#I think he sees me in a perpetual state of girlfriend

[thecameronchronicles]

Extortion At Tannyhill

TW: blackmail. Coercive behaviors and decisions. Dark(ish) Rafe. Language. Degrading language. Smut. 

SUMMARY: A moment of ignorance leads you into the debt of your least favorite Kook. But you quickly learn it's more than appearances.

WORD COUNT: 2500

REQUESTED

This could be anyone but I feel like it fits Rafe or jj (maybe Topper?) the best. So one day you’re trying on new clothes in yoru room and you forgot to shut your blinds and either you see the flashes and go outside and confront him, or he sends them to you the next day, and blackmails you into pretend to be his girlfriend in front of his friends and family for some reason (maybe Rafe could be for a date for midsummers, idk what big thing jj would need a date for other than trying to make someone jealous) And a few days or so afterwards, you’re about to leave and he says something like “there’s still one thing you haven’t done as my girlfriend” and he fucks you -💎

*DECIDED TO CHANGE A BIT, HOPE YOU STILL ENJOY DIAMOND BABY*

Extortion At Tannyhill

You had managed to learn to stomach the way his grip pulled you over him through the estate. His lap at dinner. His side in discussion. His greedy fingers teased the thin existence of your fabric as if trying to count your beauty marks as you were left stationary. All for a set of photographs meant for someone else. A cautionary tale in sending such promiscuous poses through texts as you were now forced to endure the consequences. 

"Smile." He nearly bit into your ear. The cruelty in his tone and marching grip to your hip did nothing but worsen. Until this entire exchange, you believed Rafe to be a facade of an intimidated and even insecure man. But you learned this was only the case unless he found something he wanted. 

And it was clear this new focus had found you. 

"You have to sell it or there are going to be one thousand people who see that perfect little ass on social media by the end of the hour-" Your stomach clenched to the idea. 

"Those weren't even meant for you." You groaned back as he pulled you closer to his side, his strength incomparable against your own futile attempts. 

"Sweetheart, they were always meant for me. Now if they stay just for me, is up to you." He lowered even closer. 

"Behave." This single word made your eyes flutter as your core tightened to his presence. You hated just how he had this effect on you. And you hated just how complacent he made you with just the reminder of a moment of recklessness. 

"I've got to hand it to you..." Sarah offered as you found the finish line behind the coming farewells. 

"I honestly thought Rafe bought you or something. But I think you'd be good for him." Rafe blushed at the words as Rose nodded in agreement. As Ward offered a half hug to his son, he then moved to you. 

"It was a pleasure to meet you. I hope we can do it again soon." You nodded, with little intention of repeating the fake smiles and pleasant enough conversation. 

"Absolutely. Thank you for opening your home to me...I-" 

But as you tried for the door, Rafe interlaced his fingers with your own. A swallowing grasp just as symbolic as the claustrophobic state of your circumstances. 

"Like they'd believe just having dinner would be enough for me..." He issued you into the direction of the steps that led to his room as you paused. For just a moment, you caught Wheezie analyzing your apprehension. To ensure that the state of your reputation remained intact, you gave one final smile before cresting that top step. 

"What are you doing?" You asked as the door locked behind you. Your eyes that perpetually narrowed at him were now wide with horror as you moved to unlock it. But he took hold of only one of your wrists and pulled you to him effortlessly. Your lips a mere inch from his as he spoke down to you. 

"You were supposed to play my girlfriend to keep my family off my back...but there's still one thing you haven't done..." 

"I'm not kissing you-" You spoke quickly, eyes inevitably falling to the temping pair of lips set into a grin. All for your naivety. 

"No..." He walked you to the bed, the backs of either leg pinned by his body threatening to knock you flat. 

"You're gonna fuck me-" You were lifted into the bed and his hands were already beneath your dress. Silk fingers with carnal desperation seized your apprehension for only a moment. 

"I'll scream-" You threatened as this only widened his grin. 

"Not yet...gotta make it a bit more believable..." Your dress was bunched at your hips as he kept your hands above your head with only one of his grasp. 

"You're not innocent enough to be wearing white..." He explained when your panties came to view. "Maybe we'll make 'em red-"

"Rafe-" You tried to reprimand him, but he only forced your legs wider. 

"You might love the idea even more than me...fuck...you're almost dripping through them..." He made contact with the saturated center. 

"Why are you dripping?"

"I'm thinking about Topper..." You lied, as Rafe knew the photos that gave him this governing over you were meant for him. 

"I don't think so..." His second hand came to your jaw. 

"Now you want to try being honest with me and," The hand that recently pinned your wrists was now between your legs, infiltrating that soaked cotton. "Maybe you'll get to come in pleasure instead of pain...because baby I can offer both..." Your eyes rolled as one digit meticulously rounded your clit. The naked contact makes your cheeks crimson and your lips part. 

"It's okay...your reputation is safe with me..." He teased before feeling your hands take a hold of his face. For the duration of the day you'd felt his hands take the liberty of the falsehood of your titles, you offered yourself this ease now. 

"You don't even need any foreplay...shit..." He dropped that finger inside of you, slow pulsations sending your fingers to indent into his skin. 

"If you make me bleed, it's only fair I return the favor..." You gasped, clenching around him as he scoffed into a low chuckle. 

"Oh you like it...you want me to hurt you, baby? You want to bleed for me?" But he held no intention of ruining your flawless skin. Instead, he quickened his prime finger, adding a second as you moaned loudly in approval. 

"I'll kiss you like you're my girlfriend, I'll fuck you like one even...but you're gonna come like a whore for me..." You were turned into your stomach, hips raised until you were aligned with his own. And yet, he didn't rush to strip. At least not himself. His grip focused on you. 

"I've looked at those pictures every fucking night...and no matter how many times I come, nothing compares to the real thing..." You knew it was against proper morality but you adored to know how he craved you in the night. 

"Show me." He ordered as you willingly undressed for him. His hands accepted your skin as payment for your debt as he focused on your bare nipples. 

"Yes...keep making those little noises..." 

"Rafe..." You whined as he pulled and twisted, every action making you clench as if his fingers remained. 

"You want to come, baby?" You nodded, resting against his shoulder. 

"Oh my God..." You whimpered. 

"Ride my hand...I want to see if you're worth the high..." Two fingers returned inside of you, his palm at your clit. 

"Ah....Raaaafe..." 

"Oh you're a desperate little thing, aren't you? Bet you're already close-"

"Shit!" 

"Bend over..." You obeyed as he pulled your panties to your knees. This slight bondage somehow more erotic than even the one when this first began. 

"I want you to come over those little panties-"

"Mmm!"

"Not yet!" He snapped, a strike to your ass making your ride harder into him. 

"You want another?" 

"Yes...more..." He obliged, slap after slap as you tensed around his fingers through every strike. 

"You're making me so fucking hard whimpering like that..." 

"Fuck...me..." You whimpered as he applied the perfect pressure to your clit while his fingers curved with the intent of your g-spot. 

"I might have to..."

"I'll be good...I'll be so good..." He scoffed. 

"Being a willing whore isn't the same as being "good" His fingers accelerated even further. The most delicious sound of skin to wetness making both of you sent to bask. 

"Lucky for you, I want bad..." He forced himself free as his cock teased your ass. 

"You're my girlfriend...and that means I can take you wherever I want..." He teased the divide of your ass, just the crying tip leaving a trail as you gripped the sheets tightly. You didn't want to allow it and yet you desired to feel him in anyway you could. 

But he had only done this to tease you. A slight disappointment as he lowered to your opening. 

"You're drowning my cock already, baby...Jesus!"

"I want it..." You groaned behind clenched teeth. 

"Oh?"

"Yes Rafe..." 

"Then take it-" he thrust sharply as you gasped. 

"Fuck!" You were forced into the sheets by a new grip to your hair as another focused on your hip. Even if pain was present, the way his cock filled you in abundance made your cries emerge in ecstasy. 

"Yes! Rafe! Shit!" 

"Quiet baby... they're gonna think you're coming already-"

"I'm close! I'm so close...so close...so-" He pulled you back flat, his shaft returning to you until he withdrew again. Only to be replaced by his fingers. The second you became familiar with this pressure, he added his tongue to your clit. The edge in sight, he withdrew and returned with his cock. 

The epitome of edging you. And you never wanted it to stop. 

"Fuuuuuck..." You drew out as your hands pulled through his hair. 

"Come...I can't fucking wait..." 

"Ah...ahhh....ahhhh!" You waved over him as he pulled your legs wide to observe you spill for him. 

"Fuck yeah..." And you continued. His thumb brushing I've your clit as you continued in spurts. 

"Keep going..."

'what....fuck!" 

"You're fucking squirting for me...." He continued. 

"Yeah...yeah yeah...keep going..." He pumped himself within his hand, using that spray as lubrication. 

"Do it again."

"I can't-"

"You wanna come ever again, you fucking squirt...it's so hot…" 

"I want you-" 

"Then take it." He groaned, relating that trifecta of pleasure. Cock. Then fingers. Then mouth. Withdrawing each time before you finalized a grip around his fingers. 

"Jesus, I've never been this fucking hard...feel me..." He forced your dominant hand around him. 

"I wanna come inside that pretty little mouth....the same one that's been teasing me all fucking day..."

"Yes...please..." 

"You that desperate?" You nodded as you felt that build again. 

"There she is...come on...come on..." You whimpered as he cursed. 

"Fuck yes! Oh my God! Keep-" you pulled his hands deeper as you sat up and rode into him. 

"Please...don't stop..." 

"Ride into my fingers .."

"Ahhh...yes....YES!" You gasped. 

"Knees. Get on your fucking knees." He subjected the discomfort to your kneel as you took him between your lips. Expertly as if the gag truly did not deter you, his mains were well worth any discomfort. 

"Fuck! You think Top could make you come like that? Hmmm?" To this, you grinned wickedly, the sight making him withdraw himself. 

"If you are stupid enough to say your thinking of him-"

"It was never about Top..." You twisted his shaft as you spoke. 

"I meant for the pictures to be sent to you...I wanted this..." He was in utter disbelief. 

"You-" you took him back on your mouth as you made him fuck himself slowly, trying to comprehend the words you spoke. 

"You had no way of knowing I'd use them for-"

You shook your head, taking him faster, just at the tip. Your hands playing with his weight breath as he winced at the rush of pleasure this brought him. It made him submissive as he bowed over you, gripping the sheets at your back as you were forced to cry from the positioning. Your nails are into his lower thighs until he pulled you off of him again. 

"You wanted to be on your knees for me?" 

"Everywhere for you." You confessed as he groaned. 

"Then get on your hands and knees on the bed. I'm not stopping until you've had your fill-" He submitted himself inside of you once again as you shook the bed and the headboard beneath. Even as though you were aware of how you could easily be overheard, the way he held your body to his own was worth the embarrassment. Whenever it was you'd be able to walk and face then again. 

Not an angle or position left undone by the time he held you beneath him completely encased by his desperations. 

"One more for me, baby...come on..." 

"I..."

"Shh...one more." He returned to a softer dominance as he pounded into you as his fingers wrapped yours into the sheets beneath. The bedding in complete disarray and your voice hoarse from pleads and endorsement. And yet, the countless times he made you coat him had gone by without a single one from himself. You'd only realized he'd edged himself to make it last for you. And for that, you demanded you finish him on top. 

"This way..." You cemented your hands into his chest as he adored the goddess you became for him. Inhibitions banished and confidence exuberant behind any former fear as he adored you. The way your chest rose and hollowed to how he felt inside of you, the clench and lazy pull of your mouth, and the way your eyes screwed closed and shot open when he brought you close again. 

"I'm gonna come!" He confessed as he watched himself unsheathed, your wetness accentuating his cock with the sight. It was too much. His stamina was spent. You bobbing over him was too much. You were too much.

"Come for me, Rafe..." But once again you were taken into your back. The chaos in which he made as a lover continued until the sweetbitter end as you felt him tense and tremble once claiming you as his own. 

"You're more like me than I thought..." To this, you grinned and pulled to the side of the bed, a camera taken from behind a frame. 

"Even more than you think." You pulled the came to view, showing even earlier in the morning when he had sat on the very edge you were on your knees for him, casting his release to his feet as he looked at those photos of you. 

"Now we're even." 

But as you dressed, leaving him in awe behind you, he called out to you. 

"Not even close..."

TAGLIST: @hopebaker @drewspisces @penny4yourthoughts @magnificantmermaid @pickingviolets @lovedetlost @trikigirl271 @maybankslover @slut4tangerine @slvtherinseeker @obxiskewl @bluesongbird @slut-era @ailee-celeste @camilynn @sweetestdesire @onmykneesforrafe @jjmaybanksangel @phildunphyisadilf @mashdan0916 @belcalis9503

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[elekinetic]

unpopular opinion (?) people who try and defend jason annoy the FUCK out of me. yes he was mourning his girlfriend but also do these people honestly think he was a good boyfriend to her if she didn't go to him when she was struggling ????? do these people honestly fucking think that he was good to her, judging by how aggressive and possessive he was when he found out about the drug thing??? INSISTING that she wouldn't do that??? he was a bad boyfriend. point blank. he barely knew her at all.

not to mention that he is literally an 80s version of a trump supporter. that kid was bigoted and based all of his bullshit on HIS own religious values and no, it wasn't explicitly stated that he was racist or homophobic, but like. it's subtext (barely subtext actually imo. people need to open their eyes). he clearly was, or would've been explicitly shown to be if he had survived longer. jason was not and never will be a good person, we are not supposed to SEE him as a good person, we are supposed to see him as the shitty bigoted far right bible thumper asshole that he is. i really wish people would stop defending him.

also, i'm sorry if this was a bit unarticulate. im bad at wording things

no i get where you’re coming from. i generally agree with you, but i also think it’s more nuanced than that. he’s an archetype and representative of oppressive power structures, but he’s also an example of how oppressive power structures will harm the ppl they’re designed to uplift. his (comparatively limited) victimhood doesn’t excuse or alleviate the harm he causes as a conduit of oppression, but the way he’s written emphasizes that there are no real winners here, just a scale of losses. the tragedy of jason is that he drank the koolaid that was spoon fed to him. jason wasn’t irredeemable at the beginning of the story. fuck, he wasn’t halfway through! there was time to unlearn, time to amend. but people told him he owned the world and it led to his own undoing. you don’t need to empathize or sympathize with jason—he caused and perpetuated real, tangible harm and represents some of the most hurtful parts of the world. but i think what he represents is really interesting. 

also like he wasn’t a great boyfriend, but he was also sixteen. i understand why he didn’t believe that his sweetheart head-cheerleader doe-eyed girlfriend was buying drugs, especially given the way eddie leaned into his own reputation and the way ppl thought abt drugs in the 80s (reagan era, remember?)

he’s the kind of racist/misogynist that makes harmful assumptions, but he’s not the overt, out loud and proud kind. that’s billy hargrove. dude said “those people.” jason votes for bush. billy votes for trump.

I think there’s a lot more nuance to jason’s character than people give him or the duffers credit for, and honestly I think his character and what he represents is one of the most interesting parts of season four

[pumpkinpot]

Hoshi (Explores a shipwreck)

Bakugou x Reader x Ururaka ft. their dog Hoshi 

Synopsis: This is the third in a stand alone series where the throuple explore abandon places with their dog Hoshi. This place is an abandon ship during winter. 

Part One (the observatory where they meet Hoshi the family dog.)

Part Two (Ghost hunting at an abandon hero agency ft. Midoryia)

CW: Ocean, fog, abandon places.

.

It was, admittedly, one of the stupider trips you'd taken with them. But the long-distance had made your exploring adventures far and few between. 

Still, this felt akin to when you all got trapped in an abandoned lighthouse during a thunderstorm. You remember the wave bursting over the tip of the house flooding through the busted windows and washing the floor with seawater. Hours were spent huddling in the stairwell in soaked clothes waiting for the waves to calm. 

Every Nautical adventure brought about a new level of precaution. After the lighthouse, You’d invested in a set of wetsuits to wear are base layers. This time Katsuki brought electrically insulated jackets. It was the only real reason he agreed to come out into the cold, let alone on water.  

Your little rented dingy boat cuts through snow easily sloshing it aside. Katsuki pokes his head from the scarf bundled around his face to steer the boat before burying his bright pink nose once again in fleece. Ochako has the fluffiest earmuffs on and has strapped Hoshi to her chest. He too has at least three layers including little socks over each of his paws. 

You squint off the peak of the boat lashes stinging in the wind. 

“Turn a bit to the left,” you say and hold onto the tip as Katsuki swivels slightly off-kilter. You three had chosen the day because it was supposed to be warm. As warm as could be expected in late January, but at least wasn’t going to be in the negatives, which it had been the last month and a half consistently. Well, it was warm, but in turn, it was foggy. 

So much so that you could barely see three feet ahead of you.

Still, you’d chosen to come out because it would be the only opportunity to do so before you had to leave again for another multi-month mission. 

So here you are directing your boyfriend to the abandoned ship rumored to be off the coast as your girlfriend kept your dog warm. 

The term shipwreck was a bit of a stretch. It was more like abandon. The ship was still above water, anchored to the sea floor in a perpetual state of float.

Why it was abandoned was shrouded in mystery, along with its exact location. 

It had been hours of, “turn right I think,” and “I think we’re getting close.” close was feeling synonymous with being stranded at sea in a fog storm. You weren’t sure how Katsuki was keeping his directions straight, or if he was at all.

“Should we turn back?” Ochako asks, holding Hoshi’s paws in her mits. 

Your answer was rolling off the tip of your tongue when Katsuki threw the wheel right, nearly tipping you off the head of the boat. Uraraka catches you before you topple both of you looking at Katsuki. But he isn’t looking at you, he’s looking past.

You follow his eyes to the huge black mass blurred at all edges not but fifteen feet in front of you. 

Your boat doesn’t still, instead drifts lazily up to the mass's side. The closer you get the closer you can see the metal curve of a boat's frame, subtly bobbing in its anchored spot. The thick chains holding it in place were covered in snow and sported thick ice circled pointing to the blackened sea. 

It's so close you could reach out and touch it. Katsuki steels around the stern. Off the side a bit in curvy letters it says, Elling. This was it. You wondered if it were a place the boat was named after or a person.

Ochako inspects the fortitude of the bathing platform with pinched lips. It was stable enough, but with enough weight might flood with ice water. “Better let me lift you,” she says, holding out a hand. 

You offer to go first much to the chagrin of Katsuki. “No,” he says, “if something goes wrong-” 

But Ochako was already floating you through the air. 

She was always one to knock down his big-boy act. You float like one of the falling snowflakes up across the deck. She waits for your signal before releasing her quirk, dropping you in place.

Your feet weigh down onto wooden flooring, whining. You pause distributing your weight in different positions. It’s slick with ice and there are spots so rotted you don’t even dare try them. 

“Is everything okay up there?” Ochako shouts. 

You look down where you left your lovers to see, nothing. The fog thickens the air so much no shapes come through at all. 

“Yeah,” you shout back. “Come on up.” 

There is a series of squeaks and thuds then like a bird in clouds Katsuki appears, knees bent to his chest. 

You reach out a hand helping him to land. He’s always had trouble not dropping to the ground like a sack of spuds when Ochako uses her quirk on him. His feet still land heavy and he holds onto you for balance as his boats slide.

Ever the graceful. 

Ochako comes up last, Hoshi perpetually swinging his feet like he was swimming. You help her down by the waist. 

“What kind of boat did you say this was love?” Ochako asks you, peeking over the side. 

The boat is without a doubt the spookiest place you’ve been in a long time.

The deck was broken up by the large cabin erected in the center. Most of its windows have been broken out leaving piles of snow and frost to cover its edges. 

“A trawler. Usually used for fishing, but has become popular for living and recreation the last couple decades.” 

If you listened you could hear the tiny boat you’d come out in bump against the trawler's side before bouncing away then back again where Ochako tied it to the anchor chain.   

The pearly blue paint is firm on the boat's surface, only rusting in small patches around the bolted frame. Unworking lights dangle from the overhang swaying slightly with the bob of the waves. Bakugou wiggles the doorknob to the cabin. It gives way easily with little icy resistance. 

He steps inside, but you continue towards the bow.

Past the tip was nothing but dark water and fog. 

The bow comes to a harsh point caged by a silver railing. Briefly, you wonder if the fog weren’t so thick, could land be seen from here? It was a thought best not dwelled on. 

Patio-type seating was knocked across the deck covered in thick mounds of snow. You tried to picture them in use. As you always did in these places. Tried to see people walking around, lounging out here with sticky popsicle fingers and tan lines. It was always the bittersweet moments like these that made you love exploring. The nostalgic memories that you don’t have. It was like the boat's way of showing you itself and saying, “see, I was loved once.” 

Ochako interrupts the thought with a hand on your shoulder. “Look at this,” she whispers as if someone were here to hear her. You turn to look at where she’s pointing. 

Katsuki stands inside the cabin at the wheel staring out at the horizon. He looks completely lost in a dream of some kind. More than that, he looks good. 

Lazily swaying his hands across the wheel as if he were steering us somewhere far off, flipping switches and coordinating new adventures. 

Ochako sneaks a picture catching his attention with the flash. He furrows his brows waving his hand for you both to join him.

Inside was the cluster of everything the boat was meant to be. Towards the back was a wrap-around kitchen, the skin, stove, and counter space all lining the curved back wall. It covers in old grease splatters and drips from where heavy cooking made the walls sweat. A set-off area for a bathroom-bedroom combination sets off to the side. 

Turning around the living center separates from the leading dec by a dining booth and lounge area. They all have the same wooden frames with blue and white striped cushions. Dust muddles the white to spotty grey. Anything useful has been stripped leaving dials without power and curly wires hanging from below the control panel. Despite it, all the wheel is still fully intact round, and large. It's sleek with little notches for easy steering. 

Katsuki still explores the navigation board. You step where he was holding the wheel. It did fill you with some sense of adventure. Like you should be wearing a hat of some sort. 

