
Tendou's a MENACE
But anyway
His kisses are pretty similar to Sugawara's, but they last for longer
Light, passionate kisses with his hands on your lower back or two fingers gently tilting your chin up if you're shorter than him
They might get deeper, they might not. It just depends on how you react and how he's feeling (he never wants to accidentally push you into anything)
But once he's got you, he doesn't wanna let you go
He gives them out sparingly, more of a words of affirmation person, but he likes how much you smile against him when he does
He's surprisingly pretty doting on his partner, so if you grab his wrist when he moves to catch his breath, 9 times out of 10 he'll yield to your touch
"Not yet..." oh BOY he's whipped. He'd only say no if you both actually had to be somewhere or he starts to get sick of the stares thrown his way that are mostly from Tendou and Shirabu
He has you wrapped around his finger just as much as you've got him wrapped around yours
If he isn't kissing you on your lips, then he'll bring your hand to his mouth and kiss your knuckles/fingers
It reminds you of a prince from one of those old fairy tales <3
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Akaashi Keiji
When it comes down to initiation with him, it's kinda 50/50
Akaashi's the kind of person to get explicit consent before doing anything and on top of that he can read people pretty easily, especially people he knows well
So if he senses any apprehension he'll stop or give you a quick peck on your cheek instead
But if you lean into him, lips puckered and a wordless plea in your eyes, he doesn't have any reason to refuse
(On the flip side, I don't think he minds random kisses or hugs from you, but he appreciates if you ask too)
His kisses are soft and loving, the kind that leave you feeling warm and floaty for a few minutes afterwards
They're always purposeful too, kisses after an accomplishment or during one of your dates
But sometimes he does just wanna kiss you cuz you look pretty/handsome
Your lips curl up, eyes lightly squinted in a display of happiness as you look at him like he's as beautiful as the stars
And it's then that he gets that urge
He's more embarrassed about being seen or walked in on. He probably wouldn't wanna keep going, so most of your kisses in public are short (but still equally sweet)
He keeps his hands above your shoulders, or he holds your own, giving them the occasional gentle squeeze
He swipes a thumb across your cheek and presses a parting kiss to the corner of your mouth, bright eyes saying more than he ever could
He loves you, he really does
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arathain · 11 days ago
Text
Seams
Stone walls screeched in song as the light parted open, metallic footsteps softened by the contents of the reservoir. The roiling shadow stood directly beneath the Great Charter Stone, waiting. Expectant. As the figure approached the centre, the facade of the their discontent melted away, to give in to a pointed, relaxed smile.
'You have misbehaved much, haven't you?' happily said the figure, admiring the frankly unacceptable state of their surroundings.
Mouthpiece snarled. 'I know what you're here for. Get on with it.'
The figure's eyes snapped to them, while their head remained perfectly still, stilted at an awkward angle.
'And what would that be?'
The ghost's eyes narrowed.
'You fucking know what it is, you-'
Their throat froze in place, as the figure continued to examine them. Snapping their head to face Mouthpiece, they walked up to stand immediately before them, the clothed being towering over Mouthpiece as still as a statue.
Mouthpiece dropped to their knees, their body straining in flickers as they attempted to move. A soft whimper escaped their lips, a strange, dissonant sound.
'*Please*'
Piercing, burning eyes snapped down to the kneeling ghost.
'You still haven't voiced your wish, though.'
The creature reeled.
'END THIS' they spoke, the timbre of their tone splitting into disconnected things. Voices.
'FREE US- ME- FROM THIS. FROM EVERYONE. LET ME GO AWAY.'
'Oh, that.' the figure mused. 'I can do that.'
The Augur descended in an instant, water splashing as the two figures fell to the reservoir floor. Sharpened claws tore into spectral insides, all of a sudden growing less and less ephemeral. The ghost screeched in pain, voices separating, straining to break free.
Faces broke through the inky mist, only to sink into oblivion again; a half-mask, a square head, a rat mask, yellow glasses. Having ripped the rib-cage open, the Augur began gorging on the entrails, blood splattering as they savoured the flesh. Fat, muscle, and bone unravelled in stringy pieces, as the figure continued to scream in agony, limbs and joints splitting, contorting, and merging; orange and black skin, woolen hands, blue shirt, red sweater, and ink - so, so much black, bitter ink. Remnants of the Mason oozed in taloned hands for brief moments before being consumed - countless, immeasurable, spiteful voices. The Augur's smile grew a little, gazing lovingly at the flailing soon-to-be corpse.
'I get it, I really get it. The brightest light hurts when all you know is darkness. But it was not your choice, and I'm rather sad I could not witness them before the fall myself. You were far too selfish, my beloved - all too fitting, so consider this your reward.'
Mouthpiece's vision grew hazy, as their parts were chewed and swallowed one by one. Ugly; so, so ugly. The Augur's tongue wrapped around Mouthpiece's head as they bit down, mist crumbling into golden ichor. It hurts, hurts to see yourself; always, everywhere. Sensing the hurt, the pain, the Augur smiled in exultation. Two bodies intertwined, a lone, gleeful fire consumed the hateful, bitter remnants of everyone, everything. Sorry. I couldn't take us all down together.
No time at all later, the Augur stood up, licking their teeth and lips clean with their forked tongue. Looking around, they wrapped their arms around themselves to contain the sheer ecstasy of all that they now witnessed, all the hatred and pain now swallowed and digested. Standing up, the Augur's wide, wild grin calmed down into a controlled, innocent smile.
'Well' the Augur mused to themselves, looking up at the uncut aqueduct walls 'I believe there is work to do.'
They say the misfortune of others tastes like honey; but that is not the whole story. It is the struggle, the potential for happiness, that sweetens the pain - for the utmost showcase of power, the greatest mastery of the flame, is to smother it.
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