#Coil Cutting Services

[lvmimis]

cw: smut but softcore. hot spring. too much banter. reader is implied to have textured hair.

“Your hair’s grown long,” you murmur.

With the observation, your right hand wades gently in the steamy surface of the hot spring to rise to Tanjiro's damp cheek and pats it coquettishly before your fingers glide gently through the strands of his water-slicked burgundy locks. You’ve been submerged together, you to your collarbones and him just to the base of his pectoral muscles for the past thirty minutes, chatting idly with a short pause in conversation just moments before this to rest and relax, really letting the soothing waters seep into your skin. Traveling together has weighed heavy on you both and the few minutes to catch your breath have been welcome, but now that you're rejuvenated, you’re right back to teasing. 

“You think so?” he asks. He looks a bit surprised, his own rough fingers closing around a couple looser strands. The remainder stick close to his skin, framing his handsome face, his neck, and the slope of his broad shoulders, and you continue to run your hand through them at the forehead, gently scratching his scalp with your nails as you do so. 

“Yeah, not that I don’t like it,” you practically wink, and he smiles, pulling you into his arms so that you’re back pressed to chest again. You inhale softly and he sighs as if you were sharing one breath. 

“I must have not been paying attention,” he murmurs, kissing your ear. You laugh to yourself, a trickle of heat running down your spine with the nibble of his teeth..

“That’s why you have me,” you remind him, brightly. "To pay attention to you, that is." Your own hair is in a high bun, avoiding the water but reveling in the wafting steam to nurture your coils and he lets himself breathe deeply of the scent, then presses his lips to your neck. 

“Cut it for me?” he asks, tentatively. His hands wander again, gliding from your shoulders to your wrists, and the soft splash of the water parting accentuates the drop of your heart into your loins as he kisses the soft underside.

“I don’t know how to cut wavy hair,” you immediately answer, but he’s turning you to face him again in the water and his eyes look at you hungrily now, as if you’re having a conversation a lot more licentious than the simple act of snipping away with scissors.

“I don’t mind as long as you try your best.”

Tanjiro’s voice is coming out breathy and lower as he leans in, and he’s clearly asking for something more from you rather than this simple future act of service. Eyes darkening as you press your palm against his chest, right above the jagged scars, he asks if you think you’re up to it, and it’s clear he’s not talking about an impromptu haircut.

“And if I do a bad job?”

His hands are on your hips now, cupping the curve of your ass before they lift up, your legs reflexively finding their way in a hold around his waist. The warmth of the hard length pressed soft against your belly stands out so much more than anything in the world right now, enough to make your breath hold tightly in your throat.

“I won’t hold anything against you,” he teases.

You snort, but his bad joke has made him crack a smile. Pulling you with him through the water, he lets himself lean on the rocky wall as he supports you. 

“You’ll let me do whatever I want then?” you ask. He nods, biting his lower lip as you attempt to ease yourself around his cock. He’s good at flustering you, but easily forgets how quickly you can turn the tables on him, at a loss for words as you descend.

But then once you sink in, and take all of him inside, your arms reflexively wrapping around his neck, the temporary gain is lost as you adjust to his length, moaning as he stretches out your insides. Again. Just moments ago, you were like this, letting him slip in and out of you, fluid resistance meaning so little to him with every thrust.

“Of course,” he practically croons.

The push and pull between the two of you is always an endless wave of emotion, where even something as simple as telling your boyfriend he’s looking kind of shaggy ends up in being awash in emotion, but that’s the ebb and flow of your relationship and you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

[retroactivebakeries]

It is almost five centuries ago, and the girl who will one day be a swordswoman is lying in the red-tinged mud. She can't get up—broken bone? severed tendon? She can't tell. She's yet to cultivate her palate for pain. Her enemy towers over her, a cataphract mailed in screaming steel and poisoned light. His warhammer falls, and it is death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable.

"No," says a part of her. She is not even seventeen years old. Her body is mangled and broken, wound piled upon wound piled upon wound. A dull kitchen knife is her only weapon, though she lost that in the mud the second her grip faltered. Her enemy is no thing of this earth. And yet—

"No. It is not death, forever death, death unconquered and unconquerable. It is only a hammer, falling. It is only 'an attack.'"

And the girl understood.

~~~

It is the better part of three centuries ago, as best the swordswoman can reckon, and she is beset on all sides by foes. They are not monsters—just mountain bandits, or highland rebels, as one cares to see it. But they outnumber her by dozens, and even an exceptional swordswoman might struggle against but two opponents of lesser skill.

From in front of her, beside her, behind her they advance, striking from every angle with spears and blades and axes. Others fill the air with arrows, sling stones, firepots. It would be effortless, to parry any single blow. It would be impossible, physically impossible, to defend against them all.

"No," says a part of her.

"You are not outnumbered. You do not face 'multiple' foes. It would be impossible to defend against every attack — but there is no 'every' attack. Only one."

"Oh," the swordswoman said. And it was, in fact, effortless.

~~~

It is eighty years ago, or thereabouts. A coiling spire of stony flesh and verdigrised copper throbs like a tumor on the horizon, coaxed from the earth by spell and sacrifice. It is the tower of a sorcerer-prince, and a birthing place of abominations.

Seven locks of rune-etched metal are opened with her single key. Wretched shapeling beasts, grown by sorcery in vitreous nodules, flee wailing from her, absconding before she even draws her blade. Demons sworn to thousand-year pacts of service find the binding provisions of their agreements unexpectedly severed.

These things dissatisfy the sorcerer-prince. He waxes wroth. He makes signs of power and chants incantations. With a flask of godling's blood, he draws the binding sigil inscribed upon the moon's dark face. With cold fire burning in his eyes, he speaks the secret name of Death. It is a king among curses, all-corrupting, all-consuming, and it falls from his lips upon the swordswoman.

"No," she says, and she turns it aside with her blade.

The sorcerer-prince's brow furrows. How did she even do that?

"Parried it."

But—

"With my sword."

No—

"See, like this."

Stop—

"Well," the swordswoman finally says, "I figured that if I just...looked at it right, and thought about it, and construed your curse as a kind of attack...then I could block it."

That's not how it works at all!