“Why do you think it was abandoned?” Ochakoo asks. 

“I never found a reason but the most likely answer is that they couldn’t afford it,” you say, “Usually, boats that can’t be sold or afforded are set adrift, I don’t know why this one was anchored down though.” 

Hoshi sniffs around the boat getting on things he can reach and looking over fixtures he otherwise couldn't. He’d acclimated well to being an exploring dog. Never was he scared of places he didn’t know and came easily when he knew the terrain was something the two-leggeds needed to trek for him. 

“We should wait for the fog to clear some before leaving,” Katsuki says.

You and Ochako agree. It was still early in the day so nightfall wasn’t your worry yet and the boat was cozy enough. 

Katsuki whips off the table with a ripped piece of curtain, throwing it aside before taking his backpack off his back. He unpacks the granola bars you'd made for the trip in a stack before diving back into the bag.

You slide into the seat across from him, Ochako coming in next to you. Hoshi takes the warmest spot next to Katsuki who digs from his bag a large black thermos and an oval-shaped bag. It was the travel tea set you’d gotten him for Christmas. 

“You brought tea?” you ask. 

He doesn’t answer, pulling apart the pot from the cups, setting one in front of each of you including Hoshi with just some warm water. He empties the entire baggie of loose leaf into the teapot's hull, topping it with water. 

You couldn’t deny it, the smell that came through the spout was heavenly. You and Okacho had decided on the gift together. You got the actual set, but she picked out the teas. He’d brought the cocoa black tea and it paired perfectly with your cranberry granola bars.

The window nearest you was completely intact and took on a steamy film from the steam. 

Ochako takes a finger out of her glove writing the initials of each of you in it. It was no secret that the three of you held a mutual disdain for people that defaced abandoned places, but this was cute.

“I think I would have liked this, in a different life,” Katsuki says, looking at the names on the window. 

“Liked what?” 

“Being on a boat. Living like this. Simple, quiet.” 

Ochako giggles, holding out her hand, he takes it and she gives him a slight squeeze. “There are many words I associate with you, but quiet isn’t one of them.” 

He smiles slightly. “Different life.” 

You prop your chin up on your palm and take a breath. “We’ll all have to retire someday. Maybe it’ll look something like this.” 

Everyone sits for a moment to contemplate what that might be like. Katsuki steering, Ockao hanging off the side of the boat taking pictures of some fish she’s found. Hoshi sleeping in the sun, he will be there because you’ve decided he can never die, and you, looking up what fun things are nearby.

Katsuki is the first to break the silence. “If that’s the idea, we should probably get married.”  

. 

Question for the class: what kind of dog do you think Hoshi is?

.

Hey if you like this content here is my Master List

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[boggleoflight]

Get to know me!

Tagged by the ever-lovely @sasslett Thank you so much!! I love these sorts of things.

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Tattoos: Nine! A crystal on my thigh, a vintage camera on my ankle, a coffin with an iris on my shin, a little book on one arm, a scorpion on one wrist, a grasshopper on the other wrist, a quote from Lisa Hannigan's 'Funeral Suit' in my girlfriend's handwriting on my forearm, a macaron with a sprig of lavender on my shoulder, and a little design on the other shoulder that I got as part of a donation drive. I've got a load more planned for when I have the means, too.

Glasses? Contacts?: Glasses! I've been told to get contacts but with the state of dark circles around my eyes, I think I'll stick to the extra bit of concealment that some chunky frames mask lmao

Last drink: Tea! Morning ritual.

Last show: I think it was the Shoujo Cosette anime adaptation of Les Miserables. I wasn't able to finish it because the website I was watching it on kept bugging out for me but I do intend to finish it at some juncture.

Last thing you ate: A little breakfast spread I made last night for supper.

Favourite colour: A toss-up between a nice rich phthalo green and a nice foggy, silvery blue.

Current obsession: Well I think you could probably guess shdjfgj FFXIV

Unrelated Obsession: Hozier. Not in a weird parasocial way, I just am obsessed with his music and the fact that he's unconscionably handsome.

Any pets: Three cats (Phyllis, Terence, and Constance), and one rat (Aymeric)!

Do you have a crush on anyone: Starry-eyed crush on my wonderful girlfriend.

Favourite fictional character: You might expect me to say G'raha Tia (and you would be right to) BUT. It's actually Urianger. Perpetually holding him up in my head like that one Marge meme. I just think he's neat.

The last place you traveled: Toronto to meet up with a friend of mine to watch some musicals that were touring through. We saw Come From Away and The Band's Visit!

TAGGING! I don't know who hasn't been tagged yet but @lookbluesoup and @seasaltandcopper just in case!! No pressure or anything of course!

#tag games #thank you again!! #<333

[yourbleedingh3art]

Been asking this dude if I could take him to this art museum that’s on campus for a week and change now because I saw some shit I really wanted to share w him and i feel like time Together spent in an art museum is meaningful and enriching of body mind soul spirit and heart and I’m leaving college moving back home tomorrow and so i said i think today is our last day to do it and he said ok but in the morning it became I don’t know and I love you but I have all these other things to do .. ok why didn’t you do them already? Why did you hang out w me instead of working on ur stuff when the only thing I really wanted to do with you before we parted ways was go to this art museum. I mentioned it a million times.

To me Love is doing what makes the person you love happy - that, at least, being your strong desire .. that’s how it works for me! I waited 3 hours at his house yesterday while he fell asleep just because I knew our time together was short and if I left I couldn’t see him when he woke up. But iit wwsnt fun to wait for that long but it’s the type of thing I would do witho it question because . If you’re tired, I love u, sleep. If you’re hungry, I love you, eat, I’ll make u food! I used to make this mans bed after a sleepover. I bought him 2 tabs of acid and I smoke him up for free literally whenever. Im the one walking to his house 90% of the time so he doesn’t have to walk to me. And i did all those things without thinking because to me it’s just what you do if you’re in love. But he cant find an hour in his day to do something that’s important to me - that he would probably like!!Cuz he likes photography and thers such a cool photgraphy exhibit.

My school year was spent 1.Being my boyfriend’s girlfriend 2.Being alone and truly miserable after the relationship ended because I Cheated 3.Trying to date the person I cheated on my ex w Because i subsequently fell in love w him 4.Never dating him. And u might ask why i stayed or why it lasted so long with a boy who never would date me and it’s because he said he loved me.And that was enough for me. I still don’t think labels are that important..Unless they are individually. And it became important to me that we label our relationship after it became clear we acted like we were dsting and he still was opposed to doing that. In a way im glad summer will force an ending to all this. I expended so much love on this person and I’m not saying I didn’t get anything back, because I did, but I still wanted more. Perpetual state of wanting more from him=Perpetual disappointment. And that means in the final moments i spend with him I find myself Angry and disillusioned and I can’t even enjoy our time together the same way. My love is a laborious emotional effort and is felt by me in every atom and I find it near impossible to believe he loves me the same way, because he always hesitates to sacrifice for me, when I would do the same instantly for him.

I just kissed him goodbye and left. I wonder when is the next time I will see him. One of these times it will be the last. I did not give him the love letter I wrote for him. Part of me wants to withhold it and say I spilled water all over it or packed it up in my luggage. I could go to the art museum with him tomorrow, is the truth. I didn’t know that till this morning when my mom said she would be picking me up at 5 tomorrow. I did not tell him this because maybe I don’t want to go with him anymore. Maybe i am tired of loving him so much and knowing I love him so much i would damn near do anything for him, maybe I am tired of heat being returned by warm. It helped. Me.

To fall in love with someone who would not bend so easily to my whims, To fall in love with someone that inflamed my pride, thus giving me countless chances to conquer it and choose love. So many times I was given the chance to get annoyed, go silent, yell, leave, abandon conflict, and instead I tried always to choose to love through it. I tried always Patience and Understanding and it was not easy but became easier and I saw that Love was worth it. Always it is better to have loved and lost than to have never felt it at all. He was never my partner, my soulmate, my other half, never the love of my life, but he was my favorite person to hang out with on campus, favorite person to show new songs and pictures to, and I did love him wnd care about him in a deeply intimate, unforgettable way. I am lost right now. Physically, I mean I got off the elevator at a weird place now I’m wandering around outside his dorm quite lost and unfamiliar. And i don’t like to sleep in quite this late. I am an early riser by nature. And I am most productive when I rise early . I am GEtting extremely frustrated to be aimlessly walking . Now I am in a entirely different dorm I have never been in before. I feel sweaty and my underwear are twisted up in my pants so it’s uncomfortable when I walk. My sunglasses are on my head but every three steps they fall into my face. The sweat is giving me a developing smell. I am lost. And for some reason I am inclined to blame other people for this. I feel weaker with every step. I do not know what I want to do today. All I wanted to do was take him to the art museum. I guess I will go alone if I still do please. I was thinking of bringing a note book and logging which art I like best and why. Starting to study/track influences and all. I also should start to pack up even more of my room. Tonight will be my last night sleeping in it. I wonder if I will be sleeping alone. Tonight is also my last night to sleep with Him. Does he realize? Does he think of these things? And do they imbue him with urgency, or fear, do they make him feel like sand is slipping through his hands? Or inspire cool relief? Or simply, do these things that consume me remain unknown to him? It hurts to consider. I am walking in a godforsaken loop. Every time I take a turn that I thought I hadn’t tried before. It leads me back to the same hellish places . This walk is very metaphorical. He said he won’t visit me at least for a month into summer. He needs “gas money.” He may as well have said goodbye then and there. I wonder if I am going to be able to escape missing him. I will try to feel my devastation with grace. And finally I have walked back to a familiar place. Not yet home but I know how to get there.

#blog post #diary post

[darkacademiaaa]

.

#you can ignore this if you like I just want to rant #I think I’m in love with him #I’ve been stopping myself from saying it so much recently #it just feels right #but it’s too early and I don’t think I should say it first #if he felt this way he would have said by now #ultimately I don’t think he’s as serious about me as I am about him #I think he sees me in a perpetual state of girlfriend #and I’m worried he won’t be able to hack long distance and he’ll leave me next term #which will destroy me obviously

[the-soliloquies-of-sadists]

#259

“Seth? Right? C’mon in. Your brother told you who I am? Good. Want a beer?... Here you go. Let’s go out to the back deck. The sun went down, and the cool evening air is starting to kick in. Have a seat…. Ok. Seth, do you know why you are here? Let me be blunt. Your brother David owes me a lot of money. A lot. He’s been doing jobs for me that I need someone I can trust to do. But that’s barely covering the interest. I told him he needs to start working down the principal. So, he offered me… you….

“That’s right he sold you to me. You are going to whore off his debt…. Shut the fuck up. The deal is set. Have some more beer; it will help you to deal with what I need to go over with you….

“Your brother probably told you that I am a powerful man. Hopefully he didn’t tell you what I did. I will share with you one part of my business that you will be a part of. I have several whore agencies across several states. They ain’t like the whorehouses in the movies. The girls never see money; they show up at a set time and do whatever the man wants. They do not say no. They get to live in city, and they show their clients the best the city has to offer. They have everything paid for and get a nice credit card too.

“A few years ago—hell it’s more like ten or so, —I was convinced to do the same but on the fag side. Now, I knew nothing about fag sex, and it disgusted me. Once I got over the visuals, the business was just like the girls. The difference I found out was that I had to have two sets of whores—fag boys like yourself, and men old enough to be your father.

“It was Frankie, one of my goons, who told me that there is a lot money to be made by men taking the dominant role. I didn’t believe it. So, he arranged for me to watch him from a distance him work over this faggot. He didn’t tell me how much he was earning. When I saw this fag hand over three hundred bucks, I knew I needed to get into this. I mean my guy did barely anything other than smack the fag around, call him names, and sit on the faggot’s face at the end. That fag ate that fat ass while pounding its pud. Frankie even went over to the fag’s wallet and took an additional hundred out of it. And wouldn’t you know, that fag boy was loving life.

“Needless to say, that was how I got into the fag whoring business. I had Frankie lead it; he even got somewhat in shape, and now he’s my most popular whore men. Wait a minute, you know him. He fucked you behind a dumpster in the alley behind that fag bar a couple weeks ago. When I saw you at David’s birthday partner at my tavern and he told me that you were his sperm burping brother, I sent Frankie to find out more about you. I know that you can take a good pounding, face slaps, rough housing. Frankie also told me that you cleaned off his cock after we was done and that you drank his piss. You even begged him for more as he walked away from you, naked covered in piss behind the dumpster. That’s all I needed to hear.

“After meeting with your brother, all I had to do was press the massive debt. I knew how self-serving he was. He sold you out so fucking fast. And now I own you. Now strip faggot….

“You do realize who I am? No one ever disobeys one of my direct commands. Now think about your next move real carefully. STRIP YOU FUCKING FAGGOT. Take your time standing up. That drug I put in your beer will make you kinda dizzy if you stand too fast. Yeah, I didn’t want you to run back to your car. Kid, when you came in that door, you were mine. That’s it. Accept your fate. Good boy.

“Yeah, after Frankie roughed up that fag, I was curious. He arranged for me to use one of his regulars who was blindfolded. It was so much fun to kick and punch that faggot only to have him crawl to me, begging for more. With each time, I got more wicked, and they wanted more. I had a few fags over the years locked up and had the best of all worlds. My wife provides me with companionship. My girlfriend offers sensual making love and snuggling. And my faggot takes all my rage filled abuse.

“Underwear needs to go too. Let’s see what you have. Not bad. Looks like you are excited about being naked in front of me. That’s a lot of pre-cum. Decent sized balls. I’d say you are about six inches long. The shaft is a bit thin, but the head is good size. Your foreskin is not too long. That’s good. If there’s going to be one sweaty stinky dick around here, it will be mine. If yours becomes a problem, we’ll get you circumcised.

“What? Faggot, you are nothing more to me than my pickup. If I want to modify you out, I sure as hell am going to. I modify all my property. Tattoos, piercing, permanent hair removal, castration, branding, and so on. But actually, I am a bit cautious. I made the mistake of castrating a fag and regretted it afterwards. He just didn’t seem right to me. The cutter I went to tried to put in fake balls, but it still didn’t seem right. I ended up replacing that fag with another.

“I am looking for my perfect fag. I’m planning on letting my girlfriend go, but sometimes I need that close touch. Not going to do that with my wife. Every day now I realize that I want to be with faggots over women. Faggots are so much easier to mold into what I want. And every now and then I might snuggle with one.

“I like what I see. I want to see your cumload. Jerk off for me. I’ll give you a few minutes to do so. When you do, shoot in your spare hand. I want to see the quantity. I’m going to get your collar; it’s probably done charging. I’m also going to take your car keys. You ain’t going anywhere. Continue jacking….

“….Did you cum? You did! Good fag. When was the last time you came? Yesterday morning? Well that’s a good load. Here, lock this collar around your neck. Ok, so here’s the deal. You can jack off as often as you like, whenever you like as long as I am not using you. If I catch you jacking off, don’t stop. If you are watching porn, continue. But know this, no matter if you haven’t cum in days or you just had a massive orgasm, should I require your use, I fully expect 100% horniness and enthusiasm.

“This remote is hooked up to your collar. With this button… you fall to the floor just like that. Hurt’s like a mother fucker hunh? That’s on low. Remember that. It is also set up to shock you should you cross a 20-foot perimeter of the house. I am notified by an app on my phone when you do something that stupid. Also, the garage and my office on the third floor are completely off limits. You will not fare well should you cross that threshold without me.

“Bring your cock over here. Is your dick head sensitive. It is! Fuck yes! As you get soft, it’s driving you crazy. Good. Good. I see a problem here. Your pubic hair is all over the place. You shouldn’t have hair down here. Look how long this hair is. There’s enough so that I can twirl a bunch around my finger. With a firm yank,… it comes out in one clump. Aww shut the fuck up. Most of the time your screams of pain will turn me on, but now it’s just annoying. Another clump on the other side, and it doesn’t even look like you lost any.

“Look at me faggot. Say ‘Thank you.’ Good fag. Open your mouth. Here eat your pubic hair. Go on chew it. Nasty? I know, now swallow. And here’s… another bunch. Swallow these…. And these… And these… You’ll be permanently shaved in the near future so you won’t have to do much pubic hair eating.

“While you finish your snack, let me take you around the place and show you your duties. This is the kitchen. David told me that you went to culinary school but then dropped out. Well, you will be doing all the cooking here. Cleaning too.

“Let’s go downstairs…. This is your room, although you really don’t have privacy. Over there is your cot. Next to it is the plug you will put into your collar every night. I am notified on my app should the power level drop below 75%. That’s equivalent for not charging for a full week. Unless I just slam you with shocks, I should never get one of those notifications.

“You have a wash basin there, and your toilet is there. There’s your douche hose over there in the shower. No, I haven’t gotten around to buying it a toilet seat; the cold porcelain is fine. And I haven’t hooked up the hot water down here.

“Let’s go up to the Master bedroom…. You never climb into my bed unless I invite you in. In fact no non-sexual furniture for you either without permission. Through that door is the master bath. You will keep this place spotless. That includes licking clean my toilet. The rimseat next to it is when I want to make you toilet paper or a full toilet.

“And here’s the playroom. It’s totally soundproofed. You are going to suffer a lot in here. Screaming is encouraged. In fact, what time is it? Seven. Well we might as well start now. Get on all fours—knees and elbows. Spread those knees wide. Every night you will present yourself in this position, as you will every morning.

“Don’t get too excited. I am going to fuck you good, long, and deep. But that won’t until the end. We got a long way to go. You see, the only people who knows my affinity for preferring the boys to the girls are Frankie, me, and now you. Your brother thinks I’m adding you to my harem of fags. This is something that cannot get out. And if it does, I will know it came from you, and I want you to know the perpetual hell that will come your way.

“Tonight is a test of what you can expect, but keep in mind, tonight’s suffering will be only five hours long, much shorter than what will be if my preference is ever widely known.

“And after the paddling your ass to a welted mess, whipping your back until it turns to bloody hamburger, kicking your balls until they are swollen to twice their size, bruising up your face, and fucking you with very little lube, I may feel the need to snuggle up with you afterwards.

“But first, there’s a lot to do before we do that. Oh look your balls are just ripe for a good old fashioned full-force kick. Every night and every morning you will get one to always remind you what you are.

“Faggot right now with this kick your hell begins.”

[echos-newlegs]

Hi hello I’m new and you said you wanted to write more other characters so how about a sfw 42 with Jango or Anakin bc I think that would be really cute 🥺💕

Where Are They?

Anakin x Reader: “Have you seen my robes?” “Nooo.” “You’re wearing them, aren’t you?”

Warnings: none

Words: 570

Reader: GN!

Tags: @murdertoothpick @andiebell2023 @kaitou2417 @tacticalsparkles @baroclinicinstability @captain-rexs-girlfriend @kirinpl @anotherdudeinthisworld @bitchylittleredhead @neekid @dwarfplanet69 @phoenixhalliwell @spaceydragons @marvel-starwars-nerd @perfectcolortreestudent @ladykatakuri @my-own-oracle @808tsuika @blueplaidhood @bleghbreakdown @edlix @ahsoka1 @nahoney22 @perpetual-fangirl900 @14mcmd1122 @dakota-the-dreamer

"Where are they?" He huffed, lips pulling into a pout as he scavenged through your- secretly- shared room on Alderaan. You were in the fresher area where Anakin had left his robes. The fabric wrapped tight around your body. Face buried deep in it as you took in the scent. 

Once he said your name your head snapped up, looking towards the door. Keeping the robes close to your nose to indulge in the scent. 

"Have you seen them?" You knew exactly what he was talking about, too. 

"Seen what?" You played dumb, but he could see past your oblivious state. Even if there was a door separating the two of you right now. 

"Have you seen my robes?" He stopped tearing apart the room to approach the fresher door. Which didn't budge. They were locked, which raised an alarm in his head. 

"Nooo," the way you trailed on the words cracked your facade. Anakin smirking with his arms crossed over his chest. A small chuckle leaving his lips with a sigh. 

"You're wearing them, aren’t you?" Kriff. You hated dating a Jedi sometimes. How easily he could figure out things. He could probably read your mind and just wasn't telling you. 

"Why would I do that?" You asked, voice cracking a bit. Small curses leaving your lips. 

"Alright, then come out of the fresher." He wasn't going to just give up. 

"I'm sure they smell like you now," you purse your lips while he started messing with the panel, using his robotic arm to basically break into your fresher. 

"I'm sure you're swimming in them," then the door slid open. Anakin looking up to you with a small smirk. 

He chuckled at the way you jumped. Robes still around you. You weren't afraid of him being mad, you just felt a sudden tinge of embarrassment. Guilt of being caught. 

"You know," he told you, stepping closer to cup your cheek with his flesh hand. "You didn't have to lie." He leant in closer. Kissing the nape of your neck. "Could have told me and I would have even let you sleep in them, if you wanted." He added. 

Anakin leant back kissing your lips softly with a sigh. "But I need them back, now. Ahsokas needing my assistance on the field." He rolled his eyes. Smiling, a small frown tugging your lips down. 

"But you just got here," he nodded. Kissing your forehead. 

"I know I did, but I promise, I'll be back after our mission to Malastar." He kissed your lips again. Taking the robes that you hesitantly shrugged off. 

"At least my robes will smell like you." He added. Sniffing them once he shrugged them on. "And at least you smell good," you swatted his shoulder. 

"I take back what I said, you've been here too long," "oh quiet, you love me." He snickered as you pushed him out the door. 

"I know I do, now get out of here and come back in one piece." He grabbed your hand, a dreamy sigh left his lips. You knew how carefree he was and it worried you a lot of the time. 

"No promises, beautiful," you smiled at the endearment. Kissing your hand he turnt to leave through an unused exit. "Tell Tano I say hi," "Will do, see you soon." And off he was. Robes flowing around him while he walked around the corner out of eyesight. 

