i want you to have every star in the sky

he was naked, too, as Obi usually slept, only there was a prodding at your thigh— that familiar firmness when Obi missed you too much at work. “What time is it?” you mumbled, reaching back to pet at him. your uncouth hand blindly rubs at the dips in his abs, but you start to shift.

he stops you with a soft, “Shh…” and wraps his larger hand around yours, bringing it up to his lips, kissing each knuckle with delicate, butterfly kisses, “don’t get up, sweetheart.” he whispers back, “‘S late.”

“Someone… didn’t get the memo…” you murmur, melting back into the mattress, but you poke your butt out to nudge his hard on as if showing him what you were referencing.

he chuckles, and it’s low and husky. he wants you, and you can hear it in his baritone. “Sorry, that’s my fault,” he replies, sheepish, “I thought about you all day. How soft you are—“ he pauses, lips coasting over your shoulder and to the sweet spots on your neck. you mewl in content. “How… good you smell…”

“Obi…” you breathe out, squirming. you could always sit up, roll over and pull him close, wrap your legs around his hips and let him bury himself in you. hell, you’d even wake up to ride him if that’s what he wanted, sleepy or not. but he’s already reaching for one of the fluffy pillows on his side of the bed, “I can—“

“You don’t have to do anything, sweetheart.” he interjects, “Let me take care of it.” he hooks a strong forearm around your midsection and gingerly pulls your lower half up off the mattress to slide the pillow underneath, propping you up for him, and he whispers, needy, against the shell of your ear. “I’m gonna fuck you back to sleep, baby, All I want you to do is snuggle up and enjoy it.” you can feel his hips grinding against yours as he tells you, his cock poking against your flimsy panties, and the hand under you slips beneath the waistband to rub your clit in slow, lazy circles. it was incredible to you; even in the dark, while he was needy and getting inside you was the only thing on his mind, he could still find your clit so easy— he could tease the sensitive nub just right. you moan, sleepily. your body wanted to keep resting, but the attention he was giving your core was just stimulating enough to get you wet. “There’s my girl.” he whispers again, feeling your slick start to glue his fingers together. “She missed me, too. I can feel it.” he wasn’t wrong. even as you snuggled against the pillow, your back arched for him, and your hips wanted to rut and ride his fingers.

“Hurry up,” you whine, muffling yourself with the pillow. you cheeks were hot with a blush, even though you knew he couldn’t see. he had to be able to hear the shyness in your soft plea. you were impatient, needy yourself, and you sounded pathetic. “Put it in…” your core throbbed with desire, squeezing around air, and your lower belly was tied in knots. “Obi…”

“I’m coming, sweetheart,” he mutters, his free hand reaching over you to fumble with the bedside table, grasping the knob on the drawer to pull it open. then, he blindly rustles about the contents of a box, retrieving a prophylactic in a chrome wrapper, “just about ready.”

you knew he didn’t much care for condoms, and neither did you. and even though you’d been dating him steady for a while, he always kept them by the bed. he never once forgot to put one on, even when you were so overtaken by lust and the need to feel him that you would beg him to just hurry and fuck you, he would always remember. you’d asked him one time why he even bothered with them at this point; you’d be content to take him raw whenever he wanted, but he’d just kissed the tip of your nose and replied, “I’ll always take care of you first.”

you knew he didn’t want to keep you up, but the longer he took to grip the wrapper with his teeth and tear it open, the more impatient you became, pushing yourself back against his erection to rub against it with a hapless whimper.

“You’re so goddamn cute.” he whispers, eyes dark as he stares down at your drowsy display, dragging your ass slowly against his cock, sliding the rubber onto his length, ensuring it’s snug and secure. then, he shifts again, laying against you once more, using his fingers between your legs to pull your panties to the side whilst the other takes hold of himself by his base and guides the tip to your treasure. the insertion elicits a thick exhale against the back of your neck, Obi is blissed to be able to feel your walls clamp around him, pulling him deeper. you whine, too, that familiar, sweet stretch much slower tonight. “Happy now, sweetheart?” it’s half a tease, half a genuine inquiry; Obi releases himself to reach up and turn your head to the side, planting a soft kiss against your lips when you nod and mumble a happy mhm, “Yeah?” he whispers against your lips, and you nod again, lazily smacking your lips against his mouth to kiss him back. “Me too.” his fingers linger against your cheek, petting it, before he carefully guides it back to the pillow and you nuzzle against it.

you’d been apprehensive at first; you’d not expected to find yourself even drowsier once he was inside you. you thought, for sure, you’d be wide awake, and ready to scream his name until your throat was sore. however, that wasn’t the case at all.

the rhythm he fell into was slow, a lullaby of deep thrusting. he didn’t hit a limit, he didn’t bottom out, and the consistent rocking had your body feeling heavier. sleepier.

“Obi…” you moan, but it’s slurred. drunken.

he allows both of his hands to careen around your body, pulling your pajama top up so he can pepper your shoulders with kisses, before tracing your spine with them, mouth open, panting hot air against your skin and raising goosebumps. “Shh, shhhh,” he replies in a partial moan, “don’t talk, sweetheart. Don’t think… just enjoy it for me.”

you could do that, you thought, allowing yourself to sink, limp, between his massive strength and the sturdy mattress.

“You feel so good, love,” he whispered, kissing wherever he could move your top to find a bare section of flesh, “my best girl, taking me so slow and easy.”

you tried to reply, show some gratitude for all of the praise, but you could only muster a soft, wordless babble as sleep takes hold of you, and claims control over your mind.

“Go ahead,” he urges; Obi must’ve expected you to be fighting it, “go to sleep, baby. It’s okay, I’ve got you…” even though his hips twitched, and he so desperately wanted to speed up, to grip your waist and drive himself home over and over until he was dizzy and spent, he doesn’t. he holds that same, slow pace, savoring each thrust and the way the bulging veins on his cock rubbed against your walls, causing them to flutter and tighten.

That’s all you can think about. That’s all that’s on your mind right now. The heat of this room. The way it stills your mind. The way it fills your lungs. The way presses against your skin. The way it’s just so hot. The air you breathe is hot. Every surface that you touch is hot. Your body feels hot. It’s all just so hot. It’s just so hot.

It’s a private sauna. Cramped wooden walls, floors, and benches with a little pit in the middle for extra coal. A private sauna in a place located a little down the road and around the corner from where Company 8 is stationed. And the room that the two of you are in now was just rented out for the two of you. For the next hour or so, you think. To be honest, you’re not really sure. All you really recall is Captain Obi saying that it’d be crazy for the two of you to stay for the whole time. But he also said that he wanted to test your limits while in here. See how much you could handle before it “got too hot for you,” or whatever he meant.

You didn’t know this was what he meant. You didn’t know this was what you were going to be put through.

You’ve been around fires before. You’ve been hot like this before. You’re a member of the special Fire Force, damnit. You’ve worn the stripes and charged into raging fires. You’ve had smoke fill your lungs. You’ve crawled your way out of collapsing buildings. You fought your way through heat like this. You’ve survived heat like this. You’ve survived heat that was worse than this? So why do you feel so…so hot? Why do you feel like you’re going out of control?

That’s a stupid question. You know why you feel like this. It’s because you’re not in control.

Captain Obi is.

The captain has always had somewhat of an overwhelming presence for you. How could he not? He’s tall. His shoulders are wide. His hands are huge. His voice is deep and commanding. And he’s practically built almost entirely out of muscle. Not to mention, he’s the captain of Company 8. Your company. 

You’re used to listening to him. You’re used to following his every order. Hell, you’re used to all his ridiculous, hair-brained schemes and training regimes. But this? This is just too much. This is just too hot. 

“You alright there, soldier?” 

This is just something you can’t handle.

He hums the question, right by your ear, and the breath you feel brushing against your is so warm you feel cold for a second. All you can manage, though, is a small, shakily little nod at his question as his hands come up to smooth over the curves of your hips before grabbing them tight and keeping you still. And of course, you listen to your silent command. You listen to your Captain. You cease all your movements. All your squirming and your whine, and you be still for him. Like you were trained to do.

You don’t know how long you’ve been like this. You don’t know how long you’ve been sitting here, impaled on Captain Obi’s cock with your back against his chest and your skin against his skin as the two of you bake in the sauna. But it’s enough to start to feel insane. It’s enough to be reduced to nothing but gasping and shallow breaths of little control because god, how are you supposed to handle feeling this hot on the outside and the inside at the very same time.

Like you expected, his dick is thick and nearly oppressive as it sits, burrowed deep inside of your pussy- only occasionally moving as he shifts and rolls his hips slowly inside of you. Sure, you were surprised by the sheer size of what he was hiding behind the towel he dropped before pouncing on you. But it’s Captain Obi for crying out loud. The guy is larger than life with everything he does. There’s no way his dick wouldn’t be too. 

“You’re doing good for me,” You hear him say to you, his voice kind and lower than usual. It’s odd hearing him talk in a tone this gentle. It’s odd hearing him so kind. But the hands on your hips are stroking your skin in an action that’s both comforting and oppressive. Comforting, because in this moment, you know he cares for you. You know he understands how hard this is for you. How much you’re going through by just sitting here and letting him stuff your pussy full while this heat and steam surround you. But it’s oppressive because his skin is just so warm. It adds to the heat you’re already feeling. It adds to the heat you’re already drowning in. But he’s just so kind. “Few more minutes and we’ll get you a break, yeah?”

And he just feels so good inside of you.

You nod again, gulping down your need to push away and run for the door because fuck you can barely take it. And you think he knows. You think he understands that you’re struggling so, so much right now. Because it’s right then that you receive an award. 

As he moves forward, his dick shifts inside of you. It’s not enough to tear you apart, but it’s enough to have you making some sort of sound that’s a pitiful cross between a sigh and a moan. He chuckles at that. Warmly. Nicely, even. Like he isn’t nearly killing you with both his cok and this heat. Like he won’t be telling you how many miles you need to run as part of your warm-up. He just chuckles. And that’s the only warning you get before he’s leaning forward more and pushing his face into your neck. His hair not only tickles your skin as he gets close, but it also suffocates you. But it doesn’t stay there for long because a second later, his tongue is out and it’s licking the sweat off the side of your neck. 

Fuck, you think you’re going to die here.

The urge to do something- to get up and run or start bouncing on his cock properly or even pass out because of the heat is overwhelming. He’s overwhelming you. With his body being too big, and his cock making you too full, his presence being too warm and him just being too much for you. You can’t deal with his low rumblings of praise and pleasure-filled words. You can’t deal with his large body and how it surrounds you, yet treats you oh-so-gently. As if you were more precious than glass itself. You can’t deal with his habits- his kisses to your jaw, his licks upon your skin, his too slow pace as he just rolls you around on his cock as if that’s supposed to be enough for you to be satisfied with. But you’re not satisfied. And you’re not thinking straight. You’re not thinking at all, really. 

Because it’s hot in here. Because of the heat of this room? It stills your mind and fills your lungs with the type of air you just can’t really breathe in. And the heat of his actions? The heat of his touch as he toys with your body and pushes you to your limits? 

It’s just too much. The heat is too much. He’s too much. It’s all too much.

And yet, here you are…

“It’s not too hot for you to handle, right, soldier?”

"Hey Licht, I've got the analysis of those samples you sent through. Call me when you get a chance. We need to talk."

Receiver pinched precariously between shoulder and ear, you adjusted the large box of files on the mahogany table.

It was the sturdiest table you'd been able to find. It needed to be, considering the sheer number of analytics reports that had piled up across its barely visible surface over the past few months.

Sighing, you ended the call which had re-routed for the second time.

Not that you were surprised.

Licht often outsourced analytics to your department here in the biodata sector of the Second Company. The Fifth often operated as an independent research unit, and seldom, if ever, took on such requests from other companies. 

While your lab was fitted out for biological analysis, the state of the art chromatographic apparatus, x-ray diffraction, and the scanning and transmission electron microscopes, were often commissioned for other companies, depending on the urgency of the requirement.

The characteristics of Licht's samples definitely fell under the category of 'top priority'. It would have helped if he actually attempted to answer his connecting line once in a while.

Sighing, you collapsed into your swivel chair, head tilted back to give your stiff neck some relief.

The phone dial tone sounded loud in the organised chaos of your office, and you fumbled past the notepad and assorted pens to reach it.

"Licht? Answer the damn phone when I - "

"Oh, hey, can't talk right now. In the middle of something."

"You asked for these results."

"And they're important!"

"So - "

"Our Captain's coming over for a division meeting. He said he'll pick up the documents."

Your fingers tapped out an impatient rhythm on the tabletop.

"Does your Captain have a scientific background?"

"Not in the slightest!" came the cheery reply.

Sighing, you switched the phone over to the other ear.

"Look, those samples from the battle site showed evidence that Doctor Giovanni has been in the Nether. Even if you don't have time now, I expect a proper meeting in the future."

There was a long pause on the other end of the line before Licht sniffed.

"Okay. We'll have our meeting soon. But I gotta get back to work."

Hanging up, you stared at your phone, frowning. It was almost as if your analytics had provided a result that Licht had already been aware of.

There was a sharp, cursory knock at the office door. Himiko peered in, spotting you behind the stack of papers.