"If you insist," says the swordswoman, shrugging, and decapitates him.

~~~

It is now. It is the end. Death couldn't take the swordswoman, not when she'd spent all her life cutting it up. At times, Death might sidle up to one of her friends, or peer down into a grandchild's crib, and she'd just give it a look. That's all it took, by then.

Heartache couldn't take her, either. Bad things happened to her, and they hurt, and she lived in that hurt, but if it was ever more than she could take...she'd just, move her sword in a way that's difficult to describe. And she'd keep going.

Kingdoms fell, and she kept going. Continents crumbled and sank into the sea. Her planet's star faded and froze. She started carrying a lantern. Universes were torn apart and scattered, until all that had been matter was redistributed in thermodynamic equilibrium. With one exception.

But now it is the end. There is no time left; time is already dead. The swordswoman has outlived reality, but there is simply no further she can go. This is not a thing that can be blocked. This is the absence of anything further to block.

"No," says the girl who will one day be a swordswoman. "This isn't the ending. And even if it was, it's not the ending that matters."

The swordswoman looks back at who she was, at the countless selves she's been between them. She looks forward, at the rapidly contracting point that remains of the future. She grasps the all of linear time in her mind, and sees that it is shaped like a spear.

[fanaticsnail]

Hair Pulling: Benn Beckman

Birthday Party Masterlist

Word Count: 2,600+

Themes: Benn Beckman x gn!reader, mdni, smut, 18+, NSFW, kink, hair pulling, insertion sex, oral sex, Sub!Beckman x Dom!reader. First-Mate x Barber.

Notes: It is @jintaka-hane's birthday! Happy birthday! I hope you enjoy your beautiful day, and may Beckman getting his hair pulled spark some joy and illuminate your celebration. So much love for you 🖤

Sitting at your workstation, you began rolling and folding the fresh batch of towels you purchased from the town the Red-Force was currently docked at. The fluffy material felt so foreign in your hands after using your well-worn and crusted cloths for your crew for so long. You couldn’t wait to spoil your crewmates with the new fabric, truly relishing in your job when you were not called to arms in defense of your captain, Shanks.

As the crew barber, it was your job to ensure your crewmates kept themselves as neat and tidy as they desired to be. Whether it was maintaining a goatee, some shadowing on their cheeks, a suave manicured lip and chin, or a rugged scruffiness suited to their liking: you were to keep them in perfect order. Haircuts and styling was also in your repertoire, and you wore that title well.

There was only one member of your crew that had yet to seek out your services for himself. Keeping in the quiet, shearing his own cheeks in the morning, neck and chin littered with small nicks and cuts at after a morning scrub in the bathroom, was the broody first mate.

Hunched over the itinerary captain Shanks had curated for their departure, he leaned his hips on the railing with a scowl on his lips.

Placing down the last folded towel, you withdrew your straight razor and leather hanging strop from your satchel. Checking over your blade for any notches or cracks in need of honing, you blow gently on the silver side of the knife. Holding your blade steady, you gently glide the silver along the stretch, conforming to its curvature along the surface with little resistance.

Benn Beckman was a friend to you, truly enjoying your company in the still of the night when the crew slumbered. As first mate, it was his duty to keep his captain and crew safe. He was both the first and last line of defense for the redhead, and often had little time to dilly dally with his crew. In that quiet, you would often recall small moments traveling together on the seas. Your soft laughter marrying his whispered chuckles was music to the crew, putting them at ease while they slumbered.

You would be lying to yourself if you said you were not attracted to him. Sure, your Captain and the Doctor had their charm, but Benn Beckman: first mate and dutiful death dealer was where your eyes found their perch.

Being simply friends, you assumed he would have approached you by now to do your job on his features. Just a quick tidy of his jawline, trimming his graying locks, giving him a treatment for the sea-sprayed ends - but he never did. Not once. Not a single time.

Narrowing your eyes at him and pursing your lips, you examined his recklessness littering his cheeks with drying blood and crusted sores. Almost scowling at it, you were yet to notice the approach of your crewmate taking a seat in your chair.

“Hey Barber, got a spot for me in your station?” Yasopp queries with a smile in every word, “Can I have a quick tidy up?”

“Course you can, Sharpshooter,” you laugh with him, gently brushing off your chair and reaching for one of the freshly rolled towels. “It's what I'm here for. Just a shave, or rerolling your coils?”

“Just a shave for now. The dreads can wait,” he nodded his head and eagerly plonked himself down at your station. “I've never had a shave as near as yours before. Even when it grows back, it's more manageable.”

“Thank you, Yassop. Now just shut your eyes, lay back, and let me do what I need to do on you.”

“Aye, Barber.”

Watching from his position reclining against the wooden panels, Benn Beckman’s lips drew slack. The filter end of his cigarette lay glued to his lips while they parted in awe. Each glide of the blade over Yasopp’s skin coincided with a gentle tug or maneuver of his scalp to guide him to an appropriate repositioning.

“You're doing it again, Becks.”

Shanks plopped himself alongside the railing beside the first mate, giving him a playful tap on the shoulder in the process. Beckman let's put a soft grunt and continues glaring at the scene unfolding in front of him. You were halfway through the shave now, gently holding idle chatter between yourself and Yasopp while you tidy him up.

“I'm not doin’ nothin’, Cap,” Beckman grumbles, taking a hefty drag of his cigarette. Shanks chuckles, following his eyeline and darting his gaze between Yasopp and you together.

“Why don't you just go up and take a seat,” Shanks suggested as if it was the easiest course of action to take for the big guy, “You really messed up your general scruff. Looks like you angered a pather. Go on. After Yasopp, it's your turn.”

Beckman snaps his gaze over towards Shanks at the thought, blaring into him with his darkened eyes filled with rage.

“You know damn well how I feel about my hair gettin’ touched.” Beckman warned him, his voice hardened with a mixture of warning and confession laden within, “I don't want our barber to do it for me, because I know it'll change the way they see me. Don't wanna do it to them.”

“Just focus on something else, Becks.” Shanks offered in a tone of jesting, index and middle fingers on his right hand walking up his forearm, “You know? Not like you haven't thought of ‘em tugging your hair when you're alone in your quarters.”

Beckman sends Shanks a glare that he has only ever seen a handful of times, who in turn raises his hands defensively. With a small chuckle, Shanks backs away from the broody first mate with a playful smirk.

The gray-haired first mate continues to watch you as you finish your work on Yasopp, wiping off the sharpshooter’s face with a towel. Giving him a playful trace of your fingers along his jawline, you send him from your chair and begin to sanitize it for the next use.

Looking over from your point above the deck of the red force, you could've sworn you caught the first mate’s eyes as he gazed over from his recline against the rail. His thumb met the filter end of his cigarette and pressed it in a sizzle within his iron ashtray.

“Beckman?” you gather your courage to call over to him, finally refusing to let this little dance go on any longer, “Come and see me tomorrow, you hear? Need to fix up your razor, and I've got a balm for you to use tonight.”

Benn Beckman freezes in place, a static-like shudder frizzing from the tips of his toes to the crown of his head. Without much force, he apprehensively sighs out a little, “Aye, that I will.”

Smiling to yourself, you prepare a cube of solid ointment in a tin for him, hoping the balm would aid in the healing for a closer shave, and to halt any scarring or pore blockages from occurring and getting itchy.

The following day, Benn Beckman found himself in your chair. A dark cape was casually draped around his neck, tucked in a towel and buttoned at his collar. The aroma of aftershaves and foaming cleansers lingered as you massaged his prickly scruff with your fingertips.

He could barely focus on your conversation. Whichever topic that graced past your lips was white noise to him. While he often found himself easily lost in conversation with you, he was now wholeheartedly focussed on one thing, and one thing only.

Trying not to cum.

Your hands so easily maneuver his head around, skilled fingers cleaning up his face and ridding him of his spindles protruding from his chin. In his head, it was an eternal argument as to whether he was to tell you how worked up he was, and how long he had been without coupling with a partner, or simply ignore how you made him feel while wholeheartedly enjoying the experience.

He had been to barbers before, and none of them made him feel this worked up over a simple pampering. Paired with the fact he adored you, and he was lost completely to the feeling of your fingers on his skin.

“You want a trim while I'm at it?” he hears you ask. He hadn't had the heart to decline, sparing both himself and you or his shameful joy at the touch. Instead, he closed his eyes and uttered a soft, “yes,” while his cock twitched against the crotch of his pants.

“You have such pretty hair, Becks,” you compliment him in earnest, reaching for the woven band holding his locks within, “If you don't mind me saying, of course.”

“N-Not at all,” he stuttered out, wincing as your hands dragged down the tight coil and freeing his strands from their confines. You take his small flinch as discomfort, but it could not be further from his experience.

Beckman was trying not to picture how you would look straddling his face, guiding him by those skilled hands. Tugging and pulling harshly to have him pinpoint your bliss, having him consume your ecstasy with his vigorous and unrelenting mouth while you held onto his hair.

Carding your fingers through his salted and peppery strands, you found yourself cooing at the way each fistful felt in your hands. He was so pliant, listening to your wordless directions as you angled him to find an appropriate position. Scissors handled carefully to chop at the damaged ends, you continued humming out your praise at the first mate.

His pulse quickened and breath hitched at the way your words and actions truly moved him.

Where your lips curved out: “Your hair is so volumous, I can't get over how you manage to trap it in that band,” Beckman heard, “Your hair feels perfect in my hands, let me trap you in my lap and fuck you.”

Spilling out gentle praise and manageable instructions: “Move to the side, good job. Just like that, Becks,” Beckman’s mind morphed it into, “Fuck, you’re doing such a good job for me. Keep going, good boy.”

Each roll of his neck guided by a tug to his scalp, his eyes rolled back beneath fluttering lashes. His cock continued to twitch and move against his seams at every motion, everything occuring below the belt against his will. He hated himself for reacting like this, for hearing your voice guide him and move against his skull so easily.

At one more sensual tug, his voice entangled in his jugular and caused him to shudder his jaw. You halted your actions immediately, truly believing you had caused him discomfort.

“I'm sorry. Did I hurt you, big guy?” Your concern was laden in your tone, only aiding in expanding his cock to a pulsating rod to pitch the tent in his pants.

“No, Darlin’, I'm alright,” he uttered with a breathy chuckle to follow, “Just not used to bein’ manhandled like this is all.”

“You're used to being in charge. I get it,” you chuckle down at him playfully, giving his hair a soft tug as you did with the others aboard your ship, “You're in my chair now, sweetheart. Gotta listen close to me, or I might accidentally pull on something I shouldn't.”

Both of you were surprised by the needy whine that fled from Beckman’s throat, your hands fleeing immediately from their grip on his hair and discarding your scissors in the tray beside you. You took a moment to steady yourself, your infatuation rising for him in your gut and swelling in need up to your throat. The way he moaned for you was pornographic, and your mind ran with that to a point where you personally had to halt your job to breathe through the feeling.

Beckman knows there's no disguising it now. He has a kink, and you had inadvertently made yourself subject to it by your actions. His mind was already attempting to accumulate an apology to you, thanking the stars that Shanks had conducted an away mission to enjoy a bar in town himself with the crew.

As you stepped towards him, he immediately drew his eyes to find your own. Expecting you to be peering into his soul, gaze filled with rage at the use of you pulling on his hair and fanning the flames of his lust, he saw your eyes immediately flung to his belt line.

Noticing your eyes draw down to his cock, shrouded by the dark covering laid on his lap, he was unsure as to where your mind found itself wandering.

“Benn Beckman,” you whispered softly, a softness rising in your tone. Reaching for the loose strand dangling over his eye, you tucked it behind your ear and purred at him, “You have a thing for hair-pulling, don't you?”

His apologies jumbled and merged into one large stuttery mess. His cheeks rose in hue and illuminance the longer he attempted to recover from your accusation. Each tumble and stutter he elected to present to you was met with a knowing and teasing look down your nose at him.

“Oh, Becks,” you cooed down at him, scrunching up your nose with a soft light in your eyes, “Is that why you haven't come to see me? Something as simple as a little tug on the ponytail gets you all hot and bothered?”

Beckman’s blush rose higher, his head practically seething with frustrated vapors. Just as he was about to open his mouth to growl at you for your comments, you hushed him with a few simple words.

“If you'd have told me about this earlier, we could've had some fun with it,” you shrugged, eyes immediately thereafter growing wide at your blazen disregard for indescression, “I-I mean, if you like me like that-... I mean… if you don't… I… I didn't-.”

“-Are you done with the cut?” Beckman immediately cut you off, his face no longer glaring with his uncertainty and fury.

“I… well, yes, sir,” you nodded, lips sucked into your mouth to stifle their quiver. Beckman reached up to the collar, tugging at the buttoned seam and releasing the cape from shrouding his broad body.

“Then what are we waiting for?”

Just as simply as that conversation began, you found yourself with the broody first mate tangled in his sheets and crying out beneath him. Your legs were over his hips, your entrance stretched and molding to his shape the longer he split you open with his thick shaft. Slow and sultry drags of his cock within your body propelled you to a higher plane of bliss. He huffed and panted in the crease where your shoulder met your neck, whining out as you tugged on his freshly trimmed and manicured ponytail.

His hips grew staggered in their languid thrusts, feeling his enevitable release finally stampeding towards the finish line. Your own need was pooling in the pit of your stomach, swelling up and beginning to bloom in your chest. Your breaths came out in heady pants, and you reigned him towards his unravelment by pulling hard on the back of his hair.

“Cum for me, big boy,” you whisper needily, Beckman’s resolve shattering as he unleashed his pearlescent ropes of thick cum deep within you. Calls of your name on his tongue spur you into your own ecstasy, riding through the coursing waves as he buried himself down to the hilt within you.

Both you and Beckman were once again thankful that Shanks and the remainder of the Red Force crew had left you both in isolation to enjoy exploring Beckman's preference for having his hair pulled.

From then on, he was adamant on having only you shave his cheeks and trim his hair to keep him pretty. Even better were the times you did it naked, his cock nestled deep within you and being told to keep still so you don't make a mess of his handsome features with a straight razor and your scissors.

Tag list: @mfreedomstuff @daydreamer-in-training @since-im-already-here @gingernut1314 @writingmysanity @i-am-vita @indydonuts @feral-artistry @the-light-of-star @empirenowmp3 @racfoam @sunflowersatori @carrotsunshine @skullfacedlady @jintaka-hane @thenotsofantasticlifestory

🎶Happy birthday to me🎶.

If you would like to celebrate by indulging my caffeine and bubble tea addiction, my Kofi link is here.

[teastainedprose]

Hi !

Can you do a Homelander x F!Reader with a blackmail situation ?

For the context, someone's blackmailing Reader to leave Homelander and because of the stress she did it when he was patrolling. Of course, Homelander wouldn't accept it and try to find her but he can't. So a few days later Vought brought him a new "girlfriend" to heal the pain Reader "created" only for them to (by mistake) imply that they are responsible for the departure of Reader. After dealing with the situation at Vought, he went looking for her again, eventually finding her at her favorite spot, where she was trying to forget Homelander.

You can change some parts if you want 😁

Thanks you if you do it ♥️❤️

Listen, Anon. LISTEN! I am grabbing you by the shoulders, I am gently shaking you, I am lovingly cupping your cheek and whispering, "Write the fic." - because it's clear that you've got the plot and I bet you've been daydreaming up the story route and I need you to write it. Spit out some bullet points. Scribble out a few scenes out of order, but write it!!

As I read this ask while rolling out of bed half awake and ran off in a slightly different direction while I brainstormed in the shower and I know you've got an idea there so WRITE IT!! So I can read it

Now have something similar, but not quite what you outlined. This kinda evolved into a companion/epilogue?? piece to Play With Fire, as Vought would have plenty of reason to not want Homelander dating a canned employee, especially if she's a fat little thing. Bad for the brand and all.

+1.5k words | Warning for violence/gore, Homelander can have a little murder. As a treat. Plus-Sized female reader, established relationship, no proofreading as I was possessed

The moment his boots drop onto the balcony and Homelander strides into the penthouse, he knows something is wrong.

First, there is the absence of you. Not just the lack of your body settled on the couch waiting for him as you often are, but everything you touched. The laptop you diligently type away at while working is gone. The vibrant throw pillows you insisted on getting to make the imposing couch more inviting are missing. The plush blanket you always coiled yourself into wasn't haphazardly thrown over the back of the couch as it always is when not in service. The lack of these items now makes the couch look barren and cold. Now Homelander can see how uninviting the whole thing looks.

There are other pieces of you missing as well. The trinkets and baubles you'd purchased on a whim and set about the penthouse, coloring the space with pieces of you. The discarded books, many with notes and dog-eared pages weren't haphazardly stuffed in strange places. Homelander would check the bedroom, but he knows the closet now has an empty space where your clothing hung.

There's a buzz starting up in his brain, an insistent worry that's setting his teeth on edge as Homelander's mind races across every possible reason why you're gone. You left him. Someone kidnapped you. You finally got tired of him. Someone stole you away. You hate him. Someone is hurting you. The buzzing grows in volume as Homelander's lip twitches up, feet taking him to pace across the floor before a movement in the corner of his eye cuts straight through the noise.

The buzzing goes silent. The colors are correct. Relief rushes over Homelander as he turns to face the figure in full. You, there you are and- 

No. Homelander blinks, drawing back a step as he takes in the woman standing at the entrance of his penthouse. She has your hair color; the cut has been styled like yours, but the texture is off. She's got something close to your complexion, your eye color even, and she's wearing clothing in your usual manner of dress, but everything is wrong. For one, she's thinner. Homelander sneers.

The woman smiles, uncertain as her heart races like a rabbit against her ribs. "Hi." One word uttered and it's all wrong. That's not your voice. That's not your smile. There is no sunshine breaking across this woman's face as she looks at Homelander. Her expression is quiet and expectant, waiting. Anxious.

He inhales slowly, rolling his neck as Homelander clenches his fists at his side. The scent on the air is bitter. She's afraid. She should be.

"No, no, no. Who the fuck are you?" Homelander snaps out, across the room in two long strides and now she's gasping. Gasping because Homelander has his fingers about her throat, gloves creaking softly as his grip tightens and lifts her. "Who the fuck are you?" He repeats, barking the words out.

"I-I'm Vicky," She stammers out as Homelander eases up enough to let her breath and set her feet back on the floor. That rabbit heart is trying to burst free within the woman's chest now, beating all the louder. "Y-your er, new girlfriend...?" Her words end in a panicked squeak as the woman tries to shrink away. 

"New- "Homelander cuts off as he stares at her, head tilted to the side and lip twitching as he digests this bit of information. He swallows and takes in a breath, reeling in his rage as his mind whirls. Vought had decided to replace you. Plucked up some stupid woman who only shares a similar color palette with you, but she isn't you. This woman is nowhere close to the beautiful creature you are.

Vought didn't approve of your secret relationship. They'd deemed you unmarketable. Not the image they wanted to project for the brand. Then there was the hope that Homelander would grow bored of you. To wait out his hyper-fixation on you. The months had crawled by and still Homelander kept you close. You'd moved in, burrowed yourself right into his life as Homelander wanted. 

For some fucking stupid reason, Vought thought a replacement would distract him. As if he's a child, or a dumb dog they've swapped a toy out on. 

"Vicky," Homelander smiles and it's the smile of a shark. All teeth and dead eyes. "How lovely," A purr now as Homelander slides his hand down her neck and brushes his thumb over her collarbone. Her smile is uncertain, but it's still there as she relaxes. The rabbit in her chest calms down. He digs his thumb in as Homelander sucks on his teeth.

Fucking idiot.

There's no warning when Homelander's fist buries itself into the woman's abdomen, only a wheezing hiss as the air is forced out of her. A wet sound follows under all that crunching and grinding of bone as Homelander twists his fist and pulls it back. He clicks his tongue, releasing the woman's corpse to topple across the floor.

Homelander exhales, puffing out his cheeks while looking down at his fist in mild disgust. The red leather hides fresh blood well, but he knows it'll congeal into a darker mess soon enough. Leaning over, he absently wipes it off on the fabric of the woman's sunshine colored dress. The sunshine would look better on you while the smeared red looks better on Vicky as far as Homelander is concerned.

It doesn’t take him long to hunt Ashley down, storming into her office with eyes flashing red. The only reason Homelander doesn’t fucking laser her in two is because she’s crying. Ashley is crying and blowing her nose into a tissue as she looks at Homelander, eyes filled with regret and tears. She’s grown fond of you, Homelander realizes and that’s reason enough not to cave her skull in. Homelander knows you like her well enough, too. Ashley blubbers the story out. They’d wanted you gone. Out of the picture and out of his life. You were an uncontrollable variable that refused to play ball and Edgar wasn’t one for loose strings. A replacement had already been found and was on her way earlier this morning. While Homelander was out on a mission, disposing of you had been easy enough. It only took thirty minutes to pack all of your things, revoke your access to the building and effectively lock you out. Ashley had managed a helping hand in the form of a plane ticket wherever you wished, knowing you no longer rented your own apartment after moving in with Homelander.

It had been a plot against you, he knows this now but why had you gone so willingly? Why weren’t you screaming outside of Vought Tower for him? Why did you take that plane ticket? Something rotten wriggles within Homelander’s heart. He knows he’s not an easy creature to live with and has worn your patience thin some days. The start of your relationship would have been considered rocky at best and there’s all that stalking he did that you still don’t know about. They gave you an out and you took it.

His trip to the airport is swift and no one would dare try to stop the Homelander as he seeks you out at your intended gate. Except you’re not there. You’ve not even checked in yet. He goes to your old apartment next, eyes scanning the building for your form. Your favorite restaurant is next. Then the place that makes your favorite tea. After that he’s hovering above the bookstore you’ve dragged him to. None of them contain you. Homelander is lost for a moment, mind frantic with worry now at where you could be. Then he remembers one of your favorite spots. A park close to where your old apartment is and it’s another place Homelander has been dragged to by you. This is a spot he enjoyed. It was quiet, even in such a bustling city. He always pretended it was a forest clearing you two were enjoying the peace of.

You’re there. Of course you are. You’re settled on a bench, head turned towards the trees as Homelander descends. “Sweetheart,” He growls. It comes out harsher than Homelander wants, but he’s on edge. Why did you leave him? 

You jump, head snapping round and he can see you’ve been crying. Your eyes are puffy, face pinched in pain as Homelander’s heart seizes at the sight. 

“What!?” You stare a beat, before anger rises. You’ve always been his little spitfire. “You had me cast out! They packed me up and kicked me out on your orders! You- You abandoned me…!” The fire smolders and dies as tears leak down your face.

"No, no, no. Not you, never you!" In an instant, all of Homelander's rage vanishes in the face of your sorrow. How could you ever want to leave his side? Foolish of him to even think it. Why would you ever want to leave? He’s beside you, he’s gathering you up in his arms, he’s crushing you gently in his hold. Your sobs are wet, loud, and there’s snot on his suit. Homelander doesn’t care. He shushes you, fingers combing through your hair as the arm about your middle squeezes just a bit tighter. The weight of you sinking against him and into him is a comfort, your flesh yielding under his grip on you.

“I came home and you were gone,” Homelander whispers against your ear as he nuzzles his nose into your hair. He inhales deeply, all of the tension leaving his body as he takes in your scent. “But I’m here now. It’s okay, I’ve got you,” He exhales, pulling back enough to look down at you. Homelander smiles. You’re here, you’re safe, he will never ever let you out of his sight again.

[muzzledhoundsheart]

On my knees, at your service

🕊️Benjicot „Davos“ Blackwood x Reader🕊️

His hands left searing prints on your skin. Every hair standing on edge and the small trickles of sweat were ever present in your mind. He was ungainly and breathless, muttering to himself in between desperate whimpers „just….i can’t….come on“. He was simply too clumsy, too inexperienced and, as always, just a tinge too timid. You wouldn’t expect it from someone so ferocious and bloodthirsty on the battling ground but for you, he would always falter. 

„Ben…let- here let me hel-“ you pant out trying to aid his hands, showing him which strings to unfasten first. But he cuts you off with another desperate kiss. You feel like your lungs would burst at any moment, it was all too much yet still not enough to satiate this searing desire. The kiss was, in all of its force, still so soft and loving. His right hand coming up from his unfruitful attempt at unlacing your bodice, to gently cradle your jaw while his tongue swept over yours, mingling your saliva together. He came up for air briefly, the aforementioned saliva now hanging in glistening strings connecting your lips still. Benji was torn between dipping down again and entwining your lips once more and telling you that this light be a bad idea. He thought that, maybe, him not being able to unlace you was a sign from the gods. Heed and refrain from going any further lest you will regret it. All these doubts were overwhelmed by sight of you though. So flushed and panting you looked like you would pass out at any moment. Your hair disheveled, curls and waves having left your braid and now sticking wetly to your blushed skin. Your eyes glossed over and your lips so deliciously swollen and plump.