#star wars #the clone wars #star wars x reader #anakin skywalker #anakin x reader #anakin skywalker x reader

[tippedbykreider]

i just want you to be sure | c. kreider

Word count: 1.4k Warnings: Anxiety, implied panic attacks, self-esteem issues Author’s note: I brought this back because even though it’s not the longest thing in the world, it’s incredibly special to me and it’s the kind of thing I know I’d want to read in those moments where I feel myself slipping. I hope it brings you some comfort too. Fic title is from Yours by Ella Henderson.

It’s late. Late enough that you know you should be tucked up in bed and fast asleep next to Chris, but it won’t come easy and so that’s how you find yourself leaning against the railings of the balcony with a blanket draped across your shoulders, staring out at the city skyline. It’s loud tonight and not necessarily on the streets below but you know that this is nothing new either. It’s been loud in your head for a few years now, long before Chris and you’ve done this dance long enough to know that laying in bed and staring at the ceiling isn’t a good idea, it only makes the cruel voices louder. You need to center yourself, you need to be able to count the things you can see and hear, you need to feel the cool night air prickle your skin until the storm inside your mind quietens and the tide recedes.

You’re not entirely sure what it was in particular that had your brain doing somersaults in the dead of night. Maybe it was the thought of Chris going away on a ten day road trip, maybe it was the massive project you had going on at work or maybe it was meeting Mika’s new girlfriend who was petite and beautiful and perfect. You knew this was a dangerous game to play and that nothing good would ever come of you comparing yourself to her but it was a game that came so naturally to you it was borderline reflexive at this point. You knew it was absurd too, to compare yourself to another woman, especially given that this woman had nothing to do with you or your relationship with Chris, but you couldn’t help but wonder if Chris was settling, as sure as you were that he could have a woman like on his arm in a heartbeat.

It was something you’d stuffed away at the back of your mind and you did a good job of ignoring it, or at least you usually did. But there was something about tonight that had you dragging it out and flogging yourself over it like you’d committed a cardinal sin and the only reasonable course of action was penance. It was frightening really, the ease in which it was to tear yourself to pieces and rattle off every single flaw and imperfection that meant you could never be loved by a man like Chris and soon he would realise this and find himself someone new, someone better. It was like living in a state of perpetual dread, even if it wasn’t at the forefront of your mind every second of every day, it was there. It was always there.

You sighed into the chilly air, watching as the exhaled breath plumed in front of you before disappearing into nothing, almost like it had never existed at all. It’s late and you know you should be in bed. 

It’s late. 

It’s late. 

It’s late. 

You force your eyes to the first street you find and begin to count the parked cars. One. Two. Three. Four. What if Chris wakes up one day and realises that he’s made a terrible mistake? Five. Six. Seven. What if this is all just some cruel trick? Eight. Nine. What if he’s just waiting for someone better to come along? What if I end up alone? What if I’m alone for the rest of my life? What if-

A touch. Stillness.

It’s a flicker at first, a small spark of warmth on your lower back but it catches and soon it’s spreading across your skin and through your veins, burning away the fog that clouds your mind until all you can focus on is the gentle weight of Chris’s palm flat against the small of your back. It’s his voice you hear next, low and gentle, coaxing you back to the here and the now.

“It’s okay… You’re alright… Deep breaths with me, yeah? In and out…”

You follow his voice, breathing with him until your grip on the railings you hadn’t even realised you were holding on to slackened and the city lights came back into focus.

“That’s it,” he whispered. “Nice and easy.”

His hand had slipped under the hem of the tank top you were wearing and you began to fixate on the feeling of his fingers tracing patterns against your skin while the tightness in your chest melted away like the harsh cold of winter thawing at the first rays of spring sunshine. Chris waited until your breathing had evened before he spoke again but his voice still remained low and quiet and soft.

“Talk to me, baby.”

You’re not sure what to say to that because now that the rational part of your brain was back in the driver’s seat, it all seemed a little silly and saying it out loud would make it seem even more so; but you forced yourself to remember that this was Chris and above the fact that you’d never be able to pull the wool over his eyes by even attempting to convince both him and yourself that you were fine and it was nothing, he also deserved the truth, no matter how ridiculous it seemed now.

“You want this, right?” You hadn’t meant to blurt it out but now that it was out there, you couldn’t stop yourself. “You’re not just, I don’t know, waiting for someone better to come along?”

“Babe,” Chris started, the worry clear in his eyes even in the low light.

“I know you say you love me, but don’t you want someone better? Like a model or something?”

Chris’s hands landed at your shoulders and turned you to face him but he didn’t drop his arms, instead he kept his focus fixed firmly on your eyes and the worry had been replaced with something that looked a lot more unyielding.

“Have I ever given you a reason to think that you’re not what I want?” You looked away from his unwavering stare and shook your head slowly, suddenly unable to speak. “So where has this come from?”

“It’s stupid,” you mutter, face suddenly hot with the embarrassment that you’d gotten him out of bed and had him worrying over something that was so irrational and fallacious.

“I bet it’s not.” He cupped your face then to bring your eyes back to his, the softness and the love harboured there and giving you all the safety of a port in a storm. “Try me.”

You take a settling breath, exhaling heavily while you steel yourself to speak but instead of the sure and steady delivery you were hoping for, it came out quiet and meek.

“Mika. Mika’s girlfriend, specifically.”

Chris’s brows furrowed as he processed the crumb of information you’d offered. “Did she say something to you? Because if she did that’s the kind of thing I need to know.”

“No,” you shook your head. “No she didn’t.”

“I feel like I’m missing the memo here.”

“She’s beautiful, Chris.”

“I mean, I guess?” Chris offered, still a few beats behind and looking at you for any further clues to get the penny to drop.

“Don’t you want a woman like that?”

There we go.

Chris chuckled lightly, immediately backtracking and shaking his head upon seeing the hurt that rested on your features.

“No,” he said simply. “No, I don’t want a woman like that. I want you and that’s all there is to it.”

“But-”

He kissed you softly, silencing the imminent protest that was about to come out of your mouth.

“I want you. That’s it. I’m yours and you’re mine and nothing and no one is ever going to change that. So I’m sorry but you’re stuck with me.”

His forehead was resting against yours while his hands cradled your face gently, thumbs sweeping across your cheeks slow and sure and while his touch felt light on your skin, the gravity of it settled all through your body and anchored you right there in front of him.

“I’m here, babe. I’ll always be here and I will spend every single day of my life showing you and maybe, just maybe, one day you’ll believe me.” He kissed you slowly and softly while his hands moved to your back to hold you closer to him, his next words murmured against your lips. “Doubt thou the stars are fire; doubt that the sun doth move; doubt truth to be a liar; but never doubt I love.”

#chris kreider #chris kreider fic #chris kreider x reader #nhl writing #nhl fic #nhl blurb #nhl fanfiction #hockey writing #hockey blurb #hockey fic #hockey fanfiction #my writing

[welllpthisishappening]

Emma Swan, Olympian is not a phrase Emma Swan, totally normal person, ever expected to hear.

But she never expected one night at a party hosted by her college's baseball team to change her entire life, either. So, it should really come as no surprise that Emma Swan, Olympian, is now something of international sensation. Or that her husband has become a bit of a social media star.

——— Rating: Teen with sports feelings Word Count: 7.5K AN: As promised and because of who I am as a person, I wrote Olympic fic. I can neither confirm nor deny that there is an actual plot here, but there is a surplus of fluff and sports-based feelings. So, that’s something. Thanks to the Detroit Lions, specifically, for posting this Tweet and to my husband who is very much aware of what content I want the internet to provide me. Operation: Make Killian a New York Yankee as often as possible continues.

|| Read on Ao3 if that’s your jam ||

———

No one told her the questions would start to blur together.

That would require media training, Emma imagines. And no one is giving a first-time Olympian in a sport that only a handful of people marginally believe warrants notice from the IOC any sort of media training. She got, like, an orientation packet. With a lopsided staple in the top left corner. On her commercial flight. That she booked herself.

Twenty-plus hours crammed into a seat that she’s only a little concerned did permanent damage to her right knee, with a meal that was so chewy Emma was about four seconds and one exasperated, entirely exhausted exhale from asking if it was, in fact, made of plastic.

Mostly, the staple is what’s still managing to frustrate her. As frustrated as she can be at the Olympics. No one is supposed to be frustrated at the Olympics. Not really. Not while experiencing the pinnacle of athletic achievement, the calluses on Emma’s fingertips some sort of badge of honor that she’s wearing with at least a modicum of national pride, and everything is fine.

Her qualifying time was absurd. Where absurd is a compliment and very close to a record she’s suddenly determined to shatter.

So, she’s alone.

Big deal. So is everyone else. This Olympics, at least. Plus, Killian wouldn’t have been able to come no matter what the state of the world was. Even so, the quiet stands are admittedly weird. All these empty arenas with empty seats, the distinct lack of a roaring crowd no more obvious than when the world’s best athletes step to the line. Staring at the climbing wall in front of her four hours earlier, Emma swore she could hear every single beat of her heart echo between her ears.

And that’s—well, solitude is par for the course with an adolescence like hers, half-filled suitcases and brand-new faces in brand-new towns, but she’d gotten used to one town, and the town is actually a city, and the city has long since felt like home, and her fingers reach for the rings dangling above her Team USA t-shirt. They did give her an absolute shit ton of t-shirts, so that was nice.

Except—

Something keeps tugging. Nagging at the back of Emma’s consciousness, almost like she’s forgotten her keys on that flea market table they found in Park Slope two weeks after they moved into the apartment. Because for as well-versed Emma may be in that singular sort of existence, she’s also well-removed from wanting it, and at least three of her knuckles crack. Curling around her rings.

Muscles in her cheeks stretch, another nod and quick blink to avoid the threat of blinding via camera flashes. Someone really should have told her about this. She probably should have assumed. Human interest is the driving force of at least three-quarters of the stories in sports, and Emma’s not used to being the story, per se, but even she has to admit most of hers makes for a good one and they are still asking her questions.

Emma blinks again. Hopes she doesn’t look like a serial killer or the weird blonde, slightly sweaty cousin of the Joker, her smile starting to feel as if it’s painted on her face. She nods. Hums. Listens to questions that are startling in their tonal similarity to Charlie Brown’s teacher, and Emma wonders if Charlie Brown ever got a different teacher or what the school structure of the Peanuts’ universe is and, God, how old was Charlie Brown, even? To withstand that sort of consistent bullying. Was Linus the same age as him? No, right? How long did he carry the blanket around? Was Linus the same age as Sally? Why didn’t the red-headed girl with curly hair get a name?

She nearly falls out of her chair.

That might make the front page of several blogs. Possibly even the back page of a New York tab.

Careful to keep her feet on the ground, Emma lifts her head, directing her eyes toward the source of a question that must have been asked several times if the note of amusement mixing with deadline-based exasperation is anything to go by. Her smile definitely makes her look like a serial killer.

“Sorry, sorry,” Emma mumbles, and none of the oxygen she does her best to inhales makes it even close to her lungs. “I, uh—what was the question?”

The reporter grimaces.

“I wanted to know if you’d seen the video of your husband yet.”

Ice runs down her spine. Every single drop of wholly disgusting sweat falling in rivulets down either one of her cheeks freezes. Oxygen disappears from the room. Or so Emma assumes, what with the crushing feeling pushing down on her lungs and whatnot.

Her mind whirs. Races through possibilities and pitfalls with a speed that would be impressive if Emma weren’t already so close to that record, and she is going to break that record. Somehow she manages not to fall, though. From her chair or the metaphorical climbing wall in her brain, ignoring the sudden dryness of her mouth and the increasing size of her tongue.

Her nails are going to leave little half-moon creases in her palm.

“I don’t—” she starts, and eventually she will wish she was more articulate. For what turns out to be a very nice story.

Standing up, the reporter’s seat creaks as she moves toward the desk they deposited Emma behind after even. Several Olympic officials move to block her, but Emma shakes her head again, and she’s not exactly high-priority on the list of defensible athletes, anyway. So, none of them flinch when the reporter slides a phone closer to Emma, her crazed thoughts briefly lingering on how many phones a reporter could possibly need, but then her eyes drop, and she’s not sure if her ears can actually perk, but Emma certainly tries because she hears him yelling before she sees him.

Her smile shifts.

And the cameras flash again.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s collegiate life, because Anna demands it.

She’s only half-listening, so Emma can never be entirely sure what it was, exactly, she was agreeing to, but in her experience, the agreement doesn’t matter so much as the action, and her roommate’s younger sister is unstoppable when it comes to action. So, Emma is dimly aware of a plan. Something about the baseball house and that one left fielder is in a handful of her classes.

David—something.

He’s got a girlfriend, too. A nice one. Who always smells like sugar when she slides into the seat next to David whatever his last name is, sitting in the row in front of Emma during their Tuesday-Thursday statistics class.

Emma hates statistics.

She doesn’t hate Anna, though. Or her roommate, one of the better college-based surprises, and either Anna has magic or Elsa is an enormous pushover because somehow all three of them are ready at the same time, and the walk to the baseball house isn’t far.

First-year players guard the door — passing out color-coded wristbands that absolutely do not do their job because it takes about six seconds of well-meaning flirting and batted eyelashes between Anna and a mountain of muscle masquerading as the team’s starting catcher to get them inside. With purple wristbands and two tickets for jungle juice instead of the keg.

“Victory,” Anna cries, twisting through the crowd. Half of it is already teetering on the edge of drunk, the rest free-falling into the pit of imminent hangovers, and Emma isn’t sure she’d classify their drinks as a victory, but it’s definitely better than watered-down beer.

And it doesn’t take long, really. By Emma’s shaky count, it’s not even a half-hour before the muscle — who introduces himself as Kristoff, and really is pretty cute, actually — returns, standing unnaturally close to Anna’s left shoulder, furtive glances shared out of the corners of their eyes. Emma rolls hers. Elsa’s appear perpetually stuck to the ceiling. It looks oddly sticky up there.

“Go,” Elsa says, and it’s not an instruction. Barely counts as more than a whisper, really. Anna lights up all the same. Like an alcohol-fueled Christmas tree.

Who does not need telling more than once.

Hands reach and smiles widen, Kristoff mumbling something that sounds like it was nice to meet you before he’s following Anna back to the beer pong table, leaving Elsa and Emma standing in the middle of a sea of raging hormones. All of which want to be there way more than either one of them does.

“Well,” Elsa mutters, “that was polite.”

Emma snickers into her glass. A mostly empty glass. That’s surprising. “Got that going for him.” “Plus, his on-base is nuts this year.”

“Say that again.” “On-base percentage,” Elsa repeats, making sure to do it slowly for maximum sarcastic emphasis. Emma’s eyes are going to fall out. That won’t end well. There are too many shuffling feet in this room.

“What does that mean?” “How often he gets on base.” Opening her mouth does nothing. Closing it does even less. Elsa looks overjoyed. “I know things,” she shrugs, “and I’m pretty positive Anna and Kristoff have been not-so-secretly dating since the start of the semester, so—” “You stalked your sister’s secret boyfriend?” “Stalk’s a very dirty word, don’t you think? No, no, there was no stalking. There was light research. One Google search and a single click to the team’s roster, and now I know he’s from Minnesota, too.” “Awfully convenient for the romance of the century.” Humming, Elsa takes a larger-than-usual sip before scrunching her nose in displeasure. At her empty cup. Emma has no idea how they ended up with empty cups so quickly. Suddenly the baseball house feels a bit like a time warp. Enter and drink and find the love of your life. Or something like that.

“I got next,” Emma says, ignoring Elsa’s laugh because she is not the sort of person who says things like that. It’s this house. This place. With its music and its happiness, and she’s not really a sports person. Can only marginally understand the joy of watching other people accomplish something. She has no idea what on-base percentage is.

Still.

Her feet move. Fingers curl over the rim of red solo cups, like the most cliché version of her college self. Her drinks get refilled. And it’s just as Emma’s about to let herself wonder if, maybe, sports aren’t all that bad and might even possess a bit of inherent romanticism, she slams into something.

Someone, more like.

Taller than her, he has to peer down his nose to glare at Emma. That’s fair. They’re both far more damp than they were ten seconds before. Some of that moisture ensures that the hem of his shirt sticks to his stomach. A very flat stomach. That draws Emma’s eyes because she’s human and slightly intoxicated, and it takes quite a lot more than she’s willing to admit to lift her chin, but then she’s glad she does. Even with the understandable glare.

“Shit,” she breathes, “your eyes are stupid blue.”

He narrows them. She hates that. Which is about all it takes for her to get royally pissed off, too.

“Can you pay attention to where you’re walking?”

The stupidly blue eyes blink. Darken a shade, like all his frustration is centered directly around his pupils, and the shirt he’s wearing is team-branded. Another baseball player, then.

“You ran into me!” Oh, Oh. Well, that sucks. He’s got a good voice, too. Eyes and voice and the few strands of hair that fall toward those eyes when he continues to glare at Emma likely aren’t supposed to make her stomach flip.

It’s the alcohol’s fault.

Or sports. Like, in general.

“Because you take up so much space,” Emma snarls He leans forward. Looms, really. Over her and around her, smelling like punch and body wash. It’s gross and absolutely wonderful. “Gotta pick a lane, love. Either I ran into you, or I was in the way.”

“It can definitely be both and there is nothing resembling love here.”

“So I can see. You have a name, wrecking ball?” “My shoes are never going to unstick from this floor.” To his credit, he does waver. His lips twist — which makes it all too obvious how much Emma is staring at his lips, but, seriously, the alcohol. Plus, it’s so hot in this house she can barely think straight. She wonders where he buys his body wash. He smells better than he should in this house. So, it's clear he considers. Ponders, even. Until his hands dart out and those hands are somehow warmer than every person in this house combined, heat scorching through Emma’s t-shirt as he lifts her off the ground.

Only to deposit her approximately fourteen inches to her left.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” “Look,” he grins, “you’re unstuck.” “Bastard!” “Eh, not technically.” “What?” “Not technically a bastard. Orphan, I suppose. But that’s kind of a mood ruiner, don’t you think?”

Emma’s fish impression is really going great. The grin becomes a smirk. Her stomach refuses to stay still. “Is there a mood to ruin?” “Might be if you tell me your name.”

Emma wavers, that time. Considers and ponders. Weighs the pros and cons while laughter drifts past her ears, consummate collegiate experiences that she’s only ever let herself be passably jealous of. A dark-haired girl’s talking to Elsa in the opposite corner.

And the hand hanging in front of her wiggles its fingers.

It’s still ridiculously warm when she grabs it. “Emma Swan.” “Killian Jones.”

Anna’s secret relationship becomes a real relationship no less than sixteen hours following what Elsa begins to call the Drink Incident.

And they become—

Baseball people.

Becoming baseball people is not bad. Not really. Emma likes the baseball team. She understands what WHIP is, now. Kristoff adores Anna, so that’s good. David, who does, in fact, have a last name, continues to be as nice as assumed, and his girlfriend sort of quasi adopts Emma. Mary Margaret Blanchard brims with positivity and an innate sort of joy that would usually annoy Emma, but most of that joy also serves as a direct counter to the snark that Killian Jones appears flush with. So, it’s something of a wash, really.

Plus, he’s a very sore Monopoly loser.

And Emma finds it endlessly entertaining.

“Stop that,” he grunts, glaring at the board with the sort of force Emma’s become accustomed to in the last few months, while she taps on the space in front of her, “I know how many spots it is.” Emma smiles. “So move, then.” “I’ll be bankrupt.” “Capitalism does that.” “Tell me more about capitalism, Swan.”

She doesn’t startle, so there’s that. Not much else, though. Not when a noticeable bit of equally familiar heat skitters down her spine. Her head tilts. His head remains frustratingly still, staring at the board like the spaces will change or Mary Margaret will tear down some of her hotels on Marvin Gardens.

Neither thing happens.

The heat pools. At the small of her back, inching dangerously close to that space between her hips, like it’s trying to tether her to this spot and this moment and its people. Baseball people. People who so clearly care about everything so much that even the cynic in Emma can appreciate it. Plus, they’re all ridiculously competitive.

David had to take a walk when Mary Margaret bankrupt him earlier.

“That’s about the extent of my capitalism knowledge,” Emma admits with a shrug, “I sucked at economics.” Pulling his gaze away from the board, Emma’s less prepared for the force behind Killian’s eyes than she was for the appearance of a nickname that might not warrant the title. It’s just her name, after all. But it sounds like more than that. Sinks under her skin with alarming ease, the precise tone of it wrapping its way around a variety of internal organs until they’re all beating at the same tempo and— “Move my piece for me.”

Kristoff groans. Mary Margaret chuckles. Elsa looks far too sure of herself. Knows everything, indeed.

And it’s not really a command, but there’s that same sense of something that found its way into the sound of Emma’s name and Killian’s voice, and he catches her by surprise. On a variety of levels. His fingers jump the moment hers reach out, all heat and an alarming size difference, his brows lifting when she turns her head.

“You’re taking this game way too seriously, you know,” Emma says. What she doesn’t say is more important, though. Because they’re not friends, really. They’re—acquaintances. Some kind of appropriate metaphor regarding a planet’s many moons and the tendency of those moons to orbit something far bigger than them. But they like each other, too. As much as they dance and twist, do their best to avoid getting hit in the batter’s box, Emma’s more comfortable bantering with him than just about anyone she’s ever met, a challenge in every conversation, and she’s rather loath to realize she’s memorized the different ways the blue in his eyes flash.

Now it feels a bit like a spotlight.

“Matter of pride, Swan.” “Is it just?” If there are other people laying on their stomachs in that living room, half-empty glasses by their hands and equipment stacked in various corners, Emma forgets about them. Quickly. Immediately. Killian doesn’t move his fingers.

He nods.

And Mary Marget only kind of gloats when she bankrupts him.

She dances when she wins, though.

It’s embarrassing. It’s absolutely, goddamn wonderful.