"Captain of the Eighth company's here to see you. Said you had a report for him?"

Well, they worked fast, at the very least.

___________________________________________________________

The conference room was on the ground floor, away from the clinical sterility of the labs. You seldom ventured out here during the day, and the bustle of medical personnel through the corridors took you some time to navigate.

When you eventually reached the large double doors, they were open, a sign that whatever meeting that had transpired between the captains was now over.

A man was standing at the head of the long oval table, eyes trained on the various group photographs and portraits adorning the walls.

You recognised him as Captain Akitaru Obi, from the profile shots and grainy, black and white images on newsprint.

Then he turned, and there was little to no preparation for the way your bowels seemed to grow wings and swoop up into the region of your throat when he tugged at his tie and offered you a friendly lop-sided grin.

"Ahh, these meetings are kinda stuffy, huh? Are you the one Licht told me about?"

He was coming forward, hand outstretched, and you had no choice but to take it, thoroughly overwhelmed by the sight of him.

You'd heard by word of mouth, of course, about how the Captain was the epitome of charisma and strength, in spite of not possessing any ignition ability. Nothing had quite prepared you for this, however.

Now that he was standing directly before you, you could appreciate the sheer width of his shoulders, the way the fabric of his formal coat bunched over the shift of his biceps, his considerable height, all amalgamating to a form that should have been intimidating, but was not quite.

Warm, whiskey-tinted eyes were fixed on yours, putting paid to the idea that this man thrived off authority. He greeted you as a respected equal, even as his large, slightly roughened palm dwarfed your own.

His smile grew a trifle wider and you could have sworn that all the test tubes in your lab upstairs had begun to clink and chime off each other in some form of angel's chorus.

"So what are these reports Licht was going on about?"

You cleared your throat, not trusting that your voice would emerge as readily as you'd like.

"Uh ... ah. Yes. Licht sent me some samples for analysis, from the battle site where one of your men encountered Doctor Giovanni."

Obi's expression grew serious in an instant.

"Oh, yeah, he spent a lot of time at the scene afterwards. I don't know exactly what he was after, but I'm guessing you do?"

You summoned up courage you had no idea you possessed.

"Right. I think it'd be better if we went up to my office? Maybe we could discuss it more ... privately there?"

The conference room certainly wasn't ideal for this kind of talk, and you shoved down the traitorous thought that having him in your office would allow you to spend more time gazing without interruption upon this Adonis of a man.

Obi agreed immediately, and you found yourself leading him to the elevators, and to the office beside the lab that formed your hallowed domain.

You cringed internally at the sight of your desk. If you'd known who your guest would be, you'd have taken more time to clear up here.

Obi, however, looked about in what appeared to be excitement and appreciation.

"Oho, look at all this stuff! Is that a real B54 grenade? I thought they got rid of old stock."

You regarded him for a moment in surprise before nodding vigorously.

“It is! What you’re holding is actually the prototype. Our previous head of research improved on the design afterwards.”

Fortunately, the report for Licht’s analysis had been placed at the top of one of the piles of papers and folders, so you didn’t have to sift for an embarrassingly long time through them in order to find it.

“Please, take a seat.”

You perched yourself on the edge of the chair beside him, opening up the folder.

“Would you like the condensed version?”

“Sure, go ahead.”

He leaned forward, elbows on knees, and you tried to tamp down your hyper-awareness of his breath along your cheek, the brush of his sleeve against yours.

“These samples show a very high concentration of iron, manganese and chromium, in a very specific ratio. The kind you’d expect to find in soil and residue from old subways.”

Obi frowned, taking the analysis sheet from your grasp.

“Subways? Like old train stations?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, there’s only one known sample that matches this ratio exactly.”

“Which is?”

“A sample we’ve obtained from the Nether.”

He sat back, letting out a low whistle. You watched him, allowing him to gather his thoughts. As disarmingly pleasant as he appeared, it was now that you could see the machinations of a true leader take over, the myriad possibilities that were being mapped out in his mind.

Handing over the entire folder, you tugged slightly at the hem of your skirt.

“When I spoke to Licht, he didn’t seem surprised. I suppose he suspected what kind of result this analysis would provide.”

Nodding, Obi pursed his lips before his eyes shifted over to you again.

“Anything else of importance?”

You hesitated, and he waited patiently.

Reaching over to the file in his lap, all while feeling like you were taking a massive liberty, you pulled out one particular set of stapled pages, an analysis you hadn’t been asked to run.

“I … took the liberty of running this heat distortion test. Licht didn’t ask for it, and it was probably unnecessary, but … I wanted to be sure. Some of the metallic fragments showed signs of recent heat deformation in their particle structure.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Meaning?”

“Someone’s been down there very recently. Someone who packs some serious firepower. Your team should take care when they … if they head down there.”

He regarded you steadily, and your spine straightened as his gaze wandered over your features, as if searching for something. Whatever it was he was looking for, it seemed something in your countenance had allayed his worries, because he grinned abruptly.

He really shouldn’t make faces like that all of a sudden. It was bad for the heart.

“Well, thanks a lot for the hard work from your side! We’ll put this to good use, for sure. And I’ll make sure Licht gets hold of these.”

He tapped the file against his knee, and you rose hurriedly, not wanting to keep him for too long.

“A pleasure, Captain.”

Obi waved off the formality, standing and glancing appreciatively around your office once more.

“No problem. I’d have looked through your collection of relics, if I had more time on my hands.”

“You’re welcome to. Any time. If you want to. I know how busy it gets.”

The words were out before you could reel them in, punching them down behind the remnants of your self-respect.

Who even says that?

Obi didn’t seem put out, though. He brightened at the prospect, a soft laugh escaping him, in spite of the gravity of your prior conversation.

“Well, over at the Eighth we’re all about forming bonds with those who’ll support our efforts. You didn’t have to use division resources to run the heat distortion test, but you did. That tells me all I need to know.”

He tucked the folder under one arm and shot you a conspiratorial wink that turned everything below your waist molten.  

“Look forward to working with you!”

Did he mean that?

Was he simply saying it as a formality, or out of politeness?

You sighed as the door closed, sinking into your chair like a deflating balloon.

It didn’t matter, even if he did. 

He was Captain Obi, figurehead of the Eighth company, a standout leader within the Fire Force. There was no earthly possibility of him even remembering your face once he’d stepped out of your office.

________________________________________________________

How very wrong you were.

The next encounter you had with Captain Obi was a chance one.

An annual clearance fair was being held, where a number of public and privately donated items were auctioned or sold off to the public to raise funds for the Fire Force.

Not every Company participated, as some needed to be on standby for emergencies, and others simply didn’t have the resources to spare on such an activity. Like every year, however, the Second was a standard instalment, under the insistence of Captain Huang.

Under regular circumstances, you’d be placed on duty with the second-hand books, but this year, you’d requested a change to music. Your collection of relics had yielded a jackpot, as someone had donated boxes of old CD’s, digital song archives and even LP’s and a record player.

Your excitement at such a haul meant that you’d spent hours of your free time cataloguing and sorting the items. You were sure that there were plenty of collectors like yourself who’d love to get their hands on such memorabilia.

The day of the fair proceeded much as you’d come to expect. It was a great turnout, and you’d spent a merry few hours sharing anecdotes with, and selling CDs to the people who came by your corner of the stall.   

Just as you were about to start packing up, a few members of other squads, who’d spent the day on duty, started to pitch up, examining the displays. Among them, you noticed some of the rookies of the Eighth.

Your encounter with Obi had rendered you ultra-aware of the members of his squad, and their activities. Not that you were following their exploits on purpose, or anything. 

“Hey, Captain Obi! There’s records on sale over here!”   

No, no, no, wait, hold on. You weren’t ready for this.

Straightening and dusting off your jeans, you spied Kusakabe Shinra, the talented new member of the squad, happily surveying the table you’d set earlier. He offered a friendly grin and wave, the sharp teeth a trifle disconcerting.

“Hey, hope you don’t mind. It’s just that our Captain loves these, and he – “

You waved off his concern.

“No, it’s no problem at all!”

“Oi, Shinra, what’ve you got there?”

Good heavens.

You’d recognise that towering form anywhere.

Obi was not wearing a suit today, and looked far more comfortable out of such apparel. The plain black t-shirt, which would not normally invite undue attention, fitted his form like carved cloth on a marble statue, barely concealing the ripple of his abdomen as he moved.

No, you couldn’t be caught staring like this.

Moving your gaze forcefully up to his face, you noted, faintly, that you were in the firm category of ‘lost cause’.

Out of the dim lighting of the station halls, his skin boasted a healthy tan, the wind slightly lifting the dark hair above the soft, bristly undercut he sported at the nape and sides. He dipped his head slightly in order to meet your gaze, an all-encompassing warmth trickling into your limbs like honey as the corner of his mouth curved in recognition.

“Oh, it’s you! Is this all part of your cool collection? Whoa, hey, Shinra, check this out. She’s got the Deep Purple triple LP and the original photographs of their live performances.”

Before you knew it, Obi was elbow-deep in your table of offerings, spouting trivia that would only be known to a true fanatic, while Shinra muttered apologies and attempted to neaten up the piles of items in his Captain’s wake.

You laughed and assured him that it was no issue.

“It’s fine, don’t worry, I’ll sort this out.”

 Obi waved a Led Zeppelin album under your nose.

“Huh? No way! Of course we’ll help you with all this.”

One of his large hands dropped onto Shinra’s head, ruffling the youngster’s hair.

“Shinra, we’re gonna make sure that this lady doesn’t lift a finger to pack these boxes ‘cos she’s been on her feet all day, right?”

“Yes sir!”

You could have sworn that before today, you’d never wanted someone to be the father of your hypothetical children.

Coming to a decision, you produced your secret weapon.

No, you hadn’t been saving this one for a rainy day, when Obi might have decided to visit your office again. It was just … buried rather deep.

“This one’s a real treasure, Captain. I don’t think there are many remaining copies of – “

Just like that, Obi was looking over your shoulder, no barrier of musical paraphernalia between you any longer. Distantly, you heard Shinra complaining because he’d moved the table out of the way in his excitement.

“Is … is that Ride the Lightning?”

 “It is,” you all but croaked.

He reached around you, and you were subjected to the highly intimate sensation of his bicep curling across your arm, the clean scent of his aftershave.

“You’re right,” he whispered, and you chanced a glance up at him, at the softly reverential look in his eye. “I’ve been searching for this one for … “

“Hey, Captain, don’t get carried away! You gotta pay for all this stuff and you splashed out last week arranging that barbeque, remember?”

Shinra’s oddly responsible reminder broke Obi out of his trance. He looked down at you, breath fanning across your cheeks, and something about the nature of your current pose, so close to each other with his fingers half engulfing yours as you both held onto the precious album, seemed to knock him back to the realm of propriety.

He cleared his throat and retreated a step, leaving you immediately longing for the pleasant heat he brought.

“Ah, you’re … very, very right, Shinra.”

His attempt to match the caution of his young subordinate was terribly endearing.

Obi made his way back to the other side of the table, reminding you strongly of a giant, friendly guard dog that had just been told he would have no access to the frisbee in the neighbouring yard.

Catching his slightly forlorn look at the CD in your hand, you offered him a warm smile.

“Tell you what, why don’t we make it a bundle? You can have this CD for half the price, and these LPs for free, if you help me with packing up. They won’t last long in our damp storerooms, anyway.”

You knew, in that moment, that you’d never grow tired of watching this man’s face light up as it did then.

“You heard her, Shinra!”

“Sir!”

The rest of the afternoon passed in a pleasant haze (at least, for you) as the Captain, with the help of Shinra, sealed away the remaining stock in cardboard boxes and carried them over to the large trolley that would be wheeled back to the storeroom.

As you worked, you found that it was surprisingly easy to chat to him. He had that conversational manner of leaping from one related topic to another, chaining together a series of exchanges that fell into effortless camaraderie.

It was clear now why he was such a popular figure amongst his squad members.

You took the opportunity to quiz him on his music preferences, which of those he hadn’t obtained for his own collection and assured him that if you ever found those artists, you’d be sure to hold onto them for him.

You also tried your best not to show too much interest in the way the sinew stretched and muscle played beneath the tawny skin of his arms when he lifted each heavy box with little apparent effort.

By the time you’d returned to your office, there was an irrepressible smile etched on your face, one that you were quite sure made you look as if you’d been concussed with a CD the size of Amaterasu.

__________________________________________________________

Over the next few weeks, it seemed that the universe was intent on placing Captain Obi in your path in ways most unexpected.

More of Licht’s analyses were being routed to your office, for you to undertake personally. It also seemed that, contrary to your earlier belief, Obi remembered you just fine.

Considering the nature of the Eighth’s work in the field, they were more often than not being patched up at the Second, and with the recent increase in the squad’s number, this was becoming a regular occurrence.

On one of these occasions, Shinra and Arthur had been in the med bay when Obi had arrived unannounced at your lab.

You’d been in the middle of conducting the new batch of genetic tests, this time on the species of insect used by the white clad to carry out the Evangelist’s orders. Over the auto-mechanical hum of the autoclave and centrifuge, you hadn’t heard him enter through the double doors behind you.

He coughed to get your attention, and you spun on your heel, micropipette in one hand, eyes widening.