He often wondered how they would feel all over his body but those were the thoughts he wouldn’t dare speak aloud to you. Benji would never want to treat you like his brothers treated the ladies of the night they frequented, he’s heard all the stories. No. You were a goddess divine and he was your ever loving devotee. This gave him an idea though. „I need… I want..“ he sputtered out helplessly. Your brows furrowed but before words could leave your mouth he sank to his knees and gently ran his hands up your shins. „Ben.. what?“ „hold this.“ he instructed having bunched up your skirts. You did as you were told, an amused grin spreading across your lips. „And what is your plan now, huh?“ you couldn’t help but tease him, it kept him humble. Ben’s eyes were almost black and so glossed over, it looked like stars were swimming in them. „I plan on devouring you whole my Lady.“ The air you sucked in to laugh at him was repurposed for a moan. Ben kept at your slit, parting it with his tongue over your silken slip. One of your hands let go of your skirts, hesitating to find solace in Benji’s hair.

Benji was occupied with sliding your undergoes down your legs, just enough so that they pool around your ankles themselves. He gently lifted one of your heels, completely slipping out of them now and sat it atop his shoulder. Satisfied with your position he dove in. His tongue licked in long strokes between your slit, gathering as much of your wetness as he could. Ever the impatient man he was though, his tongue soon grew restless. He licked and sucked making obscene wet noises, grunts and whimpers leaving him like he’s been starved for too long finally getting to feast once more. You were in shambles.

Your timid hand did find its way to his hair, pulling the root trying to find some sort of stability. Your legs soon began shaking and in vain attempts of staying quiet, you gulped down the thick air panting in staccato. The pleasure brought tears to your eyes, a feeling you’ve never experienced before coiled in your innards. And your head fell with a thud against the wooden wall behind you.

Between your legs Benji’s hands itched to to slip inside of you, feel the velvet slick wetness and be as close to you as was possible. He stuck to just using his mouth for now though suckling on your clit and sending shivers up your spine, not wanting to defile you more than he was now. He told himself that this was fine, you were allowed pleasure and he technically wasn’t taking your maiden hood in the traditional sense. His cock was pulsating painfully in his breeches now, weeping of its woes and aching to be sheathed inside of you.

But on his knees in front of you is where he belonged and he would feel all but blissful to be able to die between them like this. He needed not to die on the battlefield, he would drag himself back home to you and lap at your cunt until his last breath. He didn’t know if it were these thoughts or his aching cock that made him paw at your hips whispering pleas into your cunt, or the moans that slipped out through your desperate attempts at keeping quite.

He grew restless and soon you were sure that this was your end. He’s eaten you whole that much was sure. The coil in your innards thoughts until the tears streamed like glistening pearls down your face. „Benji please please please.“ his nose brushed over your clit once more and that was it. You were shaking and clenching around nothing, wishing his cock was sheathed deep within your weeping cunt. Benji just keep drinking up all the nectar dripping out of you.

When he came up again, his whole face glistened with your fluids. Even his thick lashes were coated and the realization made you even more bashful. His hands wrapped around you waits tightly, pulling you in flush against his hard body. „You look like you’re about to faint“ he chuckled. „I have faith that you will catch me then.“ you both grinned at eachother like mad men, your eyes filled with longing and adoration for eachother. „Maybe then you’d have all the time in the world to unlace me.“ „These things are worse than a bear trap dove. I might lose a finger next time.“ he feigned worry, muttering with his nose against your cheekbone. „What a shame that would be, I have hoped you could put them to good use next time.“ „Next time.“ he promised.

[agentrouka-blog]

It seems like Dany in book is still having hard time believing that her father was a Mad King who was hated in Westros. When Selmy tried to mention it she stopped him because she didn't like where it was going despite she asked him about it.

That entire scene is so...

(Cut for long quote)

Dany is reading a book of fairytales that she acknowledges are not proper history. (Symbolismmmmm.) But she keeps getting distracted by doubts about herself.

She played at being a queen, yet sometimes she still felt like a scared little girl. Viserys always said what a dolt I was. Was he truly mad? She closed the book. She could still recall Ser Jorah, if she wished. Or send Daario to kill him. Dany fled from the choice, out onto the terrace. She found Rhaegal asleep beside the pool, a green and bronze coil basking in the sun. Drogon was perched up atop the pyramid, in the place where the huge bronze harpy had stood before she had commanded it to be pulled down. He spread his wings and roared when he spied her. There was no sign of Viserion, but when she went to the parapet and scanned the horizon she saw pale wings in the far distance, sweeping above the river. He is hunting. They grow bolder every day. Yet it still made her anxious when they flew too far away. One day one of them may not return, she thought. “Your Grace?” She turned to find Ser Barristan behind her. “What more would you have of me, ser? I spared you, I took you into my service, now give me some peace.” “Forgive me, Your Grace. It was only … now that you know who I am …” The old man hesitated. “A knight of the Kingsguard is in the king’s presence day and night. For that reason, our vows require us to protect his secrets as we would his life. But your father’s secrets by rights belong to you now, along with his throne, and … I thought perhaps you might have questions for me.” Questions? She had a hundred questions, a thousand, ten thousand. Why couldn’t she think of one? “Was my father truly mad?” she blurted out. Why do I ask that? “Viserys said this talk of madness was a ploy of the Usurper’s …” “Viserys was a child, and the queen sheltered him as much as she could. Your father always had a little madness in him, I now believe. Yet he was charming and generous as well, so his lapses were forgiven. His reign began with such promise … but as the years passed, the lapses grew more frequent, until …” Dany stopped him. “Do I want to hear this now?” Ser Barristan considered a moment. “Perhaps not. Not now.” “Not now,” she agreed. “One day. One day you must tell me all. The good and the bad. There is some good to be said of my father, surely?” “There is, Your Grace. Of him, and those who came before him. Your grandfather Jaehaerys and his brother, their father Aegon, your mother … and Rhaegar. Him most of all.” “I wish I could have known him.” Her voice was wistful. “I wish he could have known you,” the old knight said. “When you are ready, I will tell you all.” Dany kissed him on the cheek and sent him on his way. That night her handmaids brought her lamb, with a salad of raisins and carrots soaked in wine, and a hot flaky bread dripping with honey. She could eat none of it. Did Rhaegar ever grow so weary? she wondered. Did Aegon, after his conquest? Later, when the time came for sleep, Dany took Irri into bed with her, for the first time since the ship. But even as she shuddered in release and wound her fingers through her handmaid’s thick black hair, she pretended it was Drogo holding her … only somehow his face kept turning into Daario’s. If I want Daario I need only say so. She lay with Irri’s legs entangled in her own. His eyes looked almost purple today … (ASOS, Daenerys VI)

The whole scene is so utterly rife with Red Flags.

Dany has just commited a(nother) massacre, made herself Supreme Leader Until I Move On and banished Jorah for his past spying. She (correctly) surmises that she is overwhelmed and questions her suitability for the job of ruling. She questions her family's sanity.

She wants to avoid what those questions imply. Out on the terrace, she sees Drogon doing his best Replacement Harpy impression (symbolismmmmm) while another one is off hunting boldly (surely nothing bad can come of that behavior in the near future...) and...

A glimpse of hope! A dude with unique personal information about her family appears and offers to share it! Perhaps that uncomfortable feeling can return into focus and be addressed?

Nah.

AND THEN the guy goes "You know what? You're totally right. This isn't really relevant or urgent. Nothing about your family history is alarming enough to question your path in general. Your brother was AWESOME btw."

Barristan, even if he had told her things, would never have helped her come to uncomfortable conclusions because he is the worst kind of hypocritical sycophant for a) any monarch he happens to be serving at the time, and b) House Targaryen in particular. The conversation they are putting off... would not have been useful anyway.

So a placated Dany returns the focus on herself and her feelings, but validated, and her next move is to turn the "this must never happen again" incident with her "not a sex slave" Irri into "actually, time to honorable serve your khaleesi like a sex toy while she fantasizes about other people". People who remind her of her family and their Valyrian looks.

She is burrowing into her Targaryen identity in ways she hadn't even done before, taking liberties with her power that she had shied away from before. Her yelp review will be underwhelming. "Her kisses tasted of duty". Because that's what it was. Dany doesn't care.

She ends up making a choice the next morning.

“My city,” said Dany. “I was looking for a house with a red door, but by night all the doors are black.”

And it is a reasonable choice on the surface, that finally has her standing fast to accept a sense of responsibility for the outcomes of her actions here.

But already we see how the missing context of Westerosi history is distorting her understanding, and Barristan bolstered this. Because she creates a difference where there isn't one.

“Aegon the Conqueror brought fire and blood to Westeros, but afterward he gave them peace, prosperity, and justice. But all I have brought to Slaver’s Bay is death and ruin. I have been more khal than queen, smashing and plundering, then moving on.” “There is nothing to stay for,” said Brown Ben Plumm. “Your Grace, the slavers brought their doom on themselves,” said Daario Naharis. “You have brought freedom as well,” Missandei pointed out. “Freedom to starve?” asked Dany sharply. “Freedom to die? Am I a dragon, or a harpy?” Am I mad? Do I have the taint? “A dragon,” Ser Barristan said with certainty. “Meereen is not Westeros, Your Grace.” “But how can I rule seven kingdoms if I cannot rule a single city?” He had no answer to that. Dany turned away from them, to gaze out over the city once again. “My children need time to heal and learn. My dragons need time to grow and test their wings. And I need the same. I will not let this city go the way of Astapor. I will not let the harpy of Yunkai chain up those I’ve freed all over again.” She turned back to look at their faces. “I will not march.” “What will you do then, Khaleesi?” asked Rakharo. “Stay,” she said. “Rule. And be a queen.”

Dany sees a difference between dragon and harpy that the earlier image of Drogon in the harpy's place already shows us is a false dichotomy. She imagines prosperity and peace in the aftermath of Aegon's invasion where he created no such thing. She is concerned with her sanity and suitability to rule, so she will stay temporarily to test herself on this city of human beings.

The human children must heal and learn. Her dragons need to grow and fly.

Dany needs the same, she says. The same as her dragons, not the same as her children. There will be little healing and learning. But we will see her fly off on Drogon, ecstatic, while the people of her city burn below.

It was never going to end any other way, because "if I look back I am lost" is her curse. She is not interested in the facts, because they hinder her fantasy of the red door. But she will also never get facts because there is no one who would give them to her.

She prefers a book of fairytales over a proper history and she will begin to forget there's a difference.

[andbreakmynose]

sweat marks all on my clothes

tennis player! alex x tennis player! reader

heavily challengers inspired because i kept rewatching it while writing this lol

also fetus al

WARNINGS: SMUT, oral (m + f receiving), sweat, light body worship, semi public sex

WORD COUNT: 4.5k

Alex stood at the baseline; his feet were shoulder-width apart, and he could feel the texture of the court on his feet. His right hand gripped the handle of the racquet with confident familiarity, the leather-wrapped grip slightly worn from countless matches, molding perfectly to his sweaty palm.

The weight of the racquet felt like home—a precise extension of his arm. He bounced the tennis ball a few times with his left hand, the sound echoing in the quiet of the court—or maybe it was just in your ears. In your ears this sounded like the loudest anticipation you’ve heard. You needed him to win this for you.

Alex shifted his stance, leaning slightly forward, eyes narrowing as he focused on the service box across the net. His already sore muscles tensed subtly, a coil of energy ready to be unleashed. The air was static, thick with the lingering heat of the day, and he could feel a bead of sweat trickling down the back of his neck, slowly tracing the line of his spine that was still covered in your marks from the night before. Before he sent the ball in the air he made a millisecond of a glance at you, acknowledging the stakes here.

With a smooth, practiced motion, he tossed the ball high into the air, his eyes following its arc against the sky. His body moved in perfect synchronization—knees bending, torso rotating, and then, with a snap of his wrist, he brought the racquet forward.

The ball shot across the net, a blur of yellow as it cut through the air, skimming just above the tape. It hit the service box with a sharp, echoing thud, kicking up a tiny puff of dust as it struck the court and veered sharply to the left, barely skimming the sideline.

Alex straightened, eyes fixed on the ball’s trajectory, every sense heightened, already preparing for the next move, his body alive with the electric anticipation of the game before him. You tried to watch him, tried to keep your eyes on every move that boy made, but there was that damn camera shoved in your face, some reporter trying to get every angle of Alex Turner’s equally talented girlfriend.

You gave the camera a smile and a wave before turning your attention back on Alex, not wanting to miss a second of the action. He was playing against some guy named Tucker, you had done your research. Tucker was from Manchester and was born into a wealthy family. He had a similar track record to Alex but he lacked something your boy had; drive. You could tell he didn’t really care if he won or lost, that it was just a game to him. For Alex it was bigger, for Alex he had to win for you.

You met Alex when you were young, he was playing at the park by himself and you offered to help him out. Since then you were an unstoppable duo, he’d go to your games and cheer you on, you’d go to his games and cheer him on. You were both good, really good, especially for two people who only got formal training from the cheapest coaches in the city. Both of you started playing competitively at the age of 14 and became level one juniors at 16. Now you were both 18, in your last year of playing with the juniors until it was time for the big leagues. You really had to make your mark now and make it big.

That’s where the relationship stuff started; a mutual friend of you and Alex jokingly suggested that you two should pretend to date and become some sort of spectacle. That if the number one male junior player and female junior player were dating than you’d be worth more than your already impressive skills.

You laughed at first but eventually you and Alex decided it was a good idea, that if the attention was already going to be on you then there was no harm in manipulating it a bit. And it helped that there was years of mutual attraction behind the two of you already, it was almost a perfect plan.

So you and Alex started dating, kissing each other before and after games, going to events together, and mentioning each other in every interview. It seemed to work well, all the tennis publications were about the two of you. You two got dubbed the “Most Promising Couple in Tennis”, people started to talk about you.

You struck “the deal” when you first noticed Alex’s focus decrease. He had lost a few games here and there and sometimes it seemed like he wanted to party instead of practice. You couldn’t deal with that; he was supposed to go pro with you like he said he would when you were 12.

It was a simple deal but it worked:

If he won a game you’d suck his dick

If you won a game he’d eat you out

If you both won you’d fuck

Alex’s skills improved almost immediately, he was lovesick and would do anything for the opportunity to touch you (even if you were planning on giving it to him win or lose). He started winning all his games again, he made you proud.

And that led you back to where you were now, watching him against this Tucker guy. When you left his bed this morning you promised him the best blowjob ever if he won this for you, and it seemed like that put a fire in Alex’s step.

He was drenched in sweat by the end of the first set, pouring water down his throat to prepare for the next. He had won but not by a lot, he needed to be at his best to win the second and not have to go to a third set. Your eyes never left him, staring at him like a hawk.

He winked at you before the second set started, a cocky promise that he’d win and you’d be on your knees for him an hour later. That made the stakes higher, you hadn’t sucked him off in over two weeks and the idea of having him in your mouth was really appealing. You gave him a nod back and ushered for him to get back out there.

By the last half of set two you were tired of tennis ball green. You were tired of following it back and forth with your eyes. And you were really damn tired of Tucker. Somehow he had gotten better in the second set and was proving more of a competition to your poor Alex. You decided that even if he didn’t win you’d still suck his dick because he was putting up a really good fight.

You felt your heart sink when Tucker matched him at 5-5, you couldn’t let Alex lose to some posh boy with an ugly name. As if Alex could sense your nerves he turned around and gave you a thumbs up, letting you know that he had a plan. God you hoped he had a plan

In anxiety you began to down your water bottle, trying to distract yourself from the racing thoughts and the dull throb in your panties that always seemed to appear when he played. You were so distracted by the water that you almost missed the announcer making it known that the winner was Alex Turner, your Alex Turner.

‘Thank fuck’ was the thought in both you and Alex’s mind. You put your bottle down and ran to him, him pulling you into a tight kiss and covering your hair with kisses. He smelled like sweat and body spray, but he had still won. Proud was an understatement. You were always proud of him and you had been watching him win games for 8 years at this point.

He cradled you softly for a while, just savoring the moment. You could hear Tucker give a post match interview in the background but you couldn’t pick up on the words, he was probably complaining that he had lost.

“You gonna talk to these suckers?” You asked him, gesturing at the reporters behind you with raised eyebrows. You would’ve understood if he did, but also you kinda wanted to get to the blowjob part of the agreement. Alex looked at the swarm of them, most that he had already talked to. He considered it but ended up shaking his head, giving you a sly smirk.

“Nah, you’re the only sucker I want.” He teased, hand lingering around your ass. You laughed at his crude suggestions, but you also couldn’t complain. He took your hand and led you off the court, past all the other players lounging around, and into the locker room.

“Here?” You asked, a bit worried about a list of things. There were probably other boys in there first of all, and it probably smelled. You liked a lot about Alex but the smell of athletic teenage boy was not one of them. Alex peeked his head into the locker room to check and shook his head.

“No one else is here, won’t be for a while. Trust me girlie.” And then before you could speak he dragged you into a shower stall, pressing you against the wall and digging his hands into you ass.

“I won.” He whispered against your neck, his hands starting to trail up your body until they reached the hem of your shirt.

“You did win.” You responded, moving your own hands to help him pull your shirt off. You couldn’t tell if he was beaming in pride at his accomplishment or just really happy to see your boobs. You decided on the latter when he pushed your sports bra off too.

“Fuck, so glad I won so you could do this. Love your mouth, love you.” He groaned out, helping you shift onto your knees. The floor was hard, slimy, and uncomfortable on your knees. But that didn’t matter when his bulge was right in front of your face. You slid his shorts and boxers down to his ankles in one quick move, needing to see his cock free.

“I’ll tell you a secret…” you started, wrapping a hand around his base and causing him to groan, “I would’ve done this even if you had lost. You put up a very good fight.” As silly as your words sounded, you made sure to say them with the most seductive tone you knew how to do, looking up at him through your lashes before you darted your tongue out to kitten lick at him.

He leaned against the shower wall instantly, lacing his hand in your hair as he exhaled. He loved your tongue, he loved the little routine you always had when sucking him off. You gave him a few pumps, placing kisses and small licks around the head until you knew he was too worked up. He seemed to be needier today than he usually was, just a few licks and he was already starting to buck his hips.

You took that as your sign to wrap your lips around him and start to push him down your throat, his eyes rolling back shut at the feeling of your warm throat. You were his first blowjob and he was certain you’d be his last blowjob, he was utterly addicted to the feeling of your throat. You think you were addicted to the feeling of his cock down your throat too. He was such a responsive boy and you loved the way you could almost feel him twitch in your mouth.

You set a purposely teasing rhythm; you’d move forward when he breathed in and move backwards when he breathed out. It took him a second to realize why he was holding his breath, shaking his head at you.

“Please just-,” he groaned as he grabbed onto your hair, starting to move you himself. You didn’t mind the display of dominance, it was hot that he needed you that bad. And plus, the focus was usually on your place. He deserved to be the one seeing stars for once. He set the pace he wanted, somewhere in between fast and slow. Your mouth felt so full with him, he was making sure he took up all your senses. If anyone would’ve walked in they certainly would’ve heard the two of you; his loud groans and the sounds of choking coming from your throat. Neither of you knew anymore if you were alone, too involved in the actions.

When the twitching in his dick started to speed up he pulled you off, staring at you with lust-blown eyes.

“Where should I cum?” He asked, voice husky and breath still needing to be catched. Your brain was a bit fuzzy so you had to think for a second, you’d usually say your tits because you know he likes to see you covered in him but you still had to walk back to the hotel.

“Mouth.” You decided on, giving him big eyes and a big nod. He gave another groan at just how erotic the words sounded coming from your mouth and then pushed you back on his cock, picking up the pace.

To give him that extra, final edge you reached out to gently kneed his balls between your fingers, it was clear he liked this the way he thrusted at you. Thank god for your lack of gag reflex from the sheer amount of times you’ve sucked him off, you were used to deepthroating him at this point. He started to thrust with his hips and move you with his hand, movements becoming quick and fast.

His loud moan was the only warning you got before he spilled in your throat, his cum coating every wall of your mouth. He pulled out and grabbed onto a bar in the shower, trying to keep his legs from giving out. His eyes never left yours, he was waiting to see if you’d swallow. You didn’t really have a chance though, it was so deep enough in your mouth that spitting would be a hassle. Plus you liked the taste, it was a bit salty but it tasted like him. It was complete and utter Alex in your mouth. You swallowed with no complaint.

“You can’t do that you damn minx!” He giggled, still trying to catch his breath. You giggled back and he offered a hand to help you up, you were sure you could see the imprints of the tile on your knees.

“Well, maybe you should stop being so talented and winning all your games.” You bent down to grab your top and sports bra, they were slightly damp from the shower floor but you’d live. It was only 10 minutes to the hotel.

When you both had finished getting your bearings back he grabbed your hand, rushing you out of the shower to act like nothing happened. No one would ever know you were in there. He grabbed your hand and started walking you out.

“I need a nap.” He admitted, looking at you with a soft smile. He didn’t even have to ask anymore if you were going to nap with him. Of course you were.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You chuckled and gave his hand a quick squeeze, your eyes drifting to the court you’d be playing in the next morning.

“You know… win that for me and I’ll return the favor. And then we’ve both won so I’ll get to fuck you senseless.” He said bluntly, causing you to both blush and give a small laugh.

“I know. I’m anticipating it.” You winked at him, squeezing his hand again. You weren’t particularly worried about your opponent tomorrow, she wasn’t that great. Right now you were worried about cuddling up with him in bed, right now you were happy to be with him even if there was probably a camera following you.

Well, maybe you should’ve been more worried about your opponent. It turns out Vanessa Forester from Wales had been practicing her ass off. You were able to hold her off for the first set, but in the most embarrassing turn of events possible your knees were starting to kill you and you lost the second. God damn Alex.

When you were given the chance for a break before the third you quite literally poured your water bottle down your throat. The sweat had started to run into uncomfortable places and you were sure you looked like you had fallen into the river. You looked up at Alex, who you’re sure had already noticed you were lacking, who was snickering at your current state. Little bitch. You rolled your eyes at him, pointed down at your kneecaps, and flipped him off. That seemed to put him in his place as he suddenly looked a lot smaller in his seat.

You took a second to stretch and got back in your place, it was Vanessa’s serve. Your breath was trying to steady itself and you were trying to keep focused, all you could hope is that the adrenaline stopped the dull ache in your legs.

Thankfully it did, once you saw how determined Vanessa was the idea of winning crowded the rest of your thoughts. The back and forth became tantalizing, your eyes focused on nothing but that blur of neon flying between both sides of the court. The game was getting closer and closer and you were starting to grunt everytime you hit the ball. If it wasn’t for the game itself you probably would’ve passed out.

There was a quiet reminder of the score in the back of your head but you tuned that out to focus on the game, you had always told yourself that if you were too focused on the score then you wouldn’t remember your skills.

That worked, you guessed, because eventually a whistle was blown and you were crowned the winner. The adrenaline was still clogging your ears and your vision was still blurry so you didn’t even notice Alex coming down the stands to hug you. His arms enveloped you, your own arms wrapping around him to support your failing legs. He pushed your head up and wiped some of the sweat off your brows.

“Jesus… that was hell…” your voice came out breathy and tired. Alex could sense you didn’t want to talk to reporters either so he started to lead you back to the hotel.

“Yeah, hard game I could tell,” he starts, placing a few small kisses on your moist forehead, “but you still kicked its ass. You won.” His words brought a gentle reassurance into your head, you had won and you didn’t have another game to play. You would just be able to go back to the hotel and crash. You hummed against Alex’s shoulder and he continued to drag you to the hotel.

It was a nice hotel you had been given to stay in, there was a heated pool and a spa you had been meaning to check out. The room was spacious and the bed (you and Alex had fought for one bed instead of two) was comfortable. You couldn’t wait to shower and then crash out.

He got you inside and you smiled at him, starting to walk towards the shower.

“Wait-” he called out, making you turn around to raise an eyebrow at him, “I thought we were going to-” he didn’t finish his sentence. He got shy and started to rub the back of his head.