Realizing that baseball is a game of statistics ruins kind of Emma’s day. It makes Killian laugh. Her favorite sort of laugh. Where he throws his head back, an arm around his middle, and his shoulders shaking. Those same strands of hair she noticed that first night fall back toward lidded eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting in an angle Emma is sure she could determine if she just didn’t hate math so much, and it takes about four seconds, her head tilting back and forth twice and one swipe of her tongue to lean forward on the couch they're sharing, tilt her head up and press her lips to his.

Press is a vast understatement.

Crash, more like.

A bases-clearing double into the left-field gap.

She knows so many baseball terms now, it’s ridiculous.

It’s because she keeps going to games. With Anna. Without Anna. With Elsa. Without Elsa. With Mary Margaret every single time. And it creeps on so slowly, she’s practically a Jane Austen heroine, but then Emma finds she cares as much as everyone else. Screams herself hoarse at every crack of the bat. Jumps and fist bumps with startling regularity. Experiences the flutter of butterflies in her flip-prone stomach before ninth-inning rallies.

She memorizes statistics. Killian’s statistics, especially.

Because the Draft is a week away, and the nerves rolling off him are even more potent than his body wash. Bought in bulk from a locally-owned company, she learns.

Killian hates capitalism, too.

Which is only part of the reason she likes him, but right now all of the reason is centered around how it feels as if the world is shifting on its axis and what, precisely, he is capable of with his tongue. Quite a lot if this first time at bat is anything to believe.

Emma laughs.

Joy bubbles from the very center of her, pushing at the seam of her lips, and it’s not much of a seam when her mouth is open to accommodate tongue, but it’s enough of a sound that Killian pulls back. No glare. Definitely eyebrow movement, though.

“That’s not the best confidence boost, you know.” “I’m straddling you,” Emma counters, nodding toward the knees on either side of his, and she has no idea when her fingers found his hair. It’s very soft.

“How did that happen?” “What was that about confidence?”

Dropping his head, she gets a different sort of laugh, one that’s just as potent in its ability to settle into her bloodstream and the empty spaces around her heart, and sports have turned her into a sap. “I like you a lot,” Killian murmurs. Emma’s heart explodes. Metaphorically speaking.

“Good.” “Expand on that, for me.” She pinches his side, almost prepared for the way it leaves him bucking beneath her. Less prepared for the mutual groan it causes. Killian’s eyes widen. “I like you a lot,” Emma repeats, and his arms tighten, and her heart knits itself back together, and the second time through the kissing order is even better.

It starts, as with most things in Emma’s nearly-adult life, because Anna demands it.

“I just think it’ll be fun,” Anna says, not for the first time. And, not for the first time, she ignores the pointed look Emma and Elsa exchange. Elsa’s lips have all but disappeared behind her teeth “Think about it,” Anna continues, “we need something to do before the game, anyway. This way we’re—you know, staying active.” Emma’s eyebrows jump. Fly. Soar into her hairline where the level of her disbelief sits, all too aware of the ring hanging around her neck.

A Draft Day gift. As much as a family heirloom can be a gift. But Killian claimed it was good luck, his brother’s ring, because turns out that snark is at least a partial product of a wholly depressing childhood, and Emma supposes there’s something to be said for common ground. Understanding, too. Stories shared over weeks that turned to months that turned to years and seasons in the minors, and it absolutely figures Killian’s Major League debut is happening in Cincinnati. Where Kristoff plays.

It’s ridiculous how in love with him she is.

Killian. Not Kristoff.

Anna is still talking. “There’s nothing else to do in Cincinnati,” she reasons, which seems unfair to the city itself but not entirely untrue, and even the concept of chili on spaghetti grosses Emma out. “Also,” Anna adds, sounding as if she’s reached the final bullet point on her list of possible arguments, “I’ve got a Groupon deal for this place.”

Elsa blinks. “I didn’t realize Groupon was even still a thing.” “Surprise!”

Emma’s laugh isn’t entirely honest, but her sigh of acceptance is and—

Turns out she’s pretty good at it.

Goddamn fantastic, actually.

At rock climbing. Indoor rock climbing. Her feet push her up the wall with ease, the steady ache in her arms welcome and wonderful and a slew of other alliterative adjectives. That leave Killian grinning like a maniac, but it’s been a weird and equally wonderful day, without a hit, but two walks, so that ups the on-base, and Emma’s really, seriously in love with him.

“I don’t know what it was,” she says, preening just a bit under Killian’s stare. Hotel lighting casts shadows on his cheeks, slumped as he is against every pillow they could find. Even the ones in the closet. He’s not supposed to be in here for much longer, both of them aware of the team-ordained curfew hanging over them, but the pre-game nerves are long gone. Replaced instead with exhilaration and endorphins, the kind that could win Elle Woods a headline-making case. “But,” Emma continues, “I just kept moving, and the guy said it was, like, a course record. Is course the right word, you think?” Killian lifts a shoulder. Even as it’s covered in ice and tape. The play he made at third is going to show on loop. On TV. In Emma’s memory. She’s never yelled that loud before.

People took pictures.

And then she cried. Like a giant sap.

“This is your show, Swan,” Killian chuckles, pride infusing the words. As if she’s the one who deserves the pride today. It’s entirely possible she cried for multiple minutes after that play. They definitely showed that on the YES Network. Mary Margaret texted her no less than forty-seven times.

“I was really fast.” Killian hums, fingers fluttering enough to make it clear he wants her closer. Emma doesn’t argue. They’re a mess of limbs and mouths and that tongue thing they’ve collectively gotten better at giving and receiving over the years, hands that warm with the sort of confidence borne of repetition. Some joke about BP and finding your swing.

“Plus,” he says, a soft laugh at Emma’s noise of displeasure when talking means far less kissing, “becoming a rock climbing savant means more upper-body work, and you know how I love your arms.” Guffawing the way Emma does is not particularly romantic. Doesn’t matter. The sound comes, and the joy remains, a steady stream pumping through all her extremities and clouding her thoughts. In the best way possible. Before Killian, Emma didn’t know this could be that. Fun and easy, not quite simple, but something she’s willing to work for. Athletes are notoriously determined, after all.

Part of her wonders if a proclivity to rock climbing makes her an athlete, too.

“Please,” she says, laughter clinging to the letters even as she finds herself moved directly over Killian’s outstretched legs, “provide, in detail, everything you enjoy about my arms.” “I didn’t say enjoy.” “Were you misquoted, Jones?” His eyes flash. Glow, honestly. At her and because of her and athletes also know how to work their opponents. Goad them into making mistakes. Something about a pitcher’s duel and a battle in the box. Where the box is this bed. And Emma’s winning.

“I love your arms,” Killian says. Dragging his mouth against the column of her throat leaves goosebumps on Emma’s skin. Her back arches. His hand flattens. The compliments continue. Turn into promises. Guarantees. Of a future that’s spread out at their feet now, if only they reach for it.

Turns out Emma’s pretty good at reaching for things. When she wants them.

“This isn’t, like, free-scale, though, is it?”

Her heart cannot be expected to handle much more of this.

“Don’t worry,” Emma says, “all proper safety precautions were taken. Plus, I wouldn’t fall off the wall.”

Killian’s expression shutters. Not in any of that frustration Emma so clearly understood when his shirt was damp, and her shoes were unsalvagable despite his best efforts to get the school’s equipment manager to dry-clean them. No, it’s—it’s something big and important and unspoken, and Emma pulls his hand up. To rest directly over the rink that’s still tucked beneath her t-shirt.

His t-shirt.

It’s got his last number on it, at least.

“Would you catch me if I fell off the wall?” He doesn’t answer at first. Doesn’t mention the absurdity of a question that does not make sense, but those literal and metaphorical clock hands are ticking, and if they don’t replace his ice soon, they’re going to destroy these sheets. “Every single time, Swan.” “Right back at you.”

Killian doesn’t miss curfew, but it’s pretty close.

And Emma wakes up to twelve texts with links for indoor rock climbing gyms in the greater New York City area.

“Holy shit, this is hard.”

Grunting more than laughing, Emma’s fingers curl around the rock in front of her. Chalk cakes itself on the pads of those fingers, stuck beneath her nails and, somehow, the bend of her elbow. “Are you not an All-Star?” she asks, glancing at Killian.

“I do not see how that factors into this at all.”

“Huh, weird.” “Suspiciously sounds like an accusation.” “Weird,” Emma repeats. They’re halfway up a wall only one of them is really supposed to be on, but the other person several feet below them is faring far worse than the pair of them combined, so, that takes precedence in her mind. “He knows a lot more curse words than I realized.” “He’s showing off,” Killian grumbles, forehead resting against the wall.

Will Scarlet hasn’t moved in five minutes. Possibly six. Maybe a round ten. He's much better at second base.

“I cannot feel my arms,” he calls, and Emma’s laugh is better that time. Purer, somehow. As if happiness can actually have a sound. Even happiness that comes with sweat on her temple and a noticeable ache in her triceps and she sort of loves this.

Sort of is a vast understatement.

“Showing off, huh?” Emma asks. She finds her next footfall with ease, happiness blooming into confidence that’s become nearly consistent these days and weeks and years. It does not take her long to feel the stare that’s lingering on her. On her ass, specifically.

She glances over her shoulder. To find her fiancé smiling at her. And staring at her ass.

“Can I help you, love?” “Whatcha doing?” “Ogling you, obviously.” “Forearms feeling good?” He nods. Sort of. There’s a distinct slope to the back of his neck and more sweat on his brown than Emma’s. Not as much as Scarlet’s, probably. “Fantastic,” Killian drawls, “keep going, Swan, someone’s got to show us how to do it.” “Try not to fall off the wall, huh? Last thing we need is the might of the Yankees front office coming after us.” “I don’t think I can move my hands,” Will shouts. Killian doesn’t move. It’s impressive forearm strength. Blushing on the wall is not usually how Emma’s days go.

“I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises, and Emma moves. He follows her. Up the wall and to the top, a quick brush of his lips against her shoulder that leaves Scarlet cursing even more, despite his presence on the floor, but then there’s lemon-flavored water and exceptionally soft towels and Emma’s caught a bit off guard by the question.

“Are there leagues for this?” Will asks. “Because you should probably be winning things for this.” Emma blinks. Considers. Wonders. Turns to Killian.

He’s still smiling. Broadly, in fact.

“We could look.” They do. They fill out paperwork. Buy fancy climbing shoes that Emma claims cost too much, but Killian’s a pushover and even more stubborn and she wins the first race she signs up for.

Plus, ten more after that.

Emma climbs indoor rock walls. Killian hits home runs. Occasionally they do these things simultaneously, and it usually leads to her nearly falling off the wall because everyone in her Tribeca gym knows what it means when WFAN is playing on the speakers.

Sometimes they shout out John Sterling’s home run call with him.

She gets better. He gets better.

They do end up destroying sheets in various hotels across the country. For various reasons. Not all of them post-game or ice related. There are games and events. Wins and losses. Back page spreads that Emma frames and hangs on their apartment walls, right next to other, smaller frames, with the same smiling faces who, once upon a time, called a sticky-floored baseball house home, and Killian’s fingers are warm in hers when the tears prick her eyes at Anna and Kristoff’s wedding.

There are stories. Think pieces and hot takes on a variety of drive-time radio shows. Those are all about Killian, though. He’s the athlete. The true one, some stories say. It’s impressive what Emma does, they admit, but it’s a hobby, and she’s got a grown-up career, anyway. So, she’s got more climbing records than she knew ever existed, but she’s not doing it for press, and both Mary Margaret and Anna weep at her and Killian’s wedding.

She wears her ring on a chain next to her other one when she climbs.

Every time Killian notices them hanging there, Emma swears, his eyes brighten. It’s her favorite thing in the whole, goddamn world.

“What is this?” He doesn’t answer. Just holds the sheet of paper he must have printed out in the clubhouse because they certainly don’t have a printer at home, and one of the edges is bent. Like he had to fit it in his back pocket.

“Going the stoic route, huh?” Emma quips, but there’s a noticeable hitch in her pulse. One that’s been there for weeks. Since the rumblings started, and the rumors began, whispers of possibility, and first-ever has a very nice ring to it. One side of Killian’s mouth tugs up. “Oh, that’s not fair.” “I’d like the record to show, that the only reason I didn’t know immediately was because I was in the trainer’s room, so—” “What were you in the trainer’s room for?” Killian ignores her. Well, sort of. His eyes shift, and his gaze holds, and Emma knows. Right down in the marrow of her. What the paper is and how Scarlet is the one who printed it out, but she’s even more confident Killian carried it home, and that does something funny to her entire worldview. Widens it and minimizes it at the same time, focusing on this and them and the possibility that creates.

In an athletic sort of way.

“My shoulder’s kind of sore.” Emma scoffs. “Oh, that’s pointed.” “I’m sure your shoulders are fine. Golden, even.’ “This is not your best work, you know that?” “Look at the paper.” “Did you fold it yourself?” “And then took a car back home. You really didn’t see yet?” Emma shakes her head. He knows the answer, too. He’s the one with the Google alert, after all. Because she’s still a bit of a pessimist at heart and an adult with a real job, and this is too much and abjectly terrifying, and the last thing she expects is for Killian to crouch in front of her.

One of his knees cracks.

“Don’t,” he warns, even as Emma does her best to swallow her laugh. Warm hands land on her thighs, a quiet steadiness that helps the state of her pulse and makes the possibility of the unknown a little less overwhelming. The lines crossing the center of the paper are absurdly straight. “You’re going to go.” “Oh, that sounded like a decree.” “A suggestion.” “A strong one.” “Mmhm, with the utmost confidence.” Emma makes an impressive sound. “Who’s doing your media training? What an impressive vocabulary you’ve got on you.” “Ready and willing to use it in a persuasive manner.” “Keep talking like that, and you won’t have to.” The smirk disappears. Evolves into a grin that is only Emma’s and only appears in moments like this, support clinging to air molecules and the ends of hair that constantly seems determined to fall into Killian’s eyes. “Passed, huh? All cool with the IOC.” “Decidedly cool. Officially an Olympic sport, now. Although the name could use some work. Sport climbing lacks a little oomph, don’t you think?”

“What would you call it?” “Emma Swan wins Olympic gold.” “Kinda wordy.” “Prophetic,” Killian corrects, hands shifting and pulling, and Emma has to widen her legs. His head’s at a very good kissing angle. “You’ve already got the qualifying numbers.” “You looked at the qualifying numbers?” “Don’t insult me like that. What do you think I did in the backseat?” “Planned the entire 2020 Olympics, apparently.” “Not the entire Olympics,” Killian counters, "just the part involving you. And maybe my individual expectations regarding the United States baseball team, but that’s another conversation altogether.”

“Naturally.”

“You’re using that voice.”

Widening her eyes does nothing. Emma didn’t expect it to. Not after years and games and events because rock climbing has events, and one time Mary Margaret made her a sign. Killian held it. He’s taller, that’s why.

“Don’t,” Killian repeats, “this is happening.” “Yuh-huh?” “You heard me. It’s your turn, now.” Melting is an impossibility. Like, for a human. Even so. Emma feels like she’s melting. Some of that pessimism evaporating under the warmth of Killian’s gaze and his hands and the determination in the precise angle of his chin. Same one he uses when he steps into the box with runners in scoring position.

Lumping herself into that group isn’t as insulting as Emma once believed it would be.

“God,” Emma groans, “that’s romantic.” “You’re really selling it, love.”

“This is supposed to be a hobby.” “One you’re exceedingly good it. World record good at it.” “I like you.” “That’s my end game, yeah.” She laughs. Smiles. Continues melting. Which is easier once they get rid of their clothing, and their bed is way more comfortable than any hotel they’ve encountered. And she falls asleep with Killian’s lips against her ear, Emma Swan, Olympic gold medalist whispered on loop like it’s a mantra he’s been practicing.

They postpone the Olympics.

It sucks. Everything sucks. Baseball sucks. Gyms are closed. Emma gets creative, and Killian gets research-prone. They build a makeshift wall. She tosses him BP.

People write stories about it.

It doesn’t help.

Until—

Time passes. Some things change. Others don’t. Their wall stands up to the elements of their building’s courtyard, and Killian’s hitting better than ever this season, a victory Emma’s going to claim as at least partially hers. And then the Olympics are back, and it’s qualifying and racing and a record that’s just out of reach, but she’s good enough even without it, and, this time, she’s the one packing a suitcase.

He kisses her.

Does the tongue thing.

Holds onto her like he’s only a little afraid she’s going to fall off the wall, but now the wall is international competition, and Emma’s freaking out a little.

“I love you,” she says into the crook of his neck.

His arms tighten. “I love you too.” “Gold medal?” “Gold medal.” “Hit some home runs while I’m gone, huh?” Lips graze her temple. Her forehead. The bridge of her nose. Emma might be crying, and Mary Margaret’s definitely recording, a small mob of red white, and blue surrounding them. “I’ll see what I can do,” Killian promises.

“Good.”

He hits three before her first qualifying round. So, Emma takes that as a challenge. She’s an athlete now.

It’s why, she figures, her fingers don’t slip on her first run.

Her feet are sure. Her breathing is steady. There’s no one cheering her name, but she’s long since memorized the exact way Killian’s voice lifts above a crowd. How he pushes up on his toes to watch, as if standing up taller makes sure he’s closer to her. Should she need him when she falls off the wall. Only, Emma doesn’t fall, and she’s got no intention of ever falling and—

Her laugh shudders out of her in a watery sort of way that makes the journalist still standing in front of her flinch ever so slightly. Twitter makes sure the video starts playing again as soon as it finishes, which is somehow the best and worst thing that has ever happened to her. Best because, well, Emma’s honestly not sure she’s ever seen her husband like this.

Worst because she’s very nearly goddamn crying. Again.

Bobbing on the balls of his feet in front of his locker, whoever’s recording the video — it’s Scarlet, obviously — is practically frenzied behind the camera, barely able to contain their laughter. Killian doesn’t notice. He’s holding his own phone, all five of his free fingers firmly entrenched in the back of his hair. It’s gotten softer with age, Emma thinks.

She can’t stop watching him.

Every inhale is a clear struggle, the bobbing turning into pacing and quiet mumbling she can hear perfectly. As if she’s standing right in front of him.

Or at least slightly to the side. So as not to stand on the logo in the middle of the clubhouse.

Athletes are notoriously superstitious, too.

“C’mon, c’mon, c’mon,” Killian chants, another noticeable snicker from Scarlet, “right there, right there, and pull, pull—Swan, pull up!”

“I did pull up there,” Emma mumbles. To the reporter, maybe. Or the world. Possibly her husband. Who was definitely more nervous about the first run than her.

God, that’s romantic.

Killian’s still talking. Shouting, more like. It���s a miracle Scarlet hasn’t fallen over yet.

“Faster, faster, you can go faster than that, Swan—” Emma clicks her tongue. “That’s kind of insulting.”

There’s an appropriate titter of laughter from the peanut gallery, which is a joke she was not trying to make, but she’s also dangerously close to swooning in the middle of press and she should have asked the Yankees for media training. Someone would have made sure she didn’t make a total ass of herself.

“Show me the time,” Killian yells, another demand that isn’t that. It’s too wobbly a string of words to hold any real power, just the supportive sort of desperation Emma’s felt in a variety of ninth innings and series-clinching moments. “Faster! Faster!” “Talking to the time or the judges or your wife?” Scarlet asks.

Killian nearly snarls.

Emma blinks. Hyperactively. Crying is not usually her shtick. More camera flashes...flash, Emma barely noticing them with her eyes glued to a phone screen that isn’t hers because she at least knows not to bring her phone to a press conference, and she can only imagine how many text messages she’s gotten.

Even on the other side of the world.

They post the times.

She knows because Killian gets some rather impressive height on his celebratory vertical. Fingers abandoning his hair, his fist pumps the air, and Scarlet’s not laughing so much as he’s whooping, a steady stream of yeah, yeah, yeah in the background. And for about half a breath, Emma’s worried Killian may turn one of his ankles on his landing, but he’d think that was insulting, and she’s really just full-on swooning now.

“How many people have seen this?’ she asks the reporter, already knowing the answer.

The reporter smiles anyway. Emma should learn her name.

“Pretty much the whole world.” When Emma was a kid — the sort of kid who believed alone was better, and there was strength in singularity, that would have terrified her. Bowled her over, really. Left her running without looking back, desperate to shed any sort of notoriety because notoriety meant attention, and attention meant inevitable disappointment.

Maybe that’s why she was never much of a sports person.

Sports disappoint you. They build you up and let you down, a sharp and sudden fall without a safety net. But sometimes. Sometimes, every so often, something wonderful happens. Sports lift you. Right up an indoor wall. Because, she knows, sports’ power comes from belief, from surrendering yourself to something bigger and better, and she’s back on that alliterative kick, but the tears are barely clinging to her eyelashes now and Emma herself is bigger and better, now.

In an international, decidedly romantic sort of way.

The video’s playing away.

“Let’s go,” Killian cries, and there it is. Her sound and their sound, cheering across an ocean and time zones that are still kind of messing with her sleep schedule.

Emma’s smile stretches.

“Let’s go,” she repeats.

It ends, as with most things in Emma’s gold-medal-winning life, because Anna plans it.

Stepping out of the terminal, it takes less than a full breath for the cheers to start. For the banners to lift and the tears to flow, a small platoon of support covered in the sort of patriotic gear they definitely got from the Old Navy in Herald Square.

Flashes burst behind Emma’s eyelids because she’s got to blink or she’ll definitely fall over. Her legs wobble beneath her, contending against a wave of triumph and jubilation, which is sort of the same word, but they’ve got a game at the Stadium tonight, so she doesn’t expect, she just hopes and reaches, and he has to twist around both Anna and Mary Margaret.

It’s wonderfully cyclical.

As is the way Emma slams herself against him. On purpose, this time. Killian’s arms tighten, more cheers and shouts, and people a few feet away start chanting USA over and over. Emma barely hears them. Her feet aren’t touching the ground, so she’s kind of preoccupied.