“Captain Obi!”

Placing aside your equipment, you hurried over to him.

“I didn’t know you would be coming today – “

He shook his head, taking in the laboratory around you.

“Nah, just decided to drop by. Some of the recruits are getting patched up.”

The ease with which he said it caused something heavy and hot to lodge in the region of your chest.

He’d just … dropped by?

Realising that you were standing expectantly before him, he slapped a hand to his forehead.

“Wait, am I supposed to be wearing a lab coat in here?”

None of the experiments you ran here were especially dangerous, and he was wearing his protective gear, but who were you to turn down such an opportunity?

“Well, sure, it adds to the experience of being in a lab, right?”

Grinning, you selected one of the spare coats that you always kept on hand in a cupboard nearby, choosing the largest size available for him. Obi stepped forward as you gestured to him, helping him into the garment.

He grunted slightly as it stretched over his shoulders, his fingers catching and tugging at the sleeves. You moved to the front to ‘assist’ him with buttoning up, but as you pulled the edges together, it was clear that they would never close over his formidable chest.

With some effort, you managed to squeeze one button in through its respective hole.

There was a moment of tense silence before the threads gave way and the tiny, plastic round zinged off into the echoing depths of the lab.

Taking in the now empty space where the button had been, you saw one of Obi’s pectorals pulse with deliberate intent as he stared down at them with regret.  

“Ah, sorry about that. Can’t get ‘em to stay still.”

Your mouth twitched.

Obi’s lips drew into a quivering line.  

The snort of laughter that escaped you was shortly echoed by one of his own, both of you shaking with repressed merriment.

Wiping away moisture from the corner of your eye, you placed your hands on your hips.

“I think you’ve just outstripped every one of our velocity tests.”

“Just give me a protein bar beforehand, and I’m your man.”

“Your services are that easily bought?”

“For you, maybe.”

Was he … flirting?

Maybe in jest, or as a quick rejoinder, but you were pretty certain you hadn’t misread the intent.

Trying not to stammer out something monumentally stupid, you straightened, glancing away from him. You were well aware of his eyes traveling over your profile, but you were not so sure that you could stand up to direct scrutiny right now.

“Would you … like me to show you around? While you wait, I mean.”

“Sure! Licht keeps his workspace shut down tight, so haven’t spent much time in there.”

You talked him through the basics of some of the instruments and specialised rooms in the lab facility, and he followed along, a rather adorable frown of diligent concentration taking precedence between his brows.

When you reached your current set of experiments though, there was no mistaking the shift in both your moods.

He stooped, eyeing the insect remains in one of the small, sterile sample jars.

“So this is it?”

“Not quite. This is a related species we found in the southern peninsula. They’re highly resistant to fire, so … I suppose I was hoping to find some clue in their genetic make-up as to how they’re being used.”

Nodding, he stepped back.

“Is this related to the experiments Licht is running?”

“There’s no overlap, if that’s what you’re worried about. I’m conducting peripheral research while he focuses on the meat of the matter, so to speak. We’ve got the equipment here to enable fast output for larger amounts of data.”

“You’re okay with that? Not knowing what he uses your results for?”

Turning to him, you shook your head ruefully.

“I understand how it probably looks to you, but … I’ve never cut any corners with the analyses I run. If these are the tests requested, then I have to do my part and trust that the other companies will make good use of them.”

He cocked an eyebrow.

“Except for when you run tests you weren’t asked to?”

Your smile grew wider.

“Especially then.”

__________________________________________________________  

Captain Obi’s visit to your lab seemed to set the tone for your encounters with him afterwards.

Your respective duties were always top priority, but on the occasions when the Eighth company’s path crossed yours, he’d always made a habit of hailing you and filling you in on the exploits that had filtered through to the rest of the Force.

You’re not quite sure when you started to simply call him ‘Obi’ during your interactions. It was as natural as the way your body seemed to gravitate to his, the way his mannerisms ingrained themselves in your memory, the drift of one loose thread through the air until it tangled hopelessly and inextricably with another.

At some point, you’d registered that this had passed well beyond the well-trod boundary of a harmless crush, at least, on your part. You knew full well that the territory you’d set one tentative foot into was perilous and rife with potential hurt.

It was unlike you to court danger and the crushing weight of another’s feelings (or absence thereof), but there was something about Obi that made you want to take those risks.

It was perhaps, something about the manner by which he never turned away from his own duty, the barefaced rush of sheer determination and gall he displayed in the face of entities possessing far greater power than himself, that never allowed you to shy away from what you felt.

It was almost as if you were determined to prove that you were worthy of even possessing such desires for him. That was personal, something you could process without much in the way of return from him.

Surely this was for the best?

Without the shackles of expectation, there was nothing that could prevent you from talking to him freely, laughing with him, sharing stories and bonding over the latest albums or gadgets you’d managed to unearth.

There was nothing at all to act as a safety net for a free fall you had no desire to be rescued from.

There were times, you’d come to discern, when your spirit of abandon, your reckless freedom of affection, had visible results.

You were, after all, a scientist. Observation was your forte. In this case, however, the results were shelved without any thought for implication.

There were times when you’d catch him staring for longer than propriety would normally allow, or times when he’d slip in some small gesture that seemed oddly familiar and intimate.

For instance, when physical contact between you shifted from a platonic slap or fist to the shoulder, to touch that lingered on your elbow or branded the small of your back with brief, unconscious heat. 

There were silences between words that hung heavier in the air between you, especially when you knew where duty might take him next.

The brush of his skin on yours took on new significance when he watched for your reactions, when his teasing took on an edge of gentle magnetism, as if he were helpless to the way he drew you in further with the slow, steady pull of his own orbit.   

It was ironic that in a world filled with negative connotations surrounding uncontrolled fire in all its forms, that one of the bastions of your defence had ignited such a flame in you.

___________________________________________________________

Even if you told yourself that you were prepared for it, you weren’t.

You knew full well the risks he took each time he entered the fray. It was surprising, all things considered, just how fragile human existence truly was, even Obi’s larger-than-life presence that had become a near-constant in your life over the past few months.

When you received the news that this time, he’d been badly injured during a mission, you’d all but flung aside your tasks to make your way, helter-skelter, to the med bay.

Obi was lying motionless in the bed assigned to him, some members of his squad in neighbouring beds, some sitting nearby, covered in dirt and stains, but not much worse for wear.

You watched from the neutrality of the doorway for a moment, taking him in, the slow, laboured breathing, the smudges of crimson at the edges of his bandages, the soft fan of his dark hair across the pillow.

You’d known all along that he wasn’t, by any means, indestructible, but here you were, only able to watch him, with your fingernails digging hard into your palms.

It wasn’t your place. You shouldn’t even be here.

Turning on your heel, you started the slow journey back to your office when someone called your name.

A young officer, features deceptively delicate, violet eyed, was standing in the doorway.

Maki.

Her name comes to mind with ease, for all that she’s in another company. His company.  

“Did you … want to visit the Captain?”

“Oh, it’s not … I won’t bother you all now. I’m sure he needs his rest.”

She took another step towards you.

“But it’s no trouble at all. He won’t be awake for a while, probably.”

“I really don’t – “

Maki moved aside from the open doorway, gesturing for you to enter with an insistence that was hard to refuse.

“There’re plenty of chairs here. And I’m going out to grab something to eat. Please.”

She leaned into the room and had a hushed conversation, after which two other squad members shuffled out after her, their voices echoing down the corridor.

You gave yourself a brief grace period within which to recoup your dignity, before straightening and marching towards the room with determined steps.

When you took your seat near his bed, you were suddenly aware of the exhaustion that crept, light-footed, into your limbs. 

At some point, you must have drifted into a light doze, because when you awoke, pinching the bridge of your nose and inhaling deeply, you noted that Obi’s eyes were open and that he’d been watching you.

The bruising on his face and neck was heavy, one of his eyes almost swelled completely shut, but you didn't miss the fleeting expression of heavy tenderness, hidden too late for someone with as open a countenance as he possessed. 

Choosing to put this aside for now, you leaned toward him.   

“Obi?”

His voice was hoarse, but no less vital, even its weakened state.

“Shedding tears for a big, strong fireman?”

You sighed dramatically.

“Is this the fate of every woman in a lab coat?”

“At least bring a lace handkerchief.”

“I don’t own anything in lace.”

“I can fix that.”

“Easy, Captain, you can barely stand as is.”

He uttered a short laugh, followed by a heavy wince and you groaned.

“Okay, enough of that. You should be resting.”

“Hey, how are – “

“They’re all fine.” You cracked a small smile. “You’ve really raised a resilient squad.”

“They’ve practically raised themselves.”

You fell into a comfortable silence, the air between you no less electric with unspoken intent.

“A giant infernal?” you eventually query.

“Multiple cores. Took the entire squad to take it out, but they pulled it off.”

He caught the tap of your fingers against your knee and turned further on the pillow to face you.

“Licht’s probably going back to the scene.”

“All right, then this time, I’ll go with him.”

“Keep alert. Whoever created that infernal is still out there.”

“They probably won’t hit the same place twice,” you reassured him.

It’s almost a reflex, the way he reaches for you, less to keep you beside him as much as it is a means to anchor himself.

There is a lurch somewhere inside you, a feeling of being off-balance, for him to show such vulnerability so openly. You know his nature well enough, and yet, it never fails to bring your heart to a momentary halt.

Akitaru.  

You want to say his name, the way not many do, but you can’t, not yet. You still haven’t earned the right.

Instead, you take his hand, registering the heaviness of it. You trace over the hardened knuckles with your thumb, allowing the calluses on his palm to catch on your own skin.

This is a hand that knows the weight of taking a life, and in doing so, releases suffering beyond measure.

Without much thought, you tuck your hair behind one ear and stoop, pressing your lips to the top of his fingers. You let the contact linger for as long as the message needs to be conveyed, noting the slight catch in his breathing, and then you’re standing, making your way to the door.

You’re not sure if he calls out to you, but you know that you can’t look back.

You’re nowhere near as brave as he is.

________________________________________________________

Two days later, you were sorting through the mass of analytics to be forwarded to Licht in your office.

You’d been somewhat on edge during the field survey, but following Licht’s lead, you’d rapidly become absorbed in obtaining samples from the battlefield. There was, indeed, a plethora of new data to process.

Stacking another set of gas chromatography results in their respective folder, you stood to stretch your back when you heard a commotion out in the hallway.

The door to your office swung open and hit the wall with a smack.

Obi’s imposing form filled the entryway. 

Behind him, Shinra and Arthur, who had also been recuperating in the rooms below, jostled each other as they attempted to look past his elbow.

You raised an eyebrow.

“Should any of you be up?”

“See, I told you that we shouldn’t – “

Shinra hissed, interrupted by Arthur’s shove.

Obi folded his arms and regarded you sternly, the kind of look he’d use for reprimanding a junior officer.

“Why didn’t you come see me when you got back?”

Arthur raised a hand.

“Because she reports to Captain Huang, not – “

This time, Shinra stepped on his foot.

You shoved your hands awkwardly into your coat pockets.

“Uh … caught up in running some samples?”

“That’s not an excuse! When you return from site, you need to report back.”

“Now, hold on – “

“And you just … kissed my hand like a … a fairy prince and hoofed outta there!”

“Holy Sol, lower your voice!”

Arthur looked dumbstruck.

“She … but … chivalry is … “

Your ears were about to undergo their own form of combustion.

“All right, I admit that I could have handled that better.”

Obi’s bandaged hand was now propped on his hip.

“That’s right. At least let a guy know you think he’s hot before you pull a stunt like that.”

“Wha – That’s not – “

Shinra snapped to attention as if he was undergoing inspection.

“With all due respect ma’am, please admit that Captain Obi is the hottest man in the eight divisions!”

“Oho!” Obi slapped his shoulder, “Always a hype man, Shinra.”

What on earth –

No. No, this was a test of your will, and perhaps, your sanity.

Inhaling sharply, you matched Shinra’s posture.

“Captain Obi!”

He raised his eyes to yours, full of that proud, gentle kindling you realised he’d never tried to conceal.

“You’re the hottest man in the eight divisions!”

The grin that split his face could probably have given rise to a new sun faster than the white clad’s machinations.

“You’re pretty hot stuff yourself, Miss Analyst.”

He raised an arm, leaning his elbow on the doorframe, eyelids lowering slightly, and suddenly your breathing felt a trifle laboured.

“Take you out for dinner at six?”

“Ask me again when you can actually hold chopsticks.”

 _______________________________________________________

Contrary to the assumptions of many of your colleagues, you did know how to dress for a date.

When you were sure that Obi had fully recovered, and had a day off, almost two weeks had passed since the rather bizarre confrontation in your office.

True to his word, he made sure that he confirmed your meeting.

Logically speaking, you knew that you had no reason to be nervous at all, considering the man you were going to be spending the day with. Obi would be sure to put you at ease almost immediately, and it would, in all probability, be a relaxed and informal outing.

The coil in your abdomen was more the effect of anticipation and excitement. You could hardly believe that this was going to occur.

You’d arranged to meet Obi at the central square not far from the Eighth’s headquarters. By the time you reached there, it was early afternoon and the weather looked perfect for a stroll.

