#i do not anticipate interacting with this game any more than i have in the past little while as i gathered withers screencaps for painting

[ayebibs]

What would have made the Veilguard companions more compelling?

I keep wracking my brain trying to determine how the marketing of this game was so focused on the companions, their rich lives outside of the narrative, and the journeys that they go on when I think that they are objectively the worst written companions to date. Not to say that their appearances aren’t well designed or that they don’t have really fun and cute moments, but they are simply less three-dimensional than previous companions. Fundamentally, my biggest grievance with the Veilguard companions is that I just don’t find any of them nuanced or interesting. They are all good people, but they are not good or believable characters that fit this plot and interact with it in meaningful ways.

I have never been one of those people that ignore canon, but I have been perseverating on the missed potential of this highly anticipated game that we’ve waited ten years for. So, I wanted to criticize some of these characters and explore some changes that might’ve made for a more compelling group of characters had they been written differently, but (hopefully) respecting the vision of who the characters are at their core because I do think that the skeleton of something great is here.

Disclaimer because this is long and critical: There are a lot of spoilers below. I haven’t read all of the Dragon Age books and I could be missing things, but I also think that the game and the characters’ journeys should speak for themselves as we go through the story. I also get that these are just my opinions, I’m a STEM girlie by trade and a creative on the side! Not everything I suggest may be great or realistic for building a plot or realistic for writing the script of a videogame. I also don’t mind conversations about these characters! I think that would be fun, I just don’t want to be shat on for being very disappointed in this game when it’s been my favorite video game series for half my life and I went in very hyped and willing to excuse a lot!

Alright, if you’re still with me, buckle up!

First, before I outline the specific changes I would make to each character, I want to address that there are just flaws with the way BioWare decided to handle companions as a whole in this game. I want to mention them now because they impact nearly every character and I don’t become repetitive:

1. Most importantly, the approval system is pointless and probably could be left out of this game for all it means to the narrative. It is nearly impossible to wrack up disapproval for the companions and you increase approval and bond by just taking companions out and completing a quest. If the companions like nearly everything that Rook does, then it means that they don’t care enough about anything to have strong rigid opinions (which is good for a well-written character). If companions don’t have an opportunity for meaningful agreements or disagreements, it means that the writing is not what people expect of a Dragon Age game based on every single installment we’ve had so far. It is one of the few things that have stayed the same in all of the past games and one of the things that I think fans are really upset about and should have been nonnegotiable.

2. All of the factions (except for maybe the Grey Wardens) really just needed to be messier and more complicated. Not all of the factions were meant to be heroic throughout the series. As others have commented, the Lords of Fortune and the Antivan Crows are the most glaring examples of this. However, I think that the Mournwatch and Veiljumpers are not exempt from this either. The factions serve as crucial parts of our companion’s backstory and by sanitizing them, we are wiping key opportunities for character development. For example, it could be way more interesting to have a character who fundamentally disagrees with their faction, but doesn’t know how to escape it. Or, what about a character who loves their faction and makes us feel conflicted about them because of their willingness to explain away the faction’s history? I could write (another) essay on this, so I’ll leave this point here.

3. We simply needed to have more conversations with all of the companions. All we have are these short, uninteresting cutscenes to learn about the companions. The player should be able to go up to the companions and ask them about the history of their faction, who they trust and care about in their faction (and why), their past, and their opinions about new information (on other companions, side quests, and plot points). None of these even need a cutscene, just voice acting. It would also help players feel more connected to the companions.

4. There needed to be more visible personal and interpersonal conflict. The companions read like coworkers to me. They mostly like each other and, even if they do have disagreements, they are never explored in the narrative. They don’t seem to have any hugely conflicting viewpoints on any topic and, even if they do, they are benign. For example, what to pack for a camping trip or not wanting to talk about a particular topic (dragons vs. spirits) can be interesting in addition to more complex banter but the banter just feels inappropriate and irrelevant for the plot of this game. Overall, the companions rarely make a fit about anything. It feels like the writers didn’t want any character to appear problematic, but they made them flat because none of them seem to have a hill to die on except that they should save the world. This might have been fine in a game series that didn’t focus so heavily on companions and the way that ethics are shaped by personal experience, but this is not that imaginary game series.

5. The companion quests should have focused more on worldbuilding and getting to know the characters. I have little to say about this other than that the quests for Harding to try out her powers, training Assan with Davrin, shopping with Lucanis, and lighting candles with Emmrich, etc. were lazy, uncreative filler. I really cannot put it any other way. They should have all had quests that better explored their faction and, by extension, them. We barely learn anything in those quests and they are time wasters. Those are the scenes that should have been converted to a codex entry, not some of the important lore drops that we currently have in the codex.

6. Rook chooses one option of a binary for every companion towards the end of their personal quests. I’m okay with some of these, I think that it made sense for Bellara and Davrin to ask Rook what to do in their personal quests because it felt more natural. A friend asking a friend for their input. On the other hand, some of these are really inconsequential, semantic, and mindset related (Neve) and others are such personal choices that it feels inappropriate for Rook to be involved (Emmrich and Lucanis). In a lot of these cases, it would have made more sense to have dialogue options sprinkled throughout the game that influenced companions to make their ultimate choices. Giving Rook so much power in these decisions makes the companions feel one-dimensional because it strips them of agency that any believable character would want. Even if they wanted Rook to make these decisions, companions should have felt more strongly towards the options and either praised or disparaged Rook for their decision.

7. Finally, I found all of the romances very lackluster. I was never someone who considered Dragon Age games glorified dating sims (I actually really don’t like that take, even if it's all jokes), but I found myself missing the depth of relationships in previous games. All the relationships felt too new and shallow. Largely, I think this is due to points 3 and 4, but also due to a lack of reactivity with your companions. For example, companions barely acknowledge you getting them a gift or flirting. This could have also been helped by a few extra cutscenes with the companions.

That mostly covers the overarching issues that apply to all characters. Some of these things might come back in my individual discussions of the characters if it is particularly bad.

If you’re still with me, here are my thoughts on each companion and/or what I think would have made them more interesting:

Bellara

I came to like Bellara much more than I anticipated from the trailers and marketing. However, she is really emblematic of how the writers didn’t want problematic characters. There is nothing in the game that would cause people to accuse her of being problematic, but despite being an elf (a historically oppressed and enslaved group), she is so quick to apologize for the actions of ancient elves who oppressed her ancestors thousands of years ago which is ridiculous and solves nothing. It also really seems like the writers wanted her flaw or quirkiness to be some kind of neurodivergence and nerdiness and that alone doesn’t make a compelling character. I actually think it would be interesting if Bellara was, if not pro-Solas, pro-hearing him out because his intentions were in the interest of the elven people even though he made some shitty decisions. I think she would want to be interested in what Solas knew about the ancient elves and what their society looked like before the Veil. I think she’d want to know as much as she could about the technology. I think it would be interesting if she guiltily admitted to wondering what the world would look like if the Veil came down. How different would it really be to what they’re already experiencing? Could they not mitigate the problems? I think this would be an excellent point of tension between Bellara and Davrin (who is Dalish but might not understand her curiosity in the face of the blight) or Harding (whose people were so impacted by Solas and Mythal’s actions… more on Harding later).

Davrin

Davrin is actually my favorite companions in this game, but I still wanted more from him. I think it would be really interesting if, when the team is gathered around after Weisshaupt that Davrin really pushed back against the idea of sorting out their personal shit before progressing. He’s a grey warden who, in his estimation, just failed his one purpose. I think that this would cause a bit of tension between him and some other characters, like maybe Taash whose concerns are more personal than anyone else's at the time. He is serious and straightforward, so I don’t think it’d be out of character and it would make their friendship and training montage more satisfying later on if they had to move on from it. I would also expand on the fact that he was disappointed to not die when he killed one of the archdemons? It was touched on so briefly and he seems to emotionally resolve it in a few dialogue lines which I think is crazy, even considering that he wants to live to save the griffons and raise Assan. A “blow up” about how the team needs to put their personal affairs aside while struggling to keep his own personal affairs together would introduce a little more depth to his plot line and expand on one of the more interesting things about him that we barely got any time with.

Harding

Harding was one of the most boring characters to me in this game because she felt so flat and there were so many ways to make her more interesting. Her character isn’t helped by the Varric twist because the narrative requires that she doesn’t grieve except for one scene despite knowing Varric for at least a decade. Personally, I think that changing her reaction if/when she finds out what Solas and Mythal did to the Titans and her people would make her more well-rounded and believable. From that point on, Harding should be anti-Solas and you should lose approval with her every time you entertain the idea of trusting him. Maybe she could even express disappointment/frustration/sadness for an Inquisitor who believes Solas can be saved or speak of them more highly if they think that he is irredeemable. Also, we should’ve spent more time with her and the dwarven people. I think Veilguard was such a rushed and half-baked attempt at wrapping up that storyline. We learned so much about the dwarves in the last two games and we get to spend so little time with them.

Taash

Interestingly, I think Taash is one of the few companions with really obvious flaws. They are childish and impatient, but they’re poorly written and their flaws are never acknowledged or treated as flaws by the narrative. In my playthrough, their relationship with Harding might have been an interesting place to explore and address that childishness. It was also a missed opportunity for them to explore Qunari and Rivaini culture. As other people have commented, the binary choice between being Rivaini or Qunari is odd in tandem with Taash’s journey of self-discovery and identity. I think that choice shouldn’t exist and should be encouraged by dialogue options peppered throughout their larger quest. We were so close to exploring the rift that can form in families between first generation children and immigrant parents (and learning more about Rivain and the Qun by extension) when there is love but a fundamental difference in culture and lived experience. Instead, I feel like the narrative never gave us a chance to really hear Shathann out before her death, but I’ll give the writers a break because I think that they were going for tragedy and unresolved conflict and I don't know if I trust them to make that a conversation that fits the world and isn't anachronistic.

Emmrich

The thing that bothered me most about the Emmrich storyline was the final choice between Emmrich becoming a lich and bringing back Manfred. This is another choice that Rook should have influenced rather than choose outright. The number of times that you asked probing questions or commented on Emmrich’s desire to become a lich through more conversations about Emmrich’s fear of death and relationship with Manfred should have determined his final decision. Personally, it felt inappropriate for Rook to make that decision directly for him, no matter how much the game tried to justify it. I would have also liked to see his fear of death impact him more throughout his quest line and the narrative. The final quests are literally a suicide mission and he should have had more dialogue regarding it.

Neve

I’m going to admit that Neve was hardened in my playthrough and I haven’t explored her character in playthroughs where you save Dock Town, so this section might not be applicable to half of you. I didn’t understand a lot of Neve’s motivation behind her actions. I didn’t understand why she felt so passionately about her city or her jobs. Her drive felt hollow to me, making her personal quests feel generic. When I got to Neve’s quest where we gathered clues near the water in Dock Town, I was excited to finally learn anything about her, but it was devoid of any meaningful backstory. I would have written the quest to better explore Neve’s past, motivations, and personal relationships. The other big thing that stands out is that Neve is a noir detective and the VA has clearly gotten direction to sound like one, but her story is so devoid of mystery, intrigue, and many of themes that would make that more than aesthetic. And, like, isn’t her whole faction about freeing slaves? Why not make her personal quest more closely tied to that?

Lucanis

Lucanis’ personal quests are so tied to the dynamics of his faction, so I think a lot could have been solved by making the Crows more morally grey. I think Teia and Viago could have stayed the same, but we should have seen more negative interactions between him and the rest of the Crows. Outside of Illario, Catarina would have been an exceptional vessel to explore the problems within the Crows and a theme like generational trauma or exploitation. The party banter between him and Davrin criticizing each other's factions could have been an excellent space to talk about the negative aspects of the Crows and how Lucanis’ feels about them, either defend some misdeeds or express how he feels conflicted about his past contracts. In my game (when you save Treviso), Spite also felt more like a mildly important accessory in Lucanis’ plot than a significant problem. Few characters had anything significant to say about Spite and he caused few problems. I actually thought Spite was fun for most of the game, but he needed to be more problematic because he gave the impression that he was included more to build an aesthetic for Lucanis than a character-defining plot point. Finally, I think Rook deciding what to do with Illario was a poor decision. I would have written this as a decision Lucanis makes on his own based on how Rook encourages him to deal with Spite through a more fleshed out character arc.

This pretty much summarizes my thoughts on all of the companions. As you can tell, I am very Normal about this game.

I wanted to like these characters so much and they have an unbelievable amount of potential. They are all so fascinating in concept and all of them are poorly executed either due to the relationship building mechanics of the game, because of the writing and dialogue, or a mixture of both. That said, there are brief moments when I like them and I get glimpses of what they could’ve been.

I just hope the characters are better explored in future games (if we get one).

[thedrotter]

Re:Kinder Fun Facts of the day☺️!!! Have you ever wondered who talks the most from the main cast in Re:Kinder?? Well, I did😊. Today I'll be answering this question with some graphs and as a bonus telling you what words each character uses the most! I will warn you, this will be a bit long and I don't know how to be less verbose so, yeah!!!

First, I've made some basic rules as to what I counted regarding how much the characters speak. Not all lines really count as speaking, after all.

Any of the incoherent screaming lines don't count. There's a lot of screaming since the characters die a lot (as expected for a horror RPG game), but I don't really count that as speaking unless they're saying proper words. In that same vein, I didn't really count any of the panting or sniffing and such that are conveyed through words. Again, I don't really see that as a character actively speaking their thoughts!

If I cannot tell who a line belongs to, I will not give it to anyone. This happens for certain lines, so I felt this rule was important.

I won't be counting repetitions of the same line if it's on a variation of the same scene. This may sound a bit strange, but when a character dies, the game goes on to the same next scene it would regardless (unless the scene that follows it is an ending), with variations and new lines here and there to account for the dead character, but a lot will be reused and placed in the exact same beats it normally would have been in originally. So, this rule is here for that. Oh, and also the scenes with bits of Yuuichi's backstory that appear in Shunsuke's head won't be counted twice, because some appear twice line by line.

Of course, the "..." lines won't count. I am so sorry Aya!!!!😞

Now that the ground rules have been set, there's just one thing I want to mention. Though I will count all the total lines for Takumi and Yuuichi like any other character, I just want to mention that first I will have two separate counts for them! Takumi | Takumiel and Yuuichi | Yuuichi's Heart respectively.

Takumiel is separate because I was curious about how much Takumi spoke as an archangel compared to when he was alive. Yuuichi's Heart is because he speaks so much he feels notable enough to be given his own division, even if he and Yuuichi at the end of the day are one person

(I count the silly mind telepathy where Shunsuke is being directly spoken to [and being told things normal Yuu would avoid saying at that point] and the comical theater as Yuuichi's Heart. I clarify in case one assumes he only starts being counted the moment he's directly labelled as Yuuichi's Heart. Any line that can't be distinguished between Yuuichi's Heart and Yuuichi will be given to Yuuichi by default.)

With nothing else to be clarified let's get to the numbers!!!😊😊

First, the line counts with Takumiel and Yuuichi's Heart counted individually!! Here are the rankings:

Shunsuke (With a lead of 535 lines over second place!!)

Yuuichi

Rei

Yuuichi's Heart

Hiroto

Ryou

Sayaka

Aya

Takumi

Takumiel

You may be thinking— woah, does Shunsuke really speak that much?! You could say that, for a good chunk of those lines are from how he describes interactable points around the map and his inner thoughts, so they aren't all exactly said out loud. The benefit of being the protagonist, I suppose ww

Funny enough, Yuuichi's Heart has almost as many lines as Yuuichi does for not having that much time in the game, being on the higher end between the characters that don't get the benefit of being a protagonist (lol)!

Admittedly I had expected for Rei and Hiroto to have a more similar amount of lines given their nearly equal amount of presence, but for what it is Rei surpassed Hiroto by 51 lines! I also had expected for Takumiel to speak a little bit more than Takumi but turns out the opposite is true.

While the lack of lines of Takumi and Takumiel are to be expected due to their short time on the game, what stands out is Aya not even reaching triple digits between her other peers who are in there for most of the game. This is because a good chunk of Aya's lines in game are silence!^^" And thus weren't counted. If ellipses were a word, she surely would have reached triple digits, but unfortunately they're not.

Now the line count with combined sums of Takumi | Takumiel and Yuuichi | Yuuichi's Heart!!!

In here, the ranking isn't affected, with Yuuichi remaining second place and Takumi being last place. But the disparity of everyone's numbers compared to Takumi's feels a bit more clear to see when Takumiel isn't individually counted.

With Yuuichi's line counts combined, Shunsuke remains 318 lines ahead of him, but it also means Yuuichi has a 59% the amount of Shunsuke's lines; and impressive feat for someone who doesn't get the benefit of being the point of view for everything you press... Although he does also have an upper hand over everyone by essentially being the plot of this game ww

But maybe line counts do not suffice to tell how much a character speaks. Yes, Shunsuke has a bunch of lines from everything he interacts with, but is it really reliable to say he speaks all that much in all those lines? A good chunk of those could easily have 3 words each! So with this in mind, let's do a word count.

Even in a word count, Shunsuke has the lead, having a lead of 2,247 words over second place. But we'll see about that when we combine Yuuichi's numbers. Anyway, here's the ranking!

Shunsuke

Yuuichi's Heart

Yuuichi

Rei

Hiroto

Ryou

Sayaka

Aya

Takumi

Takumiel

This time, Yuuichi's Heart is the one at second place!!! It's pretty funny that he speaks more than his physical counterpart ww. I genuinely didnt think he'd out yap himself that way when I chose to count for him individually 😭!!! He has a lead of 63 words over himself, but a lead nonetheless.

In here, Rei and Hiroto are more even than in the line counts, with the difference seeming more minimal when put into words. But it also showcases that despite Rei having more lines than Yuuichi's Heart in the line count, those only get to have a bit over half of the amount of words he talks (To be fair he does get to infodump a lot in his section of the game).

And here's the combined word count!!! Suddenly Shunsuke's lead is only by a mere 55 words! So Yuuichi speaks about as much as he does with 318 less lines.

I must admit that I genuinely did not expect it to be that close. When I chose to count the lines for when you interact with things for Shunsuke, I thought he was granted to speak an absurd amount more than anyone else. But turns out that Yuuichi speaks about the same amount out loud when most of Shunsuke's are his own thoughts ww. But it does make sense! He is still the plot of this game.

So, after all those charts, here's the average/middle point of lines and words for characters to have, because why not, it's fun.

Average Line Count (YH and Takumiel counted individually): 197 lines

Average Line Count (When combined): 247 lines

Average Word Count (YH and Takumiel counted individually): 1,333 words

Average Word Count (When combined): 1,666 words

So there it is. That's how much the characters in Re:Kinder speak!

But wait!!! I am not done. I will share with you an additional fun fact... Did you ever want to know what word each of these characters said the most?! This one will be quicker, I do promise.

When it came to counting these words I did not count stop words, that being common words that are used all the time by everyone in English. "I, you, me, the, to, a, my, your, yes, no"... Words like that! Otherwise everyone would have one of those as their most said word and it'd be rather boring to look at. With that said, here are the words these characters say the most!

Shunsuke: Yuuichi - said 40 times! (this genuinely confused me so much im sorry he uses interjections so much I had expected it to be something like "huh" or "um" but no i dont know how this passed by me as i was rounding up all the lines he says or proofreading or writing all of those lines WHAT?!?! its been two days and it still takes me out)

Ryou: Shunsuke - Said 14 times

Sayaka: Murderer - Said 7 times (All in one sentence!)

Takumi | Takumiel (counted in one for how little he speaks.): Takumiel - Said 3 times (That name is so important, he said it thrice.)

Aya: Sorry - Said 5 times

Rei: Hell, gonna, look, Yuuchi - said 8 times (Most of the repeated words she says are stop words for she doesn't tend to speak about the same things repeatedly.)

Hiroto: Shunsuke - Said 17 times

Yuuichi (separate from YH): Problem - Said 17 times

Yuuichi's Heart: Mama - Said 24 times

Yuuichi (Overall): Mama - Said 31 times

So that is finally it. That is the fun fact of today.😊😊 Use this to woe your friends at parties!!!

I am aware Mami speaks about enough to be counted in, but this is pretty time consuming to do and I'm not sure anyone is invested on her enough to count her in. But if there's enough curiosity regarding that, I'll try counting her in. But for now this suffices.☺️ Thanks for reading!

[julijbee]

i dont know anything about this game and i dont think i care i just want to know why you all were HIDING him from me holy shit... literally spellbound floored awed speechless. feeling faint.

[tbaluver]

When You Randomly Turn Into A Cat- The Love And DeepSpace Men

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader synopsis: a day where you randomly turn into a cat and how they love and deep space men would take care and spend the day with you ! genre: silly and cute a/n: hihi lovelies! sorry this took so long to write i had to channel in all the cat videos i loved and seen and put it into each scenario for each men ! (ᵕ—ᴗ—) i also had to make sure some cat facts were true or not just in case and also because i don't own a cat but i rlly want one (•ᴗ•,, ) i hope you all enjoy ! ^•ﻌ•^ฅ♡ If any new readers are here you can read where the men turn into cats here; When They Turn Into Cats any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier /ᐠ˵- ᴗ -˵マ ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 :

Xavier wasn't particularly shocked that you would turn into a cat but truly surprised him was the timing of it. You both speculated that his transformation one time might be linked to his recent handling of a Protocore and it would eventually spread to you. He just didn't anticipate that this would happen in the middle of a mission. Fortunately, he managed to defeat the remaining Wanderers, scooping you up along with your clothes, and bring you both safely back home.

There were no answers on the internet on what to do when your partner turns into a cat. He doesn't understand how you did so well when you took care of him when he randomly turned into one. He only wishes that he can do the same for you as you did with him.