Oh right, the “reward.” You had won and that meant he got to eat you out and then you got to fuck. The idea sounded nice, but... after your shower. You loved him, and he had seen you in every capacity, but you still weren’t sure about him actually tasting your sweat.

“After my shower, I’m so fucking sweaty.” You admitted to him, wiping your hand through your eyebrows to really show him. Alex just kind of nodded and smiled at you, letting you do what you needed to.

The shower was nice; you didn’t feel slimy anymore, and some of the aches in your muscles were gone. You pulled a towel around your body and walked back into the bedroom. Alex was already perched on the bed, a shy smile and blush appearing on his face when you walked in. It was funny to see him this way when just last afternoon he was fucking your face in a shower stall. You sat down next to him, and he shifted closer to you.

“Are you sore?” You nodded; you were still a little sore, and you wanted him to go gentle. Sometimes you could get rough, but after a game you just wanted to lay down and have him take you.

He looked like he was about to say something else when you pulled him in for the kiss, attaching your lips against his. He was such a good kisser, always confident and sensitive in the way his lips mashed against yours. His tongue gently traced across your bottom lip, asking you for permission to take this a step further. You granted what he wanted, and you both parted your lips to deepen the kiss.

He brought his hand up to tangle into your hair, pulling you closer. He wanted you to feel safe and warm in his presence; he wanted to make you feel like the winner you were, just the way you did for him yesterday. In a single motion, you removed the towel from your body. That made this all easier—no messy clothes to take off.

He pushed you back on the bed so your head was against the pillow and started to trail his lips across your body, kissing every part of you that was sore from the day. A heat swirled in your lower stomach, and you let out a few brief moans at the feeling of his lips. He situated himself so he had easy access to your core. He wasn’t going to touch you yet but wanted an idea of the proper position to be in.

His lips continued to trail down your body; he grabbed your hand and placed a kiss on every single one of your fingers.

“You won with this hand. This is a winner's hand,” he mused, like just your arm was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. He worked his way back up to your collarbone, sucking a small mark into the flesh there. “This damn body, you couldn’t have won without it.” His words would be cheesy if they weren’t turning you on so badly; it felt nice to be appreciated so intimately.

Without speaking, he wrapped his lips around your puffy nipple, making you wiggle and moan against him. He lapped around your breasts, breath heavy like he was the one getting pleasure from this. Every so often he’d suck into them, leaving small pink marks that were just for him to see.

“They’re your trophies,” he remarked with a small grin, pulling back to admire his work. You giggled at this, and he acted like it wasn’t the stupidest thing to say. It was, but it was also cute. He was always like this, your boy. He looked at them for a second longer and then down at your pooling heat, a smirk appearing on his face.

“I’m going to eat you out now,” he declared. And then he did it; he buried his face right into your cunt. The second he made contact, you let out a high-pitched whine, arching your back right into his face. He kissed and licked at your folds, taking you in like you were his favorite glass of wine. You brought your hand down to tangle into his hair, pulling him closer.

“Fuck! Alex! You’re so good!” You cried out, making him smirk against your cunt. He moved up just slightly to place a few kisses along your clit, the sensation causing goosebumps to trickle down your spine. All he wanted to do was make you feel good, and it was obvious he was doing that right now, so he kept at it. He created a pattern where he’d go between licking into your hole, slurping the skin of your folds, and sucking at your clitoral. It was absolutely obscene, but maybe the best thing you had ever felt. Your mind was already a bit hazy from the day, and he was just intensifying it. You’re sure that words you weren’t even aware of were tumbling from your lips.

He fucked you with his tongue like it was his dick; after all the time you had spent together, he knew every little move to make you come apart on his mouth. You kept your hand in his hair, making him stay as close to you as possible. He wasn’t allowed to pull away, not when he felt this good. He just pushed and pushed at all your senses until you were satisfied.

It seemed that the stress of the day had really made you wound up because you were already close. Alex must’ve noticed that because he started to budge his nose against your swollen clit as his tongue swirled around your hole. The added simulation drove you insane, with high-pitched noises coming out of your mouth while you shook around him.

It took only a second before it all became too much, and you came all over him, waves of pleasure taking over your whole body. Your back arched and fell back down just as fast, all of the stress of the day releasing directly from your body. Alex’s face must’ve been covered in your juices, but he loved that. He loved the amount of pleasure he had just brought you. You were still shaking a bit, but he brought his face up to kiss you on the lips; you could almost taste yourself against him.

“That good?” He asked gently, running a comforting hand down your stomach to soothe your hyperactive muscles. You nodded a few times, reaching over to grab the bottle of water from earlier this morning.

“That was good, goddamn. I don’t think my knees hurt anymore.” You both chuckled at this, your breath finally returning to normal. You shut your eyes, the tiredness from the day returning. Alex laid down next to you and ran a hand through your hair, making you smile at him.

“Do you want to go to sleep?” He asked gently, pulling you a little closer and pressing a kiss against your temple.

You weren’t going to respond, but you felt his hardness pressing against your back a bit, a reminder of the second half of your deal.

“But don’t you need to?” he cut you off, shaking his head.

“No, it’ll go down. You won, and now you deserve to sleep. We’ll fuck later when you’re less tired; it’ll be better anyway." He reassured you, placing another kiss against your head. You could’ve protested, but he seemed serious, and sleep was already starting to come. You nodded and curled up against him.

“Love you, Alex.”

“Love you too, winner.” You chuckled at this, turning around to look at him.

“You’re a winner too, remember?”

"Oh, I remember, that’s why I get to fuck you later!” He teased, bringing your lips against his for a quick kiss before you shut your eyes again.

A/N: this is shit! i had the first half done and then my power went out and i had to rush the second half in the middle of a library with an old man breathing down my neck!! i tried to write more smut but i got really paranoid with everyone around me in public lmaoo but i wanted to get this out

[rottenpumpkin13]

shinra attempts to replace reeve causing everything to go to shit how do the directors react

No one truly realized how much Reeve held HQ together until his replacement decided to cancel his under-the-table deal with Lazard regarding SOLDIER's "stress-relief expenditures" (read: overpriced snacks, dubious luxury items, and niche services that kept people from spontaneously combusting). Within a week, the board started questioning why the program needed a soundproof "screaming" chamber labeled 'For Sephiroth Only.'

*Zack bursts into the room holding Cait Sith*

Zack: Guys, this cat can solve all our problems!

Angeal: A toy cat. While we're dealing with budget cuts that are threatening the entire program.

Genesis: They've already stripped us of our imported coffee. Now we're supposed to believe a stuffed... whatever this is... will restore our dignity?

Zack: No, listen! It's like Reeve's spirit animal or something! It knows things!

Angeal: Zack, they cut our training simulator funding by 60%. We need to talk to Lazard NOW. Put the toy down and let's go.

Zack: Fine... :(

*Everyone storms out, leaving Sephiroth alone with Cait Sith*

Sephiroth: ...

Cait Sith: Some folk deserve tae shuffle off this mortal coil wi' a swift kick, and Hojo's top o' the list! If yer feelin' generous, ye could send the professor tae the great beyond!

Sephiroth: What the fuck

Cait Sith: No one will ever believe ye, laddie.

[two-bit-too-high]

Lost boys with a mate/pack member that has a rbf (resting bitch face) and is touch starved but love touch and when they cuddle in the nest she falls asleep with a smile and- OAMXOAMAOMWJ ITS SO FLUFFF IM SORRYYY LMAO

A/N I did a another one! Yipeee! Please enjoy! As always please send in any more ideas.

The Lost boys x Reader with resting bitch face

☁️ pure fluff

⚠️ Warnings: none except my possibly god awful spelling and grammar.

Enjoy

It's cold in the cave, cold enough that if you weren't a vampire you would probably fall into a coma.you were sitting on one of the large lounge chairs that the boys had found a few weeks ago warped in a big quilted blanket reading with a mason jar of blood on the nightstand next to you a vampic hot chocolate if you will .When a certain blonde pops up in front of you.

“Oh hello Marko” you say not looking up from your book “hello my bleeding rose” Marko says in a quiet voice he himself was warped in a blanket to keep out some of the cold “is everything ok” you ask is due to the face he as his puppy eyes on he only uses those when he is in Trouble or if he wanted something. “Are you mad at me?” he asked, “Mad at you?” you replied “no I ain't mad at you all” you add “oh well you just looked really upset and I was...I was worried I had done something to make you mad” he says still with his puppy eyes on full display “no not at all Marko your fine” you says while unwrapping the blanket from around yourself to invite him into the warm this is one invitation he expects immediately jumping up into the big lounge with you cuddling under the covers and up to you. As you sat there in silence your Mind started to wonder why on earth did he think you were mad at him.

Later In the night you were in the small kitchen that was just off the main cave area where Marko was sleeping in the big chair still warped in the blankets.when You ran into David who was making yet again another Blood and whisky in the glass that only he is allowed to use. You were Minding your own when David spoke up “what's got you in a twist darling” “huh” you replied “you look mad or something is Paul getting on your nerves again” he continues “no I'm fine” you say you stop washing your cup and look up at him “I ain't mad or upset” you add “okay then” he said as he disappeared back into the cave whisky glass in hand leaving you in the kitchen to once again wonder what on earth is going on.

An hour went by and you ended sitting in the rafters watching Paul play his guitar. You had found another blanket and was now just staring into space thinking. “Woah babe you look pissed” says as he looks up from his guitar “I do?” you replied “yeah like someone cut all ya guitar strings or stolen your feed” he says as he keeps plucking at his guitar “I ain't upset” you say you had started to play around with a loose coil of guitar string. Paul hums “well you certainly look it” he adds before going back to his music leaving you in the mental dust.

“Alright everyone, time to pack it in for the night” yelled out David at about 5:30am and like clockwork everyone started to file into the nesting room. Like always you in the middle and David and Dwyane to your right and then Marko and Paul to your left. “Did you have a bad night honey” asked Dwyane as he cuddled up to your side “no!” You say loudly “oh my god why does everyone keep saying that!” You add “because you look like it,love” says Dwyane “what do you mean!” You add “seems you have a case of resting bitch face babe” says Paul “oh that's just great” you said as you nuzzle into Dwyane’s chest. “Well a public service announcement if I look pissed off I'm probably not so stop worrying about it” you say.”noted” they all say in unison.

One by one you all fell asleep under several different blankets and as you did you had a smile on your face thankful that you had finally figured out why on earth you kept getting all those questions.

Hope y'all enjoyed it :)

[daisyofwaterdeep]

Can you please write more soft cock zevlor? 👉👈 maybe with a male reader?? If thas not much to ask..... (Also thanks for ypur service to the society)

IT WOULD BE MY ABSOLUTE PLEASURE

Zevlor/cismasc!Reader

!NSFW!

-When you have sparring sessions with Zevlor, you always feel a spark between the two of you. Intense, lingering eye contact. Playful smiles. And when it's done, the hand on your back congratulating you for a job well done tends to linger far too long.

-But this session is different. It's more visceral, more teasing. Every word that Zevlor says spikes your adrenaline and coils heat in your stomach.

-"Come on, harder!" as you swing at him, "I can take it, so give it to me." Your cock is getting stiff as you continue swinging, the both of you starting to pant with strain, "Harder, that's it--harder, just like that!"

-Perhaps a bit too roughly, you knock the sword from his hand and are immediately on him. The flirting has finally reached it's boiling point, and you can't hold back and play naive any more.

-You grind your throbbing cock against his groin, the both of you breathing hard into each other's mouths.

-"Is this hard enough for you?" You ask, dropping your own sword to grab Zevlor's hips and pull him tightly against you, making sure he feels just how much he's worked you up.

-Zevlor seems like he's been expecting this all along, kissing you rough. It's hurried and desperate, like Zevlor's been holding back just as much as you have.

-You can feel that Zevlor isn't hard yet and try to rut into him to get him there, but instead, he steps back from you. You think he's about to cut this all off and say that it's a mistake, but instead he turns and places his hands on a tree, his tail thwipping against the ground excitedly

-If that doesn't make the invitation clear enough, Zevlor unfastening his pants and shucking them down is about as clear as things could get. You're behind him in an instant, grabbing handfuls of his taut ass and kissing the side of his neck

-But when you reach around to stroke his cock, a calloused but gentle hand grabs your wrist. "Don't worry about that," Zevlor breathes, "Just take me."

-It's clear that he's uncomfortable about his dick for some reason, so you don't push it. Instead, you kiss his neck again, letting your hands slip under his shirt to caress at the hard ridges of his ribs

-"Lube?" You ask, grinding your clothed cock against his ass

-"I've, ahh--" Zevlor arches his back as you nip at his neck, "I've already taken care of it," His tail wraps around your waist, pulling you closer, "So fuck me already."

-Your mind reels as you fumble your pants open. What does he mean that he took care of it?

-You only have to wonder for a moment, because as soon as you slide your cock between his ass cheeks you feel that his hole is already soft and slick with lubricant. You groan into his ear and ask him if he fingered himself before this

-"A good soldier is always prepared." You can't see his face, but you can hear the smile in his voice

-Knowing that he was expecting to be fucked by you is driving you wild. You pant out apologies as you inch into the impossible heat of him, your muscles twitching with the need to slam in but resisting as best as you can

-"I can take it," Zevlor groans, reaching a hand behind him to grab your hip, "So give it to me."

-Hearing him parrot back the words from your sparring earlier makes you laugh, and then buck your hips. "Like this?" Your cock pries him open, making both of you moan and pant

"J...just like that-" You can see the muscles of Zevlor's back flex as you begin pumping into him, "Fuck, just like that..."

-It's amazing. Zevlor's hole is impossibly hot and tight around you, and the sounds he grunts out with each thrust makes your head swim. There's no way you're gonna last long like this

-You know that you're going to cum in the next few pumps--the heat in your core is building to a manic degree, and your thrusts are getting faster and sloppier

-Instinctively, you reach around Zevlor and grab his cock to stroke him, hoping to bring him to completion too

-"N- wait, ahh--" Zevlor's body tightens and his hands grab yours, but they don't pull you away.

-His cock is still soft. You slow your hips before stopping altogether, feeling like a monster for being so greedy and inconsiderate

-"Don't..." Zevlor moves back against you, slowly fucking himself on your cock, "Don't stop...feels good, promise..."

-You wouldn't believe him if it weren't for the sheer amount of precum oozing from his tip. The sticky-slick fluid steadily leaks into your hand as Zevlor finds a quicker pace and arches his back, groaning and shivering as he finds his prostate with the head of your cock

-Understanding dawns on you. It explains why he didn't want you to touch him earlier. But with that realization comes a fierce adoration. To you, signs of age aren't anything to be ashamed of. It's something worthy of admiration--a testament to all you've been through. You've always loved the signs of Zevlor's age-- the thickness of his horns, the creases around his eyes, the faded scars along his chest. This is certainly no exception.

-You pull Zevlor tight to your chest, grinding into his prostate as quick and hard as you can, peering over his shoulder to hungrily watch his soft cock swing with your thrusts. Thick strands of precum dangle and fall messily from him, all the while Zevlor's moans grow higher and tighter-- he's getting close

-Your muscles burn as you fuck him with everything you have, your eyes fighting to not roll closed as you threaten to fall into your orgasm

-And then you see it-- The clear slickness of Zevlor's precum turns white and it drools thickly from his tip as he whines deep and gravelly in his throat. The sight and sound alone would've been enough to push you over the edge, if you weren't already there

-You ride out your orgasm, burying yourself deep in Zevlor's ass as you fill him with hot pumps of your cum. You could have stayed there behind him for an eternity, just relishing in the feeling of his strong back and tight ass, but kissing him is far more important in that moment

-You turn him around and lock him into a kiss, grinding your cocks together-- yours twitching and slowly softening, and his still steadily leaking

-"Fuck," You breathe into his mouth between a kiss, "I love you..."

-You feel Zevlor's muscles tighten at that, but after a moment he melts into your arms, a happy hum rumbling in his chest

[sombrashe]

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆kinktober 2024⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧⁺

𓉸ྀི i love a man in uniform

𓉸ྀི Valeria Garza

𓉸ྀི content afab!reader, chubby!reader, christianity, church sex, readers religion is unspecified, uniform sex, yuri, bathroom sex, fingering, reader is called a slut

Leaning over you pluck at a button. The person it belonged to tries hard to ignore you. You were sitting in church in the furthest pew. It was a late Monday night so you could count the amount of people attending on one hand. Your hand had been patiently waiting on her thigh for over an hour now. Boredom has taken over you soon after the offerings were collected. It has only gotten worse especially with Valeria sitting there straight and tall clad in her uniform. Lifting your chin your lips barely scrape against her ear.

“Valeria, I’m bored.”

She scowls and squeezes your knee in an attempt to get you to act right. You don’t let up, though, and take a second to lick the shell of her ear.

“I need youuu~”

“We are in The House of God, knock it off.”

“Then take me out back where God isn't watching.”

Slightly turning her head to the side she quietly rasps at you to go take care of yourself. Huffing you shove past her and leave the middle of the sermon. Pushing open the door you enter the broken down bathroom. Disgust floods your features as you stand painfully still in the middle. The door is cracked and you fear touching the handle. Staying a few minutes you contemplate how you would annoy Valeria on your way back to your shared home. A few more minutes and you’ve formulated a plan. Not even a full five minutes later and you're ready to join the service again. Looking back as the door creaks open you're surprised to find her standing there anger brewing in her eyes. Quickly stepping her way into the bathroom she closes the door with a loud click. Another click and you're locked in with the pissed-off woman. Giving her a nervous smile you try to smooth things over. She immediately cuts you off and raises her hand trying to find the words.

“Valeria, this bathroom is disgusting. Let’s just go back.”

“Then you shouldn't have been such a slut.”

She’s found it. With a grunt, you cross your arms in defiance. Closing the already suffocating space in the room she pushes herself against you. She gives you no time to protest or even take in what's going on before her hand is shoved down your jeans. Buttons pop open to allow her more access. Huffing your head bounces off the peeling wall. Letting it rest against the yellow she takes this opportunity to chew at your neck. Two fingers slip their way under your waistband and find a home against your clit. Groaning, you attempt to keep quiet. As much as you want to be obnoxiously loud you know better. You want to cum like this. Those fingers leave their home and slip lower and into your soft core. Humming she sinks her teeth into your collarbone and you yelp in surprise at the intense burning that spreads through your chest. She hushes you as her fingers pick up pace. Clamping your lips closed your eyes water at the lack of pain relief. Pleasure mixed with the pain and you have to squeeze your eyes closed to remain in the moment. Letting her have full control you can only weakly hump against her palm hoping for more friction. She angles her hand so her fingers can still pump deep in you while her thumb presses against your clit, rubbing harshly. Whining softly she works you over for the rest of the sermon. You can feel the coil in your abdomen slowly start breaking as music floods the hallways. A signal that church was nearly over. Huffing the coil finally crashes as a bang is heard outside the small bathroom. The large doors have been opened and you can overhear muffled speaking as your orgasm crashes over you and you're soaking through your underwear. Peeling herself away from you she takes a few moments to wash her hands allowing you the chance to find your composure. A few paper towels in the trash later and she's gently buttoning your jeans and fixing your top enough to look presentable to the pastor. Helping you out of the bathroom she takes a moment to shake the pastor's hand and comment on the lovely ceremony.

Kinktober 2024 Masterlist | Valeria Masterlist

[apollabarnes]

part one // part three

thanks to @beanarie and @fiyaerrigan for cheerleading for more — hopefully this scratches that itch!

tommy's not sure how it happens, but he and athena start grabbing food once a week. sometimes it's dinner, sometimes breakfast, rarely it's lunch. they're both shift workers, so the changing schedule doesn't bother him.

it means that he has to keep going to the meetings, but… it's not so bad. if he talks, he talks around evan, because athena is close to evan and there's some things that she probably doesn't want to know. it's not as if he doesn't have a whole lifetime's worth of bad relationships to talk about.

he doesn't mention abby by name, either — that's a whole confusing mess that he just doesn't want to get into it with a member of evan's extended family.

mostly he listens, remembers, tries to use some of the reframing that they suggest.

"my dad was a real shithead," tommy says one night when he's halfway through a stack of waffles. "joining the army was just a way to get away from him."

athena makes an understanding noise, snapping her bacon in half.

they've both learned that if she talks, tommy's likely to clam up and drop the subject.

"he wrapped the car around a tree three years into my deployment," tommy continues. there had been a whole thing involving bereavement leave and a hardship transfer stateside because his mom couldn't cope afterwards. he doesn't like remembering that part, either. "it's probably the best thing he ever did with his life." tommy's still not sure whether he means killing himself or doing it in a way that meant no one else got hurt. the damage was limited to tommy and his mother, but that's been a hell of a shadow to deal with.

"i've met a few of those," athena says, after a pause to make sure tommy didn't want to add anything else.

"i'm not surprised." tommy methodically cuts a waffle along every raised imprint, popping a square into his mouth.

it's kind of like having a sponsor, he guesses. if that was something the family groups actually did. athena tells tommy how may's classes are going, that harry wants to stick around for college after he graduates. she tells him about a fire at an animal shelter that bobby had dealt with, and that buck — evan — had fostered a dog for a few days.

tommy wonders how that worked. evan had told him about hoover one night over dinner.

athena pauses mid-sentence and tommy stops her from apologising. "i can hear his name, it's fine." he's not sure how to explain that he's managed to… silo off evan from buck. evan is his ex. buck is one of athena's coworkers. hearing about buck doesn't make tommy sad, because he never really spent time with buck.

she gives him what he's dubbed the maurice stare. (he saw it a lot in the six months between bobby arriving and transferring to harbour. sees it more now.) but tommy is unflappable and therefore not bothered by it.

the standoff is broken by her phone buzzing. "that's my ride," athena tells him. "my car's in for service."

"i could have given you a ride," tommy offers before he can think better of it. "you didn't have to call an uber."

"that's cute, but i called my husband."

tommy breathes in. doesn't react. can feel the tension coiling around the base of his spine. "tell bobby…"

"he's not coming in, tommy," athena reassures him. "i told him i was grabbing food with someone from work."

tommy thinks about that. they're not in front of the windows, and his back is towards the door. the chances of bobby seeing or recognizing him are definitely lower than they would be if tommy showed up in his truck to drop athena off. and if bobby looks around the parking lot, well, how many grey trucks are in los angeles?

he'd still prefer the drop-off option.

"it's not like you need to keep this a secret," tommy says instead, even though every fiber of his being is screaming that he doesn't want anyone to know. that he doesn't want bobby, specifically, to know, because once he knows it's only a matter of time before the rest of the firehouse finds out.

"of course i don't, tommy. same time next week."

[arcanewhoosh]

Too Soon (Partners in Crime, Chapter 8)

This chapter will also be posted on AO3 here

4.2k words

Proofread? Y/N

Relevant Tags: Jinx x Reader (But this is a Vi focused chapter), Vi & Reader, Mentions of past drug use, Mentions of abuse, Alcohol

Following the success of the Hex Coil project, Jayce and Viktor present to you an unexpected request: A meeting with Vi.

It's over a celebratory dinner, just the three of you, at one of your usual haunts in Piltover, where you get the inkling that Jayce and Viktor are acting just a tad bit strange.

At first, you think it's just cause they're nervous about the report you'll need to file with the council about the Hex Coil project. Maybe they were running scenarios in their head that the council will want to monopolize its use, and charge people a shit ton just to be able to install it; or worse, a subscription service.

But as you're wolfing down one too many salted egg calamari, it occurs to you that this kind of jumpy behavior is often associated with them needing a big favor from you. Like the time you had to do the company's books, or when they told you that they had volunteered you to look after Poro while Heimerdinger's was away.

"Alright," You start. Jayce stops mid-drink of his beer, Viktor mid-chew of his noodles. "Spit it out."

Viktor immediately slurps more noodles, and shrugs, leaving Jayce to fend for himself. Your eyes flit to Jayce, waiting for him to fill you in on whatever he and Viktor were avoiding.

"Uhm—well." His eyes dart around the restaurant, as if something would swoop in to save him. Viktor, finishes up chewing his noodles, and sighs.

"Violet would like to speak with you. I think it is a horrendous idea, but Jayce thinks you should go see her."

"Oh."

"Woah, hold on a second!" Jayce holds his hands up. "I'm not going to try to talk you into seeing her. That's purely up to you, and whatever you decide, we support."

"But?"

He looks off to the side before back to you. "But, my own personal opinion, she seemed sincere in wanting to speak to you."

"She also told us about what happened between you and Powder." Viktor cuts in, earning him a Hey! from Jayce. He shrugs in response.