They’re all arms and mouths, and her legs wrapped securely around a body that probably shouldn’t be supporting hers when she knows he slid into second two nights ago, but Killian clearly has no intention of letting her down, and the medal around her neck bumps against her rings.

“You’re a very good cheerleader; you know that?” He hisses. In what, Emma can’t imagine. Embarrassment, if the red tips of his ears are anything to go by, and she’s got ideas as to why that is and how long the conversation about social media with Scarlet went, so Emma does the only reasonable thing.

She slams her lips against her home-run hitting husband’s, doing her best to make sure the gold medal doesn’t mistakenly impale either one of them, and the world tilts again. With victory and sports-based support and the sort of love that comes from believing in something bigger.

And better than Emma could have ever imagined.

“I didn’t want to steal your thunder.”

“Please,” Emma scoffs, “don’t insult me like that. Plus, I’m claiming every one of those home runs as my own, so comparatively—” He kisses her before she can say anything else.

That’s for the best, probably.

“Your arms looked ridiculously good the whole time.”

Her laugh doesn’t even sound like her when Emma hears it played back — another video that someone tells her goes viral, only she doesn’t care about hits or site traffic, just about the particular shade of blue in Killian’s eyes, and she wears her medal to the game that night.

Because they’re a sports power couple, now.

Or so the New York Post back page claims the next day.

Emma frames it.

#cs ff #captain swan #captain swan ff #cs fic #captain swan fic #hook heel #this is also apparently my 50th work on ao3 #which is just patently nuts #so if you guys have been clicking and reading all these words know that i am a little in love with you

[hockeyboysiguess]

three french horns -> three goal horns | n. mackinnon

a/n: and like clockwork, here is fic number three in my 12 days of christmas series! i wrote this one a while ago and i hurt myself re-reading it to proof it, so i hope you all like it! rest of the christmas series linked here.

word count:  4,037

warnings: alcohol, drinking 

“Hey, Nate?” you called out from the living room when you heard the back door open, signaling his reappearance in the house after letting the dogs outside. 

“Yeah, baby?” he asked as he stomped his boots on the mat, shaking the last bit of the early Denver snow off. 

You asked the question you’d been asking him since two weeks after his birthday, the same question you’d been asking a variation of for the three months before his birthday. “Nate, what do you want for Christmas?” 

The sound that left Nate’s mouth was barely human, a groan coming from deep within, from the place that never knew what he wanted for any major gift giving holiday of any kind. You tried to be original, get sentimental things, but it was hard to buy for someone who could literally buy anything they ever wanted. Nate didn’t have big, expensive wishes, so if he wanted something, he often just bought it on the spot and you were none-the-wiser until it showed up at his house. This penchant, this bad habit, carried throughout the holiday season; it was a perpetual state of being for Nathan MacKinnon. This meant that items Nate ordered for himself were as likely to show up December 24th as any other day of the year, which was eternally infuriating as a person in his life trying to buy him gifts on the semi-regular basis. 

“I don’t know,” he answered you, like he did every other time. “I’ll like it because it’s from you.” 

That response was sweet the first, second, and half-sweet the third time he’d used it on you. Now, that response was worn out like an old pair of jeans, with holes in the thighs and the knees hanging together by a thread, absolutely unusable at this point in time really. Yet Nate continued to say it, like that string of seven words didn’t light a fire in your stomach completely unlike the kind crackling under the stockings on the mantle right now. 

“Nate,” you groaned, all too similarly to how he had when you asked your question. Spend enough time with a person and you pick up their habits. You and Nate were a completely unoriginal example of that. “You know I hate when you say that.” 

Nate rolled his eyes and shrugged, “Well, I don’t really know. A hat trick? But you can’t get me that, I’ve got to get that for me.” 

The infamous illusive hat trick. While it wasn’t those dreaded seven words, you were pretty sure you had heard about this hat trick that was alluding him every other day at this point. In all fairness to Nate, the amount of times he had scored twice in the first two periods of a game this season and been held off the scoreboard in the second was absurd. Commentators were joking about it, his teammates were chirping him over not one, not two, but three missed empty netters that would’ve sealed it, even though Nate liked to say those didn’t really count as hat tricks. Greater than all of that, Nate was starting to incredibly frustrated with himself and his performances. You knew Nate was a competitive guy before you even went on your first date with him, but his competitiveness ran deep and honestly you weren’t sure your relationship would work if you were even an ounce more competitive than you were. Nate had to win, he had to achieve his goals. This goal was quite simply just three goals, but it continued to be just out of reach this season and coming up on the holiday season, pushing the halfway mark, Nate was starting to think it might not happen this year. 

“You’ll get one, Nate,” you sighed. “You’re so close and you’re too good not to get whatever you put your mind to.” 

“I got a good feeling about the game tomorrow,” he replied, sliding up next to you on the couch to throw a Christmas sweater-covered arm around your shoulders. “My good luck charm is going to be there, right?” 

Nate wasn’t superstitious in the slightest, but he said he always scored more whenever you came. Statistically, a complete lie, but it made you feel special all the same. He kissed your temple softly as he relaxed into the couch cushions next to you. 

“So, what are we watching? Classic or trashy Christmas?” 

That question itself somehow encapsulated every single reason you loved Nathan MacKinnon, despite his pension for buying his own Christmas presents, his overly competitive nature, and the difficulty that came with trying to buy him a present. Nate didn’t love Christmas movies; he wasn’t a hater like some people you’d dated before, but you adored them, both classic and trashy alike. Nate jumped on board with whatever you liked, no questions asked. He always said you didn’t sign up to date all of his teammates that walked through the door scrounging for homemade food or the long hours alone, the least he could do was be as supportive of the things you liked as you were about hockey for him. Nate’s support came in casual, steady waves of constantly and consistently showing up, no matter how tired he was, no matter how long the day before had been. He might fall asleep twenty minutes into the movie, but Nate was here and active and present for as long as he could stay awake. He’d cross deserts and move mountains for an hour with you, and some days that’s what it took, but Nate showed up and jumped on board, which made him the easiest person in the world to love in spite of everything else. It made him the only person you wanted to spend this Christmas and every other one in the future with.

The next day, with his last name on your back and a Santa hat on your head, you found yourself in a position that felt all too familiar this season. You were watching the ice with eager eyes among the other wives and girlfriends. Your breath caught in your throat halfway through the first when you saw two seconds after him that there was nothing between Nate and the net but open ice and a goaltender. You slowly stood up, leaning forward as if those all important inches would help you see the ice better. You didn’t miss the puck sailing over the blocker’s side of the goaltender, or the eruption of cheers from everyone around you as the goal horn rang out, hopefully the first of three for Nate this evening. Mel hugged you, as if you had anything to do with Nate scoring. You adjusted your hat, pulling at the fluffy white edge until it sat a little less haphazardly on your head as you cheered. 

“Two more, right?” Mel waggled her eyebrows at you and you rolled your eyes. 

“For my sake, I hope so,” you laughed. 

Going into Christmas break without this elusive hat trick meant the next four days would be spent with Nate’s mind half at the rink, trying to scheme and plan and game his way into a hat trick, as if the part he was missing was anything other than luck. Maybe he didn’t need regular luck though, maybe just a little bit of Christmas would do the trick tonight. Your third beer in, a vain attempt to calm your nerves with alcohol, and five minutes into the second, on the power play, you watched as Nate easily sailed in his second goal of the game from the high slot, causing the ever familiar cheers and the ringing of the Avalanche goal horn to sound out across the arena. 

Two down, and hopefully one to go. 

“Hatty watch,” one of the other girls sang out from behind you, giving your shoulders a squeeze. 

You let out a loud, long breath, causing a wave of laughter to ripple across the other women around you. Mel teased you about it; they all did. Nate’s quest was well known among the group, something they were equally supportive and teasing about. 

“He’ll get one,” Mel assured you with a comforting pat to your leg. “He’s too good not to.”

You really thought he had it. You watched as Mikko and Nate peeled off from the defenders caught on an odd change, leading to a two-on-one with a lone opposing forward doing his best, but poor, impersonation of a defensemen. Mikko passed the puck to Nate, which Nate passed back easily and set himself up for the perfect slap shot on the return. The quick passing had sent the other team’s player sprawling over the ice. It was just Nate and the goaltender, who was frantically shifting his eyes from Mikko to Nate, tilting back and forth on the ice. Mikko’s pass was perfect, right on the middle of Nate’s tape and Nate was ready for the pass. It was tracking high glove side, exactly where Nate wanted it to go, right into the back of the net. The goalie was facing Mikko, two key seconds behind the actual action. Except out of nowhere, the Grinch stole Christmas and Nate’s hat trick when the goalie’s glove suddenly appeared in the path the puck was taking and wrapped around the puck, just on the wrong side of the goal line for Nate. 

The referee blew the whistle and signaled no goal. Nate’s hands dropped down, stick hanging low. His head tilted up toward the ceiling of the arena and you could practically hear the groan rise from deep in his chest. It was absolute robbery at its finest and the entire arena knew luck wasn’t on Nate’s side that night. You slumped down into your seat, preparing yourself for yet another two goal game and a frustrated Nate waiting for you in the tunnel when it was over. There were another twenty minutes left in the game, but if the first half of the season had taught you anything, third periods weren’t where Nate racked up anything other than wins and assists, both of which he loved, but he just wanted a third goal, just once. Mikko and Gabe each having one already this season, all six goals involving Nate as either the primary or secondary assist, didn’t help either. 

“I think you need to pray or something,” Mel told you with a laugh. “Pray to anything and anyone out there at this point.”

You cleared your throat and looked up at the ceiling of the Pepsi arena, “Santa, I know this isn’t how you take requests,” Mel and the girls around you were already laughing, “but please, pretty freaking please, can we just get some Christmas miracle magic vibes in here? It’s all he wants for Christmas. Please and thank you and I hope you have a Merry Christmas.” 

“Are you supposed to say amen if you pray to Santa?” someone behind you asked. 

“Look I’m not opposed to it,” you sighed. “It just didn’t feel like the right ending when I was asking for a Christmas miracle.”

The girls all laughed and you just stared up at the ceiling. Maybe Santa might grant your unorthodox request delivered via an even more unorthodox method. Maybe you should’ve written him a letter and dropped it into one of those charity red mailboxes at Macy’s. Maybe Nate just wouldn’t be getting the one thing he wanted for Christmas and there was absolutely nothing you could do about it. You knew he was joking when he asked for a hat trick for Christmas, but joking or not, it was the only thing he even sort of mentioned wanting. If sending out a Christmas wish audibly in the middle of the Pepsi arena was what it took, you were more than happy to do it. 

You grabbed your fourth and fifth beer together during the intermission, knowing full and well that you didn’t want to miss a second of one of Nate’s shifts in case something good happened. If after all of this time, all of this waiting, all of Nate���s back and forth debating, if you missed his hat trick goal because you were grabbing another beer, you would have to guess that higher powers didn’t exist and the hockey gods loved laughing at you and maybe Christmas wasn’t that magical after all. 

The third period was half over when you finished your fourth beer. Your right leg had been bouncing on the concrete since the period started. Nate was getting some good looks, and added another assist to his point tally for the night, but you and everyone knew what he actually wanted tonight. A slashing call with eight minutes to go put the Avalanche back on the power play, and you knew Nate was going to fight to play every bit of those two minutes he could get, which meant you were about to be in for a mentally exhausting two minutes. Mel offered her hand to you, already knowing you would need her to ground you through this. 

The first shot on the power play from Mikko ended up in the opposing goaltender’s glove. Nate lined up for the next face-off and you swore you didn’t breathe as soon as the puck left the referee's hand. Nate swept it back easily to a waiting Gabe. You gripped Mel’s hand hard, grateful you both did this for each other often enough that she didn’t mind. Nate slid up through the low slot and you saw the stars aligning as Gabe sent the puck perfectly in Nate’s direction. Nate was already ready for it when it came, the puck on his stick for less than a second. Your eyes went wide and you felt like you were about to break Mel’s hand as the goaltender shrugged his shoulder up to block Nate’s shot, but he came up short and the puck hit the back of the net. 

You were screaming as you jumped to your feet, arms wrapping tightly around Mel as someone else hugged you from behind, again like you’d done anything other than practically give yourself a heart attack watching it. Nate was surrounded by his teammates on the ice, earning a swift pat on the top of the head from Gabe. A glance up at the Jumbotron showed you the wide, bright smile on his face, filling with relief and absolute joy. Mel grabbed your hat by the pom pom and chucked it down towards the ice, making you laugh and a smile that rivaled Nate’s come across your face.

“Finally,” you breathed out a sigh of relief as the arena calmed itself, calming you with it. 

You plopped back down into your seat, hatless with half a beer and your pride in Nate left to coast you through the next ten minutes. You knew Nate was going to be in a good mood, and you just wanted to get through the next ten minutes of the game to get to him and congratulate him yourself. The score was heavy in favor of the Avs and they weren’t in any danger of losing this game, so you got to drink your beer and let out a long breath you’d been holding since Nate first came home after back to back two goal games in October without a hat trick in sight. 

You were practically bouncing on your heels as you waited in the tunnel for him, fingers fussing with the frayed edge of your denim jacket to get out some of your anxious energy. The second he rounded the corner, a wide, gorgeous smile on his face, you ran toward him. Nate wasn’t the type for large public displays of affection, but satisfaction from your incredibly competitive boyfriend was a hell of an influencer and he opened his arms wide for you. You jumped into him and he stumbled a second before catching you easily, one hand guiding your legs around his waist, the other supporting the back of your thighs. 

“Congratulations,” you mumbled in his ear as he laughed at your openly shared excitement for him. 

“Thanks, baby,” he told you, the smile he was wearing evident in his voice.

“Proud of you always,” you reminded him as you untucked your head from his neck. 

You said it after every single game, win or lose, five points or no points, goal or no goal, you told Nate you were proud of him after every single game. The stats sheet didn’t matter to you. You loved him and you saw the grueling work he put in every single day, every single second he was on the ice. You were proud of him no matter what, and it was one of the thousands of reasons he had come to love you for. Your support, your pride in him and the work he put in never wavered. It was steadfast, something hard to come by in a life as crazy as he lived. You were his rock, his home, and he felt it like the gradual, comforting warmth from sitting by the fire on Christmas Eve, when the world seemed a little more good than it actually was, when you told him you were proud of him. 

Nate smiled as he pressed a soft, quick kiss to your lips before gently guiding your feet back to the ground. He pulled you in tighter, collapsing you into him as he let out a long breath that had been holding his tension for months, caught in the hollows of his chest, finally working its way out into the open air. It had been haunting him, like a ghastly Halloween hangover that dared to last until Christmas. Thankfully, it was December now and Nate felt lighter and freer than he had in months. 

“You got what you wanted for Christmas,” you mumbled into his chest, causing his chest to vibrate with laughter. 

“Guess I sort of did, yeah.” He kissed the top of your head softly. “Ready to go home?” 

“Ready for four days of you and me time?” you teased him a little. 

Despite your teasing, his response was entirely genuine, “Been looking forward to it for weeks now.” 

Your smile in response to his words stuck with you the entire way home. Nate loved you in actions, but sometimes it was nice to hear words from him as well. You kicked off your shoes at the front door, just in the knick of time before the dogs could come and greet you both. 

“Want me to crack a bottle of wine or champagne?” you asked Nate as he dropped his bag by the front door. 

“Champagne,” he told you before dropping a kiss to your temple. “We’re celebrating tonight.” 

You slid into the kitchen, dogs hot on your heels, as you made a beeline for the champagne in the fridge. You’d slid it in before you left for the game on the chance Nate finally got his hat trick tonight. You hadn’t wanted to drink warm champagne if that was the case and now, holding the cold bottle of champagne and two flutes, you knew you had made the right decision betting on your boyfriend tonight. He rounded the corner into the kitchen a few moments later, game day suit still on, jacket and tie lost back in your shared bedroom.

“Glad you got yourself what you wanted for Christmas, Nate,” you smiled teasingly at him as you started to fuss with the gold foil over the champagne cork. 

“Before you pop that,” he told you, reaching a hand out to place over yours as you worked on the foil covering the cork, “I, um, I have something for you.” 

“Nate, it’s December twenty-third,” you sighed, setting the bottle down on the cool stone counter. “Can’t it wait a couple of days?” 

Nate smiled softly at you, a smile that seemed to mean he knew more than you in this exact moment, “I’ve actually been holding on to this gift for a long time and I think tonight is the perfect night to give it to you. Are you okay if I blow up Christmas a little bit?” 

You sighed again and gave Nate a stern look up and down, but the softness in his blue eyes and the innocence in his lazy smile pulled you in and had you nodding in approval. Your nod caused nerves to dance in Nate’s eyes and his hands to slide into his pockets, fidgeting with their contents. He shifted softly from one foot to the other. His eyes dropped to the floor for a moment to watch his feet move before he slowly lifted his head back up in time with a bounce on his heels. 

“Okay, here we go,” he mumbled softly to himself. 

He cleared his throat before speaking, “I told you I don’t know what I want for Christmas. Hell, I told you that I didn’t know what I wanted for my birthday and that was back in September. The truth is I’ve known what I’ve actually wanted the whole time. The hat trick was nice and all, but it wasn’t really what I wanted.”

“Whatever it is, you could’ve told me,” you chided him a little. 

Your words were met with an anxious smile and more shuffling of his feet across the floor. He shook his head softly and let out a tight breath before continuing. 

“The only thing I want for Christmas is something you can give me, but you can get it for me,” he told you softly, his voice shaking as he spoke, the nerves in his eyes and his feet and his hands tightening and constricting his voice resonating in his chest. 

Nate slowly pulled a hand out of his pocket before purposefully, and painstakingly slowly, dropping down on one knee in front of you. Your hands flew over your mouth on instinct and your eyes clouded over instantly. Nate smiled softly at your reaction, trying desperately not to let what he hoped your actions meant take over and make him too hopeful of your answer to his question to prevent him from asking it. He carefully opened the small black box in his hand to show you your early Christmas present, a beautiful ring nestled among the black velvet inside. 

“For Christmas, I’d like for you to say you’ll be my wife,” he continued slowly and as steadily as he could. “The thing I’m most proud of, of everything I’ve ever done, is being your partner. I love you so much more than I say, but I hope I show it enough that you want to sign up for me forever because it’s just you. It’s just you forever, for every single day, every single holiday, every single moment. I want to spend every single Christmas for the rest of my life with you. So, what do you say? Will you be my wife? Will you make my Christmas wish come true?” 

The cliches hung thick in his words, but the emotions behind them, the sentiment was so true you could feel it in the very core of who you were. Nathan MacKinnon saw you, faults and gifts and everything in between and loved you in the steadiest, most true way you had ever known. In the light of the Christmas tree, in the home you built together, with the life you build together palatable around you, Nate was asking you to build the rest of it together. You didn’t have to think about your answer. 

“Yes, Nate. Yes, I’ll marry you.” 

Nerves gave way to relief which even more quickly gave way to joy on Nate’s face as he slowly slid the ring he’d had tucked in the back drawer for months onto your finger where it belonged. Nate let out a long breath at the sight of it finally on your hand before slowly standing up in front of you, his hands reaching out to cup your face gingerly. 

“Best early Christmas present ever,” you told him with a wide smile on your face. 

He smiled back just as widely and happily as you grinned at him, “Merry Christmas, my future wife.”

#nathan mackinnon #nate mackinnon #nate mack #100% certified canadian beef #nathan mackinnon imagine #nathan mackinnon fanfic #nathan mackinnon fic #nhl fanfic #nhl fanfiction #nhl fic #nhl blurbs #nhl imagine

[thetriggeredhappy]

Hello first off! I love your writing, and I've been on a sudden tf2 hyperfocus especially on Scout so your content? Golden. I usually am hesitant to ask for requests but, if you ever feel up to it, I would love to see your take on Dadgineer and Scout? Thank you so much and happy holidays!!

i would argue the engineer is in a perpetual state of dad but let’s just ramp it up from like a 6 to like an 8 or 9 how abt that

(no warnings)

-

The track of footprints he saw in his workshop first thing when he got out of his truck were a reminder, once again, that he really needed to remember to turn on the security system whenever he went into town.

“Yo, what’s up?” Scout greeted from his place kicked back way too far on one of the shop stools, grinning up from the magazine he was fairly sure he’d left nowhere near that side of the room.

A jab to one of the legs of the stool as he passed by got Scout to squawk and lean it back down to sit properly. He dropped his keys in the tray they belonged to and turned, leveling a stern look at the young man. “Hidy yourself,” he said, tone dry. “Care to tell me why you’re breakin’ into my workshop again, Scooter?”

“Hey, I didn’t break into nothin’, you left the back door unlocked,” Scout protested, tossing the magazine down.

“Well, if you’ve got the time to waste walkin’ all the way around the whole damn building to trespass, you’ve got time to help me unload the truck,” he said, and raised his voice to speak over the immediate groan from Scout. “With minimal backsass, thank you.”

Scout made a face to compensate, but stood up regardless. “No wonder you were gone all freakin’ day, you went all the way into town?” he asked, incredulous as he followed the Engineer out the garage door to the waiting truck. “What’d you head all the way out there for?”

“Xylene,” he shrugged, popping the tailgate down and hefting a canister, handing it off to Scout.

“Hey, good for you, man. Is she nice?” Scout asked as he took the canister with only a bit of a visible struggle lifting it, and it took the Engineer a good five seconds to figure out what the hell he was talking about.

“Xylene ain’t a—it’s not my—it’s paint stripper,” he stammered, flustered, putting down his own canisters to shut the tailgate.

“Look, it’s none of my business if she’s your girlfriend or what, man, let alone her day job,” Scout shrugged, turning to head back in.

“No, not—“ he started to stammer again, and then he caught the way Scout was snickering under his breath and just bapped him on the back of his head with his glove, picking up the other two canisters again and following after him. “Damn fool. Xylene’s just a type of solvent, or paint thinner.”