The first step Xavier does is search for any leftover cat food but finds nothing so he takes you along to the grocery store. He'll gently place you in the baby seat of the shopping cat, determined to find the best options for you. He scrutinizes every brand of cat food and snack, carefully considering what you might like. To ensure you would have everything you could possibly need, he ends up buying far more than necessary, his cart basically overflowing with a mountain of cat supplies.

When you both return home, there is no doubt that Xavier showers you with affection. He lavishes you with cuddles and kisses in between your ears. He finds your feline form to be cute and can't help but pet you, his fingers gently brushing through your soft fur. You enjoy in the soothing touch, arching your back in contentment as he continues his gentle caress. The two of you settle into a cozy spot for nap, as he drifts off to sleep to the comforting rhythm of your adorable purrs and you fall asleep to his gentle caress. You've always been a source of comfort for him and you still are even in this tiny cat form.

Xavier can't help but feel a little jealous when he finds you curled up on the plushies that he won you in the claw machine, instead of you nestled comfortably on his lap or cradled in his arms. It stings a little to see you so content with the plushie and wishes that it was him to provide you with that comfort. Same thing when you knead your plushies with your paws, he can't help but feel envy, wishing that direct attention was towards him instead.

To keep you entertained as a cat, Xavier downloads a few interactive cat games on his phone. He places the phone down, allowing you to paw at the moving images and you pretend as if you were catching them. Another way he can play with you is using playful revenge on your plushies. He watches with amusement as you pounce and swat at the plush toys, your antics providing both of you with entertainment.

Whenever Xavier grabs a snack, he makes sure you feel included in the moment. He helps you to select a treat you want to try by holding it out and shares it with you, making sure you have your own little snack to enjoy alongside with him.

When it was night time and time for bed, even though both of you took several naps the entire day, he prepares for bed. He settles beside you, gently reaching out to stroke your fur with a soothing touch. Carefully, he pulls the blanket up, tucking it around the both of you to create a comfy cocoon. As he holds you clos, he presses tender kisses to the top of your head. "Goodnight honey. No matter what form you're in, you'll always be my partner for life." He whispers, eagerly waiting for the morning to come so you'll be back in your human form.

Zayne /ᐠ - ˕ -マ :

It was Zayne’s day off and he was in the kitchen, preparing a delicious and nutritious meal for the two of you. Meanwhile, you were in the living room, browsing through DVDs or anything you can find on the TV to watch for your movie marathon. You both chatted back and forth while he worked in the kitchen as you continued to browse in the living room until minutes ticked by and he noticed you were quiet. Out of curiosity, he peeks through the kitchen and sees the living room empty. He calls out for you but he is met with no response. A wave of concern washes over him as he quickly turns off the stove and makes his way to the living room to find a bewildered cat.

He sighs deeply, knowing this all too well. He had experienced this bizarre transformation himself not too long ago. A smile creeps up on his lips as he crouches down, extending a hand to your feline form. “I guess I have to make a different lunch for you now.” He murmurs as you brush against his hand.

He’ll find the cat food that you fed him when he once turned into a cat randomly one day and he’ll feed that to you. He knows that the mixed kibble was unappetizing but as he scooped up a portion and placed it in front of you, he gave you a reassuring soft smile. He gently pats your head, his fingers brushing through your fur to offer some reassurance as you hesitantly ate the food. As you eat, he promises that he’ll buy you some yummy foods when you’re back to normal.

Since it was his day off, he'll finish up any chores around the house. He gathered all the freshly laundered clothes out of the dryer as you trailed after him. When he sets the basket down in your shared room, you couldn't resist the inviting warmth of the freshly dried clothes and hopped right into the basket. You nestled inside the fluffy pile, your body curling up into it. The warmth and softness was irresistible and not too long you find yourself drifting off into sleep. His gaze would soften when he finally notices you inside of the basket, smiling fondly at the sight. He scoops you up, cradling you carefully before placing you gently on your shared bed.

Once he finished folding the clothes, he returned to you. Your eyes slowly flutters open and to help ease you into waking up, he carefully extends your limbs, stretching your front paws upwards.

Zayne would make sure to play with you so you're not bored the entire day. Sometimes when he has do some other chores, he'll leave the TV on so you can go watch. Or he'll gather a selection of plushies you both had won from the claw machine and toss them around as you pounce and batted at the plushies. If you weren't feeling the plushies anymore, he'll reach for the laser pointer he uses for panel discussions and watches in amusement as you chase it around.

Although it was his day off, he still chooses to do a couple hospital reports. While he's busy typing away on the computer, he lets you curl into his lap as he finishes up his work. Despite his best efforts to stay concentrated, you made it a habit of hopping in front of his computer, inserting yourself in front of him to grab his attention. It seems your stubbornness remains even if you were a cat because this goes on for a couple of minutes. "Behave." He would gently scoop you back into his lap or nudge you aside and you would end up back in front of his computer, blocking his hands from typing on his keyboard. It was impossible to ignore you, melting at the small feline form in front of him. Folding, his hands instinctively find their way to scratch the back of your ears. He would take this as a sign to finally take a break and enjoy his day off with you, even if you were a cat.

As nightfall arrived, you trailed after him into the bathroom where he began his nightly routines. You were perched on the counter, watching him do your skin care routine that you both normally do. He made sure you felt included, using a small brush and gently groomed your fur.

He scoops you up after he finishes his routine and carried you to the bedroom. He places a gentle kiss between your ears, right on the top of your head. He placed you gently onto the bed, arranging the covers and settles beside you. "Even though you're adorable as a cat," he murmurs softly, "I miss you. Come back soon, my love." He whispers, eagerly waiting for morning to come when you return back to your human form.

Rafayel ฅᨐฅ :

A wave of emotions washed over him. Fear. Panic. Uneasiness. His lover has turned into something he had feared the most. A wanderer? No. Worse. A cat. What gods has he upset for this too happen? Why must he go through so much feline presence in his life? For him to be one and now you?

Rafayel would snap out of his daze as you began to nuzzle against his legs. Slowly, he'd start to come to terms with the idea of having you as a cat for a day might not be as daunting as he initially feared. Nuzzling against his legs gave him a reassuring contact of your soft fur and helped him realize that you wouldn't do anything to harm him. You were still his caring and beloved partner and he will continue to love you even if you were a cat. It wouldn't be so bad or so he thought.

In this cat form it seems you have the zoomies. He expected you to be a laid back cat but instead, you had turned his entire day into a constant adventure. Not only are you darting around the house with enthusiasm but you're also sneaking into every nook and cranny. You've slipped in behind shelves, climbing into fragile small statues around his studio, and even perching on the edges of delicates vases.

Rafayel would constantly be on the move, trying to keep up with your mischief. One time you had darted into the kitchen cabinets, where all his expensive glassware was located. You refused to come down despite his pleas and he wonders if you were just being stubborn or if you were just having too much fun teasing him. When he manages to catch you, he wraps you into a blanket, like a burrito to keep you still. He smirks as you meow in protest and he returns to his painting, chatting with you softly as he works.

When you're finally out of your zoomies, he'll let you go from the blanket but he'll only regret that later. You approach him, holding out a fish plushie and he thought you were hungry but truly you just wanted to play. "Hey fish aren't food!" He huffs, a pout forming on his lips as he gently removes the plushie from your mouth and crosses his arms in mock disapproval. "I want my cutie back....this cat is slowly turning her into a monster....."

He'll take this as a sign to go find you some food. Food that isn't fish related. He'll make sure to find something that's good and the best rated cat food for you.

Whenever there a fly or bug that made its way into his studio, Rafayel would make you help to catching it. In your human form, you'd be squeamish about dealing with insects and would leave the tasks to him. But now since you're a cat, you're fascinated by the challenge of catching it. He would gently lift you into the air, holding you up so high so you could get a better shot at the tiny intruders. He'll give you a mix of encouragement and amusements as you grab the bugs with your paws.

You are Rafayel's muse and he's determined to keep you in that role. He'll position you on a stool where you stand tall, ready to be the subject of his art. You meow in protest, growing fatigued but he urges you to stay still just for a little longer. The finished sketches of you s a cat turned out to be truly adorable once you see them later. You don't know how he's so uneasy around cats.

As nightfall came around, he settles beside you in bed. Typically you would be curled up together, foreheads against each other but tonight is different with your smaller, feline form. He stays close, tenderly brushing your fur as if it were your hair. His eyes were growing heavy with sleep and he whisper softly, "No matter if you're a cat, a goose, or anything else, my heart's deepest wish is to be with you in every form in every life time. Sleep well my beloved. I shall see you again in the morning."

Sylus ≽^-˕-^≼ :

Sylus would be informed by Mephisto that you turned into a cat. He was initially be taken aback but quickly settled into a knowing smile, knowing this experience of a similar transformation himself. He would immediately find you and when he does, he tries his best not to snicker from how amusing this was but it came out anyway. It seems you have taken the nickname Kitten, a little to seriously. You would protest in meows and his snicker would turn into a louder laugh and your cat ears turn into airplane mode.

He reaches for his phone and scoops you up to settle you into his lap. He adjusts the screen so it was perfectly angled for you to also see as his other free hand gently stroked your fur. He scrolled through various stores, adding items to his cart with things you might enjoy or need in this temporary form. He'll know you were interested in it when you paw at the screen, lowly chuckling in amusement as you do so. Not wanting to leave your side, he orders Luke and Kieran to pick up what he ordered.

You didn’t think it would be even possible for this man to be more affectionate with you even if you were a cat. He would pepper your head and nose with lots of kisses and he would find it even more amusing when you would place your paw on his mouth to stop. He doesn’t listen and continues to do so anyway, finding this cat form of you to be adorable. He also loves to brush his fingertips against your paw/ toe beans. He’s careful to not apply too much pressure on them so he doesn’t hurt you.

Mephisto may not be your biggest fan ever in your human form, but he's definitely not warming up to you as a cat either. In this cat form of yours, you have an enhanced agility that helps you jump and try to catch him on his perch. Your attempts to chase him around the house seem to get intense that Sylus had to step in and separate you two so you both can behave.

In this cat form, it seems as your cat senses heightened, driving you to explore the house in new ways you haven’t before. You find yourself climbing onto high shelves and underestimating just how high up you were up. Sylus noticing your predicament, he would sigh and grab a basket to help you climb down. However, your fear of falling to your demise, you meow in protest as you tremble at the idea.

You tried to place a paw into the basket, in hopes to provide a safe descent but looking down and how light the basket was, made you freeze in place. You backed away and retreated further into the shelf. “It’s okay. I got you,” He would reassure you, his voice calm and soothing. Despite his efforts of holding the basket out for you to jump into, you continued to meow in protest, clearing preferring the direct approach of being lifted down by his hands instead. He finally caught on when you ignored his third attempt with the basket and instead reached out with his hands as you crawled towards his forearms. Once you are finally safe in his arms, he strokes your fur with tender care. He lets out a soft sigh, “You really don’t want to make it easy for me don’t you kitten?” He murmurs, "meow."

When it was dinner time, you'd perch on the kitchen counter beside Sylus, watching with curious eyes as he hummed contentedly while preparing his meal before preparing your cat meal. He carefully selects the best rated cat food, ensuring it was packed with essential nutrients and vitamins. After serving you with the cat food, he would spoil you with a few tasty cat treats, hoping they would be a little more enjoyable for you than the cat food. His attention to your needs will always be attentive even if you were a cat.

After you both settled into bed, Sylus lies on his back, inviting you to curl up on his chest. As your eyes fluttered close, a content purr rumbles through your body and he can feel the gentle vibrations against him. He strokes your fur tenderly, his own eyes heavy with sleep. He murmurs as he wishes you a goodnight, "Goodnight princess. I hope to see you in my dreams and see you back in my arm again when I wake up."

[k8martins]

. ⋆ ๑ wrapped around your finger

summary: reader is a new medical intern for the lvaces and tension runs high every time they interact, finally breaking after a tough game

request: no / yes

warnings: 18+ smut, rpf

a/n: this is my first kate fic so go easy on me lmfao and i got lowkey carried away it’s around 2k words so ummmm ya purr i guess

back in april, you landed a medical internship for the las vegas aces, just in time for the excitement of draft season. not only did your job enable you to interact daily with some of the most talented athletes in basketball, but perfectly coexisted with your interests in pursuing medicine. so far, your standard role was to examine and prepare players before and after games, including team practices. any injuries or concerns were also taken care of by you. however, being shy was an issue you still had to overcome. treating players with their kinesiology tape or bringing them necessities was always attempted to be a quick motion; hurriedly fixing them up and moving on to the next task.

but some players proved to make that difficult for you. coming into work on an average day, you found yourself kneeling at the foot of the newly drafted guard— kate martin. when she had got unexpectedly chosen by the aces, you sat watching from home, marveled by her tall stature and pin straight blonde hair. she was even more alluring in person, especially from the view of applying tape to her ankles and legs every other day.

“you know the drill, just keep your foot upright and i’ll get your ankle,” you murmured, looking up at kate as she was sat in front of you. her big blue eyes met yours, and she smirked without comment. quickly averting your gaze, you pressed your lips together in an attempt to keep composure.

one thing you had learned since she joined the team was that she occasionally enjoyed poking fun at your timid mannerisms.

“loosen up a little, girl,” kate playfully punched your shoulder, “i don’t bite”.

the gesture made you laugh and mumble some unnecessary apology, but you still felt her gaze even after you looked back down. trying to focus on the task at hand was nearly impossible in this position, being on your knees before her. as you pulled more tape, your mind raced of all the things you could do to each other. if one day you could set the professionalism aside and just push her legs apart—

“you’re my favorite medical person, you know that? you always get me right,” kate continued, knowing exactly what she was doing.

you snapped out of your thoughts and felt your face grow hot, looking back up at her. “thank you,” you said, barely getting it out, “a-and you’re all set now by the way.” kate thanked you with a slight chuckle, and was up and ready for practice.

——————————————————————————

it was interactions like these that kept you up at night. all the eye contact, suggestive gestures, and tension was enough to drive you crazy. you endlessly wondered if kate had meant to fuel the tension, or if it was all just in your head. regardless, these moments made you excited to come into work every day, anticipating the next exchange you two would have.

the entire next month of your internship consisted of increasingly tense encounters with kate, with each one wondering when she would just make a move. she had started to admiringly stroke your hair while you were knelt in front of her, knowing how much it would turn you on. every once in a while she would give your hair a light tug to make you look up for no good reason other than to get a good look at you. once you understood she was taking things a smidge further, you had no problem getting a little extra touchy when handling her legs, or simply handing her things like a towel or water bottle. you ran your hands up her legs in an “innocent” manner, both of you knowing damn well you were ready to find a secluded space together.

your favorite moments to see her were before and after big games. the way her pregame excitedness would be contagious, and the way after the game she would still have energy despite being tired. this day, kate was getting ready to play in a game with high expectations for the aces. you gathered all the things she might need, and headed into the locker room, where most of her teammates were already gone. you spotted her standing right in front of her designated space, and walked towards her. kate smiled knowingly when she saw you, and didn’t move out of the way as you bent past her to set down the water and towel in her cubby. your hips grazed each other when suddenly you felt her arms snake around your lower back. you slowly got back upright, and kate kept her arms around you, moving her hands to each side of your waist.

her big hands planted on your waist took your breath away as there was no escaping her now. face to face, kate kept her gaze on you.

“i was wondering when you’d come by,” she taunted.

you swallowed thickly, your mouth hung open but the words would not come out. even after a month, she still intimidated you with her beauty.

“i’m just joking, relax,” kate said, laughing lightly.

“i know. i just had to go find the best materials for you,” you joked back, trying to keep your cool and ignore the growing heat between your legs.

kate smiled back at you, sensing how needy you were becoming. “same time back here after the game?” she questioned, her voice low.

“of course. good luck tonight, kate,” you said back.

——————————————————————————

it was a tough loss for the aces. the final score came close, but ultimately the team returned to the locker room in low spirits. the loss was hard on you too, seeing kate frustrated out on the court, but you still had to do your job. giving everyone postgame materials and accessing injuries, you noticed to have treated everyone except kate. you craned your neck around the locker room, looking for the long blonde ponytail, but she was nowhere to be seen. eventually, the team had left for the night. you were left cleaning up after them, still wondering where your favorite player was.

you had your back turned from the entrance and putting away your supplies when you heard footsteps coming towards the room. your heart immediately began to race and you turned around to see kate standing a few yards in front of you, with an exhausted but eager expression on her face.

her eyes pierced through you, and your mind raced trying to think of something to say, but it was a blur as she quickly walked to you and took your face in her hands, kissing you deeply. your body tensed up at the surprise, but quickly melted down as you remembered how long you had been waiting for this moment.

it was a hungry kiss, with her hands moving down to your waist and pulling you closer. kate completely took control of you and backed you against the wall. in the heat of the moment, you decided it was your turn to tease her.

“where.....the hell.......were you.....” you said breathlessly between kisses. kate instantly pulled away from you and scoffed.

“just talking with the coaches, baby.”

her breathless tone made you weak in the knees and she immediately went back to making out with you. her hands found their way under your shirt and began exploring all over your waist. she passionately bit at your bottom lip as she moved her cold hands up to your tits, which she desperately squeezed at. the cold touch being in just the right place earned a little whimper from your lips. kate giggled against the kiss, finding amusement in getting you so needy so fast.

you felt slightly embarrassed at how easy you were being, and decided to switch it up on kate. maintaining the kiss, you made your way back to her bench, and pushed her down. you knelt down in front of her just as you did when you took care of her, but now your dirty thoughts were becoming a reality. kate did not protest being sat down and instead threw her head back, resting it right below her name plate— “K. Martin”.

your view from the kneel made your head spin tonight, with her face still sweaty and her messy hair slightly sticking to her face. she was still out of breath and tiredly looked down at you as you parted her legs. you kept the eye contact as you gestured for her to lift her hips in order to slide down her shorts. once off, you threw them elsewhere in the room, and positioned yourself further inbetween her legs. you looked up at her one more time and saw her chest rising and falling with every movement, her eyebrows furrowed in desperation.

“here? right now? are you sure, kate?” you questioned, half taunting half being serious. you placed your hand on her inner thigh and began slowly circling her clit. she bucked her hips up at the sudden touch.

“please...please...” kate whispered, and you felt your stomach flip. all of the nights she teased you and seemed so tough were now out the window as she begged you to continue.

looking around the room, there was no sign of life besides you and kate. you turned back to her and urged her to stay quiet before going down on her. your tongue skillfully lapped around her clit and she let out a strangled cry.

“shhhhh kate you’re doing so good,” you whispered against her wetness.

you brought your fingers up to her entrance and began circling around it before slowly inserting two fingers. you kept the sucking at a steady pace but began to finger her quickly. looking up at kate, her eyes were screwed shut and stomach tense. she was biting down hard on her lip, struggling to stay quiet. her constant little moans single-handedly almost made you finish, but you focused on her.

you continued eating her out as if she was going to disappear from under you, and picked up the pace. your left hand remained on her thigh and you felt her grab hold of it. she breathed hard as her other hand landed in your hair, lightly pushing your head and grasping your hair. you smiled thinking back to the times when she would have her hands in your hair while innocently getting taped up; oh how fast things can change.

“i-i’m gonna....” kate cried out, squirming beneath you and clearly reaching her limit.

the fast pace combined with tongue and fingers finally brought her to her release. kate moaned your name breathlessly over and over as she came on your fingers. eventually you stopped and she was able to ride out the high.

as soon as kate caught her breath she got you up off the ground and put you in her spot. she got on her knees and tugged at your pants.

“kate don’t you think we should stop... someone probably heard us-“

she didn’t even let you finish your sentence before she inserted her long fingers into you. kate did not hold back as she kept an unrelenting pace and began to kiss you. you moaned and panted into the kiss, struggling to kiss back.

you gave up on trying to kiss back and threw your head back, raspy moans escaping from your puffed lips. her fingers felt so good inside of you, hitting the spot with each thrust. she didn’t even need to do anything except finger you, and you were already close. you tried to moan her name but could only get out the “k” sound.

“just take it,” she demanded, getting frustrated you couldn’t kiss back.

kate began kissing down your neck and leaving very apparent hickeys all over. all you could do was moan as she took care of you, your eyes tearing up from the euphoric feeling. you tugged on her hair as you felt yourself on the edge of release. the way your hips squirmed and tears fell down your face told kate that you were ready and nodded at you to come.

her pace slowed as you relaxed from the climax and she began gently kissing your face. she wiped your tears with her other hand and ran her fingers through your messy hair.

“i got you wrapped around my finger, my favorite intern girl,” kate laughed.

“you’re so corny.”

“you.”

[daisynik7]

Pairing: Takuma Ino x f!reader

Rating: Explicit – MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Word Count: ~1.7k

cw: explicit language, mentions of a popular horror movie, smut – PIV sex (cowgirl position), nipple play, blow job, mask kink, slight degradation (slut, whore), use of pet names (cutie, sweetie, baby) 

Summary: You and your new boyfriend Ino decide to watch a horror movie together in honor of spooky season. Halfway through, he notices how skittish you are, making him want to play a silly prank on you with his signature ski mask. It’s all fun and games until he realizes that you actually like seeing him in this way more than he anticipated. 

Author’s Note: Happy October y'all! What can I say, I am VERY into Takuma Ino right now and I just had to get this out of my system. This is barely edited or proofread, sorry for any grammar mistakes or typos, I really was just letting my fingers fly through this in a moment of passion LOL. Likes, reblogs, and/or comments are always appreciated, thank you for reading! MDNI banner by @/cafekitsune. 