Obi was waiting for you near the fountain, leaning against the low boundary wall, looking relaxed and gut-wrenchingly handsome in fitted jeans and a striped shirt with the sleeves rolled up, unbuttoned at the collar to reveal the white vest beneath.  

He brightened immediately upon seeing you, raising a hand to his chin and looking you over with blatant appreciation.

“A lovely lady approaches. Should I ask if she comes here often?”

 You adopted a similar thoughtful pose.

“I don’t know. What does the firefighter’s manual say?”

“That I should sling you over my shoulder and haul you away.”

 “Like a pile bunker?”

 “You’re much prettier than a pile bunker.”

“You like me that much?”

He threw back his head and laughed, eyeing you with honest affection as he gallantly offered the crook of his elbow.

“Let’s get going!”

“Where to, Captain?”

“Oi. None of that Captain stuff. You know what to call me.”

His skin is shockingly warm under your touch, and you try to tamp down the sweet pang of desire that spikes so naturally as you take in the way he’s attempted to neaten his hair, the intoxicating scent of his body, the way he leans toward you so that the considerable curve of his shoulder presses reassuringly against yours.  

“Akitaru, then.”

He beams and squeezes your hand gently against his side.

“Now that’s better. There’s a new place I wanted us to try out. It’s got a great view over the water.”

Indeed, it does.

It’s a small café, serving seafood and simple, hearty meals. Obi watches you fondly as you eat with enthusiasm before tucking in to his own spicy stew.  

“Good?”

“Delicious!”

You level your chopsticks at him.

“Arthur told me that his favourite meals are the ones you buy him.”

He looks down into his bowl with a soft grunt of amusement, but you can tell that this information pleases him deeply.

“Yeah? Well Arthur told me he’d have nothing but court food, right before he ate enough to clean out my wallet.”

“Are you that easily taken advantage of?”

“By kids and beautiful scientists, apparently.”

“When have I ever taken advantage of you?”

“Hooked me with that CD … “

“You wanted it!”

“And then with your eyes.”

You still couldn’t fathom by what means he made the corniest pick-up lines sound sensual and dreamy.

While waiting for coffee, you watch the pale lines of sea foam ebb across the bay beyond, the silence that stretches between you acknowledged as a space within which a myriad possibilities exist.

When Akitaru’s hand closes around yours, thumb running across your wrist, it’s as if he’s returning a warmth you never knew had been missing. Resting your chin in one palm, you take him in, allowing yourself to revel in his presence.

“I didn’t think you’d want … this. You know. To go on a date,” you offer, in response to his questioning look.

“Why’s that?”

“You’re on the Force. You’re a Captain. I thought you might not have much time for things like this.”

He is silent for a moment, staring out across the placid water. The wind stirs the stray locks of dark hair that are already curling out of their neatened state. He tugs your hand a little closer to him across the varnished surface of the table.

“I mean … you’re right, in a way. I haven’t paid too much attention to relationships. And the job itself is pretty high risk.”

He turns his gaze on you, earnest and searching.

“But you know … I like seeing the people around me safe and happy. What’s the Force safeguarding if it isn’t something like this? Just being able to sit by the sea with someone you care about and have a good meal. It’s worth it, right? I like being alive, and I like that you’re here with me, and that’s enough.”

The simplicity of expression belies the depth of sacrifice and duty you know full well he possesses, down to the core.

In that moment, you want to be closer to him than ever, and from the soft darkening of his gaze, he’s reading you with an ease that you’ll always find breathtaking.

Akitaru brings your hand up slowly, brow furrowing as his eyes drift shut. He traces firm, slightly chapped lips over your fingers, your palm, the inside of your wrist.

Such delicate actions seem, somehow, incongruous coming from someone like him, and are all the more alluring for it. 

The feather-light touch, the dizzying caress of his breath and the way he holds you in place to receive his attentions, all brings to mind the suggestion of how he could pin you down in other ways.

You sit with him for a while, not speaking, basking in the way his eyes drink you in.

He doesn’t let go of your hand, even when you leave the café.

The evening air is still and pleasantly warm, and Akitaru shifts his grip from yours to the small of your back. The steady heat of his large, open palm steals into you, steals away coherent thought as he guides you back to the familiarity of your apartment.

In your open doorway, a passage to something heavenly, he pauses and hovers before you, tilting his head down to yours in the way you’ve grown to love.

You know, in that instant, that he won’t come inside, that he wants all the sweet, heavy fullness of romance with you, specifically, before he can indulge any further. You suppose that the joys of living, within the precious confines of drawn-out time, can be found here too.    

Your mouth opens like a flower beneath the weighted press of his. Fingers curling around the broad breath of his neck, you lean into it, show him how you’re willing to take him, tugging lightly at his control.

Before the kiss grows messy, he parts from you with a soft, wet sound, breath blowing across your cheeks in a heavy wash. You take some satisfaction at the small break in his voice, the way he licks his lips to retain the taste of you.

“Go out with me again?”

“Do you really have to ask?”

His forehead brushes yours, touch tracing like a shadow up the side of your body and you feel the curve of his smile.

“Doesn’t hurt.”

“Yes, Akitaru, I’d love to go out with you again.”

He taps you gently under the chin before stepping back and away, making his way down to the street, taking with him some loose thread that threatens to unravel and spill you all over your own threshold.     

_______________________________________________________

There's no other term to adequately describe it: Akitaru courts you, in what he obviously thinks is the proper way.

He makes you laugh until your sides protest, waxes lyrical about his dreams, loves to talk about his squad, and never fails to make you feel a part of his many-faceted life.

He has decided that you belong, and you've taken the only place you could occupy as far as he's concerned; a partner, a lover, a friend.

The more you learn of him, of what many would perceive as his myriad flaws, the more your desire and deep affection for him grows.

He loves to potter about in a vest and low-slung tracksuit bottoms, singing off-key, occasionally shooting you a dopey glance as he hits some particularly romantic lyrics.

He tries to fix things at his home, or at work, and invariably makes them worse (much to the dismay of his lieutenant), after which he stands back, hands propped self-righteously on hips, and blames the original construction.

His apartment, once you've seen it, is exceptionally neat, a reminder of his formal firefighter training and disciplined lifestyle. It is, however, dotted with mismatched items he'd picked up as memorabilia, a dented helm from his first official mission, the candid photographs of his squad, a battered basketball, miscellaneous workout equipment and, of course, an extensive record collection.

He's a competent cook, not as skilled as Hinawa, from what you'd heard, but able to hold his own with basic ingredients.

It's something he loves to engage in when you're over, giving you what he calls the 'full experience', with brawny arms on display as he chops and tosses, clearly showing off.

The only complaint you had was that he was almost a little too considerate when it came to the physical aspect of your relationship.

You'd certainly progressed beyond the chaste kiss in the doorway on your first date.

When you were curled up on the couch beside him, fingers interlaced as his arm hung over your shoulder and down to your side, there were many occasions when the soft kisses exchanged grew to something more heated.

You could feel it, in the way his breathing grew heavier, the way his torso lifted slightly under your touch, the way he'd groan against your lips when your fingers grazed through the delicious, shorn expanse of his undercut.

It wasn't that he hadn't been sexual with you either.

You remembered clearly the evening when the gentle drag of his teeth against your shoulder, the slide of those roughened palms underneath your shirt and along the length of your sides, had left you clutching at him with almost embarrassing intensity.

He'd brought his hand around to your front, resting on your stomach just above the waistband of your jeans, a wordless request for permission.

You'd traced over his lips, marveling at how the passage of those eyes left you so incredibly sensitized to the light contact.

Of course, you'd nodded.

He'd exhaled, hot against your throat, before his fingers had slid down, down, tracing a line of fire beneath the hem of your underwear, to where you needed him most.

The spasmodic jerk your body had given, your faint gasp, had earned you another nip, this time just below the collarbone.

Then, he'd touched you, parting your soaking folds, finding his way with unerring, steady ease to the glistening pearl at the apex.

Your thighs had tightened, quivering, against the movement of his palm as he'd stroked you, pleasured you, gripped your waist to hold you effortlessly in place as your head fell back against the sofa.

You'd realised then, as one digit breached you and you'd uttered a cry of delight, that if his fingers were any indication of the size of him, then you were certainly going to have your limits tested when the time came.

Right then, you'd been more concerned with the way he'd insisted on maintaining eye contact as he'd spread you, plundered you, running on pure instinct as he'd watched the changes in your expression, switched to different angles to see what response he'd elicit.

As in everything he did, Akitaru was thorough, eager, ceaseless.

When he'd finally tipped you over the edge, into a golden, molten-edged free fall, you'd scrabbled helplessly at his shoulders, mouth opening in a silent scream, the pounding of your pulse loud as a drumbeat.

The kiss he'd snared you in then was searing, teeth knocking against teeth, on the verge of primacy, adoring in spite of that, and yet ... he'd never truly given in.

There was still restraint, cording his neck with effort, escaping his lips in low pants, in the hunger with which he watched the harsh rise and fall of your clothed breasts.

He wanted, but wouldn't allow himself, not yet.

You saw in this a boundary of his own making, a war he wouldn't lose against the same unfettered power of nature that he faced daily in his duty.

Even as much as you'd wanted him to let go, to be with you fully in that moment, the duality of brute strength and tenderness, which defined him in every sense, was even more intoxicating to you.

It served as a constant reminder as to what he held inside himself, your Akitaru, an inferno greater than any your mind could conjure.

_______________________________________________________

It was a rainy evening, and with the final rush of the day over, you made your way back to your apartment.

Akitaru's company had been called out to deal with reports of infernal activity in the Nether.

You told yourself that it was useless to wrap yourself in a mantle of anxiety and ceaseless worry, but logic seldom asserted itself in your mind where he was involved.

The tasks of the day fled from your grasp as quickly as they’d arrived, and before you knew it, the day was done.

There was still no word from the teams sent underground.

You reached your apartment, switched on the lights, dropped your satchel in a corner.

The rookies were down there too, in the dark.

Their faces flashed through the sorting deck of your memory. All so young. Practically kids. You knew exactly why Akitaru cared so deeply for them, for their training and preparation for the field.

He'd do anything for his squad.

The thought was supposed to bring you comfort.

For the rest of the evening, you attempted to regain some measure of a regular routine. It's what he would have expected of you.

You cooked, and watched the food cool on your plate, and the one you'd set out for him, before transferring both portions to containers for storage.

You cleaned the bathroom, ran a load of laundry.

Then came the pacing.

At 2 am, your phone buzzed.

Half asleep, you snatched it from where it sat on the small side table, next to the sofa where you'd temporarily dozed off.

"Akitaru?"

Your greeting was firmer than you'd expected. You took pride in that.

He sounded exhausted, voice rough-edged and hoarse with the kind of emotional vulnerability he wouldn't reveal readily.

"We're back. All safe, but ... Shinra. He's in a critical state. They're doing all they can to save him."

You nodded in the emptiness of your apartment.

"I'll be right there."

He didn't dissuade you.

________________________________________________________

The next few days are a blur.

The expedition into the Nether yielded explosive results, including the revelation that Shinra's younger brother was a top priority rescue target from the white clad.

Shinra had survived a terrible injury, thanks to the efforts of your own division's Captain Huang.

While the samples and data for analysis had rolled into your lab by the bucket load, Akitaru had been occupied with collating all the intelligence into a comprehensive report, to be presented at a meeting of the top brass.

Through your assistance of Licht, you'd managed to summarize the mountain of analytics into a more digestible form, easily discussed and dissected.

You hadn't expected Akitaru to drop by your place on this particular evening, the day of the meeting.

When you answered the door, it took you a moment to process his presence, so unused as you were to seeing him in his Captain's uniform, a navy suit and tie replete with the badges of his station and level of command, as he’d looked when you’d first met.

He remains still for a moment, imposing and professional, before he crosses the threshold and steps into the enfolding circle of your arms.

You hold him as tightly as your strength allows, taking in the scent of him, the crisp shirt that rustles with unfamiliar texture beneath your cheek, his warm, solid form beneath.

Akitaru tips his head downwards, kisses you, and you know that this time is different.

You almost don't register the way he shoves the door shut with his foot before his arms wrap almost convulsively around you, his hat knocking against the top of your head and tumbling off to the floor.

He'd never been this hot, this urgent in his attentions before.

You can barely breathe beneath the force of his lips, and you find that you don't really want to.

When he breaks away for air, you bracket his face between your hands.

"You - "

"Need you. Please."

It's almost as if some wild, ancient spirit has sliced you both open down the middle, flooding both your veins with unadulterated, primal desire.

Your cardigan joins his hat in an untidy pile, followed by his coat. He kicks off his shoes as he backs you further into the room.

The husky plea in his voice, the near desperation in those infinitely warm, amber-shot eyes, the way his fingers dig into your hips, are like a dozen golden arrows that pierce, dripping with molten intent, right through the core of you.

You must have given him some signal, because in an instant, he stoops, grasping you firmly just above the knees, lifting you with an ease that twists your gut in knots of anticipation.

You're now met with the enticing sight of his broad back, rippling under the confines of his shirt, as he carries you in a classic fireman's lift. He ignores your impotent slaps against his shoulder as you protest, breathless with laughter.