“So why do you need that?” Scout asked.

“Gonna use it as a cleaner, mostly, then for a bit of help with a few paint jobs I’ve got lined up,” he replied.

“Cool. Like, we talkin’ fences?”

“Nah, nothin’ like that,” the Engineer said, guiding him to set the canisters down to one side of the door.

“I don’t really know shit about paint, besides spray paint,” Scout said, setting the canister down and just barely missing landing it on his own foot, the Engineer flinching a bit at the sight. “Now that I know a thing or two about.”

“Well, you keep your spray paint away from my machines, y’hear? I don’t take kindly to vandalism,” he warned, moving to shut the garage door.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” Scout waved off, tugging on his hat.

It was only when he’d finished dusting off his hands that he looked over and realized something. “...Scooter, any particular reason you were in here waiting?” he asked, frowning a bit.

“I mean, nah, not really,” Scout laughed, tugging on his hat a bit more, then finally pulling it off altogether to wring it between his hands, not entirely making eye contact. “Like, it’s not a big deal or nothin’. I just had kind of a weird question, is all. Like, if you’re busy, don’t even worry about it.”

He raised an eyebrow, leaning against one of the workbenches. “Not elbow-deep in anything at the moment,” he said, “I’m all ears.”

Scout nodded, fidgeted. “Uh, guess I was just wonderin’, if uh... so, do you gotta change the oil on a motorcycle?”

“Yup. Regularly,” he nodded.

“Oh. How, uh, how often? Like, how regularly?” he asked, looking a little nervous.

“Yearly, about,” he shrugged. “Every few thousand miles it gets driven. Little more often than the oil on a car.”

“Oh,” Scout said again, and the Engineer’s eyebrows drew together.

“Scooter, are you tellin’ me you’ve never changed the oil on your motorcycle?” he asked, deadpan.

“Uh. Well... yeah,” he admitted.

“How long have you had the thing?” he asked, incredulous.

“Uh. Couple years,” he admitted, more quietly, still not making eye contact.

“Scout,” he admonished, and Scout shrunk a little. “Ain’t you ever had a machine to take care of before? Have you never had a car?”

“I could walk wherever I needed to go in Boston!” he protested. “Or get a ride from a friend or somethin’.”

“So you never had anyone tell you how to change the oil on a car growin’ up?” he asked, outright incredulous.

“Ma doesn’t know shit about cars, you kiddin’? She barely knows how to work the record player and even then she’d call me into the room whenever she wanted to change out the disk,” Scout scoffed.

The Engineer went to ask another question, but managed to stop himself before he could get too far into the sentence ‘What about your dad?’

A beat of silence. “So, uh, yeah, I should probably take that in then, huh?” Scout asked awkwardly.

“Absolutely not,” the Engineer said firmly, and moved over to one of the larger shelves, starting to sift through the tubes and bottles and canisters there. “Your bike’s still parked out ‘round the side of the building by the bread truck, ain’t it?”

“Uh,” Scout said, “yeah, I think?”

“Hold these,” the Engineer said, handing Scout a set of wrenches and starting to load a carrier with bottles. “I’m takin’ you out to show you how to do it yourself, and all the other sorts of maintenance, besides.”

“Woah, hey, c’mon, can’t I just take it into one of those, uh, oil change places?” Scout asked, fumbling for a free hand as he was handed the carrier and a few more tools.

“And have ‘em tell you every third bolt is rusted and you need to replace both tires three times apiece and you gotta rebuild the whole damn thing and then charge you by the hour to do it, no, you’re gonna do it yourself and then you won’t get yourself swindled,” the Engineer said firmly, and gestured at Scout to follow him, taking a few things off his hands when it became clear he’d drop them within five steps. “C’mon, then, let’s go.”

“Uh, okay,” Scout stammered, fumbling further for a moment before hurrying to follow.

And he continued to fumble his way through the process, and through the Engineer’s questions, and on the way back to the workshop again, but nodded with no small amount of enthusiasm when the Engineer suggested he help him next year, too.

#tf2 #team fortress 2 #shut up me #my fanfiction #que? #dad time.......

[moldisgoodforyou]

winter formal

warnings: cursing, smut (18+)

gif from @rafecameron​

wordcount: 2.1k

________

“Christ.” Rafe breathed out as he watched Sophie come out the door, duffel bag in hand for the night’s stay. He let his eyes trail over her for a moment too long and she paused, folding her arms over her chest to cover herself up. “What, is it too much? A girl in Theta went to Delt’s formal last year and said this was the right amount of dressed up. Fuck, I can go change, just give me a moment -”

As she turned on her heel Rafe came to his senses and caught her forearm, tugging her back. “No, this is perfect. You’re perfect. You look incredible.” He cupped her face and pulled her in for a kiss that went on longer than he intended. She was bright red by the time she pulled away and smoothed her palms over the fabric of her dress. “You’re sure? I won’t stand out?”

“Oh you’ll stand out. In a good way, though.” Rafe assured her, grinning as he offered his arm to escort her to the car. She beamed and accepted. “Okay, good. I trust you.” He kept his hand on her thigh the whole drive, stealing several glances at every red light. When he lingered too long at a green light, Sophie flicked his arm. “Drive, Rafe. You’ve seen me in a dress before.”

He startled and looked back to the road. “Not one like that.”

“It’s just a blue dress, I don’t understand.”

“Just a blue dress, that makes you look extra gorgeous, dips just low enough to show you off, and this fucking slit up the side is going to drive me crazy.” He squeezed her leg for emphasis, fingers teasingly dancing up her thigh. She pushed his hand back and adjusted the fabric of her dress back over her leg. “Behave.”

“Always do, Soph.” He shot her a cheeky grin and she grinned back, skating her fingers across the nape of his neck. “When do I get to see you in your suit?”

“Ah, I have it in the back and figured I’d just change real quick at the hotel before. Didn’t want to wrinkle it.” He leaned his head back into her touch and let out a satisfied hum when she started playing with his hair. “Wait, you mean I could have done the same thing?” She scowled. “I got ready early for nothing.”

“Not for nothing. I’ll take every extra second of seeing you in that dress.”

“Not fair.” 

“Totally fair.” He countered. They checked in and made their way up to their room, Sophie making a mental note to befriend some of the girls downstairs that were already dressed up for the dinner before the dance. “I’ve never been invited to a formal like this, you know.” She stated, taking a seat on the bed. Rafe started changing, his back to her. “Yeah? I’m surprised, figured you’d been to a lot of these by now.” There was just a hint of jealousy in his tone. 

“I mean, I’ve been to the dances before, just, um, not the overnight ones.” She paused. “You know, there’s like an expectation...” 

He whirled around, only his dress pants on and his hair all messy from pulling his shirt over his head. “That’s not why I asked you. You know that? I want you to be here, as my girlfriend.” 

She laughed at his state of disarray. “Yeah, I know. Especially considering you forgot to ask me until two days ago.” She teased. He rubbed the back of his neck, grinning. “Sorry about that. Again. But seriously, I just wanted you to come and have fun and dance. No pressure. No matter what.” He promised, sweet as always. “I know, Rafe, it’s alright.” She reassured him, eyeing him over. “Put a shirt on. You’re distracting.” 

He instantly smirked, puffing up his chest and flexing his abs. “Yeah?” 

“Oh my god.” She threw a pillow at him. “We’ve wasted enough time already, get dressed. I don’t want to be late.” 

“We could be fashionably late.” He countered, catching the pillow in one hand and coming closer. He leaned down to kiss her but she ducked away, bracing a hand on his chest. “Soph, c’mon.” She laughed. “You’re gonna mess up my lipstick, I’ll kiss you all you want later. Get dressed.” 

“Is that a promise?” He kissed her temple quickly anyways. 

She rolled her eyes and pushed at him. “Bite me.” 

“Don’t tempt me.” He smirked, then went back to get dressed. Sophie just shook her head, watching him with a fond smile. Once he was ready to go, she stood and straightened out his tie and mussed up his hair just the way she liked it, then gave him a quick kiss. “Very handsome, Rafe Cameron.” 

__

After the dinner, they were first of a few out on the dance floor, eager to drink and dance and just enjoy themselves.

“Didn’t think you could dance.” Sophie teased him as he spun her out from him, a perpetual grin on his face. “I’ve had my practice.” He replied, pulling her back in close. Rafe didn’t let her go all night, either keeping her hand-in-hand or his hand on the small of her back. She rested her head on his chest, swaying with him as a slow song came on. 

“Fucking soft, Cameron.” A very drunk James teased, waltzing dramatically past the two of them with his girlfriend. Rafe just grinned and flipped him off, keeping Sophie close. “You’re ruining my rep, Soph.” She snorted. “You were the one that made me watch Clueless last week, I think your rep was already shot.” 

He scoffed and stepped back, hands on her waist. “It’s a great example of a modern adaptation of a classic novel! And you loved it!” 

“I know. Thank you for proving my point.” She grinned and reached up to kiss him. “I wouldn’t want you any other way.” He blushed and pulled her back into his chest, pressing his lips to her temple. “Shh.” 

Later in the night, the two were more than tipsy, sharing champagne and cocktails all night. The DJ played another slow song to close out the night and Rafe convinced Sophie to come back out and dance, even though she had ditched her heels an hour ago and at least half the boys and their dates had left the party a while ago. She stayed quiet as they danced, thoughtful. He caught her chin and tipped it up with a finger to catch her attention. “What’s on your mind, angel?” 

“You scare the shit out of me sometimes, you know?” 

“What? Why?” He widened his eyes, thoroughly confused. 

“Because.” She paused. “I don’t think I’ve ever cared about someone so much before.” 

He exhaled, wrapping her in a big hug. “Just gave me a heart attack for a moment there, Soph.” She laughed, pressing a kiss to his neck. “Sorry, wasn’t thinking. Does that...that doesn’t freak you out, does it?” 

“No, not at all. I feel the same.” He reassured her and kissed her forehead. “You’re my girl.” She beamed and rested her head on his chest again, swaying back and forth. When the lights came on and the music faded out, she let out a low whine. “Don’t wanna leave.” 

He laughed and squeezed her shoulders. “C’mon, you tired?” 

“A little.” She admitted. 

James came by them, arm looped around his girlfriend. “Hey, are you guys going out with us? We’re gonna catch an uber to some bar.” 

Rafe gave her a questioning glance and she raised her eyebrows back at him. He grinned. “We might catch up with you later.” James nodded, not oblivious to the situation, but decided not to tease purely because Sophie was right there. “Good deal, let me know.” They parted ways and Rafe and Sophie made their way up to the hotel room, hand in hand. 

When the door fell shut behind him, Rafe rocked back on his heels, giving her a cheeky grin. “Well? What do you want to do?” 

“Oh, shut up and get over here.” She tugged on his tie, pulling him close. He laughed and kissed her hard for the first time that night, not holding back. 

It was a matter of minutes before both their clothes were on the floor, leaving him on top of her on the bed, fingers working at her core. “More, Rafe.” She moaned, her hand tangled in his hair. He kissed her quickly before pushing her up the bed, gripping her thighs. Sophie whined at the loss, shortly, before he was flicking his tongue across her clit, two fingers curling inside of her. “Fuck.” She breathed out, letting her head drop back to the pillows. 

“You can come for me, baby.” He told her, speeding up his pace. It didn’t take long before she reached her high, tensing around his fingers and biting her lip hard. He worked her through it, rubbing gentle circles on her clit before she had to push his hand away. “Too much.” She mumbled. He laughed softly and came up to kiss her. “You look so fucking pretty like that.” 

“Alright, quit.” She shook her head, blushing. Rafe just grinned. “Can’t be shy on me now after all that.” She rolled her eyes and curled her hand around the back of his neck, trying to pull him closer. 

“Soph, angel, we’ve got a slight problem.” He breathed out, cheeks flushed just from watching her come. She tried her best to ignore the flutter in her chest from the nickname and propped herself up on her elbows. “If the problem is what I think it is, we can take care of that.”

“Ah. No.” He laughed a little and leaned over to kiss her, painfully aware of how hard he was in his boxers. “I don’t have a condom. I wasn’t thinking.” She raised her eyebrows and immediately slipped her hand in his boxers, enjoying his strangled groan in response. “Doesn’t seem like a problem to me.”

He could hardly think with her fingers wrapped around his cock. “Fuck - I mean, you don’t have to if you don’t want to -” He groaned when she tugged his boxers down his legs. “Fucking hell, okay.” Sophie laughed and pushed him back on the bed, taking a moment to eye him over before meeting his gaze. “Can I...?”

“God, yes.” He breathed out. “Anything.”

She jacked his cock a couple times, more experimental than anything, and raised her eyebrows at his strangled groan. “Okay?” 

“More than okay.” He reassured her quickly, willing himself not to come in two seconds just at her touch. Sophie leaned down and placed teasing kisses over his hip bones, up his thighs. When she kept avoiding him, Rafe gathered her hair aside. “Soph.” 

“Yeah?” 

“C’mon.”

She grinned, loving the power dynamic. “Are you gonna beg?” 

“Sophie, please.” 

She knew that was the closest she’d get with him and licked a stripe up the underside of his cock, tracing a vein. She took her time before taking him into her mouth fully, hands on his thighs to try and keep him from jerking. “Fuck, baby, so good.” He groaned again, letting his head fall back against the pillows. 

At his encouragement, she started bobbing up and down on his cock, using her hand after a moment. Rafe didn’t stop the continual praise, mumbling fuck and shit and so fucking good, Sophie. That only spurred her on and she kept going, humming around him and loving every time he’d groan in response. She stopped just before he was about to come and jerked him off with her hand instead, keeping her eyes locked on him the whole time. 

He dropped his head back onto the bed after, letting out a big sigh. “You’re incredible. Have I told you that?” She giggled and got up. “Might have told me once or twice.” 

“Where are you going?” He frowned, reaching for her. “Shower, real fast. Want to clean up before bed.” She told him, stepping away from his grip. His mood flipped instantly and he grinned. “Can I come?” 

“No, that sounds dangerous. You can shower after me.” She didn’t let him argue, heading into the bathroom without waiting for his response. 

After they had both showered and were back in bed, Rafe was about two seconds away from falling asleep with his arm wrapped around Sophie, her head on his chest. “You’re my favorite, you know that?” 

“Yeah? For real?” She mumbled, tracing patterns on his chest. 

“For real.” He paused, stumbling over his words. “Lo - um, I like you a lot, Soph. I mean it.” 

Sophie tensed just a little, just enough for him to notice. “Like you too. Night, Rafe. Sleep tight.” 

#rafe cameron #rafe cameron fanfic #obx fanfic #rafe cameron smut #rafe x sophie #mine #frat rafe #college rafe

[beepbeepbobop]

Back again.

I was telling my friend (who isn’t a Baccano! fan, but listens to me ramble) about my take on immortals and Czeslaw, and I don’t know where to put it, so!  It goes here.  As a warning, this is mostly me rambling and probably treads ground that has been talked about a lot in the past, but I hope it’s interesting anyway.

(This and the Infinity Train post is not a sign that I’m going to be more active in the future.  Social media and the prospect of interacting with other people’s posts still make me anxious.  Maybe one day.)

So!  The first thing to keep in mind is that change is a major theme in Baccano!.  No one is incapable of changing, but people have different relationships with it depending on who they are.  Czes can't believe that he has changed seventy years after Isaac & Miria stealing him despite clear evidence that he has.  Meanwhile, Nile actively resists change:  His greatest fear after becoming immortal was that he would become desensitized to the loss of human life and begin to devalue it, so he spent decades fighting in active war zones so that he'd never forget the reality of death.  This backfired, and instead left him inured to loss of life...but it's clear that he doesn't want to be this way?  Realizing that he's gotten to the point where his expression doesn't even change if someone dies is devastating for him.  Chane is the opposite:  While it's absolutely for the best that she stops being a hitwoman and killing machine for her father, softening up is terrifying to her because then she can't serve her father the way she wants to.   Czes is on the opposite end of the spectrum, because he wants to be better because he thinks he's a bad person (later on, he decides that he's the only bad person left in the world.  Sir.), but can't recognize it because he doesn't feel different.

And...this is pertinent to the older immortals in particular - I'd argue even moreso than with the younger ones.  Aside from the fact that the Elixir literally stops you from changing in the sense of age or injury...it also has to place inhibitors on your brain.  Your brain is, after all, a physical part of your body!  There are some....weird aspects about immortality that no one is able to figure out (for example, immortals can give birth; someone also pointed out that there are no examples of crying in reverse even though that's also a part of your body), but it's still safe to say that the brain doesn't age either because then...then a lot of the cast would be catatonic from Alzheimer's.  Even without that, the human body can only retain so many memories.  If an immortal's brain had the ability to deteriorate over time or overload based off of the amount of memories it contains....well, I don't think any of the older immortals would be able to function.  Szilard definitely wouldn't be able to function (and neither would Firo after he devours Szilard) because Szilard has the memories of over a dozen people running around in his brain.  Which brings me to my next point:  If an immortal's brain functioned like a human's, devouring would not work as a concept.  One of the hallmarks of being immortal is gaining other people's memories.  Imagine the strain that would cause.  And yet, it doesn't seem to be a problem!  The chief worry of those who have devoured other immortals is worrying that having the memories of the other person might change you consciously or subconsciously.  This is Firo's concern over devouring Szilard.

So...the fact that the brain doesn't physically grow older or change (with some leniency given because real world science sure is iffy here)...feels relevant because, mn...

Many of the older immortals feel stagnant, or stuck in time.  Firstly, if the immortals changed at the same pace as a human being, I don't think most of them would be recognizable from one era to the other.  And yet, they are!  The Victor Talbot of the 1700s is clearly the same person as the Victor Talbot of the 1930s, albeit with alterations (because what kind of person would stay exactly the same after centuries?).  The answer to that question is Elmer, by the way.  Everyone comments on how he acts just like the Elmer they remember back in the day.  But Elmer is a special case, seeing as he's our local empty shell and probable sociopath (not that he has ASPD!  ASPD, sociopathy and psychopathy all present and function entirely differently from each other, which makes it....strange that they're lumped under the same umbrella - but that's another matter).  Secondly, immortals...Uhm, they all handle grief horribly, and seem to feel stuck in the past?  Maiza, for instance, acts starkly different from his past as a rebellious noble-boy gang member, but he's never forgiven himself for giving Gretto the information that led to his death.  (Gretto being his brother.)  Huey's overarching goal is to bring his dead girlfriend back to life, and he's been working towards this goal for centuries.  Sylvie, who admittedly was not an immortal when Gretto died, held off on drinking the Elixir until she was all grown up, then set out to finding Szilard to take revenge on him for killing the boy she had run away with.  This lasted for, you guessed it, centuries.

This isn't to say that immortals don't change, or even that they don't change drastically.  I mentioned Nile, who became inured to death after fighting in war for decades.  Czes went from a trusting, innocent child to someone paranoid and self-centered enough to try and get an entire train car's worth of people killed for his own safety to someone who wants to be a good person, but thinks he never will be and that there's something fundamentally wrong with him.  But changing appears to be very, very difficult, and happens over an extended period of time in response to extreme situations.

And...this is particularly relevant to Czes (who keeps coming up as an example because he's the main person I'm thinking about with this tangent) because....it arguably hits him harder than any of the others due to being a child.  Only the best decisions were made aboard the Advenna Avis, which includes letting the eight year old drink the immortality elixir.  But...mn.  It's one thing to be perpetually in your thirties, or twenties, or sixties, and another altogether to perpetually be eight years old.  Czes can't truly 'grow up' even though he has more life experience than most adults combined, and it shows in his extreme emotional reactions, his self-centeredness, ect.  There's a certain misconception about anime-only fans that he's an adult in a child's body, but I think it's easier to tell in the light novels that that's not the case, especially since you see what he's like back before the Advenna Avis.  (He is shy.  Very shy.  Did nothing wrong ever.)  Also, the fact that SAMPLE goes, "Yes!  The perfect sacrifice!" when they specifically take a child to target emphasizes this.  It's not proof - I'm pretty sure that SAMPLE would focus on his physical age as an 'eternal child', and may or may not have the resources to analyze him and go, "This boy is still eight years old in his head," - , but it hammers the point home.

Then...mn.  One thing that's stuck out to me ever since the start is how long Czes was with Fermet.  There's such a thing as learned helplessness, and it's not like Czes had anywhere to go, so that's not what is odd to me...especially when Fermet is known for manipulating people, and could definitely seed the idea that Czes can't go anywhere.  More than physical proximity, I think about how long Czes believed in Fermet.  It's explicitly stated that Czes absorbing Fermet's memories is what made him realize that - oh, Fermet was just sadistic and everything he said was an excuse.  And...I think this is both an example of being controlled in many respects, and....another example of an immortal being stuck in the past - but in a very, very different way.

First off, learning that the people you look up to want to harm you is...difficult at best, especially when you're younger?  But being mentally 'stuck' at a certain age would make things worse, because Czes is perpetually an age where it's natural to depend on a parental figure, and at an age where the brain isn't equipped to make those kinds of calls or realizations.  There's also the matter of cognitive dissonance!  Cognitive dissonance means a lot of things, but essentially, it's the idea that you have two conflicting beliefs, but the actions you take can retroactively alter your beliefs/place emphasis on one more than the other, as the mind is predisposed to reduce dissonance.  I...take issue with how cognitive dissonance is interpreted because many examples don't account for the beliefs or opinions not being equal in the first place, but that's not the point.  The point is that, as a child, the impulse to reduce dissonance is present while also being played against difficulty reading intentions, perceiving the world outside of yourself, and thinking critically.  (For what it's worth, abusers also tend to discourage critical thinking because it damages their narrative, which would also play a part.)   So, for example...