You turn off all the lights, the only source of illumination coming from the TV screen, paused at the very start of the movie you decided to watch tonight. With a big bowl of freshly popped kernels in your grasp, you huddle beside your boyfriend, Ino, on the couch, covering both your legs with a fleece blanket. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you in closer, reaching to grab a handful of popcorn to stuff inside his mouth. “Ready?” he muffles, pointing the remote to the screen, finger pressed to the center button. 

Nuzzling your head against him, you answer. “Yup!”

It’s apparently one of those cult classic horror flicks according to Ino, who recommended it when you mentioned how you wanted to watch something scary for October. He’s seen it before, many times in fact, but he insists that you watch it. He has no clue how frightened you get over the silliest things, so tonight will be a treat for the both of you. 

The opening scene plays out: a beautiful blonde picks up the phone and the conversation ends quickly short because it’s the wrong number. Normal so far, good. It rings again, but now the caller seems interested in talking. Do you like scary movies? Do you have a boyfriend? The man’s voice gives you the creeps, and you find yourself shuddering from it, cuddling closer to Ino, who glances at you with a smirk on his face. 

You never told me your name.

Why do you want to know my name?

Because I want to know who I’m looking at.

This line gives you goosebumps and you lift the blankets up to hide behind it. “Ew, creepy!” Ino only laughs, throwing a few more pieces of popcorn into his mouth. 

It escalates from here, getting increasingly chaotic and violent. By the time you’re halfway into the film, the bowl is down to its last kernels and you’re crouched in Ino’s lap, peeking through your fingers. He pauses the movie after one particularly brutal kill. “Snack break! I’m going to make some more popcorn and go pee.”

“You’re leaving?!” you whine, clinging on to him as he tries to get up.

He chuckles. “Babe! It’s just a movie. I’ll be right back, okay?” He kisses you on the forehead, heading into the kitchen, leaving you alone in the living room. 

Of course it’s just a movie, but you can’t help feeling creeped out in the dark like this. You reach for one of the nightstands, turning on the lamp. You hear the drone of the microwave, and after a minute or so, the distinct sound of popping. Eventually, it comes to a stop, and the entire house is eerily quiet. You’re tempted to call out for Ino, wondering where he is, but you remember that he had to use the bathroom. 

Suddenly, a shadowy figure appears right behind on you on the couch, grabbing your shoulders and shouting gibberish at you. You scream bloody murder, ready to punch him and run away when Ino lifts his ski mask up to reveal himself, tears streaming down his face, cracking up at you. 

“Ino!” you yell at him, slapping his hands away from you. “You fucking asshole!”

He doubles over, cackling, wiping his eyes. It takes a good while for him to regain his composure as you glare at him, arms crossed over your chest. “I’m sorry, baby. I just couldn’t resist.” He sits beside you, stretching his arms out for a hug. “You have to admit, that was fucking hilarious.”

You shake your head, refusing. “You’re such a dick.”

“Oh, come on! It was just a little prank. Now you’ll be way more prepared for the rest of the movie!” He pulls the mask over his face again, everything covered except the holes for his eyes. “See? Not so scary anymore, right?”

You inspect him carefully, still pouting, not saying a word.

“I’m sorry, sweetie. Truly. I promise not to scare you again.” He scoots towards you, nudging you in the arm. 

You roll your eyes at him, relaxing. “Fine.”

“Can I get a kiss now?” 

He tries to lift his mask up, but you stop him, pulling it back down. “I don’t want to see your face right now. I’m still annoyed, you know.”

“Aw man! Really?”

You hoist it just past his nose, leaning in to give him a soft kiss on the lips. When you break apart, he smirks at you. “You like this, don’t you? Seeing me with my mask on.”

You shrug, a sly grin on your face, neither confirming nor denying his accusation. Sure, you were a bit upset at first, when he scared the shit out of you. But seeing his face covered like that may have sparked a desire in you that you never knew you had, until now. 

“Oh my god! You do, you do!” he exclaims, shaking your arm. “My cutie has a mask kink!”

“Shut up, asshole!” you yell at him, pretending to shove him off, smiling. 

“You’re a fucking freak!” he giggles, pouncing on you. He starts tickling you along your ribcage, causing you to squirm beneath him as he straddles you, trapping you between his legs. His fingers flutter under your arms, stroking your sensitive skin.

“Ino!” you cry out, laughing from the sensation. 

You can feel his cock growing hard in his pants, balls heavy on your stomach. Suddenly, he stops, mask still folded to expose his lips, leaning down to kiss you sloppily. He pins your hands above your head, locking his fingers with yours. He slips inside your mouth, grazing your tongue with his, hungry for your saliva. “Fuck,” he moans into you, nipping at your bottom lip. “You like this freaky shit, don’t you? Nasty slut.” His playful tone is laden with lust now, low and sultry, mouth brushing along your neck, sucking at your pulse points to mark you. 

You whine his name, wrapping your legs around his waist, grinding yourself against him. 

“Look at you, getting so fucking dumb all because of my mask,” he purrs. “What else turns you on, cutie? Tell me.”

Without thinking, you blurt out, “Spit. Your spit. I want it.”

“Oh shit,” he swears, licking his mouth. He traces the outline of your lips, beckoning you to open up, dribbling a thick wad of saliva inside you. You gulp it down, sticking your tongue out for more. 

“Oh fuck, you’re nasty,” he says, doing it again. “Makes me so fucking horny seeing you like this. Seeing my cutie act like a fucking whore.” He slips beneath your shirt, fondling your bare breasts, flicking your peaked nipples with his thumbs. 

“Fuck, Ino,” you whisper, pussy throbbing in your panties, arousal leaking through the fabric. 

“You like it when I play with your tits, huh?” Like it when I pinch them hard like this.” He squeezes them between his thumb and index finger, enough pressure to stimulate you, making you moan his name again and again.

He swears under his breath, shoving his pants down his legs, shimmying out of them until he’s only in his underwear now, erection stiff in his boxers. “You gonna suck my cock now or what, slut?” 

You nod, kneeling in front of him, knees on the carpet, spreading his thighs apart. He lifts his ass off the couch to slide out of his boxers, letting them fall around his ankles. You kiss the tip of his dick, smearing his precum around your lips like gloss before swallowing him into your mouth. 

He lets out a drawn out, “Fuck,” watching you with wide eyes as you bob up and down his shaft. Voice shaky, he asks, “Can I put my hands on you?”

Something about him in this ski mask makes you want to be submissive, makes you want to be used. You grab both his hands, guiding them towards the sides of your head, giving him free rein to manhandle you.

“Holy shit,” he murmurs, gripping you tighter, gradually thrusting his hips in tandem with you. His cockhead hits the back of your throat, teasing your gag reflex, but you resist, tears collecting in the corners of your eyes, enduring it. 

Noticing you, he pulls out, a string of spit between you. “Baby, baby. Please don’t force yourself. I don’t want to hurt you.” He reaches to his side, grabbing a tissue from the table beside the couch, wiping away the spit around your mouth and the tears in your eyes. “Come here, cutie. I want to make you feel good too.”

You strip out of your bottoms, straddling his lap, pussy wet and aching against him. He moans as you rock back and forth on his shaft, pressing his thumb to your clit, massaging it. “There we go. Now we both can feel good, yeah?”

After a few more strokes, you beg him to fuck you, lifting up to guide his cock inside you slowly, sinking down on him until he bottoms out. You bounce on him, his hands gripped to your waist, guiding you, moaning your name between expletives. 

As you approach your orgasm, you pull up his mask, placing it on his head as he usually wears it. He smiles brightly at you, nuzzling his nose to yours. “There’s my pretty girl. Can you come for me now? Come all over this cock?”

You kiss him passionately, arms wrapped around his neck as he thrusts into you, hands squeezed on your ass now. You reach your climax, moaning into his mouth. He comes with you, shooting his load deep into your womb, filling you up with his cream pie. The two of you continue to kiss slowly, catching your breaths. He caresses your back while you melt into his embrace. 

“We need to establish a safe word,” he suggests, cradling you in his arms. “I want to make sure I’m not hurting you.”

You hum into his skin, saying the first thing that comes to mind. “Popcorn."

He chuckles, stroking the back of your neck gently. “Alright. Popcorn it is.” A beat later, he exclaims, “Popcorn! I totally forgot about the popcorn!”

You laugh, giving your boyfriend a wet smooch on the cheek.

[avis-writeshq]

not me asking for it https://www.tumblr.com/avis-writeshq/744966259884556288/if-someone-asks-for-it-ill-write-a-fic-based-on?source=share

pairing: s9!spencer reid x fem!reader genre: fluff, established relationship, SMUT warnings: 18+ CONTENT; MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !! oral fem receiving, spencer reid is a munch, hair pulling, fingering a/n: a promise is a promise !! based off of this post <3 i hope this lived up to expectations !! first time writing fem oral ha h a ha wc: 1.1k

Honestly, if there’s one person Spencer can blame for the situation he is currently in, he blames himself. After all, he should have known that a ‘gathering’ at Rossi’s house that was planned by Penelope would only call for a lot of teasing, a lot of ‘get to know each other!’ games (despite the fact that he has worked with this same team for more than seven years. What else is there to know?), and a lot of alcohol. He didn’t quite realise that these games would be of the drinking variety. Alas, here he is, sitting on one of Rossi’s incredibly expensive leather couches and cringing at the horrid taste of whiskey. 

The game they’re currently playing is an alcoholic’s rendition of ‘who is most likely to?’, involving a thick stack of cards with different topics while each member of the team took turns reading out. Whoever ended up with the most amount fingers pointed in their direction was forced to drink.

Spencer hates this game. He has drank from his cup a grand total of six times, and he is not getting any more used to the spicy-poison-equivalent in his hand. 

“Alright, this is a good one,” Derek announces with a manic snigger. “Who here is most likely to be a munch?”

There is no hesitation in anyone’s answers, and all six fingers point into Spencer’s direction. His jaw drops at the betrayal, his head spinning from the sheer amount of shots he had to take but also what the hell is a munch?

“I don’t even know what that means!” He insists. 

“Oh–” Penelope wears a half delighted half pitying expression at his words. “We really need to get you onto the internet more. Reddit is probably up your alley.”

“Even Rossi knows what it means,” Emily cackles, gesturing to Rossi who looks all too pleased. “Hotch was my second option though.”

Aaron shrugs, sipping at his drink. “Guilty.”

A chorus of laughs and shrieks erupt from the group, leaving Spencer even more confused. “What?”

“Don’t Google it,” JJ chimes in. “Seriously.”

Spencer nods, and although he knows that he should have taken the warning seriously, the curiosity was getting to him and he had no choice but to search it up as soon as he got home. He gets the usual answers– the etymology of the word, what it means in the Oxford Dictionary, the popularity of the word since the early 1800s, and he really doesn’t understand what the fuss is. Does the team think that he eats loudly? Or that he chews with his mouth open? His brows furrow at the unsightly thought. 

His interest soon shifts to a different a different link, namely The Urban Dictionary. He blinks, clicking on the link without much thought and– oh. He does not get much sleep that night.

*** 

Your relationship with Spencer isn’t a secret. At least, it was never supposed to be classified as such. He is simply an incredibly private person that even his closest friends don’t know that you exist. It simply never popped up in conversation– or so he says.

The relationship isn’t necessarily new either. It’s nearing the one year mark and you have gotten to the point where the two of you have been more ‘experimental’ when it comes to sex. He finds it embarrassing. You find it unsurprising that he would. You find it even more surprising when he breaks a kiss halfway to lower you onto his bed, your head falling to one of his very expensive memory foam pillows. 

“I want to try something,” he announces softly into your ear, squeezing gently at your waist and looping his fingers into his shorts. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” you breathe, body hot with anticipation as he pulls down your shorts. It’s only when he brings his face between your thighs do you realise what he intends to do. “Spence, you don’t have to–”

“I want to,” he repeats softly, his fingers running up and down the lacy fabric at your slit. “If you want me to stop, you can tell me.”

You shake your head immediately at that, your hands moving to his grip his shoulders. “No, I don’t want you to stop but– but Spence, this is the first time you’ve done this. It’s okay–”

“Let me do this for you,” he says, his breath ghosting against the sensitive skin of your thighs. “I’ve done my research.”

“What–”

You’re silenced as soon as he presses his lips to your cunt, only separated by your pretty lacy underwear. He groans quietly at the taste of your slick seeping through the fabric, and his hands hold onto your thighs to keep them parted. It’s so good, so good, but it just isn’t enough. He pushes the fabric to the side, watching the way it clings and sticks to your skin. 

All it takes is one swipe of his tongue on your pretty clit for his brain to grow blank. The grip he has on your thighs grow firmer and his fingers dig in hard enough to leave little marks. His nose bumps against your clit while his tongue travels against your folds. 

“You taste so fucking good,” he breathes against you, lapping at your dripping cunt. “Fuck, angel, you’re so beautiful.”

Then, he’s on you all over again. His lips wrap around your clit and he whines into you as he sucks at the bundle of nerves. Each one of his actions has your back lifting from the bed and your hands tugging at his curls, to which he responds with a quiet moan. Amidst the pleasure, your mind nags you to be gentle, and you loosen your grip despite it taking all of your self control.

“Do that again.” He says it as a demand, guiding your hands back into his hair. “Do it again, angel.”

His head is spinning and he craves for more of you, his tongue flattening against your clit over and over again. He brings his own fingers to brush against your entrance, coating them with your slick before slipping his middle finger inside. It’s only the first knuckle but it’s enough to have you squirming beneath him. He pushes further until it reaches all the way, and Spencer groans at the feeling of you tightening around him. He kisses your clit again at the same time he curls his finger inside you and it’s all too much. 

“Spence–”

You gush around his finger and he licks and laps at your pussy like he needs it to breathe. His finger curls open and closed inside you while you rock your hips against his face, your grip on his hair tightening as each second of your high passes. 

“So good,” Spencer moans, kissing your clit. “Taste so good. You can do one more, right, angel? Just one more, I promise.”

reblogs are always appreciated !!

tagging the people who commented on the original post: @mosaicbrokenherz @doigettokeepyou @goblinintheblog @cassioxpeiaxmgg @daddytenebra @lilliumrorum @matthew-gray-gubler-lover @lightreiding

[jays-bookmarks]

Relief (Blade x gn!reader)

@genshin-obsessed so I heard u like Blade 👀

Summary: After being cursed with immortality by the Abundance, you joined the Stellaron Hunters as a doctor. Today, your most stubborn patient finally comes to you for help. Words: 835 Warnings: reader is implied to be shorter than Blade & can be held in his lap (but our Bladie is a strong boy so he can hold anybody uwu)

You muttered to yourself as you walked around your office, organizing your medicines and checking equipment. As the only doctor in service of the Stellaron Hunters, it was important for you to keep everything in tip-top shape in case of emergencies. Although Elio usually told you in advance if a mission would be particularly bloody, there was always the possibility he would withhold one of his predictions. You couldn’t get complacent.

Despite your regular interactions with the other Stellaron Hunters, you felt you couldn't truly connect with any of your “teammates”: Kafka was always inscrutable, Silver Wolf seemed to treat reality like a game, and Blade… Blade was the only one who you thought could understand you. You had both been cursed by the Abundance in your own ways, after all. But after he ignored your attempts at friendship for so long, you had resigned yourself to an eternity of loneliness in your empty office.

You were snapped out of your thoughts by a knock on your door. You paused for a moment. Neither Kafka nor Silver Wolf were due for an appointment, leaving only one other person…

You opened the door to see Blade standing with his arms crossed. His expression betrayed nothing of what he felt, but you could see a tension in his shoulders. He didn’t speak as you blinked up at him in surprise.

“Blade. Come in,” you said, stepping aside to let him enter.

Blade went to sit down in his usual spot, and you quickly busied yourself gathering the necessary materials to make the painkiller you devised specifically for his condition. You couldn’t mix the medicine in advance, as its effectiveness faded quickly with time, so you always kept the raw ingredients on hand.

You glanced over your shoulder at Blade. Your gaze flicked over his body as you observed him. To the untrained eye, Blade seemed fine as ever, if a little irritated, but you knew how to read him after having treated him for so long. You could tell he was holding back more pain than usual. The fact that he was here of his own volition told you all that you needed to know.

You took a breath, then walked over to him. The medicine you made would work in time, but you could provide him with a more immediate source of relief. Gently, you reached out and pressed a hand to his chest.

He stiffened at the contact but didn't push you away. You closed your eyes and poured your energy into him, letting it wash over him and dull his pain. You focused until you felt Blade’s breathing grow more even and his muscles relax.

You felt lightheaded as you pulled back. The process had taken much longer than you anticipated and had cost much more of your energy as well.

You tried to step away toward the counter, not wanting to linger too long in Blade’s personal space, but a wave of dizziness hit you and you stumbled. Before you could hit the floor, Blade caught you in his arms.

“What did you do?” he asked, panic bleeding into his voice.

You knew you would recover in time—the Abundance’s curse would not let you go so easily—but the pain was still nearly unbearable. Your breathing was shallow and your vision blurry. Blade adjusted his grip on you and pulled you into his lap. His arms shook slightly as he held you.

“I’m sorry… I just wanted to help…” Your voice was weak and shaky as you spoke. “It… it'll pass… I'll be okay…”

Though you said this, you were still on the verge of tears. You were not like Blade—you hadn’t spent an eternity in combat and had yet to become numb to the pain of pushing your body to the limit. What he bore with a straight face was agony for you. You tried to hold back a whimper.

Blade tightened his grip around you.

“Why?” he asked.

“I… just wanted to give you some relief…” you said. You pinched your eyes shut to try to block out the pain. “Did… did it work, at least?”

Blade was silent for a while. Then, he pulled you closer, letting your head rest against his chest as his breath fanned over your face. 

“…Yes,” he said. “Don’t do it again.”

“…Sorry…” You breathed out, letting your eyes fall shut. After what you had done, you were completely exhausted, and Blade's embrace was so warm… You fell asleep to the steady rhythm of his heart, for once free of worries as Blade held you close.

The next day, Kafka would enter your office only to see Blade glaring at her to stay silent. You were still slumbering in his arms. He had stayed in that same position all night, not caring about the fatigue in his muscles nor the ache that came with it. Kafka smiled knowingly, holding back her teasing words—if only for now—as she closed the door, leaving Blade alone with you.

[stellarbit]

Past Echoes

4.0k words. Light references to intimacy.

Fitting back in with the Bad Batch was an adjustment. Accidentally letting it slip that you and Echo had more history than Tech, Echo, and Wrecker realized... made it a bit more challenging.

Light reference to this lil fic Shadows of the Order. Do you want some jealous Tech? Protective Echo? A slightly voyeuristic Hunter? I gotchu.

I had a thought - the Batch would most definitely hate the idea of you having previous nsfw fun with a reg. But what if it was a 'the call is coming from inside the house' situation. Enjoyyyyy

When the Batch returned to Ord Mantel, you and O2 followed. Cid, a former Jedi informant, didn't recognize you, and you didn't recognize her—fortunately. She wasn't thrilled about your presence at first. It wasn't until you completed a solo job for her, proving your worth while the Batch tackled their mission, that her complaints subsided.

It became routine for you and O2 to take on jobs separately from the Batch whenever possible. The occasional solitude was a balm, helping you adjust to the constant company.You’d forgotten what it was like to be a part of a squad and to have any attention on you.

Their intense attention was making it all the more challenging.

Reuniting with you after Order 66 mended a wound in them. The loss of Crosshair left a void, partially filled by Omega's arrival. She helped them move forward, bridging the gap left behind. Your presence reignited a sense of the familiar, despite the undeniable changes. Where you once engaged freely, laughing and unhesitant in physical affection, you now held yourself apart, you were now detached and resentful as they saw it.

All of them but Echo. He’d known you longer than the others, back to your days as a Jedi Knight fighting with the 501st, and knew personally how hard adjusting could be.

Adjusting to your new reality was more exhausting than you'd anticipated, not so much a matter of resentment as it was sheer fatigue. Socializing, something that once came as naturally as breathing, now consumed a significant chunk of your mental energy. In some ways, Hunter, Tech, Wrecker, and Echo remained unchanged, the brothers you remembered. Yet, in other ways, they were entirely different, forcing you to relearn how to interact with them as if meeting for the first time.

Adjusting to the presence of a child was a whole separate issue.

Aside from taking some missions separately, you’d all fallen into another routine. Between missions, you all retreated to a modest dwelling you'd secured on the outskirts of Ord Mantell. The Marauder had quickly become too small for all of you.

It wasn’t big and privacy was scarce with most of the space being communal. A small refresher, built a short walk into the desert, provided a sliver of solitude from the group's constant buzz.

The moons were starting to set by the time you and O2 returned from your most recent job. You were sore and ready to shut O2 down by the time you walked into Cid’s.

“Welcome back!” Wrecker shouted, tossing you a box almost faster than you could react. “Looks like another successful mission for you.” You snorted and passed the carton of mantell mix to O2. 

Hunter and Omega were immersed in the game at the dejarik table, Tech at the bar with a datapad, and Wrecker and Echo in a booth along the wall observing it all. You headed straight for the bar, a slight limp in your gate.

Echo's posture snapped to attention as he observed your approach. The abruptness of his movement as he rose was enough to send their table jostling. Wrecker steadied the table, thrown off by the sudden energy, and watched his brother march over.

“Must’ve been an easy job if you got back before us.” You teased and slid onto a bar stool,  handing Cid her client’s requested datastick. 

“Heh, easy for us!” Omega boasted and thrust a thumb to her chest. Hunter briefly smiled at the young clone before focusing on the game again.

Echo, however, wasn’t so easily diverted. He approached, his concern etched deeply into his features as he placed a firm hand on your shoulder, turning you to face him. “Looks like it was a rough one if you’re limping back,” he said, his voice carrying a scolding edge.