Akitaru hones in on the bedroom like an amorous missile, unstoppable in his intent.

In an instant, the world seems to tilt as he tosses you down on the sheets. You prop yourself on your elbows, biting your lip as he surges forward to hover above you.

"What's this Captain? Not even going to give me a show?"

Your coy smile turns to an open-mouthed gasp as he presses you into the mattress under his body, overwhelmingly powerful, gentle at the same time. Something hard, hot and rigid slots right against you, the tip sinking into the gusset of your underwear.

"Aki - "

It's almost embarrassing, how needy he turns you in the space of a few seconds, just by kneading his erection directly over where you're most sensitive.

His mouth is right next to your ear, soft, eager pants and groans easing their way out. You take some pleasure in the idea that he's just as lost in these sensations as you are.

"Oh, God I'm - wanna take you so bad."

Pressing a palm to his cheek, you redirect that lust-hazed glance back to you, drawing on his focus.

"Do it, then. However you want. Akitaru, please - "

Your begging takes on a high edged note as he grinds down into you again, letting you feel the size of him.

The frenzied desire to be bare, to render him so in turn, takes precedence in your mind.

Fingers tug impatiently at buttons and zippers. Your sleep shorts and top join his trousers on the floor beside the bed, his belt still hanging from the loops.

Akitaru's hair grows even more wildly disheveled as you push through it, encouraging him as he impatiently slides down your underwear and flings it somewhere in the region of the pillow.

Surprisingly, you're nowhere near as self-conscious about your nude state as you imagined you'd be.

In spite of your breathless urgency, Akitaru takes a moment to look you over, spread out before him like a feast to dine on.

The look he is wearing is enough to keep you wet for as long as he wants. 

It almost feels wrong, for someone with such an open, lovable demeanour to look like this; one corner of his mouth crooked in an inviting smile, the carved planes and dips of his body gleaming in the dull light, the flush of arousal on his face and neck.

Somehow, the sight of him far outshines the image you'd built in your mind. Now, you can see the light scattering of hair across the broad chest, thicker between the pectorals, forming a dark line of heavenly anticipation down the middle of his abdomen.

Scars litter his powerful form, dark and slightly refractive from exposure to intense flame, lighter and raised above the skin where he'd suffered lacerations.

This is a body to be revered by a lover, to be touched, tasted, spanned a hundred times over by teeth, tongue, splayed palms and devouring eyes.

At leisure, you'd trace each and every one of those testaments to his bravery, but right now his hand is already dipping between your legs in a remembered dance.

Placing one of your fingers between your teeth, you bite down to suppress your moans as he spreads you once again.

Akitaru sits back slightly to appreciate the sight of you, neck arched, gripping the eiderdown above your head, legs apart, the gleaming coating that covers his exploring digits.

By the time he adds a third curling, stretching, dipping appendage, you're writhing, begging him, one of your arms snapping down so that you can claw at the smooth curl of his bicep as he works you.

He leans forward, pressing his face to the side of yours, groaning heavily.

"Can't wait any more, beautiful."

"Then don't. Please, inside me, now."

You lift your hips off the bed, wanton and eager, bucking under his touch. Within a matter of seconds, you register that he'd separated himself from you, fingers sliding out with careful consideration, even now.

Breath hitching at the feeling of emptiness, you struggle to even your breathing as he fishes through the pockets of his retrieved trousers for a condom.

Upon finding it, he raises his eyes to you, warm and mischievous.

"Wanna see me get out the hose?"

You clap a hand over your mouth, before shifting it aside, expression growing serious.

"Can you do it double time, Captain?"

He tears the wrapper carefully, pulling down the hem of his briefs.

"You got a fire that needs dousing, ma'am?"

Arching your back, you cup your breasts, fingers fanning over your ribs.

"It's spreading really, really fast, Captain. Need you to plug up the source right now."

His grin is boyish, delectable, even as his cock springs free, jouncing from the motion of his underwear, and he palms the condom over.

"Looks like I'm gonna be putting out fires all night."

He places his hands beneath your knees, drawing you effortlessly across the bed towards him. You squirm and utter a small, breathy laugh as the heftiness of him smacks against your lower abdomen.

He isn't overly long, thankfully, but he is thicker than anything you've seen in your fairly limited experience, broad around the middle, curving slightly towards the head. When you reach down to wrap a hand around him, the heat of his flesh and the sheer weight of him makes your legs fall further open of their own accord.

Akitaru slips a hand beneath the small of your back, raising you before he draws you forward, into his lap.

"Easier if you're on top."

The words are now grated out as you settle on him, bracing your arms on his shoulders. His control is hanging on by a thread, and the sight of him like this, subject to your will, gives you a sense of power that is arousing beyond measure.

You are conscious of how wet you are, inner thighs already slick and frictionless. He can feel it too, as you slide along him, working up the swivel of your hips.

Nose to nose, his adoring scrutiny is almost too much as he watches you, each contortion of your features as he slides between your labia, uttering a soft grunt as he registers your heat.

Then, the tip breaches you, pushing in with a hard, slightly uncomfortable stretch. Your fingernails dig into his shoulders as he works himself in, sweat beading his brow, the tendons of his neck standing out as he whispers soft curses.

You take a moment, breathing heavily, to adjust to his size. After the initial entry, his width makes you feel beautifully full, on the edge of overwhelming, that slight curve allowing him to drag against you in ways that make your calves tighten.

You start the slow undulation of your hips, to help both him and you, walls fluttering and squeezing as you swing in a small circle, taking him further in.

"Fuck, that feels - "

He closes his eyes and hisses, holding onto your waist as if he's attempting to control a runaway train.

Somehow, you know exactly what will draw these reactions from him. There's something about Akitaru, the upstanding, heroic leader, coming apart inside you, that turns you more than a little wild.

Still swaying, holding onto him with everything you have, you widen the circle, you lower back and thighs taking the strain. He slides deeper, almost fully inside, and now you lean back, hands landing firmly above his knees. 

The sounds coming from where you are joined are positively sinful as you sway and buck, drawing the kinds of pleasured, pleading moans from him that could fuel your dreams for decades.

Then he grasps you a little tighter, drawing you against him, and at this angle, he hits a place inside you that draws out a loud cry, your body jerking, rhythmic movements cut short.

"You like that?"

Shuddering, your gaze falls to him again, noting the change, the assertiveness now surfacing, even as lust possesses him to this degree.

You nod and he surges into motion beneath you. You're not sure what he intends, but you utter a soft complaint as he pulls out, leaving you with an ache that needs to be remedied immediately.

Then he turns you around, pushing your thighs apart, pulling your back into the solid wall of his chest, and your eyes widen slightly as you take in the new arrangement.

You're facing your bedroom vanity table, the long mirror over the top giving a prime view of the bed and both of you on it.

"Akitaru, what are you - "

"Giving you a show, sweetheart."

Your arm curls upward, over his shoulder as he rubs against you, and your abdomen tightens at the sight, the flushed head of his cock pressing forward, disappearing, and then he's raising you, the breadth of his shoulders so much wider than yours.

Your hand flails in the space between your bodies, before you snare him, guiding him in once again.

A choked gasp escapes you as this time, you're seeing and feeling it all at once.

Eyes glistening, you watch as he splits you open, an explosive groan escaping him as he also takes the sight of you in, labia parting, the slick length of him moving back and forth as he stretches you open again.

You've never done anything like this before in the bedroom, and judging from the misted, drunken look he wears, this is a first for him too, perhaps saved away in the corner of his mind for an occasion like this.

The curve of him catches you at a different angle, all the more excruciating for how slowly he draws the motion out, bringing you back down until you're completely sat over him.

Akitaru leans back, letting the inhuman strength of his abdomen and hips do the work for both of you. The angle between your thighs widening further, the view you gain turns explicit in ways you cannot process.

There, you can see him, the slow rise of his pelvis impaling you, labia pushed apart to accommodate each thrust.

He takes his time in spite of his earlier urgency, dipping, lifting, grinding inside you in small circles, mimicking your earlier movements. The pearly evidence of your arousal is now seeping past the base of his cock and coating his sac.

Your head falls back, but you fight the urge, arousal and mortification warring across your face as you determine to keep your gaze on the magnificent sight he's gifted you with.

It's clear, from his expression, that Akitaru thinks this is possibly the best thing he's done since forming the Eighth Company.

The sensations grow more intense as he increases his pace and depth, spearing into you with devastating precision. You cling to him, keeping the rhythm as best you can, but it's clear that he is taking steady control.

Heat spreads through your lower body, coiling tightly just below the navel, and now the bed beneath you is slowly gaining a sizable patch of damp, spurred on by his reckless, relentless attentions.

Between the delirium he has induced, you note that Akitaru's arm has come up, bracing along the back of your neck. His knees push against yours until you're completely at his mercy, moaning, gasping, swearing at him, begging him to give you everything he has.

"Aki - oh God - please - I - "

"That's it, angel, take it like that - "

"Fuck, I'm - you're so deep - "

"Pussy so wet, so good, I can't - "

"I want it, all of it, fuck me - "

"Gonna give it to you just how you like, my - "

Some vital checkpoint has been reached because the world shifts once again, and you realise that you're being moved forward, off the bed.

"Wait, what - "

He lets out a huff of amusement against your ear.

"Lemme see if I can - "

Your eyes snap open as you feel one of his feet hit the floor.

He couldn't be -

The arm that had been propped across your shoulders now descends, hooking around the back of your knees as he lifts, taking your entire weight.

He is standing, holding you aloft with one arm, cock still buried inside you.

You're taking great sobbing breaths, torn between disbelief, hilarity and gut-wrenching, animalistic arousal as he resumes his punishing pace with no apparent effort.

It isn't rapid, simply a slow, deep rut, each thrust spreading you open to your limits, forcing the air from your lungs.

Your hands clutch fiercely at those rippling shoulders, raking up marks which he takes little to no notice off, your mouth falling open in ecstasy as he takes you for a ride that nothing else will ever compare to.

The wet slap of your flesh against his echoes in the bedroom, compounded by the close, intimate visual he is now providing in the mirror of the plunge of his cock, the way he moves slightly from side to side, churning, earning throaty, near-panicked cries from you.

It's ridiculous, it's driving you to the brink of insanity, it's tearing up every expectation you had of sex with him, and it's Akitaru all over, overthrowing what should be physically possible with the sheer strength he possesses.

Each mounting pulse of pleasure, the pressure against that low, white hot spot that sets you quivering every time he strokes it, the sweet words of encouragement, juxtaposed with how thoroughly he fucks you, is enough to rip you from the confines of building euphoria and hurl you straight into its waiting jaws.

There is a moment where you have no recollection of where you are or how you arrived there, the raw, blinding bliss of an orgasm that faintly registers as a Richter Scale nine across the quaking landscape of your body.

Then another hits you, less sharp, leaving you shuddering helplessly in his hold again. He leaves himself inside, pressing snug against you, locked in the vice of your spasm.

You hear his ragged moans of approval, the hoarse, heated whispers of how good you are, how tight around his cock, so beautiful when you come, easy angel, just like that.

Finally, he lowers you, moving you both towards the bed.

You slump forward, elbows hitting the covers, now aware of the fact that your thighs are completely soaked with the after-effects of your orgasm. Akitaru leans over you, grounding you with the comforting weight of his body.

As he moves to pull out, you realise that he's still hard, almost painfully so, given away additionally by the labored heave of his breath.

Boneless with pleasured exhaustion as you are, you won't let that slide. Your hand shoots out, clasping his bare hip, and he startles before letting out a low sound of amusement, hot breath intimately stirring the hair near the shell of your ear.

"Giving you a break, sweet thing."

It takes you a moment to recall how to speak, throat dry and heavy from the noises he's been dragging out of you.

"Dont need ... a break."

"But you just - oh, fuck."

The last was a drawn out, sensuous hiss and your devious smile is hidden by the blanket beneath you.

While he'd been focused on your voice, you'd managed to keep your balance, bent over the bed, feet bracing on the floor as you cross your ankles. The squeeze you'd exerted had certainly been noted.

Akitaru had best learn not to underestimate you.

Raising yourself again, you arch your back, presenting him with the tantalizing view of your raised rear.

You push back on him, the sensitivity from your orgasm receded to a dull ache during the brief respite he'd so graciously given you.

Shooting a coy glance over your shoulder, you take in his sculpted form, muscles gleaming with a sheen of sweat from his exertions. His hair is plastered to his forehead, peaked nipples rising and falling beneath the telling flush that has spread down, all across his chest.

What a magnificent sight he presents, and you wouldn't miss the grand finale for the world.

He keeps still for a moment, head thrown back, seeming overwhelmed, but then his chin drops and the look he levels at you serves as an immediate reminder of the fact that you're still very much at his mercy.

You're prepared for it, though, and you ride it out once again, lip caught between your teeth as he presses his large palms to the mattress on either side of you, taking what you've given him.

You clutch at his wrists, uttering short, sharp cries as he fills you, pace increasing, the bed rocking beneath the steady pounding he gives you.

Keeping your ankles tightly locked, you urge him on, reaching up to the side of his face, his skin hot and damp under your fingers.

You're not exactly certain about the words that spill from you, an endless stream of praise and desire, that he's so big, so good, to keep fucking you like that, to never let it stop.