Say that, theoretically, Czes was yelled at every time he questions the idea that Fermet's intentions are right, or that maybe Fermet doesn't have his best interests in mind.  (Czes is insightful, and they lived with each other for a long time, so this probably happened at least once unless the text directly contradicts me.)  This is tame compared to the things we know about his time with Fermet, but ignore that.  The desire to not be yelled at would lead him to hurriedly agree later on, and cognitive dissonance means that you're inclined to try to make your beliefs agree with your actions.  In other words, the more he plays along, the more his brain tells him that he definitely believes this, and it makes perfect sense to!  Fermet has shown that he cares about him, and took him in after his grandfather died, so of course.  It only makes sense.  And it's even harder for him to bridge the gap to a different conclusion because of how difficult it seems to be for immortals to change.  It's only when Czes devours Fermet (or...or at least gets his memories) that everything snaps into place, because he can't reconcile that no matter how hard he tries (coincidentally, this also happens when he gets memories of being an adult, and while I seriously doubt that Czes went through Fermet's memories willingly, it kind of hammers my point about how difficult being eternally young would make things).  So of course he snaps as hard as he does.  It'd be kind of amazing if he didn't, honestly.

TLDR:  Being immortal made it even harder for him to recognize or comprehend his trauma.  Sorry for that.

#baccano #baccano! #czeslaw meyer #nile (baccano) #I don't know who else I discussed enough to tag #but the segment about szilard made me wonder whether you would have more memories from devouring a dozen people or from living #for a couple centuries #I think it depends on how old the immortals were #discord ramblings

[1994sunflower]

heaven to you. (m.c)

pairing: michael clifford x reader

genre: smut, fluff, angst (if you squint)

word count: 8.1k

involves: bad boy!michael, college!au, jealous!michael, established relationship, a lot of cursing, oral (m receiving), unprotected sex, daddy kink (really mild), choking, dirty talk, pain kink (slight), size kink, thigh riding, face slapping (consensual), hair pulling, spitting kink, throat fucking, impregnation kink, praise, degredation/name calling, innocence kink, virgin kink (kinda), smoking, mentions of drugs/drinking, maybe more but nothing too big just pretty filthy ngl

summary: your high school classmates come over to michael’s house in hopes of being friends with the famous bad boy on campus. this includes your one-sided high school crush that may not have been so one-sided after all. unfortunately for him, michael is not someone to piss off. fortunately for you, michael’s anger and jealousy isn’t always so bad, at least for you.

part two

+

“Tell me again why we’re going to this guy’s house?” Justin asked his two childhood friends. At least, they were up until high school. Now, as they went to different colleges, they felt more like strangers. But that was part of the reason he took the multi-state trip down to their university: to mend that rift.

“We’ve been telling you man, Michael is the man on campus to be friends with.” Chris punched one of his hands into his other palm for emphasis.

Charlie nodded beside Chris, both standing in front of their front door, ready to go. “He gets into the best parties, gets the hottest chicks and is the most feared guy on campus.”

“And that’s a good thing?” Justin raised his eyebrows.

Chris opened the door, shaking his head. “Yeah, dude. No one messes with him because he’ll beat the shit out of them.”

“He’s done it a few times already.” Charlie added.

“There’s rumors he used to be involved in a gang or something and that’s why he’s like that. Either way though, he gets whatever he wants.”

Justin’s lips curled up a bit in disgust. He came from a wealthy background, wealthy family and wealthy school. Though he never let that get to his head and he never looked down on someone because of it, this stark contrast to his normality was difficult to shrug off.

But he did as he followed both Charlie and Chris out.

Charlie was still raving about ‘Michael’ as they walked out of the cramped dorm room to the unfamiliar winding paths of their university. “I mean, imagine being friends with him. You’ll get all the benefits he gets.”

“I’m sorry, if you aren’t friends with him, how are we going to his house?” Justin trailed behind the two slightly.

Chris looked back, “Turns out his best friend is in my accounting class and he invited us over to play video games. How lucky is that?”

“Yeah, lucky.” Justin looked away. He wasn’t going to admit that as they crossed the street across the student union, the whole concept of meeting someone with a reputation as rough as this Michael character was daunting and just a bit scary. In fact, it didn’t take a genius to look at the three boys all wearing vineyard vines khakis and polos, and know they didn’t mesh well with what he supposed Michael was like.

They didn’t even mesh well with the college neighborhood they were entering. The small houses looked worn and crumbled down and the streets were even worse. The only thing that calmed his nerves was the knowledge that the scariest people on the block were tired college students.

“Have you even talked to him before?” Justin kept asking questions to calm himself down and stop himself from looking around at the neighborhood in disdain.

Charlie shrugged, “I talked to him at a party once, he didn’t say much though.”

Chris smirked, “I walked with him to class once.” He paused. “Well, I was walking with his friend, Ashton? And he joined. But it still felt cool. Everyone was staring and making way for us - well him”

They filled in all the holes in knowledge of Michael. How he never lost a fight (even though he was involved with them often - evidenced by his perpetual bloody knuckles), how he rarely went to class (and when he did, how he sat alone, always), how his fashion consisted of black, chains and more black and finally, how he would go home with a different girl every party (but how that didn’t happen anymore as he had a girlfriend, though her identity to them remained a mystery).

Justin nodded as he listened. But as more and more was added to the infamous Michael, he felt less and less inclined to meet him.

Time, however, to turn back had run out. Because as his friends turned into a rubble pathway leading up to an equally rubble house, he knew he was about to be face to face with the myth, the legend, Michael himself.

The things he would do for his friends. If he didn’t hold such a sentimental place in his heart for the boys he had grown up with, he definitely wouldn’t be there, standing in front of a (turning green) door, waiting for an answer. They were different, it was obvious in high school that they had become different types of men; he valued education, science, and was a romantic at heart while they valued alcohol, parties and were willing to screw anything they found ‘hot’.

But that didn’t deter him from valuing their friendship.

It occurred to him that the only thing his friends had failed to fill him in on was Michael’s appearance. So, when the door opened and a boy slightly shorter than even Chris, the shortest of them (though Justin was 6’5 and Charlie was 6’0 so really, Chris being 5’11 wasn’t that short) and messy brown curls covering his head and forehead, he was shocked to say the least.

But that didn’t last long as Chris dapped him. “Ashton! What’s up man?”

Ashton smiled big and nodded in acknowledgement to the rest of them. “Nothing much bro, took you a while.” But he moved back into the small house, a signal of welcome for them to come in but close the door behind them.

So, as Chris and Charlie followed Ashton in, talking about who knows what, Justin made sure to shut and lock the door before trailing behind.

The house was bigger than he pictured in his mind. The living room and kitchen were divided by only a pillar and the counter. But it was spacious enough to fit a flat screen (granted, it was on the floor) and a black winding couch (granted, it had cracks all over it). The only light came from the kitchen and the tv, which was set to the beginning of the game.

Ashton already sat down on the couch, grabbing a game controller casually from behind him. He was wearing a black t-shirt that had it’s sleeves cut off to the point where you could see his whole side torso through the giant holes. His gray jeans were equally ripped and Justin was sure his shoes would be too, if he were wearing any but just gray socks adorned his feet. He had spiked bracelets on his left wrist. Maybe this was the reason his slightly tanned, innocent face looked strange. His big eyes and friendly smile was a stark juxtaposition to the rest of his body.

Chris looked around as his large figure slumped beside Ashton, “Where’s Michael?”

Ashton didn’t look at him when he answered, “In his room with his girl. He’ll be out soon, I think. That is if they don’t start going at it.”

Charlie laughed as he sat on the other side of Ashton, picking up a controller from the ground. Justin was left to sit awkwardly on the edge of the couch, closest to the kitchen. He felt out of place, just like he suspected and it didn’t help the darkness that surrounded the room, even through the lit kitchen and blue tv screen.

He didn’t get to think much on it, though, because not a few minutes after he sat down, did the bedroom door behind the couch open up. Light streamed into the dimly lit room.

Justin stood. It was a force of habit, really. He was used to standing up whenever someone knew came into the room to introduce himself. But when no one else stood, with Ashton not even bothering to look behind him, he felt awkward. It was too late to sit back down, though.

Charlie and Chris looked back, though, with big grins. “Hey, Michael! What’s up, man?” They said as if they were close friends.

And thus, Justin came face to face with Michael himself. And this time, he looked exactly like what he expected.

Michael was towering, though his height was nearly equal to Justin’s. His shoulders so broad that they nearly filled up the entire doorway of his bedroom. His t-shirt was plain black and so were his jeans, which had three chains adorning them. Two sleeves of tattoos ran down both of his arms to his hands and fingers , one of his hands reading F U C K in big bold letters, with a few peeking out on his neck as well. His black messy hair matched him well and fell onto his forehead.

But through that intimidating appearance, none of those things were what caught Justin’s attention. No, it was Michael’s eyes that did it. Though they were light in color, somehow they still seemed dark. The coldness in them was frightening. There was no hint of warmth, of friendliness, in them. In fact, as Michael held direct eye contact, saying nothing at the still standing Justin, the aggression his eyes held was enough to make Justin take a step back.

It was that step that seemingly broke the trance Michael had put him in. Because just like that, Michael looked away and moved forward into the living room. He nodded in acknowledgement at Chris and Charlie, still silent, before shouldering past Justin to go to the kitchen. He grabbed a bottled beer, opening it with his bare hand on his way back.

Justin was going to sit back himself as he saw Michael head to the couch but was stopped by a second, much smaller figure exiting Michael’s room.

The girl was petite, especially compared to Michael, standing at a proud 5’1. Her straight black hair was parted down the middle and hung perfectly over her shoulders. She wore a dainty white sunflower dress that contrasted beautifully with her olive skin which made her, along with her kind smile and bright brown eyes, look like the epitome of innocence. Quite the distinction from Michael who seemed to personify danger.

She was beautiful.

And she was his good friend.

“Y/N?”

+

Your legs were stationed at each side of Michael’s torso as you straddled him. Your hands were cupping his face and while one of his hands was on your ass while the other was gripping your long hair, pulling just enough for it to be pleasurable.

Your mouths melded into each others deeply and you couldn’t tell which one of you were more desperate for the other. You’d been making out for a while and your body was on fire. You felt like his touch was both burning you and exactly what needed at the same time.

It only took one slow grind of your hips against his that did it for him. He flipped you over so that you landed directly on one of his thighs, the chains of his jeans rattling in the process. His body was flush to yours, you could feel his hardness against you.

You looked up at him with wide innocent eyes, just how you knew he liked it. And you were awarded with a deep groan and a taunting smile before his lips returned to your body, this time to your neck. You moved your head to give him more access and as he got more into it, sucking and biting, you couldn’t stop the moan that escaped. You knew he was going to leave a mark (probably many) because he liked to have something that claimed you as his.

One of his hands wandered to your lower body, traveling under your flimsy dress to flip it over. He gave your ass a swat to command you to move. He didn’t have to tell you twice. Your hips starts moving, slowly at first against his jean-clad thigh. But as the pleasure started to build up at the friction, you began moving faster, desperately, moaning loudly.

Michael watched you silently, a smirk on his face. The only touch was his hands on your hips, guiding your pace and your movements. Otherwise, he just watched you get off on him.

“Did you wear this dress for me?” You nodded desperately against him, wanting nothing more than push against his finger but knew better.

His hand pulled your hair harshly, hard enough that it hurt but that just made you moan louder. “I asked you a question.” He growled, he had begun to move his leg up and down, making everything that much pleasurable.

Fuck. “Y-Yes, all for you, daddy.”

“Good girl.” Was all he said before his lips claimed yours again. His kisses were fervent as he bit and sucked on your bottom lip. Your hips were still moving violently against his thigh and you could feel your climax start to build up. It was almost too hot for you to handle. But you could tell he was going to give you what you wanted soon.

Or he was. A loud banging came from his bedroom door across the room. “They’re here!” Ashton’s voice rang to you from behind the door.  

You sighed deeply as you pulled away from Michael and away from your release. Michael groaned and fell, face first, into the mattress. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

“Maybe later.” You giggled, pushing him up to lay on his back. He looked up at you and a mischievous smile, the one you had grown to love, adorned his face.

“Or we can continue.” His hand was already reaching to your wrist to pull you up to straddle him again but you held back, shaking your head.

“Mikey, you have guests.” But still, you leaned over and pecked his lips quickly.

Michael groaned again, this time out of annoyance. “Fuck them. I don’t even know who they are, they’re Ashton’s friends.”

You smiled at his attitude. Your hand was tracing his neck, following the ink lines. It was a vulnerable position he was in, and something he only ever allowed you to do. When he was with you, it was so easy to forget how different he was with other people. How mean he could be. It was almost comical to see the difference in how he was right then to what he was just a few minutes ago.

“Be nice.” You chastised. “They’re here for you too, don’t bother trying to kid yourself.”

You heard Michael whine, “Come on, baby girl.” He took a hold of your wrist again. As he pushed himself up to a sitting position, he easily towered over you and he used that to his advantage. Pushing you against the wall next to his bed, he cupped one of your cheeks. His hand took up much of that side of your face, “Let me get you off.” His voice was deep with want.

You’d be a liar if you said that you weren’t wet. The way he was looking at you, the way you felt so small in front of him, you wanted to let him do whatever he wanted with you. But as you heard the front door close, you couldn’t. Not only would it be embarrassing because you were never quiet, Michael made sure of that, but it would be impolite.

Michael would never admit it but you both knew the guests were here for him. He was somewhat of a legend throughout the campus, especially among frat boys and wannabes. No matter your disdain for people like that, they came all this way for him.

So you pushed against his chest just slightly, knowing that would be enough for Michael to let you go. And when he sighed and moved away, you got up from his bed and moved to where there was a mirror hanging next to his closet. Your hair was a mess and so was your makeup. You looked fucked out and you were in awe for a moment at how Michael managed to make you this way with just a make out session and a dry hump.

Fixing yourself, you couldn’t help but smile at the pouting boy, still cross armed on his bed. Turning to him, you motioned for him to get up. “Come on Mikey.”

He stood and immediately, you had to crane your neck to look up at his big height. Even his shoulders engulfed your entire figure. Michael knew what he did to you so it wasn’t much a surprise when you felt one of his hands wrap themselves around your neck, the one with his bruised knuckles, but not hard. “After this, you’re mine.”

You think your smile was enough to tell him how excited you were at that prospect.

Michael gave you a weak smile. He didn’t tend to smile much, even when it was just the two of you. In fact, except the fact that he was a lot chattier and warmer with you, he was still always in his head and rarely expressed much emotion outside of bed besides anger, horniness and the rare affection. But you were okay with that. Your emotions were enough for the two of us.

He gave you peck on the lips, “I’ll see you out there.”

You nodded up at him, smiling before going back to fixing your makeup and adjusting your dress. Ashton had a couple of friends over ever now and then. Most, if not all, coming to see Michael. Though, you tried to not be there whenever they came over, Michael seemed to prefer it for you to be with him. To give him something to actually look forward to. He hated meeting new people and he hated their interest in him. He was popular without wanting to be. So you were often there to remedy that and you became the center of his world in those moments. Though, really, that was how you were most of the time you were with him.

Only a few minutes passed after he left the room that you followed him out.

But as soon as you left the room, you stopped when you saw someone standing in the living room, looking at you. In that same instance, you recognized him. Justin. A good friend from high school and an even better human being.

As your name left his mouth you grinned, coming closer to hug him. It had been so long, years, actually. The last you saw him was at your graduation when you swore you’d miss him. And you had. After all, he was the boy that plagued your heart all throughout high school - not that he’d known.

“Justin!” The hug was quick and you had to get on your tip toes to do it. You could tell he was just as surprised to see you. He was smiling wide and his eyebrows were shot high like they did whenever he was interested in something.

But just as soon as you pulled away, the weirdness of the situation seeped in, “What are you doing here?”

Justin blinked as if he, too, just became aware of the weird circumstance you were meeting in. “I, uh” He scratched the back of his head, unsure of how to answer and gestured to the couch. “I came with Chris and Charlie.”

Your brows furrowed further as you glanced at the couch where, sure enough, your high school classmates sat, looking back at you. They waved, slightly confused. You tried to ignore the fact that even Ashton had torn his eyes away from the tv to stare at you two. Which, considering how hard it was to take Ashton away from his video games, was saying something.

All you could think was that you wanted to crawl into a hole. The boys that you always said peaked in high school and made you so upset when they transferred to your university were now at your boyfriend’s house, trying to be his friends. It was truly a worst case scenario.

Excluding Justin. It’d been so long since you saw him, it felt nice to be in his presence again. You appreciated him as a person and the kindness he radiated - even to you, someone so much lower in economic status than him.

“But I thought you went to Washington?” You fiddled with one of your bracelets as you spoke.

Justin nodded, stiffly. “I do, we’re just on Spring Break a few weeks before you so I thought I’d visit.”

You smiled, “You should’ve gotten in touch!”

You think the situation had gotten a hold of him because while he otherwise would be rambling on with questions and stories, Justin had gotten quiet. “But why are you here?”

You blinked. Now you felt uncomfortable. It was as if you finally noticed everyone’s eyes on you, including Michael’s glaring ones. Yeah, this is definitely the last time you were going to be there when someone else was coming over.

Ashton turned back to the tv and scoffed, “Please, she practically lives here.”

Your nose crinkled when you smiled and made your way to Michael, who had taken a seat and motioned you into his lap. You shrugged, looking at your high school classmates. “This is my boyfriend’s house.”

Justin sat down slowly, his eyes just as wide as Chris and Charlie’s. Most people on campus knew you were Michael’s girlfriend. So the shocked reaction had been diminishing. You were almost starting to become used to not seeing it.

Almost.

You don’t really blame them. You are very different. Michael is aggressive, angry and cold while you tended to be bubbly, shy and school-oriented. But that’s what you liked about each other. You just fit so well together. Opposites attract, right?

Ashton spoke up again, knowing Michael would likely not talk the entire reunion if he could help it. “How do you know each other?”

You took one of Michael’s hands in yours, your hand looking almost minature in his large one, and traced the tattoos you loved so much, “We went to high school together.”

Ashton nodded, “Oh the private one?”

Charlie nodded, glancing at Michael before looking at you, “I didn’t know you were dating Michael Clifford.”

You smiled weakly, we’re not friends, that’s why you didn’t know is what you wanted to say.

Michael took a chug of the glass bottled beer in his hands. It was like a silent signal because after, the three boys began playing their game.

You made a grab for the beer but Michael moved it out of your reach, his free hand slapping the side of your thigh in warning.

Your eyes widened. “Michael!” You hissed under your breath. Not in front of everyone. But he just stared at you, unsmiling. The only hint of humor came from his twinkling eyes.

He didn’t like you trying anything he was into: drugs, cigarettes, weed, alcohol. It was all off limits to you and he made sure everyone knew it. It was his way to preserve your innocence, even if dating him made that seem sort of like a paradox. Sometimes, though, it was fun to mess with him even if you were never interested in actually experimenting with the things he did.

“So, Michael…” You were brought out of your own little world by Charlie. “Are you going to Epsilon’s party tonight?”

“No.” Came Michael’s curt reply, his thumb drawing lazy circles on your arm.

Ashton was the one who saved the moment (and Charlie’s feelings) by filling in Michael’s blanks. You think that’s why they were such good friends. “Michael hates parties. He’d rather be here with Y/N and do it like bunnies.”

You weren’t sure if you wanted to die or if you wanted to kill Ashton. Maybe both.

Because as soon as those words left his mouth to your high school classmates - and high school crush - you felt your face heat up. You didn’t have to look to know that Michael was smirking.

You saw Justin blush and look away and for a moment, you felt worse. There was something about feeling completely humiliated in front of someone you hold at such a high regard that does that to you.

Ashton and Chris both exclaimed at something on the tv at the same time your phone chimed. You unlocked it to read the text.

kelly (stats)

hey girl! are you on campus? i’m at the library and wanted to see if you wanted to work on the project.

The project. It was due in a few weeks and while you had finished your portion, the rest of it was definitely not done. You sighed, knowing you’d have to go and lose the rest of your day with Michael.

You felt Michael shift under you, moving up from his slouched position to be able to read your text fully. He kissed your shoulder when he did.

“I’ll be right back.” You whispered to which he nodded. You got up from his lap and moved to the kitchen, moving to call Kelly and sort out the details.

“Hello?”

+

Justin’s eyes followed your movements as you left to the kitchen, though certainly not missing the way Michael’s hollow eyes watched his every move. Michael, sitting slouched, didn’t even stop staring when he took a chug of his beer, the red of his healing bloody knuckles on full display.

Justin definitely understood what made Michael so scary on campus. What he couldn’t understand is why Y/N was with him. Sweet, innocent Y/N. Had you changed so much in three years that this is who you would fall for?

He could feel Michael radiate hostility but Michael remained quiet, simply choosing to observe Justin, which somehow seemed more terrifying.

When you came back into the room, Justin actively tried not to watch you. He kept his eyes on the tv with his only glimpse of you being your bottom half as you walked by him, your dress falling to just below your mid thigh. He couldn’t help but listen to his friend’s chiming voice as you spoke in a lower tone.

“I’m going to go to the library to finish up a project.” He couldn’t hear what Michael answered, if he even answered. But he heard you continue. “No, I might just walk. It’s still light out. I’ll call you when I’m heading back.”

Then, as if the afternoon didn’t already feel surreal enough, he saw you out of the corner of his eye, bend down and plant a kiss to Michael’s lips, one of your hands were on his abdomen, holding you up. It almost felt jarring to witness. Not only to see Michael allowing such a thing but to see the girl that had taken up much of his mind, and heart, in high school willingly put herself in that position with a man like Michael. It had taken him a while this afternoon just to put the pieces together and understand that Y/N was Michael’s girlfriend but to see it laid out in front of him was disturbing nonetheless.

When you straightened up again, you regarded the boys in front of you with the kind smile Justin knew so well. “I’m heading out, nice to see you guys again.” Though you didn’t really sound like you meant it.

Justin didn’t think his next actions through. All he was thinking was that it was an out. An out to leave this house that made him so uncomfortable and an out to not be in the same room as Michael without you to mend the tension.