Behind you, O2, seemingly oblivious to the gravity of the moment and embodying the classic B1 battle droid blend of sass and clumsiness, trundled up. “If you ask me, we had the easy job. I only tripped twice and only one of those times was in front of enemies. Improvement!”

You waved a hand at Cid, signaling for a drink and said, “Getting old is rough. It’s nothing new.” Your attempt to sooth his stern expression fell flat. 

Echo frowned and shook his head before bending to one knee. Examining your leg, Echo slid his hand behind your knee and lifted it up. His hand squeezed around your knee as his thumb worked into the joint. It brought you visible relief, indicative of the sigh and relaxed tilt of your head.

As Echo’s hand continued its examination down the length of your calf, he asked , “Is it acting up?”

Tech leaned from his stool to peer over Echo’s shoulder, taking special note of Echo’s hand still on your knee. “To what are you referring?” 

Echo, without shifting his gaze from your leg, replied with a hint of frustration, “Her knee. She injured it during the Battle of Christophsis.” He paused, his voice softening as he looked up at you, concern replacing annoyance. “We’ve talked about this.”

Cid slid your drink across the bar to you, which you promptly tilted towards Echo. “I have been, nanny droid, but I can’t baby it all the time.” You took a large gulp of the drink and said, “Besides, it always aches after landing.” Since you’d known Echo, he’d always doted on you to some extent. Since your reunion though it was borderline overbearing.

Tech, ever the voice of logical reason, couldn’t resist chiming in. “Actually, that discomfort is likely due to the variations in air pressure and altitude experienced during descent. The symptoms should ease within a few hours. There is no cause for alarm.”

Echo’s response was a sharp and disapproving glance at Tech..

You hummed a laugh as you finished your drink. Setting the glass down and patting Echo’s hand, you turned away from the cybernetic clone. “Which reminds me,” you gestured to O2 in a ‘follow me’ fashion. “O2, c’mon. I need your help with my shoulder.” 

That caught Hunter��s attention. He turned from the dejarik table. “Your shoulder?”

That particular injury was a relic of Order 66, a scar you hadn’t planned on discussing.

“I got shot and it didn’t heal right, but O2 helps with the occasional steroid shot.” Narrowing your eyes at O2, you rolled out your shoulder. “This time get it on the first stick.” You said as the two of you started towards the door.

“Hey!” The battle droid whined after you. “It’s not my fault you won’t calibrate my sensors.”

“Ah, ah, ah!” You shook your hands at O2 and jabbed a finger into their chest plate, “And I told you I’ll get to it. Just-”

“Not happening.” Echo cut in firmly just as you hit the stairs.

Pausing mid-step, one foot hovering above landing to the next flight of stairs, you turned back to your friend. “Excuse me?”

Echo met you on the stairs. “That clanker is not getting the chance to make it worse.

 You grounded yourself and notched a hand on your hip. “Echo,” Your voice betrayed your exhaustion. “O2 can help just fine.” Echo’s face pinched together at the mention of the droid. His disdain and distrust for droids had not eased with O2’s presence. 

Echo's resolve was unyielding, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that left little room for debate. "No. I'm not letting that droid anywhere near you with a needle. It's not about its capabilities; it's about doing this right," he stated, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "We're not taking any chances with your health."

You sighed, resisting Echo would only prove futile. “Alright, alright,” you conceded and started back up the stairs. “It’s not like you haven’t seen it all before,” you quipped, too tired to think about what you just let slip.

Echo's reaction was immediate; his eyebrows arched in surprise, clearly he hadn't anticipated such a slip. He quickly glanced at his brothers, hoping that your words had somehow escaped their notice.

It hadn’t.

Hunter's gaze shifted, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. Wrecker's mouth hung open, momentarily lost for words, while Omega looked between them all, sensing a tension she couldn't quite grasp.

Tech, who was usually composed and unfazed, seemed especially taken aback. His eyes widened behind his goggles, and for once, he too was at a loss, his brain trying to piece together this new information with the efficiency of a computer experiencing a glitch.

The others were left in a similar stunned silence, grappling with the sudden insight into a part of Echo and your past that had been carefully veiled until now. It was a sudden glimpse into the shared history between you and Echo—a history that was evidently more intimate than any had realized.

A subtle flush crept over Echo's cheeks, a rare display of embarrassment from the stoic soldier, before he turned, almost sheepishly, to follow you up the stairs. 

The sound of the closing door echoed down the stairwell, leaving a heavy silence in its wake. Cid, ever the observer, couldn't help but comment, "Didn't think Killjoy had it in him."

“Had what in him?” Omega asked, her head shifted between her brothers, expectantly waiting for an answer.

Cid leaned over the bar, “What are you, fresh out of the tube or something? They-”

“Were in the war together.” Hunter cut Cid off sharply. “Soldiers…” he struggled to find the appropriate words. “...have to dress wounds all the time.” He tapped his finger on the dejarik table. “It’s probably best we head back too.”

Omega led the way out with O2's unwieldy form bobbing along beside her. Wrecker and Hunter followed, their broad shoulders nearly blocking the path, while Tech lagged behind, lost in thought.

Wrecker leaned in, his whispering not as quiet as he might have thought. "There’s no way we wouldn’t have noticed something... And aren't Jedi not supposed-”

Hunter quickly silenced Wrecker. The situation was already uncomfortable without Omega’s curiosity making it worse. He caught sight of Tech, unusually distant and without his usual companion, his datapad, in hand.

There had been signs, subtle yet unmistakable, of something more between you and Tech. Hunter prided himself on his ability to read situations, to understand his team beyond words. The knowledge of your intimacy with Tech had bothered him, sparking an unexpected intrigue in him. 

He’d smelled, more than once,Tech’s scent on you. The first time it had dredged up an ugly feeling inside the tattooed clone, but that feeling quickly evolved into something stranger.

Hunter remembered a moment, long before the chaos of Order 66, when he and Crosshair had stumbled upon you and Tech in a compromising situation, ostensibly "repairing" the Marauder's camera system. He’d been catching on to the two of you for a few weeks, but that day he knew for certain. Tech reeked of you and you uncharacteristically jumped at the opportunity to load the ship. It may have been lost on Crosshair, but not Hunter.

He knew what happened and, that night, he enjoyed thinking about it.

On the other hand, the possibility of you and Echo sharing something similar caused him a twinge of jealousy - a new feeling for Hunter. He wasn’t sure what secret you and Echo harbored; he just knew he didn’t like it. He did worry what that meant for the brother behind him.

In the cramped quarters of your makeshift dwelling's refresher, Echo was preparing the syringe. The space was limited, barely accommodating the essentials—a shower, toilet, and sink—yet it somehow felt enough for the two of you squeezed together.

With your back to echo, you sat on the rim of the empty bathtub working at the wrap on your shoulder. Most days you wrapped your shoulder and knee for support. The support it offered varied, but on this day, the wrap was more stubborn than usual.

As you struggled with the final layer, Echo's calloused fingers gently brushed yours aside. The warmth of his touch prompted a soft laugh from you. "Definitely warmer than O2," you commented, the tension easing from your shoulders as the last of the wrap fell away.

"Well, at least fifty percent of me is," Echo replied, his voice carrying a lightness that reminded you of times before the scars of war had marked him. Shutting your eyes, memories of Echo before Skako Minor flooded your mind, back when you were both new to the 501st and the galaxy seemed a vast expanse of possibilities.

Your paths had crossed shortly after you were knighted, and Echo had yet to lose the sheen of a 'shiny.' The connection was instantaneous, each of you quickly fell in together. Your friendship was built on your trust in battle and shared fun, with you playfully chiding him for his by-the-book approach, while he, in turn, found joy in occasionally bending the rules for you.

Your attachment to him was tested after a particularly grueling battle, one that left Echo injured and confined to a med bay. Sneaking in to visit him after hours, you were hit with the reality of how close you had come to losing him. It was within the quiet stolen moments in the med bay that blurred the lines of your camaraderie.

At one point, when you tried to adjust his bandages, Echo's hand caught yours, stopping you. The small touch lifted the weight of the situation. His thumb began gentle little circles on your hand and the bond between you went taught.

Seated beside Echo, your friend who looked at you as more than just a Jedi or commander, you wondered what you may have been without a war.  It was hard to imagine, but one thing was clear: the thought of losing Echo, who had become more than just a fellow soldier, was unbearable.

For the first time, you felt that all the hardships of the war might be worth it, just to keep him and his brothers safe. At that moment, the reasons for fighting seemed more personal, tied to the people who mattered most.

The air changed as you noticed Echo’s gaze lingering on your lips.

Without saying a word, you leaned forward. Echo tried sitting up to meet you and that was all it took for you to bridge the gap with a kiss. A first kiss for the both of you. When you pulled back, he pulled back his blanket and, mindful of his injuries and desperate for the closeness, you tucked in beside him.

For that night, the war faded and it was just the two of you in a sanctuary of whispers and touches.

It was the only time and neither of you regretted it, but it only strengthened the depth of trust your shared. It made losing him all the more gutting. Your eyes opened at that thought.

“Echo.” Your voice broke the silence. 

“Hold still.” He instructed before you felt the pinch of the shot. When it passed, Echo rolled his thumb over the puncture point and worked pressure into the surrounding muscles. “What is it?”

You began picking up your bandages and held them to your bare chest. “Did I ever tell you,” You glanced over your shoulder, but unable to look at him as you continued, you turned back “Losing you at Citadel was one of the worst pains I’ve ever experienced? You were my best friend… and I left you behind.”

The sight of you, hunched over those bandages, a scar wrecking your back, and the smallest he’d ever seen you, caved Echo’s chest in. Echo realized how much that moment had stayed with you, just as losing you had stayed with him.

Echo leaned down to your level, placing his hand on your scarred shoulder. You answered his touch by turning just enough to meet his gaze.

“You are my best friend.” he said, his voice steady and sincere. The look in his eyes suggested he was navigating through similar memories, yet his demeanor wasn't marred by sorrow. Instead, there was a tranquil acceptance in his expression, a balance between acknowledging the past's pain and appreciating the present's joys. He even managed a small smile. "I never felt abandoned by you. I get it. Losing you," he paused, a brief shadow crossing his face, "it seemed like the galaxy was falling apart, not the war."

Echo’s grip tightened on your shoulder before he stood back up. The smile he gave you was confident and comforting, the same Echo you’d met all that time ago. 

“But you are alive and so am I. That’s the only thing that matters now.” His hand traveled up your neck to cradle the side of your head. Then, lightly, he placed a kiss on your head “Let’s keep it that way, shall we?”

He started turning to leave you to wrap up, but paused just short of opening the door. “Oh, and one last thing.”

You’d already started rolling the bandages around your chest, so you didn’t bother to look up but acknowledged him with a nod.

“"The rest of them... they're aware now, of how close we actually are."

His words hung in the air, giving you pause. Only after a beat did the full weight of his statement hit you. Abruptly, you stopped what you were doing and whipped around to face him. "What was that?"

Echo hesitated, then clarified, "You pretty much announced it back at Cid’s that I've ‘seen it all before.’”

As his words sank in, you replayed the exit from Cid’s in your mind, and with growing dread, you realized the implication of your offhand comment. Your eyes batted around, recalling exactly what you’d said on your way out of Cid’s. As the realization fully dawned on you, you looked horrified.

While you and Echo never regretted that night, you both agreed to leave it in the med bay. It couldn’t complicate anything if it stayed as a silent memory.

“Echo-”

His pale skin was rose tinted, barely visible from his hand pinching the bridge of his nose. He glanced upwards, as if seeking divine intervention for a swift escape from the ensuing awkwardness. “I’m not dealing with that jealous lot alone so you better hurry up… Shorty.”

Echo said the nickname , a relic from your time with the 501st, in a way that would’ve made Fives proud. His use of the nickname, light and teasing, was enough to momentarily disarm any retort you had ready. By the time you could react, he had already stepped out.

He waited outside the refresher for you to finish and you both headed inside together. As you both reentered the common area, it was clear that Tech, Hunter, and Wrecker were making a minimal effort to seem occupied with anything but the two of you. O2 and Omega were elsewhere. 

Tech’s attention was drilled into fixing a component of the Marauder, but the tightness in his shoulders showed his discomfort. Hunter was sat adjacent Wrecker, sharpening his knife.

Wrecker, in particular, didn't even bother with the pretense of subtlety. His gaze was unabashedly fixed on you both, wide-eyed and overtly curious, as though seeing you in a completely new light for the first time.

Wrecker was the first to break the silence, unable to contain his curiosity. “So, you two?” He gestured between you and Echo. 

Tech’s attention snapped from his tinkering, his expression tight, betraying a flicker of discomfort at Wrecker’s blunt inquiry. "Is this really the time to—"

"It's okay, Tech," you interjected, wanting to clear the air before misunderstandings could take root. Echo nodded in agreement, his expression calm.

One of Tech’s hands tightened into a fist and he glanced away. With not enough information to assess this sort of situation, he was frustrated and struggling to process it. Tech adjusted his goggles, his voice a mix of resignation and annoyance. "I suppose clarity on the matter would... facilitate a return to normalcy."

Echo glanced at the rest of the squad, then back to you, a silent agreement passing between you. He sighed, "Yes, we had a moment. A long time ago. It wasn't serious, and it's in the past."

Hunter finally spoke, raising a hand to stop the conversation., “We don’t need the details.” He sighed and sat up in his chair. “If it’s in the past, that’s that.” Standing, he replaced the knife in his forearm sheath and continued in a flat tone, “Just caught us off guard is all.,” His gaze swept from you to Echo and then rested on Tech.

Tech finally spoke up, his usual composure regained. “As long as this… history doesn’t interfere with our missions, it remains a personal matter.” Yet, beneath his measured words, a hint of unresolved tension lingered.

Wrecker, processing the information, scratched his head, then offered a shrug. “Guess we’ve all got our stories, huh? Just didn’t see this one coming.” Ever the one to lighten the mood, Wrecker clapped his hands. “Well, now that’s settled, who’s hungry?”

Your eyes caught Tech’s. One of his hands rested on his leg while his thumb rubbed against his forefinger nervously. His characteristic confidence dimmed. You weren’t going to let that linger.

Surprisingly, the group quickly dispersed after the awkward meeting.

Wrecker headed off to find Omega and grab some grub and Hunter wanted to do a routine check of the Marauder, leaving you, Echo, and Tech lingering in the common area. Echo gave you a relieved smile and a nod before he too left, leaving you with time to address Tech.

Tech had stayed behind under the guise of fixing the equipment but the careful avoidance of your gaze didn't go unnoticed. Seizing the moment for a much-needed conversation, you approached him with a deliberate calmness, hoping to bridge the growing gap between you.

"Tech?" you started, your voice softer than usual.

He paused, tools in hand, and finally met your eyes. The usual spark of curiosity was there, but it was overshadowed by a hesitance that hadn't been there before. "Yes?" he responded, his tone neutral yet guarded.

You took a deep breath, searching for the right words to navigate the delicate situation. “I’m sorry I never told you. We always wanted to leave it in the past.” You sighed. “I didn’t want you to look at me differently.”

Tech processed your words, the rigid lines of his posture softening. He set his tools down, giving you his full attention now. “If you are implying I would think less of you, that is not the case.” His mouth twitched to the side, his face still masked in neutrality he hesitantly continued. “However, it certainly makes adapting to our new dynamics more… complicated for me.”

Your confused expression prompted him to explain further, “Historically, the thought of your involvement with others was an… unenjoyable experience for me.” His back straightened and something passed through his brown eyes. “At present, I find myself challenged by the desire to offer you more preferable and memorable alternatives."

For the first time in almost a year, heat flared in your chest. You’d forgotten how intense Tech’s attention was. He’d hinted at jealousy in the past. But that short exchange made you wish he’d found out about your history with Echo much earlier.

You took a casual step forward. “I’d like to see what that brain of yours thinks up.”

Tech’s eyes widened for a moment, flitting to the door and back to you.. “I’ve already thought of multiple scenarios I believe you’d find suitable.”

“Are any of them suitable for a limited timeframe?”

His head tilted and, for the first time since your reunion, he gave you his braggadocious grin. “Precisely three.”

[cognacdelights]

play wicked games, win wicked prizes [1]

gif by @spacedean.

my supernatural masterlist

summary: she craves male validation. he's the best high she's ever gotten. now they're both stuck in a sick and twisted game of foreplay that neither are willing to lose.

warnings: daddy issues — daddy issues galore. self-esteem issues. i am well aware that this is not a healthy relationship and is for entertainment purposes only. sexual content and themes. swearing. alcohol use. religious undertones. small age gap romance.

author's note: this will be in two parts as it's looking like it's going to be around 15k words in total. second part will be released soon. minors have been warned. do not interact.

It was hard to define her relationship with The Winchester Brothers.

There was Sam; and he was just Sam. He was a year older than her, and the epitome of the dorky, older brother that she never had. He played board games with her and helped her with her Calculus homework. They shared book recommendations and did research together. She forced him to play Princesses with her and hold tea parties against his will.

But most importantly he was a friend. She’d never had a friend before. Not until the day that rusted, old Impala pulled up outside Bobby’s shop and John Winchester had all but begged Bobby to take his boys in for just a couple of nights. She remembered it like it was just yesterday — hiding behind the over stacked bookshelf, listening as the two older men argued back and forth. Bobby eventually gave in, as Bobby always did, and waved John off with a stern look and a handful of colourful curse words.

Up until that day, it had always been just her. And Bobby. Bobby did the best that he could, but he wasn’t her father, and he never got a break from the job. There was always a phone going off here, then a bloodied and injured hunter turning up at the door there, or the local Sherrif Department snooping around here, there, and everywhere.

Sam was shy at first. Quiet and introverted. He always had his head stuck in a book. She quickly learned that wasn’t entirely the case, he just took a little while to warm up to you. But once that match was lit, there was no stopping the fully-fledged campfire that burned. They were friends. Best friends, even, at times. They understood each other and found solace in knowing that they weren’t alone anymore. They were two peas in a pod.

Her relationship with Dean was far more complex.

He was older; five years older than her to be precise.

Dean didn’t pay her any attention at first. In fact, he barely even acknowledged her presence. He was hyper focused on Sam; always making sure that he ate his breakfast and brushed his teeth before bed. He was more of a parental figure to Sam than Bobby was. Between looking after Sam and helping Bobby research cases, he didn’t seem to have much time for her at all.

It wasn’t until the day of her eighth birthday that she really seemed to turn a corner with Dean. She spent the day sat on the windowsill, peering longingly out and waiting for her father to arrive. She was dressed head to toe in her best outfit; a white, frilly dress with a matching silk ribbon, tied around her plaited ponytail. Her perfectly polished shoes swung back and forth in anticipation as her chestnut eyes lit up with a hopeful glint at every swoosh of the trees and roar of an engine. She was so damned sure that he would come. Why wouldn’t he? He was her father. It was her birthday.

Dean knew that he wasn’t coming. He’d been around the block enough times to know how this played out, and it was never a happy ending. When the sky began to darken, he eventually sat beside her on the old, flattened cushions — a slice of cherry pie, topped with a singular lit candle, in his hand. He caught the saddened look that dimmed her eyes as the realisation began to set in.

Her father didn’t come that day, or the next day, or even the day after that. There wasn’t even so much as a phone call. He pulled up six weeks later with a broken arm and unrecognisable letters etched into a torn and bloodied piece of paper. The only reason Andrew Lawson had returned was to seek out Bobby’s help in translating the words. There was no big, shiny make-up gift, no birthday card, no apology. Just yet another rejection; he shooed her away so the adults could talk.

Dean, once again, saw the flash of hurt that glazed over her eyes. It pained him, because he saw so much of himself in her. He too had forgotten birthdays, and excitedly watched out of windows for his father to never arrive and had been banished from rooms so that the adults could talk. He too had been shoved to the very bottom of the priority list, and the knew the weight of the anguish that came along with that. He knew what that did to a child’s self-esteem.

As they grew older, they became closer.

Dean was a big part of her life. He taught her how to play soccer, including all the dirty plays to win the ball without the referee noticing. He taught her how to fight, and how to shoot a gun. He taught her how to drive — albeit illegally in a stolen, clapped-out banger that they joy rode around the backroads of Souix Falls. He gave the Lawson girl her first cigarette when she was just fifteen, much to Bobby’s dismay. He smoked up her first joint with her on the hood of The Impala. He bought her a four-pack of beer to take to her first high school party and drove her home, so she was safe. He took her to her first bar. He took her on her first hunt. He patched up her wounds. He bailed her out of jail after her first arrest.

They fought like cat and dog, and as only they could. Over anything and everything; the TV remote, supernatural lore, the rules of Monopoly. Whether she was ready for The Hunt. They used to drive Bobby insane with their bickering — with all the door slamming, and flipping off, and the countless “Son of a Bitch” curses that would echo through the house.

As she’d reached her twenties, they’d become the epitome of comfortable with each other. Perhaps too comfortable at times. They’d shared beds together and slept beside each other in the backseat of The Impala. She’d wear his clothes — his flannel shirts as jackets to keep herself warm, or his old, logo-printed t-shirts to bed. She was open about her sex life, as he was too. She’d brush her teeth whilst he was in the shower, and vice versa. She’d flitter through their motel rooms in nothing but a skimpy towel. She’d sit in his lap if there wasn’t a seat, or sometimes even if there was, and lay her head on his shoulder when she needed some soft, human contact. He’d run his fingers through her hair. He’d tug her jeans up by the belt loops, over the strings of her thong, and pull the hem of her skirt down as she drifted past him.