You lean back on your chair and cross your arms, eyes darting between the two of them. On the one hand, You couldn't say that you were keen on speaking to her, seeing as she's Jinx's sister and they tell each other everything. Jinx telling her about your shouting match isn't really out of character. On the other hand, you do feel like you owe her for what she did for you at the party.

The more you think about it, the more surprised you were that you aren't completely abhorred by the idea. It looks like the high from a successful Hex Coil test deterred any and all bad mood swings, no matter what they were. Except with Jinx, you were still pissed about that.

"Yeah, okay." You say as you shrug.

"We completely understand—"

"Totally valid—Wait what?"

"I beg your pardon?"

You wish you could pull your phone out and snap a phot of their agape mouths, but you decide to take the high road and answer them first.  "Yeah, okay. I can talk to Vi. When does she want to meet?"

It's Jayce who recovers first. "Really?"

"Yes, Jayce."

"You heard me correctly, didn't you?" Viktor says, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes Viktor. Vi wants to speak with me, I'm willingly agreeing to."

He sits up straight. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Well, do you know why she wants to talk to me? That would help me decide whether it's a good idea or not." They both shake their heads.

A thought occurs to you, and you grin. "You two weren't banking on the Hex Coil working before telling me this, were you?" They shake their heads and quickly try to dispel any notion that they would do that, and you laugh. "Alright, alright. Would you have told me this if it didn't work?"

"Probably not."

"Definitely not."

"Fair enough."

Vi wants to talk, huh? The more the thought sits with you, them more curious you get. What did she even want to talk about? Did Jinx ask her to speak with you? Probably not, you muse. Even though Vi was her closest confidant, Jinx's pride would never let her ask her sister for help in this department.

Your face sours momentarily at the thought of Jinx, but you're able to recover quickly enough, turning your attention back to Jayce and Viktor.

"Well, I guess I'm okay with speaking with her. Besides," You shrug, "I kind of owe her for the whole party thing, might as well hear her out." Viktor sits back in his chair, seemingly gauging whether or not you're being genuine. Jayce is tapping his finger on his beer glass, waiting if you're going to say anything else. The former sighs.

"Well, I guess, if you believe that this isn't for any nefarious reasons, you could go see her."

You stifle a laugh. "Why would you think that she'd have nefarious reasons to speak to me." He shrugs and takes a sip of his wine before muttering You never know.

"So it's settled, then." Jayce says. "I'll let her know that you're okay to talk. She left me her card," He slides over Vi's business card to you. "Said you can text her what time you're available, and she'll adjust."

You take the card, flipping it through your fingers. Detective Sergeant it read, and you whistle at the rank. "Someone's moving up in the world."

"Not as much as you'll be moving up once we get the Hex Coil up and running." You grin at Jayce's words. It looks like the success of the Hex Coil not only boosted your mood, but could immediately make you forget about whatever else you were previously talking about.

"To the fucking—ow! Sorry." You rub the spot Viktor slapped on your shoulder, as he nods towards the customers that turned their heads your way. "—to the Hex Coil." You say, voice a few notches quieter, and raise your glass.

"To the Hex Coil." Your mentors say.

---

"I don't know about this."

"Well you won't be able to tell anything with your eyes closed—ow!"

"You're not helping, Mylo!" Your grip on the tree trunk tightens as Vi continues to scold Mylo. You hazard a look at the squabbling teenagers, all standing on a thick tree root, big enough to hold the weight of several adults, safely; across a huge river crossing, too huge for you to jump over!

"I'm just saying, even Powder made it across." Mylo retorts, gesturing to Powder, who was also trying to coax you to jump.

"I don't think I can make it." You say, turning your head to hide in the trunk. As long as you can't see the river, it can't hurt you.

"You'll be fine! I got you!" Violet calls out. You turn your face away from the trunk, and blink.

---

"I got one chicken, one beef gyro with fries to go for number nineteen!"

You look up from your phone as your order is announced. Despite the long queue of people during the lunch rush, you were hardly deterred from ordering your favorite--cholesterol infused, according to Viktor--lunch items. Despite Viktor's warning faintly echoing in your mind, and the fact that this particular food truck is way too far for you to make it back to the office in time, you don't mind making the walk there. After all, Jayce did give you the option to have the afternoon off, since you had a personal errand to run.

"I had drinks with those?" You tell the server as you hand him your number. A scrawny looking kid with a mop of red hair, can't be older than sixteen, shuffles around the bag and inspects the receipt.

"Oh sorry" He says. A tap on his shoulder prompts him to step to the side as a large burly man comes into view through the window, handing you two sodas.

"Orange and root beer?" The man says to you. You grin as you take the sodas and the bag of food.

"You know me too well, Jericho. Thanks!" Jericho winks at you before waving you off, looking over the new orders that had just come in for the truck. Just as you're about to head off to the side, you hear someone call out your name.

You turn and spot the source of the voice, donned in her Enforcer uniform, with her shiny badge on her waist.

You'll never admit this to Vi, of course, but you spent a good chunk of the week running through how you were going to start this conversation. All the introductions you could make without you looking like a complete idiot. You weren't exactly on good terms with her—you were on terrible terms—before your confinement, and even when your circles intermingled again, neither of you made an effort to seek the other out. Between that, what she did for you back at Jinx's party, and now the invitation to talk—you weren't sure how you were gonna go about the entire ordeal. You decided to play it off how you would meet up with Viktor or Jayce. Whatever that meant.

"I got us food." You raised the bag and two sodas, an offering of peace. Vi eyes the bag, then the food truck, then lets out a small smirk.

"Some things haven't changed, I see." She grabs the sodas from you, freeing up one of your hands. You see through the air of nonchalance; she's following your lead.

You shrug. "Jericho's the best."

"Indeed he is."

A beat of silence passes as neither of you know what to say next. Vi shuffles in place, and you rub the back of your neck.

"The park's still there-"

"You know the park-"

You pipe down at the same time, before you chuckle, the tension around the both of you easing up.

"The park then?" She asks.

"Lead the way detective." You nod to the direction of the park. Eventually falling in step with Vi.

It's a short walk, and there weren't a lot of people around since most were scrambling to finish lunch and get back to work. There's a slight charge to the silence that settles over the both of you as you head to a set of monkey bars and some old seesaws.

You look over to Vi, who shrugs and hands you the sodas, before hoisting herself up on the bars. You hand her your lunch and pull yourself up, settling next to her. She hands you your food and soda, and you both eat in relative silence.

"So, want me to just rip off the band aid?" She says after a while.

To be honest, you thought that was how she was going to start the conversation, but you decide to not comment that, and instead nod your head. "Yeah… I mean, I'm really curious as to why you wanted to talk in the first place."

Vi is sat in front of you, but facing away and staring off at something on the ground. Nevertheless, she lets you know that she's listening by nodding her head.

"Have I angered the fuzz?" She snorts at your question, mid-chew. "You thought I wanted to talk to you cause my sister ran her mouth?"

You shrug. "It's either that or what you did for me last month at the party."

---

"You'll be fine!" Vi shouts at you again. The others have started walking ahead, looking for some place more comfortable to rest.

"What if I won't be? What if I don't make it and fall into the river?" The offending river apparently hears you, and you swear the volume of the water rushing through increases.

"I'll catch you, don't worry about it! Just… Take a breath, and run and jump!" She beckons you over with her arms.

The river is scary. Very, very scary. Too wide to jump for you. But Vi sounds like she's sure about being able to catch you, and it's not like you can find your way back on your own if you turn around.

You look over to the older girl, and she smiles at you, nodding her head over.

"Okay!" You manage.

"Alright! Just…whenever you're ready."

"Okay…" You cling to the tree for a few more seconds.

"…Any time now, bud." You make a face, resigning to the fact that you have to actually jump, and not just agree.

You hesitate for a moment, heart thudding in your chest as you slowly inch your foot forward, little by little. Eventually, you're far enough where you have to let go of the tree. Your hand tries to stay connected to it as long as possible, eventually your fingers being too far to be able to touch.

"Good." Vi moves forward from where she is on the root. "Now just, jump when I count to three."

You nod and let out a breath, steadying yourself for the leap.

"One-"

---

"Hey, you still here?" Vi reaches over and snaps her fingers in front of you. You swat her hand away.

"Yeah, sorry, drifted off there a bit." She holds her gaze at you for a bit before nodding. Now wasn’t the best time to push the subject, not when this was your first chance to actually talk.

"So…why did you want to talk?" She leans back a bit, her legs idly swinging from under her. She looks a bit ridiculous doing it in her enforcer uniform, but you bite your tongue. That's something old chums would say. No sense of familiarity, not between the both of you.

"The party, actually."

"Hm." You purse your lips. You're surprised by your own reaction. Initially, you thought that you'd be okay discussing it, that your curiosity—and the high from the Hex Coil—would be enough of a cushion for your mood. But apparently, there's still a smidgen of bitterness at the thought of it.

Vi looks over to you. "You sure you're okay talking about it?"

"Rip the band aid off, right?" You say, taking another bite.

She nods. "Rip off the band aid…" A sigh, as she sets her food down on her lap and dusts off her hands. "I like to think I saw you at the worst part of your life." Oh wow, she was actually ripping off the band aid. "But the party… I've never seen you so angry."

You stop mid-chew, considering the implied question in her words. No one had ever described you as a violent child. And you weren't an angry teenager, either. Even with your troubling history with substance abuse, you were never violent with anyone. Your first outburst had surprised even you. It earned you a beating from the officers back in the day.

"A lot happened in between, Vi." You take a swig of your soda. "I tried figuring that stuff out with a therapist, she said it was a lot of unregulated emotions that kind of overflowed—which I think is utter bullshit." She snorts at your remark. "Cause we supposedly worked through all of those issues. But clearly the party shows otherwise."

"When did it start? Was it someone messing with you in juvie?"

"I got messed with as much as all the other kids did." You shrug. "I can't tell you how it started, really. It just happened one day, then I was angry all the time."

There's a look in Vi's eyes you know too well. Pity. It was a look that Jayce had thrown at you a lot when he first heard your story, not long after the two of you met. It wasn't his fault he had such a terrible poker face, but you still eventually told him off and stated that you didn't need his pity. Mel had thankfully only looked at you with pity a split second before keeping her face neutral. And Viktor had never looked at you that way at all.

"You know," You start. "I used to think I was angry because I thought you narc'd on me." Her eyebrows furrow at you.

"You thought I narc'd on you and Powder?"

"I did until I remembered that she also got arrested." You take another bite of your food, chewing thoughtfully before continuing. "As much as you hated that we were using, you'd never ruin her future for it."

"And she didn't have some hotshot councilor that saw potential in her and plucked her out." She adds dryly.

"It's not my fault Mel saw potential." You add air quotes as you say it. "Anyway, the bottom line is, I don't know why I got angry, I just know it happens if you bring up mum dying or anything related to it."

"Your birthday." Her remark catches the both of you off guard, and you have to take a breath. "Yup, that too."

A few minutes of silence pass, the both of you quietly eating your food. Vi doesn't follow up with any questions about your time in juvie, and you're thankful for it. The last thing you wanted to talk about was getting beat by discipline officers or getting your head dunked into a toilet.

"I'm sorry." She says finally. You turn to her, and you're surprised by the sincerity in her eyes. "That all of that had to happen to you. And that I cut you off all those years." You scoff at the last part.

Your answer is immediate, straightforward, rehearsed. "I think I would've done the same if—"

"You were a kid." She interjects, but it doesn't really change your sentiments.

Enough time should have already passed for you to not be bothered. You know you shouldn't be bothered, but your jaw still tightens. "I was old enough to know right from wrong."

"Still—"

"I made peace with that part, Vi." You say firmly, more to convince yourself than her. There was no need for any of you to dwell in the past. "Besides, it got me here. So I guess—I guess it worked out in the end."

She holds your gaze, looking for any cracks in your resolve. The moment passes when she sighs deeply, still in obvious disagreement with you. But she doesn't push the subject, and another stretch of silence passes between you two.

"Mylo and Ekko are sorry, too." She settles.

"Really?" You ask sarcastically.

"They are." She insists, turning fully towards you. "I know Jayce and Cait told you to steer clear of them, but it was me who asked them to do that. You know, while I tried to get them to see sense."

"Why are they suddenly so sorry?"

"Because they realized they were being outright dicks? Especially since they haven't seen you in years?"

A snort. "Or you twisted their arms."

She shrugs, a smirk playing on her lips. "Maybe, maybe not. But they're sincere, I swear."

You feel yourself relax a bit, the tension in your shoulders dissipating. "I'm sorry for what I did at the party." Vi purses her lips, before nodding. "You shouldn't have beat the crap out of those two, but you shouldn't be apologizing, either."

The two of you finish off your lunches as a comfortable silence settles over the empty playground. Judging by the lack of people running around the sidewalk, you guess that it's probably well past lunch time, and at some point, you should be heading back to work.

Right on cue, your phone buzzes. A message from Jayce.

Do you need the afternoon off? It's fine if you do.

"Do you need to be getting back?"

A shrug. "I probably should."

Vi nods, jumping off from the monkey bars and dusting herself off. You follow suit, and the both of you are left at an awkward point where you have to say goodbye.

"Listen." She starts. Shuffling around on her feet. "Thank you, for agreeing to meet with me. I know this wasn't easy for you."

"You caught me at a good time, actually." She raises an eyebrow at you. "We had a breakthrough at work, so I was in a really good mood when Jayce and Viktor told me about this."

"Oh. Would you not have met with me if you just had a normal day at work?"

"Maybe? I think still would've. This conversation was kind of long overdue, yeah?"

"Yeah. That and…" She trails off a bit, but you wait patiently as she tries to find her words. She stands up straighter, and looks you straight in the eyes.

"I want to fix things."

She waits for a beat for you to react. Not that you could, the words were still processing in your head. "I know it's been years, and I've also been a complete dick to you in the last few months, but I wanna try and make up for it… For all of it."

You blink, then blink again. The shock on your face must be obvious, because Vi is quick to put her hands up in a placating manner. "Only if you want to. I'm not gonna force us all to go back to how we were when we were kids. I don't know if we can go back to how things were. But I'd really like to try, at least, and the guys would too."

Whatever initial expectations you had prior to meeting with Vi, whatever guess you could've made on why she wanted to meet, this definitely wasn't in any of them. After all the silence—and the minor hostility at times—here was an olive branch; a request to start over.

You like to think that any self-respecting person would turn down her offer. Anyone who's been cut-off then treated poorly should know better. People are only ever in your life for as long as they need to be, and clinging onto old memories and feelings is unneeded, cruel to yourself, even.

---

"I'm sorry I couldn't jump, Vi."

"Don't sweat it, kiddo."

You look over to her, checking to see if she's upset. She was looking forward to this trip, after all. "You're not mad at me?"

"F'course not." She nudges you with her shoulder, mouth half-full of food. "Why would I be mad?"

"Cause I wasn't brave enough to do it?" She scoffs, inhaling the rest of her sandwich. "So you weren't ready to jump over a river, you'll be ready one day. Maybe not tomorrow or a week from now, but one day."

You consider her words as you take a tentative bite from your own sandwich; packed by your mom for the trip there. "What if I'm never ready?"

A shrug. "Then we don't go over this river."

"But what if the others want to jump over?"

"They can jump over, me and you can hike around it."

"Even if you want to jump over?"

"I'd rather all of you safe and having fun."

"Even if you can't jump over this river forever?"

"Even if I can't ever jump over this river forever."

You smile sadly at her, shoulders slumping slightly. "Mum's boyfriend says I'm a sissy sometimes."

"Yeah, well. He's a dick. Don't ever think you have to do something you don't want to." She ruffles you hair and sits back on a tree, before squinting at something in the distance. "There they are. Told you they'd come back for us… or at least for the snacks."

You follow her gaze and spot your friends waving over to you, their loud voices already bouncing off the trees. Vi stands up and starts walking towards them, before turning back to you. "I'll always be there for 'ya kiddo. Alright?"

---

"And Jinx?"

A shrug. "Eh, she's a big girl now. You're issues with each other are yours."

You snort. "Does she know you're doing this?"

"Yeah, duh. She'd kill the both of us if I didn't tell her about it first." "And she's fine with this?"

"She said I could do what I want."

you narrow your eyes slightly. "So what, are you gonna have a family dinner and invite me over, or something?"

"Actually," She takes the bag of wrappers and empty sodas, walking over to a trash bin "I don't know if Jayce told you this yet, but we're all going camping next weekend."

You raise an eyebrow at her. "Camping?"

"Yup, the guys wanted to go, so I invited Cait, Cait asked if she could invite Jayce..." Vi continues to ramble on how Jayce said yes and invited Mel, but that Viktor had turned him down.

Stuck in the middle of the wilderness with people you aren't on the best terms with—sans Jayce and Mel—for an extended period of time, sounds like a terrible idea. Anyone in their right mind would immediately say no, also, your ex—did you two break up? Were you officially dating?—was going to be there. A bad idea, very bad idea.

Almost as bad as jumping over a river.

"I'll... I'll think about it."

Vi stops mid-sentence, eyes wide. The hopeful glint in her eye is evident as she lets out a breath. "Really?"

"That doesn't mean I'm leaning towards a yes, Vi."

"No, yeah, totally, it's fine." The hope fades a bit, but you still see it. "Just... Let Jayce know, yeah? And he'll let me know?"

"Sure, Vi."

She wipes her hands on her pants, a pensive smile on her face. "I'll uh, see you around?"

You mirror the smile she gives you. "I'll see you around."

[nathaliawoa]

The Angel and Devil (4)

One-shot collections featuring The Legendary Devil Hunter, Dante, and The Sole Nephilim, Celina. Celina is an original character with her own personality and backstory but feel free to read it as a reader-insert. Angels Do Exist AU: The existence and information of angels are limited. Where they are and why they left humanity to demons are up to speculations and rumors, making many believe that they no longer exist or are merely myths. That is, not until a sole angel, Eserio, descended to Earth many eons later after their supposed disappearance. Celina is Eserio’s daughter, but she never knew her late father was an angel until she crossed paths with Dante.

AO3 version | Masterlist

Chapter 4: A Squeaky Situation (smut)

Dante broke the bed frame from their rough intimate activities. Additional warnings: kissing and vaginal sex (nsfw under the cut—MINORS DNI)

(Celina)

“Mmm-hmm… a-ah… fuck!”

“Hnnngh… huff… you like that, baby?” Dante moaned as he continued to thrust into her with such vigor. His half-lidded eyes trained on her face, watching for every reaction and sweet sounds he could draw from her.

Celina desperately mewled and nodded. The heat below her lower stomach was coiling up at a fast rate, signaling her imminent release. Her arms flung around Dante’s shoulders, prompting him to lean down to capture her lips until the bed suddenly jerked, followed by a loud sound.

Creeeek... crack!

“What was that?!” Celina rasped as she halted Dante’s hips on top of her, glancing in the direction where she heard the sound from.

Dante, who shifted on his weight, wore an expression mixed of surprise and mild alarm when the bed squeaked in response. A lot louder than usual.

“Uh oh,” he murmured, but the way he said it, sounded like this was not an uncommon occurrence. Mischief gleamed in his eyes and a smug look spread across his face. “Looks like this bed couldn’t handle the heat, ​​amirite?”

Celina’s jaw slightly dropped at the implication. Dante broke the fucking bed—or at least the bedframe, she prayed. Though she was surprised how the bed lasted this long after so many nights of sex. Sexes rougher than this. She almost congratulated the bed for its long service. 

A comical laugh bursted from Dante’s throat. “Don’t cha worry… Besides”—he started to thrust into her again with a devilish grin—“a little squeaking ain’t gonna stop us.”

Celina could not believe that Dante was hellbent on pushing the bed to its limit, amping up his efforts as each vigorous thrust made the bed protest louder and louder. The smugness on his face showed that he was enjoying this way too much, like the intense squeaking was music to his ears. But she would rather not have the bed fall and break the floor, not while they were fucking.

“D-Dante!... You’re gonna break the bed…” she whined between breaths, finding the squeaks unbearable to enjoy, but her whining was cut short when Dante captured her lips. 

One hand snaked down from her hips, Dante started rubbing on her clit in tight little circles with his thumb. She moaned and Dante devoured her sinful sounds. He even groaned in the kiss when both of her hands flung to his scalp, tugging his hair as if she was hanging onto dear life.

The sound of skin on skin and their muffled moans competed with the loud squeaks from the bed. In Celina’s mind, the bed‘s squeaks no longer existed, not when Dante was driving her insane, overwhelming all of her senses with pleasure. Damn, he knew what he was doing.

However, it was too much for Celina, not in a bad way, but it was increasingly difficult to focus on his lips when her peak was right around the corner in tight, hot coils ready to burst. That, and she needed some air.

Clenching around him, she broke out of the kiss to let out one last prolonging moan as she rode out her wave. All of the built-up tensions washed away, leaving her body trembling from the orgasm. Celina loosened her hold from Dante as she hazily watched the man above continue to pound into her. His brows furrowed, determined to meet the same fate.

Gripping both of her hips, Dante buried his face in the crook of her neck, nipping at her already bruised skin from countless hickeys. After a few more thrust, his hips stuttered as he let out a loud groan, signaling his own release. 

Slowly, his hips rolled to a stop before collapsing most of his weights on top of her. They basked in the afterglow, embracing each other as their breathing leveled out from the intensity. The bed was no longer squeaking but Celina cut through the silence with a wheezy laugh.

“I thought the bed was going to break right there.” She ran a hand through her damped scalp, her lips twitching from the thought.

Dante lifted his head and met her eyes as he let out a chortle “Haha… that would have been the story of the night.” He kissed her forehead before rolling off to the side and drawing her close to his warm body. Each movement earned a squeak from below.

Celina mentally groaned at the bed’s persistence as she slowly untangled herself from Dante’s needy grasp to sit up. More squeaks.

“To the bathroom already?” He playfully pouted, clearly not bothered by the noise.

“Yes and to get away from this noisy bed.” She threw an accusing glance at him before standing up and adding, “You should do the same.”

Dante snickered in response. She felt his smug gaze piercing at her back when she waddled out of the room, knowing the satisfaction he got from filling her up. “Alright, I’ll be right there in a sec,” he called out in a teasing voice.

They both freshened up in the bathroom shortly after. Mainly to wipe the sweats from their bodies with some wet towels and for Celina to clean herself down there.

Neither of them bothered to put some clothes on, but Celina was adamant on inspecting the damage right away. Moving the mattress to the side, she commanded Dante to lift the spring box so she could crawl underneath. He did without complaints.

Celina checked at each corner of the frame until she found the culprit in the top-right corner. She lifted the other end of the spring box to get a better look with one arm—which wasn't difficult due to her super strength—and found that the metal pipe at the corner was completely snapped off clean. Pushing down on the broken pipe with the other arm, it squeaked.

There’s no way to fix that.

At least, not in a way Celina would know. Sure, she could try mending it with her angelic spell, despite not being fully versed in those spells yet. Even if she managed to pull it off, she feared it wouldn't withstand his powerful moves either.

“Yup, the bed frame is busted,” she mumbled under breath with a heavy sigh, setting down the spring box on her side. She wasn’t looking forward to going through the hassle of shopping for one, spending the money, and assembling it while disposing of the old one. A great way to spend the rest of their weekend. 

Only if Dante didn’t break the damn bed frame.

Still holding the other end of the spring box, the half-devil chuckled sheepishly when Celina shot him a glare. “Well, it seems I got too carried away, didn’t I?” he admitted, his voice tinged with a hint of embarrassment. 

Celina groaned out loud. While she does enjoy a dash of roughness in their intimacy, she doesn’t enjoy the cost of their bed.

“You know,” Dante started coolly, “we could skip the bed frame.”

Although his logic was sound, Celina did not find the appeal of sleeping on the floor. It reminded her too much of her young times when she was poor; a time she did not want to dwell in anymore. Plus, there were storage containers under the bed that she had no ideas of where else to store them.

“So you can break the floor next?” she sarcastically remarked.

That made Dante laugh. “Wouldn’t be the first.”

Celina playfully scoffed as she crawled from underneath, allowing Dante to set the spring box down. “You are unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming, I assume?” Dante quipped back with a cocky grin.

Celina’s lips twitched. Although she wanted to wipe the smirk from his face, she could always rely on Dante with his witty comebacks. She had to give him that.

As they prepared to sleep for the night, Celina noticed how still loud and persistent the squeaking was when she sat down on bed. Even something as simple as breathing seemed to upset the bed. There was no way she could survive tonight. 

“That’s it. I’m sleeping in the other room,” she declared as she stood back up. Thankfully, they had a spare room with a queen size bed for guests that rarely came. It was probably collecting dust by now, though she preferred that over the noise.

“Oh, c’mon, it’s not that bad.” Dante sat down on his side, earning a hard look from Celina when the bed protested once more. “Okay… maybe it’s that bad,” he reluctantly admitted with a sigh.

“You’re welcome to stay there, but I’m abandoning ship,” she said before walking out of the door. 

She heard Dante’s footsteps follow after her as he called out, “You ain’t gettin’ rid of me that easily.”

So, they slept on the spare bed together for the night.