So he stood up without much thought, “I’ll head out with you.” And as the words left his mouth, he wanted to take them back immediately. They came out wrong. He knew it and so did everyone else in the room, evidenced by the pausing of the video game and the multiple set of eyes on him.

You blinked up at him, processing what he said for a moment before he quickly added, “I mean, I left my phone back at Chris’ room so I was going to leave anyway. I was just thinking I’d give you some company.” That didn’t sound any better either.

But he trudged through the awkwardness of his phrasing by refusing to look at Michael. Justin had a feeling that would make everything a million times worse.

But you didn’t fail him, “Oh, sure.” You smiled warmly, looking back at Michael quickly before moving towards Justin and the door, “We can catch up on the way.”

Chris and Charlie were looking at him with wide eyes as he left, likely cursing him out in their heads for messing up any chance they had at being Michael’s friends. But as he followed his friend back out to the open world, outside of the dark and cramped house, he couldn’t bring himself to care.

+

You looked up at the tall blond boy beside you as you walked down the sidewalk that would lead back to campus. You were still in awe that he was there beside you, walking and talking to you after so long. Well, not so much talking. You think he was still up in his head about the situation.

“So did you really leave something in Chris’ dorm room?” You smiled knowingly up at him.

To which he let out a chuckle and lowered his head sheepishly, “No, I…I just had to get out of there.”

You nodded like you understood, which you did. You talked a lot when we were in high school and you knew his limits, what he was used to. “Yeah, I know that house can be a lot for some people.”

“It’s just cramped.”

You didn’t say it but that kind of bothered you. It wasn’t a mansion and while it wasn’t exactly nice, it was cozy and it felt like home. Michael made it feel like home. But you knew Justin couldn’t see it that way. He was the richest boy in high school, after all. And popular because of it. Though, looking back, you couldn’t think of a time where he had let that get to his head.

“So, you and Michael, huh?” He shoved his hands in the pockets of his khakis and looked over at you. His blue eyes clouding with worry.

Now, it was your turn to chuckle. “Yeah. It’s okay, a lot of people have the same reaction.”

“It’s just different, I guess. Have you heard his reputation at all?”

You got on the bus that would lead straight to the middle of campus at that point and found two seats right next to each other.

You nodded, “I guess. But Michael…Michael’s different from what you think. He can be sweet. You just have to get to know him.” You tried to tame the big loving smile that was threatening to explode at the thought of Michael, the version of him that you knew. You were well aware of how vicious and even cruel he could be, gaining him the rumors that constantly swirled around him and now even you. But he wasn’t like that with you.

“I heard he’s in a gang.” Justin whispered.

Your eyes shot up at him in alarm, “Of course he’s not.” Unfounded rumors like that did bother you, they whittled down all of Michael’s past struggles to be theatrical entertainment for those looking in, not to mentioned demonized him even further for no reason. Though they never really bothered Michael, you had too much respect both for him and for yourself to be okay with them.

“I just don’t think I expected him to be your type.” He explained, trying to diffuse the situation.

“Well he wasn’t, not at first.” You calmed down and instead bit your inner cheek, trying to decide whether you should let him in on your little secret. “Actually, you were my type. I had a huge crush on you in high school…”

“What?-”

“…Don’t worry, I’m over it now.” you quickly added in when you I felt him freeze behind you in surprise. It was embarrassing but it didn’t make much sense keeping it from him anymore.

“I had no idea.” His voice dripped with honesty. He pulled at the collar of his polo shirt.

You shrugged, “I made sure of that. I don’t know, you were just so nice to me even though you were so out of my league. You were rich, popular but so respectful and socially aware. Plus you weren’t a republican.” You laughed before looking down, “And I was the shy scholarship kid.”

It was obvious Justin was trying to think of what to say so you helped him out, “But you know three years of college really changes you. I’m a lot more outspoken now and I found a great boyfriend.”

Justin nodded, still seemingly shocked, “That’s great.” His voice was soft and, as you made eye contact, there was something more in his eyes that you couldn’t read.

But you didn’t have to think of it much because you got to our destination and you both made your way off the bus, onto the campus you loved so much.

“Okay, I guess I’ll see you around?” You were already moving back slowly, desperate to get to the library quickly so you could head back to Michael faster.

Justin nodded, not moving to go to the dorms, “Yeah, I’ll be here for two weeks or so.”

+

You practically skipping when you reached Michael’s house again. The sun had set and part of you were upset at how long it had taken you in the library. But as you opened the door to Michael’s room and saw him laying on his bed, headphones on and wearing a black hoodie with only the tattoos on his hands peeking out, those feelings disappeared and were replaced with much more primal feelings.

Michael, slipping off his headphones gently, seemed to mirror your feelings because just a bending of his index finger in a ‘come here’ motion, was enough to have you closing the door behind you and nearly jumping onto him.

You were smiling but asked before anything else, “Ashton-?” You always felt bad he had to deal with you constantly at each other with only thin walls separating Michael’s room from his.

“He went to that frat party.” Michael muttered, uninterested. His eyes were instead trailing your body, figuring out which way was best to take off your dress.

You were on all fours as you crawled your way to him, stopping when you were in between his spread legs. “You should’ve gone.” Even if you didn’t love parties, they were still a big part of who he was, before dating you he would be at them drinking the night away every other day, and a part of you felt bad for taking them away from him, even if unintentionally.

But still, he couldn’t look like he care less when he reached over and pulled your dress up to uncover your ass, his hands trailing down the curve of you sensually before giving you a small spank that made you jump in surprise. “I have better things to do.”

Now that deserved a reward. Your hand rubbed over the noticeable bulge in his jeans. Michael’s hands undid his belt, the sight of that action almost making you want to moan right then and there. Your hands trailed up to undo the button and zipper. He eagerly pushed his hips up to help you take his jeans and boxers off.

His long and thick length stood out horizontally and you felt your mouth watering already at the thought of taking him in your mouth.

One of his hands took a hold of the gold necklace you were wearing, twisting it and pulling at it to force your face closer to his.“Are you gonna be a good girl for me?” 

When you first started having sex, you were shy and inexperienced. Words and talk like that would have had you shaking nervously. And while you would still likely react that way in public, with enough time with Michael and in the privacy of his room, you didn’t even blink when you answered.

“Always.” Your hand wrapped around him before you took his dick into your mouth. Michael groaned immediately and threw his head back, eyes closed. This only proved to spur you on. You took him as deep as you could, stopping only when his tip hit the back of your throat, causing you to gag and pull back.

But the vibrations only seemed to have him moaning louder and led to one of his hands to collect your hair and push himself back into your mouth. “Fuck that’s good, take it.”

You didn’t even notice when he had taken off his shirt and hoodie. His tattoos, which ranged from his fingers to his entire torso and neck were on full display and you felt yourself get wetter at the intricate ink that adorned his beautiful body. It was a contrast to your body that was completely bare of any tattoos.

Up until then, he was still controlled. When you looked up at him with the innocent eyes you knew drove him wild and moan against his length as you bobbed your head, his control snapped. There was something about you looking pure, especially in that angelic-looking white dress, at the same time you were doing something so dirty with him that sent him ablaze. Even more knowing that you were only like that for him.

Immediately, he tightened his grip on your hair with both hands, holding you in place. He thrust up into your mouth at a fast pace, fucking your mouth harshly. His groans increasing in volume. He thrust into your mouth deeply, your nose nearly touching his stomach, and kept himself there. Your throat closed tightly against him.

“Do you like that?” Your jaw hurt and you felt tears in your eyes as he pulled out enough for you to breath, his cock was messy with your spit. Then he continued, thrusting into your awaiting mouth and murmuring dirty nothings under his breath. You wanted to trail your hands down to your pussy to soothe the ache it had for him but you refrained. “Do you like me using your mouth like a dirty fucking slut?”

You moaned involuntarily. You needed him. You could feel yourself soaking through your panties. Michael gave a sharp tug at your hair and pulled you off of him. He tilted your head back painfully to lock his eyes with yours.

“Do you like being used like a toy?” His voice was cold and mean but it was a turn on. You nodded your head submissively and one of his hands reached down to your cheek, giving you a sharp slap. Enough for you to feel the sting and enough for it to feel good. “Open your mouth.”

You did what he said immediately. Your tongue poking out in anticipation. Michael leaned down before spitting into your mouth. You closed your eyes, moaning when you felt another slap at your cheek.

“Dirty whore.” Michael muttered under his breath before pinning you down to his bed, tearing your dress off as soon as hit the mattress and then doing the same to your bra and underwear.

Part of you wondered what had gotten into him. Being rough and kinky in bed isn’t something out of the ordinary for you two but he usually wasn’t like this out of no where. Not that you were complaining.

On all fours, you swayed your ass to him enticingly and looked behind you with a virginal smile, “Fuck me, daddy.” You said innocently.

He didn’t say anything as he flipped you over quickly and ran the head of his dick teasingly along your entrance, slapping it onto your pussy twice. A load moan of his name left your mouth when he finally entered you. He wasted no time in thrusting at a rough pace into you. Your moans were cut off and stuttered at the pleasure.

“Fuck, you’re so tight.” One of Michael’s hands reached up to your throat and pressed tightly. The feeling of his inked hands around your throat amplified the pleasure. Your walls clenched around him. “No matter how many times I fuck you"

You saw his eyes be fixated on your breasts, the way they bounced up and down fully in pace with each of his thrusts. He leaned down and wrapped his warm mouth around one of tits, flicking and twirling his tongue around your nipple.

Your eyes closed involuntarily and your back arched in pleasure as he continued to slam his hips into yours. The only sounds in the room were the sound of skin slapping, your moans and his grunts.

“If only those boys could see you now, their innocent little classmate, so submissive and desperate for my cock, letting me fuck you like my bitch.” Michael’s voice was taunting and you could barely get your mind out of the haze of pleasure to question what he was talking about.

“But they’ll never see you like this. This is the only cock you’ll ever get, your first and your last. No one will ever be able to please you like I can. Do you think that blondie can make you feel this good?” You closed your eyes in pleasure, too far lost to even understand what he was saying, just shaking your head in answer. You were blushing like crazy at his words, which only served to make him thrust faster.

“Look at me.” He hissed and you did just when his thrusts’ vigor increased even more which left you whimpering and writhing underneath him. But still, you opened and kept your eyes on him, your mouth open as moans filtered out of you. “Tell me you’re mine.”  

Though your mouth was open, you couldn’t formulate words. But Michael’s hands on your throat pressed harder and his other hand slapped your cheek as a warning, “Tell me.”

“Y-Yours. I’m yours, Mikey. Only yours.” His mouth was on yours in a heated kiss while his pace never faltered as he pistoned in and out of you.

“That’s right.” Michael praised, “Mine.” Then he said something he had never said before. “I’m going to knock you up, get you nice and pregnant. Everyone would know then, that you’re fucking mine.” He almost sounded delirious with the prospect.

He didn’t mean it, he couldn’t mean it. Even if he did, you were on birth control. But you moaned loader just at the thought of his love for you reaching those lengths.

“You want that, little one? Want me to fill your tight little cunt with my cum?”

A chorus of “Yes, yes, yes” left your mouth, you couldn’t speak anymore than just repeating that. The thought of being pregnant with his child and the reminder of just how small you were compared to him was enough to put you on another planet.

“H-Harder.” You were shaking as he complied with your request, his thrusts moving faster and rougher into you. Your arms wrapped themselves around his torso and scratched at his back, desperate for a way to express the nearly overwhelming pleasure you felt. He hissed in pleasure at the pain, his body above you engulfed nearly your entire figure.

“Open” His rough voice commanded and you opened your mouth obediently. Moaning again as he spit into your awaiting tongue once again.

Your throat was starting to be raw with your screaming and begging to come. “Cum for me, princess.”

You clenched your walls as you came around his big cock and that seemed to be the only thing that took for him to release after you.

He released inside you, filling you and leaking out after he pulled out. “Such a good girl.”

He was still coming when he pulled out and ribbons of cum adorned your face, which you graciously accepted. Michael watched your face and groaned to himself when you licked some of his cum off that was at the corner of your mouth and swallowed.

His eyes were closed in pleasure for a moment before he released his grip on your throat. You didn’t doubt the image before of you, blushing and covered in his cum did wonders for his libido.  

He cleaned you up but you had a feeling it was just an excuse to be able to give you a passionate kiss. “You did great, baby girl. I love you.”

His praise made your heart swell. “I love you, too.”

Before you knew it, your kiss had gotten much more frenzied and his hand was trailing to your sore entrance. But you stopped before it could lead to a round two.

“I’m sore.” You mumbled before nuzzling into chest. His arms wrapped around your body protectively and kissed the top of your head, gently, so different from how rough he was just a few moments before.  

You looked up at him quizzically just to see that he was already looking at you. “So, are you going to tell me what that was about?”

Michael looked genuinely confused, “What do you mean?”

You rolled your eyes, moving up so you were at eye level with him. You ran your fingers through his soft black hair, noting how his eyes fluttered at the sensation. “You know what I mean. What wound you up so bad?”

“Nothing” But at your pointed look, he sighed in defeat and muttered, “Those little rich boys. The tall one, he’s into you and I couldn’t do shit about it.”

You sputtered, “Justin?! No way is he into me.” You shook your head, giggling as you leaned back to lay your head on his shoulder. “Actually, in high school, I was the one into him.”

You probably shouldn’t have said that. You knew it as soon as Michael’s eyes hardened and his body stiffened. “What?”

Shaking your head, you stuttered out, “But I got over that years ago, he’s just a friend.”

But Michael couldn’t let it go, “You liked him and he was in my fucking house? He left with you for fucks sakes Y/N.” He moved as if he was getting up and you placed a hand on his chest to stop him (only doing so because he let you, otherwise his strength would quickly overpower yours). If he were to go after Justin, there would be little you could do to stop him from beating him to a pulp.

You kissed him deeply to calm him down because you saw his eyes start to shut down. They started to look like the same eyes he had in public, the cold, angry ones. And you couldn’t let him go there, not with you.

“We were only with each other for a few minutes, we took the bus.” You reasoned with him.

Michael locked his jaw tightly but he was starting to calm down, “That bitch ass couldn’t even look at me but I was watching him. He kept looking at you like he knew you, like he knew you how I know you.”

He looked at you then, with a mocking smirk. “Like he knew how sweet and moral you are and that you shouldn’t be with your big bad boyfriend. Too bad he didn’t see you begging to have your mouth and pussy filled by your mean boyfriend’s cock. Or that he didn’t know I was the one that took your virginity,” He moaned at the memory, “What do you think he would say if he saw innocent little Y/N like that?”

You didn’t have to be looking at him to see the delight in his bright eyes and sneering smile. It was obvious he enjoyed corrupting you.

You whined at his words, embarrassed, as if you didn’t hear much worse things come out of his mouth when you were underneath him or even when he was in fights with others.

“Are you sure Ashton isn’t home?” You changed the topic.

“He’s out.” Michael repeated, “Why, did you want him to join?”

He was teasing you, you knew he was but you whined again, blushing (something you knew he loved) and shook your head no.

He chuckled, a warm and joking chuckle, “Good, because I’m not sharing you. Remember that.”

Michael settled you in between his legs comfortably, giving you his phone to busy yourself with games or take photos. He kissed the top of your head, that reached just to his chin. Meanwhile, he grabbed a cigarette and a lighter from his nightstand, placing the white stick in his mouth and lighting it. The scent overtook your senses uncomfortably. But you were used to it so you didn’t do much besides raising your hand jokingly, to ask for a puff.

But Michael, who never took those things as a joke, squeezed your thigh. “I don’t want you getting into the shit I’m into.” He said, “I want to keep you pure for me.”

Because as much as he loved corrupting you, he loved your innocence even more.

+

so i think i’m going to make this into a two part series with each part having two stories involved. if that makes sense, let me know what you think!

#5sos #michael clifford smut #5sos smut #michael clifford x reader #michael clifford #bad boy smut #jealous smut #bad boy michael #luke hemmings smut #luke hemmings #calum hood #ashton irwin #calum hood smut #ashton irwin smut #5sos imagines #michael imagine #college au

[echos-newlegs]

Oh my god dude can I get 116 for Jesse??? Bc he seems like the type of smug lil shit who would wear full lingerie under his armor and show you just to get you flustered 👀

Surprised?

HA, I finally got time to write! So sorry for being inactive on you guys D: I've had zero motivation, plus work, prepping for school, and holiday stuff I've been so scatter brained. Plus I was hard-core pinning for a dude and WHEW that distracted the heck out of me but I'm convincing myself it's not worth it and to focus on myself 😎👍(I'm failing but oh well.)

So, Jay bestie, this ask has been living in my mind rent free since the day you sent it. I love it so much, it is such a Jesse thing. That man would kill me if I saw him in lingerie of any type. Also I self indulged because suspenders are *chef kiss* in my opinion. Anywhoo, let's get on with it.

Jesse x Reader: "Wanna see what I'm wearing underneath all this?"

Words: 819

Readers Gender: neutral! Nothing specific stated :) (gunna start adding this part because U always forget to include if the reader in gn, f, m, etc.! Don't forget you can request gender if you send a request as well!)

Warning: leads onto suggestive content, but there is no actual smut! I was too lazy to write it out. So that's up to you to imagine I guess. Might make a pt.2 if I ever feel like it? There is mentions of drinking, lingerie, kissing, uhh- think that's it?

Tags: Tag List: @murdertoothpick @andiebell2023 @kaitou2417 @tacticalsparkles @baroclinicinstability @captain-rexs-girlfriend @kirinpl @anotherdudeinthisworld @bitchylittleredhead @neekid @dwarfplanet69 @phoenixhalliwell @spaceydragons @marvel-starwars-nerd @perfectcolortreestudent @ladykatakuri @my-own-oracle @808tsuika @blueplaidhood @bleghbreakdown @edlix @ahsoka1 @nahoney22 @perpetual-fangirl900

"Wanna see what I'm wearing underneath all this, you seem eager enough, mesh'la." His voice was muttered in your ear while you sat on his lap in a booth at 79's. The two of you had met up at the bar way more than you'd care to admit. A few drinks or so and now you were in his lap, teasing him. Or at least you were trying. 

"I seem eager?" You muttered back, glancing back to him just the slightest. Rather thankful the other 501st boys were off doing their own things. 

"Oh, you do," he affirmed, groping your thighs with his large hands. Smirk finding its way to his face at the way your breath hitched. "You're always eager for me." He cooed, and you both knew he was right. 

"Bold words coming from you, Jesse," you spoke under your breath, yelping a bit when he pinched your hips. The action from you made a small laugh elicit from deep in his chest. You could probably feel the rumble of his chest if it weren't for his armor. 

"Jesse," you hissed, which only egged him on to continue his devious schemes. 

"Yes, Beautiful?" He cooed, lips pressing soft, warm kisses against your neck. Hands rubbing up and down your thighs with small hums. 

"I still have a drink to finish, I can't just leave it." You stated persistently. Smiling smugly at the groan he let out. 

His hand beat you to your drink. Snatching and downing the substance. 

"What drink?" He asked after a sharp sigh. 

You rolled your eyes with a small pout. "I was gunna drink it," leaning back against him with folded arms. To glance up to his face, only to notice the smirk he was shooting you. If it weren't for how handsome he was, you'd probably smack him. 

It wasn’t before long until the two of you were back at your apartment. You were pressed flat against the bed, Jesse hovering over you. Something you were sure you'd never get used to. How his heavy form above you made the mattress around you dip. His surprisingly soft lips against yours. Calloused, ungloved fingers, trailing over what exposed skin they could find. 

"I do have a surprise for you," he offered. His surprises were always something that you'd never expect. This one was beyond your mind as well. 

"Oh yeah?" You asked with a grin. His lips pressing another gentle kiss to yours. 

"Yup, but I need to undress first, I promise, you'll love it," he spoke with a wink. A small groan leaving his throat. Then he kissed and nipped at your neck. Both of you giggling at the way you gasped and yippee at the sensation of his teeth pinching your skin. 

He climbed off you. Leaving the room for the fresher. Leaving your mind to wander. What was this 'surprise'? The two of you had been together for forever, now. Yet he still had oh so many tricks up his sleeves. Was it a new tattoo? A toy? It was honest to the maker, hard telling with the man you fell in love with. 

"Jesse," you hummed out. Scooting further back onto the bed. "You need some help?" Your voice with soft and persuasive. A small smile pulling at your lips when you heard the way he seemed to speed up the way he removed the plastoid and fabric from his body. Along with the small curses falling from his lips. 

"Nope, almost done, cyare." 

The two of you hadn't done anything suggestive for quite a while now. So you could hear the desperation sneaking through his voice. The way you could hear him race to the fresher door and kick his armor aside with his feet. It made you smile quite fondly with how madly insane you could drive this man. 

The fresher door finally opened, and you were in shock, putting it mildly. Your eyes raked up his body. The way he leaned against the fresher door. One arm above his head on the door frame. Other resting on his hip. His one ankle crossed over the other, and that signature smirk plastered on his face. But that's not even what had you in shock.

"Surprised?" He asked. Using the hand on his hip to motion at his body. 

The man was wearing a set of navy blue lingerie. His chest was bare, besides the suspenders that hooked to the 'shorts' he was wearing. Covering the tiniest amount of his chest. 

"Surprised doesn't cover it, hot stuff," you quipped. Which only made him snicker. Your words which only fill his growing ego. 

"Well, now guess what?" He asked. One knee resting on the bed beside you. Mattress dipping once more. Leaning down to run a hand beneath our shirt. 

"What, handsome?" You purr, batting your eyelashes. 

"Now it's your turn to undress, unless you want another ripped outfit." 

#arc trooper jesse x reader #arc trooper jesse #jesse x reader #jesse the clone wars #the clone wars #the clone wars x reader #star wars #clone x reader #star wars x reader #clone wars #clone wars jesse