Somewhere — somehow — along the line, they had found themselves locked in this sick and twisted game of foreplay. Teasing. Taunting. Toying. It never went further than some light touching, but their mouths were nasty, and their thoughts were downright vulgar. They got a perverse kick out of it, especially her. In all the rejection from her father, she had turned to seeking out male validation to fill the void and Dean Winchester was the ultimate high; the random, slick-jawed man at a bar would give her a five-minute high at most before the shame would set in, but Dean would have her orbital for days. One look, one touch, one quick-witted comment would have her floating amongst the constellations.

And then, he died. Well, so she had assumed. Sam had explained that he was gone. Just gone. Nobody knew where, or how. He was just: gone.

Her world turned upside down. There were no more Orion-level highs, just five-minute boosts to her ego before the guilt-ridden shame would drag her back down into a pit of self-loathing. She swept her way through The South — hitting bar after bar, bedding man after man, destroying monster after monster. She drank and she smoked until she didn’t even recognise herself in the mirror anymore.

Until her phone rang — a number that had once been disconnected flashing across the screen. Sam Winchester.

“Good morning, you’ve reached Maggie May’s Flower Shop. How may we help you today?” she put on her best Southern Belle accent. Even though she knew damned well who was on the other end of the phone, she still turned out her spiel. She would be damned to the darkest corners of Hell if she didn’t put him through the ringer after almost a year of no contact.

“Maggie—” a timid voice sounded throughout the speaker, “—it’s Sam.” He waited anxiously for her to respond but when she remained silent, he was forced to continue. “We need your help.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I know a Sam. Have you placed an order with us?” Maggie shot back with a sickly sweetness to her tone.

There was a heavy breath on the opposite end of the phone. “Come on, Mags. We’re working a case, and we could really use your help… It’s rough out here.”

“May I suggest our apology bouquets,” she continued, standing her ground, “they’re just divine. Will smooth over almost any of your wrongdoings.”

“Apology bouquets—” a deeper, gruffer voice chuckled, “—what did you do?”

Maggie instantly dropped the Southern Belle façade. “Dean?” she questioned, voice dripping with surprise.

An uncouth melody of noises permeated from the phone. A whack. A loud groan. A grumble of curse words. “You didn’t tell her, Dumbass?”. Followed by rustling and shuffling. Then mumbling. They were arguing. Maggie couldn’t comprehend exactly what they were arguing over — the line was too crackly, and she was too hungover to concentrate — but they were most certainly at each other’s throats.

“Hello?” she huffed impatiently.

“Maggie May,” Dean’s husky voice filled her ears, “how you been?”

“Uh—” she didn’t know how to answer that question. The honest answer was far too much more than she was willing to give away to anyone, but to say that she had been just peachy would have been a downright lie. Both Dean and Sam would have seen right through it. “I’ve been more Sober in my life—” she bit her lip, despite the two brothers being unable to see, “—and I don’t remember getting back to my motel room. But I’m alone, so I think that counts for something.”

“How quickly can you get to Stillwater, Oklahoma? We’re working a job and could use you right about now.”

She rolled herself over under the quilted comforter until she teetered on the very edge of the bed, her dark locks falling into her face. “I don’t think I should be driving right now,” she admitted, vision blurry as she peeled herself out of the warmth and stumbled her way towards the bathroom. She pulled on the string for the light and was immediately met with harsh, white lighting. Her head throbbed as she let out an involuntary groan.

“Jesus, girl, how much did you drink?” he asked — his face scrunching up at the lethargic pads of her feet and the uncomfortable groans that echoed through the speaker.

“Enough to drown a fish,” Maggie mumbled back.

She stared at herself in the mirror; her eyes were bloodshot, and a dark, mauve bruise painted her cheek an unsightly manner. She hissed quietly as she ever so gently reached her fingers up to touch it. Bad idea. It pulsed with pain. On further inspection, she had a busted lip — dried blood coating the thin cut.

“Atta girl, I suppose.”

“I can be in Oklahoma in a day—” she answered, running the tap, “—but you’re gonna have to give me a few hours before the single vision kicks back in.” She splashed the cool water over her face and instantly regretted it. “What’s the case?” she asked.

“Two deaths at an all-girls Catholic boarding school,” Sam cut in.

“We can’t get close enough to figure out what’s going on,” Dean added.

“I guess I’ll start practicing my Hail Marys then.” Swiping the towel over her freckled features, she left the phone balancing on the edge of the porcelain sink.

“No amount of Hail Marys are gonna save you.”

She spat a response, “bite me, Winchester.”

“I’m sure you’d love that, sweetheart—” Dean chuckled, “—but we’ve got a couple of civvy deaths to deal with first.”

“I’m holding you to that.”

It had been a long twelve hours on the road, and by the time Maggie’s old, beat-up pick-up truck pulled into the motel parking lot it was pushing midnight. The red, neon light of the sign cast down onto the black asphalt, dimly lighting up a path to the several motel room doors, and the few wall lamps flickered every couple of seconds. The walls were peeling their beige paint — as if shedding all their unspoken sins away — and rusted, metal chairs lined the tiled walkway. It couldn’t have looked any shadier if it had tried.

Maggie killed the engine, watching as the warm lamps of her headlights faded into the darkness. She stepped out, the thick soles of her boots hitting solid ground for the first time in what felt like forever. The midnight air ran bitter, but it was a welcomed reprieve from the humid temperatures of New Orleans. A chill crept along her spine like two gentle fingertips — however, not a patch on Dean’s. She tugged the sleeves of her over-sized flannel over her fingers and proceeded down the walkway, leather duffle bag in hand.

If she hadn’t had it drilled into her that you always pick the motel room closest to the exit — in case the need for a quick getaway ever arose — the sleek, black Chevrolet Impala parked outside would have given which room they were staying in away. Well, that and the gruff sounds of their arguing. The curtains were pushed closed, but there was a light on in the room; two tall silhouettes appeared in front of the window as what she could only assume was the TV flashed advertisement after advertisement in the background.

“I’m not a child anymore, Dean—” Sam’s husky tone echoed through the courtyard, “—you don’t get to make decisions for me. If I say I’m good, then I’m good.”

Maggie stuffed a hand into the pocket of her flannel and retrieved a credit card; it was and old one in an alias that she no longer went by — most likely maxed out and with a red flag marked against it on the system.

“No, you don’t get to make these kinds of decisions when you take a year out,” Dean shot back. His voice was deep and gravelly, a sure sign that he’d been drinking. “You’re out of practice.”

She slid the credit card between the mouldy, wooden door and its frame and pressed her weight against it.

“This isn’t about me being ‘out of practice’,” Sam deduced — his words turning more accusatory than defensive, “why don’t you tell me what this is really about? Get it all out in the damn open.”

It was a tough lock, which was surprising for such a run-down, old motel; they were usually a lot easier than this to crack open. Maggie persevered, forcing the credit card into the gap with a masterful wiggle.

Dean argued back, “you’re slow, and you’re weak, and you’re not thinking ten steps ahead. You’re a freaking liability right now and I don’t have the time to be playing search and rescue every time something goes down.”

She found the sweet spot, and with a glorious click, the motel room door opened. She stepped inside, a satisfied grin curling the corners of her full lips upwards. Who needed a key card?

Within a matter of milliseconds, Maggie was staring down the barrels of two handguns — locked and loaded with two ring-cladded fingers hovering over the triggers. Two mean glares stared her down. Sam and Dean. She merely cocked her head to the side as a lopsided smirk swept across her fair features. She teased, “don’t you boys know it’s rude to point your gun at a lady?”

“Yeah?” Dean shot back with a surly attitude, “let me know when you find one.” He stood down, easily slipping the gun back into the waistband of his scuffed-up jeans.

She pouted playfully in response.

“Maggie,” Sam addressed her. His voice was significantly softer, almost breath-like, as he raked over her with guilt-ridden eyes. He followed suit and stood down. He nonchalantly threw his loaded weapon onto the half-made bed before looking back at the petite brunette before him. Sam wasn’t sure what else to say; in fact, he wasn’t sure that there was anything he could say to make the tension dissipate. Maggie May was going to hold a grudge for as long as Maggie May pleased.

“Sam.” Her chestnut eyes scoured over him in return. They started at the very top — taking in his long, mahogany locks. They were longer, but more kempt. He was wearing a new flannel shirt; she’d never seen him in a flannel of that colour. He still wore the worn, leather watch that his dad had given him, but it was set ever so slightly fast. The jeans were new too. There were no scuffs or rips, but the boots were worn in and old. She returned her gaze upwards and met his eyes for a brief second.

Then, she looked away. Her eyes caught the elder Winchester brother and immediately illuminated with a spark of relief. She let go of the leather handles and let her duffle bag drop to the floor with a soft thud. She took a step towards him, and then another, before wrapping her arms around his neck. Maggie held him tight, nuzzling her nose into the crook of his neck as she stood on the tips of her toes.

“Dean.” His name was quiet and mumbled, almost as if she didn’t quite believe that he was there. She took a long breath, inhaling the familiar scent of his deep amber cologne. God, she had missed that smell.

A reticent laugh slipped from between his chapped lips. He placed a gentle kiss into her messy wisps and mumbled — the words quiet, as if they were ever only meant for her to hear, “Maggie Mayhem.” His burly arms wrapped around her slender figure and held her into his body just as tight. The palm of his hand laid flat against the bottom of her back, slipped beneath the hem of her leather jacket, and the pad of his thumb carefully stroked back and forth.

Realising the vulnerability that had clouded her voice, she steeled herself and mocked, “when are you finally going to stay dead? This is what— the third time now? Obituaries are expensive, you know.”

“I’ll write you a cheque for your losses,” another husky chuckle rumbled through his chest, unphased by her teasing.

Maggie felt Dean’s grip loosen around her and him begin to pull away. She wasn’t quite ready to let him go just yet, and instinctively held him tighter. She’d missed him — she’d missed that orbital high that came with his attention, his touch; and her damaged soul most definitely needed the recharge. It had been a long, emotional rollercoaster of a year without him. A few more seconds wouldn’t hurt. “Not yet,” she told him.

Dean simply relaxed — resting his chin atop her head and allowing her to melt into the warmth of their embrace. His hand dropped to her hip and leisurely hooked itself into the beltloop of her fitted jeans. He gave it a tender tug, covering the black string of her thong. He felt the tickling brushes of her eyelashes against his neck as she rolled her eyes in typical Maggie May fashion.

Sam merely watched on awkwardly. Him and Maggie were as close as two best friends could be, but they never quite reached the level that Maggie and Dean had; they were something different. What, he had no idea. It wasn’t his business, and neither of them were vulnerable enough to divulge anything like that to him. He’d never expected to receive the same greeting as Dean, but the frost-like look and the forced out of the weird uncomfortableness that hung over their friendship half-smiles made him feel a thousand miles away. He felt defeated, and tired.

Eventually, she retreated from his embrace feeling suitably secure. She left a small gap between their bodies and peered up at him, taking him in. His features were ever so slightly more weathered — framed by a dark but well-kept stubble. His lips were still full but dehydrated and his eyebrows untamed.

Dean frowned as he finally noticed the bruise that painted her cheek an unsightly shade of plum. “What happened to your face?” he questioned — his finger propping her chin upwards for him to gage a better look, and his thumb securing her in place.

Maggie rolled her eyes once more at the protective undertones, pulling out of his grip and turning her back to him. “It was just some stupid girl whose boyfriend couldn’t control his wandering eye, that’s all,” she shrugged her shoulders at the half-truth and retrieved her duffle bag from the floor, “she caught me off guard.”

“Hmm,” he hummed in response — not entirely believing her; Maggie May had a knack for finding trouble.

“So, uh—” Sam shoved a hand into the depths of his jean pockets, “—the case?”

Maggie stared at herself in the bathroom mirror, her chestnut eyes settling on her bare features. Her eyes were tired and heavy after the long drive to Oklahoma, and surrounded by two cushions of dark circles. Her skin was dull and fair, more than likely from the lack of natural sunlight that she had seen in the last God-knows-how-many months of crawling through bars and spending her days sleeping off hangovers in shady motel rooms. The mauve bruise that tarnished her cheek looked angry and painful — deepening as the blood settled and the tissue began to repair. Her busted lip was sore, aggravated by every slight movement she made. She looked like a ghost — physically and metaphorically; her vessel was very much present but there was no light behind her eyes, and no spark in her soul.

She continued to stare into her own reflection, meeting her own gaze in an intense battle under the harsh bathroom light; she was a mess, in every sense of the word. If she were to stand before her younger self, she wouldn’t have the slightest indication of who she was. Hell, she wouldn’t even recognise herself if she bumped into her from a year ago. All the years of being on the road, all the losses that she had felt, and all the rejection that she had faced had finally caught up to her — and it wasn’t a pretty sight, to say the least.

There came the ever-familiar waves of no self-worth again, hitting the solitude rocks of her self-esteem at full force.

She pulled a tube of antiseptic cream from the makeshift first aid kit. Squeezing a small dot onto her finger, she then dabbed it against the crusty cut on her lip, careful and tender with her touches. A quiet hiss involuntarily slipped between her lips as her dark eyebrows furrowed into a frown. The ointment burned as it seeped deeper into the cut.

Maggie turned her head and peered out of the open bathroom door. Dean was sat in the leather armchair — jean-clad legs manspread, a police report in one hand and a freshly-cracked bottle of beer in the other.  There was a pensive aura that surrounded him. His fingers gripped the beer bottle with a tightened grasp, and his jaw had locked, almost as if it was holding back a barrage of thoughts. He stared intently at the words printed on the page, yet never turned to the next. There was something on his mind.

She saw it as an in. A reason. An excuse.

Letting the half-used tube of ointment fall into the sink, Maggie wandered back into the bedroom space. She was quiet and soft in her movements — almost timid — until she reached Dean. His eyes remained fixed on the police report, and a pang of upset coursed through her; Maggie was used to commanding his attention — his heavy-lidded eyes falling naturally on her and feeling the heat of his stare.

Her bare knees fell either side of his body as she straddled his lap, the hem of the over-sized t-shirt exposing the glorious lengths of her thighs. With one swift motion, she’d stolen the freshly cracked bottle of beer from his grasp. Her lips twitched upwards into a smug, but angelic, smile as Dean raised his eyebrows at her questioningly. The bottle ghosted her full lips — the very tip of her tongue tracing the rim in an enticing circle as her chestnut eyes locked with his, before taking a long swing.

Dean watched attentively as Maggie had her fun, his eyes glued to her. She was so effortlessly seductive; everything about her — from the way her delectable thighs spread open in his lap, to the way her tongue ever so slowly traced around the bottle rim, and the way the thin fabric settled over her taut nipples and the piercing bars — exuded lust. Piercings? That was new.

His tongue dragged along his bottom lip in an effort to quench the thirst that had been awakened in him. Although, it barely scratched the surface. It had been a hell of a long time since his engines had been roaring, nevertheless had been taken for a test drive; he’d spent the last year wandering purgatory in survival mode, where he rarely ever found a second to breathe. Maggie May was well and truly testing his patience in that moment. And boy, did she know it…

He reached for the bottle, but it was promptly moved from his grasp.

Maggie stretched upwards, holding the half-empty bottle above her head, and peered down at him with a taunting glint in her eye. He reached once more — shifting himself into the most compromising position. He reached upwards once more, unintentionally pushing his crotch further against Maggie. Big mistake. She rolled her hips in a flirtatious retaliation, arching her back and pressing her clothed pussy against his lap.

It took every ounce of strength not to give in to her, but he did it. Dean remained steeled — the deep, husky groans that begged to be released begrudgingly shoved down into the very pit of his stomach, and his lips pressed into a thin line. He was semi-hard beneath her, pressing against the zipper of his jeans, as he placed his firm hand on her thigh. It was a gentle but commanding hold as his ring-cladded fingers slipped beneath the over-sized t-shirt and gripped the skin, his thumb rubbing tender back and forth patterns against the inside of her thigh.

“Maggie May,” he warned.

“Yes?” she cocked her head to the side innocently.

“Don’t start something we can’t finish.”

“Aw, cute—” she taunted with another leisurely roll of her hips, “—you don’t think you can make me cum.”

A fervent groan slipped from between his lips as his dick grew harder against the constraints of his jeans. His jaw tightened as his fingernails pressed crescent shapes into her skin, forcing her to be still. Choosing to ignore her teasing, he sent her a deathly glare — one that dared her to try that move again; it appeared to have worked as she relaxed her posture, sitting herself innocently on his erection and keeping still.

Placing the police report down on the wooden table, he gestured with his finger for her to return his beer.

Reluctantly, she handed it back, but not before she took another large gulp.

Dean took a swig of the now half-empty beer and allowed his fingertips to wander. His hand moved further up her thigh, his fingers catching and tangling themselves in the string of her thong. His thumb dragged ever so tenderly over the crease in her hips where legs bent, tracing back and forth motions. It was so instinctual, as though his hand gravitated towards there — like the soft dips in her skin were made for the palms of his hands.

Maggie stared down at him with sensual, umber eyes. Heavy-lidded and burning with a heat fuelled by the dopamine that coursed through her veins. This was it. This was Maggie in her element; enriched by the power of holding every last drop of his attention, alive and awakened by the electricity of his touch, and riding a high so orbital that her soul was one with the solar flares of the sun. She felt like herself again — full of confidence, and full of life.

“You finally got ‘em pierced then?” Dean mused with a questioning raise of his eyebrows and his gaze trained on her taut nipples. They pressed against the thin fabric of her over-sized t-shirt, practically on show for the whole world to see.

For a brief second, her eyes dropped to her breasts — following his. Then, she responded with an audacious smirk. “I sure did,” a low laugh slipped from between her lips, “wanna see?”

Dean tilted his head backwards as he repositioned himself in the chair. His hips shifted forwards and his shoulders slouched into the cushioned back of his chair. He tipped the bottle downwards and emptied it’s remaining contents in a slow and tactical swig. Of course he wanted to see. He was steeling himself; it truly had been a long time since he’d had any sexual gratification and the immediate flashes of her naked body above him — pierced tits bouncing playfully as she rode him under the warm, orange glows of the motel sconces — had sent him into an oblivion. Maggie May was becoming harder and harder to resist.

He somehow managed to remain calm, dowsing the fire in the pit of his stomach with his beer and plastering an unfaltering poker face across his features. That was until he felt his dick harden and strain against his zipper, giving him away.

Maggie felt it too and responded with another leisurely roll of her hips. A devilish glint occupied her eyes as her smirk grew wider. Damn, that girl would be the death of him one way or another.

“Those daddy issues got you well and good, haven’t they?” Dean retorted. He placed the empty beer bottle on the table.

“Uh huh—” she agreed with a sardonic grit to her words, “—my daddy didn’t love me enough so now I need men twice my age to tell me how good my tits look to get me through the day.” She leant forwards, back arched, and pouted her full lips. “Either tell me how good my tits look or take it up with Andrew. If you can find him.”

Hooking his finger beneath the hem of her shirt, his beer-soaked breath fanned against her face. “You’re every therapist’s wet dream.”

“Glass houses, Winchester.” She paused for a second as the pad of her finger traced his jawline. The coarse hairs of his stubble sent a shiver running down her spine. “I’ll book a couples session—” she dropped her hand, “—and we can both hash out our Daddy demons. Maybe then we’ll finally stop playing this silly, little game with each other and fuck for real.”

She wasn’t far wrong. In fact, she’d hit the nail flat on its head. Whilst Maggie’s father was an absentee who had rejected her in every possible way that he could find, Dean’s father had placed unrealistic expectations and responsibilities on him from a young age. Both carried the burdens of their father’s parenting styles, or lack thereof; both would very much benefit from a professional listening ear and some advice on how to form healthy adult relationships. But, alas, they were here.

“Now, hold up—” Dean’s tone was thick and gravelly as he began lifting the hem of her shirt with his finger, “—let’s not fix what ain’t broke. Show me them pretty, pierced titties.”

Maggie pulled her t-shirt up, holding it in place and revealing her bare breasts. Her nipples were a delicious rose colour and tightened into little buds as the silver bars pierced between them.

He dragged his tongue along the length of his bottom lip again, admiring the sight before him. And what a sight she was. His finger ran slowly underneath the waistband of her baby pink thong. Yes, baby pink thong with a sweet, satin bow in the very middle of the waistband. That had surprised him; Dean had never pinned her down as being a pink and frilly bows type of woman. He’d always thought of her as red and black lace. Nevertheless, the way the fabric fit her body so perfectly still made his skin burn and his mouth run dry.

With a gentle tug, he pulled the string up over her hipbone and let it sit. He then traced her skin upwards — lackadaisical with his movements. The calloused pad of his finger brushed over a scar that tainted her stomach. An old, healed over stab wound. His touch was tender as he sketched the outline of her silhouette, until eventually landing on her breasts. He cupped her boob with his warm palm and allowed his thumb to ghost over her poised nipple.

She let out a jagged breath at the contact.

Dean found his rhythm, circling his thumb over her sensitive bud and rolling it between his fingers.

“Ohhhh.” Maggie let out a breathy moan as she rolled her head backwards. It was an involuntary reaction that she couldn’t stop even when channelling every ounce of might that she had; it was carnal and deep-rooted within her. As was rocking her hips back and forth in a slow and salacious cadence. She was acting on pure instinct and throwing absolute caution to the wind — acutely aware that neither had dared to venture this far with one another.

Dean sat forwards, his now moist lips almost instantly finding her other nipple. His tongue traced a slow circuit around her sensitive bud before his teeth nibbled ever so gently. He sucked, and licked, and nipped to his heart’s content — spurred on by the lustful whines and breathy moans that spilled, one after the other, from between her lips.

She reached her hands between them, her voluptuous hips coming to a gradual stop, and fiddled with the button of his jeans. It was hard to undo them one-handed — the angle was awkward and the old, metal button was stiff — but she managed. Her dainty fingers slipped inside, palming his erection through his boxers until his rugged breaths didn’t send shivers jolting down her spine. She wanted more; she wanted to hear the strangled, husky moans that crawled from the very depths of his throat as they made skin on skin contact.