~~~

The following day, Celina dragged Dante to the furniture store for a new bed frame. Celina had to take initiative else Dante wasn’t going to do it. Afterall, Dante proposed the brilliant idea of swapping the two bed frames, but Celina did not want to subject her future guests to torture. Instead, they both agreed that Dante was going to pay for the new frame.

“Are there anything specific you are looking for?” the salesman asked at their first store.

“We want a frame that is durable and sturdy. Something that can survive an earthquake,” Celina responded with a light-hearted chuckle, using humor to conceal the true reason for their request. She can see Dante’s grin widened in her peripheral view as he stood by her.

The salesman crackled. “Haha, oddly specific considering that we don’t have earthquakes around here.”

“Let’s just say that we need a bed that can match her energy.” Dante winked at the salesman. To add insult to injury, he wrapped an arm around her waist, pulling her closer while caressing her side.

I am going to kill him.

As Celina was too busy fuming on the inside, the salesman hummed with humor and gestured to the next section “I see. Well, we have some beds to fit your needs.”

Behind the salesman, Celina jabbed at Dante’s side with her elbow. “Shut up!” she whispered in his ears, her flustered state hiding behind a scowl.

“Ouch!” Dante feigned a pained expression, rubbing his side in a theatrical fashion. “Hey, no need for violence. I’m only stating facts.”

Celina silently groaned as she walked after the salesman. “Why did I let you come along?” she mumbled under her breath.

Dante matched her pace while chuckling to himself. “Why wouldn’t I come? I get to spend quality time with my girl and her earthquake energy.”

“Keep this up and I’ll show you my earthquake energy,” she threatened him. However, that only made his smirk wider which, in turn, sent heat straight to her lower abdomen. She had to bite her lips from breaking into a smile.