His hand shifts beneath you, pressing on your abdomen, tilting you so that he can probe deeper, and your speech devolves into incoherency once more.

Two hard thrusts and Akitaru comes with a stifled roar, teeth gritted, fisting the blankets as his hips still their movement. He lets out an explosive groan before his head drops to your shoulder, chest shuddering with each shaky exhale.

It takes a while for you both to regain some form of movement, which involves him sliding sideways, collapsing on the bed beside you, while you turn to face him.

Another minute passes before the broadest, practically uncontrollable smile curves your lips, and he echoes it with a wide grin of his own.

"Uh ... sorry about - "

You bury your face in the soft covers, shoulders shaking with laughter.

"What the fuck was that?"

"It was - hey, but you enjoyed it, right?"

"You need to give it a name. Right now."

He raises himself on one elbow, cocking an eyebrow.

"You ... wanna do it again?"

"Yes."

Akitaru runs a hand through damp hair, giving it serious thought.

"How about ... "

"It had better be nothing to do with a power cobra."

"But baby - "

"No."

He blows out a petulant breath, eyeing you sideways. You stroke his cheek.

"Come on. Think."

“The Pile Bunker?”

“Isn’t that your weapon of choice?”

“Among others.”

It's not every day that you see a big, strong fireman recoil from the smack you aim at his arm.

He twirls a finger in the air.

"How about ... Captain's Hoist?"

"Hmm. Getting there."

He sits up abruptly, pads naked across the floor to the shelf where he keeps his memorabilia. You watch him curiously, not least because of the highly engaging way his backside flexes as he moves. 

Producing one of his LPs with a flourish, Akitaru approaches the bed again. You recognise it as the Led Zeppelin collection you’d sold to him, on the day of the fair. 

“Got an idea?”

He points out the list of songs on the jacket, tapping against one in particular. 

“Think I got you here?”

You cover your mouth with false modesty. 

“Oh my, what would Burns have to say about this?”

His grin takes on a decidedly devilish aspect. 

“That I’m a false prophet, sent to tempt you with my juicy pecs and - “

He cuts off with a stifled laugh as you tug him down onto the bed beside you (no easy feat). Your fingers stroll across said pecs before he playfully nips them, drawing you close against his side.

“So, it’s settled then? ‘Stairway to Heaven’ has a nice ring to it, huh?”

“As long as you’re the one helping me ascend, Captain.”

_______________________________________________________

Later, he lies with his head cradled against your chest, one sizable arm draped across your middle.

He is drifting off to sleep, combined exhaustion from the long hours at work, the high-stakes meetings and the mission that the Eighth Company was still recovering from (and the sex), all working hand in hand to transport him to the softer world of dreams.

You card your hand through his hair, now freshly washed, and remember a time when his presence wasn't a constant.

That time seems so distant now, when he's here, heated skin against yours, breath fanning across your throat, the solid, vital weight of him pressed against you.

Even with the state of the country as it was, torn apart by forces yet unknown, with the risks he took every day as part of his job, you know that Akitaru was meant for this, for returning to his squad, and to you, where he was safe, warm, treasured and loved.

For every other uncertainty you faced, this was one scientifically verifiable conclusion that you'd stake your reputation on.

After all, you'd barely scratched the surface of exploring every possibility laid out before you both, like a road fabricated from gold, and the 'Stairway to Heaven' wasn't even the half of it.

_________________________________________________________

Bonus: A list of sex position names that @radish-breath and I brainstormed for this fic:

Obi One

Drill Tower

Heave Hoe

Bambi Bucket

Towering Inferno

Tower of Babble

Core Blaster

Adolla Squirt

Doppelbanger

High Rise invasion

˚₊‧꒰ა “Did you have a nice chat?” he asked, just a little too cold, fingers twitching near the cuff of his sleeve.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you acted oblivious, he’d only grow more passive-aggressive. “No, really. You two seemed to be getting on swimmingly. I wouldn’t want to interrupt...whatever that was.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d start showing up more. In areas he didn’t need to be in. Casually leaning against doorframes, acting like he just happened to be passing by. One time you found him sitting on a bench at a café you frequented, already halfway through a cup of black coffee, book in hand. “Coincidence,” he said. “You take too long choosing your drinks.”

˚₊‧꒰ა If another person got too touchy around you, Uryu had this habit of adjusting his wrists in a way that flashed his Quincy cross. It wasn’t exactly subtle.

˚₊‧꒰ა The moment you call him out on it, his composure snaps slightly. “I’m not jealous. I’m simply…observant. I notice when people hover around you unnecessarily. I have eyes, after all.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He won’t make a scene. But he’ll make it known to the other person, in an extremely polite and somehow threatening manner, that you are not available for flirting.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Do try not to loiter near people who are already spoken for,” he once said flatly to someone who was standing a little too close, before turning away.

˚₊‧꒰ა He always apologised afterward, but it would be done in an awkward, stiff sort of way. “I may have overreacted. Not that I’m admitting fault. But perhaps...I was slightly out of line.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He won’t sulk. Not really. But you’ll catch him sighing in that exaggerated way and folding his arms whenever you’re texting someone.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you joke with him about being jealous, he’ll scoff. “Ridiculous. I have far more important things to worry about. Though...I would appreciate it if you didn’t give others the wrong impression. For clarity’s sake.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His jealousy isn’t loud, but it’s thorough. He starts noticing things—people you mention in passing, patterns of where you hang out, even who sits next to you at mission briefings.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you reassure him, he’ll deny needing it—but you’ll still notice the way he relaxes. The little flicker of a smile that tugs at the corner of his mouth.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You’re not property,” he says one evening, after yet another bout of silent treatment. “But I don’t share well, either.”

˚₊‧꒰ა And that was about as honest as Uryu ever got with his jealousy.

Kurosaki Ichigo

˚₊‧꒰ა He had never liked subtlety. So when he got jealous, it showed. The minute he saw some bloke trying to impress you with kido tricks outside the 12th Division building, his whole posture changed. Shoulders squared, eyes narrowed, lips pulled into a tight frown that screamed don’t push it.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Oi,” he called across the street, tone casual but definitely not casual. “Didn’t know we were letting circus acts roam around now.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d walk straight up without hesitating, throw a lazy arm over your shoulder, and stare the other guy down like it was just another Tuesday.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You good?” he’d ask you, ignoring the other person completely. “He wasn’t bothering you, yeah?”

˚₊‧꒰ა The moment you say “no, we were just talking,” his eyes flicker sideways with a sharpness that borders on petty. “Right. Talking. Looked more like performing.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He gets protective in a very loud, visible way. If someone flirts with you in front of him, he’ll interrupt immediately. “Hey, didn’t realise we were handing out free confidence today.”

˚₊‧꒰ა If the person keeps pushing, Ichigo doesn’t even get aggressive. He just gets louder and more sarcastic. “You got a name, or should I keep calling you irrelevant?”

˚₊‧꒰ა He isn’t above pulling you away entirely. Grabs your hand, and mutters, “C’mon, we’ve got better things to do than babysit egos.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He gets irritable after. Not with you, but in general. Things clatter louder, he chews his food like it insulted him, and he mutters under his breath when texting.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Didn’t think you were into that kind of guy,” he said once, frowning at the floor. “Guess I’ll go summon some paint and start juggling or something.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He tries not to make you feel bad about it. He really does. But Ichigo has never been good at hiding his emotions. Especially when it comes to you.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you tease him, he plays it off—poorly. “I’m not jealous. He was just annoying. You’re allowed to talk to people. Just not...like that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’ll start upping his game without even realising it. More affectionate. Training harder. Pulling you into little side missions just the two of you. “Figured we could use some time away from magician boy.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His friends definitely notice. Renji teases him for it constantly. “Mate, just admit you’re jealous before you break your own jaw grinding your teeth.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’s lowkey clingy when he’s jealous. Not obvious, just...always next to you. Offering to walk you places. Helping you carry things. Scowling at anyone who so much as glances your way too long.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Do you have to be so nice to everyone?” he once asked, rubbing the back of his neck. “People are gonna start thinking they’ve got a chance.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He won’t say it out loud, but when you reassure him that you only want him, he quiets down immediately. Shoulders drop. He stops pacing. Looks at you like you’ve just given him oxygen.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Yeah?” he says like he wasn’t sure until now. Then softer, “Good. ‘Cause I don’t wanna fight for your attention like it’s some kind of competition.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Even when the jealousy passes, he doesn’t forget. You’ll find him more watchful, and more determined to earn your attention, even in subtle ways.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I’m not insecure,” he muttered once, half into your shoulder. “I just...don’t like the idea of someone else thinking they’ve got a shot. Not when I’m right here.”

Abarai Renji

˚₊‧꒰ა Zero resistance to making facial expressions the most he got jealous. The moment he caught sight of someone getting too friendly with you—like that seated officer from Squad Five leaning a bit too close while chatting—his expression turned stormy without him even realising.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d cross his arms and glare from across the courtyard, muttering under his breath, “Who the hell does he think he is, smiling like that? Tch.”

˚₊‧꒰ა The minute your conversation ended, he’d be at your side like a summoned spirit. “Didn’t know you were such a fan of Squad Five,” he said, trying for casual but sounding absolutely not.

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t subtle. He’d stand closer to you than usual, stare down anyone who tried to talk to you, and ask loudly, “Oi, you alright? This guy wasn’t boring you to death or anything, yeah?”

˚₊‧꒰ა If the person didn’t get the message, Renji would up the territorial energy. “Maybe go find someone else to chat up. Pretty sure they got enough company.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He wouldn’t be angry with you exactly, but he’d sulk in that very obvious Renji way—sitting nearby, arms behind his head, looking everywhere but at you, and responding with short ‘yeah’s and ‘whatever’s.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You were laughing a lot,” he’d mutter at some point. “Didn’t know his jokes were that funny. You never laugh that hard at my stuff.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d start doing extra things to make himself stand out. Training longer, picking tougher missions, throwing flashier attacks when you were around.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Maybe if I wore my hair differently and started quoting poetry like Captain Kyoraku, I’d get your attention too,” he once grumbled while re-tying his headband.

˚₊‧꒰ა He got handsy when jealous—casual, but intentional. Arm around your waist. Hand on your lower back. Slipping his scarf around your neck with a cocky “Here, you’ll catch a chill,” just to watch others back off.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you teased him about it, he’d scoff, “Me? Jealous? Nah. Just don’t like weirdos crowdin’ you.” But then he’d glance away and mumble, “...I just don’t want someone thinkin’ they’ve got a chance, s’all.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He hated how obvious he was, but he couldn’t help it. You were his, and he didn’t like people sniffing around like they belonged in your world.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Look, I get it, people like talkin’ to you. You’re smart and funny and...look amazing, alright? But that don’t mean I gotta like it.”

˚₊‧꒰ა If you reassured him, he melted immediately. “Yeah? Just me, huh?” Then all the tension dropped from his shoulders and he gave that lopsided grin. “Thought so. Still gonna keep an eye on ‘em, though.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He once bumped into someone on purpose just to get them to move away from you. “Oops,” he said flatly. “Didn’t see you there.” He very much did.

˚₊‧꒰ა You’d find him more touchy for a few days after, keeping you within arm’s reach like someone might try and snatch you the second he blinked.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Ain’t about bein’ possessive,” he muttered one night while watching the stars from the rooftop. “It’s just...when I’ve got something good, I don’t wanna lose it ‘cause someone else decided to play clever.”

Shuhei Hisagi

˚₊‧꒰ა He wouldn’t interrupt conversations or make scenes, but he had a way of staring that could cut glass. The moment someone stood too close to you, his entire energy shifted.

˚₊‧꒰ა He wouldn’t say a word at first. Just observed from a distance, arms folded, expression unreadable save for the way his jaw clenched just slightly.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Friendly bunch in Squad Thirteen, huh,” he’d say later, voice calm but dipped in steel. “Didn’t realise you were that close.”

˚₊‧꒰ა If you brushed it off, he wouldn’t argue. But the next time that person approached, Hisagi was already there. Like a shadow. “Everything alright?” he asked, polite but with that unsettling smile that didn’t reach his eyes.

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t need to raise his voice. He used presence. Leaned in just slightly when someone addressed you. Stood between you and them without saying a word.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Sorry, do you need something?” he asked someone once, even though they were clearly talking to you. “Didn’t quite catch that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He got sharper in the aftermath. Not cruel, but more teasing in a dry, cutting way. “So...gonna start bringing flowers to that guy next? He seems like he’d love the attention.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His sarcasm was his shield. He wouldn’t admit jealousy out loud—not at first. He’d just go quieter, colder, and throw in dry comments whenever the subject came up.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Didn’t know you were so easy to impress. All he did was quote a haiku and suddenly it’s the best day of your life?”

˚₊‧꒰ა But he hated the way it made him feel, so eventually he’d just say it outright, in a tired voice: “Look, I don’t like how close he was standing. That’s all. Maybe it’s petty, but I notice these things.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t flirt much when jealous, but his body language shifted—hands always brushing against yours, standing just a little closer than usual, lingering gazes that held a mix of warning and want.

˚₊‧꒰ა If someone tried to flirt with you in front of him, he’d stare them down with all the weight of the 9th Division’s cold professionalism. “You done?”