Maggie pulled his hardened dick from the constraints of his boxers and curled her fingers around his length. She pumped him up and down, revelling in his grunts and groans. They vibrated against her delicate skin and sent shockwaves of electricity through her body — right down to the very tips of her fingers and toes. This was it. This was Maggie at the very peak of her orbital high; she was sat atop the world, spinning aimlessly with the constellations and soaking in the vibrant solar flares of the sun. She was as high as she had ever been, and she wasn’t sure she was ever going to come down from this point. She was lost to the cosmos.

She peeled back the fabric of her damp thong and positioned herself above him. The tip of his dick leaked with pre-cum as it ghosted over her folds — coating himself in her slick.

Then, as he found her entrance, the unmistakable roar of his 1967 Chevy Impala engine sounded throughout the motel room. Maggie whipped her head towards the window — the blaring headlights blinding her, even through the old, dust-covered curtains. It was Sam. With almighty impeccable timing.

She swiftly turned back to face Dean, who had begrudgingly detached himself from her breasts, and looked down at him. A pained expression contorted her blush-tinged features as she let her panties go and stood from the chair. She took a step backwards, then another, and another, until she found the cheap quilt of the bed. She sat down and clamped her thighs together — eyes dazed and her core utterly aching for the man before her.

Dean stood from the chair and tucked himself back into his boxers. His jeans remained unbuttoned and loose around his hips. He dragged a hand through his dishevelled hair as his chest heaved up and down. “I’m gonna…” he nodded towards the bathroom as his words fizzled out, his sentence incomplete.

All Maggie could do was nod in understanding and watch as he disappeared into the bathroom, the door closing swiftly behind him. Her breaths remained heavy as she struggled to calm herself down — her cheeks still stained vermillion and her temperature almost feverous. The sound of the water running flooded the motel room.

Shit. There came that rapid descent back down to Earth.

[f1daydreamers]

𝐁𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐁𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐫𝐬 [𝐓𝐀𝟔𝟔] 𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟑

gif credits: @trenty

Pairing: Trent Alexander-Arnold x Fem!Reader

Summary: Arne, in hopes to focus on his team’s mental health as much as their physical, recruits a younger but just as educated psychologist to work one-to-one with the more reserved players. Trent is one of them.

A/N: Check out the masterlist for the first two parts if you haven’t read them already! Also, thank you so much for the kind comments on my posts, they mean more to me than you’ll ever know!

Warnings: this one’s a bit more fluffy, still a very reserved Trent tho

Word Count: 1.9k words (7 mins reading avg)

…

The first match to kickstart the club’s season was undeniably close.

The pressure had been mounting palpably in the last few weeks, evident in the increasingly focused, sharper, and heavier training sessions.

You didn’t have a personal experience with them, more so the ones that Conor had been complaining about.

But despite being unable to travel to the US, you’d personally assumed that preseason had been a success.

You’d caught highlights when they dropped and heard murmurs of staff satisfaction with certain performances circulating around the centre.

You hadn’t been able to get many sessions in though, only a touch few with Conor, as he was your top priority given his age.

He’d done remarkably well the previous season under Jurgen when top performances were needed, but working on his mental stability was always a key factor and one of extreme importance.

"Congrats," you smiled warmly as the Irishman approached, his own smile mirroring yours. You acknowledged his successful time in America.

“You must be feeling great,” you remarked, smiling gently.

His dimples were evident as he nodded, a sense of fulfilment telling in his stance. “Yeah, yeah. It was good, enjoyed it proper.”

You let him continue on, giving brief welcomes and some hugs to the players as they piled in one by one within the hour before their training began.

You felt a pang of frustration as Trent walked directly past you, refusing to even meet your eyes as he acknowledged only a few of the staff who were standing off to the side.

Dismissing it, you turned your attention to Wataru as he approached next.

You needed to focus on the players who were working with you. It was crucial, especially as the season was fast-approaching.

Or so you kept telling yourself.

“Y/N,” you glanced back, a smile forming as you spotted Arne trying to catch your attention.

“How are you doing?” He asked as you fell into step with him, continuing to walk down the corridor towards the gym where he was headed.

“Good, yeah. You?” You kept it short and sweet, fully aware that he was a busy man.

“Doing okay. About your request you sent before preseason,” Arne continued, prompting both of you to stop and face each other, a hopeful anticipation in the air.

“It’s fine with me and Lee doesn’t have any issues with it. But, if there is no improvement, then the sessions will need to resume as planned. Okay?” He nodded affirmatively.

“Yes, of course. I-I understand. Thank you.” You replied gratefully, your appreciation evident as he patted your shoulder before leaving you.

…

The city was buzzing with activity as match day quickly approached. Red flares blazing around the city, shirts and scarves already adorned the day before.

The players were being put through their paces in the final training session before the big game. Having an hour free in the mornings after your request was approved meant you could utilise it in a different way.

You observed the session from the sidelines, making mental notes of the players' demeanours and interactions. Trent was, as usual, intensely focused. Every movement, every touch of the ball deliberate.

After the session had concluded for the day, you made your way to the changing rooms. Some were discussing tactics, sharing jokes, and some were lost in their thoughts, mentally preparing.

You approached Conor, who was pulling his boots off his feet, and sat beside him.

"Ready for tomorrow?"

He looked up, his shoulders slumping. "Yeah, I think so. Just need to stay focused."

"Remember what we talked about," you reminded him gently. "Always be ready, visualise your game, see yourself succeeding."

Conor nodded, a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He raised his fist, and you met it with a bump. "Thanks, Y/N. It helps, you know."

A wave of relief washed over you. Reminding yourself that you were doing a good job was one thing, but hearing it from someone you always tried to help was another.

"I'm glad," you said, giving his shoulder a reassuring squeeze.

Upon hearing Arne clasp his hands together, forcing everyone to quiet down and hear the gaffer out, you silently gave Curtis and Wataru a nod before slipping out of the room.

As you turned, you nearly collided with Trent. He tutted, sidestepping in order to slide past you and into the changing rooms. You'd hoped that once he was informed of your approved request, he'd be slightly less frowny.

But seemingly, the opposite was happening.

…

You had just finished Curtis' report when a knock on your door interrupted your thoughts. Mustering a tired smile, you called out, "come in."

Lee popped his head through the door, and you rose from your chair. "Hey, everything okay?"

He entered the office, closing the door behind him but not completely. With his hands raised in mock surrender, he said, "yeah, yeah, all good. I just uh wanted to ask if you caught Trent." "I thought you approved my request?" you asked, eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "I did," he confirmed, stepping forward. "But I saw Trent hanging around your office just after training." "What? Why?" you asked, bewildered. You tried to think back to earlier, but all you remembered was that you were definitely not in your office. "He didn't say. Didn't seem happy, though." Lee shoved his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight on to either feet. "Not much difference there, then." You sighed, placing your hands on your hips. "I'm confused. If he knew about the request, why would he show up?" You asked, and the senior consultant shrugged, crossing his arms over his chest. You both thought about it for a moment until Lee spoke again, "are you sure Arne let him know?" Your head tilted, mouth slightly parting as realisation dawned on you.

Oh.

"I'm pretty sure Arne didn't because you were meant to," you said, trying to keep your tone casual despite the frustration creeping in.

The first session Trent had supposedly shown up for, you weren't even there. Suddenly, his avoidance of you after you'd exited the changing rooms made a lot more sense. He must’ve just come down from your office. "I was?" Lee asked, clearly taken aback. You let your head fall back in exhaustion but slowly nodded moments later. Shuffling through the papers on your desk, you found the one you needed and handed it to Lee. He scanned over the text, before he looked up again.

“Y/N, I feel terrible. I can go find him." Remorse painted itself across his features.

"It's okay," you replied. "It's better if he hears it from me." You aimed to justify poorly.

Because you had a very successful track record of not pissing Trent off, obviously.

...

Later in the day, you found yourself back in the canteen, grabbing a quick coffee.

It was well past noon, but with the mountain of reports you needed to write about the players' psychological states before tomorrow, caffeine was your only ally.

Trent walked in, looking for a snack. Being on the bottom of his 'I don't want to talk to you' list every day meant the outcome of your conversations with him were quite forseeable.

Deciding to address the elephant in the room, you walked up and pushed all doubts to the back of your mind. You reached out and touched his arm to get his attention, and he reacted immediately.

He turned to face you, and you lowered your hand slowly.

“Can we talk for a second?” you asked, trying to sound as casual as possible.

His jaw hardened. “I'm busy.”

"I promise it won't take long." You countered.

"Considering I don't care about your promises, that don’t mean shit to me." He's on a roll with the irony, you thought to yourself.

You glanced at a sympathetic Carol who was standing on the other side of the serving station.

"Please?" You blinked slowly, praying to the powers that be to instill some patience in the man.

He picked up a bag of trail mix, before watching your face for a few seconds. You were half-expecting him to tell you to eat shit, but you were wrong.

An unusually pleasant surprise.

You nodded to a quieter corner and led the way, with him following behind before you whisked around.

"I'm so sorry." You fiddled with the cup of coffee in your hand.

Past his hardened anger, you'd felt bad for him. The courage to have shown up only to be let down isn't a feeling that would've altered his perception of you.

"I don't care." His gaze bore into yours, unyielding.

You frowned slightly. "I do. I told you I'd keep trying to reach you and-"

"What's your point?"

His eyes travelled down to your fidgeting fingers before dragging back up to your face. He sighed, clearly bored.

"Lee was meant to tell you," you paused, gathering your words. His eyes narrowed.

A flush of guilt coloured your cheeks. "I put in a request before preseason to cancel our sessions together."

You looked up, trying to gauge his reaction. The crease between his brows was prominent. "It was approved, and Lee was supposed to tell you, but he must've forgotten."

It hurt to let someone down. As a chronic people-pleaser, this likely frustrated you way more than it did Trent.

He leaned against the wall behind him, bringing one knee up. He crossed his arms but his eyes lightened. "So, you're telling me that..."

He paused to pop an almond into his mouth. "You admitted defeat?"

Either he was smirking, or you were being incredibly delusional.

You shook your head. "No, I never gave up on you. I thought maybe you needed a different approach." Explaining your previous actions felt pathetically awkward.

His lips pressed together. "Or maybe you just couldn’t handle it."

You rolled your eyes, your features still guilt-ridden. "Does that make you happy or something?"

His eyes roved over your features, and for a moment, his expression softened.

"Oh, you have no idea, psychologist."

You swallowed, feeling a flutter of surprise. Your eyes widened slightly, the gentleness in his features unexpected.

Just then, Curtis walked by and caught the tail end of your conversation. “Are you two flirting or fighting?” He teased, winking at his Scouse counterpart.

Your expression didn't change, but Trent looked over, staring at him. “Can’t you tell the difference, mate? Your missus must have a hard time putting up with you.” He remarked a little too quickly.

Curtis' mouth fell open as some of the players snickered at the exchange. To your surprise, Trent let out a genuine laugh - an unfamiliar sound that retained your attention.

He pushed off the wall and ambled over, casually draping an arm over his friend's shoulder.

On another day, maybe you would've joined into the jokes that were being thrown around but you were oddly rendered silent.

His almost playful disposition was a complete contrast to the tension that had clouded your interactions since the day you'd met.

It was almost as if he genuinely believed he was rid of you, and this moment of levity was his way of signalling relief.

You took a deep breath.

The casual banter, although lighthearted, felt jarring. Without another word, you walked out of the canteen, the enigma of his sudden change nagging at you.

As you exited, Trent’s gaze followed you, his eyes tracing your retreating figure. He seemed poised to follow you, a sign of a subtle, perhaps unconscious shift in his stance.

His eyes lingered on your departing form, as if grappling with an unspoken urge to either see where you were going or say something to you, though he wasn't quite sure what.

Yet only as he started to move, Curtis' voice cut through the moment. "Oi, where you off to?" Trent shook his head, a half-smile still playing on his lips as he rejoined the group.

Oddly, his attention remained fixed on the door for just a bit longer, as if expecting you to turn back around, before he fully immersed himself back into the conversation.

…

Part 4

Masterlist

Comment below if you want to be part of the taglist! Once you are part of it, you'll be reminded for every part of the series until its completion!

Taglist: @trentwife @bluebreadenthusiast @julovesurmom @blubsberries @remmysthings @heyjudeb @keepitabuckxx @vivi-grace @hoddystark @hiireadstuff @trentione @missusstark @iamasimpingh0e

[estapa-edwards]

can you do a Jack Hughes x reader on their engagement day. Like Jack is awarded with something within the New Jersey devils and takes pictures with family and ends up giving reader a signed game worn jersey asking her for a hand in marriage and reader says yes, he also gets down on one knee and gives reader an big diamond ring. Thanks❤️❤️❤️❤️

ENGAGEMENT - J.HUGHES

paring: Jack Hughes x reader

word count: 1.3k

requested? yes

warnings: use of y/n.

*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨* ≈☆≈ *¨¨*:·..·:*¨¨*

The night was electric at the Prudential Center, home of the New Jersey Devils. The atmosphere was filled with anticipation as fans poured in, eager for a night of celebration and hockey. It wasn’t just any game night; it was a night dedicated to honoring Jack Hughes, the Devils' rising star. Jack had been awarded the prestigious title of the team's Most Valuable Player, a testament to his incredible season and growing influence in the NHL. But for Jack, this night held an even more significant meaning.

Y/N stood among the crowd, her heart swelling with pride as she watched Jack take the ice. The spotlight followed him, illuminating his journey from a promising rookie to a celebrated player. She knew how hard he had worked, the countless hours of practice, the physical and mental challenges, and the unwavering determination that had brought him to this moment.

As the ceremony commenced, the arena's giant screens played highlights of Jack's best plays. The crowd erupted in cheers with every goal and assist, their admiration for Jack palpable. Y/N couldn’t help but feel a surge of happiness. She had been by Jack's side through it all, his biggest supporter and confidante.

Jack's family was also present, their faces beaming with pride. His parents, Ellen and Jim Hughes, stood alongside his brothers, Quinn and Luke, all sharing in the joy of Jack's achievement. The Hughes family had always been close-knit, their bond unbreakable. Y/N felt a warm connection with them, having been welcomed into their family with open arms.

As the ceremony reached its peak, the Devils' captain handed Jack a trophy, recognizing him as the MVP. The crowd's applause was deafening. Jack, usually composed, had a hint of emotion in his eyes as he held the trophy aloft. He took the microphone, his voice steady but filled with gratitude.

"Thank you all for this incredible honor," Jack began. "I couldn't have done this without the support of my teammates, coaches, and, of course, my amazing family. You all have been my rock."

His gaze shifted towards Y/N, his eyes locking with hers. "And to Y/N," he continued, his voice softening, "you've been my biggest supporter, my partner through thick and thin. I couldn’t have asked for a better person to share this journey with."

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat. The crowd cheered once more, but all she could focus on was Jack, his words resonating deeply within her.

After the ceremony, Jack was whisked away for photos with his family and team. Y/N watched from the sidelines, her heart brimming with love and admiration. She saw Jack's interactions with his family, the genuine smiles and laughter they shared. It was evident how much this moment meant to all of them.

Jack caught Y/N's eye and waved her over. "Come on, Y/N, join us!" he called, his smile wide and inviting. She made her way over, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness. The photographer positioned them, and they took several photos, capturing the joy and pride of the night.

As the photoshoot wrapped up, Jack turned to Y/N, his expression serious yet tender. "There's one more thing I need to do," he said, reaching into his bag. He pulled out a game-worn jersey, his number emblazoned on the back. The jersey was a symbol of his journey, the sweat and effort he had poured into every game.

"Y/N," Jack began, holding the jersey out to her, "this is for you. It's more than just a piece of clothing; it's a part of my journey, a journey that I want you to continue being a part of."

Y/N took the jersey, her hands trembling slightly. She looked up at Jack, her eyes glistening with emotion. "Jack, I—"

But before she could finish, Jack took a deep breath and got down on one knee. The arena seemed to hold its breath, the crowd falling silent as they realized what was happening. Jack reached into his pocket and pulled out a small velvet box. He opened it to reveal a stunning diamond ring, its brilliance catching the light and sparkling like a thousand stars.

"Y/N," Jack said, his voice filled with emotion, "you’ve been with me through every high and low. You’ve supported me, believed in me, and loved me unconditionally. I can't imagine my life without you. Will you marry me?"

Tears welled up in Y/N's eyes as she looked at Jack, her heart overflowing with love. "Yes," she whispered, her voice choked with emotion. "Yes, Jack, I will marry you."

The crowd erupted into applause, their cheers echoing through the arena. Jack slipped the ring onto Y/N's finger and stood, pulling her into a tight embrace. They shared a kiss, the world around them fading away as they celebrated their love and commitment.

The Devils' mascot, NJ Devil, danced around them, adding a touch of humor to the heartfelt moment. Jack's teammates and family surrounded them, their congratulations and well-wishes blending with the cheers of the fans. It was a moment of pure joy, a perfect culmination of Jack's achievements on the ice and his love off it.

As the night continued, the celebration grew. The Devils won their game, adding to the night's happiness. Y/N and Jack found themselves at the center of attention, their engagement the talk of the evening. They took more photos, with Y/N proudly wearing Jack's game-worn jersey, a symbol of their shared journey.

Jack's parents embraced Y/N, welcoming her officially into their family. "We're so happy for you both," Ellen said, tears of joy in her eyes. "You’ve always been like a daughter to us, and now it's official."

Quinn and Luke teased their brother, but their happiness was evident. "About time, Jack," Quinn joked, clapping him on the back. "You’re a lucky guy, Y/N's amazing."

As the night wore on, Y/N and Jack stole a few moments alone, away from the crowd. They stood on the ice, the arena now quiet and empty. The silence was peaceful, a stark contrast to the earlier excitement.

"I can't believe this," Y/N said softly, looking at the ring on her finger. "It's like a dream."

Jack took her hands in his, his gaze tender. "It's our dream, Y/N. We've been through so much together, and this is just the beginning. I promise to always be there for you, to love and support you just like you’ve done for me."

Y/N smiled, feeling a warmth spread through her. "I love you, Jack. I'm so proud of you, and I'm so excited for our future."

They shared another kiss, the cold ice beneath their feet a reminder of where their journey had started. It was on the ice that Jack had found his passion, and it was on the ice that he had found his love.

As they walked off the ice hand in hand, Y/N glanced back at the empty arena. It held so many memories, and now it held one of the most precious moments of her life. She knew there would be challenges ahead, but with Jack by her side, she felt ready to face anything.

Their engagement day was more than just a celebration of Jack's achievements; it was a celebration of their love and commitment to each other. It was a night they would remember forever, a night that marked the beginning of a new chapter in their lives.

As they stepped out into the cool night air, Y/N looked up at the stars. They seemed to shine brighter, reflecting the happiness in her heart. She squeezed Jack's hand, feeling the promise of their future together.

"Here's to us," Jack said, his voice filled with hope and excitement.

"Here's to us," Y/N echoed, her heart full of love.

And with that, they walked into their future, ready to face whatever came their way, together.

[euphoricfilter]

𝐒𝐞𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐀𝐧𝐱𝐢𝐞𝐭𝐲 | 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟔

it’s been 14 days, no action? :(

tags/ warnings: game designer! jungkook || non-idol au || established relationship || angst || slight comfort? || bro gets no action || he’s just sad

word count: 1k

notes: no taglist ‼️

☆ epic callob with @bonny-kookoo 💕 ☆

☆ series masterlist

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆.

It’s silent in the car, aircon blasting as Jungkook just sits there staring at the dashboard of his car.

When he glances over at the clock it sinks in that you’re not coming back downstairs.

It had been an hour.

Which he knows is enough time for reality to settle in for you, that if you wanted out it would have been decided by now and he’d be driving the both of you home. Reality sinks in, yet he can’t bring himself to start the ignition just quite yet. The smallest sliver of hope that any moment now you’d open the door to the lobby, and he’d already be there waiting for you.

His phone lays open on your chat, last messages from over a week ago. No sign of you typing to message him saying you made a mistake wanting to stay at a friend’s house for the night. No ‘I miss you’, no ‘I love you’.

He swallows, fingers tapping against the steering wheel as he knocks his head back against the seat.

“Shit” he whispers, tongue pressing into his cheek.

The streetlights blur behind a veil of tears, slipping down his cheeks as his bottom lip quivers.

His feet tap against the floor as he tries to swallow down a sob, ugly ache blossoming within his chest. He wonders if it’s fully due to you not being with him tonight, or if it was partially the fact the last couple of weeks had been the most stressful of his life. So many fickle emails and bratty clients. His mind melted after minimal hours of sleep, locked up in that crappy office of his for more hours than he had ever wished for.

Or if maybe partial to the fact that he could feel the both of you slipping further away from one another, your fingers slipping from between his. Sticky vines that tied your souls together slowly unfurling until you’d slipped from his side, pretty flower of your existence slowly wilting, where all he can do is watch. So caught up with what other people needed of him, that not only had he neglected himself, but you too.

His phone screen glares at him, another minute ticking by on the clock. He snatches it off the seat, hand running over his jaw as his mind cranks back to life.

He sits there for a moment, ‘I miss you’

He shakes his head. He doesn’t want to guilt trip you to come home.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip, eyebrows furrowing in the slightest. Fingers tapping away on the screen, game of battle ship sending into the chat.

He stares at it, body prickling with anticipation, hope firm in his chest as he waits.

It can’t be more than a couple of minutes before you’re accepting the game, always a lot better than him at it. Though he didn’t mind losing this time if it meant any meagre sort of interaction with you. The small truce with whatever you had going on mending that little crack in his fragile soul.