Damn him.

~~~

“Are you sure you’re going to put the bed together?” Celina asked Dante for the second time since yesterday, after purchasing the new bed frames. They could have assembled it, if they didn’t spend the remaining day with other errands. The sun already set by the time they arrived home, and Celina was too tired to tackle the assembly. Luckily for her, Dante offered to do it himself, while she was at work today, which she was grateful yet weary of. 

Dante waved off her question with a nonchalant smile. “Relax, I got this under control,” he assured her, eyeing said woman, who was reaching for her bag and keys.

“Have you ever put a bed together?” Celina asked, raising a skeptical eyebrow. She knew that Dante was more of a destroyer, not a builder. After all, he was the one who broke their bed frame in the first place.

Dante’s grin widened in amusement. “Of course, I have! I may be a devil hunter, but I know a thing or two in carpentry,” he boasted out loud.

Celina snickered before correcting him with a tease, “I’m pretty sure assembling a pre-made furniture is not the same as carpentry.”

“Potato potato.” Dante waved it off.

 “Okay, if you say so, Mr. Devil-May-Build.” Celina mused as she headed out of the shop, just before hearing Dante laugh at her witty remark.

“Have fun at work, babe!” her boyfriend exclaimed from behind.

When Celina arrived from work in the afternoon, she expected one of three things to happen: Dante managed to put together the bed without a problem; Dante tried but gave up or somehow broke it; or a gig came up that he had to attend to.

The unlocked front doors were a sign that Dante was home, and she found him sleeping by his desk with his legs propped up and a magazine over his face.

Dante removed the magazine, flashing her a lazy smile. “Look who it is, my favorite angel. How was work?” he asked.

“Good.“ Celina paused before asking, “How’s the bed?”

“All taken care of,” Dante said as he slipped his feet down and stretched out his shoulders.

That made Celina’s face light up at the news. “Really?” she eagerly asked, smiling at him.

“Yeah, it was easy.” Dante coolly shrugged before asking with a cocky grin, “Wanna see it?” He nodded toward upstairs.

“Hell yeah!” 

With that, the two of them headed upstairs to their shared bedroom. Upon first glance, Celina was amazed to see their new bed. The design she picked definitely matched the rest of the room—if not better than she imagined. 

“Woooow,” she marveled, walking to the foot of the bed. It was much higher than before, now reaching her waist instead of her thighs. Sitting on the edge of the bed, she gave a little bounce. Not a single sound was made.

”Impressed, aren’t ya?” Dante teased as he watched her from the doorway. The sly smirk on his face told Celina that Dante was proud of himself.

Celina nodded before a thought crossed her mind. “Where’s the old frame?” she asked. 

“Basement,” he replied simply, gesturing toward the direction.

Good. At least Dante remembered to do so without her having to remind him. She still needed to schedule a pickup from the city’s waste management, but seeing Dante tackle domesticated work sparked something in Celina.

“So the devil can build then,” she said with a gleam in her eyes.

Said devil chuckled at her playful remark. “That he can.” 

Celina nibbled at her lower lip. “Dante,” she purred, leaning back on her hands while spreading her legs apart. “This bed is higher than before.” 

Dante’s gaze darkened with desire, eyes roaming over her seductive display. A smoldering look spread across his face as he sauntered over between her legs.

Leaning forward, he wrapped his arms around her waist. “That it is,” he responded, his voice dropping to a low pitch, making Celina’s inner thighs tingle in anticipation. “You know what I’m thinking, babe?”

Celina’s dirty smirk matched his as she wrapped her legs around his waist, pulling him close. “Yeah,” she whispered but held a finger to his lips when he tried leaning down for a kiss. “But first, let me bless the bed.” She almost snickered when she saw the pout on his lips. 

How cute.

Without fortifying the new bed with her angelic power, Celina feared that their bed would end up in the same fate as its predecessor. She never fortified the old one cause she thought it wasn’t necessary, though Dante was full of surprises.

“Way to kill the mood, babe.” He whined yet it was clear that he was half joking. After reluctantly pulling away, his signature smirk returned.

“Alright, you do that and, after that, we can break into the bed.” He winked at her before heading out through the door.

“Yes sir.”

[split-spectrum]

Water and Rock

Chapter 12

Pairings: Obi Wan/FemReader

Warnings/Tags: (please read updated tags for this chapter <3) explicit content, i.e. SMUT, 18+ only - minors DNI. sex, oral sex, cum play, dubious consent, drug use, hair pulling, very slight violence

Chapter Length: 8K

Description: There are only so many excuses a master and padawan can make to kiss under "extenuating circumstances" before circumstances stop arising and start being created. You are an expert at your craft - a Jedi knight in service as a spy for the Republic. When your former master Obi Wan joins you on a mission, it's clear things aren't the same as they once were. The trials you face together may break your bond, or turn it into something else entirely.

☆☆☆

Thirty-Second Hour

When you sink back into the vision, you let out a slow, albeit shaky breath, to steady yourself. The instant that you can see again, it's clear the effort was wasted. 

He's brought you right back to the spot you'd left - the sudden, choked noise in the back of his throat letting you know he's close- so close. Everything in his body language is telling you he's seconds from spilling into you. 

But no matter how much the drugs may have altered his mind, Obi Wan is still Obi Wan, and he is nothing if not brutally controlled. 

He's dragging it out, you realize. The obscene sound of him fucking you has slowed into a steadier rhythm and you hear the first half of a desperate moan escape you before it's cut off. You watch your own hand fly up to cover your mouth. Your jaw looks tight from this angle. 

Obi Wan doesn't slow down, doesn't miss a beat of rocking his hips, releasing his hand from your throat and deftly sweeping up to uncover your mouth. He pulls your hand away, dragging it down and pressing his grip over yours until you're holding your own throat. 

"No, no," he admonishes next to your ear. "If it feels good, young one, you mustn't be quiet about it."

You hear the whining groan that answers him. You nearly mirror it, in the here-and-now. 

It's beyond you, how he's able to keep his voice so composed while the rest of him is nearly snapping, at the obvious precipice of his orgasm. Every muscle is taut, glistening with sweat as he pumps diligently into your body. Your thighs clench around him, a sign that you're close, too, and he notices. 

The hand he'd been using to hold your hip slides between your legs and though you can't see it, you feel the movement in his thoughts when two of his fingers drag the wetness from where you're dripping around his cock, spreading it over your clit. Your desperate noises turn strangled. 

"There we are," he soothes. "Be a good girl and show your master. Let me feel-"

The vision blurs, the Obi Wan in the room with you breathing unsteadily. You feel him shake his head, dropping the tips of his fingers away from you. "Forgive me, I-"

But you're aching now, and you don't hold back your impulse, lifting your hand to his head, brushing your middle finger gently up from the hair at his ear over to his temple, and resting it there. "Oh, don't stop. Please."

His aura is so thick with desire that when you open your eyes to look into his, you're not sure if the air around you has turned hazy. He relents almost immediately. 

"Let me feel you come," the Obi Wan in the vision purrs, the sound of his voice filling your mind again. The honeyed rumble of his command burns through your bloodstream and coils up hot in your stomach. You're about to come in the vision. You might come now, just from watching. 

Your body shudders on top of him, doing as he's told you, tumbling over the edge hard and fast, and crumbling against him with a mess of moaning and finally a high, keening sound that could be his name. He turns it into a choked whine, tightening his grip around your larynx and fucking into you even harder when your climax starts to taper off. 

Your voice goes quiet, and when your movements begin to slow, he pulls his hand from between your legs and folds you onto your side. His other hand finally releases your throat as you roll, and his leg hooks behind your knee, opening you up for him to reach even deeper. 

"That's it," he pants roughly, your body spasming beneath him and your voice pitching upward again. His mouth is pressed into the nape of your neck, where the marks from his teeth are starting to turn dark. 

One of his thumbs hooks down to brush your nipple, his lips meet your neck in a kiss that you remember feeling, and all at once, you recognize what you're seeing. This is the scene he'd shown you, back on the ship, during your meditation. 

But he hadn't shown you all of it. 

You can see the dazed, glassy look in your own eyes as he bears down on you, his thrusts turning ragged, grinding you into the floor. 

"Obi Wan," your plea comes out guttural, wrecked, and the sound of it it makes your head swim. You realize it's his reaction you're feeling, and suddenly it's like you're floating out of your own body. It's overwhelming and at the same time, not enough. It's you; it's him. You can't tell whose feelings you're having anymore, or whether they're a part of the vision, or something happening right now, in the room you're sharing. You don't know where the line is. You don't know if there is a line. 

"Fuck-" he says, hard and clipped. He leans into his forearm, pinning you down, and you bite the inside of your lip to keep from becoming a whimpering mess while watching the man you'd always known as tender, who'd never accepted anything not freely offered, bury himself into you. Watching him take and take and take exactly what he wants, losing himself in cruelty; in pleasure... 

This time, when Obi Wan brings the vision to an end, it's a slow stop. Like breaking the surface of the water and coming up for air. It's not as definitive and sudden as before. You can still feel it while you're gazing into his eyes. His lips are bright, pink, and slightly parted. He closes them into a hard line, to swallow.

You're so wrapped in the vision and in wanting to feel more of him that your consciousness keeps pressing up against his, at first. To the point where Obi Wan not only cuts off the contact between you, but actually begins to push back. The walls of his mind are rigid once again, and his presence is firmly closed off. 

It takes an eternity for you to gather yourself. You're too afraid to speak. Your hand is still at his temple, resting against the warmth of his face, and you stay there. You're not ready to break your connection with his skin.

"Obi Wan..." His name leaves your mouth before you're ready to talk, and the rest of your mind catches up clumsily as you realize your tone is too breathy and far too intimate. His eyelids dip deliciously, and it nearly sends you over the edge. But you swallow, vehemently tamping down your desires, and force yourself to even out your voice. 

"Thank you," you tell him simply. "For showing me. Now I know."

You shift in the bedding, bringing your noses just a bit closer. 

"Now you know," he says back. There's a long, loaded silence hanging over you. He's trying to remain unreadable, as he always does, but you'd caught that first look he'd given when the vision ended, and it was enough to tell you why he's still lying next to you instead of moving away. 

The wind howls outside, and it's the first time in hours that you've thought about the rest of the world existing.

"Was it... as you thought it would be?" 

His question catches you completely by surprise, and you have no idea how to answer. 

The silence that envelops you is perilous. The kind of silence that threatens to make you into a fool. The kind of fool that would lean in and close your lips over his. And you can't allow that to happen.

Because even as you're coming down from the high of watching him take you in ways you'd never even let yourself imagine, you know - you know that if you were to press your lips against his, he would stop you. He would do it gently, but the disappointment and shame would tear you apart. 

So, you allow yourself to bask in the feeling of this moment for just a little longer before you pull away. You feel numb when you speak, forcing yourself to operate on auto pilot. 

"I don't think there's a good answer to that question," you murmur, almost lowering your voice to a whisper.

His eyes betray nothing, but he smiles softly, and you see the tightness in it. 

"Right," he says. "Of course not."

A thousand words go unsaid. You want to tell him that it was nothing like you'd imagined because you can't allow yourself those kinds of thoughts for even a moment - even a second - or they'd seep into you so deeply you'd never be able to think of anything else. 

"I'm... going to get some sleep," you tell him instead, flatly, breaking your gaze apart from his at last. 

You roll over, putting some distance between your bodies. You close your eyes. But you can't find sleep.

Thirty-Sixth Hour

 

"Fuck-" he says, hard and clipped. He leans into his forearm, pinning you down...

You've seen this before. 

Obi Wan cums, and it fills you, and he fucks you through it. He keeps fucking you until the air has left your lungs, and until the room is silent, and until his muscles drop him to the floor, cock still wrapped inside you. He looks down, watching himself drip down the backs of your thighs. He moves slightly, watching himself ease out of you and then disappear inside you again. He's dripping. And still hard. 

"You-" your voice beside him sounds far away, delirious, blissed-out. Like any words are an afterthought. You can hear yourself panting, and after a long time, you try speaking again. "You... finished inside me."

Obi Wan's gaze flicks up to your face, looking at your closed eyes, your face pressed sideways against the floor. He's still moving in long, unhurried strokes, and after a while, he brings his eyes back to where he's slow-fucking you. 

Your body is still so pliant, so willing, beneath him. The noises you make are warm and soft, inviting him to stay exactly where he is. "I wasn't aware," he drawls, "we were in the midst of making careful decisions."

The filthy sound of him entering you again and again ends when he bends down and presses his hands around your waist, pulling himself out of you with a soft groan. 

"Turn over," he tells you, settling back, pants still around his legs. 

You sit up slowly and your hand wraps around his cock, keeping your connection as you start to turn around. He stands up, looking down at you, and you come up to your knees, bobbing your head forward to spread your lips eagerly around him. The warmth makes him stop still, easing the lower half of his body into your welcome embrace. 

His knees unstiffen for a brief moment while you swallow his cum, cleaning him dutifully with eyes locked on his. It only lasts a moment before he's snaking a hand behind your head. It's not clear at first whether he's pulling you closer or stopping you, but when his fingers tighten in your hair, the message is clear. 

He jerks your head up, your mouth still full of him.

"Did I say, 'get on your knees'?" His hand follows your head as you shake it gently back and forth, gagging on him. "No, I didn't. I told you to turn over."

He releases your hair and drags his hand down to your chin, pressing into your jawbone. "You don't listen." 

He pulls you off, your face pinched between his thumb and his knuckle, shoving you backward and sinking down between your legs all in one fluid motion. He crowds you, aligning his hips with yours, your body half-pressed against the floor and the wall of the ship. You dimly wonder how he could still be hard, but decide to simply attribute it to the drugs, not particularly caring about the cause so much as the effect.

Slowly pressing inside you again, he rubs his thumb tenderly over the spot he'd squeezed on your jaw. "What was all that training for, hm?" 

He pulls back, dropping his other hand to the juncture of your hip, and shoves his cock into you so hard it draws out a yelp, even as his hand gently cups your face. "So disobedient."

Obi Wan ends the vision like slamming a book shut. This time, when your eyes open to meet his, they're stormy, dilated. Dark.

You aren't prepared to mask your feelings when you're suddenly awakened and blinking back into consciousness. You just gaze back at him, not hiding your hunger. Not keeping your energy hidden, but letting it bleed out so that he can feel what he's done to you. The fire is all but gone, dying embers lighting the corners of the room. The air is sharp and icy.

"I'm sorry. That was not-" He breaks off, shaking his head. "I'm sorry."

"Don't-" you tell him, moving closer to his warmth. You try to calm your breathing, and into the cold silence you whisper, nerves raw, "Fuck." The obscenity escapes you before you can think to catch it.

He stares. Then he seems to gather himself and clears his throat. "In my sleep I... failed to guard my thoughts." You're silent, still reeling, and he lowers his voice. "Now you remember as much as I do. Or... nearly."

You're taking careful breaths, drinking in the way his mouth curves when he speaks. "Nearly?"

The muscles in his jaw tighten. "I would... prefer it if only I remember the rest."

Despite his somber tone, you can't help your body's reaction. You want to pull him to you. You want to beg him to take you further into this darkness. You're flushed with heat when you think about the things he did. Imagining him taking it further is driving you to the point of madness.

"I understand," you tell him instead, finding your voice weak. 

"I regret it," he says, more of a statement of fact than an apology. "Hurting you."

"And," you surprise yourself, speaking without thinking, "the rest?"

He doesn't say anything for several long heartbeats. 

"I wish none of it had happened," he says at last, with stark directness. Then his gaze softens. "But, if I could have chosen, it would not have been... like that."

Your heart thuds wildly. Your voice is barely audible. "No?"

His eyelashes dip once, then twice, as he seems to hold back his answer. He looks stunningly beautiful, pinning you under a deadly serious expression. "No."

It's a long time before you can bring yourself to say anything back.

"I should go." 

The spell over him suddenly seems to break, and he tilts a brow, watching you reach for the robe lying on the floor behind you. "Go? Where?"

It's late. Or it's early. But you've rested enough to call this morning, and though there's only darkness outside, you push your blankets to your waist and sit up. If you stay here even a few more seconds, you will try to have him. Looking at him like this - hair a mess, eyes wild - you stand absolutely no chance.

You wrap the robe around yourself, stepping carefully out of the makeshift bed you'd been half-sharing, and you back away slowly. "I think I should meditate," you tell him. "I think I should be... alone."

You can tell he's trying to read your expression in the dim light of the fire, and you turn away, after giving him a curt bow of your head to take your leave. It's so overly formal that your stomach turns in embarrassment. You don't know how else to behave. 

It's cold and dark inside your sleeping quarters, and as you turn the knob to close the door, you heave a sigh of relief. You won't be able to stay in here for long without any heat, but cold and dark is exactly what you need. You sit on your freezing sheets, pulling your legs up and crossing them with a shiver. 

But you know now that it doesn't matter how cold it is. He's burning through you, and it won't stop.

 

Thirty-Seventh Hour

 

When you emerge from your room, you find that Obi Wan hasn't gone back to sleep, either. He's lit another candle in the kitchen, and his hands are busy in the sink, washing one of the cups you'd used earlier. When he sees you walking up beside him, he finishes rinsing and sets it to the side. Then he turns to you, wiping his hands on a towel. His face holds some concern, but it's reserved.

"You don't need to do that," you tell him, nodding to the cup. 

"I thought it best to take advantage of the running water while we still can."

Sensible as always. 

He holds the towel, just looking at you, not making any move to come closer. He looks unbelievably handsome like this - wearing his bed clothes, a simple brown undershirt and pants, with his sleeves rolled up to keep from getting wet. 

"Are you alright?" He floats the question quietly to you. 

You nod, crossing the short distance between you and sitting down at the table to look up at him. "I'm sorry for leaving."  

"I understand. You needed time."

You nod again, not elaborating on his comment. "Can I ask you something?" you venture.

"Of course."

"Back on the ship, when we were... meditating," you begin haltingly. "You showed me such a... small part. Why didn't you tell me you remembered so much more?"

His features are contemplative for just a moment before the corner of his mouth turns up. "You didn't ask."

Your throat feels sticky as you try to push out your next words. "I wanted to tell you... Not that it matters now, but..." you sigh, then try again. "I'm on a contraceptive. I don't know if you worried about-"

"Yes, I know."

That catches you by surprise, and you stare at him for an explanation.

"You told me, later," he elaborates quietly. In your long silence, he adds, more seriously, "I would have spoken to you about it. All of it. I wanted to, for some time."

The pain his words cause you is unintentional, but you nearly wince anyway. While you'd been ignoring him, focused on dealing with your own feelings, you hadn't shown any concern for his. He'd wanted to be open and honest about everything. But you'd kept him alone, instead.

You open your mouth to say something - to apologize, or try to make it right. But he goes on, closing the subject. "But perhaps it was for the best. After all, what could it have changed?" He places the towel on the counter, looking down, then smiles back up at you. "Sometimes talking only complicates a simple matter."

You have no response. Just an aching feeling. Your chance to make this right is long gone, and anything you say would seem empty. Finally, dumbly, you glance over at the wood stove in the other room. "I should make us something to eat."

His smile softens, tapering off. A thousand thoughts seem to be playing behind his eyes, but he only answers what you've said. "Breakfast would be very nice. Thank you."

You stand up and busy yourself with the kettle, picking up the towel from the counter to dry it, and he begins washing another dish. You don't stop him this time.

--

"Would you mind if I borrow these?" He holds up a small pair of scissors, their golden shine twinkling in the dim light, pulling your attention from the simmering water you'd been checking.

You glance up from the fire, replacing the lid on the kettle. Then you look down at the table where he'd presumably found the scissors, sitting next to a plant. "Hm? Oh. Sure. What for?"

He brushes a hand over the edge of his beard. "I've been in need of a trim."

You turn to face him, quirking an eyebrow. "I use those to cut my plants. They might be dirty."

He gives you a smile. "Oh believe me, I've made due with worse." He turns toward the refresher. "Thank you. I'll give them a rinse."

You stand up from where you'd been crouching next to the fire, deciding to leave the water a little longer to come to a full boil, and go back to preparing the jogan fruit. 

As you finish cutting up the last of the fruit, you reach for a plate, and when your fingertips graze its edge, a cool, creeping sensation suddenly trickles down your spine. You stop, staring at the ceramic pattern in front of you. Stretching your mind into the Force, you try to capture the fleeting feeling, but it leaves as quickly as it came.

You stand there another moment, almost wondering whether you should ask Obi Wan if he'd felt it, too. But really, you aren't even sure it was anything in the Force you'd felt. You glance around one more time, and sensing nothing more, you place the fruit down on the plate and head back into the main room. 

Picking up the packet of polystarch portion bread and shaking it in one hand, you use your other hand to lift the lid on the kettle and check for a proper boil. Seeing the bubbles break on the surface, you reach down, using a cloth to move the kettle from the stove. 

...Bright red feathers. Scrabbling claws digging into the crevices of a rocky cliff face at a dizzying speed. A leap, and a blinding light...

Your hand slips, the kettle jolts forward-

...the teal of protective outer scales turn into the tan of a soft underbelly. The tan and brown of a Jedi's clothing isn't far behind. Hands grasp to reach leather reigns, a futile gesture as the creature and the Jedi are now falling, falling... His blue saber's light is extinguished and you can feel his pain and confusion as the explosion of rubble surrounds him, following him down into the endless abyss...

You bark out in pain and jerk your hand away, the boiling water splashing over your skin as the kettle crashes to the ground. Sucking air through your teeth, you instinctively grasp around your wrist and look down at your burned hand. 

Before you can get a good look at it, you hear the door of the refresher swing open and Obi Wan call your name with concern. 

You turn to face him, wincing. "Sorry, it was nothing, I-"

When you catch sight of him, you stop talking. The connection between your mind and your mouth has fizzled out. He crosses the room, trading looks between you and the overturned kettle, clearly trying to decipher what had happened, while you stand speechless, pain in your hand momentarily forgotten. He's bare-chested, presumably to keep his shirt clean while trimming his beard, and he's nothing but angled brows and perfect lines of hard muscle as he approaches you cautiously. 

You take a breath, embarrassed, and try again. "It's nothing, I just got distracted and I dropped the kettle."

His eyes slide to your hand, where you're still holding your own wrist. "Are you alright?"

You pull your hand up, inspecting it properly for the first time. It's a little red, just on the back of your thumb down to the start of your wrist, where the water had splashed. 

You shake your head dismissively. "I'm fine. I'll run it under cold water."

He gently reaches a hand out. "May I see it?"

Your heart is still racing from your... dream? Vision? Whatever it had been. But it doesn't slow down at all when he takes your hand in his, holding you still. He looks back up at you. "You should put something on this."

You make no effort to pull your hand back. "It's just a little burn."

"Burns can be deceiving," he tells you, then turns around, heading back to the refresher. A moment later, he emerges with some bacta gel and a gauze wrap. He's also carrying his shirt, but he doesn't put it on quite yet. 

His hand finds the small of your back and gently guides you into the kitchen, toward the sink. "Don't be difficult."

You try to ignore the way your mind turns immediately back to the same commanding tone he'd used in the earlier vision.

He turns the faucet on for you to run your hand under cold water while he twists off the cap. The cool relief does wonders for your hand, but it does nothing for the heat in your face as he stands in front of you like this, on display. 