˚₊‧꒰ა The person usually backed off. Hisagi didn’t need volume. Just a look.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you caught him acting cold and asked what was wrong, he’d hesitate before admitting it: “I don’t like competition. Doesn’t sit right with me. Makes me...sharp.”

˚₊‧꒰ა The sharpness came from fear, not ego. The fear that he wasn’t enough. That someone more charismatic or light-hearted would take you away.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I’ve got a job that keeps me neck-deep in darkness,” he said one night. “Sometimes I worry that someone brighter will take you out of it. Out of reach.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Reassure him and he’d go completely still, like the tension bled out of him all at once. Then he’d nod once and smile—soft, real, and just a bit sheepish. “Alright. I’ll chill. For now.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t dramatic, but he was relentless. He’d keep watching people around you, reading every shift in tone, every glance, every smile.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I trust you,” he said once. “It’s them I don’t trust. Some people don’t care if someone’s taken.”

˚₊‧꒰ა You’d find he became more present in subtle ways—taking breaks when you were free, stopping by your division more often, walking you home without needing to be asked.

˚₊‧꒰ა “No reason,” he said when asked why. “Just felt like seeing you.” But his eyes were already scanning the hallway behind you.

Hitsugaya Toshiro

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t understand why his mood soured so suddenly when he spotted you chatting with a seated squad member under the sakura trees. It wasn’t even romantic, but the way the bloke was smiling—too smug, too relaxed—put his instincts on edge.

˚₊‧꒰ა “Is that supposed to be flirting?” he muttered to Matsumoto, arms crossed, glare locked on the pair of you. “Pathetic.”

˚₊‧꒰ა The next time you passed by his office, he looked up, cool and professional, but with a definite edge in his tone. “I thought you were off socialising with that loudmouth from Squad Nine.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He wasn’t one to get dramatic about it, but he started showing up in your vicinity more often, under the guise of work. Delivering paperwork himself, offering to accompany you on patrol, assigning you to meetings that mysteriously had no actual agenda.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You’re already on the roster with me,” he said when you questioned it. “Coincidence. Don’t overthink it.”

˚₊‧꒰ა He was curt for a while, his usual formality laced with unspoken frustration. When you asked what was wrong, he simply said, “Nothing. Why, something wrong with you?”

˚₊‧꒰ა If someone got a little too comfortable around you in his presence, he’d make it uncomfortable fast. “I’d appreciate it if you kept things professional,” he said icily once, after someone put their hand on your shoulder.

˚₊‧꒰ა His jealousy came with silence more than arguments. Days where he said less than usual, sighed more, sat at his desk with furrowed brows and stabbed his brush into ink with unnecessary force.

˚₊‧꒰ა When he finally cracked, it was because you laughed at another man’s joke in the middle of a squad dinner. “Glad someone finds him funny,” he muttered under his breath, loud enough for you to hear but not loud enough to start a scene.

˚₊‧꒰ა You caught him scowling at the man from across the room, eyes narrowed, fingers twitching near Hyorinmaru’s hilt. “Are you alright?” you asked. “Peachy,” he deadpanned.

˚₊‧꒰ა If you tease him about being jealous, he immediately denies it. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a captain. I don’t have time for...that.” He paused. “I just don’t like seeing idiots waste your time.”

˚₊‧꒰ა When he’s really bothered, he gets short-tempered (aka, sassy) with you too, snapping at you during training. “You’re distracted. What, still thinking about your little tea break the other day?”

˚₊‧꒰ა He never apologised directly, but his version of an apology came in subtle actions. Leaving your favourite snacks in the barracks lounge. Offering to spar with you. Sitting next to you in meetings without saying a word, just being there.

˚₊‧꒰ა “You could’ve told me if you weren’t interested anymore,” he once muttered while standing beside you on a rooftop.

˚₊‧꒰ა When you reassured him, he looked away, but the tension in his shoulders melted slightly. “Good. That’s...good to know.”

˚₊‧꒰ა And he never said the words, but from then on, you noticed how close he stayed during missions. How he always positioned himself between you and potential threats. How his eyes lingered longer when you smiled.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I don’t get jealous,” he muttered once after a long silence. “But I don’t like being taken for granted either.”

Izuru Kira

˚₊‧꒰ა It started when he overheard you joking with another seated officer in the Squad Three barracks, laughing—really laughing—and not in the way you usually laughed around him.

˚₊‧꒰ა He didn’t interrupt. He just stood there in the doorway, his smile tight, fingers resting uneasily on his sword hilt, watching the scene like it was a painting he didn’t like.

˚₊‧꒰ა “I didn’t realise you two were so...friendly,” he said later that evening while handing you some paperwork.

˚₊‧꒰ა He wouldn’t act on it immediately. Instead, he’d withdraw a little. Quietly brood. He’d finish conversations too quickly, duck out of shared breaks, and deflect whenever you asked if something was wrong.

˚₊‧꒰ა “No, everything’s fine. I just have a lot on my plate.” But his tone said don’t ask again.

˚₊‧꒰ა He started keeping tabs on where you spent your free time. Not in a possessive way—more like he was collecting evidence. Quietly confirming whether his feelings were justified.

˚₊‧꒰ა The moment he saw the guy again, leaning too close and laughing too loudly, he finally snapped. “That’s enough,” he said. “You’ve got work to do elsewhere, don’t you?”

˚₊‧꒰ა The man raised a brow, but left. Kira didn’t explain. He just turned to you and asked, “You didn’t think that was a bit much?”

˚₊‧꒰ა If you tried to make light of it, he’d grow even more tense. “It’s not funny. I don’t want to be someone you flirt with for fun. I thought we were more serious than that.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His insecurity ran deep, and jealousy only made it worse. He started questioning whether you even wanted to be with someone like him—quiet, reserved, weighed down by history.

˚₊‧꒰ა “He’s probably more interesting than me,” he said bitterly once during a late patrol. “Doesn’t come with the same baggage.”

˚₊‧꒰ა When you got frustrated with his self-pity, he apologised almost instantly. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t fair. I just...I hate not knowing where I stand.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His jealousy always circled back to fear—fear of being replaceable. Of being too easy to leave.

˚₊‧꒰ა But when you told him he wasn’t, he looked at you like he didn’t quite believe it at first. Then, slowly, he smiled—small, soft, genuine. “I needed to hear that. Thank you.”

˚₊‧꒰ა After that, he became a little more confident. Subtly possessive. Sitting closer. Touching your hand more often. Holding eye contact longer whenever someone else hovered near you.

˚₊‧꒰ა He’d still get jealous, but he handled it with quiet authority. “I trust you,” he said once, “but I don’t have to trust everyone else.”

˚₊‧꒰ა Occasionally, when someone stepped over the line, he’d lean in and speak low enough only they could hear: “I’d be careful if I were you. They’re not available. Don’t make assumptions.”

˚₊‧꒰ა His jealousy wasn’t loud, but it had weight. The kind that lingered. And once he accepted that you were his, he made damn sure no one else mistook your kindness for anything else.

˚₊‧꒰ა “If I ever seem cold,” he said one night, “just know it’s because I care too much. Not the other way around.”

˚₊‧꒰ა And though he’d never admit it, the way you always chose him over everyone else—that was what finally kept the smoke from swallowing him whole.

𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @spellboundsuguru @cactimorada @cookielovesbook-akie @kennys-partner @sovl-society @villainsrtasty @foxycrafterofgreenwood @carnationdoe

Another day, with yet another odd job, earning whatever cash you can conjure up for the inevitable journeys ahead when this town catches whiff of The Humanoid Typhoon peacefully living amongst its people. You'd managed to pick up a temporary position as a front-end waitress at a particulary well-known diner. With that sort of place, and with your sort of title, of course it'll attract unwanted attention and unwarranted hostility or rudeness. Overly-chatty and entitled regulars who try to bitch and moan for freebies, down to the occasional sleazy drunkard who couldn't keep his hands to himself.

It always wore you down each and every day. Not to mention the constant worry looming over your head of you and Vash potentially being discovered by bounty hunters or bandits and having to run for your lives at a moment's notice once again.

It was hectic. For both of you. And that was putting it lightly.

But Vash always found solace from his ill-fated destiny in your arms. And even though he swears you deserve better, or even entertains the thought of sneaking away into the night and leaving you behind "for your own good", you always manage to reassure him with your own endearing brand of stubborness that there's no place else you'd rather be than by his side. Come what may.

On this particular evening, however, the ruminations just hit a little harder than they normally would. Despite your haughty willpower and your ability to compartmentalize your own anxieties, today's shift made your mind weary just as much as it made your bones ache. Slumping into the motel room you and Vash managed to rent out for the time being, you lazily kick off your shoes and remove whatever restrictive wear came with that overzealous work uniform they made you wear before flopping right onto the squeaky bed with an exhausted groan. Face first.

"Rough day at the diner again, mayfly?" Vash asked with an affectionate chuckle, already knowing the answer to the reasons for your tiredness. Before you can answer your boyfriend with a slightly cranky retort, you feel his dexterous hands massaging your shoulders. And as always, his loving touch makes every ounce of your tensity melt away like warm honey. It tugs at your heartstrings- a bad day at work is nothing compared to the repeated horrors he's been subjected to. But he cares so deeply for you, and knows that healing from such wounds isn't a contest or a matter of who can rack up the most scars. If anything, pampering his mayfly heals his wounds in ways that nothing else really could. A tender vindication of sorts.

"Yeah… as usual." You sigh with relief before turning over onto your back and meeting his reverent gaze. If there was one thing that brightened the darkened trenches of your worried mind, it was the brilliant blueness of his eyes. Almost like shimmering waters that this planet likely wouldn't see for eons to come, if at all. You swear on your life you've never seen eyes so blue.

With a smile and without another word, you stretch your tired arms forward to beckon Vash to claim your lips. Without any harbored restraint, Vash meets your mouth in a sweetened kiss to renew your weary soul. It's slow, soft and tender- fragile, even. But soon enough, as your tongue salaciously swipes along his lips, the conjoining of your mouths gradually turns fervent and hungry.

Vash hoists himself onto the rickety bed with you, straddling your hips with each knee as he traps you underneath his unassuming strong build. Lifting his prostetic hand to cradle the back of your head and thread his fingers into your slightly dishevled tresses, he deepens the kiss before tucking his head into the crux of your neck and shoulder. He peppers warm and wet kisses along the sensitive divot beneath your jugular, coaxing out the sweetest little moans from your lungs as the air between you ignites with a welcoming heat.

Vash whispers hoarsely by your ear, panting deeply as an unmistakable testament to his own desires for you. "Lemme take care of you, mayfly. Please… it's the least I can do."

And who could possibly say no to a guy like him?

You nod, of course, giving enthusiastic consent for your vagabond boyfriend to ravish you and take your mind away from the qualms of your job and life on the run. You can feel Vash smiling giddily against the pulse of your neck, working swiftly to take off that dreaded blouse you wore every day at the grind. His lithe fingers graze against your warm and balmy skin- god, your flesh felt like buttery silk in comparison to the marred patchwork of his body. Your softness was a blessed cut against the harshness he'd often faced in his life. It's one of the few things he'll let himself be greedy and selfish over.

Vash switfly works off his t-shirt, revealing the rugged frame that he always shrouded underneath layers of clothes and far too many belts. Various scars etched copiously across his lean muscles with patches of steel bolted into the more gruesome close calls. And yet you beckoned for him with wanting hands.

You were the only person he'd ever fall to his knees for.

Gliding his hands upwards along your sides, Vash peppers kisses and playful nips around your left breast before enveloping his lips onto your pearled nipple. Each soft little whimper that escaped your lips egged him on as he continued to suckle and lap at the sensitive nub before laving the other breast, leaving no stone unturned on your body.

"Mmmf… mayfly." Vash slurs against your skin. He lazily begins to grind his clothed erection against your leg as it begins to grow within the confines of his pants.

As he teased your right breast, your whimpers faltered, and your back didn't quite arch and writhe in the ways it normally would. Vash silently notes this and pulls away from your breast with an audible smack of his lips to check on you. "You okay, sugar?"

"Y-yeah, I…"

You already knew there was no use lying to Vash about these sorts of things. About anything, really. No matter how much you tried to hide it for his sake or how silly he'd get in trying to coax you, he'd always figure you out and read you like a book.

"Okay, it's just… lotta stuff fogging my brain. Anxious about people finding out about you being here. About us, y'know?" You sighed honestly, slowly sitting upward with an apologetic expression. "Plus with the crap that I get on a daily basis at work, sometimes it's… more than I can handle. Hence why it's hard to focus on stuff like… well, this."

Vash's brows furrowed, and for a moment you worry if he's bummed out or disappointed for cutting off the heat. But he was never one to weaponize such things like guilt.

"Hmm…" Vash pondered as he slowly sat up before you, prodding his tongue out to wet his lips as he wonders to himself. What could possibly be going on inside his needle-noggin now? Then, his eyes narrowed into the same steely sort of gaze you'd only find in the midst of his standoffs. Now you're worried.

But the next words that come out have you perplexed… and very, very curious.

"… Do you trust me?" Vash asked without a waver of hesitation in his voice, followed by pronouncing your name to drive the question home.