It’s when you’re half way through the game does he get the notification.

‘14 days without logging in, no action? :(‘

His shoulders slump forwards a little, quickly swiping out of the game you were playing to check on his app.

His feet patter against the floor as it loads, impatience seeping from every fibre of his being as it opens. His fingers are quick to flick through each of the columns, mouth tipping open a little wider as he catches sight of his score.

Third place too. Not even second. Third.

20 orgasms behind schedule, utterly awful that he would ever neglect you of that, even if it weren’t intentional.  

“Oh hell no” he cries, tears clinging to his lashes. His head tips forward, heart hammering against his chest when he startles himself, loud ring of the car horn echoing off each of the houses of the street. He sits up with wide eyes, peering out the window beside him, eyes focusing on your friend’s apartment. Suddenly embarrassed at the prospect of him waiting outside in hopes of you changing your mind.

He’s quick to swipe back into your chat, quick to play his turn of the game before he’s opening his browser.

He scrolls through each of the tabs, patting around the passenger’s seat for his glasses. He fumbles to turn the small overhead light on, hand brushing through his hair as he finds the tab he was looking for.

He wouldn’t be paid for another week, the flights staring back at him from his phone. Realistically if the both of you didn’t indulge for the week, then it would be fine, price for the both of you sending his bank balance reeling.

He swallows down the thought of all the money that’s about to go out of his account, false reassurance that it would all be worth it by the time he gets paid for all the work he’d put in over the last couple of weeks.

“It’s okay” he whispers, fingers tightening around his phone. He pauses, tapping open his banking app to make sure he wasn’t about to go into the negatives because the universe knows you would berate him beyond belief if you ever found out he was in the negatives.

He doesn’t think about it, fingers pressing against the screen, janky wheel of the booking website taking longer than he would have liked to spin. A short puff of reassurance dissipating from his chest when the confirmation email comes through: two plane tickets for the both of you. That, and with the Airbnb all booked, Maria having confirmed that it was totally okay for the both of you to go as wild as you liked over your stay in her place, even offering to stock it up with snacks for the first night you’re there, Jungkook’s plan was finally underway.

Only a little while longer, countable sleepless nights, ongoing projects that had become the bane of his existence almost ready to be sent off onto some other poor sucker before it’s even thought to be released.

Months of planning, months of stress and hurt and utter shit. Yet he could see it, the moment both of your hearts reach out for one another again, bodies warm pressed together, unbridled love shared through gentle kisses. Everything back to how he liked it before life had become too hectic.

[goldfades]

nika muhl hcs of her love languages?

𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐔𝐀𝐆𝐄𝐒 ─ NK¹⁰

─ word count | 329

─ warnings | nothing but fluff!

─ taglist | @xocherishxo @iienstein @yazmunson @euphternal @uraesthete @hello-nah817 @wanderlusturous @paigeszn @ekisokau @plushkhiii and here's a link to my taglist if anyone would like to join!!

─ ev's notes | i tried a new style! of course i'm still gonna do normal headcanons but this style felt a little better, i hope yall enjoy!!

QUALITY TIME

Nika loves spending her free time with the people she genuinely loves. If she doesn't really care for you, she will never ever spend more than a moment with you if she doesn't care about you. In her eyes, her time is incredibly valuable so she only spends time with people she cares about (or at least, likes)

Any time she isn't at practice or games, she's with you. She's in your dorm, just relishing in your company. She doesn't even necessarily even have to be talking with you ─ you both could be doing your own things, it's just being around you that she likes. It helps her destress, knowing that she can spend time with you without putting too much energy into it. Your energy recharges hers, it's her favorite thing in the world.

ACTS OF SERVICE

Anytime you need anything, and I truly mean anything ─ she will do it for you. Whether it's as simple as washing the dishes or having to drive an hour to pick you up. She will do it.

Again, she thinks her time is incredibly valuable so when she does these things for you, she does it out of the love she has for you. Nika also loves the feeling of being needed, it makes her just feel all warm and full because like... yes! You need her for something!

GIFT-GIVING

Oh my god, she loves to spoil you! And she does it with incredibly expensive things because she is a very bougie girl so she wants her baby to be just as (if not more) bougie as her!

It fulfills her in a way that's like the anticipation leading up to the moment when you unwrap the carefully chosen present awaiting your reaction. This love language is a tangible expression of her love for you. It's her way of showing how much you mean to her and how grateful she is to have you in her life.

↳ make sure to check out my navigation or masterlist if you enjoyed! any interaction is greatly appreciated !

↳ thank you for reading all the way through, as always ♡

[all-about-kyu]

Summary: Xiaojun really wants to watch you get fucked by your best friend. Pairing: Xiaojun x fem!reader x Hendery Tropes: established relationship au Genre: smut Rating: R 18+ Warnings: language Smut Warnings: light bondage with a belt, cuckholding, brief manhandling, fingering, dirty talk, protected sex, hair pulling, untouched male orgasm Word Count: 1,597 Host Tags: @sanjoongie @thelargefrye Before You Interact February Filth Masterlist

Listen to ♡ Fxxk You by KARD

“You’re sure you want this, Junnie?” You ask for the millionth time.

Xiaojun nods, “I want this. I know you and Hendery both do, too.” 

You nod and kiss your husband deeply, “I love you.”

“I love you too, beautiful.” He smiles into the kiss.

When you mentioned finding your husband’s best friend hot offhandedly, you wanted nothing more than to let the ground swallow you. Then Xiaojun said he also found his friend attractive. That was a curve ball you hadn’t expected. What you couldn’t have anticipated was the suggestion that he came up with a moment later. Not only did your husband say he also found his friend hot, he also said he’d love to see his friend fuck you stupid. Your sex life with Xiaojun is more than enough. Still, the idea of being fucked by Hendery was appealing. 

You and Xiaojun had a long talk about the logistics of it all before formally asking your friend to join you in the bedroom. When Xiaojun asked his best friend if he found you attractive, the other man looked like a deer caught in headlights. A light laugh escaping your lips seemed to ease the atmosphere. Hendery carefully nodded and said he found both of you attractive. Not only that, he also admitted that you were any bisexual person’s wet dream together. 

Presently, you’re wrapped up in a silk robe that barely stops at your mid-thigh. Xiaojun is more dressed than you, not dressed up, but more covered. When a knock sounds on your front door, you watch how a sparkle shines in Xiaojun’s eyes. He’s just as excited to be nothing but a voyeur to you and his best friend as you are to fuck him. You remove yourself from your husband’s arms and waltz to the door. Pulling it open, you see Hendery wearing a comfy hoodie and sweatpants on the other side. The outfit mirrors that of your husband’s. 

“Look at you, wrapped up like a pretty present.” Hendery muses.

You look away, slightly flustered by his comment, “Well, I have to look pretty before you fuck me.”

“And we’re all still game for this?” 

The question is directed at your husband. You look back at Xiaojun and see a slight smirk dance across his face. Hendery, knowing his best friend, nods and wastes no time pulling you into a heated kiss. You make a small, surprised noise but quickly kiss him back. Hendery wraps his arms tightly around your waist. He walks forward, making you stumble backward a bit. Your eyes are closed. You don’t know where your husband is in the room, but you’re likely stumbling into the bedroom based on your orientation. The sound of a doorknob turning and the feeling of the back of your legs against your duvet only confirms your theory. You fall back on the mattress, and Hendery’s frame hovers over you as you continue to kiss.

For the first time since Hendery arrived, you get to come up for a proper breath. You watch as Hendery pushes himself off of you and stalks over to where your husband shifts in his spot. His sweatpants do nothing to hide his boner. 

“Can you sit nice and watch me fuck your wife, or do I need to tie you up?”

You hear Xiaojun’s breath falter. 

“I think I’ll need to be tied up.”

“Need to or want to?” The other man chuckles, pushing a finger against the underside of his jaw.

“Want to.” You hear your husband breathe out.

Hendery hums and grabs one of Xiaojun’s belts that was lying out. He guides your husband to strip all of his clothing off his body and kneel on the floor at the foot of your bed. Hendery carefully and safely binds Xiaojun’s wrists together in front of him. After ensuring that the other man isn’t in pain or too tightly bound, your friend returns to you. He grabs you by your waist and manhandles you onto your elbows and knees, your face mere inches from Xiaojun. It takes everything in you not to lean forward and capture your husband’s lips in another kiss. 

“Where do you keep the condoms?”

“Dresser, top drawer.” You state simply.

Your eyes stay trained on Xiaojun’s even as you hear Hendery rooting through the drawer to find condoms. You feel the bed dip behind you, followed by the feeling of Hendery’s fingers running through your soaked folds. You still have your robe around you, but the fact that he can’t even be bothered to remove the one clothing item you have on makes you feel even more used in the best way possible.

Hendery pushes two fingers into you. Your eyebrows furrow together as you let out a moan. You still keep your eyes on Xiaojun as your friend fingers you. Hendery fucks his fingers into you for a bit, making you leak more arousal with each motion. You knew the entire encounter would be hot. Nothing could’ve prepared you for this, though.

“Do you even fuck your wife properly, Junnie?” Hendery questions, “She’s nearly falling apart on just my fingers.”

Xiaojun doesn’t respond. You can’t find it in yourself, either. Dropping your head forward, you let out another string of moans. You push your hips back, chasing the feeling of his long fingers inside you. Just as you feel your orgasm start to build, Hendery pulls his fingers from inside you. The bed shifts behind you, and you can hear the faint sound of fabric falling onto the bed. The telltale sign of foil ripping follows not long after. You gasp, feeling the blunt head of his cock pressing against your entrance. 

“Want me to fuck you?” He breathes out, rubbing his cock head around your entrance.

“‘Dery, please!” You whine, wiggling your hips against him.

Xiaojun lets out a small whimper, making Hendery smirk behind you.

“Your wife wants me to fuck her, ‘Jun.” He reiterates, “Your wife wants to get fucked by another man.”

“She wants it.” Xiaojun confirms, “Give her what she wants.”

Hendery pushes into you. A broken moan escapes your lips. Your head falls forward onto the bed fully. Hendery reaches forward and unties the bow from around your waist. He then lets his hand travel higher and grab a handful of your hair. He pulls your head back, giving Xiaojun the perfect view of your fucked out expression and your tits bouncing as Hendery thrusts into you. 

Your eyes travel down Xiaojun’s body. His cock is painfully hard and leaking. Still, he only watches with lust-fogged eyes as your friend fucks you stupid. A part of you could get used to having Hendery fuck you on the regular, even if you’re married to Xiaojun. Somewhere inside, you feel that Xiaojun and Hendery wouldn’t quite mind that either. 

“You’re so fucking tight around me.” Hendery growls, “Is Junnie even fucking you?”

“‘Dery!” You moan, “Fuck! I’m gonna–”

“Already?”

You do your best to nod with his hold on your hair, “Wanna cum!”

Hendery chuckles, releasing your hair, “Your poor husband looks so desperate in front of us.” He notes, “Why don’t you go on and kiss him?”

Xiaojun’s eyes sparkly at the notion of finally getting some sort of attention. You crane your neck forward, a moan escaping as Hendery pushes a punctuated thrust into you. Xiaojun leans up to meet your lips. The moment you feel his plush, soft lips against yours, your orgasm hits you. Your pussy convulses around Hendery’s cock. Xiaojun quickly and easily swallows your moans. While Xiaojun isn’t getting any physical stimulation on his cock, he moans back into the kiss. Hendery is spewing filthy words into the room as he continues to thrust into you at a brutal pace. Xiaojun lets out a particularly loud, broken moan. You pull your lips from him for a moment to see that he came completely untouched. His cum paints his belly and wrists. The leather of the belt has cum on it too. The sight of Xiaojun riding out an orgasm without being touched almost sends you into a second orgasm.

Just as you’re about to dive into another kiss with your husband, Hendery retakes a handful of your hair and drags your body up against his. He turns your head towards his and captures your lips in a kiss. Your robe is completely open, and now Xiaojun has a relatively close view of how Hendery’s cock thrusts into you. Overstimulation starts to nip at you in a slightly painful way. You whimper into the kiss with Hendery, lightly biting his lip. Then, you feel Hendery still inside you. A low groan comes from his lips as he fills the condom. 

He releases your body, and you nearly collapse against your bed. Weakly, you reach forward and undo the belt around Xiaojun’s wrists. Hendery busies himself with knotting off and throwing away the condom before returning to help you out of your robe fully. You’re enthralled in a deep kiss with your husband as Hendery removes the silk from your body. You hardly notice the slight throbbing in your pussy as Xiaojun starts to climb up the bed and on top of you. He still has his cum on his lower belly as he presses his body to yours, but you couldn't care less about the sensation right now.

“You have another round in you, my love?” He mumbles against your lips, “I need to show our guest here that I know damn well how to take care of my wife in bed.”

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[penvisions]

gone to the dogs {chapter 4}

Pairing: Boston QZ! Joel Miller x Reader ; brief mentions of Boston QZ! Joel Miller x Tess Servopoulos

Summary: Unexpected glimpses of your past allow for your softer side to be exposed. But it won't be the thing that alters the dynamic between your trio. No, you have something else planned for that.

Word Count: 7k

Warnings: canon typical violence, canon typical language, canon typical gore, outbreak fic, age gap (only by about ten years), angst, dark fic, dark joel miller, mean joel miller, joel miller is uptight, degrading language, sexual language, sexual proposition, violence, heated interactions, descriptions of a minor assault, adult language, fighting, argumentative language, mutual disdain, sexual content, implication of sex work, unprotected piv, sexual acts, reader is snarky, reader gets violent, major injuries, dismemberment, reader meets joel toe-to-toe with insults and it's amazing, both reader and joel pov, lemme know if there are any i missed!

A/N: ARE Y'ALL READY, but seriously, i hope y'all enjoy this chapter *minor spoiler but reader's singing voice is very much akin to ruby leigh from the voice contestant show

ao3 link || series masterlist || joel miller masterlist || ko-fi

It’s early morning, when Tess seeks you out. The sun barely coming up and showing its form over the horizon, the sky swathed in deep oranges and golden tones that remind you of seasonal fruit.

Frank is sitting with you already, coffee brewed fresh and sweetened with frozen ice cubes of coffee creamer and sugar. A surprise you hadn’t anticipated but greatly appreciated as the man beside you refilled your cup time after time to ensure it was never truly empty. Conversation had been light, on the back porch where you had curled up in the wicker loveseat to try and get the weight off of your body for a few hours.

As soon as she shuffled through the door, Frank removed his hand from where it was tangled with your own and said he would get started on breakfast. Wanting to ensure you, all three of you, had a full stomach for the journey back to the zone. His way of taking care of you where you’ll let him, even now in the end of the world.

“Look, I know it may seem like I was playing some game yesterday…” The older woman breaks the silence, knowing your mind must be turning and overturning the events of the last few days.

“Just wanted to know I was meant to be playing along.” She’s not cautious, but there’s a tiredness and stilted manner to her sitting down in one of the matching wicker chairs. The cushion and pillow in the seat do little to comfort the unease you can see in her body. It’s as if she hasn’t slept, or that her sleep was restless just like your own despite the safe environment and almost now foreign amenities.

“I was being genuine with them, Frank…he’s reminded me of who I used to be. As I’m sure he has with you, especially sharing a past I’m not going to ask after. It’s your business and that’s your prerogative.”

“Sent your guard dog after me to listen into my conversation with him, not sure I really believe the sentiment.”

“Cane, you know as well as I do that he does what he wants.”

“Doesn’t take away from the fact that he reports back to you. Acts as if you two are the ones who run things. Conversations I’m not a part of.”

“We all run things, the three of us.” You’re glad for her roundabout honesty, though you know that it’s natural for rifts to divide people, for them to seek out those they are more comfortable with. That talking with someone you feel bonded with, a partner, a friends, is a part of life. That they both must have conversations going over things just as you do with her, though not as frequently.

“Yeah, looks like it from the outside, doesn’t it?”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Just that you two have gotten very comfortable with the way things are in the zone-“

“No more comfortable than you made yourself in my bed the other night.” Her eyes meet your own in a silent challenge, will you lie and cover up the fact you shared Joel’s bed, or will you be honest with the woman who does so on a regular basis. You don’t know Joel as well as she does, but he doesn’t strike you as the type to seek out attention or affection from other’s behind someone’s back. A cheater, he is not, though he has done many questionable things to survive. She doesn’t seem upset, at least outwardly, though you know it must strike a cord near her heart. The way you catch her gazing at him sometimes tells you more of her feelings than she ever has. And for that, you cannot fathom lying.

“That was a lapse of judgement. It had been a shitty day trying to move what little product I had. He didn’t fuck me if that’s what you’re concerned about.”

“I don’t care if he did, that’s his prerogative. I don’t own him, I don’t control him-“

“Wouldn’t matter if you did, he needs to feel like he’s got someone to look out for and you’re it. He would do anything for you, does do anything that you ask of him now. It’s me he has a problem with and I’m not entirely sure why he laid with me the way he did.” You try to soothe her as best you can, as best as you’re able to in the situation. She must know what she means to him, or at least what he’s able to with the damage and destruction he’s surely endured.

“He doesn’t have a problem with you-“

“Save it, I know he does. I know you do too, blatantly throwing us under the bus to make us seem like untrained dogs who only snap and bite at those that near us.”

“That was more for him, than for you.”

“And yet you still said it the way you did. It wasn’t appreciated.”

“I didn’t intend for it to hurt your feelings, I apologize if it did. I really am…appreciative of the way you’ve allowed us both to fold into your zone.” It’s obvious, the appeal she’s trying to make to you now. The same woman who had been at the table yesterday. A glimpse of who she used to be, but it bothers you how you can’t tell if she’s genuine or not, if it’s the same play you had been orchestrating with her the past couple of months.

“You came into my home to try and get intel on me before usurping me. Of course you’re grateful I folded you into the scene. You wouldn’t have had anything otherwise.”

“Not nothing, no. But I do realize it would’ve been less if you were getting a portion of the cut of everything we got on both sides.”

You only hummed in response. Aware that this conversation was taking turns you’d rather not delve into at the moment.

“We’ve all gotten comfortable, me included, you’ve given me the room to do so. But I talked to Frankie, he’s willing to convince Bill to agree to it. You’ll lead this one, you did find it after all and there’s no reason for my knowing him to effect that.” You don’t have to fear for someone lunging at you in the dark, for someone using a trade as a rouse to lure you alone to take advantage. Her intelligence and Joel’s strength have allowed you breathing room in the months of constant worry after your brother’s death.

“Joel will need to really be on his best behavior. He’s got his teeth bared because Bill does.”

“Then reign him in.” You meet her eyes, the worry you house at the rise of conflict that is all too real aimed her way but ever present in the way you didn’t have to say anything else. She nods once as you lifted your mug up and took a sip of the wonderful coffee Frank had been kind enough to keep full. “Mind him and lead by example. I will as well.”

“He doesn’t think poorly of you, if he did, he wouldn’t be insistent on joining you beyond the walls.” It’s hard to know how to respond, it’s almost default to fling insults with the older man, to taunt him and see if he rises to the bait, something he does in return. But despite it all, you would defend him should he truly need it and you only hoped he would do the same. You doubt he would die for you, but that was such a rare devotion these days.

“I suppose not, but…should anything happen he will still work with you. He…Joel is someone who needs someone by his side whether he wants to admit it or not. Like you said. And you would be good for him, protect him as he protects you. It’s…good you were willing to work with us.” It’s implied, the connection you both have with the man even if it feels different, looks different. The way she wishes for you to recall that should something happen to her. Infection, sickness, a trade gone wrong, a trigger-happy soldier, anything. She wants to ensure he won’t be alone.

“I swear to you, should something happen, I won’t throw him to the crowd waiting to tear him apart.”

“Thank you.”

“Tess, just- I have a feeling the scene is going to get worse before it stabilizes again. The cartons of cigarettes Frank is going to give us will help but, other things are bound to dry up.”

She’s quiet for a beat, taking in the way you reach for your mug. She’s watching you as much as you’re watching her. It’s not a stalemate, it never is between you two. She knows your penchant for comments on how things are going, the ways your mind works and overworks. Concerned about details and the intricacies of things whereas she’s focused on the entire scene or play. It’s a match, which allows for all things to be considered, working well with each other in the past year. She has to be aware of that, at least, even as tensions rise and perspectives are beginning to warp and shift.

“Cane, this- opportunity to do trade with an outside source, it could help prevent scavenges into the decaying city. You know as well as I do that things are getting harder and harder to find as time goes on. Hell, it’s already beginning to thin.”

“It is…” You agree solemnly.

It’s when you’re in the shower again, before you change into the clothes you had showed up in, that Joel seeks you out. Now washed and dried, folded atop the counter waiting for you. The door opens and closes without the call of a voice but you can hear the distinct steps of Joel as he stand in the middle of the bathroom. Hear the way he’s breathing a little harder than normal. You’re about to ask him what’s wrong when you hear the hush of fabric and see the outline of him through the plastic shower curtain move to pick up the dress you had been wearing.

“Dress was nice.” His voice is low, a quiet rumble that washes over your skin much like the shower, though goosebumps sprout up despite the heat of the water.

“I’m not in the mood for games, Miller.” Sighing, you reach for the shampoo, the scent of sandalwood and amber wafting in the steam that fills the room.

“I’m bein’ serious. Looked good on you. Different.” The effect his words on you, his attempt at an actual conversation is one of heat blooming in your middle. He’s so goddamn handsome and it’s a shame he’s such an asshole, molded by the circumstances of the fallen world. He seems to take your words in stride, his mood nothing but calm as the shower continues to rain down on you.

“Everything seems to be different these days.”

“Can be a good thing, sometimes.”