His body has always been lithe, almost wiry, but it seems the war has made him a little bulkier. His shoulders are rounded, his ribs lined with lean muscle. You're doing your best to keep your eyes trained on the water pouring out of the sink, but when he turns around briefly to find a place on the counter to set down the cap, you drink him in from behind, trailing your gaze from the lines of his trim waist up to his shoulder blade, where the stark contrast of dark ink paints his skin. 

The symbol there has lived at the edge of your consciousness ever since you first saw it, back on Keoth. Watching his muscles move underneath the tattoo is making you weak in the knees, and your chest rises with a weighty breath when he turns back to face you. 

"Come now, it can't be that bad," he says with a half-smile. The way his eyes glitter in the candlelight sends a shiver through you, and you shake your head again, trying to remain in control of your thoughts, despite the way they're continually running away from you. 

"It isn't. Not that bad," you murmur. He puts his hand out for yours again, and you turn off the water and offer yourself over to him. He holds you carefully, tenderly turning your arm to the side and patting it dry with a dish towel. 

He pauses, holding your hand in his, drawing his eyes up to meet yours. For a moment neither of you speaks, and you both seem acutely aware of how close you're standing, how little clothing separates you, and how tenderly he's touching you. 

He lowers his gaze. "This will sting."

Normally, you'd make a sarcastic comment at that. You're both intimately familiar with using bacta to treat wounds. But he's filling the silence, and you know it, and since neither of you is going to comment on why this silence is so pervasive, you bite your tongue.

He swipes the gel onto his fingers, then gently dabs it across your skin. You try to concentrate on anything besides the feeling of his touch. Your eyes drift to his shoulder again, though you can't see the tattoo from this angle. He catches the glance and you lower your eyes quickly. 

He doesn't say anything for a moment, and you wonder if you've offended him by staring. But when he pulls back his hand to get more bacta gel, you find him looking more pensive than anything. He's using one hand to slick a finger over the top of the gel tube, and he's still holding your wrist with the other. "I've never told you what it means - that symbol of mine. Would you like to know?"

You flick your eyes up from his hand. You nod, half-opening your mouth to say "yes," but never quite getting the word out.

"It's an ancient dialect of Mando'a," he tells you, "When I was very young, Qui Gon and I spent some time on Mandalore. We were still finding our balance as master and padawan, and having some... difficulties."

He slides the cool gel across your skin again in a second layer, two fingers gliding flat over your wrist. "While we were staying with a small band of Mandalorians, I had decided to partake in their clan's tradition and get a tattoo. The design I'd chosen was the symbol of the Republic, as I felt there was nothing by which I could better define myself."

His finger traces along your thumb. "But when I told my master, he was not as enthusiastic as I had expected." He looks down, carefully using his own thumb to swipe away the excess gel from around your burn. "He told me to think carefully about the way I chose to define myself, and the ideals to which I committed. Of course, lacking any understanding of nuance at the time, I believed that he was disapproving what I'd chosen, and it led to a heated discussion."

He looks wistful for a moment, then melts into a smile with a shake of his head, and starts to unwind the gauze. "I said that I would never regret branding myself with the symbol of that which I held most dear. "

He finishes wrapping your wrist and uses the scissors to cut the gauze, tucking away the end, then draws his gaze up to meet yours. "And he, in turn, told me that the Force created living beings for a reason. That reason is simply to live. To experience all that the universe has to offer. Some experiences are worth a stain. Worth a scar." Obi Wan gently removes his hand from yours. "'We all carry scars in the end, but it's up to us to decide which ones are worth having.'"

You shift your arm back down to your side. "But, you got the tattoo anyway?"

He gives another smile. "Oh, yes. The next day, I returned to him with something I was very proud of. I'd gotten tattooed with their symbol for 'regret'."

You look at him in utter confusion and he goes on to explain. "You see, I thought I'd taken my master's words to heart. After our disagreement, I wanted to show him I understood. I now had a permanent reminder that any decisions I made about how to define myself would stay with me forever."

You raise your brows. "...and Qui Gon? What did he say to that?"

Obi Wan picks up his shirt from the countertop, then starts to pull it over his arms. Your eyes dart to his exposed stomach, then quickly dart away. "I believe it was the most disappointment he'd ever shown in me." He finishes pulling it over his head and down his stomach. "Which annoyed me to no end, of course. And we never spoke of it again."

You watch the candlelight play across his features, his thoughts seeming far away. Brushing your hand over your bandaged wrist, you lean your hip into the countertop and look down at the floor. 

His voice is very soft when he speaks again. "It wasn't until much later that I realized how I'd missed his point entirely." 

You look back up at him. "It's still a beautiful symbol."

He meets your eyes. "Yes, it is. And the lesson becomes clearer each day."

He holds your gaze a little longer, then picks up the bacta and the scissors, and leaves to put them away. You stare at the overturned kettle on the ground, and your thoughts linger on his words while you pick it up, and refill it, and while you finish preparing the food. You want to ask him what he'd meant, but you know. 

The way he'd looked at you - you know. 

Through breakfast, you talk about the war.

 

Thirty-Eighth Hour

You exhale, the Force rolling through you, and release your tension from your shoulders down to your fingertips. Your eyes are closed, the hum of your saber the only noise in the room. 

After breakfast you'd tried reading again in an attempt to distract yourself from the unbearable tension plucking at your mind, but had found yourself unable to sit still. After having pushed most of the furniture in the main room up against the walls, you're now standing in your makeshift dojo, practicing lightsaber techniques. 

You run repeatedly through your opening stance, then begin to move through more advanced forms, muscles glad for their use. As you bring your saber upright, you shift your body around it slowly and deliberately. It's a type of meditation you've practiced so much that it's second nature.

Sliding one foot backward, you glide into the next pose and you hear the door to the next room open, Obi Wan leaving the refresher, presumably finished with the trim that he'd started earlier. You can feel him watching you, saying nothing until he crosses the room.

"If that's meant to be 'circle of shelters', your left arm is a bit low."

Your eyelids open smoothly. "It's 'singing fortress'."

"Ah, well in that case, you would want to tighten your stance. Your knees should be aligned with your shoulders."

You drop your blade slightly, reforming your body around it and easing back into the same position, with an emphatically tighter stance. 

"Better. Now, your chin-" You look at him, and the rest of his sentence hangs in the air, then dissipates as he gives a slightly rueful smile. "I'm sorry. Old habits die hard, I'm afraid. I'll leave you to it."

Many years ago, when you hadn't known each other in the same way, you might have tensed under his scrutiny. But not now. For the first time since he'd arrived, his comments had made things between you feel almost... normal. He's always shown his affection, even what could be called compassion, through criticism. 

"Would you like to join me?" you ask suddenly, opening your stance back up, "Whatever guidance you have to offer, I'll gladly take."

It's meant as an olive branch to his intrusion. It is, just for a moment, like you're back in the temple, during one of the many times he'd found you running through exercises and stepped in. It's only courteous for you to invite him. It's courtesy that should keep him from accepting, now. But, surprisingly, it doesn't. 

He looks around. "There isn't much room."

You take that as your answer, tightly whipping your saber behind your shoulder with a bit of flourish. You face him. "Never been a problem before."

The tightness in his face sifts away, his eyes brightening. "True."

You had practiced in many a smaller space than this, although those spaces were designed for training in tight quarters and not surrounded by your personal belongings. Still, your blood is thrumming unexpectedly at the prospect of a spar after two days cramped inside, and you don't much mind if your walls get singed. 

Obi Wan reaches to his belt. Having changed out of his bed clothes, he has his lightsaber clipped back at the waist of his tunic. Unless asleep, even in this setting, he's still battle-ready. 

He illuminates his saber, then eases into a simple opening pose, arms raised, both hands on his hilt. "Perhaps this will do us both some good."

For a moment, you're silent, feeling one another's signatures.

You strike first. 

The burst of light and sound that erupts across the room is cathartic. Green and blue, groaning through the air, then exploding against the darkness. It makes your fingers tingle; your muscles tighten. 

You press in, then let him push you back, testing strengths, listening in the force for the hum of his aura. He winds his wrist casually around in a circle, grinning. "I see your hand has healed nicely."

Buzzing, you begin to circle him. "You'll go easy on me since I'm injured, won't you?"

He mirrors you, winding around the room in slow half-steps. "Have I done so in the past?"

You lunge, a quick swipe, and he crouches, hardly dodging. You'd anticipated the movement, using his shifted center to let you roll your blade in a semi-circle and drive back toward him. He meets it with a graceful side swipe, redirecting your attack to the ceiling. Whipping around, you stab at him and you feel a puff of air leave him as he cracks his blade against yours, pushing you back without so much ease as the first time. 

When you step back, his lightsaber comes crashing over you in ruthless, repetitive swipes. He knocks you back into yourself until your shoulders are tight and beginning to ache from the effort of rebuffing him. Relenting at last, he leaves you to catch your breath. His careful, slow steps around you are no longer playful. 

"Your speed has improved," he tells you. "I can feel you sensing my attempts as the thoughts form. Very good." As he finishes the word 'good', his blade crosses yours suddenly and he presses in until his face and the two blades are inches from your face. "You should be careful, though, when my thoughts are guarded."

He'd closed himself off and attacked so quickly, you'd barely had enough time to counter, let alone anticipate. Your eyes narrow. "You never tried that trick when I was a padawan."

He lets out a soft, breathy laugh. "There are many things I've learned since you were my padawan."

Shoving him back, you roll your shoulder and widen your stance. "I see. So this is new."

With a twinkle in his eye, he lets his shoulders drop into a deceptively relaxed pose. "You know me. I'm full of surprises."

You whirl on him again, and for a long time neither of you says another word, blades and muscles speaking for you. You're well-trained in defensive positions, so you make as many attempts as you can to bait him into attacking, but your few successes are hardly worth the effort. It's clear he's driving the fight from every angle. By the end, though, you're both panting. 

"You've practiced well, young one," he admits, swiping the back of his hand across his mouth as he straightens his back, ready for another round. 

You catch your breath, swallowing. "Not much else I could do with my time."

He slashes, you block. He slashes again. "That's not entirely true, though, is it?"

You take a step back, letting his next swipe pass, then raise a brow. "What do you mean?"

"You chose to come here. You speak as though the choice was someone else's."

You have to struggle to repel his next strike, caught off-guard by the remark. "I know. I know it was my choice."

"If you were bored by the assignment, you could have returned to duty."

"Yes," you say, your voice growing softer, but your returning thrusts becoming more ambitious, more intense. "I could have."

"Then why not come back?" He bats your attempts away with equal fervor. "After a year? Why not come back to Coruscant?"

Your wide eyes meet his. "What?"

He draws back from you, his arms spread, his saber to the side. Still on guard, but not locked into your aggression. "You heard the question."

You take one, then two breaths. Then you lunge at him wildly, pinning him against the wall. "You know the answer."

"Then tell me."

You're panicking, and you know he can feel it. You sink your blade downward in a futile attempt to rend his hilt away from him, but he blocks it easily. 

You force your expression to remain steady as you step away, pulling your shoulders back, hard. "The same reason you came here to tell me we can't work together."

His face drops, and he echoes your earlier heart-wrenched, "What?"

You shake your head slightly, confused at his reaction. When he stares at you, you raise your saber in defense, staring back. "Is that not the answer you expected?"

His saber is low at his side. "I... had thought it was fear that kept you here. I wanted to help you admit it. Face it."

"It was fear." You stand still for a moment, then remember your lightsaber and swing it. "What did you think I meant?"

He parries. Then he stabs at your side, forcing you to step left, where he pulls back his blade to meet your throat. "You told me you'd stayed because you could no longer trust in the Force."

He's won the round, in more ways than one. You've let too much slip. 

You raise your arms and concede the point to him. He backs off, but his gaze is still pinned on you, waiting for your answer. You admit as much as you can without admitting anything at all. "When you said we shouldn't work together - you were right." 

"Meaning?" He presses, and somehow you can still feel his blade at your throat. 

A long, slow, painful silence. You tighten your palm around your hilt until it hurts. "I think I've made my feelings clear." Anxiety ripples from you, the Force crashing around your aura erratically. You flick your wrist, swinging your saber down and behind your back, where you trade hands. Your left arm brings a surprise attack down on Obi Wan, who catches it at the last second. It isn't a particularly impressive move, but you know he wasn't expecting it from you, which made it useful in the moment. "Something I can't ask from you."

It isn't fair for you to turn things on him like this, but your goal isn't to be fair. It's too late to turn back. You can only redirect. He raises a brow, then spins to deflect your left-handed strikes backhanded. "And what does that mean?"

The words are pouring out of you now, thoughts half-formed as you jab and dodge, pulse pounding. "It means you can't expect me to talk about my feelings when you showed up at my door to tell me we'd never see each other again with hardly a goodbye."

He meets you blow for blow with ease, but the look on his face is disoriented. "I never said that."

You match his shocked expression. "You told me this was the last time we'd ever work together."

"The last time that I thought we should work together, yes, but certainly not the last time we should see one another."

It's as if you can actually hear the sound of your final shred of sanity being torn apart. Though your mind is racing in a thousand directions, you try to calm yourself enough to speak as your sabers meet. You hold still, and so does he. "And why did you say it?"

For the first time in your spar, his eyes are pleading for mercy. He says nothing. 

You grit your teeth, holding your blade against his, unable to pull away from the path you're set on. You need to know. "You told me not to pretend anymore. Please, Obi Wan. The truth."

"You already know the truth. Must I say the words?" He bends your arms back, putting more weight against you. 

You step back, put off-balance, and the back of your knee brushes against the chaise lounge. There's no room left for you to back away.

"Yes," you tell him, forcing yourself to keep looking into his eyes, and not to look away. 

He crushes his blade against yours, then relents, finally allowing you to push him back. He doesn't turn off his lightsaber yet, and neither do you. He stretches out his other hand toward you in the darkness. "For all of the reasons we work so well together." He lowers his hand, his body tense; frustrated. "Because you are... resilient, and remarkably clever. And passionate. Obstinate at times, and unpredictable. And because you are beautiful. Because I look at you, and I wonder what could be. Those are dangerous thoughts in the best of times. In battle, they're an unacceptable risk."

"Obi Wan..." you murmur, unable to come up with any other word but his name in reply. 

"But that is my burden to bear. And though I won't allow it to interfere with a mission, I cannot let it be the end of our friendship."

There's absolutely nothing you can say back. You're stunned speechless, but beyond that - to say anything truthful back to him would rip you apart.

Instead, you step toward him, leveling your blade in front of your chest. "You've been holding back."

The earnestness in his face drains away at your response. He drags his gaze down from your eyes to your lightsaber. His tone is guarded again. "Of course I have. Haven't we both?" 

It's obvious he isn't talking about the sparring. 

"Fight me." It's the only thing you can ask for that's real. "It's going to be the last time."

The silence bears down on you, and the room is so much darker, now. You let your emotions show on your face, and you let him feel you in the Force. But you can't bring yourself to say the words. When you meet his eyes, you know he can feel you burning. 

His shoulders come down, and his body takes a new shape. He seems almost more relaxed than before. It occurs to you, then, how much effort he was putting into keeping himself from dominating you. Then, all at once, he shows you why he's one of the most celebrated duelists of your generation. 

His speed is frightening when he lunges at you. It takes all your strength to keep from toppling over. Two of his brutal strikes rattle your arms bone-deep as you struggle to keep your lightsaber upright. You suck in a sudden gasp of air, letting him force you backward. You try to return a blow, but he catches you swiftly, knocking your saber wide and stabbing at you, making you hop back again. 

It's over before you can even fully register what's happened. He knocks you back with two more thrashes of his saber, and you lose your balance when your knees hit the furniture. You fall back onto the chaise in a seated position, legs splayed apart. You're panting and arching your back to get away from him, but he digs a knee into the cushion between your legs and reaches out with a hand to deactivate your lightsaber and pull it to him. He uses his other hand to bring his blade just below your chin. Yet again, he's caught you out. 

You tip your face up toward him, heart racing as much from his close proximity as it is from the duel you've lost. His chest rises and falls in front of you. He doesn't look triumphant. His eyes are penetrating. He's waiting for you to speak. 

You catch your breath. His hand is tightening around his hilt threateningly, but there isn't anywhere in the universe you feel safer than with his blade at your neck. You take your time, staring deeply into his eyes, and you finally find your words. 

"I said you were right that we shouldn't see each other, and I meant it. The boundaries between us are broken. Nothing can set that right. I don't want to set it right. But I can accept that. I can move on. I just can't do it with you." 

The light beneath your chin goes out. He holds your two hilts in each hand and simply looks at you. 

"I understand," he says then, quietly, and leans into you, setting down your two lightsabers on either side of your thighs. 

You inhale his scent, struggling to keep your eyes from closing. "Stars, Obi Wan..."

He knows he's too close. You both know it. He should have stepped back, and his knee shouldn't still be surrounded by the warmth of your body. You're half-lying down, one arm still spread over the top of the chaise, too afraid to shift a muscle. Too afraid for the moment to end. 

Instead of standing up, he stays close, eyes locked onto yours, and says softly, "What is it?"

The finality of it all truly sinks in, and you shake your head slightly, just drinking in every detail of him. There's no point anymore to lie. You'll never see him again. "Even now. I want to kiss you, so badly."

You watch the conflict on his face melt away, into something else. He whispers his reply against your mouth. "Then kiss me."

You blink. You close the gap between you, pressing your lips against his and opening up, giving yourself over to him. 

You don't care that he shouldn't have said it. You don't care that he might stop you. You want his mouth against yours. The feeling is as sweet as you'd imagined for over a year, while making every desperate effort to drive it from your mind. 

He tastes just as you remember, and as he lets you slip your tongue into his mouth, your body shudders with a mixture of desire and relief that leaves you dizzy. 

Please... Please... you silently beg him not to stop you. To let you feel as much of him as you can, and keep the memory of the softness of his lips, the feeling of his jaw working beneath your palm, and the gentleness of the sigh he lets escape when he opens for more of your tongue to slide in. 

He doesn't stop you. He tilts his head to the side, leaning in for more. When he presses his chest to yours, you finally regain enough of your sense to break your mouth away from his. Every part of you is screaming, but you claw back to sanity just for a moment, to breathe a weak, confused, "Why...?" against the corner of his mouth. 

He catches your lips in a searing kiss once more before answering, driving every last thought of stopping from your mind. 

"If this is truly the end..." he murmurs, then pulls back to look at you properly, and his eyes sparkle like sapphires in the dying light of the fire. "Let us be miserable for good reason."

--

A/N: Sorry for the missed promise of an update last week! Holidays really get crazy fast. Thank you, as per usual, for tolerating my schedule. Planning shorter chapters upcoming, in hopes of quicker updates. :) For anyone who has tagged me in recent posts, I appreciate it and I'll respond as soon as I can!

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[winterrrnight]

hi! i was wondering if you could write relationship headcanons about zach maclaren from the other zoey? 🫶😊

I just have so many zach thoughts all the time because he's literally my dream boyfriend. thank you for this request anon!! I hope you love reading this <3

dating zach maclaren

— zach maclaren hearcanons

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warning: mention of accidently cutting while cooking

Zach is just about the most perfect boyfriend you could ever have.

His love language is quality time. No matter what, he will always find time in his schedule to spend with you.

He comes over to your place often, mostly surprising you because you weren't expecting him, but slowly over the course of time you get used to his random pop ins.

He loves to sit down with you and just, talk. About anything. He will listen to your rants, about what you ate today, a shitty day at your university, basically anything.

And he'll be listening very carefully, not missing any detail, and if you're ranting about something which is troubling you, he'll try to help you and almost 9 out of 10 times his advice is the best one you can get.

He'll take you to dates often, and he's definitely the kind of person who'll just take you on a long drive so you both can just listen and sing to your favorite album together.

Without a thought, I believe he has a second love language too, and that is acts of service.

You're hungry? He'll whip the best meal for you in under 15 minutes.

Your car has a flat tire? He'll fix that for you right up.

You accidentally cut yourself while making some food? He'll bandage you just the next second.

His family adores you, so you are often invited at family dinners at their place, and you always love to go.

Avery, his little sister, gets attached to you quickly and looks at you like her best friend.

You and Zach are the best team basically, anywhere.

If it's family game night at his place, you know you both will win.

If it's a game night with your friends, you both are going to win, it's decided.

I've said this before, and I'll say it again, Zach loves to kiss your hands; your palms, your knuckles, the back of your hand, he'll press kisses to your skin often.

He's also the most amazing book boyfriend ever. His gifts to you are mostly books, and they are definitely the books from your 'to be read'.

Since he's a part of his university soccer team, you absolutely love to go to his matches.

He will be pretty anxious before them, but a quick pep talk from you will cheer him right up, and he'll play with all his might.

You are always wearing a jersey with his name and number on it, he gives one to you each time his team wins a match (you have so many now it's hard to keep count).

Just as his team wins a match, you cheer out so loud for him, and he's quick to run up to you and hug you so tightly.

"I'm so proud of you," you will whisper to him, and he'll just melt on the spot.

You both don't argue very often, usually settling to talk out the misunderstanding and find a solution that suits you both.

But if the quarrel doesn't seem to find it's end and just goes on, Zach knows he hates being in this position, especially when it leads to him having to sleep in a different room than yours.

But your sheets are cold and empty, and you know you need him.

You would make your way to the room he's in, and he's lying in the bed, all coiled up because he also finds your absence to be cold.

You will snuggle in next to him and press a kiss on his arm, mumbling a 'sorry' as you realise how ridiculous your argument was.

His response would be to wrap his arm around your waist and pull you in impossibly closer.

But there's one thing he can't help you with, and that is studying.

He is the worst study buddy to have. He can't sit silently, he can't focus on his work for more than 15 minutes, so what is the next obvious thing to do?

Annoy you, of course.

He's tapping your arm to tell you the worst dad jokes ever, or to just distract you.

"But, I love you so much baby!"

"Shut up Zach."

You always accompany his family to their yearly winter ski trip. You learnt how to ski with them and now you're a pro.

You always have huge snowball fights with Zach, which always end in him picking you up and dropping you both on the ground as you try to stop laughing.

You would also make a huge snowman with him, and naming him 'Burt' because he said so and you can't convince him.

To sum it up, I think of Zach Maclaren as Phil Dunphy.

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