"Uh, yeah?" You nodded immediately. Yet you didn't quite understand what the hell he was going on about yet. Thankfully, you didn't have to wait long to give his answer to your own wonderings.

In the dim and dingy lighting of the motel room, luminescent blue, rune-like markings began to subtly illuminate across his skin. Ancient patterns enscribed upon his flesh from some otherworldly plane no mere human could comphrehend. You're intrigued, but unafraid, raising an eyebrow before Vash explains his intent.

"I'm gonna take over your senses. You won't be able to really focus on much else except for me. I'll be extending myself into every corner of that worrisome head of yours so you can relax… and just let me do the work."

Your eyes widened like the multiple moons in the sky. It sounds like an… ethereal experience, to put it as plainly as possible. You couldn't lie to yourself, either- it sounded a bit scary. You've entrusted Vash with your life on more than one occasion, but entrusting anyone with your bodily autonomy was a completely different minefield. But Vash was right: you'd been so anxious lately, and it was making him more concerned for you than anything. If your ruminations carried on even further, it could errode the bond you two shared. Or worse- deepen his own suffocating guilt for letting you follow him.

… why the hell not? If it makes you unable to walk in the morning, that's an excuse to call off of work, at least.

Huffing out a sigh of surrender and rolling your eyes, you give Vash your consent once again. But you make sure to flash a cheeky little grin to reassure him that your exasperations were towards your own timid habits.

"You callin' me a worry wart, hotshot?"

And Vash laughs along in turn, the ancient patterns pulsing brightly with every happy seize of his lungs. "Can't have the prettiest damsel in all of No Man's Land worrying her pretty little head off, can we?"

You retort to his affectionate teasings with a playful sneer. "Oh, shut it!"

After your shared laughter ebbs away to ease the nervous tension, Vash's expression becomes focused and calculating once again. Straddling his legs on either side of you, he coaxes you back down onto the bed with a fragile, slow push against your chest. Taking his calloused hands gently to the sides of your face, Vash hums with a soft puff of air against your lips as he leans his forehead against yours.

"Eyes on me…"

You obey the soft command off his lips, and you look into those brilliant baby blues. But what felt like looking… almost feels like swimming.

The ugly ruminations that'd plagued your mind gradually faded away. Out of curiosity, you try to remember the details of what you were so worried about before you came back from work… Wait, what work?

The mundane noises of the townsfolk outside the motel, the rusty creeking of the ceiling fan, all the noise inside and outside your head melted away like dripping ice. Your skin felt warm, tingly… more sensitive than you've ever recalled feeling. Even the brush of his growing cock through his jeans against your thigh sent a noticable shockwave through your nerves.

And it felt so good.

What made you a teeny tiny bit scared, however, was when Vash pulled himself away. He was all you could really see or focus on in terms of vision. Everything else surrounding you and him looked like soft, light blurs. And yet he kept his hands clasped onto yours, reassuring you that you were in the safest possible place on this entire planet.

"I gotcha mayfly. Don't worry." Vash spoke softly with his usual sheepish little smile dimpling his cheeks. "You'll return to normal after this… maybe I can grab us something to eat later?"

Such an innocently off-hand comment when he's taken complete hold of all five of your senses, it makes you laugh once more as your hesitations finally sullied.

Now, you were wholly willing and ready to submit and surrender.

"You expect me to say 'no' to you and comfort food?" You chuckle as he leans in to kiss you once again. The feeling of his tongue gliding against yours felt like delicious licks of fire. You didn't think something as simple as a kiss could make you moan and whine so debaucherously into his mouth. The low little growl from the back of Vash's throat in his own satisfaction doesn't escape you, making you crest your bare chest against his in a wordless plea for more.

Vash unlatches his mouth from yours, pressing wet and sloppy kisses slowly down your sternum and across your soft tummy. Even in your Plant-induced state, you know exactly where he's going.

"Hope you don't mind if I have dessert before dinner, darlin'." Vash purrs with a striking timbre as he unbuttons your slacks and pulls them down your legs along with your underwear. The pun he'd just made completely slips over you as you become far too enthralled in what it could possibly feel like once he-

"A-AAH!" You yelp in surprise as his tongue presses flat against your folds and licks upwards. A syrupy, wanton moan strings along with your bated breath from the sinful shock to your pussy. Vash was always talented with his tongue. Hell, you could say his precise marksmanship extends well beyond his gun! But now you're already fighting off against cumming too soon, even as the gentle swirls and flicks of his tongue laving on your clit were all too slow…

"Mmmf… so good." Vash mumbled against your already messy cunt. The only things you could hear besides your own thundering heartbeat were the lewd sounds of his skilled mouth feasting upon you. "Gimme all you got, baby… That's it."

Nuzzling his face further into your silky folds, his strong hands kept your thighs pried open with an easy yet ironclad grip. Between fiery little kisses to your mound and the languid strokes of his venerating tongue up and down on your sensitive hooded bundle of nerves, your legs began to twitch, signalling your impending climax. Fuck, it felt like your cunt was melting like warm honey.

"V-Vash… gonna… I- I'm-"

The moment your first orgasm hits, his lips enclosed around your clit to suckle with the utmost gentleness, making him hum with delight as you pulsated against his tongue. Your hips buck and grind against his mouth, and he lets you ride his face to your pounding heart's content by matching your movements with his head. The rush of heat warmly blankets your body, making his name spilling loudly from your throat as a saccharine mantra over and over again until your hips settle down onto the bed once more.

But Vash seemed to be having just a little too much of his own fun between your legs. Your body jolts with his cheeky overstimulations. "S-shit, Vash, Vash! t-too much, aah!" You pant and shudder, cueing Vash to pull his impassioned face away from your mound and flash a boyish grin.

His scars were something he'd harbored mixed feelings about for forever and a day. But when it came to your glistening slick coating the lower half of his handsome face? He always wore that with pride. "How was that, sweetheart? Feel good?"

"God…" You pant as your breasts rise and fall with your heavy breathing. Your lungs felt fiery- not much different from the varying warmness that enshrouded your entire being. "That felt incredible… holy shit, honey."

With a hoarse chortle, Vash stood to his feet once again. His cock strained against the crotch of his jeans with a little wet patch just near his leaking tip. As he hastily worked to undo the buckle of his jeans (Thankfully it wasn't those godforsaken chaps with the millions-belts) his weakening gaze met yours. His eyes rivaled even the most brillaint jewels No Man's Land had to offer. They were icy, yet fiery- indescribable. Lustful.

"You don't mind if I indulge myself a bit, too. Right, hun?" Vash asked in a husky breath as he pushed his pants and underwear down. No way did you want to stop now, not when you could feel the deep recesses of your soaked hole aching for every inch of him.

Given your peripheral vision was hazed over, all you could see before you was Vash striding towards the bed to lean over you. His aura and his presence gave every meaning to the definition of angel. Even though he'd deny that notion 'till the Tomas came home.

Then, your eyes land on his dick.

"W-wait." You mutter, causing Vash to pause his movements out of your well-being.

"Is something wrong?" He inquires with a gentle hand onto your hip. "Do you need a break?"

You couldn't help but spill out what you're seeing with awe lacing your voice. "The markings… are down there, too?"

In stark contrast to the dazzling light of the Plant runes everywhere on his body, the human part of his genes were never forsaken as a deepened blush bloomed across his glowing face. "U-uh… yeah." He said sheepishly. "Do you… you think it's silly?"

"No! Heavens, no." You're quick to reassure before reaching your hands to cradle his face. Your voice turns into a gentle coo in apology for the misusage of your tone. "It was just a bit of a surprise for me. Besides… I doubt it works any differently in making my legs sore in the morning, am I right? Glowstick or not."

"Hey…" Vash pouted with a furrowed brow, sulking his head for a moment before the both of you burst into chiming laughter. In the ascended hyponosis he'd coaxed you under, the sounds of your combined chuckles rung like music to your ears, even more so. No matter the god-like strength he posessed or the misunderstood reputation that came along with it, he was and will always be the same goofy, caring, loving Vash you've fallen hopelessly head over heels for.

You would always be in good hands with him.

"… But you're right about one thing." Vash sighed as his laughter gave way to an enticing aura of his own confidence, leaning back up just a bit to ready the both of you for his entrence. "… I think you'll need to call out tomorrow when I'm through with you, dear."

Once he'd positioned the head of his dick into the wet softness of your pussy, his firm grip on your legs made your breath hitch, then stall as he spread them wider.

Any and all focus on anything else ceased, drawn solely to the looming hunger he reserved only for you.

"That's it, mayfly. Focus on me. Nothing else matters right now… let me take care of you…"

The slow and gradual impaling of his cock sinking into your snug heat shattered the last ounces of your own resolve, making the muscles in your face contort in pleasure at the exquisite stretch of your walls. Vash groaned with a deep timbre. "Fuck… s'good. So good. M-… Mayflyyyy…"

Once he'd bottomed out inside of you, Vash began to roll his hips at a careful, languid pace to ease you into your shared pleasure. With one hand steady on your hip, he cupped his cybernetic hand onto your face to lose himself in the adorable, erotic expressions of your face.

"God… all I wanna do is take care of you. Keep you safe." Vash panted with a treumble under his breath in restraint of his carnal want. "Make you happy."

He was the embodiment of a siren to you. And any 'God' be damned, you could never resist his call.

"More. More, please!" You whined pathetically as your fingernails dug little crescents into his marred skin. He shuddered deeply at your pleas, yet you hadn't noticed in your efforts to beg him to just fuck you into this cheap mattress. "To hell with everything else. I don't want anything else. Just you, Vash! Pleeease!"

The faintest snarl could be heard breaking the tension like shattering glass. To your surprise, it rumbled from the depths of Vash's throat. His hands cupped your ass firmly, rising your hips to meet the height of his pelvis. And whatever light encompassed your motel room was outshined beyond comparison by the runes on his skin, now glowing brighter than the moonlight across the dunes as his unfettered hunger glared from his eyes and bored into your body.

You've awakened something in him. And before you can realize it, Vash's pace became frantic and forceful, jackhammering into your sweet heat as he buried his head into the crook of your neck.

"Vash! V-Vash! Fuck, fuck!!"

Any and all sensations of your nerves are ceased, replaced with dizzying ecstasy that melted the marrow of your bones. All you could feel upon your body was the slick sweat of his skin, the sloppy, frothy mess between your legs and the thundering beat of his pulse within his chest. In the back of your blissfully frenzied mind, you hope that you wouldn't pass out beneath him.

What's more, Vash couldn't even make a word out of his voice, alternating mindlessly between trilled whimpers and posessive grunts while he splits your puffy pussy open with his glowing length over and over and over again. His balls tightened to his body, biting into the supple skin of your neck with unbridled hunger as he felt his impending release.

The only word he could ever hope to make out in the midst of his lovemaking was your name.

"Vash! M'comin'!" You wailed as you tightened your grip onto his biceps. Your vision became hazy, blurry, as if you were ascending above the clouds and into the sea of shimmering stars above.

The next moment, you couldn't even keep track of the time anymore, your vision flashed completely white. Where you were, what came before or comes after… no strings of thoughts existed in your mind. All you could feel was your cunt squirting and brutally tightening around Vash as your eyes rolled back. Your back arched, cresting your chest forwards as a sharp cry of his name cannoned out of your lungs.

"VASH!!"

A warm and filling heat floods your lower belly. In the buzzing haze of your aftershocks, you faintly hear Vash's hoarse groans as he slowed the rhythm of his hips into a gradual end. The next minute or two was a blur as you've barely managed to fight off passing out. Unmarked time ticks by before you realize your vision had eventually returned to normal. The usual musty heat of the motel room came back to your sense of smell and touch, but it was taken over by the familiar scent and warmth of having had mind-blowing sex with Vash.

Speaking of which…

"Heh… Hope nobody catches whiff of me here, mayfly." Vash panted by your ear, keeping himself inside of you for just a little bit longer. "You're definitely a screamer."

Your eyes widen in horror. Did you really shout his name at the top of your lungs when you…

"Don't worry 'bout it." Vash reassured with an exhausted hand entwining with yours, laying all of your worries to rest once again. He really had a way with putting your mind at ease, in various ways. "Hey, maybe those slimeballs at your diner won't mess with you anymore if they hear us, right?"

"Stahp." You wine in a prolonged little protest, to which Vash laughs with a cheeky little snicker before easing himself out of you. From the messily slick and lewd sounds of his softening cock pulling out of you, neither of you need to check - there's definitely going to be a cleaning fee after tonight.

But that didn't matter anymore, and neither did any of what you worried about before. You couldn't conjuire the slightest flicker of a memory of what weighed heavy on your mind earlier.

The rumble of your stomach, however…

"Uh… sorry, Vash." You turned your head to face him with a flustered wince of your face. "I know you just made a mess of me, but… about that comfort food tonight?"

Vash could only laugh again. Wheezy, hoarse and weakened in the most delightful way from what you two had done, but the post-coital bliss seems to have seeped into his nerves, too. "Jeez, you're gonna be the death of me, mayfly!"

He flashed a smile towards you before you could ever feel an ounce of guilt for letting him take care of you. "Just… gimme a minute. I heard this new place opened up where they had Thomas meat shwarma. Sound good?"