“Can be.” You watch through the clear curtain, dappled with beaded water. He’s shrugging out of his dark green button up. The fabric hushing as it reveals his skin to you for the second time. His chest is dusted with dark hairs, the silver threading through it catching the sunlight filtering into the bathroom.

“Don’t mind, do you?” The clink of his belt and the unzipping of his pants.

“Not particularly, no.” He’s already stepping into the stall, his broad body taking up what little room was left and crowded the space. But it doesn’t feel like he’s cornering you, it feels almost…intimate in the way that his eyes are taking in the form of your body slick from the water and foamed up bubbles trailing down where they drip from your hair. “Just didn’t think you’d be the one to seek me out next.”

Tangling his fingers into your hair, he dips your head back to wash the shampoo from the long tresses.

“There was no need for me to be so…biting last night. I don’t know how to do the whole- talking thing these days. And you have to admit, we don’t do much of that with each other already.”

“They’ll work with us, Frankie is a good man.” You reach for the shampoo again, reaching up with the thick liquid cupped in your hand to lather it into his bowed head. His hair is as soft as you always thought it was, thick curls dark with the weight of the water saturating it.

“Sharing a past with him helps, otherwise it would be a tense and slow start.” His hands are anchored on your hips, fingers digging into your skin as you don’t dare to look down where you feel him soft against your thigh. The admittance of presence helping isn’t lost on you. He’s not one for praise and it’s intense with how close you are in the stall. You hear the apology for his previous words on the matter in his new ones. Though you are unsure if he believes them, you feel the need to but it is hard to tell as his skin touches yours and ignites your blood. “Tess may have set this whole thing up and he may have convinced Bill for the trades, but you are an asset.”

You hold your tongue, the question of ‘an asset or the orchestrator’ drowning from your mind as he noses along your collarbone, ducking his head further to allow you to wash the suds from his curls. As soon as he looks back up, you’re reaching to brush the water from his eyes, his brows, his scruff, watching the way it sticks to his silver threaded hairs and the memory of it against your skin makes pleasure and desire pool in your core.

His hands are turning your willing body around, and he’s firm where he bumps against the back of your thighs, the plush of your ass as you face the wall. And now you feel crowded, as he presses his front to your back, the way he hinges your hips to meet him, for the way he slips into you in one smooth motion for the first time.

But it’s not a bad feeling, it’s comforting being shielded from the rest of the world in this little stall, his body hiding you away and comforting you all at once. It’s a dangerous thought, even as it’s punched out with your heavy breath carrying a moan as he begins to thrust against you. Heat overtakes your senses, from the pleasure rippling through you to the flushed skin pressed to you to the still running stream of the shower. It consumes you even after you peak, after you feel Joel’s own sear into the backs of your thighs, panting breath matched by him as the moment winds down.

“You didn’t tell him your brother wasn’t alive. Just told him you found him.” He breathes into your shoulder, facial hair brushing over your skin to send tingles down your spine. It’s quiet, the way he seeks an answer instead of demands one.

“He doesn’t need to know.” Is your own whispered response, unable to rise to his words with a truth of your own, a vulnerability.

“Thought he was your friend.”

“He is, but he’s…he doesn’t need to know how things really are. He wouldn’t have let me leave.”

“You say that like he has control over you.” His hands are no longer gripping tight, caressing instead along your sides, feeling the dips and valleys of your body with no intention other than to touch. The urge to return the softness twitches your fingers where they are still planted along the wall for support.

“He doesn’t. But if he asked, I would listen. Because I respect him. Mutual respect.”

He parrots the sentiment back to you, as his large hands grip your waist once again to turn you around face to face. There’s something glinting in his eyes, behind the dark brown of them slowly. “An interesting thought.”

“It is.” You nudge your nose against his, breathing him in, the scent of you both mingling in the air.

And he’s suddenly slotting his mouth against yours, droplets raining down over you both as you surge up to wrap your arms around his shoulders, returning his kiss with earnest. It’s so different from what yo expected kissing him would be life, it’s not rough or biting, it’s almost heartachingly soft in how he pulls you close and touches his lips to yours again and again.

“He’s just so hard to read sometimes, you know? Like…I don’t mean to get too personal considering we just met but,” Tess’s voice carries from a room downstairs, the one you had been given the night before, the one you hadn’t been able to lay in and remain for the entirety of it. She had ducked into it with Frank after breakfast shared at the dining room table. While the eggs had been powdered, the meet hadn’t been and the taste lingers, mingled with that of Joel.

“You can talk to me about anything, the same sentiment for Cane applies to you. We all need friends these days, people we can turn to.” Frank’s comforting voice is genuine as you step closer to the open door without trying to alert them of your presence. Tess hardly opened up about herself, let along about the dynamic between her and Joel. All you ever got out of Tommy was that they were bonded in a way that he understood, shared losses, shared pasts. They would and have killed for each other.

“Well, I’m not quite sure what’s going on, relationships were hard enough before and now…”

“It’s hard for men like Bill and Joel to be honest with what they want, to let their guard down in different settings. You shouldn’t fault yourself if he was too on edge to be with you last night.”

“It’s not that exactly. It was more like he implied he was done with that entire part of…whatever we are.”

“Maybe he’s going through something he hasn’t told you about. He seems like a pretty private guy even if he does have someone like you to talk to and in his life.” Mind reeling, you recall the way Joel had spoken to you the other night. The implication of his words, of his wants, of who exactly he had his eyes on. And then this morning when he had all but rolled over to show you his willingness to give you credit and praise your work.

‘Don’t want Tess.’

‘Mutual relief.’

‘Then clear my head, be a good little lap dog for me.’

Your blood boils, bubbles thick in your veins despite the rather calm and sensual acts you had just shared with the man in question. The worry of him moving on from the woman at his side to yours, where there is more opportunity, more to be gained, more power to be had with the smuggling scene. It’s hard to read him, whether he is truly making a play, a switch. The idea that he is losing interest in Tess in favor or you too big a notion for there to not be anything else woven into the desire. Men tended to seek out those younger than them, though you didn’t think that was the only matter in this case. The thought sticks to the inside of your throat like fuzz, drying it up and making you clear your throat loudly as you approach the doorway head on. You’re determined to undermine it, should that be the reasoning behind his recent behavior.

“Frankie?” You finally step toward the doorway, brushing your hands down over the clean shirt to try and calm your nerves.

“Yes, darling?”

“Could I use your radio, there’s a call I need to make. To set up a smooth return to the zone for us.” You nod to Tess, who doesn’t meet your eyes. As Frank stands from where he was seated on the bed, he brushes a hand over your shoulder. He’s reaching for another box from the top of the closet, the shelf too high for you but easy enough for him. The box is labeled with your name, the real one and he takes a marker from his back pocket and crosses it out. Cane replaces it in that same, simple writing he’s adapted.

“Of course, I’m looking for something, but Bill can help you out.” Frank smiles at you, saying he’ll make sure to send an outfit back with all three of you, worried for the very real act of both Joel and Tess scrounging for their nicest pieces of clothing for the visit. First impressions still meant so much and sometimes it meant the difference between life and death these days. He was a good man, and you’re determined to ensure you can continue to find things he may need use of and build up your stocks should you need to trade for something far more valuable and harder to come by. He was a priority now.

One thing was for certain, you were done allowing Joel Miller to think he had more power than he did.

An asset.

It rings through your mind as you recall the way he approached you in the shower. In the touches burned into your skin, in the way his body moved against your own. He had been there, with you, after telling Tess no. That he didn’t want for the physical any longer with her and it’s dizzying. Trepidation simmers low in your abdomen, upsetting it as it twists the muscles and pulls them taut before they tremble. Akin to the pang of hunger but much, much stronger.

It was your zone, your connections, your reputation that allowed for the smuggling and scavenging to bloom opportunity and trade. You had worked up from literally nothing, having been forced into the zone under false pretenses. The network established by you and your brother after some time, scooped up by the jaws of another hungry dog searching for the next meal to feast on. Only this one wasn’t a simple meal that would fill your belly for a night, it was one that would bring meals day after day and you were done sharing it. Done feeling like an afterthought to the man who was Tess’s counterpart.

The radio is far more advanced than the one set up in the zone, the one that Abe was lucky enough to set up outdated and one of the more military focused models. The soldiers knew he had it, it was hard no to squash the thin string of hope it allowed for all the occupants to stoke as they tried to search for loved ones and family even so long after that first horrific day and all the others that followed.

Bill walked you through how to navigate the signal waves, how to tune it just right to get the ones wafting weakly from direction of the zone. He was still on guard, the gun holstered at his side and his gauging eyes still present. But you felt at ease with him, he was an extension of Frank. He was a good man, that much you were sure of, that much you knew. Frank would be well protected and provided for here, allowed a space to cling to the good parts of who he is. He wouldn’t have lasted in the zone, let alone the pretenses in which you had found yourself able to enter the zone.

“Echo 4236, do you copy?”

“Copy for Echo 4236. Rely your message.”

“This is Ammo 1342, I have an order for you.”

“Ready to receive order, proceed.”

“I need you to hit Building 42, Apartment 19 and 20.”

“Ammo 1342, isn’t apartment 20-“

“It is, proceed. Stash the contents in Building 56, Apartment 14.”

“Copy that Ammo 1342.”

“Echo 4236 signing off.”

Bill is watching you closely, one brow arched as he takes in the smirk on your lips.

“Working together means you guys contact Tess, heed her wills to trade.”

“So, you’re allowing them to think this is still the fruits of her labor.”

“For now. When the time comes, I’ll cut them out and let them be in charge of this trade and only this trade.”

"Just be careful." The sentiment behind his words is not lost on you.

“Before you go,” Frank is guiding you by the shoulders toward the front room the second you visible coming up from the steps of the sub-basement. Bill following behind at a slower pace, content to let Frank do as he wished, the barely contained excitement and sly smile on his lips telling the other man he was happy. The piano comes into view, set up already, dusted off and smelling of lemon oil cleaner.

“Frankie, no.” You don’t even give the man a chance to say anything, the book of sheet music open and waiting.

“Cane, please. It’s been so long since I’ve heard it done justice. Bill does his best, but…too low a tone for the song. This’ll be the last thing I ask of you to recall from our past and if you truly don’t want to, I’ll concede.” As he speaks, the others are walking into the room. Bill, followed by a curious Tess and tense Joel. The word ‘no’ in your voice summoning him where he had been on the back porch with Tess talking over the most likely items to get on the list Frank had written up.

You looked from the piano to him, trepidation obvious, as if the piano were a coiled snake waiting for you to step closer to strike you down. But he looked so soft, so much like the man you remember sitting and painting with for hours in a comfortable silence, the one who had always allowed you the room to create how you wanted.

“Just this once.”

The wooden seat is firm beneath you, and you roll your shoulders a few times, cracking your knuckles to loosen your body up. Taking a deep breath, you glance up from where your hands are hovering over the keys to the music written out. You don’t need it, of course, it was Frank’s favorite song. One you had sung to him at every opening hour of a show in the gallery. The first few pushes of the keys feel unfamiliar, but muscle memory takes over quickly and you’re licking at your bottom lip before parting them.

“Love will abide, take things in stride,” Your voice is smooth and soft, growing emotive and soulful, as it fills the silence of the room and intertwines with the notes of the piano. A hint of twang in your tone as the lyrics pull it from deep inside you, where you buried it long ago. You close your eyes, feeling the sting of tears as the last seven years flash in your mind.

“Sounds like good advice,” You belt out, pitching your voice around the words, allowing for them to surge and swell. “But there’s no one at my side. Cause I’ve done everything I know to try and make you mine. And I think I’m gonna love you for a long, long time.”

You don’t dare to turn around and glimpse the expressions on everyone’s faces, the song filling you up with something you had long forgotten. Your voice carries through the second verse, the third, and then the last cords of the song are echoing in the air as you lift your fingers from the keys. The final note wavering off and silence reclaims the room.

It’s the last thing before you all make your way outside, the sun bright and the breeze cool. Bill is walking alongside Joel, Tess up ahead with Frank. You linger, eyeing the canvas and paint accumulated in boxes around the porch. An agreement made between to the two men who reside here. One giving into the other’s indulgences in only the way a loved one does for their affections.

Rationale and reason for keeping such things for better uses, a means of survival should it come to that lost in the wake of making someone happy.

“Cane, I’m- I’m just so glad that you’re okay.” Frank is suddenly pulling you into an embrace, his hands cradling the back of your head as you instantly return it. His chest is warm where you bury your face into his shirt, just feeling him for a moment, basking in the touch of another you once spent so much time with. “Please, don’t be a stranger. I may not be able to come to you, but you come to me or radio should you need anything.”

“I’m happy you’ve found your person, found a little slice of what life used to be here. The zones, they aren’t, they aren’t a way to live.” As you pull back from him, you see the question in the depths of his eyes, obviously in the way he smiles sadly at you. He wants to ask you to stay and you almost want him to.

Your trio departs with a plan to contact in a week’s time, to set up the first trade of many.

It was obvious that your order had been followed through the second your trio had entered turned from the stairwell to the hallway. The doors leading into both yours and their apartment hang on their hinges, the wood splintered slightly as they wight down the remaining nails keeping them upright.

The second story just high enough to not give any clues away from the view of the windows on the streets. You had made sure to not include your signature of a paw print, not wanting to stir up trouble before felt the need to. The same one you had Tess and Joel stamp onto their portions of goods, always beneath the foil for cigarettes or the plastic bags of pills. Especially on the butts of guns save for the ones you all carried yourselves.

“Fuck, looks like we got hit!” Tess is caught off guard, rushing forward until Joel stops here with a forearm and a small shake of his head. He moves up ahead of you both, the gun tucked into the back of his waistband sliding into his palm as he pushes aside what remains of the doors to the two apartments you occupy.

“They got everything we had stashed away.” His voice is a low rumble, anger and frustration filling the picked over and damaged apartment. He’s already cleared it as you and Tess approach, moving onto yours to clear it as well.

“This is because you showed weakness by working in that whore house!” Joel roars, dark glare focused on you as he appears back in the hallway. A shove of his gun barrel against your shoulder raises your lips in a snarl of argument.

“What I do in my spare time has no effect on the business!”

“It does it people think you’re weak, submitting to them!” He digs the gun into your shoulder again, to punctuate his words.

“Then everyone would be going after you, with how obvious it is you drown yourself in pills and booze until you pass out every god damn night!” You smack the weapon away from you with enough force that he doesn’t do it again, instead it’s hidden back in his waistband. He’s anything but calm as he shouts back at you, no doubt the entire population of the hall is listening against their closed doors.

“That has nothing to do with anything!”

“Then neither does my sparse visits to work somewhere that actually puts food on the table! The people we trade with don’t go there.” You step up into his personal space, the tension in the air thick and so unlike the last time you had done so. His eyes narrow, the brown of then shielded by the darkness of his pupils and the dim hall. The lights have been needing to be replaced for ages, your men following orders taking out the few that had remained working to make the scene.

“If they don’t, then the people that work for them do and tell them.” He doesn’t back down, his chest nearly brushing yours as he breaths in deep.

“Alright, why don’t- why don’t we all just take a breath. We had a good past couple of days, we can’t let this bring us down.” Tess is suddenly between you both, a hand on each of you to further push you apart. But you’re done. Tired and feeling too much after seeing someone who you never thought you would again mentally draining. You’re stepping around them both, their eyes heavy as they watch you walk over to your door.

“Oh, I’m not down about anything. Shit happens. Sometime tried to clean me out the second I took over the zone, it’s part of the game.” With that, you manage to shut the door as best you could.

“Haven’t seen you in a while, was wondering if somebody finally put you down?” The hair on the back of your neck rises as your skin prickles. You knew someone had been following you but you hadn’t expected it to be the man you last laid with the day Joel had caught you nearly two weeks ago. He was never one for conflict or conversation, but today he seemed willing to partake in both.

“Not that I owe you an answer, but I was busy.” Your eyes trace the way he reveals himself from the stooped doorway, the building is abandoned and boarded up. Deemed toxic due to the damage of fumes from the bombing that is evident just outside the walls.

This part of the zone is dilapidated, most of the buildings had been homes or independently owned and run businesses, but now it was the slums. The pleasure house is only a street away but that hadn’t been your intention of coming down here. It had been to retrieve some of the goods ‘stolen’ from you, stashed in an old building very few knew operated as a base for soldiers to reside in for their drug fueled days off from patrol.

“Feel like you owe me a freebie.” He’s bold to step in front of you in that moment, the street empty at the hour that closes the day in the zone.

“Not on your life.” Sidestepping him, you don’t expect him to reach out. He’s strong, his hands clasping in front of you as his front presses against your back. He’s overly hot, the scent coming from his clothes rotten and you thrash in his hold.

“Get her gun!” He’s shouting and you realize he’s not alone. There are four others now surrounding you, having slunk out of the shadows and alleyways. Someone makes a grab for it, where it’s holstered on your hip beneath your shirt. The fingers that graze your stomach are marred with ash and dirt, something you hope isn’t smeared into your skin. The man isn’t very focused, his eyes dipping to catch the flash of skin as he does so and you kick out at his hand.

The gun is knocked away from you the second it hits the broken asphalt of the street, the only weapon left on you is the knife tucked into your boot. But your thoughts are scrambled as your sense of gravity wavers, body suddenly pulled forward. Your forehead knocks into the ground, and you groan out at the feeling of rubble digging deep into the skin there.

“You fuckers!” You shout, hands reaching for the concealed blade as you feel a body pin you down. You don’t manage much as they’re suddenly held down, as are your legs. The feeling of the man above you and four more holding you down kicks your instincts into overdrive.

Surging up as best you can, you knock your head back as hard as possible. The crack of it hitting the man’s face is loud as is his cry of pain. He’s knocked off balance and into the two men holding your legs down.

Careening forward, you bite into the hand of the person putting their weight on your hands, teeth digging and tearing as he tries to pull away with a scream. He’s down and cradling his mutilated hand as you stand and brandish the knife you’ve finally got in your grip. Spitting, chunks of bloodies flesh spray onto the ground and you wipe the back of your free hand over your mouth, only managing to smear the blood further.

It slices into the skin of forearms and cheeks as the three men try to get you pinned back down and under their control with their ringleader tries to stall the bleeding of his broken nose and the whitening of his vision.

The man whose hand you bit reaches for the gun and he fires a shot that has everyone ducking. His aim had failed to help his friends but worked to your advantage as one of the men cries out at the bullet now lodged in his shoulder. The scene freezes, everyone completely caught off guard and you take the moment.

You’re reaching for the gun as he sits shocked and still, the metal rattling from how badly he’s shaking. Quickly forcing it from him and aiming it point blank, he’s slumped over and no longer breathing as you round on the others and fire three more shots.

The man who started all this is pleading, snot and tears running along with blood down his face. He’s spouting nonsense words of apology and to please spare him, that he’s learned his place and he won’t ever try to corner you again. But you don’t care. This man, this piece of nothing man had tried to track you down, to take from you, to assault you, to demean you. The knife in your hand sings for more blood but you’re shooting at him where he stands hunched over and holding a hand over his face.

He falls, hands flying to where his thighs meet his body as he whimpers. The pain of being shot in the groin too intense for him to muster up a scream. You feel a twitch of your lips as you watch him writhe and moan about on the ground, surrounded by the other men. But it’s not enough to soothe you and you’re bringing the knife down harshly as he reaches out to you for help he would never receive. His fingers scatter, and you feel the ease of your anger.

“Don’t come at me again or I’ll take your life too.”

“Who the fuck do you think you are? Telling them to make payments to you but I still have to go and deliver the goods? Do you have any idea what that makes me look like?” Joel’s voice is loud as his door creaks open, not completely repaired but enough to work for the time being. Something about him needing to find a certain type of glue for wood before he would complete the task.

“Excuse me?” If the blood staining your clothing or the tangled mess of your loosened hair catches his eye he doesn’t show it. Not even the cut above your brow or the stain of blood around your mouth and chin gives him pause and you realize he’s drunk from that and the loosely coordinated way he approaches you.

“I don’t know who you think you’re talking to but now is so not the time, Miller.” You warn, adrenaline still coursing through your body and making you shift on your feet to face him. His steps are loud, the effects of whatever he took showing.

“You listen to me, you little-“

You use the arm he reaches out to grab at you and haul him over your shoulder. The breath in his lungs wooshes out at the contact of his back hitting the floor hard. Before he even has the chance to realize he’s been downed, you’re straddling his stomach and holding the still bloody knife to his throat. He’s more aware of himself as you meet his eyes, the pressure of the blade sobering him up almost instantly.

“You wanna see how I left him, you wanna see what I looked like putting the last fucker down that dared to come after me. Dared to put his hands on me when I said no. Bleeding in the street without his fingers or his dick?” The thump of the man’s detached fingers onto his chest pull his eyes down and away from your own. They widen slightly at the sight of them, the white of the bones you severed stark in the fixed light of the hall. “Try me, Miller, try me and find the fuck out.”

He’s silent, eyes wide and mouth clamped shut. Chest heaving as he takes in the way you’re completely serious and focused on him. The knee you’re digging into his crotch painful for the force behind it and you see fear flash in his eyes. You take it in stride, feeling far more powerful than you had in months.

“That’s what I thought, go sleep off the pills you downed and report back to me tomorrow with payment or replacement.” He grunts as you shove off of him, his body stinging where yours had been on him, his neck feels cool where a few drops of blood form on the shallow cut where the knife had been.

The door shuts behind you, lock clicking in place. He stays there on the ground, heart beating wildly in his chest and his eyes take in the cut off extremities you had thrown at him where they had slid to the floor of the hall. His stomach lurches at the thought of the other one you had mentioned and he’s surging up to empty his stomach onto the faded and worn carpet.

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